#can we just pretend its still wednesday?

[khmarrenian]

why do i keep missing wander wednesdays bro wtf

[btssavedmylifeblr]

Void - Part 10 - Wednesday

title banner by @rude–jude♡

Genre: Sci-fi with a little angst and a LOT of smut

Pairing: BTS x Reader (yup - all seven)

Summary: You are the only female crew member on a 12 year space mission with seven handsome men. The sexual tension is real, y’all.

Word Count: 1.9k

Part 9 /?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

Warnings: very short chapter

Mercifully, Taehyung does not wake you up with a thumb in your mouth. You wonder if you will even see him today, given he only signed the form to hide his feelings for Jimin. 

You head straight for the greenhouse, determined to avoid Hoseok for as long as possible. Will you ever be able to face him again? Maybe you should start working nights.

Luckily, there’s plenty to do in the greenhouse and you manage to work all day without interruption. Dinnertime arrives and your stomach grumbles, but you procrastinate heading for the kitchen out of fear of who may be eating there. You can’t stomach bumping into any of the men you’re fucking or any of the men you aren’t.

At a little past seven o-clock, Taehyung sticks his head into the door of the greenhouse. He furrows his brow to see your hands covered in soil. “I thought we had a date?”

“Huh?” you ask, wiping the dirt from your hands onto your pants. “I thought that was pretend. For the benefit of the crew.” 

Taehyung laughs, stepping further into the greenhouse. “Well, some of it was, but I did actually make dinner.”

“You did?” You aren’t dressed for a date. Not that you have anything else to wear. Just a different slightly less dirty jumpsuit. At least none of your clothing is covered in semen today. Yet. 

Taehyung is wearing the same jumpsuit from the accident with the rover. It’s still missing a sleeve from where it was cut off of him. It’s quite flattering on him, no surprise. His exposed upper arm has just enough muscle definition to draw your attention. It’s still in the sling but the bruising has faded. The asymmetrical look with its rough unsewn edge makes him look rather roguish. 

“Come on! The food’s getting cold!” He ducks back out of the greenhouse, waving for you to follow him.

You clean your hands with a cloth and follow him. You're surprised when he veers away from the kitchen and heads for the hangar instead.

The overhead lights in the hangar are off. The room looks so different, it takes you a minute to process what you are seeing. The Europa rover sits in the middle of the room, glowing from the inside with soft blue light.  Scattered around the room are little twinkling lights of white and blue and green. 

“Taehyung!” you gasp. “What is all this?”

“A date!” he answers triumphantly. He clambors up onto one of the large wheels of the rover and opens the door. Even from a distance, you can see a white tablecloth covering the center console, topped with more twinkling lights. He reaches down a hand to help you up. “Your chariot, m’lady.”

“This is…” You are at a loss for words as you take his hand and climb up into the rover with him. “This is so…” You examine one of the twinkling lights on the make-shift table up close. It’s one of the LEDs intended for lighting your paths down on the Europa ice sheets. At least it was rechargeable. "Taehyung, this is so much work for a fake date.” 

Taehyung laughs. “Just because we’re not bumping uglies, doesn’t mean it can't be a real date. I like dates.”

He pulls out a reusable water bottle from behind one of the seats that makes a surprising pop when he opens it. Then he pours something golden and bubbly into two champagne glasses. 

Without thinking, you take accept glass as he hands it to you, then do a double-take. “Is this champagne? Where on Earth did you get champagne? Or champagne glasses?”

He laughs, enjoying your surprise, as he takes a sip from his own glass. “Unfortunately, it’s not the real stuff, just some apple juice I ran through the carbonator.” He clinks his glass to yours as you hold it, still suspended in shock. “The glasses are from Earth though. Packed them for a special occasion.”

He stares a bit wistfully at the glass in his hand and you get a little pang of sadness. “Were you planning this for Jimin?”

He looks up at you and shakes his head, waving your concerns away. “No, no, no. I did this for you.”

“For me?”

He nods. “I’m trying to make amends.”

You’re surprised. “Amends for what?”

He sighs. “For the tape, for the jealousy, I feel like…” He gestures around at the ship in general. “I feel like a lot of this is my fault.”

“What? No.” You shake your head. “This is my fault. I started all this.” 

Taehyung gestures to one side of the console table welcoming you to sit down. “It seemed like you and Jimin were happy though, until I broke my arm and messed everything up.”

“Yeah…” You sigh as you sit down across from him. You sip your fake champagne as you remember orgasming with Jimin inside you, but Yoongi’s voice in your head. “Mostly… but there was something missing…”

“Ah,” Taehyung gives a bit of a teasing smile. “A certain flight engineer, perhaps?”

“Yeah,” you shrug nervously, running your finger around the rim of your glass and teetering on the edge of admitting your real problem. “And not just him…” 

Taehyung nods knowingly. “We do have a devastatingly attractive crew, don’t we?”

“Yes!!” You exclaim, laughing in relief at someone who finally understands. “Why did you all have to be so fucking hot?!”

“All of us?” He places a hand on his chest in fake surprise. 

“Oh shut up, you know you’re hot.” The bubbles in your glass make you feel a little tipsy even if there's no alcohol in them.

Taehyung gives an exaggerated wink, then laughs. "You are very good at seeming uninterested in anyone though. I couldn’t believe how well you held it together when Jungkook stripped in front of you for that haircut.”

A lightbulb goes off. “Oh my god, you put him up to that, didn’t you?”

Taehyung bursts into delighted giggles and you smack him on his good arm. “You did! You maniac! Are you trying to kill me?”

“Not my finest moment, I will admit. Perhaps I had ulterior motives for throwing the hunk at you. Sorry. Just one of many reasons I owe you apologetic fake champagne.” He takes another sip and smiles as he recalls the memory. “Still, you kept your cool remarkably well. If it were me, I would have had his dick in my mouth well before the end of that haircut.”

Your mouth falls open. Fuck. That’s… that’s a very attractive mental image. Your pelvic muscles flinch with a twinge of arousal. 

Taehyung sees your surprise and his eyes widen. “Oh shoot, sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He takes your glass from you and sets it down on the table, before turning to rummage with something in a cooler sitting under the seat next to him.

“Oh no.” You squirm in your seat. “I’m not… you didn’t…” you stammer. Fuck. What are you even trying to say? “I just didn’t realize you were attracted to Jungkook as well.”

Taehyung turns back to you and smiles. “I mean… how could you not be? That smile… those abs…”

You both sigh in unison, then laugh. “It’s deeply unfair,” you agree.

He nods, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “What’s deeply unfair is how you have this crew wrapped around your finger.”

“What? No I don’t.”

He arches an eyebrow.

“I don’t!”

He sips his apple juice skeptically.

“No seriously! Hoseok and Namjoon won’t have sex with me even though I practically begged them…” 

He shakes his head. “I still don’t think you realize the power you hold.”

“What power?”

“I saw that video you made with Yoongi. That was incredible. When you let go of all the fear and stress and were so open and vulnerable, that was beautiful. It’s no wonder they all love you.”

Something about hearing it from someone you’re pretty sure doesn’t want to have to sex with you makes you feel like it might really be true. But the whole thing is still too embarrassing and uncomfortable to think about for too long. 

“They’re not in love with me. They’re just… I don’t know… can we talk about something else?”

“Sure.”

Taehyung sets down two plates of what looks like fine dining. Red beets sliced thin and drizzled with balsamic vinegar and a rounded mound of rice pilaf topped with a whole chicken breast.

“My god, where did you get all this?”

He smiles, pleased with himself. “Jin helped me with a bunch of it. I’ve technically given up two of my Christmas dinners for this, but it seemed worth it.” 

You are shocked again that he would go to so much effort. “You didn’t have to do all this just for the sake of our pretend relationship…”

He reaches over the table to take your hand in his. “I do want a real relationship with you though,” he says and your heart starts racing. His dark eyes hold such warmth even as the rest of him is so statuesque. But then he draws back. “Even just as a friend.” he says and you’re a bit disappointed. 

The two of you chat the rest of the evening as you savor your meal, both relieved to find someone you can be honest with. 

At one point you offer to mend his jumpsuit sleeve for him, but he declines. “I like it," he says, shrugging. "Reminds me of important lessons."

You wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn't. "I suppose it is rather dashing," you admit, trying to fill the silence. "But I suppose you would make a dish towel look dashing." You can't even blame the fake champagne for your loose tongue.

His eyes widen in delight and he laughs as he pours the last of the bubbly apple juice into each of your glasses.

“So…” he says as you take a last bite of your dessert, a delicious chocolate cake designated for some future New Year’s Eve. “Fuck, marry, kill: Namjoon, Jimin, Yoongi.”

You gasp in horror. “Taehyung, I can’t answer that!”

“Too violent? How about fuck, marry, kiss?”

“No way, not answering.” You mime zipping your lips closed. 

“I’d marry Jimin, obviously.” He continues, undeterred. “And I think I’d have to fuck Yoongi. Those hands… my god.”

“Ugh…” Just the memory makes you groan and collapse onto the table in front of you. “Tae, he’s so good with them. It’s terrible. Those goddamn hands are what started this whole mess.”

Taehyung is pleased to have finally cracked through your facade. “Though the commander… he just carries himself like he has a big dick, you know?”

“Agh…” you groan again, laughing as you stand up. “I think that’s my cue to go to bed.”

“Allow me, m’lady.” He stands up and takes your hand to help you out of the rover. He’s still holding your hand as the two of you reach the floor of the hangar. 

“Thank you again for all this.” You gesture at the twinkling lights spread over the floor, looking especially lovely now that most of the ship has gone dark. 

“Would you mind a platonic goodnight kiss?” He asks, tapping his cheek.  

You bite your lip and shake your head, feeling a whole storm of butterflies in your stomach that do not feel platonic at all. He leans in and gives you a soft kiss on your cheek. “Thank you for a lovely evening,” he murmurs close to your ear.

“Same time next week?” you ask, trying to fight down how on fire your face feels now. “I’ll cook next time.”

He grins. “Looking forward to it.”

______

Thursday is next! And it's going to be dramatic. Hopefully it will be ready soon! Thanks for reading!

[hotmessmaxpress]

Rosquez Horror AU, part 3

Vale notices the bags underneath Marc’s eyes on Wednesday afternoon, when he lands at the airport and sees Marc for the first time in over a week. Marc had a break between races and Vale expected him to have gotten at least some rest, while Vale is joining from a WDC weekend. He’s surprised to find that Marc looks so tired. 

“Vale!” Marc greets, happy to see him despite looking so exhausted.

“Marc,” Vale says happily. He doesn’t comment when Marc gets in the passenger seat of the car, forcing Vale to drive. Judging by the exhaustion on his face, it’s probably safer for Vale to drive. 

“You look exhausted,” he finally says, as he watches Marc’s head loll to the side and then jerk upright for the fourth time. “You should sleep while I drive.”

Marc gives him an apprehensive look. 

“Are you sure? I don’t want to be bad company.”

Vale smiles. 

“I’m happy to have you around, even if you’re asleep.”

Marc gives him a genuine, blinding smile, and Vale takes his hand. 

“Sleep, love.”

Marc falls asleep almost immediately, snoring softly in the passenger seat as Vale drives them to the track. He’s given up pretending to stay somewhere else, and isn’t wasting time checking into a hotel. He knows he’ll end up staying with Marc in his motorhome anyway, so he may as well go directly there. 

When they arrive at the track, Vale parks the car but doesn’t wake Marc. He wants to give him time to sleep, because he clearly needs it. Vale engages the parking brake and then opens a game on his phone, content to sit there while Marc gets the rest he desperately needs.

Vale finally wakes him up an hour later when he decides Marc’s neck is probably pushing its tolerance for the position he’s in. 

When he gently touches Marc’s shoulder, he’s shocked when Marc sits bolt upright, jerking away from him with a gasp. His eyes are wild and his breathing turns ragged. Vale holds his hands up in surrender.

“It’s just me, love. We are at the track. We can sleep when we get to the motorhome.”

Marc rubs the sleep out of his eyes and nods. 

“Okay. Good idea.”

Vale doesn’t mention the terrified look in Marc’s eye when he woke up, and he instead climbs out of the car and grabs his bag. 

The paddock is only sparsely filled, with only mechanics roaming around and getting work done. The media and medical staff will all come tomorrow, but for now Marc and Vale are left alone as they make their way to the motorhome. 

When they step in the door, Vale is surprised to see that all the lights have been left on, and the blinds are all open. 

Vale steps toward them to shut them. 

“Lay down,” he says gently. “I’ll close the-”

“No!” Marc protests. “Leave them open.”

Vale pauses, turning to look at Marc in confusion. 

“You want to sleep with the lights on and the sun in your face?”

Marc nods. 

Vale considers for a moment whether or not he wants to press Marc on this, but thinks better of it. He knows that Marc has been having occasional nightmares about the Cavities; he told Vale what he saw happen to the Pramac woman, who still has not been found. 

He hopes that maybe his presence can help stave off the nightmares enough for Marc to catch up on some sleep. 

“Okay,” he says, gently. “Let’s lay down, then.”

He climbs into the bed and Marc wastes no time climbing into his arms and falling asleep. 

Marc wakes up in Vale’s arms, finally feeling rested for the first time since the Shadow started haunting him. He’s at once both happy to have Valentino around and seized by terror that the Shadow will terrorize Vale along with him. 

Marc tenses, dragging in a shallow breath. 

“Good morning,” Vale says with a smirk. “Or, good night, I suppose.”

Marc slept all the way until night. He feels panic well up in his throat. The lights are all on, but that doesn’t mean they can’t go out. He swallows thickly. 

“I didn’t mean to sleep so long,” he croaks.

“That’s okay,” Vale says gently. 

Marc is so in love with this man. It nearly brings tears to his eyes that Vale is being this kind to him. He knows part of the flood of emotion he’s feeling is that he’s still so tired from sleepless nights, and the torment of the Shadow, and the memory of the days when Vale didn’t have so much compassion for Marc; didn’t have any compassion, really. 

“We should eat,” Vale suggests. “We can go pick something up.”

The thought of walking through the paddock right now makes Marc’s heart pound in his chest, but he doesn’t want to call attention to the Shadow. He hasn’t seen it since Vale arrived, but it’s only a matter of time before he sees it standing in the darkness, waiting for him to make a wrong move. 

“I- I am not hungry.”

“I am,” Vale says with a grin. “Come on.”

Marc allows himself to be tugged out of bed. He tries to keep his hands steady as he puts on his shoes, though his hands are shaking. 

When he looks out the window he sees that the lights in the paddock are all on. They’ll stay on all night, keeping the area illuminated to protect the valuable machinery housed in the garages and various buildings. He knows it’s meant to be secure, but he can’t help but scan the dark areas between motorhomes where the streetlights don’t touch. He holds Vale’s hand as they walk toward the parking lot, keeping the two of them in the center of the walkway and directly beneath the lights. 

It’s not until they reach Vale’s car that Marc sees it. 

It is frozen beneath a streetlight on the edge of the lot that has burnt out. It’s a circle of darkness among spots of light, and panic wraps around Marc’s lungs. He stares at it, knowing that it won’t move when he’s staring at it in the light. He takes a chance and looks in a panic at the car, seeing that the inside of it is cast in shadow. Without explaining, he turns his phone flashlight on, illuminating Vale as he opens the door and steps in. 

“Ow!” Vale says, covering his eyes as he turns the key. “What the fuck?”

The interior lights come on, and Marc turns his flashlight off. When he looks up, the Shadow is gone. 

Marc checks the backseat, a lump in his throat. 

“Marc?” Vale asks, and Marc realizes how odd he must look. He finally slides into the passenger seat. 

“Sorry,” Marc says. “I just thought you might need help seeing the keys.”

It’s a stupid excuse, but Vale keeps with his theme of giving Marc grace and doesn’t press him on it. 

Marc’s eyes keep drifting to the back seat, which is bathed in darkness every time they pass between street lights. Marc feels like he’s in a haze as Vale drives them to a takeaway place. Marc plays along as Vale orders and pays, and he holds the food on his lap when they drive back. He can’t shake the feeling that the Shadow is close by, and his tired eyes scan the side of the road. 

He sees it when they’re almost to the track. It’s still, standing, watching. Marc fights the urge to cry out. They’re safe as the car pulls into the lot, and Marc flips the overhead light on. He knows that it would only take seconds of being bathed in darkness for the Shadow to appear, slitting his throat with its claws. His hands shake as he thinks of Vale being hurt, and he opens the car door. He turns on his phone flashlight again, and Vale holds a hand up to block his eyes but doesn’t complain as he shuts the car off and climbs out. 

Marc nearly throws up as he shuts the door and sees the Shadow, now watching him from the dark backseat. Marc stumbles backward and nearly drops their food. Vale comes up to him and rests a hand gently on his back. 

“Marc, are you okay?”

Marc sucks in a deep breath. He can’t manage to respond. His eyes are locked on the eyes of the Shadow. Its eyes are lifeless, so dark that Marc’s panicked brain wonders if he’s really looking at eyes. It’s smirking at him, and Marc whimpers.

Vale grips Marc’s shoulder. He gasps and looks away for only a split second, and when he turns back around it’s gone. 

“You have to tell me what’s wrong,” Vale begs. “Now. I thought you were just tired, but I’m scared.”

Marc swallows.

“I’m being stalked by a Shadow.”

Vale’s eyes widen, and he looks around them. 

“No, an alert would have gone out by now,” he insists. “If one were detected in the area.”

Marc shrugs. “Maybe they missed it.”

Vale looks at him in concern. 

“Okay,” Vale says gently. “Okay. We can go back to the motorhome and figure this out together.”

Marc knows there’s nothing to figure out. There’s nothing that can stop a shadow. If he’s being stalked, there’s nothing he can do. He has to hope it gets bored and finds someone else or he will slip up and be killed. There’s no fighting, no running. Just surviving. 

When they wake up in the morning, the lights are all still on and they’re both alive. It’s a relief for Marc, but that doesn’t mean it can’t find him. In fact, many people who are hunted by Shadows are killed in the daylight; they’re lulled into a false sense of security and get careless.

Vale doesn’t seem concerned, even as Marc’s paranoid eyes scan all around the motorhome. 

“It’s okay, Marc,” he says. “Let’s have breakfast.”

Marc is on edge through breakfast and remains anxious the rest of the day. He does his media duties with a smile, practically a professional at lying through his teeth about how he’s feeling. 

Marc’s anxiety grows as the sun climbs across the sky and begins to set, casting longer shadows across the paddock and creating pockets of darkness. 

Vale seems to sense Marc’s unease, but he’s unfortunately as concerned as Marc. They’re walking along when Vale steps into a particularly dark corridor and Marc yanks him back. Vale turns to him with a flat look. 

“There’s nothing there, Marc.”

He’s not wrong, and Marc doesn’t want to argue, but he knows that it doesn’t matter if the thing was standing in the darkness. It doesn’t take them any time to travel between patches of darkness, and standing there for even a moment could call it to them. Marc makes sure to walk squarely in the light for the rest of the evening, hoping that Vale will stick close enough to his side to keep him safe. 

Things are fine until they get to Marc’s trailer after dinner, and Vale closes the blinds and begins dimming the lights. 

“No,” Marc says. “Please leave them on.”

Vale sighs but does as Marc asks. The air between them is oddly tense, but Vale leaves the lights on as they slip into bed together. Marc’s exhaustion overwhelms his anxiety, and he falls asleep tucked against Vale.

When he wakes the lights are off. 

His entire body seizes up with fear. The lights are on in the other room, so he realizes with horror that Vale must have turned the lights off. 

Marc looks up in terror and finds that the Shadow is standing in the corner of the room, staring at him. 

Marc is frozen. The terror of looking at it has overwhelmed him. It’s so horrifying to see the creature blending into the shadows, waiting to attack. It doesn’t move while Marc stares at it, and he finally manages to free his arm to reach over and grab his phone. He turns the flashlight on and the monster disappears, and he stumbles out of bed to turn the lights on. 

His knees are shaking so badly that he collapses there, leaning against the wall and gasping for breath. 

Vale sits up, and Marc immediately wants to scream at him.

“Why would you do that?” he says, sounding pleading rather than angry. “Why would you turn the lights off? It was- it was there.”

The look on Vale’s face is nearly bored. 

“Marc, I checked with the Anomaly Bureau. There is nothing. There’s no Shadow stalking you.”

Marc wants to scream. He points to the corner where it was. 

“It’s here. It was in the room with us! It could have killed us. Why don’t you believe me? 

“There’s nothing there,” Vale says. “Marc, it’s not there. There’s nothing there.”

“No,” Marc insists. “It’s there! It moves when the lights are off, I swear.”

“It’s not,” Vale soothes.

Marc sobs. “I saw it!”

Vale reaches over and turns off the light.

There’s nothing. 

He turns it back on. “You’re tired and under stress,” Vale begins. 

Marc’s stomach jumps into his throat. Vale doesn’t believe him; he played along last night but now that he has managed to go this long without seeing it…  He doesn’t believe Marc is seeing one. 

Marc schools his face into a politely blank expression. He doesn’t want to fight with Vale over this. He is tired and under stress. He is coming down from his shock and horror and now he’s just tired. He stays where he is, simply staring at Vale.

“You’ve been through something terrible. I know that what you saw happen to that woman must have been terrifying, but it’s making you paranoid.”

Marc hears the undertone. Get over it is what Vale really means. Vale doesn’t believe that Marc is dealing with something real, he just thinks he’s gone crazy. 

“Okay,” he says, not allowing himself to agree or disagree. 

If Vale doesn’t believe him, there’s nothing Marc will be able to do to convince him otherwise, short of letting the thing kill him. As mad at Marc has been in the past, he really loves the man too much for that, so he has to accept that Vale will simply not believe him. There’s no point pushing back. 

“Come back to bed,” Vale suggests. “It’s not sunrise, yet. You need sleep.”

Marc shakes his head. 

“I won’t be able to fall asleep again.”

Vale sighs, and Marc wants to cry. He keeps his face impassive, not wanting to let Vale know that he’s in absolute despair. 

Vale observes him for a moment and seems to deem it not worth arguing over. He lays back down, and Marc manages to pull himself into a seated position.

“Turn the lights off,” Vale says, from where he’s shoved his face against his pillow. 

Marc hesitates, then stands on shaky legs. He turns the lights off and slides under the covers next to Vale.

His eyes lock on the corner of the room, where the Shadow has returned. It stands there, staring, until morning.

[trekmupf]

The Gang fights cold war paranoia

Pro

A great short and to the point cold open that immediately flings the viewer into this new time travel setting

Bringing the 60's military and Roddenberry's vision of the future military face to face in this episode is interesting: some things are futuristic and some, by now, have happened (women in the military), some are the same (Kirk's &Christopher's sense of duty)

The balance of silly moments and humour works well with the more serious parts of the episode (Christopher and the crew possibly being stuck, the danger of temporal meddling)

I love that Star Trek roughly correctly predicted two real life Space achievements: the first moon shot being in the 60's on a Wednesday no less, and Christopher's son being part of the first Saturn probe, which in real life launched in 2004 – so roughly around the time his possible son could've been working for NASA

Everyone looks really beautiful in their close ups, once again

I like the change from “actually you contributed nothing” to “shit this guy needs to go back, his son is super important” because even though you yourself might not change the world, a person you influenced (or created) could, and therefore every person is relevant in their own way

The Paranoia and cold war mood is captured really well for a modern audience

The fact that the 60's, highly modern at the time, now feels like a museum to today's viewers just like it does for the crew; At the same time the Enterprise and it's Science Fiction is also old school to us; Old science fiction is always a great window into history also

The original special effects are once again great, the original enterprise is so adorable and beautiful (Video Link)

Kirk flirting with Christopher is its own comedy

Kirk's whole facial journey when Christopher appears

Instead of containment or anything Kirk immediatly shows of his ship and tells him literally everything while still flirting in the lift

That flight suit must be so uncomfortable Captain Christopher, you should totally change into something more comfortable :)

The fact that Christopher is such a straight guy from his time who doesn't clock this at all makes it even funnier, two opposite sites of the sexual tension scale

then Spock swooping in destroying Kirks happy threesome dreams with reality

I mean how else can I interpret Spock's look at Christopher than that of a jealous boyfriend

Spock then sticking around and not leaving Jim and Christopher alone AND casually delivering the sickest “your life was sort of useless” burn

Christopher finding out about his son, the way the others are just as delighted about it as he is and the way he smiles every time it's mentioned is not only sweet but also shows certain things about humanity won't change – the love for our children is something they can bond over despite being centuries apart

Sulu and Kirk solo adventure! Also them working well together! Also just the fact that they casually beam in the middle of a military base and aren't even that sneaky about it

Sulu's large bag is keeping all his secrets

Bones and Spock, flirting their way through Kirk's absence

The entire scene were Kirk and Sulu get discovered is comedy gold: them pretending not to hear the obvious beeping, Spock eyeing the frozen military man up and down, Kirk's absolutely done with this plot reaction, Bones taking the gun and communicator off him in slow motion, it's all so well paced and acted

Us? We are so so innocent and don't know anything :)

The fight scene is so very Trek, but a) just very believable as it's just chaos and limbs b) Kirk reacted so quickly and well to the situation as it was never about winning but about giving Sulu time to escape and c) Sulu reading the situation correctly and doing the right thing

Kirks giving the policemen nothing but cunt and he's such a pretty boy doing it, giving severe I'm beautiful & I don't deserve this vibes

I literally made so many screenshots of kirk being done with what's going on that I made a seperate post

“Oh this little thing? Just something I slipped on” Kirk STOP flirting with the military guys!!!

Con

the entire "Kirks pc is a sexy lady" is just weird, serves no purpose and feels very out of place

The way the situation is solved in the end feels very sudden and fast compared to the rest of the episodes pacing

Counter: Nothing

Quote I made an error in my computations (Spock) Oh? This could be an historic occasion. (Bones)

Moment: It's hard to choose, but the fight itself is so great and classic TOS including Kirk yeeting himself at all three of them

Summary: The classic Sci-Fi time travelling trope done Trek style, with some team shennanigans, including a very "I'm done with life" Kirk trying to flirt with a time traveller, a "I have done nothing wrong in my life, ever" Sulu and some classic TOS fighting. The episode also offers some deep thoughts on the importance of a single person in our society and the dangers of temporal meddling, setting a precedent that will shape future directives for Starfleet and time travel. Previous Episode - Next Episode - All TOS reviews

[heartsmadeofbooks]

[Preview - New fic]: Undiscovered.

Happy Klaine day everybody!

Of course I had to do something special today, for our boys, so here’s the preview of my upcoming fic Undiscovered, which will begin on Wednesday, April 3rd. This fic will only be available on AO3, so if you read my fics on FF.net, keep in mind that I won’t be updating there anymore.

Undiscovered is both a guilty pleasure and a self-indulgence. It was born out of an idea that @blog-carmex gave me what feels like a million years ago, and it kind of exploded from there. For a while it was nothing but PWP in my head, until the perfect plot came along. So, needless to say, this might be my spiciest fic to date.

It wouldn’t exist at all, though, without @blog-carmex, who planted the seed in my head; or without @nerdishedits, who not only made the beautiful teaser cover (and is working on the actual cover) but watered that damn seed until it grew into a monstrous plant that took over half my life; or without the always amazing @christinejaneanderson, who trims the leaves and tends to its wellbeing until it looks like the perfect little plant we all knew it could be. So thanks to you, ladies, for everything.

Without further ado, here’s the preview of the first chapter, and I hope I’ll see you all for a new adventure on April 3rd!

The only sound echoing in the dining room was the cutlery gently hitting the porcelain plates. The attempts to play music in the background had been rejected, like Christmas music might ruin… what? The holiday spirit? The meal? The absolute discomfort they were now forced to sit in?

Blaine Anderson loved Christmas – he just didn’t particularly enjoy spending the holidays with his parents.

He glanced up – hazel eyes quickly roaming around the table, as if trying to find an opening, something to fill this unbearable silence. He found his brother staring back at him, eyebrows a little raised, mouth tilted in one of the corners in what could only be a sarcastic little grin. Cooper didn’t seem as uncomfortable as he was, but then again, Cooper was great at pretending nothing was wrong.

Maybe it wasn’t as bad as Blaine thought it was. He was just a little less used to being home (was it even home, still? It hadn’t felt like home when he lived here, most times) since he had gone away to college. New York had embraced him like he had always belonged there, like his heart had been made to absorb the sounds of the city and turn them into heartbeats.

Blaine had never quite fit in anywhere like he belonged in New York. Perhaps that was why he couldn’t sit for dinner with his parents without feeling like he was slightly suffocating.

Cooper, completely unconcerned, pushed his plate away and sat back more comfortably. “Delicious, mom. Loved the duck. It wasn’t dry at all.”

Pam Anderson glanced up at him and smiled gently. “Thanks, dear. Glad you enjoyed it. There’s more if you want…”

“Oh, no, no, I’m stuffed,” Cooper said, patting his belly. “I got to watch my weight or they’re going to hate me at work.”

“Oh yes,” Pam said. “How’s the play going? I’m so sorry we haven’t had a chance to go see it yet. Life can be so busy, you know…”

Blaine noticed that the smile on Cooper’s face got a little more forced than usual. There was always an excuse with their parents. They were always busy. There was always something that was slightly more important than being there for their children.

They weren’t children anymore, though. They had both accepted things as they were: Pam and John Anderson would never be picture-perfect parents, not only because that was impossible, but also because they weren’t interested in it. They had scraped by doing the bare minimum to be considered good parents and called it a job well done.

Cooper had always been a bit better at accepting that, Blaine guessed. He wasn’t sure if it was because Cooper had gotten to experience them when they were younger, more open, more patient, or if he just didn’t care anymore.

Blaine would always wonder and never dare to actually ask if they had gotten bored of trying when he was born. He was a lot younger than Cooper. Maybe he had been an accident. Maybe they hadn’t exactly been planning to have another kid…

Cooper was twelve years older than Blaine. For a very, very long time, they hadn’t exactly understood each other. But at some point it was like it finally clicked for them that, if they wanted to have a family, they had to be there for each other, because their parents weren’t going to change, weren’t going to become warmer, wouldn’t be what they had always expected parents to be…

When Blaine moved to New York after high school, Cooper had surprised him by following him there. He used the excuse that he wanted to try his luck at auditioning for plays instead of staying in Los Angeles and focusing only on films and TV shows, but Blaine had seen right through his lie: he wanted to be closer to his little brother. Still, he appreciated it. They had learned to be in each other’s corners, and Blaine was grateful that Cooper had been there as he started to navigate the new city and the new stage of his life.

“The play’s wonderful,” Cooper said. “I’m sure you’ll get a chance to go soon. It’ll be running for a while, I think.” He looked at Blaine, and Blaine dreaded whatever was about to come out of his brother’s mouth next. He had the habit of getting him into trouble and was absolutely no help getting him out of it afterwards. “Blaine’s been to see it a couple of times, despite how busy he’s been with his classes and everything…”

Blaine widened his eyes slightly, a silent warning that his brother completely ignored.

“Ah, yes,” their father said, finally putting down his fork, like they were finally talking about something that interested him. “Your classes, Blaine. How are they going? I expect you’ve passed every single one of them?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Blaine muttered awkwardly. He glared at Cooper once more, as his brother did encouraging gestures that were not subtle at all. He sighed. “Well, actually… I’ve made a decision regarding my major, so…”

John sat back, eyebrow arched – those thick, dark eyebrows that looked so much like Blaine’s – and fixed Blaine with a serious look. “What do you mean you’ve made a decision regarding your major? I though we’ve settled on medicine…”

We’ve settled on medicine. Like Blaine had been given a choice at all. Like it hadn’t been entirely up to John to decide what Blaine was going to do with his life.

“I’ve decided to change my major to music,” Blaine blurted out, before he could lose his nerve. “Medicine is definitely a great career, but I don’t want to be a doctor…”

“Music?” John repeated, like he didn’t understand the meaning of that word. “So another one of my children has decided to be a starving artist?”

“Hey! I’m not starving,” Cooper protested, but no one was paying attention to him for once.

“And what exactly do you plan on doing with a music education, huh?” John asked, blue eyes so much like Cooper’s fixed on Blaine like he was the only person still sitting at the table. “Play guitar in a subway station for spare change? Wait tables during the day and play at some second rate bar at night?”

Blaine moved uncomfortably on his seat. “There’s nothing wrong with any of those things, but… I actually want to compose music. Maybe for musicals, maybe for movies, maybe just… play music.”

“Just play music,” John said and scoffed. “A very solid plan, son.”

“I just don’t want to live a life I’m not satisfied with,” Blaine said a little desperately. “And I know you guys really wanted me to be some sort of successful professional, but I have to do what’s best for me, right? I have to be happy with myself when I get out of bed in the morning…”

Pam seemed to notice the tension was growing, because she tried to smooth things over: “Of course, Blaine. We understand. Your father is just concerned that…”

But John shook his head, stopping her. “That is an incredibly childish outlook on life, Blaine. Happiness is ephemeral. You need a steady income and a respectable career…”

“Who says I can’t get that?” Blaine asked him. Part of him was starting to get angry, but the rest of him, the larger part that was usually too careful, too prone to put his head down whenever his father barked an order at him wouldn’t let the anger truly rise. “Why can’t you just… believe in me?”

John groaned, like he didn’t have the time for his children’s dreamy dispositions. “I don’t know where we went wrong with you two. I thought we raised you to have a good head on your shoulders.”

Blaine glanced at Cooper, who looked like he had just been slapped. He felt a bit like that, too. He had expected some resistance to his new career path, but their father was being overly harsh. He didn’t understand.

“I’m sorry if you don’t agree with me,” he said quietly. “But it’s my life. I want to do what I think is right.”

Slowly, John nodded, like he was considering Blaine’s words. Then he stood up, leaving the napkin carefully on the table. “Very well. Do whatever you want. But I won’t be paying for it.”

“John…” Pam started. “Let’s not be hasty…”

“I’m not going to put him through college just so he can throw his life away, Pam!” John exclaimed.

“We can talk about this some other day,” Pam insisted. “It’s Christmas, John.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” John replied. “He’s free to do whatever he wants, of course. He can spend the rest of his days scraping by and counting dimes so he can make rent. I’m not going to help him in any way. Pay your way through college, Blaine. And if you ever come to your senses and realize you’ve made a mistake, I’ll be more than happy to help you get a real degree.”

He walked out of the dining room, leaving behind an uncomfortable silence.

Cooper cleared his throat. “Well,” he muttered after a couple of minutes. “What’s for desert, then?”

Blaine pushed his plate away. He wasn’t hungry anymore.

[mariacallous]

A theatrical production based on the memoir of an ex-Hasidic transgender rabbi and activist, set to premiere in New York early next year, is scrambling to find a new home after its landlord rejected the script last week.

The landlord? The Roman Catholic Archdiocese of New York.

The production has become a casualty of a dispute between the East Village’s Connelly Theater, which had long staged provocative works, and the archdiocese, which owns the venue. The archdiocese has recently placed the theater under increased scrutiny, exercising a clause that gives it approval of plays shown at its property. The Catholic school that serves as the go-between between the church and the theater said it is “suspending all operations of its theater,” The New York Times reported.

Abby Stein, author of the 2019 memoir “Becoming Eve: My Journey from Ultra-Orthodox Rabbi to Transgender Woman,” was alerted last Wednesday that the adaptation of her book would no longer be permitted at the Connelly Theater.

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Stein said in an interview. “I’m not going to come up and pretend, ‘Oh my God, the Catholic Church doesn’t like trans people, I’m shocked.’ I wouldn’t say that. I think we all know that. It’s just extremely frustrating that even in a place like New York, it’s still something you need to think about.”

She added, “It feels like we’re taking one step forward, two steps back. This shouldn’t be something we’re still worried about.”

Josh Luxenberg, the Off Broadway theater’s general manager for the past 10 years, resigned last Friday, telling The New York Times that he was reluctant to serve as a “censor rather than an advocate of artistic freedom.” The theater was built in the 1860s, according to its “About Us” page, which still lists Luxenburg as general manager and calls itself “a home for adventurous independent theater productions.” Its main stage theater seats 200.

The Archdiocese of New York did not respond to a request for comment. Its director of communications told the Times that the decision reflected longstanding norms about its oversight of content shared in its buildings. The archdiocese has previously required public schools renting space it owns to hold sex education instruction off-campus.

“It is the standard practice of the archdiocese that nothing should take place on church-owned property that is contrary to the teaching of the church,” Joseph Zwilling told the newspaper. “That applies as well to plays, television shows or movies being shot, music videos being recorded, or other performances.”

“Becoming Eve” tells the story of Stein’s journey as a rabbi and heir to a prominent Hasidic dynasty who left her insular community in 2012 and publicly came out as transgender in 2015. The book became a bestseller, and she became an advocate for the LGBTQ+ community and for Hasidic Jews who leave their communities. Stein is currently a part-time rabbi at the independent congregation Kolot Chayeinu in Brooklyn as well as an activist on causes including opposing Israel’s war in Gaza.

“I did not expect myself to be at the crosshairs of the Archdiocese of New York,” Stein said.

As an adaptation of Stein’s memoir, the play “centers on a conversation between Abby, her devout father and a young liberal rabbi, as they reckon with questions of gender and faith,” according to Playbill.

“Becoming Eve” is one of at least three shows booted out of the Connelly Theater by the Archdiocese. SheNYC, a summer theater festival for plays by female, nonbinary and transgender artists, said in a statement that it has also been told by the Archdiocese that it cannot use the theater next summer.

“It’s a total shock that somehow, strict conservative ideals are dictating what can happen in a NYC theater,” SheNYC posted on Instagram. “We’re heartbroken by this loss. And we’re not going to lie – this puts us in a tough spot for our 2025 season, which is also our 10-year anniversary.”

The comedy show “Jack Tucker: Comedy Standup Hour,” a solo show by comedian Zach Zucker, who is Jewish, featuring his alter-ego Jack Tucker, was in the works to transfer to the Connelly Theater in early September for a limited run following a successful turn at the SoHo Playhouse. But the archdiocese rejected the show days before it was set to begin. Zucker had to relocate and postpone the show.

In an Instagram post announcing the new dates and location, Zucker said of the Ccurch, “Why’d they do this? We’ll never know. But what I do know is that God will never stop me.”

“Becoming Eve” is written by Em Weinstein, produced by Dayna Bloom and Brian Lee, and directed by Tyne Rafaeli. It will be in previews in March and is set to premiere in April of 2025.

New York Theatre Workshop, which is producing the play, is in the process of finding an alternate venue.

“We remain fiercely committed to presenting Emil Weinstein’s compelling and singular play, Becoming Eve, in our season,” New York Theatre Workshop said in a statement. “We are profoundly disappointed by the Archdiocese’s decision and reaffirm our unwavering commitment to produce this powerful story. We are in talks with a new venue and look forward to sharing the details very soon. We are proud to produce this compelling story and to champion its artists and ethos.”

[zmediaoutlet]

Happy Wincest Wednesday! Would Sam and Dean have ever fucked or fooled around in the pre-Stanford years?

helloooo anonymous friend, and a happy wincest wednesday to you and yours as always.

I think there might be just a leetle bit of scholarship on the matter of Sam and Dean fucking in the pre-Stanford years, haha. Although I like the way you phrase the question -- would they have? Hard to say.

Obviously, every concept can be made to work -- you've just got to put in the work to prove it's possible. From a standing start, though, with all the closest-to-canon options we have -- John not being super present but not being a hilariously abusive evil shit as he's sometimes presented; the boys being relatively well socialized and actually very integrated into society via school etc, even if they're clearly still outsiders; Sam being wildly self-possessed, Dean being a caretaker but also clearly being a big bro who goes on dates etc and not actually Sam's slavishly devoted momfigure -- I gotta say, the weecest doesn't actually seem... that likely to me.

But let me clarify there. In ceteris paribus spn-world, I really struggle with the kind of weecest 'dating' that you sometimes see. Like... no. But even in a more realistic way -- like, long-term fooling around? It has to be angled juuuuust right to make it believable to me. Dean being super alarmed by it just puts up a big barrier -- and also, Sam's not that weird. His desire to be normal puts a big ol wall in front of the possibility. Clearly you can work with that and make it feasible! It's just one of those things that doesn't totally work with the guys-as-presented in s1.

What does really appeal to me is a crazed weird mistake that happened at some point in the distant fuckup past that now informs a permanent crack in the current-day adult relationship. Like they both know there was That One Night but they don't talk about it, because it was insane thing that happened and it's obviously not happening again. .....But. (--etc, you can build a whole fic of that.) And that can be one of those abrupt sexual tension moments where absolutely nothing happens but one or both of them know it could have (my favorite), or it can be a whoopsie drunken kiss (or maybe not even that drunk, but you can pretend you were more drunk to make it feel better), or some kind of actual sex that you can pretend is just 'helping a bro out' (least realistic, lol, but it has its appeal) before you realize, uh whoops, this is super weird, and then you don't talk about it again until it's s3 and you're giving your big brother a blowjob out of imminent death panic. For example.

[ginxyy]

Love in Laughter

My soulmate Seokmin

It all began on a rainy Wednesday afternoon, a day that was supposed to be mundane, clouded with the typical grind of life. Instead, it turned into something I would cherish forever, all thanks to him. As the relentless drumming of rain echoed outside, I found myself ensconced in our favorite blanket fort for the little movie marathon we enjoyed on lazy days. Yes, it was just an ordinary afternoon, yet as I peeked through the hastily constructed walls of our cushion castle and saw him sprawled out, laughing at the ridiculous antics of the characters on screen, I realized that extraordinary moments can indeed be birthed from the most routine of days.

Seokmin has this ability to infuse joy into the simplest of situations. With his goofy grin and the glimmer of mischief in his eyes, he can turn an uneventful afternoon into a comedy show worthy of a standing ovation. He threw a handful of popcorn at me while I was distracted, and as I turned back in shock, wide-eyed and ready to retaliate, his laughter filled the room, infectious and bright. My heart did that little flutter it always did when he was around like a secret fluttering butterfly yearning to escape its cocoon.

"You can’t hit me! I’m too cute!" he teased, flashing his pearly whites and putting on a goofy pout for good measure. My heart melted a little more, and I stifled a laugh, half annoyed and half charmed. The truth was, I loved everything about him even his gleeful antics.

Life with Seokmin was a delightful whirlwind of unpredictability. No date was ever the same; every moment was a unique chapter in our love story, filled with laughter, spontaneous adventures, and sometimes even a sprinkle of chaos. One weekend, we decided to visit a karaoke bar omething that initially seemed perfectly innocent. Little did we know, the night would turn into a musical marathon that neither of us would forget.

I can still see us now, standing in that neon-lit room, a playlist of our favorite songs blaring in the background. The moment Seokmin took the mic to sing his rendition of a cheesy pop ballad, the crowd erupted in laughter. He whipped his hair dramatically, punctuating every high note with exaggerated dance moves. I could hardly breathe between my laughter and attempts to capture the moment on my phone. This was just another typical Seokmin moment, where he discarded all reservations in favor of pure, unfiltered joy.

“Maybe I should stick to being cute instead of a singer!” he joked, his voice cracking in the middle of the song. But then he flashed that charming smile, and I couldn’t help but adore him even more. He was, after all, the most endearing disaster I’d ever met.

After the karaoke escapade, while walking home under the glow of the dim streetlights, I felt an overwhelming fondness for him surge through me. He nestled my hand with his, fingers intertwining as if they were always meant to fit this way. I stole a glance his way, the way the streetlights danced in his warm brown eyes made me stop in my tracks. I took a deep breath, feeling the crisp night air wrap around us like a cozy blanket, and I said, “You know, you almost made me believe you were a pop star tonight.”

“Almost?” he shot back, feigning hurt but unable to hide the laughter bubbling within. “I’ll have you know, I was born to be a superstar!” The cheeky glint in his eye made me giggle, resonating with just how playful he always managed to be in every situation.

Days turned into weeks, our affectionate banter turning into a familiar melody, a rhythm I could get lost in forever. I adored our nights staying up late, dissecting our favorite movies, pretending to be critics while simultaneously racing to finish a tub of ice cream. Or those lazy Sundays spent on the couch, wrapped up in a sea of blankets, engulfed in laughter at his uncanny impressions of our favorite characters.

One such Sunday, with the sun cascading through our living room windows, I decided to challenge myself by making breakfast while he was still caught up in his dreams. I was quietly flipping pancakes when suddenly I felt a pair of arms wrap around me tightly. “Rise and shine! What’s cooking, good-looking?” Seokmin joked, his laughter stirring butterflies in my stomach.

In that moment, I mustered my courage, giving him a tease back. “Just the pancakes! You might want to stay out of the kitchen to avoid any catastrophic disasters.”

Alongside our goofy moments came quieter instances too. Moments of sincere affection when words weren’t needed. Lying side by side, I’d often find myself tracing the outlines of his fingers, seeking solace in his presence while he hummed softly to himself. Each note became a soothing balm to my soul, grounding me in a whirlwind life I didn’t know I needed.

It was these moments of simplicity that deepened my love for himfar beyond the laughter and never-ending jokes. They reminded me of how wonderfully complete I felt by simply being with him, how he scraped away the jagged edges of my day, leaving only smooth surfaces filled with affection.

Seokmin and I were a tornado of chaos, laughter, and love each moment with him painted our story vibrant colors. Our late-night drives filled with our off-key duets, our inside jokes, and our candid dreams entailed a romance I never could've anticipated, yet it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

And as I lie here, reminiscing about our unfolding romance, I realize how grateful I am for every silly, goofy, loud moment. With every laugh, with every silly argument over which movie to watch or who makes the better pancakes, my heart swells. In the end, love is not merely a category of seriousness it’s an intricate dance of hearts, a whimsical play of laughter. It’s those lovely moments the goofy, carefree, laughter-riddled days spent with Seokmin that truly weave the fabric of our love story. It was, and always will be, a masterpiece painted in joy.

[cloud9gojo]

salt & the sea ch. 2

part one: x

pairing: geto x f!reader if we ever make it there

words: 6.6k

warnings: sfw they’re kids bro, sign language, synesthesia, kid awkwardness, me being awkward, pokemon, slowburnnnn (once we get there), no beta we die like men frrr

Wednesday, April 15th, 1998

"Keep your head above your chest, Inumaki-san."

If you could catch your breath, you would have something witty to say. Instead, your heart is thump, thump, thumping away, causing your ribs to ache with effort. All you can do is grunt your displeasure with Geto.

"I'm just trying to help you." It's the way he says it, head cocked at you with that sly little smile plastered on his face, that irks you. How annoying.

You bring yourself up from resting your hands on your knees, blinking away the stars that swim into your vision. "Yeah, yeah, yeah." It comes out more breathless than you intended.

Running was not your strong suit, no matter how many kilometers you ran or how many breath exercises you did. Your legs were too little, especially compared to Geto, who had already grown a few centimeters since you last saw him in December. Your morning runs seemed to be the only time he was upright.

Good for him, you think, before beginning your cooldown walk along the beach side by side with him. You watch the horizon, taking note of the whispy clouds that littered the sky, stretched thin against the pale spring morning. The cold air blew against your face, cooling the sweat on your temples.

Geto snorts before continuing, "If you swing your arms a little more, you'll be able to move faster. Did you know that?" He adds a little more swing to his for emphasis, making long arcs that match his stride, which was about three of yours. After running drills, he'll say he will slow down to walk back with you, but you always end up scurrying alongside him, trying to keep up. Usually, it was easy to walk next to him, but Geto was a ball of energy after physical training. Restless, sweaty.

"No, I didn't," you mutter before turning to look at the ocean. You weren't really up for conversation immediately after running your little heart out. That, and while you had gotten more used to talking out loud, you much preferred signing. It was so much more convenient and it didn't require so much effort to get your point across. (Plus, you had never had to think about the sound of your voice before, its color was unfamiliar to you. Your brain had already started to block out the different hues of warm orange that your voice made but the process still gave you a headache most of the time. That made you extra grouchy.)

Geto bumps your elbow with his, which he had started doing to get your attention shortly after you started training together. (You had told him that he could wave at you after the first few days of him doing it, but he just shrugged and said, "What if you pretend you don't see me? This way I know you can't ignore me." You had looked at him, incredulous. He figured out you were ignoring him that fast?) "Do you think your dad is gonna open up that case today?"

He's talking about the one your father had unpacked from your attic earlier in the week. You both had stood at the bottom of the ladder while he unloaded it, but he didn't allow either of you to view the insides. Instead, he had decided to set the long brown case on your family's coffee table, where it had lay “untouched” for several days now.

You shrug, still trying to slow your breath. "Maybe."

Geto lets out a puff of air in an attempt to blow his bangs out of his face. "You're so grumpy in the morning, Inumaki-san." It’s more whiney than he usually allows himself, the thought almost brings a smile to your face. You’re so used to chastising each other, it’s rare for one of you to show weakness.

"I have to spend it with you, don't I?"

"I'm a joy to be around." Geto sidesteps alongside you, and you begrudgingly meet his gaze. He has that smug grin on his face again.

You snort and raise your eyebrows at him, "Is that what you think?" It comes out meaner than intended.

Geto's smile falls a little bit, but he recovers quickly. "I have to have a lot of patience to put up with you, it's a skill." There’s an edge to his voice that usually isn’t there, a warning, he can be just as mean as you.

You scrunch your nose at him, not letting his tone of voice upset you, "Put up with me?" You make sure to put as much attitude into your voice as you can muster. "If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't be able to understand my parents at all! You're signing is lazy and all over the place! Without me, you'd be lost." It’s a lie since you’ve been teaching him sign every day you see him and you can’t be that bad at it, surely.

You put some more power into your steps to get ahead of him, but Geto catches up to you easily. Curse his long legs.

The both of you bump shoulders as you make your way through the tall grasses, another desire path already forming from your morning running drills together. Brambles and shoots of grass litter the path and they make faint crunching noises when you step on them, releasing little green pops of color.

"Maybe you're just not a good teacher." Geto is finally starting to slow his pace, facing forward and relaxing back into his usual forward lean.

"Maybe you're just not a good student." You watch as Geto kicks a rock through the air. It skids along the sand, getting stuck in a foothill of beach grass.

He laughs, a deep purple you've gotten used to the most. (If you weren't bickering between tasks, you were probably off giggling with each other, mischief-bound.) "That's probably true, but that's why you're so good at putting up with me also, right?"

You huff and roll your eyes at him, "Whatever." You turn to try and hide the small smile tugging at your lips, but he bumps your shoulder again.

"It's rude to look away when someone's talking to you." It's clunky and he's using two hands to sign, but it's a good effort. Despite your teasing, Geto is a fast learner and you recognize how much he puts into communicating with you and your family.

This time you can't hide your smile. Giggling, you sign back, "You stink. I don't talk with stinky people."

Geto pinches his nose closed in mock disgust, stifling his giggles. "You don't smell much better, Inumaki-san." One-handed, much better.

You shake your head at him, shrugging. Of course you do, you both ran double the distance you did yesterday. "Well, we'll see who's left all dirty when I beat you to the shower first!" With that, you take off sprinting towards your back door, Geto's surprised face a blur as you rush past him.

He only lags a second before quickly overtaking the lead you created, laughing maniacally all the way to your back door. You watch breathlessly as he kicks off his shoes and flings the door open. You're halfway up the steps when he whips around to blow a raspberry at you, sticking out his tongue, before running off to your one shower. 

You slow down and sigh before slowly toeing off your tennis shoes and entering your home. Your mother is with your sister Akari in the kitchen, preparing your and Geto's morning snack. (Green tea and onigiri, thank you, mom.) You shuffle past the kitchen entrance and wave a small hello to her before continuing down the hall to your room to pick out your clothes for the day. You can't wait to cool down for real after a shower, you were stinky.

Even though you raced for it, neither of you ever take long showers. You both know there’s always someone waiting on you. If he does take long, you don't let him forget it. Sometimes, it devolves into real arguments if you're a little too mean with your words, which only makes Geto come back at you, just as fiercely.

You enter your room and flop onto your bed. You take a big breath, focusing on the feeling of your heartbeat slowing down. The two of you weren't the best at getting along for extended periods of time. You and Geto had gotten into several bickering matches the first two weeks over the smallest stuff, like debating which pokémon was better. (Charmander, obviously.) Geto had argued Bulbasaur, so you, very maturely, decided he was entitled to his wrong opinion and told him as much. In return, he used his fighting advantages against you during sparring, knocking the air out of you with a strike to your sternum. It was still tender, almost a week later. You rubbed the spot until the pain dissipated, but it always returned within the hour.

The only time you had gotten along consistently was when you and Geto had been inspecting the case between subjects throughout the past few days, trying to pry it open to no avail. You had no trouble working together then, taking shifts to watch for your parents while the other worked on the lock. Neither of you had had any luck picking it, but you think it’s brought you closer. You twiddle your thumbs, feeling for callouses. You hope that today will be the day your father lets you peek inside.

After you were both clean, Geto and you sat in the living room with your sister and mother to eat together. Akari was chewing away on her teething toy in your mother's lap, joyful and chubby, utterly cherubic. Before theory with your father, your mom always made sure to sit and talk with you and Suguru. It was good signing practice for Geto as well.

"So," she starts, "how was your run this morning?"

You gulp down a bite of onigiri before replying, "Same as always. Hard and boring."

Geto sets down his cup on the coffee table to free up his hands. "Easy. Boring." Even though he signs, he still speaks it aloud as well. After two weeks, you barely detect the indigo of his voice.

Your mother laughs before smoothing down your sister's hair. "Well, I'm glad you found it easy, Suguru-kun." Before she can continue, your sister starts fussing, a shrill and annoying cry. Ugh, thank god you can't fully hear it.

"Mom, juice." Her little fists struggled to make the shape, but her intentions were crystal clear. "Juice, juice!" Akari was one demanding cherub.

Your mother stands up with your sister on her hip in one swift motion to take her to the kitchen. By now, you all know any attempt to calm her down is feeble at best. Your sister had a strong set of lungs on her, you think it's fair to assume she's going to get cursed speech. Or maybe something different from both your parents and yourself. A thousand different ways to exorcise a curse (if she has one at all).

You mother ruffles your hair on her way out of the room and you rush to fix it back. (Unlike Geto, you care about flyaways.) 

Now alone, Geto toes your foot with the tip of his slipper and you glance over at him. His eyebrows shoot upwards and he nods towards the case at the end of the table. Both of you eye it then back at each other. Your mother was busy with your sister and your father was preparing afternoon lessons in his study, a perfect opportunity for snooping.

You both slide silently off the couch, taking your usual positions. You approach the case to inspect the lock while Geto spies into the hallway across the foyer towards the study, kitchen, and backdoor. You've both worked out a signal in case someone was coming nearby. One short rap on the wall, easily seen when you were looking out for the bright flash of color from Geto's knock. You kept his hands in view while you studied the case. Of course, it hadn't changed since the both of you last tried prying it open.

Yesterday, you tried to pop it off with a small sound burst but failed. In your defense, you've barely touched on offensive techniques with your mother. In between her cooking, cleaning, and taking care of both you and your sister, she was a busy, busy woman and still had to be the perfect wife, mother, and sorcerer. You don't know how she did it all, and you were definitely not looking forward to doing that yourself one day. You shuddered at the thought.

You blow out a puff of air, trying to get your hair out of your eyes. What should you try today? You didn't have the same control as your mother, so you didn't know what to do now. You look past the case to focus on Geto in the doorframe. He's tall against it, peering out to watch out for one of your parents.

You risk a small thump against the table to get his attention, but he doesn't look your way. You click your tongue, frustrated. You give the table one more thump, this time a little louder.

Geto turns back to you, still hugging the doorframe. "What?"

"Let's switch."

Geto shakes his head, it makes his bangs swing back and forth funnily. "No," he mouths.

"Yes, come try! I can't."

Suddenly, a noise from the hallway. A door being opened? It was hard to tell, but Geto's knock was long gone from your eyesight. He was already back on the couch, trying his best to be nonchalant after having crossed the room in three long bounds. You scramble back from the case and rush beside him. You settle and flatten out the wrinkles in your pants just in time for your father to walk into the room.

"What were you just doing?" He looks between you suspiciously before continuing, "Never mind, let's go outside for a bit. When we finish our meditation, we're going to start something special today." He beckons you both outside with a wave of his hand.

The both of you bump shoulders on your way out to the backyard and share small grins with each other, glad to have not gotten in trouble.

Outside, your father sits with you both in the garden for afternoon “silent time”.

"Good for the brain to focus before moving on to studying theory!" Your father had signed happily before starting, but you weren't convinced. It was times like this when you were the restless one.

You don't know how Geto and your father can sit here, doing nothing, for so long.

Your nose has been itching for the last five minutes, your left foot has pins and needles, and you have a dire need to kill that fly that keeps landing on your bare knee. Yeuch! You hated bugs.

Meditation was by far your least favorite part of training. Theory (practical and cursed) you could do, you would struggle, but you’d do it! Weapons, sparring, and cursed technique applications? Even better. But "coming back to your breath", what the heck does that even mean?

Your nose twitches in irritation and you huff, you could be playing Pokémon Red right now. You've been stuck in Mt. Moon for days and you just want to get out of there. You had already defeated that stupid Super Nerd and picked the helix fossil, but you had managed to get yourself lost trying to level up. Now, your pokémon were goofing around not listening to you, and you were so sick of getting ambushed by zubats and geodudes. (You found Paras was good for leveling up, so they could keep getting knocked out as far as you were concerned, even if it meant overleveling.) You truly have no one but yourself to blame for getting stuck. You groan inwardly, getting more annoyed by the second.

Geto had offered to help get you out last week, but you've both been busy since your father pulled out that stupid case that taunted you every time you were in the room with it.

You sigh, your father's mediation tapes droned on in the background, soft and hazy, reminding you to inhale positivity and exhale your frustrations.

You take in a lung full of air through your nose, crisp and cool, till you feel like you're about to pop and blow it all out through your mouth. Hmm, you do feel a little better. There could be something to this mindfulness thing, you think. Besides, you could always get back to playing after lessons, especially if you got to see what was in that case!

You let your thoughts drift listlessly, barely listening to your father's little portable CD player playing the 'TOP 30 GREATEST MEDITATIONS AND MANTRAS'. You were already on number fifteen, having sat down to one every day after your morning snack with your mom and sister.

After a few more moments of minding your breath, the track ends and a new one begins. You crack an eye to see your father standing up to turn it off. Finally, you can get up and stretch.

You take your time standing up, stretching towards the sky as much as possible, but seeing stars in the process. Geto twists his back to each side, bouncing on his feet, loosening up before placing his hands in his pockets.

Your father turns back to you with his CD player tucked under one arm, "Suguru, please go grab the case from the living room, thank you."

You balk, why didn’t he ask you? 

Geto slides past you to go back inside, wiggling his eyebrows and sticking his tongue out. You wrinkle your nose and stick yours back at him. He continues on inside and, if you focused on it, you could see the purple of his laugh trailing behind him as he went to retrieve the case.

When he comes back he has it held carefully in his arms. He gingerly hands it to your father who walks to place it on the patio table in the back right corner. Geto goes in front of you, coming to stop just before the table. You come up beside him and wait to see the contents of the case.

The 'click' of the locks opening is a small orange burst, and with that, you can feel your excitement building. You bounce on the balls of your feet, eager, "Come on already, Dad!"

He turns to look at you, surprised, before continuing to pull out a silk bag from the case. His frame shaking with laughter, he reaches into the bag to pull out two worn-looking blades. He places all the components on the table with great care, laying them out for you both to see.

"Today, we're going to work on imbuing objects with cursed energy." Your father takes the seat behind the case and gestures for you to follow.

Geto and you sit on either side of him and you trail your finger along the silk bag.

Your father places your hands back in your lap and you purse your lips, you just wanted to feel it.

He continues, "If you're going to be great sorcerers, then you need to be working on advanced techniques as soon as possible. We've already covered how to identify your cursed energy, but today we're going to apply a small amount to these Wakizashi. We've covered weapon safety so I expect both of you to be mature about this. Not only that, but these blades have been in my family for many generations and are the only thing I have left from my father." His gaze turns serious and it makes you wither, sending a shiver up your back. "You will do your best to handle them with care, yes?"

You gulp and nod, "Yes, sir."

Geto returns your father's gaze, just as serious as him. It looks strange on his eight-year-old face. "Yes, sir."

Your father's demeanor softens once more, kindness returning to his features. He nods once, "Excellent. After this lesson, we'll have a short sparring session and then dinner. Suguru, your parents will be here for you at the normal time. I promise not to go too much over today!"

You share a glance with Geto, you both know better. Your dad will keep you until the last possible moment and then some, a true teacher. Which leaves your mother to entertain Geto's parents until you're both released. She's cracked open more bottles of that expensive sake in the past two weeks than she has your whole life. When she tucks you in for the night, you can smell it on her breath. It makes your stomach swirl.

Suddenly, bright blue strikes in your periphery, and you're drawn out of your thoughts. Your father had given the glass surface of the table a rougher smack than intended, "Pay attention, we're moving to stand now."

You nod and hastily make your way next to Geto, who's standing a few meters away from you near the grasses at the back of your yard. You both watch as your father gathers the blades in his hands and walks over to you. He hands each of you a blade and shows you both proper form first. He explains how the blades are shorter, intended for hand-to-hand combat rather than mid-range attacks.

You wait as he works with Geto, who to his credit, is doing well following along with your father's signing. You knew you weren't a bad teacher, the thought brings a smile to your face. 

You take a moment to weigh the weapon in your small hand. Its weathered rope handle is rough against your palm and you shudder at the callouses you're sure to form. It's balanced, despite its age, and not too heavy either. The actual blade itself doesn't seem very sharp though. You test the edge with your thumb and scarlet bursts forth. You hiss and suck on the wound before your dad can see. Well, that was dumb.

It doesn't seem like your father or Geto noticed, so you wipe it quickly along your pants. The small red streak is quickly lost on the dark fabric. You perk up when your father turns to you, leaving Geto to practice with his own blade. If you really, really try you can see a faint glow to it. You can't deny it, Geto Suguru is an exceptional learner when it comes to jujutsu.

He kneels down next to you and shakes his head at your red thumb. He gives it a quick once over before patting your hand, "You'll be fine, but I'm sure you knew that. Please, be more careful."

You nod and he continues, "Do you remember what I told you about cursed energy?"

Another nod.

"Good. Take your weapon, there we go. Steady your breath, in and out, now send your cursed energy into the blade."

The flow of energy from you to the blade is small, but it peaks sweat on the back of your neck. What seems natural for Geto, sometimes you have to work for.

Your father smiles and claps his hands together, almost like a prayer. "Keep working on that release and then re-imbue it. Repetition is the key to perfection!"

Ugh, your dad should stop trying to being witty, he was so embarrassing. Still, you couldn't help but preen at his attention, you loved getting praise.

You work through the motions of imbuing the weapons with your cursed energy for a half hour with Geto besides you. All the while, your father goes over the theory behind imbuing objects with cursed energy all over again. You try to drown it out by sneaking a peak at how Geto’s fairing. You notice how he's not all sweaty and worked up like you. You try not to let it get on your nerves, feeling relief from your thoughts when your father calls for stretching. That can only mean sparring was left before breaking for the day.

You don't know what other eight-year-olds are doing, but you doubt getting ready to fight their friends in front of their parents.

This was by far Geto's favorite part of training with your family. He used his previous fighting experience against you every chance he got. He was a cunning opponent whose strikes were purposeful and his defense was rock-solid. It was rare for you to get an opening. You think Geto feels bad for you sometimes, because you notice he will leave his left side unprotected for short bursts. To strike, you have to be faster, get in closer to reach, but then when you try, he'll flip you over his leg. Your world goes upside down before having the wind knocked out of you. His grip like iron on your arm before being released. Geto is never overtly rough or cruel, he just wants to win, and you can respect that.

You grimace, already thinking about the pain you'll be in tomorrow. You were at a disadvantage no matter what you did, you were smaller and less used to fighting. You sigh, you didn't particularly care for being on the receiving end of his strikes and pins. Until you can get better at managing cursed energy, you were going to be weaker. The thought scared you, somewhat, but you pushed it from your mind.

The first week of training had left large bruises on your arms, you had to cover up whenever you went out to shop with your mom and sister. Luckily, it was still cool enough for sweaters.

When you're both done stretching, you stand face-to-face with each other. You let your eyes study him closer, pushing to see past the layers of air and sound. Yup, he was definitely taller. You wonder how tall he would be by the time you finished training. How tall would you be?

You shake your head, focus. You slide easily into your fighting stance, making sure your base is solid from the soles of your feet to your fists held high to protect your face. Sparring with Geto was supposed to be careful and choreographed, but your father knew better. He would tell you stories over dinner of curses he faced when he was younger before he married your mother. He always got a faraway look in his eye, but you couldn't place it. Your father promised he would make sure you were adequate at facing threats far beyond your skill range. That was probably why he didn't stop Geto from flinging you around like a ragdoll.

Whatever his justification, it was preparing you for the future, uncertain as it may be. You wouldn't take his teachings for granted.

You both circle each other before Geto moves in, you move to dodge but aren't fast enough. He clips your ribs and you bite back a yelp. In a fight, your heart rate doubles, and your vision is overwhelmed with color since it becomes harder to focus on so many things at once. You try not to get frustrated and push forward.

You go for a jab same as him, but he sidesteps you easily, a sly smile playing on his lips.

You huff and pull back, watching him carefully. Indigo colors the air around him, creating a dark aura. Yellow emanates off the tall grasses swaying behind him and white rises from the distant waves crashing. You can already feel a headache forming behind your eyes and you try to blink through the overload of visual information.

Geto pushes forward again and lands a hit to your calf in an attempt to destabilize you. It almost works, but when he moves to strike again you slide under his arm to loop your arms around his waist. It takes all your might, but you dig your heels into the ground and push off, visualizing the soundwaves converging there. It’s more power than you’re used to, uncontrolled and sloppy. You both land with an oof! and you scramble off of him.

You dust your knees off before lending out a hand to Geto whose surprise only last a few seconds before he accepts it. Luckily enough for you, he was never a sore loser, unlike you. You figure he probably would have gave you a win today either way. He was hyper-focused in a fight while you were hyper-aware of the disparity in skill, once in a while wins weren’t something to be proud of. There were only needless distractions. 

You huff and try to calm your heart rate by getting more air into your lungs, breathing out the negativity. It was counterproductive anyway. You reset and nod at Geto, neither of you waiting for your father’s signal before starting again.

You go a few more rounds for the best three out of five, Geto taking the win at the end of the day. His clothes were cleaner than yours, since you only managed to pin him once. Yours, however, were all dusty from the dirt. You reached up to brush it out of your hair and felt all the twigs tangled in it. You were gonna have to take another shower, but Geto's parents needed to be greeted so manners took priority. Good communication skills were just as important as sorcery in jujutsu society.

The both of you help your father clean up the space before turning in for dinner. You give a small bow to Geto's mother, who had come without his father tonight, and take your seat beside your parents. Your stomach growls in response to the smells wafting through the air, aromatics, and spicy oil. Crispy chicken and rice were plated beautifully by your mother on the table, centered around a floral arrangement your father made her over the past weekend.

You all but scarf down your food, barely paying attention to the conversation going around the table. It's all boring grown-up stuff anyways, pleasantries and talk of the weather. You figure Geto could use the practice interpreting.

"It'll hopefully be a sunny Saturday, perfect for a park trip with the children!" Your mother’s lithe hand whips in and out of your view.

It catches your attention for a moment, it’s a nice suggestion, but you were more of a homebody. Not that being outside didn't interest you, but come on, Pokémon wins that battle, easy. Speaking of, if you finished early you would have time to play with Geto and, hopefully, get out of Mt. Moon!

You scrape the last bit of rice off your plate and then try to get Geto's attention, but he is too busy slurping down a plate of noodles (he was a picky eater, much to your chagrin.) You wiggle further down your seat and reach to kick him, finally getting him to look up. A stray noodle hangs from his chin and he frowns before sucking it down.

He raises his eyebrows, questioning.

"Me, shower, fast. You, eat, finish. We, play, pokémon." You don't waste time signing every little word, Geto is smart enough to connect the dots.

You're right, Geto nods in acknowledgment before getting back to his noodle bowl.

You excuse yourself quietly before dropping off your dishes in the kitchen and rushing off for a second shower (your poor hair).

When you're done, you make sure to grab your Gameboy before going to the living room. Geto is already waiting there for you on the couch, eyes trained on your TV silently playing Yu-Gi-Oh!

You cross the room quickly and sit down next to him on the couch, bumping shoulders before thrusting the Nintendo into his hands.

He hums, taking it from you and turning it on. The chime of the Gameboy’s startup is pink, but the glow is a low green.

You watch as Geto navigates your character through the dungeon of Mt. Moon. When he concentrates, the space between his brows creases and a frown pulls at his lips. It's easier for him to move through the levels, somehow he was getting fewer encounters leaving than you were your whole time in there. And, of course, your pokémon would choose to listen to Geto the majority of the time and not you. Lucky, lucky.

Eh, whatever, as long as you escape.

Geto makes it back to level one easily and takes your character out of the mountain. "I don't know why that was so hard for you, Inumaki-san. I got out of there ages ago."

You roll your eyes, "Yeah, yeah, yeah."

"Don't 'yeah, yeah, yeah' me, I just got you out of there!"

You hide a teasing smile, "Whatever."

Geto sighs, exasperated. He makes a show of dragging his hand down his face, flattening his bangs in the process. You laugh and he fixes them back into place. "It's rude to laugh at other people, ya know?"

"I know, but it's just you, right, Geto-san? And I can be rude with you, since you're my rival." You fix your posture and snootily cross your arms, making just as big a show as he did.

"Hey, we're a team, not competitors." He leans away to pull his legs into criss-cross-applesauce underneath him.

You copy him, your knee pressed against his, a solid connection. "You're right, I guess." Your fingers ache signing, but you were too busy yawning to speak back. A moment passes and you continue, "You should have a sign name."

Geto arches a brow at you, "You haven't even called me by my first name yet."

You frown, realizing he was right. You turn your body to face him so you're sideways on the couch.

He startles, but laughs slightly before asking, "What are you doing?"

You cock your head to the side, studying him. Were you close enough to call him by his first name? You voice this concern to him, but then Geto surprises you with a big belly laugh.

"You let me flip and jab you almost every day, don't you think I should at least be able to call you by your name and you call me mine?"

It's reasonable enough, but you grimace. What if he finds your name funny or makes fun of you? You eye his face warily and decide, no, Geto isn't like that. You nod, "Okay."

He looks at you, expectant, "Well?"

You blink. "Well, what?"

"Are you gonna say it?" Geto looks genuinely eager, but you still hesitate.

He's putting you on the spot and you're starting to sweat. "Just, like, right now?"

He nods, eyes crinkling from his smile. 

Wow, you guys were actually getting a long pretty well today. "Why do you want me to say it so bad? I'll say it when it's natural, putting me on the spot is a lot of pressure." You purse your lips to keep from smiling nervously. 

He matches your expression and straightens up, challenging. "Well, tell me yours and I'll say it."

You shake your head vehemently, "No."

"No? What do you mean no?" He leans back, offended. “You’re the one who brought it up!”

"You're being pushy! You were supposed to say no!" You know pointing is rude, but you jab a finger his way. "Why don't we just stick with Inumaki? You can drop the -san." You nod your head, what a good compromise, but Geto doesn't seem convinced.

He suddenly looks utterly bored, but you know better, he's just giving you his version of attitude. "I'm supposed to call you Inumaki for the next six years while you call me by my first name?"

You shrug. "Why don't you make it a nickname?"

"Really?"

"Or we could stick-"

Geto cuts you off, realizing you weren’t going to give it up. "No, it's fine. Let me think..." He places his hand under his chin, pondering. "Inu? No, you're a girl, not a dog. Plus, you're more cat-like anyways."

Does he know he's talking out loud?

You're about to tell him as much, but he doesn't let you get a word in with the stream of consciousness he's currently listing out loud. "Inuma? No, ugly. Maki? Nah, I already know three. Well, used too, anyway..." He taps his chin a few times before perking up. "I know, how about Aki? Yeah, it works! Inumaki-aki-aki-aki." He chatters on, repeating it, giggling.

You smile at him and he returns it, all teeth. "I guess that works, for now, Suguru-chan." You tack on the last part, partly joking, partly not.

Suguru's cheeks warm up slightly. "Ah, shut up! No -chans, or I'm calling you Inu!" He picks up your forgotten Gameboy from the cushion and faces back towards the television.

You laugh and do the same, watching as he guides your character down Route 4. You sneak glances at Suguru's face every so often, studying his side profile, cast in a greenish hue. How much is it going to change in six years? How much will yours? You turn back to the screen, poking at your cheeks absentmindedly. Only time will tell.

"Your Charmeleon is about to die, we should've healed at the center before leaving..." You're half listening, half not, but Suguru continues on happily. He does try to sign with his left hand every once in a while, a good habit to build, you suppose.

Sleep was calling your name, but for now, you were with your, what? Friend? Earlier, Suguru had called you both teammates, but weren't you friends if you ate together, played together, trained together?

Yeah, he was your friend.

You're only friend, but the thought didn't bother you. If anything, it was a comfort to be in the company of someone strong, who was kind to you and helped you. In his own weird way, the same way you tried for him when you suggested picking the lock together that first day the case was on the coffee table. An olive branch from you? Maybe. Either way, you and Geto were tied together by forces more powerful than you.

There had never been anyone like Geto Suguru in your life before, you had grown up stuck between two worlds. Days out to the park, mall, and restaurants with your parents, face masks on. Then, there were days when your father would lecture you all about the greatness of jujutsu society, and how you and your mother should strive to be as perfect as you can be. You were women, unfortunately, but you could try your best to get as close as possible.

It was like a slap in the face when he says these things, off on another tirade about taking back his place as clan head, wrapped up in antiquated ideals and sake.

You take a deep breath that turns into a yawn and squeeze your eyes shut. You don’t want to keep thinking about the sour memory. 

"It's okay, Aki-san. You can sleep, I'll keep going forward for you." He catches your gaze and signs the last part perfectly.

Hmph, you were a good teacher. You nod, "Okay, wake me up before you go."

Suguru takes a moment to smile at you over his shoulder, bangs hanging forward, before continuing to play.

You return his smile before stretching out, feet skimming Suguru's pant leg, and yawning widely. Smacking your lips together, you snuggle deeper into your part of the couch. The Pokémon Red theme was distant and fuzzy in your ears, but you still managed to drift off, your friend beside you.

[tmnt-tychou]

All Hallows Eve

Meant to be Bayverse, but you could probably imagine its any of them.

Female Reader x All Four Turtles (Slightly Mikey x Reader)

All Hallows Eve

She was dressed as an angel, standing on a street corner looking lost. The white feathered wings with matching boots seemed to glow with a light all their own in the dark, tin-foil halo glittering above her head. She caught Michelangelo's attention with her costume, but he had no plan to approach her at first.

Halloween was the one day a year where he and his brothers could walk the streets in the open without people screaming for their lives. But it still came with its own caveats. They only went out at night and stayed away from any bright lights that could give people a clear look at their forms. And they could never stay in one place for too long. People would compliment their “costumes” in passing, but if they lingered, people would realize they were too big, too real to be costumes.

So even though they were out among the humans, they continued to live in the shadows like ninja, but enjoying the fanfare of a New York Halloween. It was the closest any of them could get to feeling like part of society and Michelangelo milked it for all he could. He kept moving through the neighborhood block parties, enjoying the costumes and partaking of the street food.

That was when Michelangelo saw her. She seemed to be looking for something, or she was lost. But he wasn't sure if he should approach. Not until she looked his way; looked right at him. Her eyes were big, haunting. And they drew him in like she needed him. He found himself walking out of the crowd toward her.

“Hey there, Angel,” he said, referring to her costume. “You okay?” He knew he was big, even for someone pretending to be in a costume. He tried to hunch, make himself smaller. Non-threatening to a woman being approached by a stranger.

She didn't seem to be bothered by his looks or his size. She almost seemed relieved someone had asked about her. “I...I think I'm a bit lost. I was trying to get to a party, but I don't know the city very well and...” she looked at her empty hands, “I've misplaced my phone so I don't have the address.”

“Well that's no good,” Michelangelo replied. “Can I help you find it? Do you remember the address?”

She shrugged helplessly. “I only moved to the city a few weeks ago. I don't know where anything is. I met some people who invited me to this party.” She paused for a moment, as if trying to stop herself from getting emotional. “I just wanted to make some friends here.”

Michelangelo knew better, but he spoke anyway. “I'll be your friend. My name's Mike. My brothers and I are just out enjoying the vibe. Do you want to hang with us for a bit? Then I can make sure you get home when you're ready. Uh...that is if you're okay kicking it with some strangers for a while.”

She smiled, grateful. “That sounds like a lot of fun. Are your brothers giant turtles, too?”

He laughed. “Yeah, we all decided to wear the same thing. Like a group costume.”

He didn't notice she mentioned nothing about costumes.

***********

“What I'm saying is the whole shtick of The Addams Family is that they're weirdos,” Donatello said as he chewed on a caramel apple slice. “They're different than anybody else. But when you put her in a boarding school where everyone is weirdos—supernatural creatures—you're throwing the whole gimmick of the franchise out the window. The story would have worked better if the school was full of normal people. And she would have been the only one able to solve the murder mystery because only she would have suspected a supernatural killer.”

Raphael picked up his forth taco of the night. For a mutant his size, they were hardly a mouthful. But damn, they were so good. “I dunno about any of that, Don. But if you didn't like 'Wednesday', you don't have to keep watching it.”

“Yo, broooos!” Michelangelo called from below. “Come meet our new friend.”

The three other turtles looked down from where they sat on various levels of a metal fire escape. Each had been enjoying the food they collected from the street party, but had ultimately decided to eat in private and watch the people from the alley where they hid.

Leonardo, who was perched just a little higher than Raphael, leaned down so his face was more to his level. “Does Mike have a human with him?”

Raphael sighed. “Looks like. He's always been a sucker for a pretty face. Especially one that will say two words to him. Any two words. Even if it's 'fuck off.'”

Leonardo smirked and then gripped the railing. “Well, let's go meet Mike's new friend and hopefully that will be that.” But he wasn't thinking. He just hopped over the rail and landed two stories down like it was nothing.

Even Michelangelo was silently motioning for him to cut it on the ninja stuff as the two remaining brothers climbed down like normal people.

“So these are my brothers: Don, Raph, and Leo,” Michelangelo introduced. “And this beautiful angel is uh...” He looked helplessly to the human woman.

“Angel works,” she smiled back. “Hi.”

They all smiled back at her, a little awkward and a little clueless on what to do with her.

“Angel got lost trying to get to a party,” Michelangelo continued. “She's new in town and doesn't know the city too well. I thought we could hang out with her for a while and then make sure she gets home safe. What do you guys think?”

The brothers looked at each other and wordlessly agreed. How could they turn down anyone needing a safe chaperon for the night?

“You hungry, Angel?” Raphael asked.

“I could eat.” Her shrug made her cute little wings flap slightly and all four turtles went a little soft for her. She was a woman their age and she looked at them without fear. Like they were her peers. Like they were normal. How could they not go a little soft for that?

As the bottomless pits they were, the turtles didn't mind buying more food for themselves as well. They were happy to purchase anything Angel wanted while they were at it. At first, they wanted to make it quick. They knew lingering out among the humans for too long would give them away. But this time, something amazing happened.

Angel happened. All it took was one person to be with them. To talk with them like they were normal people and that strange bridge between human and mutant was built. With Angel near them, no matter how much their size crept into the uncanny valley for the masses, they were normal. Other people partying on the street didn't stare at them and quickly walk away anymore. A few people even stopped to compliment them on their costumes or even ask how they were made.

Raphael usually answered with random comments like “animatronics and rubber suits” or “it's CGI” and people would walk off confused. But not scared, and that was the important part.

As Leonardo ordered a basket of fries at a food truck to share with their new friend, he heard her talking to Donatello.

“Right?” she was saying. “This boarding school wasn't even really Addams Family core either. It was like...slightly spookier Hogwarts. Slightly. Fucking Harry Potter. Now everything has to be at a school.”

“I see you both have some strong feelings about a TV show,” Leonardo joked as he approached them. He offered Angel the warm fries in his hand. He thought she would take the whole basket, it was mostly meant for her. But she only took a few.

“For the most part, I was pretty on board with the whole show,” she continued. “But when Wednesday was stabbed, that was...jarring. Usually the family is portrayed as either liking pain, or they are somewhat impervious to injury. Maybe a bit of both. You never really know for sure. There's almost an immortal feel to them. There's just too many stories today that should have been original projects, but they keep being tacked onto existing franchises, but they don't have any respect for the lore.”

“Exactly!” Donatello agreed. He also grabbed a few fries and put them in his mouth. “The show and the story weren't bad per se, but it's not really an Addams Family story, so it wasn't as satisfying for fans as it could have been with a few tweaks.”

“God, are you still dragging that show?” Michelangelo sighed. “Angel, come dance with me. Let's enjoy this party while we can.”

He grabbed her hand, so small and delicate in his. She allowed him to lead her out into the thick of the crowd. The Monster Mash was playing over the speakers, a DJ at the stage in the front. The two found themselves a space to boogie and went about shaking their asses, just another normal pair in the sea of costumed party-goers.

“So what made you move to New York?” Michelangelo asked.

“Just trying some place new,” Angel replied. “Got tired of the little podunk town I came from. Not a lot of work there. Was hoping to find more opportunities out here. Maybe get some schooling in. What about you? How long have you been in the NYC?”

“All my life. Was born here. Might even die here. Big fan of the Big Apple.”

“Oh yeah? What do you do with yourself here?”

“Uh...” He paused for a bit, brain trying to come up with a reasonable response. No one had ever asked him his occupation before. “I work with the city in kind of a...crime watch capacity. Trying to clean the crime off the streets, make neighborhoods safer. That kind of thing.”

“Oh, like with the police?”

“I mean...we work with the police sometimes but what we do is more like...a neighborhood watch situation but on a larger scale.”

“Does that pay anything?”

“Uh, not really. It's more of a non-profit type organization. Donnie's the one that makes all the money. He's into tech and sells patents and stuff. He sort of bankrolls us so we can keep going.”

“Oh wow, that's a really noble goal. Though how to do watch the neighborhood on nights that aren't Halloween? With you guys being big turtles and all?”

At first, Michelangelo thought she was joking. “Heh, what?”

“You know, you guys are big turtles. How do you get around the other days of the week if you look after the neighborhoods? You can't convince people these are costumes forever.”

It was such a jarring revelation that Michelangelo's brain shut down, and then immediately went into panic mode. He picked her up under his arm like she was a plank of wood and fled the open area. He slipped through the crowds of people with an uncanny ease for his size and then continued to run past where his brothers were standing.

“Mike!” Raphael called after him.

When that didn't even slow his brother down, the three followed after him into a small, dead-end alley that was poorly-lit and would have very little visibility from the street.

“What?” Leonardo asked as they caught up with him. “What happened?”

By then, Michelangelo had set Angel back on her feet and then chewed nervously on his nail. “She knows!” he hissed, as if he were trying to keep it a secret from those who may be nearby.

“She...knows?” Raphael parroted, confused.

“That we're turtles.”

“Yeah, of course you're turtles,” she replied. She touched Michelangelo's arm and he visibly stiffened at her contact. “Clearly, these aren't costumes. I just think it's cool that you come out one night a year to hang out with people like this.”

“Uh...we actually come out a lot...just not...you know, street level,” Michelangelo replied.

“You mean you...” she pointed to the rooftops. “Is that where you live?”

“No, but it's how we usually get around.”

“Oooh! Like Batman!”

“Right! Yes! Like Batman!” Raphael agreed with excitement.

“Okay, okay, lets calm down,” Leonardo said. “This is a lot to take in all at once. You realized we weren't in costume and you didn't really say anything?”

Angel shrugged. “Hey, you guys were nice to me and you weren't trying to like get me alone in a dark alley or anything. Uh...except for right now. But you guys seem safe. What do I care what you look like? There's not many nice people in this city.

“I thought I would at least be meeting some fun strangers for a night and have the best Halloween. And maybe I would see you guys again, or maybe you were something magical that only happened on All Hallows Eve. Either way, it would be a good memory.”

She looked at the brothers who all had various bewildered looks on their faces. This person, she was someone special. Someone interesting. Someone who rolled with the weird and uncanny. Someone they could possibly make friends with. It had been years since they had dared to bring a new person into their world.

“So...what do you want to do now?” Donatello asked.

“I liked what we were doing,” Angel replied. “Let's keep hanging out. Eat good food, dance to music, talk to each other. And maybe I'll see you again after this?”

The brothers all looked at each other and smiled.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Raphael agreed while Michelangelo nodded excitedly.

“If you're okay with the turtle thing, we're definitely hanging out again.” Michelangelo offered his arm and she took it.

They went back to the block party. They danced and joked. They enjoyed the music, the food, the costumes. The turtles were brighter now. Not so guarded, not so careful or suspicious of the people around them. It had been a long time since anyone new had appeared into their close circle of people they trusted. This was the first one who was their own age. She had seen them and accepted them on sight. This knowledge came with a bit of a happy high for the turtles. A burst of hope and joy at being discovered and immediately accepted without even a demand for an explanation.

And they wanted her to know. They wanted her to see their world. After this night of costumes, they planned to see her again, to show her and share what they were with her. It had been a good Halloween night.

“It's getting late and it's getting cold,” Leonardo eventually announced. “Angel, can we help you get home?”

“If you could walk me to my car?” she replied. “I parked a few blocks away.”

She nodded in the direction they needed to go and Leonardo hovered a hand over the small of her back to guide her.

“It's our pleasure.”

“You think your phone is in the car somewhere?” Michelangelo asked. “If you find it, we can trade numbers.”

“You guys have phones? Like normal phones?” she laughed.

“Of course,” Donatello said in a pragmatic tone. “Why wouldn't we?”

“Oh uh...I guess you could get phones if you really wanted them. Sorry, my bad. I guess you guys feel more magical than practical to me. Like you'll just poof away at the stroke of midnight. Knowing you have phones makes you feel a little more real.”

“Oh, we're real, Angel,” Raphael said with a flirty smile.

“And we'll be your friends if you want us to be,” Leonardo said softly. “We don't have many of those.”

“Neither do I,” Angel replied with the same soft tone. “I would really like that a lot.” They walked a few more feet and she pointed to the last building on the block. “My car is just around this corner.”

As they turned the corner, the turtles jumped back at the sudden red and blue flashing lights. Several police cars and one ambulance were clustered around the accident site of a two-car collision.

“Shit, Angel, I don't think we can walk you all the way to your car. But you should be hella safe with all the—” Michelangelo turned to the woman who had been standing right next to her. But in a blink, she was no longer there. “Angel?” He looked around, then looked at his brothers. “Dude, where'd she go?”

“She was...just right there,” Donatello said in confusion.

Leonardo peered around the corner to see if she had gone on ahead while Raphael looked behind them.

“I don't think she bailed. Where is she?”

Pressed to the side of the building, Leonardo audibly gasped. “I think...I see her.”

The others huddled around him to see what he was looking at. Out of one of the smoking cars, paramedics carried a female body dressed all in white, complete with halo and feathery white wings. White that was marred with smatterings of dark red blood. The body was set on a stretcher where the entire form was covered in a white sheet. No further first aid was administered to costumed angel as she was wheeled to the ambulance. That could only mean one thing.

“What? That...no, that can't...” Michelangelo struggled. “She was here with us all night. I touched her. I fucking picked her up in my arms!”

In his ear, he heard Donatello's ragged breathing, as if he were about to have a panic attack.

“Hey!” A police officer caught their shadows peering around the corner and they quickly ducked out of sight. When the human started toward their location, they quickly took to the rooftops in hopes of getting a better view. But by then, the body was already loaded into the ambulance to be taken away and Angel was nowhere else to be found.

***************

Her death didn't even make the news. What was one collision with a drunk driver with all the other crazy stuff that happened in New York on Halloween? And the turtles were never quite sure what happened that night; what they truly witnessed.

Only a few days into November, they all stopped talking about it. Tried to pretend it didn't happen. And it worked for most of the year. But then...October rolled around again. And as Halloween drew closer, the brothers didn't generate their usual excitement for their one holiday a year when they could go out on the street among the citizens. They still didn't talk about it. And when the night came, there was a certain unspoken trepidation in the air.

“You're not going out tonight?” Splinter asked them as they all brooded in the living room.

“Thinking about it, but...” Raphael trailed off.

“It just feels...weird,” Michelangelo added.

The other two brothers didn't say anything, but they seemed to agree with the sentiment.

“It is a shame your friend passed away after you had only known her for a while,” Splinter said. “But I don't think she would have liked that her memory tainted this holiday for you. You should be thankful you were able to have that time with her before she was gone.”

There was an uncomfortable silence from the turtles. As much as they tried to explain, Splinter never quite understood what they experienced. In his mind, they had met their friend during the party and then she had died in an accident on the way home after. All attempts to explain to the contrary resulted in failure.

“What if you went out just for a while to pay your respects? Perhaps find some closure,” Splinter then offered.

The brothers perked up a little and looked at each other. Something about that felt right.

**********

They went to the site of the crash, a year ago that day. They thought maybe anyone else might be there. Someone who missed her. Someone who felt the loss of her. Humans left flowers at sites like these on an anniversary like this, right? But there was nothing there. A year later, no evidence that the incident ever happened. The only proof that a life was lost here was that several of the road's street lights had been fixed. The collision had been largely blamed on most of the street lights being in disrepair at the time, even though one of the drivers had been drunk.

The turtles stood beside the street, out of the direct glow of the repaired street lights.

“So...do we say something or...?” Donatello asked softly.

“I dunno, we hardly knew her,” Raphael responded.

“Say something if you feel like it,” Leonardo offered.

They were all quiet for a moment, then Michelangelo spoke. “Well, Dudette, you seemed to be a super awesome chick. Too bad we didn't get a chance to see how awesome you really were.”

“A true tragedy,” Donatello agreed.

They stood for a while more and then turned to leave. The music and noise from the block party near by reached them before they could remove the nearest manhole cover.

“You guys wanna pick up some food before we head home?” Michelangelo suggested. “Grab something for Splinter too? See a few costumes, listen to some music before we go?”

The season called to them. It always did. The one festival a year about darkness and masked faces. Spooky fun and all sorts of delicious food. They had to be a part of it, just for a while.

The brothers split up, aiming for their favorite vendors. It wasn't like the year before, where they had a human friend hanging out with them, making them look normal. Now it was back to sticking to the shadows. Darting in and out to get what they were after and then sneaking back to the allies so no one stared at them for too long, lest they be figured out.

Michelangelo meant to grab some caramel apples for himself and one for Splinter, but the music and the atmosphere of the party caught his attention. He still wished to be in the middle of it. Talking with people, laughing, feeling like one of them. Even on this day of magic, he could only exist on the outskirts.

And then...something caught his eye. A woman dressed all in white. A little glittery halo and white, feathery wings. His breath caught in his chest. She turned, as if sensing his eyes on her. Angel looked right at him and smiled.

Happy Halloween

Tag List: @thelaundrybitch @leosgirl82 @dilucsflame33 @akesdraws-blog @happymoonangel @fluffytriceratops @beautifulfunanchor @asultrysiren @thepinkpanther83 @yorshie @yamanekomono @androidships007 @raphsmuneca @igotlostinthesewers @silversunskyless

[wizisbored]

wip wednesday sentences for 27/11

bitb2 @kalira @asha10100101010 @edisacornball

“I fucked up,” she almost whispers. “I really fucked up.”

“Huh?”

“My head, and my legs and everything. I fucked up, Skye.”

“You had an accident, that’s not your fault.”

Lydia turns her head towards Skye, who’s staring at her with big eyes.

“Trust me when I say it really is.”

Skye looks down, thinking. “Sometimes… Sometimes I do things I’m not supposed to."

dorm 4 @whimsicalmeerkat, @friend-shaped-but, @oriharaizayadividesintoslytherin, @lizhly

Whatever her dad says next is nice and muffled. He gets louder, but not loud enough. She continues to ignore him. And then he tries the door handle, and knocks again, a lot harder. Lydia doesn’t move until her music is interrupted by her phone ringing. Her dad, of course. She picks up, just so that she can put all the venom she can muster into a “What do you want?!”

“Lydia, move whatever you’ve blocked your door with right now.”

“Why should I? I’ve had my privacy invaded enough, thanks.”

“I-”

“Why did you tell Delia everything that happened at school? What made you think that was okay?”

She can hear the hurt breaking through the anger in her voice, and tries to swallow it down.

ten paces @eriquin, @quietly-sleeping, @tamsinswriting

Eventually she takes a breath and tries to just - walk. This is fine. They’ve got no reason to crash her into anything. It’s fine. She’s fine.

The feeling of a hand on her back again makes her flinch, but after a moment of panic she realises she’s being pet again. It’s not much of a comfort.

Lydia is stopped by a hand against her chest, just as she hears a gate shut somewhere behind her. She immediately tries to back away from the contact. But the rope catches her there, and then it’s tugged down on again.

its not me @somefishycat, @zyrafowe-sny, @auburnlaughter @sourb0i, @1attheedge

And now she’s shaking.

Hating the feeling, Nimona shifts down into a rat. More legs, not such a long way to the floor. That feels a bit more stable. And like that, she paces. To the door, to the window, back to the door. Rats don’t move this slow. She shifts again. Tortoise. Still low, still sturdy, but now she can pretend she’s just in-character and not exhausted. She plods to the window again. Back to the door. Not enough.

Needing the precision of hands, Nimona cracks open the door as a small monkey. She can hear the indistinct hum of the TV from down the hall. They’re distracted, then. That’s fine. She just needs to move, she can do that quietly.

blood red @twyrewolf, @thevagabondepress, @spindoctor3875, @stonemaskedtaliesin

“Innocent men don’t run, Ambrosius.”

Ambrosius doesn’t look up from his horse’s ears. It’s barely past dawn, and they’re already well on their way to the middle of nowhere. They’ve got time to make up; Ballister didn’t have to deal with a body, or a carriage driver who wanted nothing more to do with any of this, or the incompetent sheriff of the nearest town. But now they’re on the hunt, with some unexpected company. Ambrosius had expected the surviving lady to make arrangements to return home, but no. She bought herself a horse and a saddle and insisted she accompany the band of bounty men. So now here she is, posture perfect in her side-saddle as she rides alongside him.

“I know it was… sudden,” she continues. “I had thought him a perfectly pleasant man, for the time I knew him, but… we all saw it, didn’t we?”Ambrosius absent-mindedly pets his horse’s neck. What did he see?

[infinit-world]

Golden Wings Part II

Pairing: Wednesday Addams X Reader

Word count: 2.99k

Summary: You're a new student at Nevermore. What happens when you get involved with Wednesday's stalker mistery?

Warnings: Small description of murder, blood.

At first this was going to be the ending but I swear this fic is just getting longer and longer. I promise next part will be the last. Like always, if you see a mistake, please let me know.

Wednesday grumbles while walking back to school. When she arrived at the spot her stalker told her to go, she found a piece of paper on top of a rock. Gotcha was the only thing written in the note. She was fuming. Right before entering the school, her phone rings. It’s a new photo of her with rage painted on her face while walking back, with a message below.

You really thought I was that stupid? Thanks for the fun.

“I’m going to kill them the moment I discover who they are.” Thing signs in agreement, before scurrying to her backpack, not wanting to receive her anger.

Walking through the halls in silence, you try to stay in the darkness, not wanting anyone to see you. You look at your watch again 23:57 Perfect. You open the door carefully, sticking your head inside to make sure it’s empty, before entering. You go directly to the darker side, starting to rummage through the drawers and the closet. When you don’t find it, you start looking under the bed. You’re still looking when you receive a message.

Unknown 00:14

She’s going back to her room

You curse under your breath before getting out of the room. Right as you're arriving at your dorm, you see a shadow coming towards you. You stick to the wall as much as you can, trying to not make any noise. When the figure gets closer, you can see is Wednesday. Fuck, that was close. Once you’re sure she won’t hear you, you return to your room, sitting at your desk and opening your literature book, pretending you’ve been studying the whole time.

After a few minutes, your room door opens. You spin in your chair, seeing Wednesday standing there. “Wednesday! You’re ok?” You ask her while dragging her inside. “Someone has broken into my room.” “What? Is Enid ok?” “Yeah, she’s spending the night at Yoko’s.” “You’re ok? What happened? What did you find?” “It was a waste of time. They only left this stupid note.” She slaps the note into your desk in anger. “They’re mocking me. I’m sure whoever entered my room works with the stalker. That’s why they wanted me out.” 

You curse on your head. You didn’t want Wednesday to realise that. You were planning on leaving everything back in its place, but with the rush, you didn’t have time. “You’re sure it wasn’t the stalker?” “Yes, they send me a photo of me walking back to school. They didn’t have the time to enter before I arrived.” Fuck, that wasn’t in the plan. “What they would want from your room?” “I have an idea.” She doesn’t elaborate more, and you don’t press, not wanting her to start being suspicious of you.

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

You’re pacing in the cemetery, your wings enveloping your form to try and keep you warm. It’s the crack of dawn and even though is not winter yet, the days are starting to be really cold. You’re just going to give up and start to go back to school when a boy comes running to you. “Sorry! I have fallen asleep.” You huff in annoyance. “Liam! I’m going to kill you! You had to rile her up didn’t you?” “Woah, relax, it’s not that bad” He takes a step back when he sees your eyes glowing green, something that happens when you let your powers run through you. You’re seriously thinking about killing him now. “You fucked up big time! She’s in alert mode now! If we’re not careful, she will find the truth. And we can’t let that happen, not now at least.”

He has the decency to look a little bit guilty. Your plan was foolproof, at least it was until Liam decide to get on Wednesday’s nerves and make her more focused on finding the truth than what you wanted. “Tell everyone the plans have changed. It’s not in her room anyway.” “So… What do we do now?” You look at Liam in silence, trying to think of a better plan. You sight before slumping your shoulders. “I don’t know, I need time to think. For now, stay undercover. I will tell you when I figure out something.” He nods before walking away. 

You sit on the ground, your back against a statue. You feel lost, not knowing what to do was driving you crazy. You can’t continue with the stalker idea, you and Wednesday had spent the whole night trying to find something, and you know she won’t give up now. Where can it be?

FLASHBACK

You settle into your bed, excited for your bedtime story. “What story wants my little warrior tonight?” Your mother asks while tickling you. You giggle, trying to get away from her before answering. “Our story!” Your mom huffs. You always ask for this story. You don’t know why, it’s not happy, but you love it. 

“Long time ago, the first Fae was born from the roots of the Tree of Life. Lilith, as she was named, grew in harmony with nature. She was good and caring, helping those who needed it. Some of the people she helped decided to stay with her and form a little community, and for years, they lived happily. 

One day, a group of men that lived in a near village arrived. They had heard stories about the sanctuary and the Fae that lived there and wanted to see it with their own eyes. Lilith welcomed them with a smile, but that was a mistake. The men grew jealous of her power, they thought only their God could be so powerful. So, they went back to their village and told everyone a twisted story that portrayed her as a demon so people would fear her. 

They invited everyone that lived in the sanctuary to eat in their village, with the excuse of getting to know each other better, so they could kill them. When they arrived, the villagers led them to a fairly large wooden building, telling them that there was where the dinner was held. Once all of them were inside, the doors locked and smoke started to fill the building. In mere minutes, everyone except Lilith died. Full of rage, she unleashed all her power, killing her murderers, and ran as far as she could.

She tried to start a new life in a witch community. There, she fell in love and had a precious child, a Fae just like her. But her heart was full of fear. She wanted to protect her new family, afraid that they would be killed too. With the help of a very powerful witch, she created a book that contained every spell and magic she knew, so future generations would be able to protect themselves if they needed to.

But that knowledge came with a price. To create the book, she needed to use a lot of energy. Lilith gave everything to her to create it, ending her life.”

END FLASHBACK

You stay in the cemetery for hours. You don’t want to go back and have to pretend with Wednesday. For a moment, you wish you never started this. But it’s the right thing to do, you know it. You need the book, a lot of people depend on it.

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

It’s been two weeks since the cemetery day, and you can tell everyone is growing anxious. You haven't spent a lot of time with Wednesday, she’s been pushing everyone away, too focused on discovering the stalker’s identity. You tell yourself the feeling that creeps into your chest every time you think of Wednesday is because you’re afraid of what she can discover without you knowing, and definitely not because you miss her.

You’re walking to your dorm when you see Avalie approaching you. “We need to talk.” You look around, making sure no one is looking at you, before grabbing her arm and yanking her to a more secluded area. “What do you think you're doing? Someone could see us.” You hiss. “It’s been too long, The Elders are losing their patience. We need to do something.” “I know! Fuck, I know okay. But thanks to Liam, Wednesday has been obsessed with the stalker. I haven’t talked with her that much. So until I discover where the book is, we can’t really do anything.” “Then make sure you know it soon.” She tells you before walking away. You run your hand through your hair, trying to calm down.

Wednesday looks at you with a curious gaze. During these weeks, she’s noticed that she’s been followed by animals; a bird when she’s in the quad, a squirrel in the forest… She knew it was you, you’re the only one in Nevermore with the ability to talk with animals. She was planning on confronting you about it when she saw you talking with Avalie. Why were you talking with that vampire? What did she tell you to make you so angry? Her mind starts reeling, trying to find the answers.

That evening, Wednesday calls you to her room. She’s been thinking about the talk the whole afternoon. Her mind won’t stop telling her that you’ve been playing with her, working with the stalker while feigning ignorance in her company. For the first time, she hopes she’s wrong.

You knock on her door, trying not to smile. When you received the message earlier this afternoon, you couldn’t stop the happiness that spread through your body. You missed spending time with Wednesday. After hearing a muffled come in, you open the door, seeing Wednesday writing. “Just a minute, I’m finishing my writing hour.” You nod, even though Wednesday hasn’t looked up from her typewriter, before walking to Enid’s bed, sitting there.

Once she finishes, she spins her chair, facing you. “I asked you to come here because I wanted to apologize. I’ve been too focused with my stalker and I been pushing you away.” You look at her with surprise. You never thought she would apologize to you. “It’s ok Wednesday, I know you. I’m not mad, but I appreciate it.” You give her a smile to try and reassure her that everything is fine. “Good. We should go to dinner then.” You hum in agreement. You two get up, but you stop when Wednesday doesn’t follow you to the door. “You’re coming?” She gets closer to you before answering. “Yes, I just need a minute to tidy my desk. Wait for me at the table.” You nod before you exit the room.

What you fail to notice is Wednesday’s fingertips grazing your jacket right as you walk out. She still doesn’t have any control over her visions, but she hopes she will see something if she touches you. She gasps as her head jerks back, a vision starting to form in her mind.

A younger version of you appears in front of her, you’re about seven years old, Wednesday notices. Your wings’ colours are very light, almost as if they were gold and your horns still haven’t grown yet, but it’s definitely you. You’re watching a movie in a living room. Her family home. Wednesday looks around, trying to figure out why she’s seeing this. A weird feeling latches in her chest. Something is wrong. Before she can dwell on it, she hears a loud crashing noise coming from outside. A woman enters the room running, approaching you with terrified eyes. “Go to the kitchen and hide in the pantry, behind the boxes on the floor. Don’t make a sound until we tell you.” She kisses your forehead before gently hurrying you out. 

Wednesday wants to stay in the room, try to figure out what is going on, but a force pushes her in your direction, her vision going blurry for a moment. When everything goes clear again, she’s behind the boxes with you. She can hear the commotion outside of the house, men yelling Demon! and Kill him! A gunshot is heard followed by a cry of pain. There’s a small gap between the boxes, Wednesday can see part of the white floor in front of the pantry, and she knows you can see it too. Suddenly the door of the kitchen opens and she can hear footsteps getting closer. There, get her! A couple of men pass in front of her, before another gunshot is heard. Blood seeps through the ground, tinting the floor red.

The men roam through the house, trying to see if there’s anyone else. You’re trembling, crying silently while your wings envelop your form, trying to give you a little comfort. Wednesday’s so focused on you that she doesn’t realise the noise has stopped until a figure appears in front of her. “It’s ok, you can come now little one. They’re gone.” She can see the figure has a pair of dark wings. Another Fae. You seem to realise the same, because you immediately get up, watching the Fae in front of you closely.

The vision changes after that. She’s in a forest, tree houses surrounding her and Faes flying above the trees. Wednesday feels like home for a second, even though she knows she’s never been here. Suddenly her mind understands what’s wrong. The electrifying feeling she gets every time she’s in a vision is not there. These visions are not like what she’s used to. She usually feels like she’s physically in the moment. But now, she feels like a simple observer. It almost feels like a memory. Your memories.

She walks towards one of the houses unconsciously. Inside she can see another version of you. You’re older here, probably around ten. The man from the last vision is with you. “Why do I have to train today too? It’s Sunday Aarzham! Can we do something fun?” “You need to train Y/N. One day, you will be a warrior as good as me. But just if you train.” You drop your shoulders in defeat but you give him a small smile. “I thought I was already a good warrior.” He chuckles before looking at you seriously. “You’re powerful, more than anyone here. You will be able to save us from those that want us dead. But until then, you will train every day.” You nod, already getting up to go outside.

The scene changes again. You’re still the same age, but you’re seated on the ground, a notebook on your lap. Aarzham is beside you on a chair. “Aar, why you decided to adopt me that day?” He has a stoic expression, but Wednesday can see softness in his eyes. “You saw something that no kid should, but you still got up. You didn’t let it crumble you, you took that experience and used it to make you stronger.” “You really think I can help us to be safer?” “One day, you will be the most powerful Fae, and you and I will change our history for the better.”

The world spins, making Wednesday a bit dizzy before it calms down. You’re inside the house with Aarzham again. He’s cleaning a wound on your cheek. This time, you look very similar to how you look now. She’s probably just a year or two younger here. “What is The Book of Shadows?” You ask with a soft voice, almost afraid he will get angry. “How do you know that name?” “I heard you talking with The Elders.” He sighs, throwing the bloodied gauze into the trash. “You know Lilith’s story?” “Of course, it was my favourite story when I was a kid.” “The Book of Shadows is her creation.” You give him a surprised look. “I thought it was just a myth.” “It’s real, and now, I know where it is.” You give him a curious look.” “The book was in an amusement park in Jericho but was stolen a couple of months ago. I believe it is somewhere around Nevermore.”

The vision changes one last time. You’re in the forest that surrounds Nevermore. A group of werewolves and vampires listen to you while you give them instructions. “Cyra sent Wednesday a text on the last day of school. She’s probably going to focus on her stalker this year, which will allow me to get closer to her and find the book. Liam, Cyra, Nihan and Avalie will rotate to send Wednesday the messages. This way, it’s more difficult for her to find the truth. The rest, keep an eye open, if you see something suspicious, tell me.”

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

You’re worried about Wednesday. Last night, while you were waiting at the table in the dining hall for her, she sent a message to Enid, telling her something happened and she needed to go back to their dorm immediately. You haven’t seen either of them since then. You pace through your room, trying to decide if you should go to their dorm and see if they’re ok. After what feels like hours, you decide to go.

You knock on their door, not expecting to see an angry Enid growling at you. “Whoa Nid, calm down, it’s just me!” “Exactly” The words are more of a deep growl than anything. You look at her confused, not understanding anything.  “Enid, what’s going on?” “You don’t need to pretend you’re our friend anymore, Wednesday knows you just got close to us so you could get Goody’s book.” You get pale when you hear her. No,no,no please. You open and close your mouth like a fish out of the water, trying to say something, anything, to explain yourself, to tell her that even though that was your reason at first, you truly appreciate them now.But the words are stuck in your throat and Enid loses her patience. “I can’t believe you used her as Tyler did. I thought you were different.” She gives you a hurt look before closing the door. You stay frozen in place for a couple of minutes, your eyes burning with unshed tears.

Taglist: @lukam8 @alexkolax @itsafigureofspeechadam @fashromanmaximoff

[tanith-rhea]

Only Pretending #5

Ok, here we go, @anti-bright-places, @the-bagel24, @regalbootie, @tundra1029, @thoroughly-confused, @lilsmeaux, @poorwritingandstalecoffee, @alder-saan, @jelly-frogss, @enchantressb, @imean-its-just-me, @lvinhs, @iloveyall-18, @kimiinou, @jeweleegrey, thank you, people, so much, I hope you enjoy!

Word count: 3.6k Authors note: this one took me so long because I was debating causing trouble or playing safe. You can decide which one I chose.

You could kill Morticia then and there, but you didn’t, because it would be much nicer to see her choke on her own tongue at just how intimate you could be with Larissa… from a faking point of view.

She came out of the shower not much longer and you didn’t mention your brief encounter with her former roommate. You knew it would be better to warn her about Morticia’s possible suspicion, but it seemed to be nothing more than her trying to push your buttons instead of thinking you weren’t together.

“Are you almost done?” you asked when it was close to nine and she was still applying makeup.

She only looked at you with a mildly annoyed expression and you realized this was very important to her. Maybe you should have told her about the time restriction.

“I don’t mind you taking your time, it’s just that dinner will be served at nine.” You shrugged, trying to make it sound less important.

“What? Why didn’t you tell me!” she changed from annoyed to bewildered in an instant and you cringed from causing her to feel that way, “I still have to apply eyeliner and it takes me a century to get it right!” She put down her lipstick and leant her forehead on the tip of her fingers.

“I can do it! I used to do the girl’s makeup at uni all the time and I got quite good at it.” It was true, and while your heart was still slightly racing from her previous exasperation, you felt a little calmer knowing you could fix at least a bit of the situation.

Larissa eyed you sideways, her face sulky and quite adorable with her lips pressed firmly together before giving up.

“Okay, fine. Do it. But you should have told me sooner, you absolute-“ she cut herself suddenly.

You arched one eyebrow at her, picking up on the spot of colour rising on her neck, and approached to pick her eyeliner from her makeup organizer. “You absolute what?” you teased as she turned to face you. You sat at the vanity, diagonally to her.

“Forget it, I wasn’t going anywhere with it.” She only mumbled, lifting her chin for your hand to secure it.

You held her face firmly, but gently, with your thumb underneath her chin and index along her jaw. She smelt sweetly of roses, as she always did, and you leaned forward to look at her closely while painting the line close to her lashes.

It was so very difficult to concentrate, but your desire to please her and make her feel beautiful won over. You loved her deep blue irises, their outer lines darker as the border of a watercolour, and having the power to draw attention to them felt intoxicating. You were given the most beautiful canvas and told to make people see it.

“All done.” You whispered when it was over, absentmindedly caressing her cheek.

You smiled softly, contemplating your handiwork with pride. Larissa’s eyes were fixed on yours; she looked deep in thought for a moment, then snapped right back with several blinks and a deep breath.

“Thank you,” she sounded a bit hoarse, and you wondered if she would catch a cold from coming from the steamy bathroom into your colder bedroom. You made a note of lighting the fireplace once you got back from dinner so she would be warm at night.

“It was nothing.” You smiled, getting up from the vanity and offering her a hand to get up as well.

She accepted, and soon you were leaving for the dinner, arm in arm through the high-ceiling corridor.

“Wednesday!” you greeted the girl excitedly as soon as you entered the foyer where she and her parents were, as well as her younger brother and an elderly woman you assumed was her grandmother.

The girl turned around to see you and Larissa descending the last steps of the stairs. She approached with her usual perfectly erect posture and rigid steps.

“Professor,” she greeted, nodding, “It is truly mitigating seeing you here.” She eyed from you to Larissa, stopping midway to arch a brow at your linked arms. “Principal Weems,” her look lingered more on your companion as if they were having their own private conversation, “Your presence is also appreciated.”

Larissa half-smiled at that, a hint of fondness in her eyes.

“I’m happy to be here, miss Addams.”

At that, Wednesday nodded curtly and went back to her parent’s company, as did you and Larissa.

“Oh, don’t you look precious together!” Morticia’s bassy voice welcomed you to the group and you tried to unclench your jaw and smile; you wouldn’t go down without a fight.

“Anything looks precious when Larissa is involved.” You gave her a sweet smile, finding it not so necessary to pretend when you looked at her.

“Oh, shush.” Her cheeks were colouring, and you felt immensely pleased with yourself.

“Larissa is quite the formidable woman,” Gomez agreed, smiling kindly at you, “You must be quite accomplished as well to catch her eye.”

You felt you could very easily like Gomez. Strangely, the fact that Larissa was infatuated with him in her youth didn’t feel threatening to you, not nearly as much as the intellectual tug-of-war she had with Morticia.

“I can’t begin to guess what she saw in me. But I’m tremendously lucky she did.” You squeezed her upper arm, seeking comfort from the nervousness you felt all of a sudden.

The woman you guessed was Wednesday’s grandmother then got up with a roll of her eyes. “If this is what you interrupted me for, I would much prefer to resume wrestling with the alligator in the cellar.”

“Mamma!” Morticia intercepted her, rounding her shoulders with an arm. “Don’t leave us so soon, we will dine now,” she reassured the woman, who only grumbled and went through an archway to what you saw was a dining room with a long mahogany table.

You followed Morticia and Gomez to the same room, Wednesday right behind you with her brother. The table was already set, and all family members took their usual spots with ease. The hosting couple were at the ends and Wednesday and her brother sat in front of each other closest to Gomez’s side while Mother Addams sat beside her grandson. You took a seat near Wednesday and Larissa took hers right beside you.

For the first half hour, everything was fine. Morticia was a gracious host and the hors d'oeuvre and appetizer were delicious if morbid-looking; their presentation resembled eyes, fingers and the like. The chef was skilful, you had to give them that, but taking a forkful of mushroom and walnut pate was somewhat unnerving when it looked like ears stuffed into a human brain.

When you started to feel confident in your skin, the conversation shifted from professional chit-chat to the prodding you were waiting, if not too excited, for.

“So, Larissa, I must admit I was very surprised when you arrived accompanied.” Morticia set her fork down, a smirk slowly forming on her mouth. “How come such miraculous news didn’t get to me?”

Miraculous? The nerve!

“Excuse me. Miraculous?” you smiled largely, unable to keep your eyes from squinting and your voice from dripping with ill-concealed venom.

Her fake stunned expression was award-worthy. “Oh, I just meant that Larissa can be very intense at times, and it takes a very rare, special kind of person to be able to… manage it.”

“We decided to keep our relationship private for these first few months,” Larissa stated, cutting you from responding to Morticia’s last comment. Clever woman.

“So you’re your boss’ little secret?” an amused voice joined in, Wednesday’s grandmother.

You were shocked beyond speech. Were they together to make your life hell? Was all this a plot? At your slack jaw, the old woman started again.

“Oh, sweetie, I don’t mean it in a bad way. You just became much less boring than I thought you were.” She winked at you and took a bite of her salad. “You’re right in doing whatever you want and if forbidden love gets your juices flowing, go for it.”

You coughed at that. You weren’t eating anymore but suddenly the air seemed enough matter to choke on.

“Mamma!” Morticia chastised, sounding more amused than reprimanding.

“Forgive Grandma Addams,” Gomez asked you with kind worry, “She’s just very supportive and can come across differently than she wishes.”

“It’s fine… thank you…”

“You can call me grandmama, darling,” the curious woman said.

“Thank you, grandmama.” You smiled; a sense of incredulity and almost child-like happiness bubbled in your stomach at finally being taken seriously. She was an odd one, and her forwardness reminded you of Wednesday, if not her disposition for good humour when Wednesday’s leaned more on crudeness.

Was she joking when she mentioned the cellar? She must have been.

“Right, I believe we can call out the third course,” Morticia announced, and promptly it was brought.

As the evening went on, conversation flowed rather tamely. More dishes were brought, and you were amazed at the chef’s capability. By the end of it, the kids and their grandma had retired, and only you and Larissa remained with Gomez and Morticia.

“Maybe we could bring this to the study.” Morticia said, getting up and grabbing the bottle of whisky she’d produced half an hour earlier. “I think y/n would love to see the remnants of Wednesday’s childhood experiments. She seemed very interested when we mentioned it.”

You were interested, in fact. At one point in the evening, grandmama mentioned how Wednesday would plot increasingly creative ways to endanger family members. It was a family game, almost, but the girl was said to be very ingenious with her plans.

Following the couple, Gomez showed the collection of plant-based poisons and potions the girl used through the years with a weirdly proud countenance. You supposed it was fitting of such a family and found it quite endearing to witness.

“I’ll never forget the time she almost got my ear with that falling spear,” he said dreamily, “I really didn’t see that one coming. My brilliant storm cloud.”

“Didn’t it pierce your shoulder?” you asked, flabbergasted.

“Oh, no! I was in bed. We had to change the mattress though.”

Suddenly you were impressed by Wednesday’s tame behaviour at school; if this was her childhood, you admired her restraint.

“Enough about our child’s exploits, amore mio, you’ll bore the guests.” Morticia gestured for him to seat in the chair she leant on.

Larissa had sat in a loveseat, and you joined her as Gomez went for Morticia, who sat in his lap.

“I’m dying to know how you two ended up together.” She scrunched her nose at Larissa, a smirk playing on her mouth, and your annoyance was back in half a second.

“The usual…” Larissa looked at you and you linked your fingers on her lap, “Office romance.” Seemingly more confident, she looked back to Morticia with a squeeze on your hand.

“Oh, don’t be so boring, Rissa! I know there must have been more than just that to catch our eye. You always had a type.” She arched a brow, and you didn’t understand a thing in their conversation. While it seemed straightforward, Morticia’s tone and body language suggested things you didn’t comprehend. Did Larissa prefer a different type of aesthetic? Personality? Gender?

“People change,” Larissa said simply, almost icily, without breaking eye contact.

“You see, I don’t think they do to such a radical extent.” She only smiled.

“We can’t know what happens behind closed doors, cara mia.” Gomez laughed softly, trying to lighten things a bit, and you could hug him for it. He leant close to her a kissed her cheek in a gesture you found heart-warmingly sweet, and even disliking Morticia you felt happy for her to have someone who showed his appreciation and love so openly (that when it wasn’t too uncomfortably intimate, of course).

“You’re right, carino.” Her eyes went from his to pierce right into yours, “But I think I’ve seen enough.” She stood up and held her hand to him. “Come, my love, I miss having you on our bed,” ok you could have gone without that.

“Feel free to stay if you’d like,” Gomez said hurriedly, not taking his eyes off Morticia’s blazing gaze, “You can help yourselves to more whiskey or enjoy one of our reds back in the saloon, be our guest.” And with that, the pair scurried away hand in hand like excited teenagers.

Morticia was much more tolerable when occupied lusting for her husband, you decided.

Letting a breath out, you allowed yourself another glass and got up to pour it. Larissa was strangely still beside you and when you had your back to her while serving the drink, you heard her say:

“What did she see?”

You stopped pouring; your grip on the bottle suddenly white-knuckled. Her voice was low and dangerous, not towards you particularly, just sharp in a way you heard her use when trying to conceal her feelings. It was a good strategy because you had no idea what was going through her mind.

“She visited our bedroom earlier when you were in the shower.” You clarified, turning to look at her slowly, taking in her features. She had a very good poker face. Damn her mediator abilities.

“And what did she see?”

You sat beside her, offering her your glass. She took it and sipped it twice before you thought of some less uncomfortable way of recounting the exchange. You couldn’t; so the crude truth would have to do.

“She came to tell us dinner would be in a few moments-“ Larissa passed you the glass, taking pity on you, “Then she realized you were showering and that I had already, so I…” You took a big gulp; the liquid went down burning. “…I wouldn’t be- joining you.”

Larissa only nodded at that.

“And she used that to cause you discomfort?” Larissa said in a less unaffected tone that somewhat soothed the pain forming in the back of your neck, “Do you think she doesn’t believe in us?”

You took a moment to choose your words, then said, “At first I didn’t think she was suspicious, but she looked at me just now like she knew every bit of the entire story.”

You wanted to make it work, you wanted to help Larissa and you knew you looked entirely smitten with her because that was simply your new natural state. But Morticia was anything but not stupid and you had the feeling she could tell how this all went: you were foolishly in love with your boss who didn’t want a thing from you if not a favour and in the best of cases a friendship. You thought you were living the best possible case. Too bad what you truly wanted wasn’t possible.

Unexpectedly, Larissa got up in a swift and gracious move, went to the globe bar and took an expensive swig. She didn’t say anything, her shoulders were tight even with the amount of alcohol the four of you had consumed and the healthy quantity she just downed. Without looking at you or gesturing, she just left, walking back to your room.

You followed not too closely behind her. You wanted to give her space. Maybe she was mad at you, maybe she was disappointed, maybe she was just tired of your constant insufficiency (in being all in on the plan, in being completely honest with her, in acting rather than indulging your wants and needs – even if she wasn’t aware of the latter).

When you arrived, Larissa was changing into her nightgown, a cream-coloured long, sleeveless, silky dress that accentuated her hips and exposed her clavicles, shoulders and neck. If you weren’t so anxious you might have fainted.

You started a fire, sure that she would be cold if that was all she would sleep in. You heard her settling underneath the covers and when the fire was good enough to grow on its own you left for the bathroom to change into your much warmer, comfortable pyjamas.

You got into bed as well, feeling tense and strange and so different than you thought you would while pacing around in your quarters at Nevermore. You didn’t have time to fret and feel insecure and weird like you thought you would, you were too busy worried about Larissa for that. Why was she so silent? Did she officially hate you? Were you going home tomorrow never to talk about this again and barely look into each other’s faces forever? You spent the better part of an hour pondering the scenarios.

You were so engrossed in imagining all the terrible things that could result from this that you almost didn’t notice the soft shaking beside you. Was that a little whimper?

You quickly sat on your side of the bed, safely away by almost a foot and a half, and examined her silhouette outlined but the firelight. She was quietly sobbing once every twenty or thirty seconds, shoulders tight together. Whether it was from the cold or the exertion of being silent you thought you could manage to decipher.

“Larissa… I’m awake.” You whispered, giving one uncovered shoulder the lightest touch you could. She stilled. “Do you want to talk about it?” After a moment, she shook her head no.

Not knowing what to do, you found her hand tucked close to her neck and nudged her to sit as well. She did, silently looking at the mattress between you. In this angle, you were both facing the fire. You could see bright trails under her eyes going to the left, one small pool of brightness at the side of her nose where the few tears gathered. She still had her updo, so you moved closer and started taking away her clips and letting her soft locks fall beside her face, onto the spotless skin of her shoulders, hiding her milk-white back.

“I’m sorry if tomorrow it’s all ended.” You whispered finally, after watching her not speak for almost a minute.

She looked at you slowly, for the first time in what felt like aeons but were only two hours at best. She gave you the smallest smile and said, “Why is it so unbelievable?”

It took you two seconds too many to understand what she meant, and in the next, you were shaking your head and controlling your mouth not to say too much while you just hugged her chanting “No, no, no, it’s not unbelievable at all,” in a low voice you prayed soothed her in any way.

You pressed your lips to her temple for so long that you ended up just leaning against her, your nose on her hairline catching the faint smell of orange flowers.

“I swear to you, you are one of the most deserving people I know. You are greatly respected and admired by everyone who works with you and studies at your school. You are kind, loving, intelligent, relentless and every single bit of you is deserving of love and of finding someone that will appreciate the entirety of you unconditionally.”

You knew you shouldn’t, but you could not keep from muttering it all against her skin, couldn’t keep from caressing her cheek and running a hand up and down her arm. You loved her too much to let her believe there was no one out there who would commit themselves to her and love her as deeply and madly as she deserved. Maybe it wasn’t you, but there was someone, and you needed to make sure she knew that.

While you talked, Larissa let herself melt into you. You hugged her close and let her rest her head on your shoulder. She was sobbing a bit more than before, small sounds muffled against your fuzzy jumper. She felt so warm and soft and real that you almost let yourself believe you could have this. Have her; be hers. It was the alcohol, most likely. You were the worst handsy drunk, even if you didn’t feel drunk at all anymore.

You parted slightly, not sure if she would like to go back to sleep, and when Larissa noticed your movement, she lifted her head from you and suddenly her face was so much closer than you expected.

She had such beautiful eyes; you could never tire of looking at them. They were a bit red and puffy but also glowing, you could see the dance of shadows the fire created behind you in her eyes, her pupils blown from the dark. Your gaze drifted to her mouth for a split second, however quickly you couldn’t mask it, she saw, you were face to face. When she did the same to yours but lingered there, it was too easy to lean in.

Her lips were soft. Softer than you’d imagined, but then she was always more than you could ever muster in your naïve and foolish brain. Her hand came to your face and carefully held you in place. You opened your lips but didn’t dare ask her for anything more. Whatever she wanted from you was hers to take. She pressed more firmly against you, so tenderly you could not understand how she managed to be both at the same time. How could she make you feel so much with just a press of her lips? Your chest hurt and all your bones felt cold, and you wanted the pain so much, but you didn’t know if this was what she wanted or if you just happened to be there when she needed human connection.

With a pang in your heart, you separated the smallest fraction. She made a small sound at your absence, and you forbade your brain from reading too much into it.

“I’m sorry… are you sure this is-“ and she was onto you in an instant, fervently, fingers slipping through your hair and desperately asking permission to deepen your kiss. You were only human and gave in too easily.

Tomorrow you would deal with the consequences.

Chapter Six

[fllagellant]

Tagged by my friend @aphoticfairy for Wip Wednesday ( come . Play Pretend with me . It is still Wednesday . )

Since I am nervous to tag anyone for this, please feel free to take this post as your invitation to join in if you wish ! ( also tag me so I can see , pease … )

Fic wip for a fic I like to call “ Wyll and Giilvas are going to get married also Ulder is scheming and Giilvas and Ulder are going to enact psychic warfare on each other “ it’ s a great working title !

——

The Ravengard estate. A rather proud, pompous building. Overlooking the sprawling gardens and the intricate stone archways. The hedge maze was a wonderful touch, maybe, when Ulder was younger and he would race through the hedges. Now, it was an all-consuming nightmare to keep trimmed. And it proves his internal compass has… lost its skills, so to say, he’s gotten lost many more times than he will admit.

The halls come alive at known intervals, for political parties. Or political meetings. Or for political holidays. Ulder has to pause and think hard about the last time a celebration occurred in these wall and it didn’t have some form of political weight. The resounding answer being never.

But. Nevermind that. It was still a few months off before anything should be happening. The next larger, world devorning event was the Feast of the Moon, and the many little events that it managed to spawn that Ulder was left trying to herd like righteous tressyms. Which is to say, poorly, with many colourful words, and he ends up tripping over his own feet.

He had just managed to survive the screaming, meowing, forever pissed off hoard of metaphorical tressyms for Highharvestide, and was rather content to spend a few days in bed. Dead to the world. Or in his study. Dead to the world. Or in the gardens. Once again. Dead to the world.

So he was rather concerned when he awoke to a frantic set of knocks on his study door. Reading spectacles clattered on oak floor, book that was laid politely on his lap joining them, Ulder jolted to attention when one of the maids creaked the door ajar. Blue eyes peering inward like a child, checking to see if her parents are sleeping.

“Sire? We have word of visitors. I think they’ll wish to see you, when you’re available, of course.”

She doesn’t push the door open any further, but she does not close it either. Just offers a bow of the head, and her quick footsteps mark her rapid descent down the hall.

Ulder manages to blink a few times, vision taking pity and unblurring after the third try. If he can see, then he can hear. And if he can hear, he can retroactively acknowledge what the maid-girl just said. And if he can acknowledge what was just said…

By the Gods. Give him mercy.

Highharvestide had just concluded. No one was supposed to be coming around. Unless… no. No, the ball was perfect. There would be no way any self-respecting noble would send a pageboy to deliver a message of displeasure. Not so soon, anyhow.

But maids and watchguards do not go into a state of panic over a pageboy, so who could it…?

Putting the window to use, finally pushing the lovingly embroidered curtains to the side- ah, good afternoon to you as well, shower of dust- and he tries to focus his eyes to the horizon.

There is… something! There is something coming up the front path.

He needs his glasses. Damnable things.

By the time he manages to save them from their temporary spot on the cold floor, hips be damned he can manage that bend, the something is further up the path.

Ulder gives the lenses the old one-two swipe with the cloth of his shirt to get rid of anything unneeded smudges, and finally places them back on the bridge of his nose.

Oh. By the Gods.

It’s Wyll. His boy, Wyll Ravengard. Coming up the path with singed armour and a travel pack slinging over his shoulder. He’s grinning, the lingering autumn warmth slowing his pace as he approaches. He looks well. Very much so, since the last chance Ulder had to see him. Would have brought a tear to his eye. If there wasn’t a concern pushing at the base of his skull- joyous! A migraine is already coming on.

Wyll wasn’t the concern. Wyll wasn’t the reason Ulder was feeling the need to call upon the Triad.

The hulking other, a step behind his son? That was the reason.

The Golden Rose. Giilvas Quickfoot. His boy’s betrothed. Ulder’s nightmare.

Ulder wanted to scrunch his face. In fact, he does allow his nose to wrinkle and his lips to go tight. But if he can see them, they can see him. And, since the Fates have made the decision that Ulder is their current focus of tortures, Wyll’s betrothed is scarily perceptive.

So, if he was to snarl from his study, far above them, Giilvas would see it. And made sure Ulder knew.

Instead, with an air of calm and I don’t care that you’re coming up my walk and will be inside my estate, Ulder yanks the dusty old curtains back in place. Then, he allows himself to scowl at the old embroidery that dances across the fabric. He swears he can see those mismatched eyes of the Rose staring back at him in the tapestry. And he swears they’re laughing at him.

With a dizzying clarity that he, Duke Ulder Ravengard, is about to pick a fight with his curtains, he pulls away. There’s a warm rush of embarrassment across his neck. He’s acting like a child. Get it together, he scolds himself.

It is a blessing that his boy and his… boy-in-law? Were coming for a visit. They’ll probably spend the night out at the tavern, and they’ll spend only an hour or two here.

Ulder smooths out the wrinkles in his shirt, and affirms his thoughts. He would not demand Wyll stay the night here. And besides, this was just a visit. It wasn’t like the two of them were coming to the estate with world-changing news. The two of them were travellers- one of which had Ulder’s respect, but that was besides the point- they’d probably be seen leaving Baldur’s Gate by the dawn of the ‘morrow.

Now, time to take his place in the foyer, and wait for his welcomed guests to step inside.

——

“Father, we plan to be wedded!”

Ulder Ravengard was going to smash something. Over his head? Over the head of the smug man clinging to his son? Both of them?

Yes. Both of them, he decides. But, since the Fates chose that their newest decree would make it so no butler bearing two heavy bottles of wine came through the foyer at that instant, Ulder chose the high road.

He smiles, he knows it isn’t quite reaching his eyes but what can he do, and he nods like a village fool at the excitement in Wyll’s voice. There was something soft in his chest, seeing his son so… happy. He truly desires this, he wants the wedding. And he wants his father to know. It was sweet and Ulder wondered why he was so bitter a moment ago.

“Of course, this means I am here to ask for your permission, Mr. Ravengard.”

Suddenly, and without warning, Ulder Ravengard was bitter again. Wonder who caused that.

Giilvas kept a large hand almost permanently interlocked with Wyll’s, and Ulder has half a mind to tell him that Wyll isn’t going to run away on him. But the other half?

Oh.

Oh. It was planning. Spinning a web, even. Laying a dastardly trap. And the Rose would walk right into it.

“Of course. It would be wrong of me to deny you both from each other. But… May I make a request?” Ulder notes how Giilvas nods rather enthusiastically. And how Wyll nods, but slower. Brow furrowing just enough to faintly recrease his forehead. By the Helm, was he already onto him? Ulder didn’t think he was that predictable.

Well, he cannot back down now. He was the Duke, dammit. Dukes do not tuck tail and run.

“I would like to aid in the wedding. You’ll,” and Ulder locks his eyes with Wyll, making sure the fact that the you in this case is singular well known, “ have full access to our coffers for planning. We can even host the ceremony here. The garden can be kept alive by magic, you see-“

“You make it sound like we’ll be wed in the winter.” Giilvas cuts in, and Wyll eyes his father knowingly. Too knowingly. Ulder, suddenly, finds the wall behind Wyll far easier to lock eyes with.

“I was getting to that. You see, to make sure this wedding is perfect, you’ll both have to stay here. Allows us all to plan and have everything ready. It will be perfect, between Uktar thirtieth and Nightal first.”

Wyll sucks in a gasp.

“But that’s the Feast of the Moon-“

Giilvas’ eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, things slotting into place with Wyll’s words.

“You plan to wed us on the night for the Ball of the Moon.”

Clever boy.

“I think it would be grand. Wouldn’t it?” It also gives him the time to try and scare away the rapscallion that is trying to take his boy from him.

But, in a twist that Ulder feels more shock at the fact he did not see this coming, rather than the twist itself, Giilvas smiles at him. Not really a smile, top lip pulled too far back and it seems to refuse to reach his eyes, but he made the face all the same. It is the thought that counts.

“It’s a deal, gracious Duke Ravengard.”

Oh, the boy wishes to play the game with him? So be it.

Wyll eyes the both of them as they seal the deal with a shake. He is aware, the third party always is, but that only means Ulder will have to choose subtly. Espionage can win a war. It wasn’t like Giilvas knew how to navigate a noble home or the ecosystem of one. He has home advantage- literally.

He holds his potentially probably not son-in-law’s gaze for a few moments that last a century, seeing if he’ll shy away from the eye contact. When those mismatched eyes start to look like they’re laughing at him, Ulder releases the hand and turns to call for someone else.

“I’ll make sure a bed is prepared for you, my good man. And Wyll? Your room is the same as when you left. Make yourself comfortable once more, my son.”

He makes a mental note to tell the maid to make up Giilvas’ room on the opposite wing of the estate. Good luck avoiding squeaky floors in the night, foolboy.

For now, he guides the boys to deposit their belongings and encourages them to shed the heavier layers of armour. Might as well let them have as much comfort as they can now.

Hell stained metal and fabric collect alongside their travel bags, and Ulder holds his tongue. He will ask his son about it all later. The battles. The terrors. The cruelty. Now was not the time for any of it. Especially not when his son was still buzzing with the energy of announcing the plan for marriage.

“Father, are the gardens in good shape right now?”

Ulder knew was Wyll was asking for, and he reminded himself of the eye bags under Giilvas’ eyes. They both must be exhausted. And it would be cruel and unusual to try and being the warfare when one party was in poor condition. Ulder was nothing, if not a merciful man.

“Oh, go ahead Wyll. Everything will be taken care of in here.”

That damn warmth spread in his chest, seeing Wyll relock his hand with Giilvas’ own. He gives a tug, pulling the larger man along, and Ulder cannot help but sigh wistfully when Wyll mentions the maze to Giilvas. They’re going to get lost in there. Ulder knows it to be true.

But, with them both gone and busy, Ulder can plan with no risk of ever-watchful eyes catching him.

How does one drive away a man like Giilvas Quickfoot. It was time to delve into the worlds of speculation and trial and error.

He won’t be empty handed.

[keepmeinmind-01]

wip wednesday part four

thank you to everyone who commented! this is for my file titled “smoke signals” for @aparticularbandit @tamsinswriting @enigma-the-mysterious @sourb0i @whimsicalmeerkat @violet-prism-creatively @anyctibius @stonemaskedtalieain @kallisto-k @post-and-out

“I thought I'd save you the trouble of saying no to coffee again and just bring it to you instead," he said, a hint of challenge in his tone. “And I also bought you a scone and an apple fritter.”

Realistically, it was bribery.

But they’d been raised in less-than-ideal circumstances in which neither had learned how to negotiate sibling affection. Little acts of thought and care had been delivered in between the tense days and stretching distances, and it had been in those Newt had found a lifeline—and a small part of him hoped Theseus had, too.

“I don’t drink coffee, remember?” Newt said.

“I know. That’s why it’s tea. Your one is, anyway.”

Newt eyed it.

“Lots of milk and a pile of sugar, just the way you like it,” Theseus added.

He smiled, and Newt realised that he hadn’t seen Theseus truly smile for several months now. Certainly not in the newspaper photos. Anyone who saw those would be seeing an entirely different side to his brother; because, yes, Theseus did come across as reserved and intense to the majority of people, but growing up together had taught Newt that wasn’t everything there was to him. As much as Theseus pretended otherwise: as if there was no other recourse.

The small, hopeful smile made Newt’s stomach churn. He reached out despite himself and took the small bag, feeling its gentle sogginess, the promising heat of caramelised sugar.

He knew he had a little of a chip on his shoulder, a burden on his back. Even standing so close to Theseus made the back of his neck prickle with the promise of shame. Theseus was trying to make amends for their complicated childhood; if anything, Theseus was a tryer. They’d been compared by everyone, Newt always the one lacking, always the one with the stranger mannerisms, never mind the fact Theseus was nowhere near as perfect as everyone pretended.

Like the war, neither of them had asked for it.

A small flare of injustice.

Theseus had asked for it. He’d left in 1915, of his own volition.

Still, this tension, this complication between them, was nothing new. So Newt took the tea from Theseus, too, tucking the bag under his arm as he stirred the fragrant liquid with the little spoon. “Should we—um, should we sit down?”

“Yes,” Theseus said, looking around, movements sharp and birdlike. He spilled his own black coffee on his hand, but didn’t seem to notice the scald. “Um, right, we can grab a seat somewhere—the atrium is nice, of course, I like the fountain. But I know it’s quite noisy, so maybe somewhere outside? It’s only raining a little today.”

new additions for @lizhly and @adhdavinci

Newt nodded, relief washing over him at the prospect of getting out of the crowded Ministry. "Outside sounds good. There's a quiet courtyard near—"

A silvery blur shot through the air, coalescing into the sleek, predatory form of a shark. Travers's Patronus. Its mouth opened, and Travers's clipped Scottish burr filled the corridor.

[enchantinglyjade]

𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕠𝕨𝕖𝕕 𝔽𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕤

Chapter Seven

Ravenclaw!OC x Slytherin Boys

Masterlist Previous | Next Warnings: None

-

Wednesday morning is much of a surprise to Twila.

“Twila! Twila! Wake up!”

Multiple hard knocks awaken the girl from her slumber with a jolt. Her heart pounds with every worst case scenario as she flops out of bed, her blanket, of course, deciding at this exact moment to get wrapped around her ankle and nearly trip her on her way to the door. She swings open her dorm door with heavy breaths, kicking the blue blanket angrily to the side, only to peer down at a pair of first years.

“They put frogs in the lavatory!” The shorter one yells, despite only being a few inches away.

Twila takes a slow blink, allowing time for her brain to catch up to speed and wrap around what’s happening just now.

“Come quickly!”

She lazily drags behind the two girls out of the common room and downstairs to the nearest girls bathroom. The prefect rubs her eyes with a groan as the sunlight hits her face from a window on the closest wall, but she stops at the sound of a ribbit. 

Ribbit Ribbit

She drops her hands, staring at the wooden door with caution. She looks to the two girls, who only part way for her as she walks forward. Twila places a hand on the door, already able to feel the chaos without even needing to see it. With a deep breath, she pushes the door open, coming face to face with green and yellow toads flying back and forth, and up and down across every feasible surface. The last thing she expected this morning was a trip to a swampy bathroom, quite literally this time.

A particularly large toad launches forward through the door frame, causing the three girls to scream as they jump out of its path. Unfortunately, a handful of the amphibians take inspiration from this and follow suit, causing them to spill out into the halls, now gaining the attention of other nearby students.

“Cast Evanesco on them, I forgot my wand.” Twila says with a groan, tiptoeing around the small creatures. 

The two first years look at her in shock at her request to cast a fifth year level transfiguration spell on the toads, but they try their hardest anyway. But Twila hardly notices their struggles, especially not when a certain blond prefect is laughing his ass off at the end of the hall.

“Malfoy.” She grits her teeth, approaching with a less than happy expression.

The boy puts on the best innocent face he can muster through his suppressed laughter, eyes feigning surprise as she stops in front of him. “Oh, hello, Twila. How are we this morning?” The two other boys, Blaise and Theo, snicker from beside him.

Twila crosses her arms. “Oh, just great actually.” She responds sarcastically.

Draco keeps himself from smiling. “I’m glad you’re doing well. What’s got you out of bed this morning?” He says taking a moment to peek down at her sweater and plaid pajama shorts in contrast to all the black cloak uniforms surrounding her.

She takes note of this as well, but pretends not to care. “Just out for my usual morning stroll.” Her voice still drips with sarcasm, making it clear she knows exactly who's behind this situation.

The blond puts on a dumb smile, nodding his head in revelation. “I see. I’m sure it’s wonderful taking a stroll this early in the morning.”

“Oh, it’s just my favorite. The things you see, you know?” Twila matches him with an equally fake smile.

The urge to laugh is quite a challenge for Draco at this point. “Oh, I totally get what you’re saying. You really get to see nature in a whole new way. Truly the highlight of every morning.”

“Emphasis on the nature part.”

A hint of aggression surfaces in her voice in her last sentence, but Draco decides to push her just a little bit further. “Right. So, why are there toads in the bathroom anyway?”

“Draco, I’m gonna kill you.”

A small chuckle finally escapes his throat, finding himself very amused at how this plan worked out. “Now, now, Twila. Don’t you think that’s a bit of an overreaction. It’s just a few lousy toads.”

She groans dramatically, turning away to see that the first years managed to clean up all the toads by now. Then, she raises a warning finger at him. “I’m going back to sleep. Leave me alone.” She warns, but he can see the small smirk pull at her lips before she walks away.

Unfortunately for Twila, she has no choice but to stay up now. Classes will start too soon and she still has yet to get dressed. Lucky for her, the day would go on as any normal Wednesday would. Care of Magical Creatures with the girls. Charms with Celia, Ominis, and Sebastian. History of Magic, where she is unfortunately dragged behind Jewel the entire time without the ability to mutter as much as a single word to Mattheo, who Jewel makes sure to sit on the other side of the room from.

Arithmancy, however, is odd this time around.

She sees him again, Tom. She’s alone for the first time today and stuck in a room with the very person everyone has now told her to stay away from. Even his own brother has warned her against him. She keeps hearing Mattheo’s words play out in her head from last night. As much as she’s been told to feel scared of him, she only feels frustration. Why won’t anyone give her an explanation? People love to get on her back for her secrets and yet everyone seems to be doing the same to her. Is she just supposed to trust that she’s currently sitting 10 feet from the most ‘vile’ man in the school just because of a few rumors? Sure he doesn’t seem like the most talkative and friendly of people, but Twila is no stranger to being seen as the weird outcast. Then again, Mattheo and Draco never did tell her that Tom’s dangerous per se... So maybe there’s another reason they want her to stay away.

Regardless, she decides to be adamant about avoiding his gaze, just in case.

༺ ☆ ༻

Annoying Draco during dinner is a new favorite pastime for the girls, much to his dismay, especially while his other friends like Blaise and Theo are present. Though, Draco just learns to ignore the girls until dinner ends at this point. 

“Ready?” Twila suddenly greets him.

The girls stop themselves from exiting the Great Hall, looking back at their friend as she stands in front of Draco. “Aren’t you coming, Twila?” Jewel asks.

“Can’t.” She smiles fakely. “Draco and I are assigned to the clock tower tonight.”

Draco’s brows furrow at this, before his face drops in remembrance. “Damn.” He mutters under his breath. He stands with a sigh. “Let’s get this over with, Ravenclaw.”

He grumbles his way out of the Great Hall, not bothering to wait for Twila as she walks not too far behind him. As the commotion of the dining area dies out, their footsteps echo throughout the greater silence of the giant halls. She rolls her eyes at him. “Don’t act so grim. I don’t exactly wish to spend my night like this either.”

He laughs fakely at this, continuing forward as he speaks to her over his shoulder. “I’ll try my best, but I’m not exactly feeling peppy and cheerful tonight.”

She scoffs. “Oh, trust me, I know the feeling. You wouldn’t believe the morning I had.” She says through gritted teeth, eyes narrowing at the back of the boy's head as they make their way up the endless stairs.

Now his smirk turns genuine.

As the sun finally sets, the two students find themselves surrounded by incredibly sized spinning cogs, and grinding metal gears. The area is dimly light, only allowing the shine of the moon that comes through a giant stained glass clock face, embroidered with golden roman numerals. About a hundred winding, wooden stairs lead down to the cemented floor of the courtyard, a multiple ton pendulum swinging just above it. It swooshes and creaks with every literal second that passes by, filling the strangely eerie room with its sound. 

Twila stares up and down between the high ceiling, and the low drop beneath them, taking in each metallic whir with a sigh. “So, this is our night?” She asks rhetorically, looking around with already bored growing eyes as the two of them stand in the tower shaped grandfather clock.

Draco’s eyes try their best to make out their surroundings in the darkness of the tower, looking for nothing in particular. “I suppose it is.” He says just as dull as he is feeling. With a sigh, he makes his way to a nearby wall and leans against it lazily. “Can’t get much worse than this.” He mutters.

Though, Twila already finds herself too busy with something to hear him. Her feet step down to the next level, walking over to the clock face. Patterns of blues and yellow reflect down onto her face, the moon’s light overtoning her and the room with a pale coloring. She stands on the stone frame, coming close enough to run her fingers along the thick, cold glass.

He watches her from across the platform with narrowed, but just as curious of eyes, feeling almost annoyed that she isn’t paying attention to him.

She walks slowly across the wooden planks, hands behind her back, but her head high as she searches the tower for something she’s never seen before. The night will feel slow, that’s for sure, but she is persistent on entertaining herself however possible, even if it means finding joy in the little things. She also can’t help but notice how dead, yet private this part of the castle is. She’ll have to remember this for another time.

Draco taps his foot, twiddling with his fingers as each creaking sound of her footsteps against the floorboards only pushes him further into his irritation. As Twila returns to their original level, she passes by him once more, still allowing silence to fill the space between them and continues exploring the castle with a light hum of a song. Draco lets out a deep breath, watching her in the corner of his eyes. Suddenly, she stops short in front of a new hallway, standing on her tiptoes in an attempt to look down it. Draco pushes himself off the wall and takes a small and quick peek down the hall as well, but returns to his previous bored stance before she can notice. But before Draco can even get comfortable again, Twila is carelessly making her way down the hall, leaving him and the designated patrol area behind.

Naturally, this earns a groan from the blond, making him get back up again and follow her annoyedly. “And where the hell do you think you’re going?” He confronts angrily, only a few steps behind her.

However, he quickly finds that Twila’s curious nature makes her completely unfazed by his attitude and that she is too unapologetic to care. “What’s that room?” A large wooden door at the end of the hall stares back at the girl, its frame marbled with intricate designs.

“Are you always this damn nosey? For god’s sake, you’re like a cat.” He huffs as he now stands beside her before his face twists with a mocking grimace as he recognizes the door in front of them. “It’s a bathroom.”

“Why is it so fancy?”

“It’s for prefects.”

“So… we get our own special bathroom…?”

“Yes, you get to share your own personal bathroom with the other 20 prefects. Now are you done fantasizing about the toilets?”

She stares at the door for a moment again. It can’t just look like any old bathroom if it has to be locked away from the other hundreds of students. There has to be something different. “Well, hell, I wanna see what’s in there!”

“It’s a toilet! Can we please go back to doing our job?”

He watches in disbelief as she silently crosses her arms. With a sigh and shake of his head, he looks away, ready to guide them back into the clock tower.

“No.”

Then, she’s racing down the hall, her school robes fanning out behind her as she paces towards the door.

Draco has half a second of amazement before he’s chasing right after her. She pushes open the door, not bothering to wait for the boy behind her, and letting it nearly slam in his face before he catches it with the palms of his hands just before. She’s met with the unexpected, looking around in awe at the giant, pool-like bathtub in the center of the room, lined with about a hundred gold faucets. The walls stand with plenty of paintings and golden panel moulding and trims, but the pool is the real eye catcher here. Definitely not any old bathroom.

“Are you done obsessively haunting the bathroom now?”

Twila is certain she’ll turn into a mermaid in here. “Just a bathroom, Draco? This is insane!” Her jaw hangs open as she, obviously, has to touch every single golden and shiny faucet in sight, leaving tiny finger prints on each one. “I’m going to spend every night here.”

“You’re absolutely mad, you know that, right?”

She’s now on her knees, swishing her hands back and forth across the warm water’s surface, watching as ripples trail behind her fingertips. However, she cautiously retreats her hand as she realizes the depth of the water. Would something be underneath? This is a wizarding school afterall. She half expects a dragon to pop out from underneath the bath water. She eyes down into the dark water with squinted eyes, awaiting something magical.

He rolls his eyes at her odd fascination, fighting off the very, very small part of him that almost wants to join her. However, he decides that enough is enough and speaks up one last time before he’s going to decide to leave her behind. “Can we be done now? Have you seen enough toilets to be satisfied until tomorrow?”

“Fine.” She huffs as she shakes the water from her hands, standing from her place off the floor. They exit the room together and make their way back down the portrait lined hall, at least 50 or so paintings moving to watch them as they approach the clock tower once more, but instead of its usual hums and ticks, they hear a clamoring coming from the stairs above.

“Will you just listen to me!”

“That’s enough! I know what I’m doing.”

Draco immediately recognizes both of the voices, but Twila can only pick up Mattheo’s. Soon enough, two boys come stomping down the stairs, still heated from their argument when they spot Draco and Twila standing together. Twila suddenly makes direct eye contact with Tom as his eyes fill with surprise then determination as he marches up to the two of them. “And just what are the two of you doing out?” He says menacingly. 

Draco scoffs quietly under his breath. “We’re partoling.” He answers simply.

However, before another word can be said, they hear two more voices come from beneath their wooden platform.

“Sebastian, this is a bad idea.”

“Come on, Ominis. Not even just one round? I know you know how to duel, despite how often you deny it.” The second boy says with a laugh as he looks around at all the Crosswands dueling equipment.

Tom’s head spins as he glares down beneath them into the courtyard. He lets out a hum, murmuring something quietly. Then, in an instant, he’s making his way down the stairs, ready to scold the two boys below. The other three stare at one another before  following only feet behind him, curious how the scene will play out. Tom stands before Ominis and Sebastian, who both are equally as frightened as they are confused to see the room suddenly as full as it is. And just before Tom can speak, he is yet again interrupted by even more company. The group continues to grow as one blonde, one red head, and one brunette pile in through the door, laughing while carrying a familiar, but forbidden object.

The three girls freeze in place as they see the room as already more than occupied, eyes wide and alert, especially noting that Tom is in the room. Nervously, Penelope swishes the object behind her back with a stressed laugh. “Hey, girl.” She greets Twila with a stiff wave.

The boys turn to look between her and the American in either confusion or annoyance, causing Twila’s pores to start to sweat with nerves. “Hey.” She greets back quietly, unsure if she should dare move a muscle right now or not. Regardless of fear or not, Tom is Head Boy and therefore in charge of everyone in the room, including Twila and Draco even as Prefects, and something tells Twila that Tom is more than willing and able to use that power.

But then, a wide and confident smile appears on Jewel’s face. She steps forward, the clacking of her kitten heels making heads turn back towards her. “Damn,” She starts, having the bravery to waltz to the center of the circle. “You said you were patrolling the clocktower. I didn’t expect… all of this.” Jewel seems to be the only one unfazed and unintimidated by the situation at hand, not caring one bit that Tom is present. She immediately walks to Twila, standing between her and the boys as a shield. “So, what’s going on here?” She asks no one in particular, staring down the familiar men.

“You’re all out past curfew, is what.” Tom spits out, but his eyes seem to be directed at Jewel more than anyone, glaring at her with what Twila could almost sense as hatred, which only flourishes the questions in her head. Penelope shifts in her spot, making an echoed scrape sound with her shoes and drawing Tom’s attention once more. “What do you have?” He demands, peering down at the large leather object that peeks around her legs.

“Nothing.”

“How dumb do you truly think I am, Gryfindor? I could go straight to Dumbledor with this.” He threatens with his face ever so serious.

Penelope crosses her arms in annoyance. “Well, can you do it in about 10 minutes? I went through hell to get this.” And just like that, she unveils the stolen Sorting Hat and places it upon her head, caring less if the room sees it now. While completely ignoring the Slytherin’s, Penelope smiles widely as she looks up at the brim of the hat. The Sorting Hat’s face scrunches to life, its rim moving in a wave-like manner as it makes its assessment. “Miss Cassoway, you must be tired of this by now.” It speaks out loud to her. “You are still a Gryfindor and just as much of a nuisance as you were the first time you stole me.”

She disappointedly removes the hat with a visible pout, before looking around for the next victim.

“‘Nelope, you really should put that back.” Jewel warns but with a laugh in her voice, still watching as she passes it on to Celia now.

“Yeah, you should really listen to your leader.”

“Shut up, Malfoy.”

The hat relaxes as it’s placed on Celia's head. “Miss Mulberry, you are just as bright as I remember and your kindness is ever growing, but not all deserve your patience, remember this.” Celia’s face drops in contemplation at the object's unexpectedly deep words. She has an idea what this can mean, but she is quiet to reveal it to the group, choosing instead to remain silent and let her friends do as they will.

Sebastian and Ominis stand with their jaws slightly hanging open, beyond overwhelmed at the amount of things that have taken place in the last minute or so. They are unfamiliar with most of the people in the room and debate sneaking away while everyone’s distracted, but they both know it is likely Tom will notice.

Penelope is still just as ecstatic and skips over to bring the hat to Twila now. The ravenclaw feels a huge rush of embarrassment from the whole ordeal, seeing as the boys are less than amused as they watch the red head carelessly throw around the stolen object. “Penelope, please,” her voice at a whisper. 

“Oh, it’ll just be quick, then I’ll go return it or whatever.” 

The large hat is surprisingly light on her head, she hardly recalls her first meeting with the object even if it was only a few months ago.

“Ah, Twila DeLuna. I remember you.” The hat sounds as if it were smiling as it speaks this to her. Twila holds her arms insecurely as everyone’s eyes watch her and the hat’s interaction. “The intelligence and creativity of a Ravenclaw, the charm and ambition of a Slytherin; a dangerous and confusing combination indeed. You are a powerful witch, Miss DeLuna. People will either respect or fear you; it is your choice to make.”

Twila’s eyes widen at the hat’s words and quickly reaches up to remove it from her head. “What a silly little thing.” She laughs it off and hands the sentient object back to Penelope with her cheeks bright red with fluster and insecurity.

“Are you done playing dress up now?” Draco suddenly speaks up to the girls, but keeps Twila in the corner of his eye, giving her a once over from the hat’s statement.

Penelope rolls her eyes, exiting the room with the hat in hand while Celia follows quickly behind. Jewel takes a slow look at some of the boys, before linking arms with Twila and leading her forward and out without another word, only a small smirk on her face.

The boys stand silently and awkward in the slightly less crowded room, when Tom then clears his throat. He takes one glare around the room, then just like that, he’s gone as well.

༺ ☆ ༻

Twila tries her best to shake off the hats’ words from last night, but deep down she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it since. They’re not new words for her, she had been told similar ones when it first assessed her before coming to Hogwarts, but they still have her just as troubled.

She pulls on a dark blue, long sleeve shirt, popping her black robes over it as she paces out the door to D.A.D.A. She plops in her usual seat with a short sigh, allowing herself to catch her breath after descending the many, many stairs of her common room’s tower. 

“You look like you haven’t slept in weeks.” Draco studies her face with a fake look of disgust.

She turns to him unamused, before letting out a quiet groan, continuing to remove her books from her bag. But before they can speak any further, Snape calls for the students' attention, briefing them with a small history lesson before he prepares them with a spell.

“Wands. Up.” He demands, looking down upon the sitting students.

Draco grabs his wand as instructed with a huff, lazily and boredly leaning back against his chair as he awaits for the professor's next word.

“Twila.” Snape suddenly says. She raises her head to meet her professor’s eyes, everyone else's now on her as well. Snape tilts his head towards the back of the room. With a small gulp, Twila embarrassingly stands, taking a seat in an empty desk near the back with her book, where she then begins writing, trying hard to ignore the judgemental and assuming gazes she can practically feel on her.

Twila’s heart beats quickly but she attempts to tune it out through her writing, but her shaky pen proves difficult. She knows she’ll get an earful of this after class and she needs to think of an excuse as soon as possible. Of course this would happen now. She saw this coming, she made a deal after all. But for Snape himself to embarrass her like this after everything she’s told him. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t feel completely humiliated right now, especially with Malfoy watching.

Draco watches her with curious and confused eyes. Professor Snape raises his wand, the other students following. Draco does so cautiously, but his head never turns to face away from Twila. He squints, as if to try and question her with his eyes. He is the last person Twila wanted to have to see this, let alone explain it to. Twila attempts to warn him away, but she is too late, Professor Snape loudly slaps his hand on Draco’s book to snap his attention forward once more. Snape’s eyes flicker over to Twila for a brief second, almost threatening her with something, before turning back to his class.

Nearing the end, Snape, for once, lets the class pack up early, but only because he has reason to. “Two rows on my desk by the beginning of next week, all of you.” The class leaves with moans and groans of protest, but Snape thinks little of it. He picks something from his desk, walking it over to Twila in silence. She takes the envelope in his hand cautiously as he walks away, his long cloak making him appear as if he’s gliding across the floor.

She reads it quickly, making sure to shield it from any lookers, then walks out into the hall, of course, a certain boy already waiting for her just outside the door, ready to walk her to Potions. “What was that all about?” Draco questions.

“It’s just new student things.” She says with a sigh, tucking away the letter.

He rolls his eyes. “About? Have you opened the envelope? What is it?”

Twila groans in exhaust. It’s just like when they first met all over again. “It’s a love letter from your father.” She responds sarcastically.

He lets out an annoyed chuckle. “Come on, be honest with me.”

“It’s nothing, Draco.” She says, her tone growing slightly impatient now. She has enough going on, she doesn’t need his prying on top of it.

Twila’s eyes squint, noticing traffic outside the Potions’ door. She peeks over the shoulder of one of her classmates, eyeing what Professor Slughorn has in store. Each student that walks through the Potions’ door is handed a tray assorted with different ingredients. 

“Ah, here you go. You two will work together. And same for you two.”

Professor Slughorn hands Twila a tray, pointing her and Draco together as they enter the room. Draco responds with a quick ‘ugh’ before picking out a table for them near the window. “Come on, DeLuna. This way.”

He reads the instructions, purposefully only giving her a handful of tasks he thinks she’ll be able to handle while he does the rest. He pours in a vile of a purple liquid, mixing the pot while he reads the next step again. In the corner of his eyes, he notices Twila struggling with something. She’s carefully assessing the best way to hold the spine of lionfish, poking her fingers through its small and sharp bones. Once she has a clean grasp on it, she snaps it in half. Draco cringes at the sound, immediately putting down the parchment he’s holding in irritation. “I told you to powder the spine, not crack it!”

“I thought you said to powder the other stuff!” She exclaims, putting down the broken spine.

He narrows his brows at her vague words. “It’s called dittany and you can’t powder leaves, you idiot.”

“I mean… if it’s dried-”

“Powder the spine!”

He pushes forward with the potion, but keeps her in the corner of his eye. She’s acting odd today. Normally, she’s on top of her game. If anything, the Ravenclaw’s usually looking for excuses to show off to anything and anyone. Is it something to do with the Sorting Hat, or something more? “Did you and the girls have fun with your little dress up, slumber party last night?” He jokes.

“I had nothing to do with that.” She claims, pressing her pestle against the finely crushed bones in her bowl, cheeks turning rosy in remembrance.

“Right, of course.” He chuckles to himself, dipping in the ladle to mix the ingredients. He eyes her for a moment again, his sarcastic attitude slightly slipping away. “Are you sure you’re alright today?”

She quickly composes herself as she realizes he’s taken notice, letting out a soft sigh and still keeping her eyes on the mortar in her hands. “Yeah, I was just thinking about taking a bath later.”

Draco pauses, off guard for a moment, before rolling his eyes. “I’m being serious. I know you’re not actually thinking about taking a bath.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m going to bathe in that tub, Draco.” She says in all seriousness, placing down the bowl to look up at the boy.

He looks her up and down, face slowly contorting in confusion. “You’re being serious, aren’t you?”

“It’s a magical bubble bath! Sorry, not all of us have pool sized baths in our homes.” She exclaims.

“Ah, the poor.” He says with a smirk.

“Ah, the normal.” She corrects.

He rolls his eyes once more, making room for Professor Slughorn to come and check their work. He leans over the cauldron, clapping his hands together with a smile as he sees the foamy bubbles he mentioned as a necessary component to the finished potion.  “Ah, excellent as usual. You’re both dismissed.”

Draco grabs his bag with a smirk, catching up with Twila on their way to the Great Hall for lunch. “So, tell me, is this bubble bath before or after the date with my father?”

༺ ☆ ༻

That night, Twila finds herself in the library. She quietly weaves through the desks and chairs, up to the librarian's desk. She discreetly shows her the pass and gets escorted to the section of the library secured and gated with thick iron bars.

“You have five minutes. No touching. I will know.” Madam Pince warns, opening the gates for the Ravenclaw.

Twila steps inside, descending down the stairs to the main level. There were plenty of interesting looking books; some with faces, ones with chains, others with intricate, glowing designs, but she is forced to walk past them and pretend to not be the slightest bit intrigued. She pulls out the note Snape gave her earlier. Heinous Healing: How to Heal the Broken. Quite the name. She searches the shelves for the familiar title, seeing nothing of the sort just yet.  “Damn.” She curses under her breath. How is she supposed to find the book in under five minutes when this place is ginormous?

She glances at the note once more, spinning on her toes to next check the shelf behind her, but when she looks up, she comes face to face with Tom Riddle himself,

alone with her in the Restricted Section.

Twila gasps loudly, whole body tensing in shock as she sees him towering above her, his face completely unreadable.

He glances down at the letter in her hand. He recognizes the book title, even while reading it upside down. He also eyes the inked lines of what would be a signature at the bottom of the paper, but, to his dissatisfaction, her thumb is covering the name of the teacher who signed it, though he has a guess. Tom turns and walks up to one of the tall shelves against the wall. He scans it boredly, before his eyes land on a yellowish brown book, picking it off the shelf and handing it to her in silence. 

She cautiously takes it from his hands before glancing back up at him. “Thank you.” She barely whispers and quickly paces back up towards the entrance without muttering another word, leaving him there now alone.

Madam Pince sits at her desk, making eye contact with Twila as she takes a mental note that she has now left the Restricted Section.