#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!

[sturniolopepsi]

‘tis the season…for seasonal depression (C.S)

cw: talks seasonal depression/anxiety/ED (LIGHTLY) (read at own risk please!) use of y/n ¿ANGST i think¿

req: no i was listening to “Can’t catch me now” by Olivia Rodrigo and we got here. enjoy!

A/N: please don’t read if your triggered by the topic! your mental health is more important and this fic will always be here to come back to when you’re in a better headspace love! MY DM’S ARE ALWAYS OPEN!

~what i write is completely fictional, these are just ideas in my head. i understand the people i write about do not and may not act like this in these situations ITS FICTIONAL BABES!~

NOT PROOF READ. AND JUST A JUMBLE OF THOUGHTS

***

y/n’s phone buzzes on the night stand, she debates answering it but taking the covers off her head to face the world around her seems to be to big of a daunting task at the moment. it buzzes again but she chooses to ignore it, snuggling deeper in her safe place under the covers.

she hasn’t actually spoken to anyone in about two days… but this depression episode started about a week ago, y/n slowly started to drift away. her boyfriend and his brothers busy with meetings and their lives hardly noticing her absence.

***

the triplets getting home from their meeting, chris tries calling and texting y/n. with no successful attempts he goes downstairs into the kitchen where his brothers are sitting planning the next wednesday baking video.

“has anyone heard from y/n?” chris asks his brothers both of them having a confused look on their faces. “no actually not for a few days.” matt responds, “not since the day we brought her mcdonalds. which was monday i think” it was now Thursday. “last time i heard from her was tuesday she put a short response in the girls group chat but that was itttt.” nick adds now matching chris’ horrified expression.

chris knew of her seasonal depression but it only being november he didn’t expect it to hit this early and this fast. “yeah, i didn’t get to message her yesterday i passed out before i could” he starts walking out of the kitchen. the boys could hear his voice breaking knowing he’s blaming this all on himself. before chris knows it he has his beanie on and shoes on.

“chris, where are you going?” nick asks standing in the hallway looking out towards the door. matt starts to grab his keys knowing his brother is about to ask for a ride to y/n’s house.

“too her”

chris opens the door disappearing out into the cold winter boston night.

***

hearing the front door open and closing downstairs startles the poor girl awake. before the panic attack can start she hears his voice. “y/n where are you?” she would answer him. but she doesn’t want him to see her like this. so if she pretends she’s not here maybe he will think she’s at her parents house. though, knowing him he’d try there too if he didn’t find her here. causing her parents to then worry about her whereabouts and well being as well as chris. she hears his footsteps coming up the stairs.

“in here chris… i’m okay just not feeling good i wouldn’t come in” her voice cracking after not being used in a while. she hears his pace picking up over the stairs and a little knock on the bedroom door before he slowly opening it to the dark room. seeing her poke her head out of the covers tears instantly threatening to fall at the sight of him “i’m sorry” her voice breaks. “oh baby” is all he can whisper walking over to the edge of her bed.

that’s when the tears start, she can’t control them and she doesn’t even know why she’s crying every doubt every fear RUNNING to her head at once. he climbs in bed with her instantly pulling her into his arms. whispering, “i’m sorry baby… it’s okay… shhh… i’m here… i’m here pretty girl… you’re not alone anymore…” softly kissing her on the top of the head. her face shoved into his chest and her body rattling with each sob, which only makes him hold her a little closer and keep whispering sweet things to her.

after some time she calms, chris still holding her as close as before. “i’m sorry… i’m so sorry chris” she states again her voice stuffy from the crying. “don’t apologize, pretty girl. don’t ever apologize for this.” she looks towards him, her face red from the crying, her eyes soft and tired, hair a mess from being in her bed. that’s when he hears her stomach growl. “baby when was the last time you had something to eat?” he asks looking at her, her face going from this soft sad to a confused state. the fact she’s trying to remember when her last meal was let’s chris know it’s been to long. “umm mcdonald’s, with you” she responds. his face drops… “y/n… that was monday night kid, it’s thursday.” her face looks confused clearly not realizing what day it was. “oh my sweet girl… am i able to go and get you a bath ready or a shower depending on what one you feel comfortable with. if you want i’ll call matt once you’re done he can come get us we can get something to eat, stop and get some snacks, and you come back to our house? i want you to be close to me so i can make sure you’re okay” he understands that he can’t just 1. force her to leave her bed if she’s not ready yet hence why he asked if she was comfortable with that. and 2. he knows he can’t just tell her everything will be okay and she will be perfect and happy again. he knows depression works on its own time but, at least if she’s with him he will be able to keep an eye on her.

she slowly nods processing the information and making her decision. she also really doesn’t want to be alone so, it seems like a good idea. “yeah. that sounds okay… just will you sit in the bathroom with me please?” laying her head back down on his chest seeming silly asking him if that request. “of course. anything you need sweetheart. you just tell me when you’re ready to get up okay?” giving her a light squeeze kissing the top of her head once more.

“we will get through this y/n… no matter when, no matter where… i love you.”

“i know… i love you too chris”

A/N: IM SOBBING IM SO SORRY

[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.

[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.

[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

[randommotogpstuff]

Currently thinking over your time loop AU... Already obsessed! Like literally it's so good! Definitely scratches my brain.

I was thinking about a race in the loop (maybe tw, it's a little dark) that might accidentally killed/ heavily injures Marc. And Vale might be involved/ responsible. So he kind of goes crazy and is just praying to go to bed and wake up the same morning. He does everything to fall asleep and everyone is worried about him. Cause one of them has just died/ been badly injured and he his cursing and drinking himself to sleep?

He is so desperate to get him back, not just to have that weight lifted off but because a world in which Marc doesn't lives and smiles seems like a world that's not worth it. He slowly realizes over the next loops that he needs him. He can't imagine a future where Marc isn't part of his life. Like now he is still part of his life, somehow. He is more or less forced to spent time with him due to racing but now he knows that this isn't an obligation. He is actually starting to look forward to the few interactions they share at a race weekend.

And maybe that's the point were Marc enters the loop. He doesn't know he died but Vale does and it keeps replaying in his head and he is so obvious not doing okay. And Marc doesn't understand why. On Wednesday he had made a snarky comment and now he doesn't even gave him a weird look at the press conference? He even said hi? And it didn't sound like an obligation?

(I hope I'm not overstepping with my idea, it was just a thought. I hope you like it 😊)

TW Main Character Death (only temporarily) 

you are not overstepping i love this! how is Vale going to deal with having been the reason why Marc died or got seriously injured in one of the loops? even if Marc didn’t know about it Vale knows it happened and we know how Vale is about injuries in the sport (the gif of Marc showing his injuries to Vale and Vale making faces) yes the event was erased but Vale lived through it he experienced it and he had someone who he’s been pretending to himself for years he does not care about die/ seriously injured in front of him 

Marc not noticing something is off with Vale for a couple of loops cause he entered the loop a couple of loops after his injury/death and is busy having his own freak out moment (did consider having Marc remember but it adds too much angst) but after a while he starts noticing something is just not right with Vale he’s been watching him his whole life he knows something is off with him 

Vale’s gone from taking their brief conversations as pr obligations to slowing warming up to him Vale’s leaning towards him like he used to before, holding a door open for him, seating next to him at the safety meeting, going up to him to shake hands when they qualify 1-2 for the race, he's spraying champagne at him like he used to before the divorce.

Marc slowly starting to buzz out of his skin cause he is stuck repeating the same weekend and the only thing changing outside of his actions is Vale (not realizing Vale is in the loop) thawing to him. Marc deciding to go all in (sorry I had to) and just going up to Vale and full on starts making out with him in front of the media. Vale is shocked cause this has never happened before. Big clue that something has changed in his loop. 

Dark au of au (TW repeated death)  Went a bit dark under here

what if before Marc entered the loop Marc’s been dying in every single loop Vale’s had to live through? Vale’s been doing everything he can to stop it but Marc just keeps dying on him sometimes its caused by Vale’s actions and sometimes its something outside of Vale’s control but every loop up until Marc enters has been him dying. Vale trying to keep everything the same for a couple of loops because he thinks he’s finally found a way to keep Marc alive but slowly starting to notice Marc’s is changing his actions and staying as far away because yes something is going on but whatever is happening is keeping Marc alive. Another brief divorce happens in this au when Marc and Vale have found out each other is the loop they are having fun doing time loop shenanigans together. Vale is slowly healing from having witnessed Marc die countless times. But Marc rides dangerously on a race day and Vale flips out thinking Marc’s going to die again. Has not communicated what was going on before Marc came into the loop. Marc finds out Vale has been in the loop for longer than he has and has had to witness him dying repeatedly and did not say anything to Marc once he realized Marc was also in the loop. Vale has his first death in this au after they fight and it freaks out Marc because what if it was the last loop and he can't imagine a world without Vale. Marc having to emphasize because Vale has had to live countless loops witnessing Marc die. Does bring them back together. Kings of misscommunicating but now forced to come together because they are stuck together in the loop.  

[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

[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.

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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.

[quotidian-oblivion]

✨Out of context lines shitpost Pt. 8✨

Part 7

Quo: This is it... our last day of childcare course. And... *sighs* I'm getting choked up. I met @mispeltnostalgia and got to know her well through this course and she's been the best irl fanfic buddy and older brother despite being a year younger than me ever.

Nog: These out of context things have made me so happy and its fun to look back and remember the funny shit that we have said and done this year. this deffo won't be the last though. Quo and I will forever be saying and doing stupid shit. Quo is the best little sister ever and while I'll miss our fridays together she cant get rid of me. I know too many of her fanfics and she's beta-ing my works.

Quo: You beta-ed a couple of mine too!

We'll still be posting the out of context lines, but there are going to be longer gaps since we're not gonna meet on Fridays anymore :( There's still our weekly study sessions that we dubbed TEAS on Wednesday!

~

Tim: *holding a ball of wool to Jason’s face as a pretend mic* What do you say about the Curse you just found out you have Jason: *clears throat* I hope it kills me. ~ Jason: What do you have to say about your Curse? Tim: …I’ve had it since I was fucking born. ~ Barbara: So I bought a pack of quick oats because I love oats. And then I bought another pack of overnight oats because it had yoghurt, and now I’m just realizing that I really am just a horse. Little Shit Young!Jason: THAT’S WHAT I’VE BEEN SAYING. ~ Damian: I’ve been able to find a knife, I’ve been able to find a fork, but I can’t find a spoon. Jon: You have all the stabby objects in your bag Damian: I also have a fuckton of crochet hooks and— a pocket watch?? *pulls out pocket watch* Where the fuck is my spoon. ~ Steph: So I was getting pumped up for this song but then I just hear this tiny Alvin and the chipmunks voice say “Party Rock” and it just dashed my hopes. Listen to this *Plays Party Rock Anthem”. Damian: … Steph: Like, imagine getting pumped up for one of your childhood songs then you just suddenly hear “party rock” in this high-pitched voice and I felt like killing myself. Damian: … Steph: And hear me out— Damian: I don’t think i want to hear you out anymore. Steph: *Continues to play Bad Romance covered by the Alvin and the Chipmunks” ~ Tim: *Watching a video of Bruce* Bart: Wait, your dad sounds American. Bart: And he speaks kind of like you too! Tim: Yeah, I wonder why my American dad who raised me sounds and has the same speech patterns as me. Hmm, good question. Bart: I just wasn’t expecting it. I forgot that American dads were a thing. ~ Steph: i am granting you the honor of waffle ~ Barbara: *looking for a place to put popcorn. Places the popcorn against Dick’s lap* Dick: hell yeah crotch popcorn! Omg crotchcorn! Barbara: Please don't. ~ Bruce: You have to be very careful out there. These racist attacks are getting worse. Dick: Don't worry, Pops. I'm with a white person, I'll be fine. Barbara: *chokes on her drink with laughter* ~ Tim: *mixes soda water, energy drink and trace amounts of tea together in a tumbler* For funsies. *chugs it* ~ Jason: *falls to the floor, crumbles and silently screams in a public library* Barbara: Stop it, you’re embarrassing yourself Jason: I’m a drama kid, I can do whatever I want ~ Steph: *singing* I am not a quitter Tim: *singing with her* Pocket full of glitter Steph: Yarn balls, I’m a knitter!  Steph and Tim: *singing together* I’m the whole package, baby! Tim: I haven’t met you Steph: But if you’re staaable Tim and Steph: Then here’s my number! And call me Mabel! ~ Alfred: *grabs Bruce by the shoulders and shakes* BE PRODUCTIVE! ~  Steph: IS THAT A PURPLE BALLOON??? Steph: *walks over, picks it up, and carries it like a baby* *whispers* I’m pregnant ~  Damian, high on pain meds: *giggling while he draws Tim falling off a roof* whee whee, hee hee, I’m so funny. Hee hee hee. He’s falling off a building.

[inafieldofdaisies]

WIP Whenever (not me thinking yesterday wasn't Wednesday for a good chunk of it and then being too drained to post... just pretend I ain't late) | Tagged by @direwombat @adelaidedrubman and @nightbloodbix ❤️

I'm coming with Calahan and Mary May POVs for this week's check-in. All the feels, for sure. 💔

Light streamed into the living room of Mary May's place on the second floor of the Spread Eagle, making Calahan change positions and bury his face in the couch cushions in an attempt to get a couple of extra minutes of rest. The previous night, he had sneaked back into the bar with Leslie for a celebratory drink after they had successfully gotten Zorro and his clothes out of his Peggie infested cabin. Once they had parted ways, he had climbed upstairs as quietly as he could and crashed on the couch without a much craved shower, knowing Mary May would be out cold at the late hour and wouldn’t appreciate him barging into her bedroom unannounced. The first thing he heard that early morning as he did his hardest to stay asleep were her footsteps as she left her room and headed for the small kitchen. She was humming under her breath as she made coffee, the scent carrying over to him and teasing his senses. A few minutes later, a cup was placed at the coffee table next to him, and he could feel Mary May looming over the couch. When she didn't move, he reluctantly turned and looked at her with blurry eyes, "Is it an emergency?" He took a second to take in her messy blond hair and oversized t-shirt, ignoring the slightly annoyed look on her face. "Good morning to you, too, Rookie.", she rolled her eyes at his impatient tone before moving back to the kitchen to make herself breakfast. "I could feel you staring, you know.", he retorted and threw a hand over his eyes, deciding he would lay down a little bit longer seeing how for the past few days he had been running around the Valley on so many errands and barely getting any sleep. "Oh, don't flatter yourself, I was making sure you were still breathing. Can't have the Resistance lose its leader." Calahan let out a laugh at her dodging his flirting yet again, "Whatever you say, gorgeous."

Mary May took a seat on the small kitchen table that only had two chairs thanks to the tiny space she was using as living quarters. She bit into a piece of toast before asking, "So how did it go with John's doppelganger? What trouble did you get him into?" "He's got potential, that's for sure. Helped me get my shit from the cabin, and we had fun doing it. Remind me to have a word with Sabrina for hiding him." "And did "your shit" also include a certain raccoon?", she raised an eyebrow. Calahan peeked over the back of the couch, sending a smile her way that usually worked in convincing people to see things his way. With Mary May, sadly, all his tactics seemed to have the opposite effect usually. "Zorro will be on his best behavior, I promise. You won't even notice he's around. Plus… he gives mean foot rubs." "Rookie.", disbelief seeped into her tone. "Fine. The foot rubs were a lie. Though, I can take up on that task." "You ain't coming anywhere near my feet, Rookie." "Your loss. And Zorro?" "You really love gettin' on my nerves early in the morning." Calahan gestured around her living room, "He won't take up much of your space and he will be out with me, anyway." Mary May let out a laugh, the first sign he was getting somewhere, "It's like you're trying to sell me a piece of furniture." "I couldn't leave him behind, gorgeous. He's my son." A huff escaped her, probably at the pout he followed his words with, "He's a raccoon."

"Still my son. He was defending the cabin, you know. Costed one Peggie a finger. Scared the life out of Leslie, too, to the point he tried to flee the room like a bat out of hell. It was hilarious.", he couldn't help the proud smile that emerged at the memory. His words piqued her interest, "Did he now?" "Told you I was teaching him tricks before Joseph's takeover. He is one of us, just stuck in a raccoon body, unable to talk." Mary May rolled her eyes before saying, "Fine. He can stay. Just… keep "your son" in check. I find something in here destroyed, he gets the boot." "You love him, you just don't want to admit it. Thank you.", he blew a kiss her way before lying back down and shifting his gaze up to the ceiling as his mind ran over the potential tasks he could take on next. He was dying to take a drive and check up on Hurk and Sharky, knowing the two were probably in the deep with the cult, but he knew chances were less capable of taking care of themselves people needed his help in the Valley. "Have him scratch a Seed's eye out or something, and I might start to like him." Silence took over as Mary May finished her breakfast while Calahan closed his eyes, set on enjoying the precious minutes of peace, knowing with the County on lockdown that never truly lasted. Eventually, she got up and walked to the couch, her arms came to rest on the back as she leaned over to look at Hartley. "You're staring again.", he muttered before cracking one eye open and meeting her baby blues, "Not that I mind." "Whatever you say, Sleeping Beauty. It's rare that you shut up, forgive me for thinking you had fallen asleep on me." "Sleeping Beauty, huh? There's a proven method to wake me up then, gorgeous." "You say, 'a kiss', I'm banning you from the bar for a week, Rookie." "You're no fun.", he stuck out his tongue, before asking, "So… why did you need me awake?"

Mary May took a deep breath, for once looking uncertain, "I know you have enough on your plate as is and I don't want to join in with all the folks asking you for help…" Calahan rose up to a sitting position that brought him on the same eye level as her when he said in a serious tone, "Whatever you need, just ask." He was well aware only inches separated them to the point he could start counting the freckles scattered across her nose and she seemed to have realized the same thing as her gaze darted to his lips for a second. It happened so quick he could have missed it if he had blinked, but he didn't. You like me, Angel. Too bad you refuse to admit it, let alone act on it. But in a way Calahan was glad about her faking disinterest. He told himself it was for the best, that it would be an unwanted complication in the middle of a holy war, that the last thing he needed was to fall for anyone and he was certain with her it would be unavoidable and as natural as breathing. The biggest trouble I can ever get myself into. He had wholeheartedly expected Mary May to pull back and put more space between them, but as the seconds ticked by, she remained glued to the spot with an unreadable expression on her face. She finally cleared her throat, "I was wondering if you'd help get the Widowmaker back." "Your daddy's truck?" Mary May nodded, sadness swimming in her eyes, "John had his men steal it. And as you know, I was too "preoccupied" to chase after them.", a frown appeared as she added, "Bastard doesn't know how to keep his hands off my things, does he?" "We're getting it back, gorgeous. And the next thing of his I fuck up, you bet would be dedicated to you." A small smile that pulled at his heart erased the scowl, "Can I come with?" "Like you even have to ask me that.", Calahan booped her nose and got up, heading for the bathroom as he called out, "I'm going to put a word out, find where they're keeping the truck."

Mary May watched Hartley disappear into her bedroom and stayed put until she heard the bathroom door close behind him. The second it did, she took it as a sign to move and entered the room, trying to ignore the sound of the running water and the visuals that threatened to appear in her mind. She quickly changed into a T-shirt and a pair of jeans, wanting to not waste too much time in case Calahan decided to cut his shower short. She couldn't deny for some reason it had taken her a more than the usual amount of willpower to stop staring at his bare chest as he slept on her couch that morning. The fact he had called her lingering gaze out didn't help matters. Should tell him to find a new place to sleep at or at least shower elsewhere. Definitely to stop walking around shirtless and promise I'd throw him out otherwise. Yeah, he'd have a field day hearing that one. Mary May immediately hated the idea of making him leave, she had grown used to having his presense around the bar and how he was always willing to try to make her crack a smile or offer a distraction from the headaches John Seed was causing her. Calahan Hartley was a ball of chaos, but also a breath of fresh air and a helping hand to anyone that needed assistance at dealing with the cult. Days back John had spared no resources in taking over Fall's End, finally succeeding at closing down the Spread Eagle with her en route back to his bunker, to the hell she had barely escaped last time.

Or so the bastard thought. The victory hadn't lasted long. Just until Hartley had barelled into town in no other than a stolen Peggie truck and wipped out John's men like nobody's business. Then he had rushed at her with worry in his eyes, curse words directed at the youngest Seed spilling out of his mouth as he had cut her free. "Are you hurt, Mary May? 'Cause I swear to God, John won't know what's coming for him… I ain't losing anyone else.", he had asked while he examined her all over, his tone dead serious, promising of good old trouble headed John's way. As she, Calahan and Jerome had pried away the boards nailed to one of the only things her father had left her: the bar and reopened it, Mary May had been the first to offer the Deputy a place to stay when he needed it, feeling like it was the least she could do as a thank you for helping her keep her promise and her old man's wish alive. Off-key singing pulled her out of the memory and she found herself biting back a smile at the idea that the man that was rapidly turning into the Project's number one enemy and had somehow ended up leading a resistance against it, was currently showering in her very bathroom and acting like anything but a vicious vigilante. Not all heroes wear capes, alright. Some work as deputies that have broken more laws than the people they arrest and own a raccoon they consider a son. She quickly exited the bedroom and strode downstairs, set on preparing the bar for the day and putting any thoughts of Hartley at the back burner, where they belonged.

The first thing to greet her were small feet scurrying off across the wooden floors that made her release a sigh before she called out, "Zorro." Initially the name had no effect until seconds later when a head poked out from behind the bar and "Calahan's son" rushed at her, wrapping his paws around her leg in what his owner deemed as "greeting". "Morning to you, too, boy.", Mary May muttered as she stared down at the raccoon, then pointed towards the stairs, "Up to your father you go now. I have to open the bar. Can't have you chasing off paying customers." The raccoon made no move, dark gaze trained on her face, forcing her to repeat more sternly, "Up, Zorro." At the command Zorro finally sprung into action, waddling over to the stairs and sneaking a look her way to see if she was following as he began to climb up. He got half of the way and stopped, making Mary May shake her head, "What? Want me to come too? Fine. Guess I do need to open the door for you. Maybe he should teach you how to do that." The second her boots hit the first step, the raccoon resumed his ascend. "Bit off a Peggie's finger, did ya now?", Zorro's ears perked up as if he understood her words, "Good job.", then she frowned, "And I'm talking to a raccoon. Your daddy is rubbing off on me, Zorro." She pushed open the door that separated the downstairs area and her living quaters and followed him inside at the exact moment Calahan chose to emerge from her bedroom in nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist as he dried off his hair with another.

"Jesus, Rookie.", the words left her before she could stop them, winning a laugh out of him. "Thought you headed down. Sorry.", Hartley explained sheepishly, while his smug smile was anything but apologetic and only widening at the fact she was most definitely gawking and yet to get anything else out, "Enjoying the view, gorgeous? For the record, I don't blame you for coming back for more." Pull yourself together. Mary May returned her narrowed gaze back to his face, and after a final look at him, she twirled around and said, "Make sure your son behaves." The door cut off his throaty laughter while she took the stairs two at a time and tried her hardest to stop her mind from wandering into a dangerous territory, of wondering what the small tattoo above his hip spelled. Sure as hell ain't asking him. He won't let me live that one down. Back down in the bar, she made it her mission to exorcize him from her thoughts, focusing on taking down the chairs and making sure everything was in place for opening and when she ran out of tasks to keep her preoccupied, she moved onto the small kitchen, arranging whatever Casey had left out of place. Mary May frowned at the knowledge her only employee was no doubt going to be late, that she had nobody to distract her with small talk.

She was used to Calahan's advances, to his casual flirting, had gotten pretty good at ignoring it all and having an array of reasons why she had to do it. Yet as the months passed and he stuck around, the list with reminders of why getting involved with him was out of the question had suddenly started to become shorter. She was starting to forget. To yearn. It was the worst idea to harbor. Especially now that everything had gone to shit. Maybe I should send him to sleep at the church… make him Jerome's problem. Then she'd be all alone again. Left to dwell on the past, on everything she had lost and regretted. Or she could continue laughing at Calahan's jokes. Have his devilish blue eyes be the first thing she saw each morning. Yes, keeping him around for the time being sounded like the better option. A car engine cut off outside, followed by the jiggle of the bell above the bar's entrance that made her poke her head in through the serving hatch of the kitchen, "We're not open yet." Her breath hitched for a second as her eyes settled on the person that had entered.

Phantom pain shooting across her chest inevitably came next, just like it had with his surprising arrival the day before. It was almost as strong as it had been in that awful moment she had found herself in John Seed's chair, teary eyes staring at him bathed in red hues, her blood becoming one with the room when he made true on his promises of immeasurable pain. Her hopeless screams filling the dead silence, drowning out his patient voice as the realization nobody would come for her sank in. She could still hear his sick reassurances how she had made the right choice by finally "saying Yes" after hours of torture, that the fact she had confessed her "sins" meant she was a step closer to his precious Eden. The twisted delight in his blue gaze still haunted her. The memory lingered just like the crude scar he had left he with. Seeing Hudson on screen anytime she turned on the TVs in the bar only reopened her old wounds. You're still standing. Free. Alive. The bar is open. He hasn't won. And never will. "Morning, Mary May. Should I come back then? Figured I could catch up with Cal before he runs off somewhere.", the apologetic tone and genuine smile were a quick reminder she wasn't facing the man that had made it his job to destroy everything she held dear. Not that she would ever actually confuse the two, but she had to admit the resemblance was quite jarring and she'd need time to get used to not wincing at the sight of his face.

"Ah, now, as the owner of this fine establishment, I can always make an exception, Detective. Anything to drink?" Leslie shook his head as he pulled out one of the chairs at the bar and sat down. "Still not at the stage where I'm morning drinking." "Stick around some more, and you'd get there, Les. It's a rite of passage for anyone settling down in the County ever since the Seeds came along.", Mary May retorted as she exited the kitchenette and slipped into her usual spot. Gary Fairgrave used to have those days where he'd throw back a glass of bourbon while cursing the Project to hell and back before heading off towards the bar after bidding her and her mother a goodbye. "I knew that family was rotten down to the root from the moment they got here. Shit smells like shit, no matter how much french perfume you spray on it.", it was what her old man used to say, taking pride in how his gut instinct had been right about the Seeds. Years later, she was the only one left from the Fairgraves to carry on his legacy and keep the deep-seated hate alive. Leslie gave her a sad smile, seeming at struggle with his own demons, "It all feels like a nightmare, yet my alarm for work is yet to ring and wake me up." A grimace pulled at her features, and her hands set back to straightening the pile of glass coasters at the bar, ignoring how many of them had Calahan's phone number on them, "Wish I could say things would get better…"

"Hope.", Leslie muttered with a strange look. "Hm?", she couldn't help her bitter laugh. "It's what we always have left. Hope. Sabrina would always tell me that. Tell it to any worried family we had to meet with." His words made her release a sigh, "You two are going to find her." Yet a part of her worried. That John had his claws deep into the bright-eyed Deputy. That Calahan was wrong about Sabrina's unwavering conviction. That maybe she had been a traitor all along, and all of them had just failed to see it. Whistling carried from the stairs accompanied by Calahan taking the steps quickly, and in record time, he was at Leslie's side. "My new partner returns.", he exclaimed in a greeting before playfully slapping his back and taking the seat next to him. "Come on, my boy.", Hartley reached down and picked up Zorro from the ground. "Chairs are for paying-" "-customers.", he finished her complaint as he set the raccoon down in one of the empty chairs, "Come on, gorgeous, how can you turn down such a cute face?" Mary May frowned at his puppy dog eyes and the fact they were working. A little. "Doesn't change the fact he's an animal." "A member of the Resistance. And… I was talking about myself." "You ain't cute, Rookie."

Leslie choked back a laugh as Calahan rubbed at his chest, groaning in pain for good measure, "One day, you're gonna realize what you're missing, gorgeous. And I won't be looking for payback for these insults. Too much." He sent a wink her way before clicking his tongue at Zorro in a signal, then turning to Leslie, "Shall we go then, partner? See what plans of John's we can sabotage?" The detective was the first to get up, followed by no other than Calahan's son on the way to the door. Hartley remained seated as he regarded her with a heated expression before leaning over the bar the same way he had earlier that morning and whispering, "I will see to locating what you need me to find. Try not to think about me too much while I'm gone." All she could seem to do was exhale and then involuntary inhale his scent while his baby blues stayed glued to hers. "Thank you for breakfast, by the way. I sure can get used to it." "You gonna start paying me rent, Rookie?", she finally managed to croak out, adding, "For two preferably." Calahan ignored her words and the fact he had someone waiting on him and observing the whole thing, "Can you feel this?" "Hmm?", she gave him a confused look, refusing to back away first and prove that he was getting to her. "How good we could be… if only you weren't so damn stubborn." He moved back, finally putting space between them again and with another wink was gone. Mary May stared at the door, willing for the pesky longing to go away and refusing to admit how for a second, it felt like he had taken all the oxygen from the room with him.

Tagging @clicheantagonist @josephseedismyfather @socially-awkward-skeleton @thesingularityseries @detectivelokis @aceghosts @madparadoxum @chazz-anova @theelderhazelnut @purplehairsecretlair @dumbassdep @shegetsburned @poisonedtruth @cassietrn @voidika @harmonyowl @v0idbuggy @strangefable @schoute @jacobsneed @strafethesesinners @g0dspeeed @trench-rot @nightwingshero @josephslittledeputy @euryalex @florbelles @neonneurons @simplegenius042 @vampireninjabunnies-blog and anyone with something to share ❤️

[froizetta]

WIP Wednesday (depending on timezone)

It's long past midnight for me but, in the spirit of the late great Jimmy Buffett, it's WIP Wednesday somewhere! Specifically, west of the Atlantic. So, you know. Still counts.

Here's the start of another superbat WIP, in which Bruce and Clark have an ill-advised and messy girls' night out together as 30-something year old men. It's like the Hangover, except with fewer and very different hijinks and considerably more angst and also gay pining. (It's nothing like the Hangover.)

When Clark walked into Bruce’s study on a Thursday evening, Bruce could tell immediately that something was off. It wasn’t that he looked sad or anxious, exactly, just…bland. Clark went through life with a near-permanent expression of mild amusement, like he was in on a private joke no-one else knew – which was, incidentally, not uncommonly true. On anyone else it would feel condescending or smug, but on Clark it made people feel like he was letting them in on the secret in some small way. Even if they still didn’t know what it was.

Clark didn’t look that way now. His smile was as bright as ever, but there was something lifeless to it. Like for once he was the one out of the loop. With how well Bruce knew him by now, its absence was almost disconcerting, an uncanny valley of his usual exuberance.

And then, of course, there was also:

“Hey, Bruce! Wanna grab a drink?”

Bruce leaned back in his chair and regarded him coolly. Indeed, the evidence was all but overwhelming.

“You don’t drink,” he replied.

“Do too,” Clark protested.

“Since when?”

“Since, you know. The normal time people start drinking,” Clark said, which was almost impressively unconvincing. “College, I think.”

“You drank in college,” Bruce said. It was more a statement of disbelief than a question.

Clark averted his eyes before replying, “A little.”

He didn’t look like he was even convincing himself now.

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Why bother? You can’t even get drunk.”

Clark huffed. “Well, Bruce, it might surprise you to know that most of my friends in college didn’t actually know I was a superpowered alien. Someone would hand me a beer, and I’d sort of…nurse it, to blend in. It’s what people do in college.”

“I’m not sure pretending to drink a single lukewarm Budweiser in a frat house counts as ‘drinking’.”

Clark bristled, eyes darkening with irritation. “Well, maybe I wanted to branch out a little! I don’t see why this has to be a damn interrogation,” he snapped, which was definitely a harsher response than Bruce would normally expected. Bruce regarded him mutely, watched as he sagged against the doorframe and let out a sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face.

There was no sign of that false-bright smile any longer. The veneer was well and truly cracked now.

“Sorry,” Clark said, genuine regret in his voice. “I overreacted. I’m a little…on edge right now.”

“I can see that,” Bruce said, carefully placid. He considered the hunched shoulders, the dullness in his eyes. This was something, alright.

He tried to keep his tone gentle as he probed, “Did something happen?”

Clark’s lips quirked, wry. “You mean you don’t already know?”

“I might,” Bruce admitted. “But for the sake of the conversation, why don’t we assume I have better things to do than stalk you and go from there?”

“Don’t try to kid, B. I know how much you love stalking people,” Clark said lightly. But the teasing edge to his voice was a blunted imitation of his usual. Bruce held his tongue and, after a long pause, Clark’s lips thinned.

“Lois broke up with me,” he said eventually, quietly.

Ah. So it was that.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Bruce said. Clark’s mouth flickered into a weak smile. Clearly, Bruce wasn’t fooling either of them. “Did she give a reason?”

He let out a tired sigh. “Yup. She said I wasn’t putting her first.”

“Hm. Kind of inevitable when you’re dating a superhero.”

“Kinda, yeah.”

“And did you tell her that?”

Clark’s mouth twisted. “I did,” he said, eyes boring a hole into the floor near his feet. If he stared any harder, Bruce would start worrying about scorch marks in his rug.

Bruce waited again. Clark’s mouth worked as if he had something to say, but after a few long seconds he stayed stubbornly silent. Reluctant to talk, then. And, as was evident from the rest of his demeanor, tired, restless and maybe a little bitter. Nothing unexpected within the context of a recent break-up.

Bruce steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “I see. And you think alcohol will be the solution. So, you want...what? Oblivion? Liquid courage, so you can win her back?”

Clark sighed tiredly. Finally stepping fully over the threshold, he walked towards the desk then slumped against the edge with his arms folded and shoulders hunched. “Neither? ‘Oblivion’ sounds a little dramatic. I mean geez, I’m not that far gone.”

Bruce tipped his head towards the glass-fronted cabinet near his desk and lightly observed, “That’s just as well. I’m not sure my collection of scotch will give a man of your constitution much of either.”

“Believe it or not, I had thought of that,” Clark said dryly. “I just wanted...” He trailed off with a frown, then waved a hand in the air with a soft grunt of frustration. “I don't know how to put it, exactly. Just, you know. The atmosphere.”

Bruce raised his eyebrows. “The atmosphere,” he repeated.

“Yeah. I can’t do the being drunk part, but isn’t there a kind of…atmosphere with it all?” Clark said with a helpless little shrug. “Like, you know, on TV when a guy gets dumped, his buddy comes ‘round, slaps him on the back and takes him out for a beer. And then the buddy says, ‘Women, huh?’ or something like that, and then they laugh, and then everyone feels magically better. Like that.”

Bruce suppressed a private smile. “Oh, right. That atmosphere.”

“I mean, isn’t that what people do?”

“Some people,” Bruce said with a shrug. “But unfortunately for you, I think the whole ‘getting drunk’ part is pretty integral to creating said atmosphere.”

“Oh,” Clark said, disappointed. “Really?”

“Insofar as it can make one’s problems feel more distant for a while, yes,” Bruce explained neutrally. “There’s a reason the writers put them in a bar and not a coffee shop. And that reason is mostly chemical.”

“Ah. That…makes sense. Then, so much for that plan, I guess.” He was chuckling a little as he said it, but there was a weary edge to it. His hands, which had been gripping the edge of the desk, went slack as the nervous energy he’d had when he arrived had drained away. What was left was a subtle exhaustion, a gentle furrow in his brow marring the usually noble lines of his profile.

“Not a drink, then,” he said wearily. “Something else? I don’t really care, just…something.”

Bruce felt his chest tighten slightly. He always hated seeing Clark like this. It felt viscerally wrong for a man as unaccountably good as Clark to look anything less than perfectly content.

Maybe he should have said something sooner. And he would have, if he trusted himself with this. But Bruce’s real skill, the skill that allowed him to fight alongside aliens and metahumans and demigods as their equal, was this: while he knew his strengths, he also knew, exhaustively and completely, what made him weak.

Clark made him weak. He’d already decided, days ago now, that a half-hearted attempt at comfort in the wake of all this would only make matters worse. That the best thing would be to leave well enough alone. After all, there was a non-zero chance that Clark, who was practically a walking, talking lie detector, would notice that Bruce wasn’t being entirely honest when he told him he was sorry that he and Lois had broken up. He didn’t even want to think about what would happen if Clark figured out why that was.

Clark had other friends. He had his family. Someone— Anyone else would be a better shoulder to cry on.

But Clark had come to him. This wasn’t the time for weakness.