#feeling terrible for like thirty separate reasons and it's not very nice .

[archivestarlyht]

[peachscribe]

peach’s summer book list

i had a lot of fun compiling the list of books i read during the 20-21 winter, so i decided i would do a summer one as well! i still have a lot of books i own but haven’t read, so im definitely not lacking in material

if you didn’t see my winter list, how my book list works is basically like this: i read a book that i own but have not previously read, write a short summary immediately after finishing the book, write down my thoughts on the book, and then provide a rating for the book. i also might include background info on why i read this particular book/feelings about the author, but that depends on the book. that’s how each entry works

without further ado, let’s get started!

1. Grasshopper Jungle by Andrew Smith

okay so i absolutely adore another book by andrew smith (written after grasshopper jungle) called the alex crow. it’s one of my favorite books of all time, so naturally i wanted to see if grasshopper jungle would make me feel similarly. just like the alex crow, grasshopper jungle’s plot is. so fucking weird. it stars austin szerba, a teenage polish kid who lives in ealing, iowa, and is often sexually confused regarding his girlfriend shann and his best friend robby. and in ealing, iowa, austin and robby accidentally and unknowingly unleash an unstoppable army of huge six-foot-tall praying mantis bugs that only want to do two things: fuck and eat. and i just have to say: andrew smith’s got an absolutely dynamo writing style. alex crow is similar, where it’s a book about kind of everything all at once, framed in a moment centering around teenage boys. it’s fantastic, and it’s more than a little gross, and i love it. this book made me feel so many things, and i thought austin was such an amazing narrator and main character to identify with. this book has it all: shitty teenage boy humor, fucked up science experiments, and poetic imagery that will make you want to cry. and explicit lgbt characters.

412/10 andrew smith what do you put in your water i just want to know

2. Burn by Patrick Ness

patrick ness has written a plethora of some of my favorite books (such as a monster calls, the chaos walking trilogy, and the rest of us just live here) so when i saw this one in the store i knew it would be a great one. burn is an alternate history fantasy that takes place in 1957 frome, washington, during the height of the cold war, and it begins with a girl named sarah and her father hiring a dragon to help out on their farm. but there’s not just dragons, farm living, and cold war tensions; there’s also a really shitty small town cop, a cult of dragon worshippers and their deadly teenage assassin, a pair of fbi agents, and a prophecy that sarah’s newly hired dragon claims she’s a part of. i think eoin colfer’s highfire was on my winter list, which also featured a story that included dragons and shitty cops, so when i first began burn i thought it was funny to have two books that had both things. you know, if you had a nickel etc etc. but that’s really where the similarities end because burn is entirely it’s own monster (dragon). burn is entirely invested in its world, and its fascinating. not only that, i had no clue where the book would take me next. there were so many surprises and amazing twists that honestly just blew me away. this book also includes beautifully written complicated discussions on family, race, and love - it features interracial and queer romances as the two most prominent romance plots which was such a nice surprise from a book i wasn’t expecting to have that kind of representation. this book is witty, fast-paced, and a very heartening read - i absolutely adored it.

9/10 dragons and becoming motivated by the power of love and friendship are so fucking cool

3. As Meat Loves Salt by Maria McCann

i hate this book! as meat loves salt is a historical fiction novel which takes place in seventeenth century england, which is going through a grisly civil war. the protagonist, jacob cullen, is a servant for a wealthy household and is engaged to another servant in the house. but due to certain events that are almost entirely jacob’s fault, he flees the house and is separated from his wife. from there, he joins the royal army and meets a kind soldier, ferris, and the two become fast friends. jacob and ferris’s relationship begins to bridge past friendly, and jacob struggles with his homoerotic feelings as well as the growing obsession and violence inside him. also, they try to start a colony. listen, i don’t know how to describe the book because so much happens, but it basically just follows jacob and all the terrible decisions he makes because he is, truly, a terrible person. ferris is kind and good, and jacob is scum of the earth. he sucks so bad. the entire time i was reading this book (which took absolutely so long), all i wanted was for jacob to just get his ass handed to him. i wanted to see him suffer. and it’s not like i just personally don’t like him - i believe the book purposefully depicts him as unsympathetic even though he is the narrator. i did enjoy the very in depth and accurate portrayal of what life would’ve been like in seventeenth century england, and i think it was interesting to read a character that is just the absolute worst person you’ve ever encountered and see him try and justify his actions, so if you enjoy that kind of thorough writing, then this book would be perfect for you. however, i did not see that bitch ass motherfucker jacob cullen suffer enough. i’d kill him with my bare hands.

2/10 diversity win! the worst man on earth is mlm!

4. This Savage Song by Victoria Schwab

i know ive had a friend tell me how great one of schwab’s other book series is, but truthfully i bought this book because the cover is sick as hell and it was on a table in the store that advertised for buy two get one free, i think. something like that. anyway, this savage song takes place in a future in which monsters, for whatever reason, suddenly became real and out for blood in a mysterious event nicknamed the phenomenon. august flynn is one of these monsters, but he takes no pride in that fact and only wants to feel human. kate harker is the daughter of a ruthless man and is trying her hardest to be ruthless, too, but deep down she knows it’s just an act. their city, verity, stands divided, and kate and august stand on either side - but when august is sent on a mission to befriend kate in the hopes of stopping an all out war, the lines begin to blur. this book rules. august and kate are such interesting and dynamic characters, and the narrative is familiar while still being capable of twisting the story around and taking the feet out from under you in really compelling ways. this savage song is part of the monsters of verity duology, and i can’t wait to dive into how the story continues and finishes.

11/10 sometimes you can judge a book by it’s cover

4a. Our Dark Duet by Victorian Schwab

this is the sequel and finale for this savage song and i’d figure i’d update everyone: fantastic ending, beautiful, showstopping, painful.

12/10 loved it and will definitely be keeping an eye out for schwab’s other books

5. White is for Witching by Helen Oyeyemi

oh boy. okay. white is for witching is about a house, and it is about the women who have lived inside of it. when her mother dies abroad, miranda silver begins to act strangely, and there’s nothing her father or her twin brother seem to be able to do about it. she develops an eating disorder and begins to hear voices in the silver family house, converted to a bed and breakfast by miranda’s dad; and she begins to lose herself in the house and the persistent presence of her family legacy. white is for witching switches perspective dizzingly and disorientingly between miranda, her twin eliot, miranda’s friend from school named ore, and the house itself. this story is a horror story as much as it as a tragedy as much as it is a romance as much as it is a bunch of other things. oyeyemi brings race, sexuality, nationality, and family into this story and forces you not to look away. this book is poetry.

(like i mentioned briefly, this book heavily deals with topics of race and closely follows miranda’s eating disorder. read responsibly, and take care of yourselves)

15/10 this book consumed me and i think i’ll have to read it another 10 more times to feel it properly

6. These Violent Delights by Chloe Gong

okay. okay. strap in for a ride. these violent delights is a romeo and juliet style story, taking place in glittering 1920’s shanghai. the city stands divided - not only between the foreign powers encroaching on chinese land, but also between the scarlet gang and the white flowers, who are at the height of a generations-long blood feud. juliette cai, heir to the scarlets, has recently returned from four years abroad and is determined to prove herself ruthless enough to lead. roma montagov, heir to the white flowers, is standing strenuously on his place as next in line due to a slip up four years prior and is desperate to keep hold of his title. and in the midst of juliette and roma’s burning history with each other threatening to combust, an unnatural monster lurks in the waters of shanghai, loosing a madness on scarlets and white flowers alike. this book has it all - scorned ex lovers, political intrigue, deadly monsters, and all set on a glamorous backdrop of the roaring twenties. i absolutely was enraptured by this book and the way it plays around the story of romeo and juliet so well that it easily became it’s own monster, but with the punches and embraces of something classically shakespearan. gong does just an absolutely breathtaking job of fitting this fantastical story amid the larger world of shanghai and the real life historical events that had shaken the city to its core. completely immersive and outstandingly heart racing.

17/10 i was chewing on my fingernails for the last thirty pages and will continue to do so until the sequel is released (our violent ends, 16 nov 21)

7. The Antiques by Kris D’Agostino

you ever heard of the american dysfunctional family story? this is most definitely that. at the same time george westfall’s cancer takes a turn for the worse, a hurricane hits the east coast, and suddenly all at once the issues of his health, the hurricane, and all three of his children’s achingly dysfunctional adult lives are crashing into each other. reunited by george’s death, the westfall siblings have to face their grief, each other, and the problems in their own lives they attempted to put on hold while planning their father’s memorial. this is a nice story about grief and loss and love and somehow finding the humor amidst it all.

(this book does include a depiction of an autistic child who does experience several pretty bad meltdowns due to ignorant people around him not understanding how to cater to his needs. im not an authority on what depictions are or are not harmful, but i do believe this depiction is ultimately loving and well-intended.)

7/10 it made me laugh and cry and was generally one of those books that somehow hit you close to home

8. Fierce Fairytales by Nikita Gill

fierce fairytales is a poetry anthology that reimagines classic fairytales from a modern, feminist viewpoint, acknowledging that the line between hero and villain, monster and damsel, are not as clear cut as the classics try to make you believe. this book also includes illustrations done by the author herself, which i think is really cool. my personal favorite story reimagining was the story of peter pan and captain hook, called ‘boy lost’ which looked at how peter and hook’s relationship began and rotted. all in all, i think this collection of stories had a lot of important things to say and said them in frank, easy to understand poetry and prose.

7/10 beautiful message and pretty prose, but at times a little cliche

and that’s all from the summer! my fall semester starts tomorrow, and overall i feel very good about all the reading i did this summer. i even read four other books not on this list for work! so i definitely feel like i made the most out of my time, and im really glad i was able to read so many stories that made me feel a variety of different things

thanks so much for reading this list, and let me know if you read or have read any of these books and tell me what you think of them!

happy reading<3

[extravaguk]

santa&prada

part of my opposites attract! series. 

ksj / knj / myg / jhs / kth / jjk

pairing: rich!jimin x reader

summary: Yeah, Park Jimin most likely didn't even realize he was being a rude and disrespectful son of a bitch.

wordcount: 5k

genre: smut - angst(? - fluff (? idk u tell me

rated: m 

warnings: a christmas fic in late november, cursing, a huge misunderstanding lmao, i call jimin ‘park jimin’ too many times bc i felt like it, car sex, oral (f recieving), some good ole spanking, (kinda) rough and unprotected sex, a lil of dirty talk, spit kink. thats about it. just an excuse to write jimin fucking you in a car. jimin is not as bad as oc thinks srsly.

The first time you meet Park Jimin is through mutual friends. On a firday night on December, with white, red and green lights decorating the streets of New York, filled with the typical hustle of the masses doing last minute Christmas shopping, the freezing weather impacting your body temperature, cursing yourself for choosing tights, a skirt and heeled boots that are too pretty but too uncomfortable to wear.

You had never considered yourself a particular enthusiast of Christmas festivities. You guess discovering Santa Claus was, actually, your parents before the rest of the kids in your class was one of the many reasons that made you grow up too soon and therefore, not allowing you to fully enjoy the month of December. Or maybe it had nothing to do with Santa, and more to do with your parents deciding to get a divorce a day before Christmas Eve. A traumatic event for seven year old you, but completely forgotten and overcome by twenty-four year old present you.

Growing up each Christmas suffering the consecuences of a shared custody would have probably had a disastrous effect on anybody else, but not you. Although the separation was a tough reality to accept at first, fortunately your parents were always capable of raising you in an environment full of love and affection, just like any other kid. And you prided yourself on having moved on from those circumstances a long time ago (even if your therapist disagreed and blamed many of your behaviors on it. Whatever.)

To put it simply, December was just not the month for you. It was just another month, like the remaining eleven of the year, except Mariah Carey's voice was heard every five minutes everywhere you'd go and people gave each other presents as if it was only during that time of the year when they remembered their loved ones. 

The only thing you could thank Christmas for were the well deserved two weeks of holidays our work allowed until the new year's arrival. Fifteen days of rest, peace and baking those gingerbread cookies that Seokjin died for and that you sincerely denoted as nauseating.

You truly had no idea what exactly you did wrong that night. You don't know if it was something you said, or something you did, but what you did know was that Park Jimin pursued a silent and personal vendetta against you that continued nowadays.

"Here are your disgusting cookies, you filthy animal." it might have been that very first sentence you said when you entered the bar and reunited with your friends that didn't cause a good impression. "Shit, it's cold as fuck. My nipples are harder than my life." or maybe it was your selection of words while you waved every familiar face hello until you stopped to look at the only (pretty. too pretty, as well) one you had never seen before.

"_____, it's Chrismtas! Santa Clause will only bring you a lump of coal if you keep cursing like that!" Lisa laughed while she kissed your cheek and made space for you to sit next to her. "Oh, by the way, this is Jimin. A friend of Namjoon. He's a newbie!"

Park Jimin was stunning, you had no trouble admitting that. You weren't blind, you weren't stupid, and you could go as far as theorize that his dark eyes, his light and always immaculate styled hair, his sharp jawline and those plump lips as red as cherries must have been sculpted by Satan himself.

Fuck, you were even sure you'd be on your knees in front of Park Jimin in an alternative universe begging for his dick inside your mouth. But in the universe where you and the real Park Jimin reside, he would never come near you unless somebody was aiming a gun into his skull.

You're not precisely sure what it was, but a brief exchange of glances and an evasive and sligh shake of hands with Park Jimin was enough to make you feel ashamed and withdrawn for the rest of the night.

If Jimin wasn't even able to drop a polite "Nice to meet you", he sure as hell wasn't able to pretend you even existed.

Even the small talk you had tried to engaged with him about his shiny pair of shoes went terribly wrong.

"Oh, are those Dolce and Gabbana?"

"Dolce and Gabbana are homphobic, racist and sexist, so no" the grimace on his face should've been enough to make you regret speaking to him in the first place , but the snarky voice of his made you want to run away and hide from him until next Christmas.

In reality, you swore you didn't care. Seriously. Other's opinions were never something that could easily bother you or keep you awake at night. You had always turned a deaf ear to the cruel children that made fun of you due to your parent's divorce, you had always ignored the amount of men that never considered you "ladylike" enough (what the fuck did that even mean, anyway? what exactly made a lady and what didn't?), and you had always disregarded any envous comment surrounding you.

So, fuck Park Jimin! You had said to yourself. He's just a well mannered rich boy. Somebody who didn't resemble you in any aspect. A stupid, pretentious, spoiled boy who's had everything he's ever wanted in the palm of his hand, unlike you. Who the fuck cares what Park Jimin thinks? 

But apparently, you did. 

You would have never placed such importance to whatever it was that roamed inside Jimin's head if his appearances in your group of friends hadn't been so recurrent.

Because each time you were forced to see Jimin's face, you were also forced to experience a strange knot of discomfort and humilliation growing in your stomach in his mere presence. It's not like Jimin did anything specific to make you feel that way. He might not even do it on purpose, or his intentions might not be entirely evil. Maybe he simply didn't realize how he always avoided being by your side like the plague, or how his body immediately tensed and he balled his hands into fists everytime you were less than two feet away from him, or how he would look at you from the corner of his eye everytime you decided you speak, almost as if he was waiting for you to shut up to finally let out the air he was containing inside his lungs in relief.

Yeah, Park Jimin most likely didn't even realize he was being a rude and disrespectful son of a bitch.

And with time, you couldn't help but attribute that disdain and hostility that Park Jimin always directed at you to the many undeniable differences that constituted each of you. Park Jimin, with his impeccable and always well ironed Prada shirts, his spotless trousers, jewelry that probably costed more than three of your annual salaries, and always emanating that Givenchy fragance that screamed "wealth!" every rare occasion you could experiment his presence next to you. Exactly two years after that first meeting with Park Jimin, you hadn't been able to avoid reciprocating that feeling of contempt towards him. Not when you were the only victim of his arrogance. Everybody loved Park Jimin, and Park Jimin loved everyone. 

Except you.

Clinging to your glass of Don Pérignon and finishing the rest of the liquid in one go, you try to snap out of your own thoughts, reminding yourself to return to the conversation you're currently having with Taehyung about a pretty waitress that he's met during one of his art exhibitions (or at least that's what you think you caught him say) and forcing yourself by all means to stop observing the friendly and kind smiles that Park Jimin was shooting to those present from across the room and that you will never be able to achieve. 

"_____? Are you even listening to me, darling?" Taehyung's voice is what makes you finally look away from the dumb blond standing on the opposite side of the room, blinking a few times before clearing your throat. 

"Sorry, Tae." letting out a sigh, you try to brush back and put in place the strand of hair that escaped the intricate hairdo you had tried and so miserably failed to do yourself to try to fit in and hopefully impress such environment of preppy and privilaged people (ahem, Park Jimin)  falling on your forehead as best as you can. "Just been really stressed this week and I'm on another planet. You know how I feel about Christmas. I think I need a new flute of . Or five."

Taehyung sends you a look full of empathy and places one of his hands in your shoulder, squeezing lightly in a comforting way. "I'll get you another one. I'll be right back." You quickly interrupt him though, to prevent him from standing up before you.

"No, really. I'll go. I need some fresh air anyways, if you don't mind." And of course Taehyung doesn't mind, so you get on your feet as graceously as your tipsy state allowed you to (who told you it was a good idea to drink three glasses in less than thirty minutes of the extremely expensive champagne Taehyung had brought to the Christmas party he had organized and why did it convince you it would appease your anxiey?) and make your way towards the table where the rest of the bottles are. A table dangerously close to the conversation Jimin and that friend of Lisa (whose name you don't remember) were having.

Both are with their backs turned and, honestly, you take a silent moment to thank God or whatever is up there because the last thing you need right now is yet another awkward interaction with Jimin, so you try as best as you can to refill your glass of champagne to get out of there as soon as possible, praying to make your exit going unnoticed.

But no. Because the stars and the universe loved to align to make you suffer! They love to play with your karma and they love making you damn that one day you didn't help that lady cross the street. They love making you regret buying those plastic straws. They love making you feel guilty for hacking your neighbour's Wifi when you run out of money to pay for yours. Because the moment you try to take a hold of the bottle in your hands, it slips out of your grasp, and you're watching in slow motion how the sparkling berverage ends up spilling all over the extremely expensive (or so you assume. Balenciaga maybe) suit pants Park Jimin decided to wear that night.

Everything is kind of blurry and you can't even hear anything. You can only watch as Park Jimin turns around, lips parted and eyebrows furrowed, until his eyes find you, the bane of his existance and immediately recognizing the culprit of his now drenched piece of clothing. And you can watch as, once again, his gaze turns almost black and narrow lightly as to reprimend you for what you've caused. But of course he doesn't say a word. He has nothing to say. He doesn't even look surprised. No. Because obviously, Park Jimin knew that if there was somebody in this room willing to ruin his night, it would be you, and only you.

"Shit!" you're the first one to break the strained silence, but that only makes Jimin flinch. "Shit, shit, shit. I'm so fucking dumb! J-Jimin, I'm so sorry, let me just go grab a paper tow-"

"Don't." his voice cuts through you. Literally cuts through you. Because it's not often that Park Jimin decides to aim his words at you, but everytime he does it holds the same frigid tone. Like knives trying to painfully stab your being. "Just, don't."

In reality, you don't know a lot of things and you don't know what causes what happens next. You don't know if it's the specific time of the year, you don't know if it's your internal stress, or if it's Park Jimin, his voice, or the fact that he will never like you. But it's instant. They way something compresses your chest, and suddenly your eyes are not glaced by the alcohol but by something wet that threatens to flow. You would never admit to anyone they're tears.

So, shutting your mouth and swallowing the uncomfortable feeling of anguish in your throat, leaving your flute forgotten on the table and grabbing the bottle instead. Without saying a word, your feet start moving up the stairs of the ridiculously enourmous house Taehyung owns towards the first free and empty balcony you can find. Free of people and free of Park Jimin.

Closing the large window behind you, you allow yourself to close your eyes and take a deep breath; the icy temperature outside immediately welcoming you. Although the hairs on your arm stand up and you know you're probably going to catch a cold (because the dress you've chosen for the dinner is not at all appropiate for such winter climate), at least the tension in your body seems to disappear while oxygen keeps that ugly feeling in your heart at bay from continuing to choke you.

With shaky hands, you take a big gulp straight from the champagne bottle. Fuck Park Jimin. No man will ever have the power to make you feel what you're feeling right now.  Fuck Park Jimin. And fuck his beautiful face and his ability to make you tremble and fear looking like an idiot. Fuck his fancy clothes and his perfect manicured hands and his marvelous but frigthening presence. 

Knock knock.

The sound makes you jump back from the window, hand grasping your chest while you turn around, coming face to face with the man in question.  Your first instinct is to ignore him. But that thought is already out of the way when it's him the one who struggles with the window lock before opening and taking a step towards you. You step back as he steps in, raising your head up high and puffing your chest. Because your second instinct is to tell Park Jimin to go fuck himself.

"_____, I would like to-"

"You would like to what?" Jimin looks taken aback at your harshness. Alcohol has always been a weapon of mass destruction in your system, provoking words to flow too easily and without filter out of your mouth, more than they already do when you're sober. Especially when it's mixed with the frustration you've been harboring inside of you for two years. That's why when the words start to come out, they won't stop. "To make me feel like shit one more time? To look at me with that fucking conceited face trying to make me feel like you're better than me? Or would you like to ignore me once again as you always do everytime we're in the same fucking room to make sure I know you hate my mere existance, even if it's just the two of us right now?"

The steam leaving your lips due to the accelerated beat of your heart blurs his face for an instant while he looks at you dumbfounded. The silence and his expression makes you scoff, an acidic smile adorning your face while you take another sip of your drink because even with such a stupid face, he still looks delectable with his white shirt and ruined pants. You turn around, removing a tear that you hadn't even realized had fallen during your speech and that, frankly, you were hoping he hadn't either. You would blame it on the cold, anyway.

This time, a gust of wind running through you from head to toe, making you forget of Park Jimin's presence looming behind you, reminding you it's still December and the fabric of your dress is doing nothing to conceal you from the cold.

But before you can do anything about it and blame yourself for being dumb and not taking your coat with you before deciding to step into balcony, Park Jimin surprises you once again, this time by placing his navy blue blazer over the naked skin of your arms.

Your back straightens when you feel his warm breath caressing the back of your neck, at the same time that a voice you have never heard Park Jimin use with you echoes in your ears.

"I really don't hate you, _____. I..." Jimin wets his lips. His body trembles, but it's not due to lacking his own coat, while his brain hurriedly searches for words eloquent and adequate enough to explain voice his thoughts. "I like you very much, _____."

Scoffing again while you shake your head, you push down with all your inner strenght the incipent fluttering of butterflies in your stomach that Jimin has managed to cause in just a matter of seconds. It's probably the longest sentence you've heard from him in two years, and you don't exactly understand why your body is reacting the way it is. But you're also not willing to give Park Jimin the satisfaction of knowing that. He doesn't deserve it anyway. So with all the courage you can muster, you turn around with your hands clenching.

And even though being at such short distance from Jimin is a bit overwhelming and unexpected for you, the irritation still making your blood bubble is enough to not let a man as handsome as him derail you from your current circumstances.

"Well, fuck you Park Jimin. You certainly have a funny fucking way to sh-" his hands cradling your jaw that pull you closer to him and his lips that silent you roughly, but with surprising care. Only for a moment. A moment in which your body betrays you and make you melt into hir warmth. But his voice, low and sinfully husky, murmurs against your lips. 

"God, that mouth of yours..." he goes back to attacking your own lips, this time more firm than before, snatching a sigh from you. The sound has his tongue asking for permission into your mouth, and with your body betraying you once again, you part your lips to allow him in. It's him who whimpers this time, while one of his hand moving until it reaches the bottle in your hand and letting it drop carelessly onto the floor, ignoring the sound of glass shattering and the future scolding you'll get from Taehyung. Instead, he sneaks that same hand on your waist, pulling your body flush against his, fingers digging onto your skin. "It's been driving me crazy for two years. Two years, _____."

He mumbles between kisses and swipes his tongue against yours, while he stars walking the both of you until your back meets the nearest concrete wall. 

"Two years of having to hear the incessant filthy words that leave your mouth..." his own stop their movements and you catch yourself before begging him to reattaching his lips to yours, enjoying instead the path of wet kisses and bruises his lips traile from your chin to the pulse of your neck "...and trying my best to hide the painful boners I get whenever you're nearby." 

With your eyes shut, your hands are back in motion, ignoring the voice in your head reminding you he's still an asshole and finding their way between Jimin's soft golden strands of hair. He hums in appreciation, sending goosebumps all over your body. "So, s-so why not do anything about it sooner?" you say, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe properly.

You feel Jimin's body tensing before you and he ceases the movement of his lips against your neck. Breaking away, your heart stops, afraid you might have ruined the moment. But Jimin's in search of your eyes, eyebrows very lighlty raised, the intensity of his gaze pinning you in place. You don't know for how long you stare at each other until Jimin comes out of the trance, eyes descending over your flushed cheeks, the very same color as your lips and the soft flesh of your neck until they reach your cleavage, the glimmering fabric encasing your breasts, taunting him the same way they had been doing all night long.

"You scare me so much..." and then, one of his hands repeats the same journey his eyes just did, until he touches your shoulder, right under his own blazer. "Everytime I look at you, all I can think of why the hell a girl as real as you like you would even glance my way." he slides the strap of your dress slowly tentatively, just enough for you to stop his advances if you chose so. You don't. "You're smart in ways I could never compare, so funny it makes me jealous, and so pretty it leaves me speechless. You're...You're everything I'm not."

His voice resonates in the atmosphere, and you would love to blame it on the cold again for how your body has reacted, but your body heat has increased so much since he started kissing you that it would be stupid not to admit that it's just the effect that Park Jimin has on you tonight. You're sure he would've had the same effect if it had happened before.

Your now uncovered breast doesn't even has to suffer the consequences of the icy wind, because one of Jimin's arms quickly comes around you to hold your body against his, lifting you ever so slighty until your erect nipple is at the same level as his mouth and his lips are enveloping it in their warmth. You gasp his name, and that encourages his teeth to tug softly before his tongue stars moving in circes. 

"My God, you're so perfect." Your head spins while you hold onto his shoulders as tight as you can, the undeniable heat roaming all over your form, hips involuntarily rutting his incipent erection poking your abdomen. "Been thinking about this since that night we first met." Looking for relief, Jimin mirrors your movements without ceasing the administrations on your chest, as one of his hands lifts one of your thighs to wrap around his waist, closing the short gap remaining between the both of you. 

"Ohmygod! F-fuck, Jimin," trying to form coherent phrases is almost impossible, not with Jimin finding a slow and tortuous rythm with his hips, his clothed cock rubbing against your core. Something shifts in the air, because Jimin stops abusing your nipple with a loud pop, and shuts you up by pressing his mouth onto yours in an urgent, dirty and desperate kiss. You could almost hear him swearing, while his hand keeps your jaw in place.

"S-stop talking like that, ______." his voice, inaudible, and his face now hiding in the crook of your neck, the thrusting of his hips speeding up, more and more frantic this time. The hand not holding your thigh against his hipbone reveals your other breast, hand covering it and giving it a light squeeze before tugging at your unattended nipple between his forefinger and his thumb while his tongue and teeth mark the skin on your neck. 

"Hell, I've been dying to stuff your mouth with my cock to prevent you from such foul language," the soft whimpers leacving your mouth coax him into taking the hem of your dress and bunching the fabric until his fingers easily find the place in your body calling to him the most through the lace.  It's immediate, how his fingers dampen at the first touch, surprising the both of you, and how your body jolts and an embarrassing sob escapes your throat. "How-how are you this wet? Holy hell, I could just slide right in..."

And as he says that, one of his fingers pull aside the fabric of your underwear and glide into you, so easy. You insides burning while he fingers you, another finger being added with his thumb rubbing circles on your nub. And fuck, you're not sure if you're just too horny and Park Jimin is a magician with his hands, or maybe it's the way he keeps mouthing at your chest and whispering how soaked you are, but you don't think you've ever been so close to cumming in such a short period of time.

"W-whats stopping you?" you manage with a voice that doesn't even resembles yours, but before your hands can even make work of the zipper of his trousers, he pulls his finger out from your center, causing you to whine in protest.

Jimin licks his lips, eyebrows framing the dark expression that his eyes ooze. Although the desire in his eyes is more than evident, it is also evident the faint hesitation in them. Because Park Jimin doesn't do things this way. Park Jimin was raised in a world of correct manners and conservationism. A world that has taught him when and how to act. And as badly as he is dying to fuck you against the wall of Taehyung's ridiculously inmense house, he also wants to do the right thing. 

"Let me take you on a date." 

Park Jimin has been spoiled his whole life. Being born in a well-off family has always provided him of everything he had ever wanted and more. From the innecessary number of toys Santa Claus left under his Christmas tree every year since he was a baby, to his fisrt extravagant sports car at the age of eighteen. Park Jimin has never been a greedy or needy man. How could he, when he's had everything he's ever wished in the palm of his hands. He has never missed anything in his entire life. Hasn't missed a roof over his head, warm food on his plate or brand new designers clothes each week. 

It has taken him two years to control himself. He still remembers that night he first met you, just like he remembers every single time you both had coincided in the same place at the same time. He remembered your scent, had memorized your figure over your pieces of clothing and had tried as best as he could to keep a distance from you because he knew you would never give him the time of day. How could you? You probably despised everything he was because he was definitely nothing like you, and that thought intimidated the fuck out of him. He was a mess everytime you wear nearby. Never relied on his voice because he knew he would stutter if you ever spoke to him, could never trust his eyes because if he ever looked at you he was afraid he wouldn't be able to look away. 

And everytime you spoke, shit, that voice of yours always cursing here and there left him wondering how would you sound in a different setting and if you would still be that badmouthed. More specifically, between his sheets. So he did everything he could to minimize your interactions as much as possible. He just never thought he would come across as such a jerk. It was never his intention to hurt you, and seeing you cry that night (although you denied you did, over and over again) seriously made him realize he wanted to make things right. 

He was trying really, really hard to keep it in his pants, to be the same well composed and controled Park Jimin he had mastered himself to be. 

But that damn dress.

After seeing that little black dress hugging your figure when you started taking off your coat at the restaurant, the brief flash of thigh tights that you accidentaly (or not so accidentally) had blessed him with by crossing a leg over the other, that exposed collarbone calling his name and those heeled sandals with straps wrapping around your ankles, reminding him of the snake tempting Eve, Park Jimin was sure he needed to dig into that apple more than anything he has ever needed before.

That's why he surprises you right after you both finish the second course meal by telling the waitress you won't be having desert, at which you look at him somewhat indignant. But the look he shoots you is enough to make you understand if somebody was going to have desert tonight, it would be him. In his Mercedes. 

"I'm gonna-" you gasp, fingers tugging at the soft strands of his now ruined blond hair, his head between your thighs and your legs thrown over his shoulders. His hands have a grip of the meaty flesh of your ass, holding you firmly againt his mouth as it works wonders on your clit. You're sure it hasn't even been ten minutes since Jimin had opened your legs in the backseat of his car, not even bothering to take your underwear off, simply moving the fabric aside before diving in, and you already feel yourself on the edge of an orgasm.

"I know." voice vibrating right into your core, he slows down his administrations, tongue carefully and delicately lapping at your folds while he enjoys the feeling of your fingers loosening their grip and fondly brushing his hair back. You meet his eyes as he pushes a finger inside your core and your whole body twists in agony. 

"N-no!" 

Jimin stops immediately, lifting his head and focusing his concerned eyes on you. He's about to ask you if he's done anything wrong, but you're fast to roughly pull him up by his hair until his face is leveled with yours. You answer him by kissing him and he returns the kiss with the same eagerness, and now it's your hands that are looking for his cock, palming him through his pants.

"Your dick. Inside. Right Now." you punctuate each phrase with a kiss and he only stops kissing you to pout.

"But I wanted you to cum on my tongue." but still, he's putty in your hands when you undo the botton and the zipper. "Wouldn't you rather me fucking you in my bed, where we're more comfortable?" you notice the slight quivering of his voice when you slide his trousers and boxers down, just enough to pull him out. 

"You can eat me and fuck me as many times as you want tonight, tomorrow and whenever you'd like, but right now..." none of you contain the moan in unision that leaves each of your mouths when just the head of his lenght comes in contact with your entrance. "I really can't wait anymore." brushing your lips over his, you lower your voice. "Wanna get on my hands and knees for you."

Park Jimin has tried to do things the right and appropiate way throughout all his life. He's been a professional from a very young age on how to be in charge of his emotions, his desires and his impulses. Always well mannered and well composed. 

But it's in this moment that Jimin comes to the realization that the only thing that has ever made him lose his mind and self control, is you. Seeing you like this, ass up, grinding your drenched and still thong clad cunt all over his precum dripping lenght, he can't control the way his hand bunches the fabrick of that damn dress over your waist, then flies to your right cheek, a sharp sound of skin filling the air, tearing a gasp from your throat.

"God, I'm-I'm sorry. Couldn't help mys-"

"Do it again."

And he does, the palm of his hand now leaving a reddenning print on your flesh, making you jolt back involuntarily, aligning yourself to the head of his cock and like he had hoped, he slides right in. Not all the way, because Jimin is sure he would cream inside you too soon and he wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he did. He wets his lips, clenching his jaw and dropping his palm one more time, hand more steady and purposeful. 

"You like it rough?" voice hoarse and a hand beside your head holding himself, your back to his chest, twitching beneath him as he soothes the sting with his free one. 

"I like you rough." turning your head slowly to peer at him from the corner of your eye, your hips moving on their own accord trying to take him deeper. Your head is suddenly pulled back harshly, Jimin's fingers tangling in your hair as his own hips close the remaining gap between your bodys in an abrupt thurst. You squeal, Jimin's cock finally filling you up to the hilt just like you wanted him to be, the pleasure making your arms wobble and finding it harder to mantain your balance. 

Jimin's breath fawns over your ear, his tongue darting out to suck on your skin sending chills down your spine. "You're such a dream." he groans, torturously sliding out of your core that's gripping around his shaft for dear life. A whine of protest escapes your lips and he tightens the hold on your hair in response, diving right back in. You fall forward, your arms' strenght betraying you as his thrusts find a new rhythm. With your eyes closed shut, you try to muffle the sound of your voice with the back of your hand as Jimin's lips place soft kisses to your exposed shoulder.

"Don't be quiet." he stands straight, the pull on your hair arching your back in such a enticing way it was Jimin look away for a second, cock buried inside of you and his hips faltering. "Been dying to have you like this for so long."

Another clap of his hand against your right cheek, and a particular stroke of his dick that has you mewling as your climax approached again. "S-so good, Jimin. Oh my god."

"You're gonna cum for me?" his fingertips leave bruises on your skin and the windows of his Mercedes are foggy, just like your mind. You can't concentrate on anything that's not Jimin's cock sliding in and out and how much you wished this had happened way sooner. "Gonna cum for me like a good slut?"

Park Jimin always takes his time. Always does things nice and slow to assure the best outcome possible. 

But he can't contain the acceleration of his hips against yours as your walls clench impossibly tight around his cock, your orgasm finally taking over . Can't contain himself from falling forward again, hand twisting your head in his direction and his mouth searching for yours in a fiery and messy kiss. And he most definitely can't barely contain himself from cumming when your you ask him to spit in your mouth. 

"You're gonna kill me." he breathes, removing himself off you and quickly maneuvering you on your back, his dick finding its way back inside you. Picking up right where he left off, skin slapping against skin in an obscene melody, he collects a considerate amount of saliva in his mouth before dropping it into your welcoming tongue, watching you swallow with a smile he hopes he'll be the only one to see in the future. 

And that's what has the last bit of his self restraint slipping from his fingers. He somehow manages to rip the top of your dress down, fabric tearing until your tits are free and his mouth is attacking your nipples, white strings of his release panting your walls, some of it them oozing out that he fucks back right into you. 

It's between ragged breaths, kisses and tender carresses that Jimin promises you more dates in the future and new dresses that he can't promise not to savage apart again.

[1littleshippergirl1]

Something Odd

There was something odd about her neighbors.

Gladys Barlowe prided herself on knowing just about everything that went on within the bounds of the neighborhood. Why, Mrs. Keperna, who lived just down the road, was getting up there in age and yet none of her children made much of an effort to visit. But those girls had been a bad sort; they'd gotten into much trouble in their youth. She'd told Ingrid it was a bad idea to let them go out to that dancing club. It was bound to corrupt them and it did, rest assured.

Oh, and the Irmagards next door were having marriage troubles. Yes, indeed, it was quite a shocking revolution. She'd overheard shouting going on between them and glass shattering. Why, she had jumped a mile in the air when that happened! It was a toss up whether or not they would stay together or file for divorce. Privately, she'd said to the other ladies of the neighborhood came for a visit to sip on tea and enjoy some freshly baked biscuits, if it were her and her husband, they would never have been so inconsiderate to everyone else and aired their dirty laundry for all to hear. Had they no decency?

Her husband, Mervin, was less enthusiastic whenever she relayed anything she'd found out to him. Yes, Dear, he'd say. Or, mhm. Or, that's nice. She'd huff in frustration whenever that happened. So caught up in the sports section newspaper or television, he was! He had the nerve of wagging his finger at her once, insinuating her to be a gossip fiend. She was hardly such; they'd lived in the neighborhood ever since they'd gotten married, watched as people passed on, moved on and new faces appeared. They were one of the longest remaining home owners there. She had a right to know who was living nearby. Besides, what was the harm?

But, back to her neighbors.

She couldn't put her finger on it on what made them stand out to her. They didn't look that different than any of the other families that were around. It started out as a feeling, one she couldn't shove to the side and forget about, no matter how many times Marvin told her she was being paranoid. She wasn't. This was real, that feeling. She just knew it. She only had to prove it.

So, she did the reasonable thing and began to subtly watch them.

It was the house that was directly across the street from her, the one with the rather unflattering paint job and the red-headed man with his two daughters. They'd been there for about thirteen years now, back when it was originally just the man, his wife and only one of their children. She wondered whatever happened to that wife of his-Andria? Alana? Audrey, perhaps. Oh, yes, that must have been it. Gladys distinctly remembered a woman with blonde hair living in the house at one point and then she just disappeared! Their marriage must have soured. Poor thing. They were quite young, by the looks of it

(Marvin had told her it was none of her business when she'd planned on bringing over a casserole, with the intention of asking about it).

That woman, Audrey, was a little more cold then her husband was and the way she dressed was just plain awful. Those colors and her complexion-just what had she been thinking? Well, Gladys wasn't completely up to date on fashion these days either but still. Even she knew there were just certain things you kept in the back of your closet after turning thirty. She wasn't judging, of course.

Her husband, on the other hand, was much more friendly. Always smiling and waving to her when they happened to be outside at the same time. That wasn't an issue. She and the ladies from her book club agreed he was such a nice man. There were just occasions where she saw strange things; like that one time when she witnessed him throwing a cape over his shoulders when it snowed and a pointy hat, like a witch would wear.

It threw her for a bit of a loop, it did, at first. He might have been into that fad all the teenagers and young adults were into, where they dressed up as fictional people and used the convention center for all of them to get together. What a strange thing to do with one's time. Did he go to those events held at the local convention center, too? Oh, they were outrageously expensive, according to the flyers she'd seen posted on a bulletin board at the grocer's. Not to mention, he was raising two growing girls, who had needs that should've come before a silly hobby.

And speaking of his girls..

They were quite pretty. One of them, the oldest she reckoned, had taken right after her father. She was his spitting image, right down to the dreary clothes and atrocious looking glasses. The other was more so of her mother, appearance wise. She, too, wore glasses that were slightly big on her face and dressed without any fashion sense.

Like she said, they were pretty, but they could've looked magnificent if she just had a few minutes with them.

Those two weren't around very often, peculiarly enough. She saw them in the summertime and on occasion, if she looked out her window and if the curtains were open, they were home for Christmas but not any other time. That began shortly after they'd turned eleven. It started out as the oldest leaving and the younger one was still there but then it was both of them!

Just where did they go? Well, they weren't attending the local secondary school, that was for sure She'd casually asked Mrs. Thorp, who had a son going there, if she'd seen them around but they weren't there. That was odd. Unless they didn't go there because they were going to some exclusive school for gifted children. That must be it, wasn't it? What other explanation could there be? Truthfully, she never would've guessed those two would be prodigies. They never struck out to her like that. Weren't prodigies supposed to be all quiet and depressed? Those girls were rather lively from what she'd seen of them. Of course, they might just be an exception.

A thought crossed her mind and she wondered what the red-headed man did for a living. She hardly ever saw him leave the house. He didn't even have a car, for crying out loud! How did he get anywhere? Did he wake up in the early hours of the morning to walk back and forth to work? He couldn't have been poor; these houses cost a pretty penny. The few times she did see him, he wore casual, comfy clothes that gave no clue to his occupation, whatever that may be.

What if he was in some sort of governmental work that was highly confidential? Or perhaps he and his daughters were in the witness protection program! That made a great amount of sense. Why hadn't she considered that before? It might provide an explanation as to where that Audrey woman had gone. Oh, what if she'd been killed? Had she and the red-headed man gotten caught up in gang activity prior to the birth of their daughters and one of those members had found her and finished her off? Oh, the man must have been devastated! And now he was left to raise his girls on his own. What a terrible thing.

Didn't he have any family help? She was sure he did. She'd seen some red-headed folks in his living room once-she'd been outside watering her garden when a man standing in front of the window caught her attention. He was younger than the man who lived there by a few years and oh it was just awful, he was missing an ear! Her hand had flown up to her mouth, the hose dropping to the ground. What on earth had happened to him? A work related accident? An animal attack?

There were a couple non red-heads that came over to the house as well. A man with unkempt black hair had come around. He had the strangest looking scar, she'd noticed with curiosity as he stepped out of an old, beat up car. And then there were two separate women as well on occasion. One with hair that reminded Gladys of a rat's nest while the rest of her seemed well put together. The other had such nice hair. A cross between silver and blonde. It must have been from a box. It certainly didn't look natural. She'd assumed one of those women had to have been involved with the man. Why else would they have come to him? She dearly hoped he wasn't seeing them both at the same time. He wasn't that kind of man, was he? And to do that with children around. Very disgraceful if he was.

Gladys sat at the kitchen table of her home, sipping delicately on a cup of tea with slightly pursed lips. In all her years of knowing of the man, she had not yet once had a proper conversation with him. She didn't even know his name. And her curiosity was getting the better of her; she had several questions needing to be answered that couldn't be done by a simple, quick chat. No, she would need a reasonable reason to go over there.

She supposed she could bring over a late housewarming present. A batch of cookies, perhaps. Yes, that sounded splendid. The children would enjoy them and she could get the man to talk. Surely he wouldn't be so rude as to merely take the cookies and push her out of the house?

"How do you think this looks?" She asked her husband, presenting him with the china that contained the cookies. She'd put a red bow on top for decoration.

Mervin was doing a crossword puzzle. His eyes barely even lifted up. "It looks nice, dear."

"Oh," she scowled, "you didn't even see it!"

He did look up this time, unimpressed. "It looks the same as any other time-what's with the bow? Did you take it out of the Christmas container?"

"So what if I did?" She straightened herself up. "I want it to look nice."

"For who, exactly?"

"Our neighbors," she said. "The ones across the street. You know, the red-headed man and his daughters."

"Gladys," Mervin said warningly. "You leave those people alone."

She shot him a look, miffed. "I'm bringing them cookies."

"You're being nosy is what you're doing," he pointed a finger at her accusingly. "I know what you're up to."

She made a noise from her throat. "I'm not up to anything!"

"Oh, yes you are," he got up out of his chair. "You're going to go over there and use the cookies to get information. I'm telling you, Gladys, leave the man alone."

"You're not the least bit curious about him?" She said, taking a quick glance in the direction of the window. "I've never seen him speak to anyone in all the years he's lived over there."

"No," he said flatly. "If he wanted to speak to us, he would have by now. He doesn't need you going over there to bother him. You remember what happened with the Kremps, don't you? You remember being tossed out of the house and Mrs. Kremp threatening to hit you with that pan of hers?"

Gladys adjusted her dress primly. She vaguely recalled it. But it hadn't been her fault. The woman had simply overreacted to an innocent question. How was she supposed to have known that the ugly vase on the mantel contained the ashes of her father?

Mervin folded his arms across his chest, sighing heavily. "Don't go causing any more trouble."

"I'm doing no such thing," she was offended he thought so little of her. "I'm just going to ask a few questions."

"Gladys-"

"Don't you ever wonder what happened to that wife of his?" She cut him off.

"No. But they likely got divorced, if anything."

"Not divorced. Murdered," she revealed.

His eyes widened in surprise. It was about time he finally reacted, She thought with satisfaction "She was murdered?" he said in disbelief.

"Well," she shifted and his expression turned into a glare, "I can't say for sure that's what happened, but I have reason to believe the man and his daughters are in the witness protection program."

He inhaled, shutting his eyes as if praying that he was given more strength. "What?"

"Now just listen," she advised. "No one really knows much about them, do they? They don't talk to people and we don't even know his name. His wife was around and suddenly she disappeared! Now, I think they must have been involved in some illegal gang activity and one of those gang members must have come back to finish her off!"

"Do you know how mad you sound right now?" Mervin snapped.

"I'm not mad, I'm serious."

"And that's what scares me," Mervin muttered. Louder, he said, "I don't want you going over there, do you hear me? You're not going to say a word of that nonsense to him!"

"It's not nonsense-"

"Oh, you're right. It's worse," he scowled. "When is this all going to stop, hmm? When am I going to get peace?"

She harrumphed. "You're not even listening to me!"

"I'm the one not listening? You're the one not listening to me! I'm trying to save you from getting your lights knocked out. I'm warning you, Gladys. Don't do it." He gave her one last look. "Now I'm going back to my puzzle and I'm keeping an eye on that door!"

"Yes, dear," she said pleasantly. She stayed put like he asked, until he went to the bathroom that is. Then she quickly grabbed the cookies and bounded out the door and across the road. When she came to a stop on his front porch, she smoothed down her hair and dress.

Hmm, she noticed his door was ajar. Did he know? Perhaps not. Well, there was no harm in going in a bit. "Hello?" She said cheerfully. "Is anyone home?"

No one responded but someone was there. She heard noises coming from inside. There were people talking. Three in fact. The man and his daughters, she realized she had never heard their voices before.

"Can I show you, please?"

"I said no, Molly. You know the rules."

"It'll be quick! And no one'll know. I won't tell anyone."

Tell anyone what? She frowned.

"And what if someone sees?"

"I told you he'd say no."

"Oh, shut up!"

"Girls, stop arguing."

"Please, Dad? Please!"

"I already told you no. Especially with the windows open. What if someone saw you? I'm in no mood to deal with it today. The department has enough reports already."

What department? What reports? What did he not want to deal with? She stuck her ear in as far as she could.

"Don't worry, if someone sees, we'll just call Uncle Harry. He can take care of them."

She gulped. Take care of them? Surely she didn't...she didn't mean that kind of take care of. She couldn't have. No. That was preposterous.

Oh, my. What if...what if the man was still involved in the gang? What if they were doing illegal activity in the house? Were the girls involved too? Was that what she wanted to show him and he was afraid of getting caught?

There was a pause.

"Quickly. And don't think you'll be doing this all the time."

She decided on going in. She had to see what was going on. For the good of the neighborhood, of course. She had to know. Inhaling, she braced herself and burst into the home and came to a halt in front of the kitchen.

Just as a textbook magically turned into a chicken. And the girl! She...she was holding a stick-

The man and his daughters froze. Gladys stammered, pointing a shaky finger at them.

"You...that..."

She fell flat on her back in a faint.

/

Molly stood over her body, peering down at it through her glasses. "Is she dead?"

Percy rubbed at his face tiredly. "No, honey. She's just fainted."

"That's good," Lucy said from where she sat on the countertop. "What was she doing here anyway?"

"I have no idea," he shook his head.

Molly was still peering down at her. "Dad, can I take a picture? I've never seen a muggle faint before."

"No, Molly."

Percy sighed and began to write a letter to the Accidental Muggle Reverse Squad.

[yellowocaballero]

The Crocodile's Dilemma: In Which Helen exploits Michael's Labor, Michael suffers an un-identity crisis, and unpaid internships should be illegal

It’s tough being a teenage embodiment of the Spiral. Your boss/wine aunt figure Helen’s a Tory, your inattentive cousin figure Mike Crew keeps attending philosophy classes and day drinking, and you’re pretty sure that this internship doesn’t have any dental. At least it’s good job experience for your future career in...being evil? But do you even want to be evil?

This small story is technically part of my Roleswap AU, but I specifically wrote it so that no knowledge is required. Still, if you’re wondering why Michael’s an eighteen(ish) year old, Mike Crew’s an Avatar of the Spiral, and everybody is obsessed with Melanie King, check it out. Still, no need. Rest under the cut.

Maybe Helen was right.

Not that Helen was ever strictly right, much as Helen was never wrong, but Michael just had to be doing this whole fear demon thing incorrectly. If someone had explained the whole fear demon thing to them two years ago (“Okay, so it’s like you’re the semi-sentient appendage of an extradimensional force of evil that has to consume trauma relentlessly in order to propagate its own debatable existence, also you’re nonbinary now, no those things are not strictly related, probably”), then they would have called them crazy. Which, of course, they were, but that wasn’t the point. So long as the point existed. So long as anything -

An essential theorem within quantum physics was the quantum Zeno effect. 

Simply put, it was the fact that a quantum state would decay if left alone, but does not decay under continuous observation. Even observing the results after the photon is produced leads to collapsing the wave function and loading a back-history as shown by delayed choice quantum eraser. If something was seen, it no longer existed; if something persisted unperceived, it would exist as long as it liked. 

So it was explained to Michael by the physics professor he was torturing that day. Michael had trapped the man in the physics building of his university, lured in by one too many late nights in his office and the persistent sense that his life was going nowhere meaningful. After a few classes spent sitting in on his Physics 101 class, maintaining constant and forever eye contact, Michael had eventually tricked the man into giving a persistent and ongoing physics lecture to an empty classroom, desperately trying to explain the inexplicable to a college freshman who did not care. Truly miserable, yet ultimately harmless - Michael’s favorite kind of trick. 

But, despite themself, Michael grew interested. They didn’t understand any of what the man was talking about, but that was all of the fun. Understanding ruined the magic of things; broke down the beauty of the universe into cogs and gears. No thanks. They could tell that it bothered the professor, that he said so much and yet knew nothing. That there was so much he would never know, and that he wasn’t so smart after all. How would any of his colleagues respect him?

“So photons degrade if they’re observed?” Michael asked one day, after...some period of time. They had raised their hand and everything, they were so proud of themself. Uni was just like secondary school after all. “Is that true of people too?”

The professor had sweated, deeply uncomfortable with Michael as a person and as a non-euclidean concept. “No - no, not at all. Humans are much more than photons -”

Michael grinned. It wasn’t quite right. “Are you sure?”

The professor sweated harder. “I - no, I’m not. But humans are constantly observed by - by the universe, or something.”

Michael grinned sharper. “Are you sure? Are you being observed right now? Are you sure?”

And the professor was not sure, not anymore, and the fragment of this man’s reality collapsed. 

Well, Michael thought to themself, slipping out of an improbable yellow door, that’s another Statement for the Magnus Institute. Not that they would read it. 

****

“Now, remember this - the first step to being a successful Avatar is presentation!”

Michael squinted at Helen dubiously. “I thought we were fear demons?”

Helen sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with two sharp knife fingers. It looked as if it hurt quite a bit, but Michael reasoned that they had probably gone through the fifth dimension. “This is the stupidest dimension - fine, fine! Fear demons, then. It is absolutely vital that we conduct our business with style, grace, and the slightest sprinkling of pizazz!” 

Just for the flourish, Helen twirled her fingers, and a faint shower of confetti came raining down from the ceiling. Michael sneezed. 

“I thought it was vital that we harvest fear and trauma from people to propagate our cursed existence,” Michael said. 

Helen’s eyebrow twitched. “More than two things can be vital, Michael. Please pay attention. Now, as a demonstration, I’d like you to take a gander at that man over there.”

Obediently, Michael looked across the bar. They were sitting on barstools in a high-class pub, because Helen knew her worth and never settled for anything less, with glass counters and lots of private booths. But all pubs had their sad men drinking alone, and this one was no exception. 

This man wasn’t sullen and slow like a lot of them. He was wearing a nice suit and thin tie, looking straight out of Canary Wharf. Michael silently agreed with Helen’s choice - they took eat the rich very seriously, and also literally. He also seemed a little jumped up on something, with shaking hands and erratic eyes. 

“He looks happy,” Michael observed. “Think it’s his birthday?”

“He’s on cocaine, Michael,” Helen said flatly. “Cocaine. We are at a posh bar, and he is currently doing a line off his watch.”

Oh! Michael suddenly felt very uncool. They had never been one of those people in secondary school who did cocaine. They hadn’t been cool. “I knew that,” Michael bluffed. “What are we going to do to him?”

“Take the teenager as your intern, they said,” Helen groused, “it’s investing in the future, they said, it’ll stop them from eating you when they grow up, they said.” She sighed, jabbing a finger at the now very obviously coked up man who was staring at the bottles behind the bartender as if they were whispering secrets of the universe into his ear. Helen liked that one. “Use your intuition. Find a good angle to squeeze. What are his weaknesses to exploit?”

Oh, Michael knew how to do this. They shifted vibrations just a bit, dropping out of what Michael liked to call the ‘mild’ spectrum into the ‘spicy’ spectrum. They were distantly aware of a patron’s glass shattering. 

They squinted at the man, picking out his little fears and insecurities like Dionysus picking grapes. Maybe. Michael had gotten a C in English, but they were somewhat cognizant of the Spiral munching heavily on Bacchanalia. Sometimes they felt like some of those children who spoke in tongues and claimed to be from a past life. That had also been the Spiral.

“He owns a Nintendo NES,” Michael said confidently, absolutely sure that this was important. Helen groaned. “His house is painted white, and his girlfriend does tax fraud.”

“Something relevant?” Helen hinted desperately.

Michael just squinted at her. “Relevant to what?”

“...good point. But something useful, please.”

Picky. Michael scowled, but gave the man another good gander. “He only remembers faint details of his father’s face, and he worries that his recollections aren’t accurate,” Michael proclaimed finally. 

Helen clapped, delighted, as Michael took a careful sip of their water, turning it into fizzy water. She took a sip of her own wine, turning it into champagne. Or maybe just sparkling unreality? “Wonderful. Now, how should we play this? Insert a false father into his life, completely separate from his recollections, or is that a bit too Stranger? I suppose we could do some good old-fashioned gaslighting, but sometimes that’s just a bit too Melanie, if you catch my drift -”

“Are you jealous that the Archive girls are better at gaslighting than you are?” 

“Shut it, kid,” Helen hissed, before taking a long drag of her champagne. “My vote is that we convince him to top off his coke bender with some LSD. Then he hallucinates - oh, he hallucinates that he’s in a mental institution, that’s a good one -”

“Why don’t we shift everything thirty cm to the right?” Michael asked brightly.

Helen squinted at them. They beamed back. 

“You are so bad at this,” Helen said. 

Michael would have felt crushed if Helen didn’t express this sentiment roughly once per lunar cycle, contrariwise. As it was, they bore the criticism with a stiff upper lip. Helen had her way of harvesting fear from unsuspecting humans, and Michael had theirs. “Look, Helen, you’re being uncreative! We don’t have to traumatize people every single time.”

Helen squinted further. “We’re personifications of deceit. We eat trauma.”

“No, we eat confusion,” Michael pointed out patiently. “Look at it this way. If you give someone one really terrible experience, then they repress it for the rest of their lives and consider it a brush with Hell. One and done, see? But if you minorly inconvenience them for a really long time, then they’ll never be able to break out of it. They’ll feel as if something’s wrong, but they’ll never know it. You can keep the game going for years that way!”

The idea was very good. Michael had been working on it for a while. Truth be told, Michael felt bad traumatizing people outright and making them scream and cry and everything. They always felt as if they were doing something wrong by making other people’s existences a living nightmare. Michael much preferred rigging a corn maze so you were stuck in it for days inside the maze but only an hour outside. It was funner, and much more confusing. 

But Helen just pursed her lips and stared Michael up and down, making them squirm awkwardly on their barstool. Finally, as if she was delivering a life sentence, she imperiously said, “Well, we all have our different styles, I suppose! It would be quite boring if we were both exactly the same.” Michael nodded vigorously at this, and Helen held up a scaly claw. “But! You’re my intern, which means that you’re learning from the master here. So shut up and let me teach you how to ruin lives.”

“Yes, boss,” Michael said miserably. 

Helen tsked, but she patted them on the head anyway. It tasted like batteries. “Honestly, kid. A literal bleeding heart’s fun for the whole family, but a metaphorical bleeding heart will get you nowhere in life. You can’t exist as you are and feel bad for them. It ruins the point. It’s a paradox.”

“I thought we liked paradoxes, though?”

Helen shrugged, downing the rest of her wine. “Rules for thee but not for me, honey. But I’m a good boss and drunken aunt figure, so I’ll appease you today. Now come on, let’s convince this bar to vote for Brexit.”

They did. It was quite fun after all, tricking a roomful of people into doing something actively against their own interests. But something about the whole thing left a strange taste in Michael’s mouth: not the good kind of strange, or the bad kind of strange that was also good. Just strange, and undeniable, and something that couldn’t be exploited at all. 

****

Maybe Helen was right. 

Not that Helen was ever strictly right, much as Helen was never wrong, but Michael just had to be doing this whole fear demon thing incorrectly. If someone had explained the whole fear demon thing to them two years ago (“Okay, so it’s like you’re the semi-sentient appendage of an extradimensional force of evil that has to consume trauma relentlessly in order to propagate its own debatable existence, also you’re nonbinary now, no those things are not strictly related, probably”), then they would have called them crazy. Which, of course, they were, but that wasn’t the point. So long as the point existed. So long as anything -

Michael was a bad fear demon of the Spiral and Infinite Twisting and That Is Not What It Is and The Twisted Door, etc, etc, All Fear Its Name, etc etc all Hail, because they didn’t always like how their internal monologue could no longer be described through common language. Words and images and understandings were nothing but approximations for Michael now, and sometimes it was frustrating existing outside the boundaries of understanding. Which, of course, was the point, so long as the point existed, so long as anything existed -

It wasn’t always easy. Still, nobody ever got what they wanted if they weren’t willing to put the effort in. The adult world and labouring under capitalism wasn’t easy for anybody. That was what Mum had always said. Who was Michael to complain about their 9-5? Or 24/24? Or infinite/infinite? Or nothing/nothing? Or -

Was it too much to ask to have a linear thought once in a while? 

Helen wouldn’t understand. There were only two other approximations of concepts that Michael knew, and Helen would hardly be any help. The other “person” would probably be a better sounding board, but there was the fact that he was kind of pretentious. Still, it was better than nothing. Well, it was nothing, but only in the sense that everything was - argh!

A yellow door appeared in a nondescript basement, and Michael appeared with it. They melted out of the “wood”, taking a second to check their outfit for this apparition - a nice vintage 50s dress with a painstaking stitch that reminded one of the oppressive nature of housewifery, nice. They elongated their curly blonde hair from a roguish mop into a nice little shag and melted into the crowd. 

It must have been a passing period, because Michael was buffeted to and fro by tall white men wearing backpacks and shorter white girls hoisting strangely identical water bottles. Somewhere Northern, Michael decided, likely private and small. Not that it strictly mattered, but it helped to solidify their grip in reality a bit if they had some idea. They already knew geography was purposeless and a distraction from the real issues, like shrimp, but occasionally it could be useful. Helen had been careful to impart the central tenet of existence as a non-euclidean concept in undefinable space in the twenty seventh dimension: location, location, location!

It was obviously the Philosophy Department, because all philosophy classes were held in old basements built in the ‘60s in identical hallways. For kicks, Michael turned all of the school hallways inwards and sent them in a mobius strip, and changed all of the door numbers into a headache. The key to enjoying your job was to take initiative in the workplace environment and to just have fun with it!

Michael found themselves in front of a door identical to all of the others, with fake laminated wood, and they decided to go in. The universe had guided them to this door for a reason, and who were they to reject its call? 

The small classroom was like most other small, private colleges in unpopular departments that nobody cared about. Lots of single person desks - Michael snapped their fingers and turned them all into left-handed desks - complete with a smartboard and a teacher’s podium. It was already half-full, so Michael carefully slid into a chair in the back and pretended that they had been there all along. A student wandered close, convinced that this was her seat, but Michael successfully convinced her that a different seat near the front was hers, prompting an impromptu game of musical chairs that sent ripples through the otherwise sedate classroom.

There was a blond student already sitting in the front, flipping through a spiral notebook and clicking a pen in no particular pattern. He was wearing a pea coat, jeans, and his hair was weirdly perfect. Michael wished they had a notebook. Was this what you did in university? They had never had the opportunity to go. 

Actually, they had never quite graduated secondary - three months away from graduation, actually. It probably wasn’t all that important. You didn’t really need a diploma to become a trauma eating fear demon. Was there a university of eating fear? That would be funny. What would the classes be in, ‘Enforcing the Powerlessness of Capitalism 101’? What was the difference between that and a Business major? 

Maybe Business majors were the real fear demons, Michael thought grandly. It was a good thought, they would have to remember to tell it to Melanie later. Melanie would approve. Hadn’t Tim been a business major? Yeah, in that case she would definitely approve. 

The student sitting in the front seemed to have finally noticed the game of musical chairs, and as the professor started clearing their throat and announcing something unimportant to the class, he turned around to find Michael sitting in the back of the class. They waved cheerfully. The student scowled. 

‘What are you doing here!’, the guy mouthed angrily. 

‘Hi Mike!’ Michael mouthed back. 

‘Go away!’ Mike mouthed back. 

‘But I’m going to eat your teacher :(‘ Michael mouthed back. They didn’t actually frown. 

‘ >:(!’, Mike Crew mouthed back, also without changing his facial expression. 

This was probably why Mike wasn’t Michael’s biggest fan. Which was a pity, because Michael thought Mike was really cool. He had the coolest name, for one. But shorter, and snappier. Mike was the kind of name girls would call you at clubs. Michael was what, like, your Mum would say as she yelled at you to clean up your room before her book club girls came over. Why were they girls? They were, like, fifty.

Mike Crew was an Avatar of the Spiral completely unwillingly. Chosen as a child and chased throughout his life by an improbably long lasting Lichtenberg scar, he had eventually succumbed to the inevitable and transformed into an even more improbable man. Personally, Michael found it strange that ‘inevitable’ and ‘Spiral’ was in the same sentence, but - well, it had to be everything at one point. Even a melting clock was right once an endless twilight. 

Strangest of all, Mike Crew was a philosophy major. The class, of course, was a high level philosophy course. Mike Crew had been in uni - well, a while - and he tended not to waste his time with the boring shit anymore. Michael listened with interest as the professor dived into the lecture. 

Two minutes in, Mike subtly gathered his things and slipped into the conveniently empty chair next to Michael. He was still glaring at them, as Michael tried their best to look innocent and cute. The effect was a little ruined by the inherent maliciousness of Michael’s pores, but they liked to think it was the thought that counted. 

“To continue our conversation on the topic of paradoxes,” the professor began, “I’d like to introduce a few thought experiments for your consideration as a class. I’ll mention the concept, and then allow you to break into pairs to discuss them.”

Mike leaned into Michael’s ear. “We were discussing Descartes!”

“But isn’t this more interesting?” Michael asked. 

“If you give my professor a mental breakdown we’re going to fall behind on the syllabus!”

“The first paradox I’d like to bring to your attention is the Crocodile’s Dilemma.” The professor flipped to a new slide, which helpfully had a big crocodile on it. Michael admired it. They had seen a crocodile at the zoo once. “Similar to the liar’s paradox, the premise states that a crocodile, who has stolen a child, promises the parent that his or her child will be returned if and only if he or she correctly predicts what the crocodile will do next. The outcome is fairly obvious if the parent states that the crocodile will return the child, but the crocodile faces a dilemma if the parent states that the crocodile will not return the child. No matter the outcome, the crocodile is made a liar: if  the crocodile decides to not give back the child then the statement proves to be true, and he ought to return the child, thereby making it false. Whatever the outcome, he still violates his terms.”

Michael raised their hand. Mike forcibly lowered their hand. 

“If I give your professor a mental breakdown then you’ll have extra time for the test,” Michael whispered back. Mike seriously considered this notion.

“The next paradox is slightly related,” the professor continued. “The Infinite Hotel Paradox.” Michael’s face stretched into a grin as Mike Crew groaned. “It is demonstrated that a fully occupied hotel with infinitely many rooms may still accommodate additional guests, even infinitely many of them, and this process may be repeated infinitely often. This is what we call a veridical paradox: it leads to a counter-intuitive result that is provably true. Therefore -”

“Okay, yeah,” Mike Crew said, slumping in his seat. “You can eat him, this guy is just begging for it.” 

“Yay!” Michael went in for the hug, before Mike pushed them away. Michael’s quest for a cool big brother failed yet again. “Do you want to call the -”

“They’re your hallways,” Mike said, persnickety as always. Maybe he was just jealous that he wasn’t a hallway? 

Michael raised their hand, patiently waiting for the professor to call on them. He stumbled in the middle of his lecture, adjusting his thick glasses. 

“Uh, yes, Miss -”

“You no longer understand gender,” Michael said pleasantly, as they always did whenever they were misgendered. It was an understandable mistake, so they didn’t do it maliciously. Frankly, they just thought it was healthy. Everyone should not understand false things. “Professor, I have a question about the Crocodile’s Dilemma.” They waited for the professor to nod, somewhat confused. “How do you know that didn’t really happen?”

The professor blinked lethargically at them. “It’s a thought experiment. It’s not real, it’s just an idea proposed by philosophers to represent -”

“What makes you so sure?” Michael asked cheerfully. “Crocodiles eat babies. Or dingoes. I think I read a story about this happening in Australia, didn’t you?”

“I - I suppose I did, yes -”

“We wouldn’t talk about it if it didn’t really happen.” Michael felt their voice fall into a rising lilt, like an attractive song that was played to a concert hall but heard only by you. They were distantly aware of Mike lulling the rest of the students into their own hazy daze: aware enough to be confused, but trapped in their seats and the fog of misunderstandings. “Fiction isn’t real. Reality is real. But a thought experiment is in between, isn’t it? Something that strains the boundaries of reality, that proves the fundamental concepts of life, told through a framework of an intrinsic lie. A paradox is a lie telling the truth. You are a truth speaker telling only lies. What you know isn’t so much as anything at all, is it? What do you really know, anyway?”

“One of us tells only the truth and the other tells only lies,” Mike Crew called out, bored. But his eyes were shining in endless refraction, infinite rooms holding infinite guests. “But is it really a lie if you had mistaken it for the truth? What lies are you living, Dr. Young?”

Dr. Young was stammering, eyes swimming, and Michael didn’t dare to break eye contact. It was a delicate spell they wove, but Michael wasn’t so bad at bringing this simmer to a boil. Cooking was about improvisation, and Michael had always been great at that. 

“If your life is a lie,” Michael breathed, “then are you really alive?”

It was clear, when it happened: the professor started inhaling deep, deeper breaths, chest wracking with heaves. His eyes rolled up in his head, he clutched at his chest, and he finally slumped down on the floor. He twitched, jerking slightly, and he would continue jerking. At which point the students would become aware, and they’d call an ambulance for him, and he would be perfectly alright in the end. If a little mentally scarred. 

“Damn,” Mike Crew said, almost impressed, as both he and Michael stood up. He shoved his pens in a backpack, glad to be free of his examination for another week. “What’d you do to him?”

“Made him think he was dead,” Michael said serenely. “He thought his heart had stopped beating so he had a panic attack. He’s going to have to make an appointment with a psychiatrist but he probably should anyway, work’s very stressful for him.”

“Guess I have the rest of the hour off,” Mike sighed, as he held the door open for Michael so they could slip out of the back of the classroom. It was yellow, and a little strange.  “Want to grab a pint with me at the campus pub?” He paused a beat. “Wait, are you even old enough to drink?”

“I’m as old as eternity and reborn every second.” Michael paused a beat. “But I was eighteen last time I checked, and I’ll probably be eighteen for a while, so yes?”

“Great, let’s roll. I need a drink.”

****

Mike’s uni’s pub (Michael had asked the name of the uni but the information had, unfortunately, been lost in next Tuesday, so they’ll know then) was the exact opposite of the high class pub Helen had taken them to. Instead of glassy, shiny, and chromey, Mike’s pub looked strongly as if very many people had puked in it and the staff had tackled the problem somewhat half-heartedly. Michael enjoyed the sight of the puke existing in all points in time simultaneously, giving it a sort of weird yellow-ish shine. Actually, maybe all puke had that yellowish sheen?

When they asked Mike about it as they hopped up on the bar, he just sighed. He flagged the bartender down for a pint, and when the bartender squinted dubiously at Michael they revelled into the micro-confusion of ambiguous ages. Micro-feeding? Like mini muffins?

“Helen made a mistake hiring you. She’s stuck us with a perpetual teenager.”

“I’m as much a teenager as you are a uni student,” Michael said pointedly. 

“I’m not an embodiment of the It Is What It Isn’t Is,” Mike said, oddly aggressively. “I’m just a normal Avatar.”

“Fear demon.”

“Melanie King isn’t always right and I don’t know why everyone thinks she is.” Big words from an honored Special Guest on her show. There were many in the fear demon community who would kill for the honor. It was a good thing she hated intruders in her Archives - otherwise they’d never leave. “But I’m no different from - that douche Peter Lukas or that stoner Elias Bouchard or that btich Annabelle, okay? I’m just a guy. Who eats trauma. Plenty of guys do that.”

“Very good denial of reality!” Michael approved. “Normally Helen tells me to go further into denying reality as a concept, though.”

“God, you hallway people are impossible to have a normal conversation with.” Mike huffed, clearly not as irritated as his words would imply. Michael also approved of the incongruity. “I’m assuming that you’re here for absolutely no reason and that you have no idea why or how you ended up at my uni.”

Michael shifted uncomfortably. “Actually, I am here for a reason.” At Mike’s extreme surprise, they hurriedly clarified, “Not with any goal, meaning, or intention in mind! But I just wanted to talk about something to someone who wasn’t technically another facet of my meaningless whole. Helen and I are as index and ring fingers on the same hand, but we don’t really get each other sometimes, you know?”

“Does that make you the pinky finger?”

“I actually had a hypothetical for you.” At Mike’s nod, Michael snagged a napkin from the stack on the sticky bar and began creasing it, somewhat anxiously. “Let’s say, hypothetically, you were a teenagerish nongendered sentient hallway intern who happens to eat trauma.”

“This isn’t much of a hypothetical,” Mike said flatly. 

“I’m a hypothetical person. And I’m only a person hypothetically.” Michael started making little folds in the napkin, twisting it up into a strange origami. “So, let’s say, hypothetically, that this person - their name is Michael - enjoyed being them. It wasn’t always fun, and sometimes they kind of missed the world making sense, or at least not making sense in a familiar way. And sometimes Michael got tired of being a sentient hallway and wanted to finish secondary. And maybe even sometimes Michael grows sad that both their parents were eaten by their new boss, who is kind of a Tory! But that’s all fine. Michael’s probably happier like this than they ever were even when they did have parents.”

Mike Crew stared at them a little, slowly sipping his pint. 

Michael hunched their shoulders, and folded up the napkin further and further. They had read somewhere that any piece of paper can only be folded seven times. They folded the napkin seven times, then eight, then nine, then ten. That was something nice about the way things were now, they supposed: no rules, absolute freedom. Only rules, no freedom. That was what Dr. Yung would call a paradox. “But maybe the worst part about this new job is that Michael doesn’t really like hurting people. Sometimes it’s fun to randomly make people very upset, and you always kind of end up doing it anyway, but after a while Michael feels kind of bad about it. Michael likes doing other things better, like making terrible roundabouts and rearranging the pages of books. Maybe they even like reading books. They like reading comic books backwards, from the last page to the first, so every panel is a surprise.”

“There’s lots of ways to be a fear demon,” Mike pointed out, almost gently. Maybe only because he could relate. “Look at me. I’m not feeding off anyone. Just myself.”

“But I like the way I do it,” Michael said, frustrated. “Helen keeps trying to get me to do it the way she does it, but the point is that we aren’t the same. What’s the point in having two of us if both our viewpoints are the same? We’re different in every way, but we’re the same being. I just want to be the Spiral the way I want. Not the way Helen wants.” Their voice lowered, almost unwilling to say what they were about to say. “Not the way the Spiral wants.”

Mike stared at them for a long time, slowly sipping his beer, and Michael focused their efforts on forcing this improbable napkin into something that could be beautiful. A lotus flower? A mobius strip? Or should they just let it happen as it happens, and see what form it decided to take? 

Finally, Mike said, “You are the Spiral.”

“Then why am I always disagreeing with it?” Michael asked miserably. 

“Why are you, Helen, and the Spiral always disagreeing?” Mike pointed out. “Maybe that’s the point. So much as anything’s a point. Isn’t it the most perfect paradox of all, to split yourself into portions that are always disagreeing and bickering? Maybe everything you’re feeling is on purpose. I mean, it’s kind of improbable that you’re feeling at all, right?”

“I retained a lot of humanity,” Michael said. “Maybe a bit too much, actually?”

“Right.” Mike nodded decisively. “Then that’s the appeal. A human mind will always strain against its confines. It will always want different, want the same, want the old and the new and the perpetual and the fleeting and the eternity and the moment. What’s more nonsensical than a human? What’s more contradictory than human nature?” A dark shadow passed over his face, just for a second. “The Spiral kidnaps us and turns us into it. One part of our minds is entrenched in its eternity, and another part is always screaming in agony. But predominantly we are the unholy mixture of human and Entity, oil forced into water. It’s so intrinsically horrifying and wrong that we just get used to it. We are both demon and human, and so we’re neither, and so we’re both. Isn’t it weird, Michael, that unlike so many other Avatars, none of us want to be here?”

“You’re a very philosophical person,” Michael said diplomatically. 

“Thanks, I think too much about my lot in life.” Mike Crew sighed, slumping on his barstool and knocking back more of his pint. “I wish you and Helen would stop showing up in my life so often. When you aren’t around, I can almost pretend I’m a person.”

“That’s why we show up,” Michael felt obligated to point out. 

“Yeah, I know,” Mike said glumly. “I always know. I can’t stop knowing.”

There was nothing Michael could say or do that fixed this, or that could make Mike feel better. They understood, just a little - that nostalgia for a kinder time. But maybe it was more that Mike never had those halcyon, innocent days. He had lived life since childhood in aching knowledge that his days were numbered. Maybe that’s why Mike was allowed to live life as a human even now: his human life was just as confusing and isolated as his afterlife, and that when fear stained every second of his life there was no point in ceasing it. 

Maybe Michael couldn’t keep their human life because they had been happy. At the very least, they had been ignorant. That was one thing the Spiral could not abide: ignorance. 

These days, Michael knew everything. They knew everything so, so much.

So, in lieu of comforting falsehoods, Michael offered Mike Crew a slightest sliver of truth. They passed Mike the little piece of origami that they had made, and let Mike cradle it in his large and smooth hands. 

The origami had no shape. It wasn’t folded into anything. It was just a meaningless amalgamation of points, corners, and creased paper. It didn’t look like anything at all. 

“See?” Michael pointed out. “It’s a bear.”

Mike Crew smiled weakly. “Looks like a sea goat to me.”

There was something beautiful in ambiguity. When something was nothing, it could be everything at once. That was rather Michael’s favorite thing about it. 

“I think it’s a self-portrait,” Michael decided. 

And that, at least, was as true as anything else. 

***

Michael wandered their hallways. 

On some level, they were pretty much perpetually doing that. Even as one facet of them talked with Michael in a campus pub, even as another helped Helen convince a high class pub into voting Brexit, even as they traumatized a physics professor, they wandered these hallways.

Make no mistake: everything in this story has/will/is happened/happening simultaneously.

Of course, on another level Michael was literally their hallways, and thus they were not so much wandering as existing. Pulsating, one could say. Even twisting, if one would be so bold. 

There was a mirror, in the hallway. Not a funhouse mirror - although Michael did enjoy popping out from those and scaring Nikola - but just a mirror. Gilded around the edges, ornate with swirling curlicues. You could see yourself in it. You could see a lot of yourself in it. It wasn’t what you had always looked like, not really, but you just had the sense that this was what you really looked like. Maybe you had always looked like this, and everybody was just too polite to tell you. Were you really a brunette? This mirror had to be right. You had been a blonde all along. Nobody had told you. They were laughing at you. They were laughing -

But this was Michael, and Michael’s, and nothing in here could harm them. It was even comforting. They looked at themselves in the mirror, and saw themselves same as ever. Or not same as ever. They were still Michael, so far as Michael was Michael.

Shortish. Blondey. Raggedy hair. Curled as much as anything’s curled. Fun clothing that they really enjoyed. Tall shoes, because they liked feeling tall. Similar dimensions to the golden number. Non linear, but who’s counting? It was what they typically looked like. 

But, just for a second, Michael even fooled themselves. They saw someone in the mirror that they were not, someone who they had never been, someone who they never will be. Someone different.

Michael, just like everyone else, couldn’t stop themselves from reaching out. Come back. Come back! Let me touch you, let me be you! Michael’s fingers brushed the shiny glass, and the world tilted sideways, and Michael fell into where the sidewalk ended.

They emerged, or maybe they had always been, inside a bedroom. It was a nice little suburban bedroom. It had a peaked ceiling and a window seat. The walls were a soft, navy blue. There was a young person, lying on the shag carpet, leafing through a book. Big headphones were over their ears, and they were bopping along to music. Disco. 

Michael stood, an intruder into a familiar space, and watched the stranger. Their throat felt oddly tight, and their eyes felt strangely hot. The stranger was smiling faintly, flipping the pages of their book somewhat mindlessly. They were reading it for school. Flatland. It was just an assignment, but it was really fucking them up. It was making them think about all of these things that they didn’t normally, in new dimensions. It was really cool. All of their friends were just reading the Sparknotes, but they really wanted to talk about it with someone. 

 This, of course, had happened. It will happen in the future. It was happening now, as Michael watched the scene with an electric sadness. It would never happen, because the Spiral had never been here, and never would be, and always was. 

A knock echoed on the door, several sharp raps. Michael didn’t notice, legs swinging to the music. 

The knock on the door hit louder. “Michael!” A voice echoed from behind it. “Michael, are you ready to go?”

Michael reached up and slid off their headphones, without looking up from their book. “Coming!” They called back. “Be right there!”

The Spiral watched Michael, who hummed absentmindedly as the door knocked again. Dad was downstairs, making sure the gas was off and shutting off the lights. Mum was knocking, knocking, knocking, on a door that was and will always be wood. 

“Have you packed yet?” Mum called. 

“Sure I have!” Michael yelled back, glancing at the empty suitcase on the bed and the messy pile of clothes right next to it. They pushed themselves up, flipping the book shut and rising to their feet. “Be right out!”

“Hurry up,” Mum called, as the Spiral mouthed the words along with her. “We’re going to be late!”

The Bermudas aren’t going anywhere, Michael thought spitefully. They stuffed their clothes haphazardly in a suitcase, took far more care to pack their laptop and DS, and shoved Flatland in a side pocket of their backpack. 

When Michael slung on his backpack, unfolded the handle from their suitcase, they were not even looking at the door they left through. They were entirely focused on managing the unruly suitcase, and walked straight through the crazed yellow door.

Of course, Michael walked out. Slightly stranger, a little better, a lot worse. Exactly the same. They were back in their hallways again, fresh from their little suburban bedroom and the child exiting one world and entering one quite different. Maybe one part of that child would always be in that bedroom, another part in these hallways, and another part always caught in that doorway and the transition. 

Simultaneously, in all points in time, Mum knocked on that wood door, and Michael never let her inside. Simultaneously, at all points in time, Michael watched it all happen.

They hadn’t expected it to be so comforting. At all moments in time, in a little corner of their heart, Mum knocked on their door. If the Spiral lived in your soul and beat your heart, it was easy to find the beauty in it - the magnificence of eternity, and the joy in the moment. Mum was with them - literally, as he was pretty sure Helen was still digesting her. Maybe nothing was ever truly over - just over there.  

Michael stuck their hands in their pockets, whistling a jaunty tune that highly resembled the Shepherd’s Tone. Their hallways pulsated comfortingly, and Michael carefully toed off their platform shoes and eyed down the infinite hallways. No rugs for a while. 

Maybe Michael, Mike Crew, and Helen should get together more often. Just the three of them. They would drive each other batty. It would be a lot of fun. 

Michael set off running down the hallway, and skidded on their socks down the hardwood floor, whooping in joy as they skidded endlessly towards eternity. 

[igotbulletproof-insomnia]

Adopting Bangtan 08

01 previous

Supermarket Sweep

You were never going grocery shopping with seven kids ever again in your life.

The chaos. The absolute chaos was something that you somehow never expected. You actually thought that shopping with all seven kids would be the most efficient way to accomplish the task. Sit Kookie in the cart and let him “help” you by picking out the area to shop and hold the bags while you pick the vegetables. Send Yoongi and Namjoon to buy the snacks because they were the most sensible of all of the children and wouldn't have you spending way more money than necessary. Let Taehyung and Jimin retrieve the bread and the milk. Let Seokjin pick the meat because he was surprisingly talented at the job. And then everyone was supposed to meet you back at the shopping cart, still located in produce, so that you could pay and you all could go home. It should have taken thirty minutes, tops.

Instead, you found yourself chasing Taehyung around the store while Jimin kept an eye on Jungkook and you really, really hoped that he didn’t grab the most expensive apples on display, but you have the feeling that he would — because of course, he would. Prices didn’t seem to exist to any of the younger kids.

Instead, Jin was throwing a fit because all of the meats on display were apparently complete rubbish and he refused to let you spend money on anything but the most expensive cuts of beef so you “just have to” make another stop at the actual butcher’s shop. Granted, if Jimin spent all of your money on asparagus, your family would be eating vegetarian this week.

Instead, as soon as you managed to grab Taehyung, who apparently just wanted to replace Jungkook as your shopping partner, Namjoon appeared with a reasonable request for more variety in tea for the house. Which opened up a whole new can of worms as Taehyung realized he can ask for things too. This had him running back to Jimin and the shopping cart with a grin on his face, demanding that they find the snack aisle because you were going to buy them extra snacks if they asked, and Jimin’s face lit up with a smile so bright that dammit, it was going to be hard to explain what a budget was and why it wasn’t a good idea to exceed it.

(and yeah, you checked. Jimin grabbed the most expensive radish and lettuce he could find, and you were going to have to break out the vegetarian cookbook.)

(except for the bananas. It seemed Jungkook picked up the bananas)

Thankfully, Yoongi — lovely, beautiful, blessed Yoongi — had been returning to the shopping cart with his arms full of a variety of snacks, all low in price but high in popularity at home. He took one look at the chaos of whining and fussing children, rolled his eyes heavenwards, and took control.

“You get one.”

His tone left no room for argument; even you stood straight and stopped making a scene. Yoongi led the group back to the snack aisle and replaced everything he picked and let the others run wild. Together, you watched the others pick out snacks and place them, one by one, into the shopping cart.

“... They’re going to blow the snack budget like this,” you commented idly.

“I know.”

“That’s why you put the rest back, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“And these snacks aren’t going to last as long as they usually do, will they?”

“Not at all.”

“Thank goodness you’re so smart,” you ruffled his hair. “This is why I keep you around.”

“You keep me around because you don’t want me living by myself and I save you from going broke.” Yoongi’s tone was as matter of fact as ever and you couldn’t help but grin.

“Like I said, smart kid.”

Yoongi grinned back. You liked the fact that these kids didn’t take you too seriously. You had a good balance of deference, respect, and playfulness with all of them, even if you weren’t sure who actually ran the household most of the time. “Go pick you something, Yoon. You don’t have anything for yourself.”

“You can’t afford what I want.”

“I probably can’t afford what anyone wants, they aren’t paying attention to the prices.” And indeed, Taehyung and Jimin, your babies with the most expensive tastes, were debating the merits of two snacks that were way outside of the price range you would normally consider. But again, Jimin’s smile was so broad that you were reluctant to tell him no and watch that fearful, nervous look fall back into place. You would talk to him about budgets and restrictions another time. “I’ll make it work, don’t worry about it right now.”

With a grateful smile, Yoongi asked you to grab the snack he wanted, placed just out of his reach on a top shelf. It wasn’t priced too far out of budget, but it was different from the things he normally selected for your busy household of eight. You made a mental note to pay attention to how much Yoongi enjoyed the snack and check the stores for similar ones. The kid did so much and asked for so little, it would be nice to do this one thing for him.

“Wait a moment…” you frowned, counting off. “Where’s Hoseok?” Immediately all of the children quieted down, looking to each other as if to confirm that yes, someone was missing.

“Wasn’t he supposed to go with Jin-hyung?” asked Namjoon.

“No, I thought he was keeping Jimin and Taetae company?”

“Oh my God, you lost Hoseok.” That accusing tone came from Taehyung, and you watched Jimin’s face go from lightweight confused to completely devastated. You hated it, had suspicion that he was wondering if you would eventually do the same thing to him, if you would get bored or disappointed or angry and cast him off, lose him in a store or at a park like Hoseok explained happened to him, like all of Jimin’s previous parents did to him.

“Okay, boys,” you shouted, uncaring of the stares you attracted. The boys startled, but gave you their full attention, which was one hundred percent more than you’d had the entire grocery trip. You continued to speak firmly, and could tell the show of authority did more to calm their panic than the shouting. You decided that they needed to focus on something other than their lost brother. “This is what we’re going to do: Namjoon, you’re going to take Taetae and Jimin and get the bread, milk, and all the dairy stuff like I told you before, okay? Add eggs to that list. Yoongi, go get the paper products. Get the brands we used to get, not the ones we used last time, they’re cheaper and sturdier. Seokjin, we’ll go to the butcher’s if we have the budget when we finish here, but I promised we could have meat for dinner, so take Kookie and find something, okay?” All of the boys nodded at their assignment. “Good. Yoongi, Joonie, find Jin when you’ve got your things. Seokjin, when you’ve finished, wait for me in produce. You all understand? I’m going to go find Hoseok. He probably got distracted and can’t find us.” Hoseok had a habit of doing that. He often got lost among the chaos, because while everyone was being loud and boisterous, Hoseok was often quiet and did the things that went unnoticed. If you assigned dairy, meat, and snacks, then Hoseok probably went off to grab paper towels or rice or something you needed at home but forgot about. You wouldn’t be surprised if he came to the store with the list Yoongi and Jin never felt the need to write.

So the kids separated, worried and mumbling to each other, but occupied with their tasks. They were trusting in your ability, in your promise to locate their missing brother before you all went home. Whether these kids were abandoned by their parents (or maybe ran away from home, Seokjin never discussed why he chose to stay with his former teacher) , you found them and chose to take care of them. It was understandable that they would be worried. Up until now you had probably seemed like some sort of savior to them. Maybe not infallible, and definitely not… whatever it was that made other adults seem parental, but you had taken care of them, kept track of them, and protected them. Losing one of them had probably shaken their hearts.

It didn’t take long before you Hoseok as you predicted, standing in the frozen section, a piece of paper and pen in his hands. He bit his tongue as he read through it, humming to himself and ticking off items. A hand basket sat at his feet, overfilled with supplies.

“I’m pretty sure you should have an actual shopping cart for that,” you told him. Hoseok startled, jumping nearly a foot in the air and shouting in surprise. The petty, upset parent part of you feels satisfied for it, like Hoseok got what he deserved for scaring you the way he did. The more rational part of your brain is just glad that you were right and he hadn’t been kidnapped. Casually, you looked over the basket. “I didn’t even think about checking the spice cabinet. You’re a clever kid.”

“I just wanted to be helpful,” Hoseok replied with a shrug.

“It would have been helpful if you told me where you were going.”

“... I didn’t do that?” Hoseok’s eyes went big and wandered left and right. He seemed to be making himself smaller, pulling his arms close and leaning away from you.

“No, you didn’t.”

“I… oh.”

“We got very scared,” you explained. “We thought you got lost. The other boys were panicking.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you, I just… everyone else got an assignment and I didn’t, so…”

“So you thought I wouldn’t notice if you disappeared for a bit.” You nodded and ignored Hoseok’s flinch when you crouched down to his level. He wasn’t terribly short, he was actually almost as tall as your shoulder, but it was always easier to have these sorts of talks when you weren’t looming over him. “It’s okay, I’m not mad about you shopping on your own. I’m actually really glad that you took initiative to do something helpful. But you did scare me. I didn’t know what happened to you. I didn’t know if you got lost or ran away or if someone stole you from me. I’m glad I know you well enough to assume you brought your own list, but I was still afraid of being wrong. I really, really don’t know what I would do if you went missing, Hoseok. I haven’t had you for long, but my heart would hurt. I care about you that much, okay? So please, communicate. Tell me when you’re going to wander away, and tell me where you’re going so that I know you are safe.” Hoseok nodded fervently, most likely an effort to convince you he was sincere and wouldn’t disappear on you again. You opened your arms for a hug, You opened your arms for a hug, partially to comfort yourself, but mostly to soothe Hoseok. He looked like he might burst into tears and needed the comfort.

“Okay, good.” You squeezed the kid tight, your hold unrelenting until you felt the kid push away. “Alright, let me see that list of yours.” Together, you and Hoseok went through his list, and you were amazed that he was so thorough. Apparently the kid started taking stock as soon as you mentioned the intent to go to the grocery store earlier in the week. Hoseok noticed that you had a habit of leaving something out and he thought that making a list would be helpful. When you decided that you were going to take all of the kids with you, he decided to just hold on to the list himself.

“From now on, you’re making grocery lists,” you decided as you made your way back to Jin. “Maybe even all of the lists if you’re this organized. What do you think of that?”

Hoseok grinned, obviously proud of himself. “I think that sounds awesome!” He cheered. “Is this like how Yoongi gets to be in charge of the budget and Jin is in charge of the kitchen and Joonie is in charge of all of us?”

“Kind of yes, something like that,” you said. “Because obviously I’ll lose my head otherwise.”

“I’m sure we’ll keep track of your head too if you want.”

“Ah, why are all of my kids so snarky? I don’t deserve this,” you cried, hugging Hoseok more tightly to your waist. “All I do is give them love and a home, and they pay me back in sass.”

“But you love us, right?” Hoseok asked. His voice was a little softer than before, and you saw it for the genuine question that it was, not the joke that it would have been had it come from Jin, Joon, or Yoon.

“Of course,” you told him. “Don’t you doubt that for a second.”

When you went searching for the rest of the kids, you found them standing by Jin with the shopping cart, all lined up on the side of the aisle and eerily quiet. Even Jungkook in the shopping cart was holding his hands in his lap, eyes down cast.

“Do I want to know what happened here?”

“No,” was the resounding answer.

“Okay, good.” You shake off your curiosity. Whether that was because you trusted Seokjin or because you were afraid of the answer, you were undecided. “Hoseok, do you want to delegate tasks? We have a few more things on your list, right?” Hoseok noded, and set about sending his brothers off in pairs to retrieve the remaining items on his checklist. After the two sets had wandered off, Hoseok looked up again.

“Could you…?”

“Seokjinnie, you good by yourself?”

“I’ll have Kookie with me, it will be great.” Jin shrugged and you rolled your eyes.

“We’ll still meet over in produce when you’re finished, okay?”

Jin huffed his frustration at the meat selection. “I think we’re just having fish tonight. Is that fine with you?”

“If it’s okay with your brothers, it’s okay with me.”

“They’ll be fine with it,” Seokjin declared. His tone said he was still very irritated with whatever happened while you were gone.

“Get some cheaper produce when you’re finished, please.”

“Sure thing,” Seokjin agreed absently, wandering further up the aisle.

“Holler if you need me,”

“I will.”

“Just don’t scare everyone when you do.”

“Now you’re just taking away my fun.”

After all of that, you spent another fifteen minutes in the store. The trip to the butcher’s shop was put off for the following night, and you all made the unanimous decision to eat ramen and kimchi for dinner. You were also very loud about never bringing seven kids grocery shopping ever again.

That was, until two weeks later when Jimin’s adorable pout convinced you that they would be on their absolute bestest behavior (spoiler alert: they weren’t).

To find more of my child-bangtan fics, select the "Collecting Strays" tag at the bottom of this page ^_^

[pagingevilspawn]

Can you write a jolex Easter fic when they celebrate Easter with their kids. I would love that.

bunny kisses and easter wishes

I speed typed this lil thing, because I got this request a few days ago, so I apologize if it isn’t very good. and that it’s kinda short. i only really checked over this once, so i’m sorry if there’s a lot of mistakes. i just really wanted to get it out today. happy easter to all those who celebrate! 

Easter Sunday had become a big deal in the Karev household throughout the years. It’s love and intensity wasn’t nearly as close to the ever-so expensive Christmas, but it easily took over second place as the family’s favorite holiday. (For the kids at least. Jo and Alex would always love Halloween the most for many reasons.) They decorated their house’s outer appearance to the nines, complete with easter egg lights that stuck in the ground, small inflatables, signs, and the occasional plastic bunny or two. Hanging from the tree on their lawn were easter baskets that they had tied to a piece of string, full of fake grass and hand-dyed eggs in extravagant colors. Inside, they had set out the Easter themed tablecloth, and traditional candy from the holiday could be found inside of ceramic bowls in the shape of bunny’s.   

It came as no surprise when at exactly seven thirty in the morning, three children came bumbling into their room, feet heavy against the hardwood floors as they raced each other down the halls, eager to awake their parent’s first. They were told that they couldn’t wake up Alex and Jo earlier than that, or they would postpone the hunt. The oldest, Blaire, reached the two sleeping figues before her little brothers, running up to the bed and shaking them both awake. 

“Mommy, Daddy, get up get up!” she cheered, a wide grin across her face. At ten years old, she knew that the easter bunny wasn’t real, but it was still more than fun to hunt for eggs across the house. Plus, she knew how much her parent’s appreciated the fact that she still put on a show for her younger siblings, who were a few years younger than her, and still full of belief for traditional holiday characters.

Not even a second later, two more bodies came flying onto the bed, taking the liberty of jumping up and down to wake up their parents rather than shaking them. Their youngest, Chase, jumps onto his dad’s back in all of his two year old glory, as if Alex wasn’t already aware of the presence of the three in the room. Months upon months of being on high alert while raising them as newborns turned both him and Jo into incredibly light sleepers, much to their dismay. They had been awake the second their footsteps had come down the halls, it was just nice to close their eyes for a bit longer. 

Jo slowly wakes up next to him, giving him a sleepy, half smile that he never failed to make his heart stutter. She takes six year old Holden into her arms, giving him a hug as well as she could while he tried to squirm away. Being in first grade meant that he was too cool to give hugs to his mom, but Jo refused to acknowledge that, and still hugged and kissed him like he was still the tiny baby that would snuggle in her lap at every given opportunity. Sometimes, when he refused to give her a hug before he went into class, she would shout an ‘I love you baby’ just to get back at him. It was petty, but it worked, because after enough times he had learned to give his mom a hug before class. 

“No mommy! The easter bunny came!” the boy protests, eventually escaping her grasp when he lands back on the floor, brushing a strand of too-long hair out of his eyes. Jo had been trying to set up a haircut for the past week, but they both were struggling to find enough time out to do so. It wasn’t like Holden was complaining, actually preferring the floppy hair more than he shorter haircut, but Jo said that he wasn’t going to look like his Uncle Link used to as a grown man. (Which Holden hated, since Uncle Link was seriously the coolest and he would definitely have floppy hair if the blonde used to as well.) 

“I know. Give me and Daddy a minute, and we’ll be right down. In the meantime, go see if the easter bunny ate all of his carrots, ‘kay?” Jo mumbles, rubbing her palms against her eyes in an attempt to rid herself of sleep faster. Footsteps then padded out of the room and down the stairs, excited chatters echoing through the halls of the house. 

Jo and Alex give each other a small, exhausted smile. They had been up until two thirty that morning, hiding eggs after both working fifteen hour shifts, and to say they were tired was an understatement. Bags hung heavy under both of their eyes, but they both knew it would be worth it when they would see the kids hunt for the plastic eggs. They lean in and connect their lips for a quick peck because they were both aware of their terrible morning breath. When they pull away they both crash back onto their pillows, taking a few seconds to let the tiredness leave their bodies before the start of an eventful day. Dragging themselves out of bed, they brush their teeth and try to make themselves at least somewhat put together so they didn’t seem like absolute zombies in front of their kids. Jo pulls her phone off her charger, tucking it into the pocket of her robe before they head down the stairs, the kids eagerly sitting at the island next to a plate of ‘bunny eaten carrots’ and a note. 

“Mommy we can’t read it. The writing’s too messy.” Blaire complains, waving the paper around, surely wrinkling it a bit in the process. 

Jo holds back a chuckle. Alex’s penmanship was barely legible on it’s own, let alone when he was practically so tired he could barely take a few steps without feeling like he could slump over whatever surface was available to him and take a nap. 

“Hmm,” Jo hums, taking the paper and squinting to read it, struggling herself to figure out the words on the note. “Blaire, Holden, and Chase, Happy Easter! I have hidden forty-five eggs around the house for you to find this year, fifteen for each of you. Chase’s eggs have spots, Holden’s have stripes, and Blaire’s are plain. All eggs are hidden in the kitchen, living room, and dining room. Make sure not to take any eggs that aren’t yours. Happy hunting! Easter Bunny.” Jo reads off. 

She folds the paper in half, placing it back down on the island. “Before you guys find the eggs, open up your baskets.” She points to the three different colored baskets that were on the table, each holding separate items based on their children’s current interests. They dig in quickly, each pulling out the candy first, marshmallow peeps, chocolate bunnies, and packets of Reese’s peanut butter cups eggs. 

Blaire grabs her basket first, the purple wicker one with hints of green, her face lighting up when she sees the book she’d been eyeing for weeks now and a new shirt that she had been begging for since she saw it online last month. 

Hudson lets out a boyish cheer when he pulls two video games out of his basket, pumping a fist and smirking. Jo gives Alex a relieved smile. New video games were coming out constantly, and it seemed like the second they got him the one that was on trend, it was being replaced by another game. So, for the two games about blowing random things up to still be considered ‘in’ was something they were both taking a large, silent victory about. 

Chase giggles when he pulls out a few toys, running over to Jo to show them to her immediately. He was easily the quietest of the three kids, tending to hide in Jo’s shoulder whenever meeting someone new or clutching onto his older sibling’s legs whenever they were out in public places like the park. “Look Mommy! T-rex!” he exclaims, trying to open up the box that held the green dinosaur. 

“I know baby! But you gotta go put it back now if you want to look for eggs,” Jo reminds him, placing a kiss on the top of his head, nuzzling her face in his hair. She savored these moments with her youngest, knowing that Chase was only getting older every day. Her and Alex both agreed that they were done at three, so with that she seemed to imprint every detail of Chase’s childhood to memory, taking more videos and pictures. It had gotten a little bit overboard at some times, but Alex knew where she was coming from so he never complained. They had both chastised themselves for not filming more things with their first two, sticking more to pictures, so they were making up for it with their youngest. 

The two year old toddles to the table, climbing back up to the chair with the help of his sister, pulling out more toys and setting them down beside his candy. Once the baskets were free of anything except the paper grass at the bottom Alex tells them that they can begin their search. 

“Blaire, help your brother.” Alex calls out from his spot on the couch, pulling Jo closer to him while she films the hunt, thankful that their house had an open floor plan so she could record moments like these. 

The girl nods, grabbing Chase’s tiny hand and bringing him along on her search, picking him up to reach eggs that were out of his reach. All of his spotted eggs had been significantly easier to find than the other two’s, something Hudson had complained about at first until Alex shot him a look that immediately made him close his mouth. 

“Aww c’mon I can hear the money in that one!” they hear Hudson complain, trying to reach for the egg in his sister’s hand. 

“No, it’s mine. Your’s have money in them too, you know.” Blaire argues back, putting the blue plastic egg in her basket, shooing Chase off to the couch since they had found all of his eggs already. 

“Daddy look. Eggs!” the young boy dumps his basket onto the couch, thankfully not cracking any open in the process. 

“Woah, good job buddy,” Alex ruffles his hair, shooting him a proud grin and pulling him onto his lap so he was now rested between him and Jo. “We’ll open them once Bee and bubs find all of theirs okay?” he reassures, making the toddler nod his head.

“Aww c’mon, can’t we trade? Just once?” Hudson pouts from the kitchen, holding out one egg in exchange for the one his sister had just put away.

Blaire smirks, eyes flicking to her mom for a brief moment before focusing back on her brother’s. “Fine. But I get to pick which egg.” Did he not know that the heavier ones were all coins and the lighter ones had dollars? Well if he didn’t, that worked in her favor. 

“No, you can’t trade.” Jo butts in, seeing what angle her daughter was trying to play. On one hand, props to Blaire, because Jo thought it would be another year before she made the very obvious connection, but on the other, she had assigned the kids certain eggs for this reason exactly. 

“But mom—” the girl starts, jutting out her bottom lip in hopes to let her mom let it slide. 

“—The Easter Bunny said that you can’t trade. I don’t know about you, but I want him to come back next year, and I don’t think he will if you guys don’t behave.” Jo tells them, raising her eyebrows to show that she was serious. 

Little Chase looks up at her with wide eyes. “No! Bunny come back!” 

Alex quickly reassures him, pulling Chase closer to him and giving him a squeeze. “Don’t worry bud, he’ll come back. Bee and bubs are just being big buttheads right now so Mommy needs to knock some sense into them.” he knows that the boy didn’t understand half of what he said, but he feels a grin split across his face when the toddler erupts into giggles. 

“Buttheads!” he laughs, smiling so widely that Alex can’t even pretend to hold back chuckles of his own. 

“Yep, buttheads. But don’t say that word, it’s not very nice. Only mommies and daddies can say butthead.” he clarifies. The last thing he needed was Jo knocking him upside the head because their son was the only baby in daycare to say bathroom words. 

Minutes passed, the two older children looking for eggs around the house, climbing up on tables and chairs no matter how many times Alex and Jo told them that they weren’t hidden inside of the light fixtures. 

When both kids had found their eggs, they bounced back to the couch, dumping their eggs on the cushions and immediately cracking them open, cheering every time they got a dollar versus coins. Chase didn’t have money in his eggs, but rather jelly beans, something he liked much more than change. (two year olds had no need for money, and jelly beans were something much more fun than coins) 

In the end, the two of them had gotten one twenty, two tens, three five’s, and five one’s. Chase had a mountain of multi colored jelly beans gathering on the coffee table. A bit much? Yes. But they liked to splurge on holidays like these. They didn’t just become surgeons because they wanted to save people. (That was the main reason, but they both agreed that healthy paychecks did make a big decision in deciding their career path when they were younger. Now? Now it was all about saving lives, the money was just a nice bonus.) 

“I can get a new game!” Holden cheers, tossing his dollar bills up into the air as if it was ‘raining money’. In his eyes, he was rich now. Sixty bucks and change? Next step was becoming a millionaire.  

Jo scrunches her brows, looking at the boy confused. “You just got two new ones?” she clarifies. Were there seriously more games that he wanted to get?

“Yeah, but they just came out with a new Call of Duty,” the boy smirks, as if the answer was obvious.

Jo groans, showing her obvious dislike of the game. Normally, she was all for virtually blowing things up and killing fake people, but the game seemed just a bit too mature for a six-year old. She would just have Alex play with him in the beginning to make sure it wasn’t too bad she guessed. 

She claps her hands together a large smile painting her lips. She gets up from her seat and grabs three bunny ears headbands from a table in the entryway. “Put these on, and I’m gonna take a picture of you guys. After this we can get ready to go over to Auntie Mer’s for waffle Sundays, okay? If you guys are good, Daddy might make them into easter shapes” she grins as she hands each of the kids a pair of ears, only Blaire looking displeased at having to wear them. She gives her daughter a look, which makes her huff and reluctantly put on the shiny purple ears.

Alex ushers Chase off of his lap and into line with his siblings, Jo placing the blue ears on his head, matching his basket. She smiles wide, putting the kids side by side. 

She pulls out her phone, opening up the camera app and putting it on portrait mode. “Okay, on the count of three, say ‘Little Bunnies’!” she’s met immediately with groans, Hudson telling her ‘no’ the second he hears it. She’d been trying to get them to say it for years, but each time she got the same response. Insanity, Alex told her year after year with a crooked smirk, Is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. He always followed with, You’re basically insane for thinking that they’re gonna wanna be called bunnies if they didn’t last year. Plus, they always see it coming. It’s been happening for years now. 

“It was worth a shot,” Alex pipes in, pulling Jo into him, resting his head against hers, not even bothering to hide his smile at the scene in front of him. 

“Okay, fine. On the count of three ‘Happy Easter’. Sound good?” she confirms, earning nods from all four of the Karev’s. 

“One, two three!”

“Happy Easter!”

[svt-junhwan]

christmas cookies |

in which | junhwan makes christmas cookies

characters | junhwan miller, veronica miller, wen junhui, xu minghao, boo seungkwan

word count | 1.2k

circa | christmas 2020

“How long do I do this for?” Junhwan asks.

“About five minutes,” his mom responds.

“Oof.”

Junhwan’s mom laughs, “It would be about two if you had an electric mixer but...”

“We must press onward,” Junhwan says seriously, continuing to aggressively whisk the sugar and softened sticks of butter together.

Wanting to do something more than buying presents for his members, Junhwan set out to make Christmas cookies for them the night before Christmas Day. He’s using the recipe his late grandmother made rather than any store-bought mix. It isn’t his first time making cookies from scratch, but it is his first time doing it on his own. Although, technically, he isn’t alone as his mother is on FaceTime with him helping him along.

Eventually, the first two ingredients are well-combined.

“Alright, next it says to add the eggs and vanilla and almond extracts,” Junhwan reads from the file his mom had sent him.

“Yep,” his mother agrees.

After the remaining wet ingredients are incorporated, Junhwan mixes in the flour and baking soda with a few helpful tips along the way that have been passed down through generations of Miller women.

“And... chill for an hour,” Junhwan reads once he has flattened the dough into the right thickness on two separate cookie sheets.

“Or freeze for thirty minutes,” his mom adds helpfully.

“Okay.”

Junhwan slides the two cookies sheets into the freezer carefully. He washes his hands then picks up his phone, heading back to his room to wait.

“Thanks, mom.”

“You’re welcome,” she says. “But isn’t it a bit late to be baking there?”

Junhwan glances at the time in the top corner of his phone. 10:13.

“Not terribly.”

“Isn’t it 9- no, 10:13?”

“I’m trying to be a good friend, mother.”

His mom laughs, “You don’t need to make cookies to prove that, Adam.”

“Well, here we are.”

“Yes. Here we are.”

Junhwan flops onto his bed with a sigh. Between practices and awards shows and yearend shows and practices for awards shows and yearend shows, this is the only free time he’s gotten in the past few days. This is the primary reason Junhwan has been completely uninterrupted in the kitchen when normally his members would be in and out; they’re all asleep or very tired.

“You’re sleeping enough?” Junhwan’s mother asks.

“Yeah... maybe not consecutively but when I can.”

His mom hums unhappily.

“Hey, it’s not entirely my fault; we’ve been extra busy during awards shows season.”

“You work hard enough, Adam,” his mother tells him, “You have to look after yourself, too.”

“I am,” Junhwan insists.

His mother looks at him through the phone as if trying to detect any falsities behind his words. Whether it’s the lack of any or the distance between them, she finds none.

“Alright,” she relents. “But I can speak Korean pretty well now. I can go to more than just Joshua or Vernon for checkups now.”

“Mom, I’m an adult.”

“But you will always be my son. It’s my job to worry about you.”

Junhwan gets the warm feeling he always gets when his mom reminds him of her love for him, as though regardless of what anyone else thinks, he will always have at least one person in his corner. He smiles.

“Merry Christmas, mom.”

“Merry Christmas, Adam. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

“Okay. Love you.”

“Love you more.”

Junhwan waits in the kitchen diligently as his cookies bake. He’s a little too nervous for a bad outcome to let himself become distracted by his phone as he waits; he was warned it won’t take long for them to burn as they’re so thin. His timer goes off and he quickly opens the oven to check on the cookies.

He takes them out quickly and starts removing them from the cookie sheets to cool. There are around forty cookies on two trays waiting to be iced. He opts to remain in the kitchen as they cool, ignoring the way tiredness pulls at the back of his mind. He sits in a kitchen chair and opens his current book.

A few chapters later, he gets up and checks the residual heat in his cookies. He’s only just begun icing them when the first figure slips into the kitchen.

“What’re you making?”

Junhwan looks up and finds Jun entering the kitchen, obviously having just woken up. A quick glance at the clock tells him it’s ten past eleven.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” Junhwan asks, continuing to ice.

“No,” Jun lies.

As Jun reaches for one of the few already iced cookies, Minghao appears and tugs him back.

“Let the kid finish before you destroy his hard work.”

“Sorry, dad.”

“I am younger than you.”

“Then act like it.”

“Maybe you should act more mature.”

“Nah, I’m good.”

Junhwan chuckles at the two Chinese boys’ bickering.

A fourth boy enters the kitchen, Seungkwan.

“Speaking of immature,” Minghao says.

Seungkwan freezes in place, “I breathed.”

The boys laugh quietly, doing their best to remain quiet for the still sleeping members in the dorm. Junhwan feels guilty, knowing he woke the other three up despite their attempts at denying it. They stay in the kitchen with him, talking softly amongst themselves as he finishes frosting his cookies. He’s not a very talented baker, even less so when is comes to decorating, so he does a simple pattern of three lines crossed in the center of each cookie. Soon, he finishes.

“Okay,” he says quietly, gaining the others’ attention. “Try one.”

Jun reaches for one first, biting off one of the snowflake’s arms. He chews a few times then stops, silent and face purposely blank. Junhwan watches his reaction and his face falls.

“Are they bad?”

Jun doesn’t respond.

Minghao quickly wraps an arm around Junhwan’s waist, taking his comfort on as his responsibility.

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Minghao says.

Seungkwan picks up a cookie as well, taking a bite similar to Jun’s. Seungkwan barely gets through his second chew before stopping, jaw opening in his mouth as though his tongue is trying to get away from the taste.

Junhwan immediately feels horrible, “I-I’m sorry! I just thought I’d do something nice but I didn’t think they’d be that bad. I’m sorry-“

Junhwan is cut off as Jun and Seungkwan fall into laughter, still doing their best to remain quiet which only makes them laugh harder. Junhwan blinks at them in confusion for a moment before it clicks. He groans and sinks to the floor in embarrassment; he’s so gullible.

“You two are so mean!” Minghao halfheartedly scolds them, fighting back laughter of his own.

“God, you looked so- so- I don’t know!” Jun laughs.

“Like a puppy who got told no,” Seungkwan suggests.

“Yes!”

Another wave of laughter comes and this time, Minghao joins them. Junhwan lies down completely on the kitchen floor.

“One day, I’m going to die are you’re going to have to live with the fact that you bullied me since I was thirteen,” he tells them.

“I can live with that,” Seungkwan says with minor consideration.

“Same,” Jun agrees, popping the rest of his cookie in his mouth.

[let-the-dream-begin]

When the World is Free Chapter 3: I’m At the End of Myself

Chapter 2

Read on AO3

John and Claire’s delicate dance continued into her seventh and eighth months of pregnancy.  Since that day of shared private pleasure, nothing much had changed between them. They maintained their chaste kisses on cheeks and heads, holding hands and sharing amicable silence.

And occasionally they would pleasure themselves in each other’s company.

By the middle of the seventh month, Claire could not comfortably reach around the swell of her belly to touch herself. John had watched her try one night, feeling himself grow hard as she did, and then she sighed with frustration. It wasn’t long before she had another idea, however, and she was suddenly sitting astride one of her pillows, undulating her hips as she grasped the headboard with white knuckles. John could not take his eyes off of her as he began palming himself and then pumping furiously, finishing only just before she did.

John could not make any sense of it.

She was a woman. John had known since quite an early age that he was not like other boys; he did not desire the company or touch of a woman the way he should. The older he got, the more it clicked in his brain that he desired men in the way he ought to desire women. And he'd done all in his power to rectify it, to change who he was, but to no avail. His confession to Jamie had come about as a result of his wishing to deny it to himself no longer. Jamie had flipped a switch in John’s heart, and John suddenly knew that if he were lucky enough to love a soul like Jamie’s, that being who he was could not have possibly been so terrible. It could in fact have been…absolutely wonderful.

But then there was her.

She, this woman who shared his home and his name, was making him question everything all over again. At first, she had been something to cling to as he floated adrift in a sea of grief. She was his one tenuous link to Jamie, the one thing keeping alive the miracle the man had done to his soul. Even after that first night of their marriage where they’d used each other so grossly, John still could not separate her from Jamie. It was like she herself had so bluntly said:

“We were really fucking Jamie.”

But then she’d offered to touch him…and he’d agreed. And they’d come to this place where they could watch each other in the throes of passion and be spurred even further into their own haze of pleasure.

“It makes me feel…very good to give a man pleasure.”

John quickly learned that Claire carried a great sense of erotic pride in her own abilities, and he had to admit there was something enchanting about it. Since that first time, it was rare that she touched him, but damn him if having her watch him do it himself didn’t light him afire.

And he couldn’t bloody make sense of any of it at all.

And then there was the child.

They’d been sitting and reading as they did every night, and Claire had very suddenly thrown her book aside and grasped John’s hands, causing him to drop his book as well. Before he could find the words to ask what in the world she was doing, he felt it.

“He’s saying hello,” she’d whispered, her eyes flicking back and forth between their hands and John’s face.

John could not stop staring at his hands, hands that could literally feel tiny feet pounding against them.

“I’m so glad you’re finally here for this. You’ve missed it a fair amount of times.”

John had to blink fairly quickly to clear his eyes of tears.

“See, lovie? I told you that you’d get to say hello to Daddy soon.”

John had looked up at her in amazement as the weight of her chosen word sank in, and was surprised at the tears on her cheeks, the pain in her eyes.

I know, my dear. I know you wish it was him instead.

“Thank you for sharing this with me, Claire,” is what he’d said instead.

By the eighth month, words like Daddy and Mummy were regularly exchanged between the two of them, as well as little one and sweetheart.

And Da.

John came home to the sight of Claire on the sofa, legs stretched out over the cushions, Jamie’s rosary in one hand, the other stroking her round belly.

“And then, your Da said to me: you need not be scared of me, nor of anyone here, so long as I'm with you.”

John smiled wistfully as he hung up his coat and hat. They’d decided early on that the child would know his father. John would be Daddy, of course, but he would know the brave man that loved him from Heaven. John and Claire would create that presence for him together.

It gave her comfort to talk to the child, especially while he worked when Geillis could not give her company, and it was more than natural for Jamie to be at the forefront of her mind while she did so.

John heard Claire sigh, and she pressed a kiss to the rosary before tucking it back into the box she kept it in, which she’d brought from the bedroom and put on the coffee table.

“Good evening,” John said warmly, unsure if the moment she’d just shared with the father of her child was meant to stay between them, or if she would bring him into it. Sometimes she did, sometimes she didn’t; it depended on the day as to which option it would be.

“Good evening,” Claire answered, both hands on her stomach now. “How was your day?”

Leave it alone, then.

“Just fine. Rather boring, actually,” he said. He sat on the coffee table in front of her, not at all surprised by the redness in her eyes or the lingering wetness on her cheeks. “Has Brian been behaving himself today?”

Claire sniffled loudly, but she smiled, seemingly savoring the sound of the name being spoken aloud. “What do you think, little one? Should I lie and tell Daddy that you were sweet as anything?”

“Oh my.” John frowned in sympathy.

“I think he’s stepped on my bladder a total of thirty-two times today,” she groaned. “And my feet hurt so bloody badly, I considered just staying here and soiling the couch an embarrassing amount of times rather than go to the toilet.”

“Poor dear,” John said, then gave her stomach a poke. “Naughty thing.”

She laughed softly. “Would you mind terribly if I asked you to cook? I really don’t think I can stand another second today.”

“Not at all.” John leaned forward and kissed her temple before heaving himself off the coffee table. “Whatever you wish to eat, I shall do my best to make it happen for you.”

“Just a plate of every single carbohydrate in the kitchen,” she said dramatically, and John chuckled to himself as he started rummaging through the cabinets.

“Well, I can put the water on to boil for some spaghetti, and get you some bread in the meantime.”

“With oil? And garlic?”

“As you wish.”

He heard her moan with delight, no doubt throwing her head back over the arm of the couch, and he chuckled again. He poked his head in the refrigerator and saw that there was still some baked chicken from the other night’s meal. He decided that would pair nicely as a protein with the carbohydrates his wife so desired, and he put it in the oven on a low setting to heat up.

“Some broccoli, my dear?”

“God no. Nothing green.”

“Still? I thought you’d gotten past that by the fourth month.”

“I thought so too. But it’s come back. With a vengeance.”

“Alright, I apologize for even entertaining the idea.”

Chicken warming and water set to boil, John returned to the living room with a plate of bread and a small dish of garlic and oil, along with a glass of wine for each of them. As she dug into the bread, he began rubbing her feet almost as an instinct, remembering exactly what she needed.

“You are too good to me, darling.”

His lips quirked up and he peered up at her. “I do try.”

When the meal was made and John put a plate of pasta and chicken in front of Claire, she glowered at him, not at all unlike a stubborn child after seeing a plate of vegetables.

“Don’t look at me like that. You are the nurse, and you made me swear that I would not let you become undernourished no matter the cravings you had. So this is me holding up my end of that bargain.” He sat down across from her, unable to hold back a smile. “You said yourself you need protein.” She narrowed her eyes. “Perhaps eat it first so that it doesn’t spoil the spaghetti,” he said as if reasoning with a child of five years old. She rolled her eyes at him and reluctantly started to eat.

Claire had done exactly the opposite of what John had suggested; she devoured the spaghetti and a second helping before even touching the chicken. She shot daggers at him lest he even attempt to stop her, so he kept his mouth shut and bit his tongue to stifle laughter.

Just as she was reluctantly beginning to cut into the chicken, there was a knock at the front door.

“Who could that be?” Claire said.

“Don’t get up, I’ll take care of it,” John said. “Likely it’s nothing important.”

John pushed back his chair and made his way out of the kitchen, smiling fondly at the sound of Claire’s humming the beginning of It’s Been a Long, Long Time — one of her newest favorite records — accompanied by the sound of her knife and fork clinking on the plate.

“Never thought that you would be standing here so close to me…”

“Coming,” John called as he switched on a lamp in the living room; it had quickly grown dark since they’d moved to the kitchen.

“There's so much I feel that I should say, but words can wait until some other day…”

John opened the door, and he literally felt the blood drain from his face.

“Kiss me once, then kiss me twice, then kiss me once again! It’s been a long, long time…”

He had to be dreaming. He had to be.

His knees felt weak, and then felt like nothing. His legs went completely numb. He had to clutch the door with both hands to keep from toppling over.

“John.”

His voice sounded far away, echoing as if through a canyon. John’s vision blurred, and the door swayed in his grip.

A pair of strong hands suddenly caught him by the shoulders and held him upright; otherwise he would have slid down the door and landed in a heap. John’s eyes bugged out of his head at the contact, and he stared at one of the hands on his shoulder for several seconds.

He’s really here.

“Haven't felt like this, my dear, since I can't remember when…”

“W…what…?” John stammered, finally wrenching his eyes away from the hands and back into his face. “You’re…you’re dead…”

“No, a charaid,” he said, his grip on his shoulders tightening. “I’m…I’m home.”

John’s eyes finally registered what he was looking at. Trembling hands left the door to ghost over his face, recently shaven — unevenly at that, sallow cheeks and sunken eyes, hair unruly and poorly trimmed…but still him.

“It's been a long, long time…”

“My God!” John sobbed, throwing his arms around Jamie’s neck.

The hands previously holding onto John’s shoulders hovered mid-air for a long moment before resting on his back, and then he waited another moment before fully returning the embrace, holding his friend tightly to him.

“Christ, Jamie…” John stammered into his shoulder. “What…how…my God!”

Jamie gave him another solid pat on the back before gripping his shoulders and pushing him away so he could meet his eye. John almost jumped when he saw what they held. Once clear, bright blue, was somehow dulled, and yet filled with electric rage that John could not place.

“You'll never know how many dreams I've dreamed about you…”

Good Lord…Claire.

“Or just how empty they all seemed without you — Is everything alright, darling?”

Jamie tensed beneath his hands. Had he thought she was a record before she actually spoke, that he just now registered the other voice was her?

“Y-yes, I’ll be right back,” John said quickly. “Don’t t-trouble yourself getting up.”

“So kiss me once, then kiss me twice…”

“Married?”

John blinked as if it could clear the ringing in his ears. “What?”

“Ye’re married?”

John swallowed thickly, feeling needles trail down his throat as he did. “Y-yes. To protect her. Like I promised, Jamie.”

“Then kiss me once again, it’s been a long, long time!”

Jamie nodded once and then gently pushed him out of the way.

“Wait!” John hissed in a low whisper. “You’ll shock her to death. Let me…prepare her.”

Jamie’s back was to John, but he could still see how he trembled…with…rage?

“Claire!” John called, brushing past Jamie before he could protest. “Are you sitting down?”

“Yes, right in front of this bloody chicken still.” She looked up at him as he entered the kitchen. “John! You look ill! You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

“I’m…not at all sure I haven’t.”

Her brow furrowed, and just as he was about to elaborate, he watched the blood drain from her face and her jaw fall slack. John turned around to see that Jamie was already right behind him in the doorway, and Claire was facing him dead-on. Whatever John meant to say died on his tongue, and he stepped out of the way of Jamie’s path to Claire.

She put her hands on the table like she was trying to stand up, but she didn’t move. She likely couldn’t. The table and tablecloth were obscuring any view of the life she carried. Very suddenly, Jamie collapsed to his knees before her, and John jumped at the sound of the impact. He just stayed there, on the floor, staring up at her, perhaps not knowing what to even do with himself.

Claire’s chest heaved, fat tears rolled endlessly down her cheeks. Her lips were trembling, her hands were trembling. She slowly, painfully slowly, brought her hands off the table and toward his face. She cried out, almost shrieked when she made contact with his skin. He made a noise as well, a heartbreaking, loud sob. Claire let out another noise, almost animalistic in nature as she threw her arms around his head from above him, pressing his face into her neck. He cried out unintelligibly as well, returning the embrace from under her arms, clutching her hair.

John braced himself on the counter and covered his mouth, tears flowing freely over his hand. They were both speaking, but he couldn’t understand a word. Jamie was muttering in Gaelic, and Claire was sputtering incoherently, words that eventually just morphed into a repeated chorus:

“Jamie, Jamie, Jamie, Jamie, Jamie, Jamie…”

Both pairs of hands were lost in curls as they rocked back and forth, Claire’s tears soaking his mess of red. She started kissing his head, over and over and over, every inch of it, and then his forehead, his cheeks, until finally she gripped his face in her tremulous hands and pressed their lips together.

John thought to leave, or to at least look away, but he couldn’t.

When he’d dreamed of Jamie’s fantastical and imaginary return, he hadn’t dreamed of holding the man for more than a few seconds, hadn’t dreamed of kissing him in relief, of crying in each other’s arms.

He had dreamed of this.

He had dreamed of not being able to decipher whose tears were whose, being unable to determine where she ended and he began. He had dreamed of watching them find each other again.

He loved Jamie on his own, he always would. And he’d come to love Claire, as well, though differently.

But together…it was enough to break his heart and mend it all at once. And it was all he ever dreamed of seeing.

They finally stopped kissing, and Claire half-laughed, half-sobbed into Jamie’s mouth, resting her forehead on his.

“Oh, Jamie…”

She started shifting, rotating her body in her chair, bringing her legs out from under the table. Jamie leaned back, and John could picture the exact position he was preparing for. He’d watched it all too often: Claire sitting high up and looking down at him, either on a tank or a bar counter or a fence, military grade trousers allowing Jamie to nest perfectly between her legs and hold her around the middle.

But her middle was not quite in the state that Jamie had last seen it.

Jamie leaned back again instinctually upon feeling the extra mass between them, not registering right away what it was.

Claire smiled blearily at him, her wet face now positively glowing with joy. Jamie was completely frozen in shock, his eyes locked on the large bump. Claire reached for his hands and placed them on the swell of her abdomen, letting out a beautiful, strangled cry as they rested there.

Jamie’s brow was furrowed, and he finally tore his eyes off of her middle to look up at her face, absolutely bewildered. Claire just nodded, her smile cracking all the wider as she broke into joyful hysterics, fresh tears pouring out of her. Jamie began sobbing anew as well, an even more broken, devastating sound than before. His arms were long of course, so he could still wrap them around her middle almost like before, but now he rested his cheek on her belly, weeping and whispering to it, to him.

Their child.

They started swaying again in this new position, Jamie pressing fervent kiss after kiss to her belly, and she to his head, all while sputtering incoherently to each other, the child, or to no one at all.

It was the most devastatingly beautiful thing John had ever seen. He did not belong in this moment, and yet he could not look away.

An indeterminable amount of time passed in this manner.

Claire looked up first, eyes and face swollen and red and shining. She took a stuttering breath before beaming a watery smile at John, exhaling in a tremulous laugh. He smiled back at her, his heart leaping out of his chest, his own eyes still stinging.

“It’s…a miracle…” Claire breathed, absently stroking Jamie’s head. “Tell me I’m not dreaming…you see him too…?”

John nodded, swallowing hotly. “I do, Claire. I’m almost certain we’re both awake this time.”

She bit her lip, more tears trickling down as she turned to look back down at Jamie. He had not picked his head up off her belly, had not loosened his grip. If John wasn’t mistaken, he was still muttering as well.

“Oh, my love…” Claire crooned, moving her hands down to cup his face in her hands. “Look at me, Jamie…”

She seemed to have to physically pry his head off of their child, raising him up to her eye level. She trailed her fingers over the lines of his face, weeping through a frozen smile.

“What…” she stammered, and his hands came to join hers on his face, lacing their fingers together. “How…? Where have you been…? Are you alright? Are you in pain?”

John could see Jamie’s shoulders tense, see his breathing quicken.

“Jamie…?” Claire said again, pressing her lips to their joined hands. “Talk to me, love. It’s alright.”

After a moment, Jamie’s breathing somewhat returned to normal, and he finally tore his eyes away from Claire to look at John. He hadn’t thought that Jamie even remembered he was there. He cleared his throat and stood up, not releasing Claire’s hands.

“I think…” His voice was hoarse, gravelly and low. “Ye should sit, John. You should hear it as well.”

John took his weight off the counter, swaying a bit as a result. He slowly crossed to the table and sat down in his seat in front of his cold food, across from Claire. Jamie took the seat between them keeping one of his hands linked with both of Claire’s.

“Your plane…it was shot down,” John said. “They said nobody could have survived that explosion.”

“Aye.” Jamie nodded. “It plummeted out of the sky, alright. Felt my guts in my throat. I…held onto…Claire’s picture…and I prayed…so hard…asking God to protect her.”

Claire’s knuckles went white gripping his hand, silent tears staining her cheeks.

“But the impact came and I…I woke up. I was in blinding pain, everywhere…’specially my back. My copilot, Hayes…he was alive. But he was trapped.”

His jaw hardened, his eyes focusing somewhere far off, his pupils tiny pinpricks in a sea of turmoil.

“I tried…I tried to get him out…I tried…” His voice broke.

“Jamie…” Claire soothed, lowering her head to press a kiss to his shoulder.

“I could smell the gas, ye ken. We both could. He begged me tae leave him.”

The hand that Claire was not holding trembled fiercely at his side, even as the rest of him remained still as stone. John had to fight the urge to reach out and take it.

“I would’ve stayed wi’ him. I swear I would’ve. But be begged me.”

“Nobody can blame you for wanting to live, Jamie,” Claire said fervently. “It’s not your fault.”

“So I just…I left him pinned under the rubble like that.”

He seemed to not even hear her.

“I dragged myself out like an animal. Christ, it hurt…it felt like my entire back was ripped open…and it turned out it was.”

John felt that he very soon would be ill. All the horrors he’d seen in the war…and none of them compared to Jamie Fraser thrown out of the sky, bleeding to death like a forgotten animal.

“I got out just before the explosion.” He winced, even jumped a bit, and John knew the explosion was happening right before his eyes again. It was something he’d often experienced, something Claire had coaxed him out of time and again over the past months.

“I don’t even remember losing consciousness…but when I woke up I was in a POW camp.”

“So the plane didn’t explode on impact…” John said incredulously. “And of course they thought you’d died…”

“There wasna anything to bury of Hayes, was there.”

He wasn’t asking. He knew.

“No,” John said softly. “So they…we thought you…”

“Aye.” Jamie nodded, his eyes finally leaving his living nightmare and flicking to John. “Logical train of thought.”

“So you’ve…been captive this whole time…” Claire said.

“Only just liberated,” Jamie confirmed.

“My God…” Claire shook her head, sobbing. “My poor love…” She released his hand to throw her arms around his entire frame, burying her face in the crook of his neck. “My poor, poor love…”

“It’s alright, mo ghraidh…” Jamie choked, gripping her arms as they tightened around him. “You saved me, ye ken.”

“What do you mean…?” she sputtered into his neck.

“The thought of seeing yer face again…my sorcha. Ye came to me at night…ye talked me to sleep, ye soothed my nightmares…but ye never touched me.” Tears rolled down his cheeks for the first time in a while.

Claire sobbed all the harder, tightening her grip again. “I can touch you now,” she whispered fervently.

“I’m alive because ye kept my soul alive in that horrible place. I knew in my heart that I’d live to see this day. I had to.”

John couldn’t stop himself; he reached over and put a hand on Jamie’s shoulder, squeezing tightly. “May the Lord be praised for it,” he said hoarsely.

“Why didn’t…no one sent a telegram…” Claire said, finally picking her head up again. “We didn’t even get a call,” Claire said to John.

“They tell immediate family first,” Jamie said, his face darkening in a different way than it had when he spoke of the war. “Neither of you are Frasers.”

John’s throat went dry, and he noticed how Claire’s eyes flicked downward in shame.

“Jenny didn’t call,” she said after a moment, her voice small and frightened.

“I asked her not to. I wanted to find ye myself.” He wasn’t looking at either of them. “Took me longer than it should’ve. Since I was looking fer a Beauchamp.”

“Jamie…”

“Jenny didn’t even know. Did ye know that?”

Claire met John’s eye, and she looked like she’d been slapped in the face.

“I was…I couldn’t speak of it to her, Jamie. Losing you…it was…God…it ate me alive, tore me to pieces…I wasn’t ready to talk to your sister and hear your voice, or look her in the eye and see you…”

Jamie didn’t respond. His eyes found that faraway place again.

“I was…ashamed…I didn’t know what she’d say about the baby, what she’d say about…marrying…so soon. I didn’t know if she’d assume it was yours or think me some sort of heartless slut…”

“I thought ye’d be there.”

His eyes did not move, but the vein beneath his right eye bulged out, his face turning red. Claire exchanged a frightened look with John across the table, unsure if she should touch him or not.

“What…?”

“I showed up at Lallybroch and I hardly even touched my own sister because I thought you were there. I was demanding to see ye so much that I didna even hear them the first three times they told me that they hadna heard from ye since I was pronounced dead.”

“Jamie — ”

“I thought I’d find ye taking comfort in my family, our family.” His voice was dangerously low. “Instead I find ye married.”

“Jamie, please, you can’t possibly understand — ”

“Oh, I can’t?” His eyes tore away from the wall and bore into her, and John could feel their heat even from behind him.

“No, you can’t!” she shot right back, not at all timid anymore. “I’ll not presume to know what you’ve been through, but I’ll not have you angry at me for how I chose to deal with this! I was pregnant with your baby, Jamie. What the hell would you have had me do?”

“It was my idea,” John interrupted before he could stop himself. Perhaps this should have been left between them, but the fact that he was the one in the middle of it was indisputable.

Jamie whipped his head around to look at John, his eyes afire with betrayal.

“I stopped by to check on her after I found out,” John continued, keeping his voice as level as possible. “She was just sitting on the floor with the phone dangling from the cord…just…staring ahead. I had to let myself in. I was terrified for her.”

Claire’s eyes burned fiercely with tears at the memory. John swallowed thickly before continuing.

“The second I touched her it was like flipping a switch. She just collapsed on me and…”

“John.” She was pleading, begging.

“No, he needs to hear it. She won’t tell you, but I will.” John’s jaw hardened. “She was ready to bloody kill herself, Jamie. She was completely distraught. When she blurted out that she was pregnant I…offered immediately. I made you a promise. And I intended to make good on it. But promise or no…I wouldn’t have let her suffer alone like that.”

Jamie was crying silently now, unmoving.

“A baby needs a father in this world. A mother needs a husband. We did what we had to do to ensure that your child would be brought up right. Christ, Jamie…we did it for you.” John’s voice broke, and he flicked his eyes away from Jamie, staring at his cold food. “We thought it’s what you’d have wanted.”

“It’s…you have to understand, Jamie,” Claire cut in softly. “You and I…weren’t…married. Not really. I know we were, but we…weren’t. Legally. In a legal sense…I was pregnant out of wedlock. I was in an awful lot of trouble without John. Not to mention I…well…he’s right. I’d have wasted away and died if he hadn’t come to check on me that day.”

Her face burned with shame, but John met her eye again and smiled softly, his eyes glistening with affection for her.

“I’m sorry that you’re…hurt, and that you feel betrayed. And I am sorry for avoiding your family. But I will not be sorry for doing it. And neither will John. Because it was the right thing to do.” Her voice was strong, but her chin trembled.

“And I don’t…” Her voice finally broke again. “I don’t want to talk about this right now…you’re…you’re back.” She cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her again. “Look at me, love…” She sniffled and stroked his face with feather-light touches. “You’ve come home to me…to us. I never thought I’d be this happy again.”

Jamie was still stiff as a board, but the longer Claire spent stroking his face, John could see the tension start to roll away, see him melt against her.

And then, very suddenly, Jamie was weeping.

He fully melted against Claire, conforming to the mold of her body. She pressed his head into her breast and wept full-force as well.

“I’m sorry…Claire…mo chridhe, mo sorcha…I’m sorry…I’m sorry…”

John could not bear it anymore. He quietly stood up from the table and silently strode out of the kitchen, making his way into the bedroom.

Christ…was it even his bedroom anymore? He had to offer it to them tonight. They deserved it, they needed it.

Would he and Claire divorce? Would she move out with Jamie?

Christ…will I ever meet the child…?

“Damn you,” John cursed himself, sitting on the edge of the bed and burying his face in his hands. How dare he even think such things?

It’s not your baby and it never was. His father is back and you should be damned grateful.

And Lord, he was.

But his mind would not stop racing, would not stop asking: what now?

A light knock brought him from his thoughts; he hadn’t realized how long he’d been sitting like this, in the dark.

“Are you alright, darling?”

Her voice, as always, was driftwood in a stormy sea, and he clung to it for dear life and allowed it to bring him back to the surface.

“I’m…” He cleared his throat. “It’s all just a bit overwhelming.”

“I know.” She turned on the light and leaned against the doorway. “I told him I was going to check on you, he’s in the kitchen with some whisky.”

John nodded. “Is he…still angry…?”

“I don’t think so,” she said, but her voice wavered. “You could come back, you know, drink with us. You’re his family as much as I am.”

John’s stomach flipped at that, and he had to focus substantial amounts of energy to calm his heart.

“I’m…I’m alright. You’ll…want to go to bed soon?” He looked up at her finally, and she was flushed head to toe.

“I’ll take the sofa until we can figure out something more permanent.”

“John, no. I wouldn’t dream of putting you out — ”

“He is your husband, Claire. Or at least he should be.” He hadn’t meant to sound so bloody pathetic when he said that, but it was too late now. “He put that miracle inside you. You’ll share a bed tonight after months apart. It’s the least you deserve.”

Claire swallowed, then crossed to the bed. She embraced John rather awkwardly, being that she remained standing and he remained sitting on the bed, and then she kissed the top of his head.

“Thank you, darling.”

After a few minutes, John heard movement outside the bedroom, so he put on pajamas and gathered an extra pillow and blanket. He shuffled past Jamie to get to the couch, and felt his pulse quicken when a large, warm hand rested on his shoulder.

“Thank ye, a charaid.” His eyes held more warmth than they had since his return. “And I dinna just mean fer the bed. Ye’re…a good man. Man of honor. Kept yer word.”

John nodded solemnly. “Of course. It has been the greatest privilege to care for them.”

Before John knew what was happening he was being pulled into a fervent embrace, strong arms wrapped tightly around him. After only a moment’s hesitation, John returned the embrace, and then it was over.

John knew that this was Jamie’s way of apologizing for his behavior, and he was more than happy to accept.

Within the next few minutes, John was lying on the sofa, staring at the ceiling, wide awake.

Claire and Jamie were wide awake as well.

If they were passionate in camp…they were explosive now. John couldn’t say he blamed them, but dear God.

Jamie was quiet for a bit as Claire cried out to the heavens, and John could only imagine what his mouth was otherwise occupied with.

Shortly after that, there was an audible rhythm set, and John thought he might just pass out.

Claire was usually the loud one, but it was almost as if they were competing for that title tonight. Jamie was crying out almost as much as she; it almost sounded like sobbing. It probably was, from both of them.

“I love you, I love you, I love you…”

Every thrust was met with the words falling from Claire’s lips like a broken prayer.

At first it felt like a needle prick between John’s eyes.

“I love you — ” Prick. “I love you — ” Prick.

The longer it went on, however, the more it felt like a hammer to the chest. To his heart.

“Oh, Jamie! I love you! I love you!”

Over and over and over and over.

Overhearing them make love was nothing new; he and countless other saps in camp had heard it during the war. What was new was that John now knew the faces she made as well as the sounds, knew the way she tossed her head back and forth, the way her eyes hooded even as she stared her partner down, the way her lips remained parted as if in a state of perpetual preparedness for her next moan. He knew what her body looked like now, had seen it change with pregnancy. What was new was that she was legally his wife this time.

Most new was that John did not know who he envied most.

The answer had always been clear during the war. He would always listen to Jamie’s whispers of love and feel the deepest pangs of hurt knowing that they would never be meant for him, followed by guilt that he would even have a fraction of a thought of wishing to come between them.

It was foolish, anyway. When Claire touched herself for him to see, Jamie had always been there in bed with them, wedged right in between them. He’d always known that deep down. He had hardly touched her in those moments of shared intimacy; he didn’t think he was even capable. His touch could never live up to Jamie’s, even the ghost of it. He knew that. Claire’s keening and gasping and coy smiles were not for him. Could not have been.

Right?

Damn it to Hell!

Why should he want them to be? She was a woman!

Woman she may be…but she was yours. For a short time, she was yours.

And now he would lose her.

And how dare he feel grief for it? How dare he feel even remotely upset that Jamie was back? The love of her life had returned to her. How dare he feel anything but overjoyed for her?

He’s supposed to be the love of your life too, man.

Yes, yes, he still loved Jamie. He’d almost fainted dead away to see him standing in the doorway, almost kissed him instead of embracing him. As John had said, he’d probably want him until the day he died.

But he’d never had Jamie. Body or soul, he’d never been able to call him his. John cherished the kiss that Jamie had given him more than he could ever say, but one kiss did not make him his.

He’d had Claire’s body, that was clear enough. John was not fool enough to think he could ever possess her soul, not fully anyway. Parts of her that had died with Jamie were beyond reach forever. But the parts of her that remained, that smiled at him over tea in the morning, that grasped his hand at night, that called him Daddy as she touched her belly…those fragments of a woman had become his.

And he was losing it all.

The phrase “better to have loved and lost” was replaying over and over in John’s head, and he wanted to scream. No, it was decidedly not. To never know what it was like to possess somebody made it easier to part with them; in fact, there was nothing to part with to begin with. He could live with never having Jamie, because he’d never know what he was missing.

But he was not sure he would survive having Claire torn from him, now that he’d known what it was like to call such a remarkable woman his wife.

And the most damnably ridiculous part of it all was that she never loved him. How could she?

So how had he been fool enough to allow himself to love her?

It was these thoughts that carried John into a fitful sleep, into dreams of giggles and swimming amber eyes, of fiery red hair and electric blue.

——

The next thing John was conscious of was a pounding pain directly into his face.

“Jamie! No!”

If there was any mistaking it before, there certainly wasn’t now after he’d heard Claire scream. Jamie had punched him — repeatedly in the face. John’s eyes flew open, and he nearly cried out at the fury before him. Even in the dark, no light but the moon, and even through the swelling that was already present in both of his eyes, he could see the glowing red of Jamie’s face, the map of veins popping out under his eyes.

Jamie fisted John’s collar in both hands and yanked him up off his back, shaking him furiously in front of his face.

“Stop! Jamie — ”

“She’s a woman! What sort of sick pleasure d’ye get…?”

Oh…Good Lord.

“Huh?” Jamie growled, shaking him again fiercely. “What does it do fer ye to fuck my wife, John?”

“Jamie, please!”

John swallowed, tasting blood in his throat as he did, likely from a bloody nose. “You must understand — ”

“Must I?” Jamie growled, shaking him again, causing John’s teeth to rattle, biting his tongue. “By all means! Help me understand!”

“It wasn’t…I never intended for it to happen,” he stammered.

“It was my fault, Jamie, really — ”

“No, Claire, don’t,” John said frantically. No, she would not take any blame; she would not take any of Jamie’s rage. John would not allow it.

“Are ye implying that the news of my death deranged ye to such an extent that ye lost all reason and took him to bed by force?” Jamie shouted over his shoulder. “Is that what ye’d have me believe, man? Because unless I’ve been seriously misled regarding yer own nature, it would take substantial force to compel ye to any such action.”

“There was no force,” John said quickly. “From either party.”

“Ye went to her because — from desire?” Jamie actually laughed, tossing his head back mirthlessly. “And she let ye? I dinna believe ye.”

“We thought you were dead you bloody arsehole!” John spat, infuriated by Jamie’s inability to understand. “Both of us! Do you have any idea what that did to us…to Claire? We — we took too much to drink, far too much, and we spoke of you…nothing but you…and…Damn you! Neither one of us was making love to the other! We were both fucking you!”

Jamie’s jaw fell slack, but his grip did not loosen at all.

“It’s like I was saying, Jamie,” Claire’s voice punctured the silence. “It was…comfort, for both of us. For me, it was…familiar feelings in my body that I needed to feel again or I would die, even if my mind knew better that it wasn’t really you…”

“What about you, then?” Jamie shook him again, less violently, John noted. His voice was marginally softer as well. “There’s nothing familiar about a woman’s body to you, I ken it well.”

John gulped again, tasting more blood. “I…I can’t explain it.”

“Ye’d better bloody try, man.” His voice started resembling a growl again, and from the corner of his eye he could see Claire tense and step forward.

“It’s…she…” He looked helplessly to Claire, arms crossed over her chest, but she just sighed, shaking her head. She certainly couldn’t explain it any better than him. “She was yours, Jamie. I knew that. God, I knew it. Every breath she took I could hear your name in it. So it wasn’t about possessing her and taking her from you…it was about…possessing you. Through her.”

Jamie’s nostrils flared, his jaw hardened, but he did not speak.

“It’s…vulgar. I knew it then, and I know it now.” John couldn’t meet his eye. “I felt shameful for it. I knew it was wrong.”

“We both did.” Claire took another step forward, chancing a hand on Jamie’s shoulder.

Jamie flinched, jerking away from her touch.

“Do not touch me.”

Claire pulled her hand back as if scalded, unconsciously resting it on her belly as tears welled up in her eyes.

“Tell me,” Jamie said, low and dangerous. “Tell me exactly what happened, ye filthy wee pervert. Every word. Every motion. Everything.”

John got just enough breath to answer.

“No.”

In an instant, Jamie had transferred his grip to one hand and shoved his free fist into John’s stomach mercilessly. Claire screamed again as John doubled into himself, coughing helplessly.

“Stop it! You bloody bastard!”

Heedless of Jamie’s earlier warning, Claire seized both of Jamie’s shoulders and shook him with a might John did not know she possessed. Jamie dropped John and whirled on her. John tried to cry out, tried to move, but he could not.

Please don’t hurt her.

“What’ll you do? Beat me senseless like you did to him?” Claire challenged, jutting her chin up at him. John swore he could see smoke coming out of Jamie’s ears as he bore his gaze down on him. “Or are you quite finished acting like a fucking barbarian?”

“Ye foul mouthed bitch! Ye’ll no’ speak to me that way!” Jamie roared.

“Fuck you!” she shot right back. “You will not speak to me that way! Perhaps you weren’t aware, but I am not your wife! The law doesn’t acknowledge bloody handfasting. My husband is swollen and bleeding because a brute beat him like an animal! And you will let me tend to him or I will walk out that door and you will never see me again!”

John’s jaw went slack. He knew it was an empty threat; he knew Claire would endure anything to remain by his side; threats, rage, physical harm. She’d not be parted from him now, not ever again.

She shouldered past Jamie and sat on the edge of the couch, gently touching the swells of John’s face.

“Rags, clean water, and something cold from the icebox,” she commanded, not unlike John had once seen her do during the war. “Now.”

Jamie swore in Gaelic and kicked over the coffee table as he went, but he did as he was told.

“Oh, John…”

Her fierce front melted away, the fear returning to her eyes. “I’m so sorry…I had to tell him. It didn’t feel right. I thought he’d understand…I didn’t think he’d…”

She silenced immediately when John picked his eyes up, seeing Jamie reenter the room with the requested supplies, flicking the lamp on.

Try as she might, Claire could not get back that cold indifference she’d regarded Jamie with just minutes before, and she wept pitifully as she tended to John. At some point, Jamie reached out to touch her, having been hovering over them uselessly all the while.

“No,” she snapped.

John’s heart was in pieces. Never had he seen them at such odds with one another. Not once in all the years he’d seen them together.

And it’s my fault.

She directed John to hold the ice she’d wrapped in a rag over his left eye and told him to lie down. She’d determined he was not concussed and that nothing was broken. Just bruised, bloody, and oozing.

“Claire…”

Jamie sounded like a wounded animal.

“What do you want to know, Jamie?” Claire stood and faced him, her voice hoarse with tears. “Do you want to hear about how I tore his clothes off like a desperate slut? Do you want to hear about how I threw him onto the bed, how I rode him? Do you want to hear about how I forced his hands to touch all the places that you always touched? Do you want to hear how I screamed your name while I came around his cock? Is that what you want?”

She was fully weeping now, and John could tell it was physically hurting Jamie to not reach out and crush her to him.

“Do you want to hear how I…I vomited my guts out the first time I called somebody that wasn’t you this child’s father? Do you want to hear that I wished I could make it go away so that I wouldn’t feel guilty about killing myself? Does that make you feel better? Does that help? To know that I would have let myself, let your child die if it hadn’t been for John? Or perhaps you’d have preferred it that way.”

“Claire!”

“He saved me, Jamie. You were dead. And so was I until John unburied me. So don’t you dare…” Her voice cracked. “Don’t you dare make either of us feel guilty for doing what we needed to survive.”

John winced as his tears burned his wounded eyes.

“Claire…mo ghraidh…” Jamie began weeping as well. “Please…”

She swallowed, looking past him at the clock on the wall.

“Mo chridhe…” He sank to his knees before her, not daring to touch her, but gathering her robe into his hands instead. “I…I dinna deserve ye, Claire…”

She still would not look down at him.

“I’m…I’m no’ worthy of yer forgiveness…God knows I’m not…” His knuckles went white gripping the robe. “There’s…there’s a darkness in me, Claire…darkness that wasna there when ye last knew me…I tried to hide it…it’s eating me alive…and it’s gonnae eat you alive, too…”

She finally moved, looking down at the top of his head, being that his face was pressed into her robe.

“I dinna deserve forgiveness, so I willna ask. Just please…” His voice cracked. “Please dinna leave me…”

A sob escaped Claire’s lips.

“I dinna deserve to ask this of ye…but I need ye…I’ll die wi’out ye as ye nearly died wi’out me…” 

“Get up, Jamie,” she said softly, touching the crown of his head. He looked up at her, face shining with tears. “Go to bed. Let me finish tending to John, and then I’ll be in.”

He maintained eye contact with her as he pressed a fervent kiss to the edge of her robe, and then departed to the bedroom. Claire sighed heavily and shakily when he was gone, and John sat up to grasp her hand.

“You don’t really mean to go in there?”

She looked down at him and squeezed his hand. “He won’t hurt me.”

He wanted to believe her…but had the man not just said that there was a darkness in him that he could not control?

“I’ve seen this war do things to men that…that are beyond comprehension,” John said, and a chill ran down his spine. “Some of them come out completely different men.”

“He’s still Jamie,” she insisted. “I’m sorry he hurt you, I am. I feel sick over it. But me…he’d never hurt me.”

John sighed and gave her hand a squeeze. “I’m right here if you need.”

She nodded, squeezing him back. “I’m just there if you need. Come get me if anything starts bleeding.”

And with that, Claire disappeared after Jamie into the bedroom, and John was lulled to sleep by the steady rhythm of the throbbing in his face, and the sound of broken crying from a shattered man.

[gubes-sweaters]

Mind, Body, and Soul 4

Authors note: Sorry for being MIA for a bit. I was going through a lot of things with my family, school, friends, etc. I got in a terrible funk and I had no motivation to write. I’m doing much better now and I’m going to go back to posting regularly. Another thing I know in the show Spencer drives a Volvo, but for this story, he drives a station wagon like mgg.

Content warning: A brief mention of a drug deal and medication and… teeth rotting fluff if that counts.

Word count: 4.6k

You can find part three here

Chapter 4: My Safe Place

I wake up to the smoke alarm going off. It takes me a second to realize what’s going on but as soon as I realize I make a mad dash to the kitchen. In my haste, I slip on the rug in the living room that connects to the kitchen. My morning couldn’t be more chaotic. Both of my roommates are coughing up a lung from the smoke while opening windows and fanning out the area. Turns out that they decided to make breakfast but somehow they can’t even make eggs and toast without almost burning the place down. I quickly gather myself from off of the ground and join Tweedledee and Tweedledum in cleaning up their mess. It takes thirty minutes to clear the smoke and to clean up the kitchen. After all, is said and done I look over at the stove and see that it’s already 9:30.

“Shit shit shit!” I shout while running towards my bathroom trying to get ready. Stella and Raven follow me into the bathroom wondering what I’m freaking out about.

“What’s the freak out for?” Raven says before peeking her head in the bathroom door. I’m already stepping into the shower as they both lean up against the bathroom counter exchanging confused looks.

“I uh forgot... I made plans with Penelope that have been a month in the making.” I stammer out from behind the shower curtain. In my mind, I’m debating telling them what I’m actually up to. Their two of my best friends and we’ve been friends since elementary school. I tell them practically everything, but on the other hand, I enjoy spending time with Spencer without it being a big deal. Of course, my friends would be happy for me but at the same time, they also tend to treat me like a child because I’m a year younger than them and I’m their “innocent” friend. I almost feel like I’d be disappointing them if I break from that title. I love them both so much but I think for now it’s better to keep those parts of my life separate.

“Well tell Pen that we said hi. Oh, and don’t forget about Daisy’s birthday on Saturday.” Stella reminds me before walking off with Raven. Daisy is a girl that Raven and I used to study with our freshman year of college. Raven, Daisy, and I had the same psychology class, and Raven and I clung to her pretty quickly. Raven and Daisy both happened to be going for forensic psychology, but I’m getting my degree in social work, so our sophomore year I didn’t have classes with either of them. My point is I haven’t seen her in two years but Raven and Stella are both close with her still and for some reason Daisy also invited me. I’m not complaining because she was really sweet, and I distinctly remember she was the type of person who showed their love through touch. If you needed a hug she was there, if you needed a shoulder to cry on she was there. I just feel like I’m intruding now because I haven’t seen her in two years and according to my roommates you wouldn’t even recognize her anymore, so I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to talk to her without awkward small talk. I’ll have to worry about that later now I have to worry about being late for a date... an outing. I’m not sure what to call whatever Spencer and I are doing today.

I rush to blow dry my hair, put on a little bit of makeup, I throw on a sublime t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Just as I slip on my vans, I get a text from Spencer.

Spencer (pain in my ass): I’m out front :)

me: okie dokie I’ll be down in a minute!

—————————- Time Skip —————————

We’ve been driving and listening to music in comfortable silence for the past 30 minutes. Soon enough though, we pull in front of a small café. The place seems oddly familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it. No matter how many times I asked Spencer he would never tell me where we’re going. He called me boring, yet our first stop is a café. I’m not complaining at all, but it seems a little more mundane than I would expect from Spencer. Either way, I’m excited because I’m seeing him again.

“You ready?” He turns to look at me with a big goofy grin on his face. It’s nice seeing him smile I could get used to seeing it more. No. No. No. Don’t think like that this isn’t a date he’s simply keeping a promise that he made to me. This definitely isn’t a date right?

“Of course, but where are we?” I asked still not sure what I’m walking into. Despite me asking him he doesn’t answer, he just unbuckles his seatbelt and steps out of the car. I follow in his footsteps because I don’t want to look like a dork just mindlessly sitting in his car.

“We’re just popping in for some coffee don’t worry about it.” Spencer says while basically pulling me into this building. As we step in the smell of coffee brewing fills my senses, as I try and take in my surroundings I hear the sounds of cats purring and meowing. I turn my head and see that this isn’t any regular café, it’s a cat café. I remember some of these cats because this is the cat café that has adopted some of the cats from the Humane Society the Pen and I volunteer at. That’s why this place seemed so familiar.

“I asked Penelope what you did in your free time. She mentioned you volunteer and you’re a big animal lover, so I figured this was a fun way to ease you into today’s events.” He turns to me with a smile on his face while we wait in line for coffee.

“This is amazing Spencer. Seriously this is perfect.” As we're waiting in line we watch the cats in the next room over through the large window. We watch as some kittens chase after one another. A couple of the older cats are either sitting on the windowsill purring or sitting in someone’s lap instead of playing like the kittens. As we go to order Spencer insists on paying, after a while I concede. He pulls out a large wad of cash from a money clip, which I wasn’t expecting, I mean I didn’t expect him to be broke, but most college students don’t have that kind of money lying around. Maybe he gets money from his parents, or he happened to have a really good paying job. Instead of being lost my own thoughts and mental gymnastics, I focus on the cats in the room that we’re walking into.

About five minutes later we both get the iced coffees that we ordered. Spencer got enough sugar in his to give somebody a heart attack. With the coffees, we got a small little bag of catnip. A chubby orange cat immediately starts to take a liking to Spencer, the cat is sucking up to him because he’s the one with the catnip. About half an hour later we get ready to leave, but not before I watch Spencer trip more than once over himself while entertaining the cats and inevitably everybody else in the café that started watching. We decide to call it quits before falls, and he cracks his skull open. As we get back into his car he announces now that I’ve dipped my toes in the “fun pool” it’s time to kick it up a notch, but once again he won’t tell me where we’re going.

—————————— Time Skip —————————

I find myself mindlessly tapping my fingers to Kid Cudi, while looking out the window I feel a pair of eyes on me. I turn and see that he’s watching me with a big grin on his face.

“What?” I ask before he shifts his eyes back to the road momentarily.

“Nothing, I’m just lucky to be hanging out with you today. I honestly thought you were going to be sick of me by now.” He confesses, and he looks sad as if he could ever burden me.

“Spencer’s I know it’s only 11:30 and the day just begun, but I don’t think I’ve relaxed and had this much fun in a long time. Don’t think that I’m ever going to get sick of you. I promise that I’m having a really fun time.” I feel like I almost convinced him, but there’s this small little part of his brain that wouldn’t believe me regardless of what I said.

“You say that now, but I’m pretty sure after this you’re gonna hate me.” he says while gesturing to what’s in front of us. As he puts the car in park I look straight forward and see that we’re at a skate park.

“Uh, I don’t know how to skate... like at all.” I say hoping he doesn’t expect much coordination or skill out of me.

“I figured that much. I thought I could teach you, still wanna give it a shot?”

“Why not that’s the whole point of today right?”

“That’s the spirit!” He says before jumping out of his car and quickly grabs a skateboard out of the trunk. He looks like a kid in a candy store while we walk to a section that’s not occupied.

I’m glad I wore vans and jeans because I have a feeling in any other outfit I would have a very unfortunate wardrobe malfunction. He shows me two or three times how to properly kick off without falling. Then he asked me to give it a try or to at least try and find my balance on the board first. As I step on he holds my waist, so I don’t go anywhere, but that doesn’t stop me from wobbling a couple of times in the process.

“Make sure you put your back foot towards the front of the board when kicking off, if not the board will fly out from underneath you. Don’t worry about falling though I got you I promise.” He says while slowly loosening his grip on my waist. I start to learn to push off and eventually with Spencer‘s help I can go a couple of feet before I chicken out.

“Don’t worry about it. You’re not going to get it all at once, a lot of people can’t learn how to skate in a matter of hours.” He tries to cheer me up and coax me out of my embarrassment because I’m not fully understanding it.

” Yeah, I think I want to try it all by myself once maybe I’m having trouble because I’m using you as a crutch.” This is where I made my mistake because I got a little too cocky, and instead of getting it like I thought I would I fell. When I fell, I fell hard and I scraped both of my knees. Of course, this would be the day that I wear jeans with rips in the knees. As soon as I hit the ground he booked it towards me, and when he reached me, he crouched down in front of me with his hands on my shoulders searching my face to see if I’m okay.

“Are you okay? You didn’t break any bones, did you? Do you need to go to urgent care?” He asks a couple of ridiculous questions with panic very present in his voice. I’m obviously not hurt that bad, but that doesn’t stop him from freaking out momentarily.

“I’m okay Spence I promise. I only fell off of a skateboard I didn’t get shot.” I say before chuckling, trying to lighten the mood.

“I’m glad you’re okay, but you scraped your knee bad. We’re going to have to get that cleaned up, you don’t wanna know how many germs are in that cut now, let alone the various infections that you could get if you leave it alone.” He says before standing up in extending his arm out to me. He collects his board, and we make our way back to his car. We go to a drugstore around the corner, and he runs in to get Band-Aids, alcohol wipes, and Neosporin. Again I insist on paying because this is my fault, but he brushes me off and leaves me in the car. He comes back and asks me to sit on the side of the seat, while he kneels in front of me in the parking lot. He cleans my knees off while reeling off facts either about the products he’s using or about all the germs in my wound. He finishes his nervous ramble by putting a Band-Aid on my knee before placing a gentle kiss on that knee. I blush at the small bit of contact, while he collects all of the products off the ground and puts them back in the plastic bag.

“Change of plans were going to take a small detour. I got a good idea while I was in the store.” He says climbing back into the driver’s seat and starting the car.

“Let me guess I don’t get to know ahead of time just like before,” I asked hoping that he would at least give me a little hint.

“That’s correct.”

It’s 2:10 by the time we arrive at the mall. I have no clue what would make him think of going to a mall and what we're even here for. Either way, it doesn’t stop me from blindly following him right into the mall. For someone who’s a bit of a germaphobe Spencer hasn’t seemed to mind holding my hand everywhere we’ve been today. The first two times I thought he was grabbing my hand, so he could just pull me to whatever activity I had in store for me. This time is different though because as we enter the mall our fingers intertwine together as if it was second nature. He still led me but this time we’re walking side by side. He stopped me very abruptly right in front of a store that I haven’t even seen since I was eight years old.

“Spencer, mind telling me why we’re at a Build-a-Bear?” I ask while we enter the brightly colored store.

“While I was in the drugstore I saw teddy bears and it made me think of this place. Also, we need to kill a little bit of time before we make our last stop of the night.”

Turns out we’re not the only adults who had the same idea as Spencer. Two other couples looked lovingly at each other while making a bear. This seems like a date night activity and not whatever the hell Spencer and I are doing. We end up picking a light brown teddy bear and just about every employee that we came in contact with told us we were a cute couple, but Spencer nor I corrected them. It didn’t seem to bother him so it didn’t bother me either. When it came time to pick out clothes for the bear he insisted that he had “impeccable style”, and he knows what he’s doing.

”Spencer’s you’re wearing a baggy sweater, jeans, converse, and mix-matched socks. I don’t think that your style is peak fashion.”

“Hush you’re ruining my vision.” He jokingly said while staring at the clothing with his thumb and forefinger gripping his chin. We both crack jokes and make fun of each other‘s sense of style before we inevitably end up basically picking the same thing that Spencer is wearing. We dressed the bear in a red sweater, black jeans, converse, and only because Spencer insisted on mix-matched socks. Yes, we did pay for two pairs of socks, so we could mix-match his socks. Spencer finally let me split the cost on something when it came time to pay. After we made our way out of the store with our fingers once again intertwined and our son that Spencer jokingly called the bear in the store. Our poor son doesn’t even have a definite name because he insisted on naming the bear Spencer Jr. or Sativa, but I told him there’s no way I would ever let him name the poor bear Sativa and Spencer Jr. is on the fence. As we’re about to walk out of the mall Spencer gets a call and then three texts in a row. He tells me he’s just gonna wait to open his phone once we're in the car. Once we get in the car, and he checks his phone his face drops.

“Is everything alright?” I ask because of his shift in demeanor.

“Yeah, everything is good I just need to take this call quickly.” He says before stepping out of the car and closing the door.

Spencer’s POV

When I get three texts and a call from my mom‘s doctor saying that there’s a problem my heart automatically sinks. I mean she’s all I have left and my mom is the one person who’s ever been in my life consistently with unconditional love. I call my mom‘s doctor as I step away from the car a couple of feet. I ask what’s the issue and it turns out it’s her treatment, her doctor tells me that because of her recent change in medication as well as the increase in dosage I’m going to have to start paying more for her assisted living. The situation is a lot better than what I was thinking. It’s a minor problem that I can easily solve. After I talk to my mom for a couple of minutes and make sure that she’s doing okay before making my way back to the car. As if my prayers have been answered I had an old friend text me and asked if he could buy two grams of weed off of me. I hurry up and tell him I can meet him right after he gets off work. This way I can kill two birds with one stone because he works at a gas station not too far away. While I am there I can pick up snacks that I’m going to need before we go to our final destination tonight.

Readers POV

Spencer never addressed the phone call when he got back in the car, but instead just turned on music and placed his hand on my thigh. The mood totally changed from calm and relaxed to now very awkward with tension. We only talked for a couple of minutes before it went back into an uncomfortable silence. Something seemed off about Spencer as he told me that we need to go to a gas station before wherever we’re going next. It’s not because I think stopping at a gas station is odd, but it’s because he insisted on this certain one, but he wouldn’t tell me why. He also was digging through a bag in his backseat for a bit before shoving something in his pocket and walking into the store, and as much as I wanted to snoop I didn’t because I respect his privacy. I trust him a lot, probably more than you should trust someone who you haven’t even known for a week, but my mind keeps wondering as I’m sitting in the car alone once more. That’s another thing that I thought was odd because he asked me what I wanted and insisted it was pointless for me to go in as well. He’s also taking a really long time I’m trying to brush it off, but there’s some part of my brain that can’t help it profile his body language and everything he is saying. I try to never profile people because it seems unfair, but having a dad as a profiler that would always profile me every time I saw him made reading people's body language second nature to me.

I’m glad when Spencer returns he seems a lot more happy and relaxed. When he gets back in the car he has a huge smile on his face as he puts the snacks in the backseat. I ignore the change in mood for the second time because it’s probably something he didn’t want me knowing about right now. In the little bit I’ve known Spencer he’s been pretty much an open book, so for him to not share something it must’ve been very personal.

“So we have one more thing planned for today and it’s very special to me. Are you ready?” He asks sounding genuinely happy and finally his normal self.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

————————— Time skip ————————-

Before we get to this secret special location it’s already dark out. Tonight the stars are shining so bright and the sky was so clear. Since I am not even paying tension I don’t realize that we’ve arrived until I hear Spencer turn off the car. He quickly hops out of the car without any explanation whatsoever. I try and take in my surroundings and realize that we must be at some park. I see a few benches, signs leading to different walking trails, and a cute little playground.

“Stay there.” He says while opening the trunk of his car. So, I comply even though I have a feeling this is how dumbasses like me get murdered. He tells me not to look at what he’s doing, so instead, I go on my phone for a bit. He announces that he’s done and I need to come look, so I hop out of his car and see that he’s cleared out his trunk, and collapsed his backseats. He also has a lot of snacks set up with soft pillows and fuzzy blankets. He smiles proudly at me, and all I can do is chuckle because I think this is the absolute sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. I tell him thank you while giving him a tight hug.

“You’re welcome.” He says, well rubbing my back with one hand and cradling my head with the other. Before we break from the hug he plans a gentle kiss on the top of my head. After we both crawl in the back and slip under the blankets.

“Do you mind me asking why this place is so special?”

“Well… it’s because I lost my virginity here...” He tried to keep a stoic face before busting out laughing.

“I’m just kidding obviously!” He says before laughing once more. After our laughter died down a bit his face becomes actually serious. He draws in a deep breath to prepare himself for what he’s gonna tell me.

“In all honesty, this place has given me a lot of solace since I’ve moved here. Back home in Vegas I never really fit in much, so I learned to create my own safe space. When I moved out here this park became my new safe space. It’s also really special because I’ve never taken anyone here before. Mostly because that way I could just slip away from everything and no one would know where I’m at, but I also never found an occasion special enough to share something personal like this.” He admits while adverting his attention away from me and more onto his fingers. He fidgets with them as if he were nervous to open up like this, as much as I want to know everything tonight is not the night to push the envelope.

“I’m glad you feel that you could trust me with this. Spencer in all honesty who you seemed to be when I first met you is a complete 180 from who I know now. I love the side of you and I want to see more of it.” I say while taking his hands in mine commanding his attention. When I finish he looks up at me with those sweet puppy dog eyes. He moves his hands from mine and rests one of his palms against the side of my face. He stroked my cheek with his thumb before we start to lean in. He puts his other hand on the side of my face and snakes his fingers into my hair as my eyes flutter shut. I hate saying something cheesy like there were sparks, but that’s the only way I can describe the fire that was lit inside of both of us. He pressed his soft lips to mine and we moved in perfect synchronization as if we’ve done this a million times before. He swipes his tongue across my bottom lip asking for access. I wrap my arms around his waist in attempts to pull him and impossibly closer. As things start to heat up Spencer slows the pace and eventually pulls away entirely. After he presses his forehead to mine as we both pant. He grabs the side of my face with one of his hands once more before moving to grip my chin and presses a kiss to my forehead.

“I care about you so much. I get it’s stupid to say because this is all of a sudden, but you’ve brought so much joy into my life and I don’t want you to leave.” He confesses with his hand planted on the side of my face and his other resting on my waist.

“Trust me I don’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon.” I promise him.

“Plus splitting up would not be good for our son.” I joked trying to lighten the mood from the serious turn it took.

“Yeah, I don’t need to add child support payments to the list of bills I already pay.” He says before laughing and removing his hand from my face. We talk a bit more and get comfortable under the blankets before he grabs his laptop out of his bag and hands me the snacks I asked for. As we’re falling asleep he says just one word to me.

“Atlas.”

“Huh?” I ask him, trying to keep my eyes open long enough to finish this conversation.

“I just thought it was a cute name, for the bear I mean. In Greek mythology, Atlas was a titan that was called upon by Zeus to carry the heavens on his shoulders. It means the one who bears a heavy burden. I feel overcoming a huge burden or even carrying a burden that you don’t need to makes you strong and courageous.” I can tell that this story meant something to him. Something that I didn’t know about yet.

“It’s perfect.” I say before shutting my eyes as he grips me tighter.

By the time that the credits were rolling, we were both sound asleep in the back of his car. Our arms wrapped around each other and my head on his chest. I fell asleep to the sounds of a small breeze whistling through the trees and the soft thumping of Spencer’s heart.

.

.

.

.

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Taglist: @rexorangecouny​ @haylaansmi​

[fangirlbase]

The Howl of the Moon - Remus Lupin

Summary:

After a terrible accident in the battle at the Ministry in 1995, Hermione Granger wins a one-way ticket to the past. Unable to go back to his time, his only chance for survival is to adapt to the late 70s and get on with his life, interfering as little as possible so that the future does not fall apart.

However, everything goes downhill when Remus John Lupine starts to notice too much the new girl who clearly wanted to go unnoticed by Hogwarts.

Chapters: Prolog | One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven

Warnings: mature

                                        4.The one of the birthday

Anyway, March had arrived!

It was less than three months to the end of school, but it also meant that nearly a month had passed since the Valentine's Day disaster. I mean, disaster in parts and just for a few people, as James and Lily couldn't be happier in their passionate bubble, not to mention the redhead wouldn't give up on the idea that Remus and Granger were a potential couple, they couldn't be still, but if it were up to her the four would soon have a double date! It had taken at least four days for Hermione to speak fearlessly to Remus again, and at least a week for Remus to stop treating Lilly with vengeful indifference, which unfortunately for them had only reinforced the absurd idea of a possible crush even further. in Lily's head.

So the ninth of March had arrived and with it the eighteen years of Remus! Unfortunately, it fell on the first day of the full moon, but luckily they would have a total eclipse that night, which meant…

- PARTY AT THE SHRIEKING SHACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A night just among the marauders, completely free of a curious and violent werewolf breaking free and running across the school grounds. Despite loathing the lunar cycle, Remus Lupine loved eclipses. When an eclipse was in the sky, Moony fell asleep inside him practically disappearing, making the wizard feel completely human - if only for a few hours.

No naughty whispers, no chocolate stuff, and no sharp senses!

Just him, a somewhat shy, scarred teenager who allowed himself to live a little.

Although the party was only later, none of them had shown up for dinner in the great hall that night - which in itself had been reason enough to make Minerva's hair stand on end. Everyone knows that professors love to gossip about students' lives and this was no different at Hogwarts, so of course Professor McGonagall had noticed the closeness between Jean and Remus during tutoring. So with the excuse of asking Miss Granger to try to stop any potential madness the marauders were planning, he called the student into his office as soon as she had finished her dinner:

- Oh, is today his birthday?

- Naturally, that's why I imagine he and his roommates are up to it like a Bunch of Silly Baboons.

Hermione, for her part, couldn't hide her laughter, she still remembered the dance lessons she had taken in fourth year for the Winter Ball where Minerva had made that same criticism of the Gryffindor students. So the girl wondered if the marauders had been the first to hear such endearing adjectives. The older witch seeing the student's laugh also smiled.

- I see that you have become very close to Mr. Lupin, a fine boy, I must say.

- Teacher, I'm not for that much… We are a good pair… Working! I mean, we work well together, in monitoring! - She replied embarrassed, wanting to run away from the subject as she was running from Lilian.

- Honey, don't waste the opportunities that Cupid presents to you. - And suddenly the teacher's eyes became very melancholy and hurt. - I once met a young witch as promising as you. Extremely intelligent and dedicated to studies. She met a guy who shared her same sense of humor, he was the only one who could debate as fiercely and passionately as she… Before the girl knew he was on his knees proposing marriage and she accepted. The teacher's melancholy smile was more than enough for Hermione to know that it wasn't just any student's story she was telling.

- Teacher despite whatever my heart dares to feel. And I don't say he feels anything about the matter of Mr Lupcough cough.” He coughed uncomfortable with everything the teacher was inferring. - Well what I mean is that under the circumstances in which I find myself… The way I came here. I couldn't… I simply wouldn't dare. I mean, it's too risky!

- And what I mean, Jean is that I don't want that story to repeat itself. Like you, she had a thousand and one very plausible and rational reasons to break off the engagement what she did. However, when she realized that as far as the heart, love, or even mere affection and camaraderie were concerned, it was not rationality that should have been heard, it was too late!  

Hermione didn't know how to respond, despite all her embarrassment with Lily on Valentine's Day she had never looked at Remus in that way! Yes they were good friends, got along well together and could talk about anything for hours and hours. Of course she found his shy way cute in an adorable way like a needy pet, and she sure enjoyed Lupine's chocolate addiction, but she never looked at him as anything other than a housemate. By Merlin, she often had to remember that he wasn't her teacher but a teenager like her! But love, affection?

   Seeing that the student was clearly confused, Minerva turned away from the subject and went back to inquiring about the possible pranks the Gryffindor quartet might be planning. But if even Jean didn't know what they were up to, McGonagall could only hope that Bunch of Silly Baboons Baboons didn't do any damage to her school! Dismissing the student right away, stating that she needed to correct some parchments for the next transfiguration class for sophomores.

   Hermione, still shaken by the previous conversation, left, but soon stopped at the door, turning hesitantly towards the teacher.

- Teacher… If I may ask. What happened to your student and the guy she turned down?

- Naturally they went their separate ways. I understand she has taken on an important position in the ministry of magic. And he... found a new someone to love...

- I… I'm sorry teacher.

- Me too, Jean, but it's late now. Go back to the dorm if I won't be forced to give you detention. - The teacher joked, but Hermione couldn't help but hear the melancholy tone in the witch's words.

* * *

Contrary to what Minerva thought, the only damage the quartet would do would be to their own bodies. Come on, it was Lupine's birthday and more than that it was his night of sobriety about the wolf that shared his body! It was obvious that they would get drunk until tomorrow!

The four met on the second floor of the screaming house near eight-thirty at night, with them having prepared a nice little party for their werewolf friend: lots of fire whiskey, a chocolate cake, butterbeer, thousands of sweets from Fingers of Honey not to mention a mini feast smuggled straight from the kitchen of Hogwarts, after all the house elves adored James and Sirius. And of course a small bottle of water - since Peter liked to hydrate between a glass and another - the only sensible one in the group that night. All three were moved by the birthday boy's happiness, noticing how the daily weight had disappeared from Remus' back, being ridiculously lighter.

- And what are we waiting for? - With that sentence James started the night's celebrations.

Drinks over there, cakes over here when they saw it, it was past ten at night and everyone was irrevocably drunk. It had been at least six glasses of whiskey for Sirius, with Remus finishing up his fifth - which was already more than a little more than ideas after three bottles of butterbeer.

- Does Audrey know the reason for her disappearance, Peter? - James asked as he chewed on a chicken leg.

- Just I was celebrating the birthday of one of you.

Audrey Flint was the Slytherin who had sent Peter the little Valentine's card, and who had surprisingly been dating her ever since.

- Remus, even Peter has a girlfriend. When are you going to get one? You know I don't care about gender as long as he or she knows that marauders are their priority! - Sirius asked, nudging the werewolf beside him.

"Lily said it won't be long before he and Granger assume something." - James delivered his girlfriend.

- That's not it! Jean and I are just... friends? - Remus asked embarrassed, but at the mention of Jean rather than the clear questioning of his partner preferences. The truth is, Lupine didn't know if he was in the position of Granger's friends or colleagues at that point in the championship. The relationship was weird since Valentine's Day, at times it seemed that nothing had changed while at others Moony was a real busybody!

- If even that you know what they are. It's definitely lost!

- If they're not friends they can definitely be something else. - Peter nudged, liking the way Remus was starting to turn red and bewildered.

"The way you treated Lily after Valentine's Day just shows how much you're into her, Remus." - James insisted.

- No, no, NO! - Remus managed to deny it. - You got it all wrong! Jean and I would never work, you know I can't….

- I bet you're denying it like that because you don't know how to kiss. - Peter threw more wood into the fire.

- Of course I know how to kiss! - Remus was insulted.

That was partly true, as she'd had her first kiss two years earlier, also in an eclipse, when she'd allowed herself to experience a kiss that night. It had been at a Gryffindor party and had been no more than a smacking of lips, and since then he'd never come close to anyone else's mouth.

- A little kiss does not count as knowing how to kiss! - Sirius accused his friend, turning to him.

- And how do you expect me to learn then?! You know I don't…

Sirius didn't let his colleague finish, with a roguish grin he pulled Remus' neck towards him.

- Like this. - Whispered in his friend's ear, having fun when he saw the same shiver, approaching his body more and more.

In a second their lips were joined, with Black initiating an agitated kiss. He knew his friend had no experience, he had the vague memory in his drunken memory of Lupin describing how shameful and awkward that peck had been two years ago - so it had started slowly, but not having much patience and being clearly upset, he deepened the kiss without blinking. Then he opened his mouth hungrily, forcing his tongue against Remus' mouth, who surprisingly had given way and not only that, but was also trying to match his roommate's reckless rhythm.

After all, if it was in the rain, it was to get wet!

Mimicking Sirius' movements, Remus also held the brunet's neck possessively, intensifying the movements of his lips - adrenaline rushing through him. Their tongues tangled and wrestled and caressed, all to the sound of Peter's laughter and the shocked spit of James who had just put another glass of whiskey in his mouth when his friends began kissing furiously. It wasn't his fault he got scared and spit it all out at Peter!

But just as slowly as it started, the kiss ended.

- See if you learn and do it right with Granger. Sirius fixed his hair. - And if she doesn't want to, I'll always be here for you, monny! - He stated provocatively as he turned another glass.

- At least she won't have a beard itching. - Remus implied joining in the joke. - Can you tell me how you're still alone?

- There is no woman for me at Hogwarts. - Sirius declared, just like Xuxa Meneghel, where there were no men for her in Brazil.

* * *

All marauders were completely rotten, miserable, destroyed and finished.

All but Peter, who wisely interspersed the whiskey with generous doses of water, being the one who drank the least at the party - having a preference for chocolate cake. Sirius was down on the infirmary (he had the greatest resistance to alcohol, but even he overreacted); James was clinging to the toilet in Gryffindor, Peter was cheerful and bouncy with his Audrey, while Remus exploded with a headache. His eyes were sunken, his head seemed to be being poked by five drills as runaway ambulances pulled up to his ear - all with Moony barking furiously at being repelled last night by the "unnatural and evil" eclipse (words of the Wolf).

At least her swollen system from Moony's presence had minimized the seasickness effects, but the migraine remained like a sledgehammer on an anvil.

A bad mood had irrevocably seized Lupin. From the first dawn of the day Remus was IM-PRA-TI-Cable, being almost the human and rabid version of Moony, threatening to stupefy the next one who made noise in front of him. At least in the morning, since after lunch the sobriety potions began to take effect, turning him once again into a Pomeranian lulu and no longer a rabid pinscher.

At least that afternoon he could rest peacefully, as no one even went to the prefects! His plan was a quiet, undisturbed nap!

"You know, you might as well practice those licks with Jean, instead of pretending to be lazy" - Moony spoke like someone who didn't want anything when they were alone, going to the prefect.

- Licks…? - Remus was confused.

But Moony was prepared for that, immediately projecting memories of the night before - causing Remus to trip over his own feet at the sight and feel of Sirius' mouth and beard against his face.

THEY HAD DONE WHAT?!

“Nothing against what you prefer, but I think Jean more…. intriguing"

- Remus? Is everything OK? - Hermione asked after noticing the pale state that the ex-teacher arrived in the transfiguration room.

And it was when Remus' eyes focused on the girl that his face went up in flames, still moved by Moony's suggestion. THAT MEDDING WOLF!

"Just slightly drunk…" He replied, crawling to his seat, sitting down comfortably while putting his backpack as a pillow.

- Drunk?! I don't think Minerva was counting on it! - She laughed.

- Are you her new spy, Jean? Before it was Lily who was our probation officer. Befriended me just to watch over James and Sirius? - Remus joked, settling into his wallet.

- I don't know if that was her real intention, but it felt like it to me last night when she called me in her office to talk about... How did she say? Ah yes, "silly baboons babbling in a pack"!.

- There is! Professor Minerva has always been the most creative at Hogwarts! - The witcher laughed, soon regretting it when his head began to throb again and he moaned in discontent.

- What made you drunk so far?

- I had a birthday.

- Congratulations? Hermione asked, undecided by the deplorable state of the boy beside her.

He nodded gratefully, then tucked his head back into his backpack.

- Thanks, but would you mind holding the butts without me today? I put up with all day waiting for that nap.

Hermione just nodded, patting her light brown hair in congratulation, not seeing Moony squirm happily in the mind of Remus, a real needy puppy.

However, just that day, a living being appeared at the monitor in search of clearing up his doubts about the last transfiguration class of the seventh year, regretting it the moment he saw who was the monitor of his class.

Severus Snape would not stoop to the point of asking one of the marauders what things, no matter how trivial! Even though the rascal in question was almost drooling over his backpack by now.

- Can I help you? Hermione asked, noticing Snape's intention to turn around and leave.

- Do you know the content of the seventh year or just this wolf project? - Asked mockingly as he indicated with his chin the Gryffindor passed out.

- You'd be surprised what I know. - Retorted defiantly. She had almost changed her mind when Severus implied knowing that Remus was a wolf, but quickly remembered that he had almost died because of Remus, or rather because of Sirius who played a more than unfortunate prank on the Slytherin. His challenge did not find deaf ears.

Threat, warning, knowledge and... flirting? The girl's challenge reached every possible sense, although Severus very much doubted the latter.

Well, Snape had a mirror in the bedroom, and even if he didn't, he was reminded of his questionable appearance all the time. Jean might have publicly rejected Sirius Black, but he would never look at someone like him, so there was no chance of it being a lame excuse to kiss in the nearest broom closet - although the idea was not repulsive to him, and well he even thought it was Very pretty.

Hermione thought he must be very desperate to actually accept her help, after all she was a year younger, muggleborn (not that he knew of) and Gryffindor. She actually thought he would refuse her help because she was a Gryffindor, but here he was snorting discontent as he sat at a desk and indicated the chair across from him an unquestionable invitation.

At the end of it all Snape had been impressed by how smart the girl was. He suspected even more than that drooling Siberian husky snoring a few wallets away. But Severus' joy was short-lived, as in the middle of the explanation another individual immensely more undesirable than the slime project sprang up in the classroom.

- HEY, SNOTTY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING NEAR HER?! - Sirius forgot his hangover to make trouble in defense of the girl one of his best friends was clearly interested in, waking Remus in the process.

- I don't see your name on it, Black! Snape shot back, making Hermione arch an eyebrow. Since when has she become a reason for egos?

Indifferent on the outside, but laughing on the inside, Hermione allowed herself to agree that that tirade had been good, very good. Maybe even enough to forget one or two reprimands Snape had given him in the future.

Was Sirius this annoying always? If she ever made it back, she wouldn't stop complaining to Harry about her friend's godfather's impossible behavior at school.

- What makes you think you can come here, snotty?! Get closer to us….

- As far as I know, here is a classroom at Hogwarts, in pre-service time for the transfiguration subject.

- If you have any doubts, ask someone of your level. - Sneered.

Hermione was terribly offended. He had called her stupid, for being a year younger! But she soon realized that it would make more sense that Sirius was referring to the fact that it wasn't a death eater project. Or something like this?

- I would, but the creature in question is sleeping during working hours. Should I report this slip to Professor McGonagall?

Sirius even managed to pull out his wand and cast a spell, but Hermione was quicker and threw a stream of water at him.

- Unpleasant. I hate the smell of wet dogs. - Snape teased once more.

- ENOUGH! - He interfered by talking to both of them. - What are you doing here, Black?

- Is it forbidden to visit my friends now?!

- That's when he threatens another student!

- You mean you agree that you are my friend! - He wasted no time, giving a wink being promptly responded with another jet of water.

- If you do not mind? - She said turning to Severus who kept his victorious smile in front of the soaked Gryffindor. - Would you like us to finish our monitoring elsewhere? Hermione asked Snape, who readily agreed, following the short-haired girl to the library. Where she had a private class in the subject, at least as far as Jean knew, after all she was a year younger, as much as she knew a lot about seventh grade content, that wasn't all. Surprisingly the Slytherin completed the gaps without any mockery or contempt for her making the time together really enjoyable.

Confused, Remus watched the girl depart with the stateroom Slytherin, confused and somewhat irritated with Sirius for making her leave.

- I think it's better you do it right with her! - Sirius warned him. - Or sooner or later she may fall for that venomous snake's tricks! Or better yet, in my charms! - He joked.

- Padfoot, she is more likely to date Snape than to date you, I would say until she marries him and has five children and eighteen cats. - Remus chuckled, relieved the kiss between them hadn't been a big deal.

Just brother's things, you know!

- Since you are missing the magnificent chance to be with me, I say with propriety, from someone who has a lot of experience, that you have more chances than him.

- Chances of what? She's just a friend, coworker at best. Besides, she's afraid of canines.

- Well… that's bad for both of us, Moony. - Sirius spoke to the werewolf, who just sighed in Remus' mind.

“I wish I were a fish…”

[mortuarybees]

mr. Bees i sprained my ankle and am bedridden until further notice, please rec me ur fav fics under 8k (that adhd attention span is fun)

I’m so sorry to hear about your ankle!! I’d be happy to rec some fics. i’m only tagging authors if they have their urls listed with the fic! if you want me to add your url, just lmk :). also if my mutuals have posted fics feel free to put them in the replies bc yall have Taste:

salinity and other measurements of brackish water by drawlight / @drawlight - 3.5k - if you haven’t read salinity yet, drop absolutely everything and do it right now because it’s phenomenal and atmospheric and it absolutely aches!!! “It's an odd thing, getting on after the End of the World. Crowley takes to sea-watching.”

quiet light and ad astra (explicit) by drawlight @drawlight - the first clocks in at around 2k and the second at 8k. it’s the shortest and most effective slowburn i have ever read. quiet light is unconfessed love; ad astra is a love confession and first time and they’re beautiful

everything just stops by witching - 4.5k - idk how long you’ve been following me but when i first read it i FULLY had a meltdown and took all of you with me. it’s that “i love you deep, angel” shit “I love your silly aziraphale things” shit! they have the tenderest fucking conversation in literary history while crowley is drunk in a bath it’s wonderful

a culmination of miracles by prettydizzeed / @genderqueercrowley - 1.3k - an absolutely beautifully written fic about crowley having chronic pain and informing aziraphale about it six thousand years later

i keep a window for you (it’s always open) by prettydizzeed / @genderqueercrowley - 2.4k - a complete fkcing war crime of a fic of crowley getting emotional about romeo and juliet and continuing to be emotional about it for centuries and then, even worse, quoting r+j in a love confession.

such surpassing brightness by handful_of_silence - 7.7k - one of my favorite fics of all time! aziraphale is the patron of queer people and has been for thousands of years! fuck!

it’s the light (it’s the obstacle that casts it) by handful_of_silence - 5.7k - “The Patron Saint of London's LGBT Community is real, and he lives in Soho.” aziraphale and crowley speak polari. literally so up my alley i melted when i saw it

your hair was long when we first met by aziraphvle / @aziraphvle - 1.4k - crowley asks aziraphale to cut his hair and we are taken on a thousand-word journey about how aziraphale loves his hair and loves him and it’s. a whole lot. bringing samson by regina spektor into it was entirely uncalled for. again i am Weak for aziraphale loving and caring for crowley.

and then i will kneel down (explicit) - 5.4k - f. fleabag omens. it’s the confession scene but it’s aziraphale and crowley. it is More than you could ever possibly imagine

hard feelings/loveless by witching - 2.3k - "Aziraphale said it was like the opposite of the feeling you’re having when you say things like “this feels spooky.” Crowley didn’t know what to make of that, but he expected it was something like the opposite of the feeling you get when the only person who truly knows you makes a cryptic remark suggesting that you can’t understand love. Crowley understood love all too well.”

the saddest part of my day by witching - 3k - "crowley is preparing to leave on a demonic assignment, and he's very nervous about leaving aziraphale in charge in his absence.” they have a very open and honest and loving and very adult conversation about their feelings and tbh? That’s My Kink

summer and his pleasures by witching (explicit) - 7.2k - “absence makes the heart grow fonder, and crowley and aziraphale’s hearts were plenty fond to begin with. a story told through phone calls while they are separated for work-related reasons.”

penance by blissymbolics / @blissymbolics (explicit) - 5.9k - praise kink/crowley finally gets off after six thousand years of trying

like a prayer for which no words exist by lipsstainedbloodred - 8.1k - “In which Crowley and Aziraphale do not dine at the Ritz after that nasty business with Heaven and Hell, and Crowley has an existential crisis instead.”

men have gone to heaven for smaller things than that by mercuryhatter - 713 words - Robbie Ross’ funeral. “Aziraphale finds an age slipping away from him.”

where you stay i will stay by mercuryhatter - 866 words - men at the Hundred Guineas Club went by women’s names. aziraphale chose naomi and paid to keep the name ruth available in case crowley woke up. aaaaa

the hour/the spot/the look/the words by planethunter - 2.5k - “Crowley watches Pride and Prejudice (2005) and it spurs a realisation.” you can imagine what a trial it is to read p+p 2005 being brought into good omens but life is nothing but suffering apparently, i’ve learned that this summer through this fandom

and the punchline to the joke is asking SOMEONE SAVE US by princex_N / @princex-n - 5.8k - “The fact of the matter is that Crowley was the first bitter cripple to limp across the face of this planet. It's been 6000 years and things don't seem to have gotten much better.”

birds of a feather by idiopathicsmile - 3.6k - idiopathicsmile of world ain’t ready fame. if your life can be divided into Before Les Mis and After Les Mis, you understand. “Aziraphale nests. Crowley relearns some crucial facts about angelic courtship rituals.”

covet by mirawonderfulstar / @mirawonderfulstar - 2.4k - “Aziraphale, little good though it did him, wanted desperately. He wanted with an urgency that scared him. He wanted wine, and cocoa, and the occasional tea. He wanted gravlax with dill sauce, and Pappardelle Bolognese, and those awful little iced biscuits they had at Tesco at Christmastime. He wanted dinners at the Ritz and long walks in the park and late nights in the back room of his shop. He wanted Crowley. Fervently, achingly, he wanted Crowley.”

indellible by greased_lightning_rod / @aziraphallist (explicit) - “It turns out glitter is miracle-proof and, also, that it itches. Crowley needs some help preening. He gets a bit more than he bargained for.” Wing kink. yall know i’m weak for aziraphale taking care of crowley sue me

get religion quick (cause you’re looking divine) by brinnanza - 4.2k - “So it was fine. Even if Crowley couldn’t love him, he clearly liked him well enough, and that was almost the same thing. It no doubt would have continued to be fine, or at least fine-adjacent, were it not for a narrowly averted apocalypse and several bottles of a really quite nice Riesling Aziraphale had found in the back room of his newly restored bookshop.”

the nuances of “together” by mirawonderfulstar @mirawonderfulstar  2.8k - “Everybody in the whole world can tell Aziraphale and Crowley are a couple. Everyone except, apparently, Crowley.”

listen (he’s already told you five times) by darcylindbergh / @forineffablereasons - 1.8k - “Not everything Crowley says is said out loud. Aziraphale doesn't always hear him at first, but he's learning to stop being surprised.” Love!!! Languages!

sudden and surprising moments of overwhelming affection by darcylindbergh @forineffablereasons - 2.7k - “Aziraphale has not shut up in thirty-four minutes. Crowley’s been counting.” O More I Love Your Silly Aziraphale Things Shit. if you’re a neurotic talkative gay and insecure about it that particular genre of good omens fic is ruinous.

things truly terrible by darcylindbergh / @forineffablereasons - 1.2k - “Crowley has said some truly terrible things over the years, but this was the worst.” tooth-rotting-sweet love song-fueled confession.

tell me all the ways by tinsnip - 1.6k - “Crowley was out in the garden. Aziraphale was in his study, most definitely not looking out the window. Really. Really. One little speck of sentiment: was it so much to ask?” More! Love! Languages!

a name for earth by regencysnuffboxes - 1.1k - “Demons can’t say holy names, and Aziraphael accommodates his new friend accordingly.”

a home at the beginning of the world by stereobone / @stereobone - 5.8k - crowley just kind of. moves in with aziraphale. Meaningful Interior Decorating! Couch Metaphor! yall know what i’m weak for

[ughgclden]

bee, love, i am so happy you had a good first day, you deserve calm and loving days, and you deserve people, deserve friends. i’m so happy for you.

as for apologising, i’m a terrible hypocrite every time i tell you not to worry about it, as i also apologise for anything, most notably existing, but i want you to know you don’t have to apologise to me, i understand the impulse but there’s no obligation or anything.

i’m glad you’re feeling better, and that it was just a little ick, well not glad that you were ick but glad it wasn’t too bad.

when it comes to being in welton, i fantasise a lot about these things, i think something especially about boarding schools is appealing to me. being away. that’s why my plans are new york or wales or if my friend is to be believed, quebec. sometimes though, those realities all feel more and more like tissue paper soaked in water, just waiting for a reason to fall apart

i read really quickly, it’s probably an issue, i read red white and royal blue in about an hour and fifteen minutes. neil and i. kindred spirits. today at lunch i watched the last thirty minutes of dead poets society, going back to rewatch “i was good, i was really good.” like ten times.

imposter syndrome is slowly getting the better of me.

i actually dressed up as leia for the midnight premiere of the force awakens. i’m that person. if i’d been with you in the cinema i would have cried too, you’re not alone there, i cried watching it on the floor.

i don’t deserve the nice words you give me, but i’m happy i make you feel comfy and cosy, and ironically enough, writing with a quill or fountain pen never ends in pristine and unsmudged ink, you can thank my being left handed for that. i think there’s something nice about writing with fancy pens, maybe that makes me seem pretentious as well. oh well.

as for dps tattoos, if i can ever get any tattoos, i want the neil crown, “i was good, i was really good.” somewhere, probably my wrist who knows, and some art that alludes to the first unmanned flying desk set. among others. the “and still we sleep” thought, and the outline of meeks and pitts both sound so lovely. so so lovely. i really hope you can get every tattoo you wish. although your bank account may hate me for saying so /j i want more piercings, mainly on my ears, i have something of an earring addiction, my favourite pair at the moment is probably my howl drop earrings that look like howls from howls moving castle.

honestly the outfit/hair colour distraction rule is dumb. it’s dumb. i just don’t get it. abuse of power ig. and yeah. we were like hugging and sorta just leaning on each other while talking and the administrator got angry, for whatever reason. the straight couple making out behind us, she didn’t seem to mind, however. it’s dumb, and im glad i don’t go there anymore.

im clearly very articulate today (sarcasm) my mind is ehhhhhhhhhhh and feels like a squirrel laying on its stomach.

maybe i will call you ramona flowers, bee /j did you know the original name for pac man was puck man… /j hiding in the back of the music room to avoid a maths test sounds like something i would do. i say this, knowing full well that i’m such a neil kinnie that i end up feeling like a teachers pet because i want to do well, both for myself and simply to avoid trouble with my mum.

a new york times best seller, huh? well if i ever publish anything i’ll dedicate it to you, both for being the only person who thought i could be a storyteller, but also for being a lovely person in general.

sometimes one day after another feels impossible. tomorrow feels impossible. but oh well. i think younger me would be disappointed, to some degree. on the other hand, i think they’d think it’s cool how much i know. if nothing else, they’d love that i have a typewriter. also, i’m sure young you would be proud of you, i am. i’m so proud of you.

i mean bee, i could teach you to shoot a bow /hj YOU CAN WIELD A SWORD????? here i was thinking you could not possibly get cooler or hotter omg i’m in love /hj

thank you for being proud of me, really bee, thank you. and thank you for being the only one. i’m hardly changing the world, but i guess if i don’t burn out and lose this fight, changing a few points of views in the process of growing wouldn’t be terrible.

p.s. it’s certainly something, i feel bad because i always pull away from people when i get numb and it’s so new that me doing that could be detrimental to everything, but me forcing myself not to could have a bad effect on me. who knows what’ll happen. i’m just gonna try and keep them happy no matter what.

p. p. s. bee you brought this upon yourself /lh

all my love, bee, and that pun was the out of this world part of that sentence. you’re so cute omg.

that quote is beautiful, and since i, once again, had to translate french and smile about it, i’ll leave you with this

no importa que nos separe la distancia, siempre habrá un mismo cielo que nos una.

p.p.p.s. thank you for saying what you do, and i know that i don’t owe you anything, but writing to you is easy, and makes me happy, when i manage to get myself to sit down and think about it. i’m sending you back hugs, gentle forehead kisses and mugs of tea, a soft blanket and a narnia movie marathon, where we argue about how i am definitely not better than susan pevensie, but you almost certainly might be.

i’m so happy uni is going well thus far, love. and i hope you love your classes. learning.

thank you for everything bee.

yours, always,

star✨

star sweetheart, thank you so so much, honestly. i can't tell you how much that means - i know you said not to apologise, but an apology seems in order for the lateness of this message- im terrible i know /lh thank you sm though.

i'm writing this whilst listening to one of my favourite albums (hypersonic missiles by sam fender, if you were curious) and curled up in bed, so this really adds to the comforting vibes.

i'm with you on that, boarding schools do have a certain something about them, don't they? i hope you can get to one or all of these places in your life - i can speak from experience wales is especially beautiful, but i can really see you in new york, too. wherever you end up star, i truly hope you're happy there.

an hour and fifteen mins?!!? the fastest i've read something was a clockwork orange in two and a half hours or so- you are so strong star, i've watched that film 20+ times and only watched the last half an hour maybe 4 /lh

that is SO CUTE oh my god- i will admit, for it chapter two i did channel my inner bill denbrough and wore some flannel (i luv that limbo <3)

you deserve all of these words and more, i promise you. you deserve something a lot less clumsy, but i offer you my best. left handed.. you rly are neil huh? /j

all of those ideas; absolutely lovely. the i was good tattoo breaks my heart in the best way possible. im hoping you get all of these tattoos, love. you'd suit them more than anyone, i'm sure. those earrings sound like the coolest fucking things ever? i did have a pair that had a little vodka bottle on, but i lost one in a club and haven't gotten round to replacing them. i definitely want more piercings too,, my conch is looking pretty bare as of late...

that is just. so disgusting? im so- god that makes me so angry i can't even explain. i think i should punch all homophobes straight in the mouth, actually /hj

love, i bet younger you would be so so proud of all you've achieved. from only what you've told me, i am. they'd be over the moon at how intellectual, kind and strong you are, i know it.

I CAN!!! ITS ONE OF MY MOST ESTEEMED TALENTS!!! lets make a deal. you teach me to shoot a bow, i teach you to wield a sword.. we're giving very narnia power couple if i may say.. /hj

i will always be proud of you star, for even the smallest of things you achieve. you're actively making a difference and a change, take bringing this positivity into my life for example. you've got this, star. i know you have.

ps; im wishing you all the best my love, seriously. take every day as it comes, and listen to your mind and wellbeing. im sending you so much love

pps; that quote. is so fucking cute. god im breaking down,, its so pretty and so DHJHFJKNFKKN yeah.

this is me, making you a cup of coffee and your favourite comfort meal, with a kiss on the top of the head. we will have this argument - as much as i love susan, she's no match for you <33

all of my love and happiness, star. you truly are one of a kind.

if i may, i'd like to leave you with an excerpt from a poem i saw earlier that i fell in love with;

"and you laugh. / loudly- / head tipping back. / and while your eyes / are on the ceiling, / i am mouthing / something too heavy even / for this steady night to shoulder. / "this is not a joke." i mouth. / "love me. love me." - letters from medea, salma deera

[faithylilac]

The Party Party Part 6

So... there was a bit of a situation... a very bad situation. Not a terrible situation, Faithy and Echo are doing quite lovely.

“Well we wouldn’t have been in this mess if I was the party leader!” Dax shouted at the shorter god. She simply huffed and started tapping her foot.

“Well I didn’t see you throwing any ideas around!” She looked around the dark cave they were in, double checking for a way out. “You twat” she said off handedly.

Dax’s eyes widen, sure what he said was rude... but not to deserve that.

What happened between the two residential celestial beings?

There they were, five papers spread across the floor, each with a different task. Cj explained that they decided to pick up side jobs to do on the way to wedding. Ash and Jo had realized they would be a week early if they went straight there, so this was a perfect idea.

Faithy just shrugged her shoulders. She wasn’t party leader anymore so if anything happened, it wasn’t her fault.

“Wait which one is first on the list?” Dax finally decided to pipe in, as he knew he was free of compasses.

Carter held up their’s proudly, “we’re going after this thing called the uh....” he quickly flipped the paper around to read, “Mortem Spera... I don’t know if I said that right.”

“What is it exactly?” Ash asked. Carter read some more and shrugged. Apparently no information on it... weird.

Carter on the other hand, was having a tougher time that the two gods. Both of Ash’s and Jo’s cloaks were ripped to shreds. So their ears were out and the open, reminding Carter plenty of what they truly were.... Nyah Nyah kawaii anime cat people.

Jo had on a large hat, thank Gjhar feiiled, but her tail was sticking out. Ash on the other hand was a free cat boy, disgusting...

Carter was scurrying to look for a blind fold, make it out of anything... But there was hinderance to that plan.

“So Carter... Do you like oranges?”

Carter pulled all of his mental strength to not freak out that this cat girl was speaking to him. He took a deep breath and shut his eyes tight. “Why?” Jo just blinked at him. “I don’t want to answer that” carter continued. “I swear it’s not a deez nuts joke.” Jo replied. Carter kinda just roll his eyes but not, being that they are closed. “Kinda... but that’s so random— I’m confused.”

Jo giggle, “I just wanted to know if you liked oranges.” She replied. “I don’t hate oranges.”

“Anyway, I guess you can ask questions about me, or I can ask more about you— whatever you are more comfortable with.”

Carter shrugged, walking past her to pick up something he spotted once he opened his eyes. It was a clothe that was sticking out of rubble. “Uhhhh...” The nymph examined the clothe, it was embroidered with strange writing and lots of stars.

“Ash, you’ve studied a few ancient languages right?” Jo looked over him to find him staring at a large tapestry on the other part of the cave.

“No, where did you get that idea?” He asked. Jo just shrugged, “I didn’t know if you did, was just trying my luck.”

Carter brought over his clothe to compare the writing. It seemed to be the same letters, but slightly different... maybe it was handwriting? Ash looked over at Carter’s finding but they jumped away from him, trying to keep some distance.

“Oh shoot I forgot.” Ash said, flattening the ears on his head. Carter frowned and took a deep breath and inched back toward the bard. “Take this hurry up!” Carter shoves it at him and scurries farther away.

“Ok I guess.” Ash went back to the tapestry, trying to figure out the reoccurring letters.

Jo scooted closer to carter and smiled widely. “So... what happened with cats that caused you to be terrified so much?” She asked sweetly. Carter pauses. “Uhhhh....”

Earlier....

“Ok, everyone stick together. The shop keeper says there’s major stress at the entrance of the cave.” Cj explained as she examined the map that they bought from a gift shop. It was a old mine that housed crystals, but now it’s a tourist attraction.

The whole surrounding town was super old and and had a temple for just about every religion in the land. Even Gjhar feiiled.... Faithy kept her cloak on put away any loose jewelry. The main temple was up north, so as they traveled that way, more and more of them were more common.

But I’ll stop there. The shop keeper said someone covered in dragon scales came through the shop with a large box and went straight into the caves. He seemed like he was running for someone, so whatever was in the box seemed important.

As they ventured in the unconsciously huddled into three separate groups, Faithy and Echo on the left, Carter, Jo, and Ash on the right, and Dax and Cj in the middle.

Definitely unrelated though, Echo was tracing a wall painting with it’s finger and the mountain started shaking. “WHO DECIDED TOUCHING SOMETHING WAS A GOOD IDEA?!?” Ash screamed. “IT WAS CJ” Dax yelled back.

Like it was an action movie or something, rubble came tumbling down and separated the party.

“Ok whatever. Can you use your plants to get us out of here?” Dax asked he traced the walls of the cave.

Cj’s face read “oh duh” but as she went to feel the walls for roots or anything else she frowned. “No good. If I call them I have no idea what it’ll do to integrity of the cave.”

Dax huffed, frail mortals had to be so... frail. Sure the two of them would survive, but his favorite humanoids definitely wouldn’t.

A whistling noise echoed through the tunnel and they taking a fighting stance. Dax signaled her was going further in and Cj followed. They walk around a corner to see a green light emerging from further in.

“You got a few more millennias to live, I’ll go ahead.” Dax said dramaticly. Cj rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. “Like someone would be able to kill, much less defeat a Chaos god.”

Dax slapped a hand on either side of his face and acted surprised.

“To think you’d have so much faith in me!”

Cj just punched his arm, “that would be Faithy, not you.”

“Can I help you two?” A voice from behind them caused them to scream and Dax jumped into the smaller God’s arms.

Even though she was a goddess, she didn’t have supernatural strength of any nature. So her small frame was having trouble keeping him up.

It was a very very very very very very very old person. Now, Cj and Dax had no room to talk, but they had a better skincare routine.

Dax jumped out of Cj’s arms suddenly and her arms flung upwards in a very fast motion, knocking her down in the process. Dax helped her up and they readjust themselves.

“Are you the reason I heard some rumbling?” He asked as he shown his blue lantern around.

A sweat ran down CJ’s back.

“Actually, it was a lizard thing.” Dax spoke up. Cj looked at him with audacity. He had just blamed her for touching the thing she shouldn’t have, causing the mountain to come down on them. So he knew....

The old person simply nodded, “ah well, it’ll take them some time to dig that out. It earns the nearby too much money from tourist to let it stay caved in.” He explained. “Now, why don’t we talk for a bit? I’ll pour some tea.”

They reluctantly follow him into his little cave house. Well it was a small cave room, what’s the term for that? Google isn’t very helpful because all it’s wanting to do is give me tips for a man cave layout.

“So what brings you into an empty crystal cave? You seem more like adventurers than tourist.”

Back to Carter and the cats.

“Oh yeah... cats.” Carter looked away, trying to avoid the question.

Jo sighed and took a step back. “Ok it’s ok, you don’t have to answer that.”

Carter sighed in relief and turned straight around. “But how did you learn to be so swag?”

Carter paused and slowly turned back to them and was about to answer when Ash interrupted.

“OK GUYS! The thing we’re are after is a weapon!” He then broke his instrument and tore off a part of his cape to make a proper torch. Now you might be wondering how they could see without a torch. Ash and Jo could see enough not to bump into anything and Carter could tell where the general area of something is. That piece of clothe was just pure luck.

“Jo can you light this?” He asked her. She nodded and snapped her fingers to start a flame and lit it like a birthday candle.

“How did you do that? I don’t think archers can do that.” Carter said in confusion. She laughed and pointed at her hat. “I can change my class depending on my hat. Not that I have any control of it... if kinda just happens and I can’t ever remember what hat goes with what, we kinda just got lucky.”

Carter blinked slowly. The hat made no sense and there was so no sense of making sense of the thing.

“Guys look!” Ash held up the torch near the tapestry to show the words formed a picture of a weapon. There were also stars scattered around it.

“How do you even know that’s the thing we’re looking for? It could just be something relating to something else?” Jo asked.

“Carter give me the flier.” Ash asked sticking his hand out. Carter scrambled around to remember where he stuffed it, “it’s on your belt of daggers.” Ash said. He grabs it and hands it to the cat boy.

Ash holds it up and looks for any similarity between the flier and the tapestry. “Well thats only convenient.” He said. Jo and Carter look over his shoulder and the weird drawing on the flier almost matches the tapestry.

“It’s missing the words that make up the weapon.” Jo pointed out. Now that was very apparent to Carter and Ash but ummm.... Jo is nice and is explaining what’s going on for you sweet Reader-Chan!

(Aughh that took thirty years off my life. I feel like I’m writing on Wattpad again)

But every single star was present. “Wow I feel smart for figuring this out.” Ash said proudly.

“Do they make a pattern?” Carter asked. Ash shoved the flier at him and started kicking random rocks until one fell apart. He picked it up and grabbed the flier back from carter and plopped down.

He used the fragile rock as chalk and connected each start. “Oooh smart.” Jo added.

There were five large stars and a few smaller stars scattered as well. When Ash connected them all together it looked like a deformed turkey.

“Surely that’s not right.” Ash quickly dusted off the flier and connected only the large stars. “Ok tell me if I’m wrong, but does this look like a straying path?” He pointed out.

It started at one point, split into three, then back to another. “Oh yeah I can see that.” Jo replied.

“Maybe we were going to split up anyway and the rubble just sped it up.” Ash purposed.

“I still don’t see how this has anything to with the Mortem Spera“ Carter replied. Ash thought on his question for a minute but shrugged. “Most of these stupid quest have no reason to link up together the way they do.” The cat boy replied.

“Wait, that means we should be able to meet back up with the others then.” Jo replied. Ash quickly rips the tapestry off the wall and rolls it up. “I don’t know if this will be helpful, but it’s worth a shot.” They then head off the find the others.

“So these star forgers are immortal?” Cj asked before taking another sip of tea. The elder nodded.

“The only thing known to strike down one of these beings is something called the Mortem Spera.” He replied, drinking some of his own tea.

The two gods looked at each other, remembering that was thing they were hired to receive.

“But hear my warning. No mortal has managed to get their hands on it, and if they did they would surely meet their end.” He added.

“So who wielded it?” Dax spoke up. Dax did not have tea, he was drinking black coffee. Not that the old man had coffee, he made it himself— French press and everything.

The old man fell silent and put down his cup. “I don’t know the answer to that question. My theory was a dying god.” Interesting, interesting cool story bro.

“But I don’t actually know that. But I don’t think too much about the subject.”

“Well thank you for your time, but we need to find our friends.” Cj announced and pulled Dax up with her.

“Thank you for humoring me, you young folk have fun.” He said as he was went back to drinking tea.

Cj and Dax scurried out and proceeded further into the cave. “I’m sorry I don’t think he knows what’s he’s talking about.” Dax said.

“How so?” Cj replied. The older god sighed. “As long as I’ve lived, I would have at least heard about a dying god THAT desperate to live. Sure some seek out the fountain of youth, but trying to kill something like a star forger.”

Cj thought on it and nodded, “he did seem like he belonged in a loony bin.”

They then turned another corner to find... Faithy and Echo having a tea party?

She had on a fake crown and Echo had on a fake mustache and top hat. But this wasn’t your average tea party, it was the real thing. With delicate dishes, a tower of Pastries, and Gjhar feiiled forbid... a white lace table clothe.

“Is this what you’ve been doing this whole time?” Cj asked, not that she was one to ask.

“We ran into this lovely dwarf who owns a restaurant in here and we’ve been waiting on the rest of you.” Faithy explained before drinking out of her cup with her pinkie at ninety degrees.

Dax and Cj looked at them confused, “how did you know we were coming this way?” Cj asked.

“Ahh... so the shop owner was telling us that the cave coming down on itself was just a illusion.” Echo replied.

Cj flops down onto the ground and leaves an indention around herself.

“Yeah the whole thing is tourist trap role playing adventure. At the end they trick you into trading a sack of gold for a wooden spear.” Faith added.

“That does explain why it didn’t get any darker when the rocks blocked the entrance.” Dax replied.

Cj shot up from her Cj shaped hole in the floor and started screaming incoherently. She then stop and narrowed her eyes at Dax. “You’re a Chaos god and you couldn’t sense an illusion?”

Dax just shrugged. “I’m a chaos god, everything I do is legit. I have no use for mortal’s artificial magic.” He said with disgust. “That and I wasn’t thinking about it.”

Then. A loud thundering noise echoed through the cave, causing everyone to get up and put up their guard. But here comes ash carrying a stupidly large tapestry and Jo carrying Carter like a baby. How were they making so much noise????

“Ok good, we all found each other and someone isn’t trying to get through rocks like an idiot.” Ash said in relief.

“How did you know about the illusion?” Cj asked. Ash raised his eyebrow, “what illusion? The freaking flier made a map. It’s stupid simple but it works I guess.” He replied.

So... this was so freaking long.

And color coding is a pain

Never again

Ever

I hate everything

Masterlist

Figure out who everyone is, I dare you

[the-jade-cross]

Knight of the Forest - Chapter IX

From where she stood perched on the seamstress’s little crate box, Lillia felt like she was on a pedestal and it frightened her. In a few days she would be standing before the whole court swearing her love and Fidelity to the man of her dreams and she was positive that she would mess up, skip a word or worse, drop something! Wouldn't it be terrible if she tripped over her gown as ser Jaime escorted her to the altar?

Lillia cringed at the thought. At least the wedding ceremony would only be an hour long at the most. She would be married to Loras for the rest of her life! How would she be able to even share a meal with him without saying something stupid? She wished she had had longer to get her nerves under control but when Maya and Oberyn announced that they would be having a long engagement, Lillia and Loras's marriage had been moved from three weeks to three days in the future!

“ you look absolutely stunning my lady,” the seamstress assured her, “ the wedding gown will be ready by tomorrow afternoon! Now for the other dresses.”

Lillia hopped down from the box once the woman finished measuring her and approached the table where the seamstress and her team had drawn up some sketches of different outfits. As was custom, a newlywed bride would be outfitted new gowns for her wedded life but Lillia had somehow managed to swindle Ser Jaime into talking to a few people and instead of thirty separate new outfits, Lillia had managed to only order six. Two everyday dresses, a nightgown, two party dresses and a dress for cold climate.

The girl studied the drawings and she suddenly came to realize why Margaery loved dressing people up against their will. Every one of the dresses were unique in color, design and cut. Lillia knew that Mace Tyrell would be expecting them to be happy in their marriage together even if the love within was one sided and he would expect grandchildren and Lillia knew she would not get pregnant unless she could entice Loras into her bed and what better way to do that than wearing a low cut dress? Or nightgown... But what was the point of an enticing nightgown if Loras was not enticed to join her in her room? So both the nightgown and one of the dresses?

It had better be one of the daily dresses or she would be seen as a regular whore by everyone if she wore a low cut dress to a party. Why was picking outfits out so difficult and trying on the brain!? Finally she snatched up a lovely but simple green dress drawing.

“I like this one.” she told the seamstress.

The woman beamed and went to agree when a third voice cut in and made both Lillia and the seamstress turn. There stood Loras with his arms lazily crossed over his chest and a smirk on his lips as he leant against the door frame.

“I rather like the dress you are wearing at the moment.” he said.

Lillia looked down at her attire and blushed Crimson when she realized what she was wearing. The dress was cut so low and fitted so tightly that her breasts were half visible and pushed up so that they were pronounced. The dress ended at her knees revealing her bare legs and feet and the fabric was so thin that you could see the color of her skin!

“ these are my undergarments!” she squeaked at him, crossing her arms over her chest as the seamstress assisted her in pulling on a very thick cotton robe.

Loras his eyes widen in shock before he smirked, doing a ridiculously good job at not appearing flustered or turned on by the rather revealing outfit that his bride to be was garbed in. He walked over to the two women until he was towering over the very flustered Lillia.

“ well, it is nice to know that my future wife has very tempting taste in nightgowns. Madame, be a dear and select the rest of my lady’s outfits based on what you feel she would like. My lady, would you care to join me on a walk?”

Lillia paused and considered her fiance suspiciously for a moment before she grabbed the dress that she had worn earlier that day and dove behind the curtain to change. She emerged a moment later and followed the beaming Loras out of the room period it was a short calm a quiet walk down the corridor to the battlements and Lillia wondered if Loras had just asked her on a walk for the sake of being nice and not because he actually wished to speak with her.

“ I hope you don't mind that once we are married we may have to live in Kings Landing for some time period I am only a knight and third in line for Highgarden. My father assures me that he has a plan but until I discover if his plan actually exists, we will have to live here.”

Lillia nodded, “that sounds reasonable. I have lived here for a few years and so far I have remained sane alive. After all, Evelyn and Ser Jaime lived here together when they were married for a few months and they also managed to share a room without complaint so I feel that we will be able to manage just fine.”

Loras stopped walking and turned to the girl, “do... do you see us ever being like that? I mean... the perfect couple who love each other's company and share bedroom... do you see us like that?”

Lillia tilted her head as she pondered the question before shrugging, “ I like to imagine us like that but I am not sure if it would be the way that we would live. After all, Willas and Garlan complain daily of your snoring habits in their letters and I do happen to have powers of the earth. I may attack you with your breakfast peas in the morning at the table.”

Loras chuckled and smirked, “you know you love me. You would not want your husband dented now would you?”

Lillia's face went grave. A fine time to use a figure of speech that was more real and true than Loras realized. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and began to walk off.

“ do not underestimate my morning grumpy moods.”

Loras trotted over and caught up to the girl before grabbing her arm and turning her to look at him. “Lillia... you are important to me... you always have been and I would like to think that you care something for me too... I truly wish for this marriage to work out not just because it will make our parents happy because I want you to be happy married to me since I know that I will be happy with you as my wife.”

Lillia smiled softly but felt her heart stop period of course he cared about her even if that was the extent of his affections. He would be happy to wed any girl who would feed him, clothe him and bear him children. It just so happened that she was the girl he would be married to and expect those things from. She reached out and left her arm through his.

“ then let us make the most of this marriage and try to make each other happy.” she suggested.

Loras beamed and cradled her hand with his free one period “deal. On the condition that there will be no modeling of vegetables or by vegetables.”

Lillia giggled and found herself beaming, happier than she had been in a very long time... Even if Loras still did not love her back.

******

“My lady,” the maid Maria called, attempting to rouse the heavy sleeper.

Lillia rolled over from where she had been laying out spread like a pancake on her bed. Her hair was sticking out in all places making it look like a beaver had made its home on her scalp. Maria smiled at the girl’s disheveled state before she began opening the drapes and pulling out the things required to prepare the girl for her day.

“You are getting married today my lady!” the girl said, a huge smile lighting up her face as Lillia swung her legs over the edge of the bed and sat up groggily. “Alice is bringing your wedding dress up in a moment and once you are dressed, we will get your hair styled. What are you considering? Up or down?”

Lillia shrugged as she grabbed her thin lace robe and wrapped it around herself as she yawned, “I am not sure… Marg…Queen Margaery gave me a very detailed explanation of how having your hair up or down can clash with a dress… I am not sure what hairstyle would best suit the gown.”

Maria smiled, “Well then why don’t we get you washed up and we can take the dress to Queen Margaery’s room. That way you can get her opinion and since her chambers are closer to the great hall, you will not have to walk as far in the gown.”

“That sounds perfect,” Lillia stated, beaming at Maria.

About an hour later the girl was wrapped in a thick robe as Maria escorted her down the corridor to Margaery’s room. Tommen had left earlier to discuss the ceremony with Tywin and Cersei and hopefully telling them to not cause a scene. The moment Lillia stepped through the door of the bedroom, Margaery practically threw her into a chair and got Maria and Alice started on doing her hair while Margaery and her handmaiden Rose set about laying out the gown.

“I’m sorry that Maya and Nanteza couldn’t be here for this,” Margaery told the girl when the room became uncommonly silent.

Lillia smiled sadly at her in the mirror as Alice continued to pin up her wild curls. “It’s alright… they had things to do that couldn’t wait.”

After all of her curls were pinned up and out of her face, decorated by beautiful pink peach blossoms from outside Margaery’s bedroom window, the three-woman worked together to slip the gown on from Lillia’s feet up. That is until they realized just how soiled Lillia’s feet were, and they had to take a pitstop to give them a thorough and rather painful scrubbing. After finally getting the dress on and laced up as well as finally finishing buttoning the 200 pearl buttons on the back of the dress, Margaery went digging through her collection of shoes until she found a pair of white sandals. She knew that Lillia hated closed toe shoes as well as heels which ruled out the majority of Margaery’s shoes.

“We should have remembered to tell the seamstress to prepare you shoes as well!” Margaery huffed. “I just forgot because… well…”

“I never wear shoes,” Lillia finished for her.

Margaery chuckled but when she reached into one of her small boxes containing the millions of jewelry pieces she had accumulated, she frowned.

“I can’t find that pin,” she muttered, “You know… the pin you use to help hold two pieces together. It has a needle and then a little cap.”

While Maria and Alice began scouring the whole room for the pin and Rose was trying to keep Margaery from freaking out and bursting into tears, Lillia felt that this was the perfect time to escape the flutter and feathers. After all, she had forgotten her necklace that Jaime had procured for her and she dearly wished to wear it since it would go well with her neckless dress. She trotted down the hallway, the embroidered beads on her long but slender dress tinkling against each other in the absolutely silent corridor. Everyone must be downstairs preparing for the celebration which made the girl both relieved and also terrified.

Lillia paused when she reached her door, hand hovering over the doorhandle. Perhaps if she dropped in and said hello to Loras? She weighed the options. When Lillia had told her mother that it was Northern custom that the groom would not see the bride until she was escorted to the alter since it was bad luck to see the groom or bride on the wedding day, Lysa Arryn had whipped the girl over the knuckles for reading such “trash” and had told her there was no such thing as luck. Lillia pondered whether or not she should hold fast to the custom but decided that since she was definitely in the South, no one would care.

Padding down the hallway in her bare feet, careful as to not trip over the long dress that hugged her curves elegantly, Lillia rapped her knuckles against the door softly. She received no answer so she wondered if Loras was still asleep or perhaps he had already left. Lifting the handle, she poked her head inside.

“Loras?” she called softly.

Lillia heard loud and urgent rustling to her left and she peered around the door, only for her eyes to widen and her hand slip from the handle, allowing the door to swing all the way open. There lying in his bed was Loras, stark naked and at his side… Olyver.

Loras’s eyes were just as wide, if not wider than Lillia’s as he looked upon his bride to be, garbed in creamy white with her curls pulled back neatly to reveal her smooth skin which had suddenly lost all of its usual rosy color. When Loras heard people say that their face “fell”, he had no idea what that necessarily meant until he saw the look on Lillia’s face. It was like her body lost all point of life, her limbs hanging limp, the smile gone from her face but there was no frown there… but disbelief and her eyes no longer were crinkled in joy or pinched in anger… but lax in misery.

“Oh god, Lill…” the man started as he reached for his trousers.

Lillia swung on her heel and surprisingly for a girl in a floor length gown, she was running incredibly fast. When Loras finally managed to get his feet into his trousers and he rushed to the door, there was not a single sign of the girl anywhere. Instead of chasing after her like he knew he should, he went searching for the rest of his clothes and began to snap orders at Olyver to make the bed and make himself scarce.

Meanwhile Lillia tore down the hallway until she reached Margaery’s room and she flew through the door, closing it harshly behind her and leaning against it as her only life support. The three handmaidens and Margaery lifted their heads at the noise but the smiles on their faces melted when they saw the tears streaming down Lillia’s face.

“Oh Lils!” Margaery cried, rushing to the girl’s side and pulling her into a secure hug. “What on earth happened?”

Lillia shook her head and Margaery motioned to the maids to make their exit. Once they were alone, Margaery pulled away and looked Lillia in the eye.

“You need to tell me what happened! Who made you cry?” she insisted.

Lillia sighed shakily as she wiped her face with her bare hands. “If in the next couple of years, your father asks why Loras and I have not had children yet, you have my full permission to tell him that Loras will be banned from my bed chambers until I am 50!”

As Lillia pulled away from Margaery and went hunting in the wash room for some cool water to splash on her face, Margaery groaned. Of all days to mess up Loras, why today? The Tyrell girl stepped out of the bedroom and was just in time to see her beast of a brother running towards her.

“Where is she?” the boy demanded but Margaery crossed her arms over her chest and glared daggers at the lad.

“You’re lucky she didn’t rail you into the ground! You are not allowed to see her until the ceremony and I would not be surprised if she called off the wedding today!”

[imaginejamesandsirius]

Anything with Slytherin Sirius pining over james and getting jealous when he thinks some Ravenclaw is trying to date james?? Anything like this please? Set in 6th year?

If there were two things true about James Potter, it would be that he's gorgeous and oblivious. He was also oblivious about being gorgeous, which was a completely separate problem. If Sirius were to make a list of everything great about James, number three would be that's he's great at Quidditch, and number four that he's stupidly good at Transfiguration. He had made a list once-- or at least started on it-- but he'd gotten to thirty before realising that it was pointless to keep track where someone could easily find. Everyone already knew he was great, there was no reason to leave around evidence that Sirius was fully aware of it too. 

That being said, he was pretty sure James thought Sirius hated him. This is where the oblivious part of James got dialed up to one hundred. Anyone else would've long since figured out that he was flirting, but no, not James. Apparently, he was becoming convinced that the professors were conspiring to kill him by always seating them close together. Sirius had tried, to no avail, to explain that they took the same classes that had small sizes, and for the ones where they had large classes, the professors had figured out that Sirius caused less trouble if he was next to James. So if it was a conspiracy about anyone, it was Sirius, not James. 

Speaking of conspiracies: Benjy fucking Fenwick. Benjy wasn't a bad guy-- far from it-- but in this moment, Sirius kinda wanted for him to spontaneously come down with the flu. Or a really bad cold. A little trifle to get him to stop talking immediately. They were in Defense, and for some reason Professor Archibald thought it was a good idea to leave them by themselves for an undetermined amount of time. And bloody Benjy decided that he was going to ask James on a date, with Sirius sitting right next to him, getting more irritated by the second. 

If it had been anyone else, they would have immediately understood what was happening and either said yes or no. But it was James at the height of being a dumbarse, so he said, "I normally go with Remus and Pete," when asked if he wanted to go to Hogsmeade with Benjy. 

"Right, but I meant would like to go with me instead of them this time." 

"They tend to argue if I leave them alone," was James's response, and Sirius rolled his eyes. 

"I'm sure they'd be able to survive without you for a few hours so you could have fun." 

James frowned, all confused, and Sirius decided that enough was enough. 

"He's asking you on a date. Merlin knows why you'd be interested." He glanced at Benjy and added, "No offense." 

Benjy didn't get a chance to answer because James got offended on his behalf. Or maybe not on his behalf because what he said was, "Hey, I'm a bloody catch." 

"What do you think I said?" Sirius asked. 

"You said you didn't know why I would be..." James trailed off, frowning. "Wait. Were you saying you don't get why I'd be interested in Benjy?" 

"Yes. Nothing personal," he said to Benjy. 

Thankfully, Benjy looked more amused than offended. "It's fine." 

"Why is it nothing personal? I'm confused." 

"Don't worry about it," Sirius said, giving him a condescending pat on the head. 

James scowled at him. "Don't be rude. And I'm not a bloody dog, don't pet me." 

Sirius put his hand back in James's hair and ruffled it. 

"I hate you," James sighed, pushing at Sirius's arm to get him to stop. "Anyways Benjy, I'm not really interested in you in the... dating way. Sorry." 

Benjy shrugged with an easy going smile that was at least a little bit faked because rejection was never easy, even if you weren't head over heels for the guy. "It's alright. I didn't realise you were already taken," he said, and then he walked back over to his desk. Because everyone was chatting with their friends and messing around casting spells, nobody else was paying attention to them. 

James tilted his head curiously. "Taken? Who does he think I'm dating?" 

"Probably me," Sirius said, since James wasn't going to put it together by himself, and it would be more embarrassing if he had to ask one of his friends for help understanding. 

"Why would we be dating?" 

Sirius rolled his eyes again because his other option was to snuggle him and call him a lovable idiot. "Maybe because everyone wants to?" 

"Well that's not true." 

Sirius gave him a flat look. "You didn't know that he was asking you out, do you really think that you have a good grasp on who fancies you?" 

"You don't fancy me." 

He didn't bother to change his expression. 

James blinked at him. "Wait, really?" 

Sirius didn't bother to answer, leaning his head into his hand and raising an eyebrow. 

"There's no way. You hate me!" 

"You're such a tosser." 

"See? You do. Stop being weird and go back to plotting my death or whatever it is you do to entertain yourself." 

If it had been literally anyone else, they would have realised that yes, Sirius fancied them. But oh no, not James. James had to have it said to his face and not get it. It's a good thing Sirius got rid of any semblance of pride back when he was thirteen and realised that nobody cared how seriously he took himself. If Sirius still had any pride, he would've rolled his eyes one more time and gone back to doodling on his parchment, but he had nothing better to be doing right now and talking to James was always fun (if exasperating). "You must think I'm awfully morbid." 

"Aren't you?" 

"Of course not. You don't plan someone's death, that's a good way to get caught." 

James knew he was joking, thankfully, but it was a bit up in the air how much he knew Sirius was joking. 

"In case you were wondering, that was a joke." 

...and now James was back to scowling. Great. "I know what a bloody joke is, thanks. And if our dumbarse professor isn't coming back any time soon, I'm going to actually have fun." James grabbed his bag and went to sit by Remus and Peter. 

Sirius huffed, his mood turning sour. Back to doodling it was. 

Benjy fucking Fenwick threw a wad of paper in front of him to get his attention. 

"What?" 

"He's pretty, but he'd dumb as a flobberworm sometimes; I wouldn't worry about it." 

"It's sodding annoying, is what it is." 

Benjy gave a sympathetic shrug, then went back to actually looking at the course work. 

Sirius glared at nothing in particular, wishing that he could just walk up to them and sit down. He had no pride sure, but he did have self preservation; he'd totally get hexed if he tried that. 

*

"Prongs," Remus said, pinching the bridge of his nose, "you know I would die for you, but you are so buggering stupid I'm about to kick you off of your chair." 

"What? Why?" 

Remus dropped his hand, staring at James flatly. Peter was giving him a similar look. "Are you serious, right now? Really, mate?" Peter said. 

"Are you going to clue me in?" 

"You've been pining after Black for how long? And then when he tells you that he fancies you, you accuse him of wanting to murder you? I'm sorry, Prongs, but there's only one way to explain that: you are a fucking idiot." 

"He didn't mean it," James said, affronted. He would've noticed something like that, despite what his friends thought about his observational skills. Sirius flirted with everyone! That's how he entertained himself, the same way James thought about the next Quidditch game and possible plays. "I would know if he had meant it." 

"Would you?" Peter asked. 

"Yes!" 

"Alright, mate. Let's say we believe that," Remus said. "What motivation would he have for telling you a lie like that in the first place?" 

"To embarrass me! He probably knows I fancy him and was going to humiliate me when I said that I fancy him too." 

"I thought you said Sirius Black is the physical embodiment of everything good and beautiful in the world." 

"He is!" 

"And yet you think he would do something like that to you." 

"He's great, I'm not. This isn't that complicated, Moony." 

"So you deserve the terrible things that happen to you?" 

"Well I wouldn't go that far, I'm not so bad when you get down to it." 

"So you wouldn't deserve it if he played that sort of prank on you?" 

James opened his mouth to answer, then paused. Frowned. "You're not my best mate anymore. Peter, you just got upgraded." 

"Fuck no. One, I agree with everything he just said, and two, I don't need the pressure that comes with that title. I am perfectly happy as the second best friend. It's where I'm going to live out the rest of my days, and you can't make me." 

"As your still current best friend," Remus said, pointing towards where Sirius was sitting, "I'm telling you to go ask him out and leave us alone until you need help planning what you're doing on that date." 

"He's not going to say yes." 

"You're wrong," Peter said. He sounded awfully certain about that, so James flipped him a v but go to his feet. 

"Fine. When he shoots me down, you have to get sloshed with me, and you don't get to complain." 

"Uh-huh." 

James sighed and walked back over to their desk. "Sirius." 

"Yeah?" he asked, looking up. 

From this angle, his eyes looked a very deep shade of grey that James kind of wanted to drown in. Seriously, how great would that feel? Maybe if Remus and Peter were right about Sirius fancying him-- which they weren't, but whatever-- he'd get to see them from even closer. "D'you want to go on a date with me?" 

Sirius blinked. "Are you joking right now? You turned me down like two minutes ago." 

"Well I had thought you were joking. Wait. Was that really you saying that you fancied me?" 

"Yeah, mate." 

"Merlin's pants, I'm going to have to tell Remus that he was right. Do you know how insufferable he is about that?" 

"I can't imagine it's nice." 

"Anyways, was that a yes? Because I totally thought you were going to turn me down and I don't have a plan." 

Sirius kicked the chair towards him. "Sit down, we can figure something out." 

"So it is a yes." 

Sirius chuckled. "Yes, it's a bloody yes, James." 

He sat down, then ruffled his hair as he thought of something. "Were you jealous of Benjy asking me out?" 

"How is it that you had no idea while it was happening, but now that it's past, you actually notice things?" 

"Bugger off, you were totally jealous. Aww," James cooed, "you were all jealous, that's adorable." 

Sirius laughed when James playfully pinched his cheek. "You're going to be absolutely horrible about this, aren't you?" 

"Yeah, there's no getting around that. Think you'll survive?" 

"Sod off, I'll outlast you any day."