#finally had the excuse to draw snake peter

[sleipliir]

Happy year of snek!🐍✨

[ptergwen]

call me cupid

w/c: 3.5k

warnings: very mild angst and a few swears

summary: despite your hatred for valentine’s day, peter attempts to make you a card

a/n: happy valentine’s day my loves!! i hope y’all get to spend some time with your people today and eat lots of chocolate <3 love you & enjoy mwah

-

it’s no secret that peter is terrible with words. he gets so flustered he can’t talk or forgets what he wants to say altogether. school presentations are torture. ordering food out is impossible. he’s accepted it at this point, that speaking just isn’t for him.

the one place it doesn’t come across is on paper. peter is ridiculously smart, and he knows all the right words to string together, which is why writing you a valentine should be no trouble at all. should be no trouble at all.

to tell the truth, he’s been sitting at his kitchen table with a blank sheet of paper in front of him for what feels like hours. nothing is coming to him. he’s not sure why this is so hard. you’re his girlfriend, he loves you, he’s said it so many times in every way he could think to. what’s different about it now?

everyone puts way too much pressure on giving the perfect gift when they should really just be enjoying each other’s company on a holiday about love. or, in your words, a meaningless holiday that was created by capitalists as another excuse to take people’s money. 

alright, you aren’t too fond of valentine’s day.

it makes anyone who’s single feel like shit and anyone who’s in a relationship lose their shit.

only mj agreed when you shared your criticisms. ned and betty gave you looks like you were insane, and flash muttered something about you being undateable. peter had laughed and swung an arm around your shoulders, but he didn’t fully agree.

although valentine’s day has its flaws, peter likes to see it as twenty four hours of extra appreciation for the people in his life. you can buy chocolate for your friends and family. it doesn’t have to be a significant other, really. him and ned would do it before he had you and ned had betty.

peter wants to remind you how loved you are even if you’re not into the festivities like he is, that bringing him to writing your card. it’s a simple and clinically underrated way of expressing his gratitude. he’d write you love letters every day if he didn’t suck at them.

may comes out of her room to see peter in the same place he’s been since he got home from school. she looks at him through her glasses, smiling as she comes into the room. he’s tapping his pencil on the table, eraser down, searching his mind for anything to write.

“still nothing?” may asks him, making her way over to the cabinets. peter puts down the pencil and sighs. his shoulders slump. “nope. i haven’t gotten past the intro.” “intro, huh?” she teases her newphew and grabs a jar of sauce. “y/n isn’t your teacher, kiddo. you’re not writing her an essay.” she looks at peter over her shoulder. a sheepish smile creeps onto his face.

“you know what i mean.” he reads over the only words on his paper at the moment. dear y/n. he’s starting to feel like spongebob the one time he wrote a paper. “what are you making?” peter asks may so he can temporarily take the focus off his unwritten valentine. “pasta,” may shakes the box in her hand. “and meatballs.”

“should i dial 911 now or wait until we’re in flames?” peter jokes about her awful cooking skills. may shoos him off and puts the box of pasta on the counter. “worry about your own kitchen nightmare.” she nods at the sheet of paper tormenting him. frowning, he glances back at her. “i’m the worst, may. i really don’t know what to write.”

may struggles to open the jar of sauce as she replies. “i thought you said- jesus.” it pops off. “y/n doesn’t like valentine’s day.” she slides over a pot from the stove and dumps the sauce in. peter stares up at the ceiling. “she doesn’t.” that’s probably why he’s having such a hard time. “why are you writing her a card, then?” may questions, turning on a burner.

“because, i dunno, it’s nice? it’ll make her happy? she might not care, but i do.” he mumbles the last part. he’s a bit of a hopeless romantic, so he hasn’t quite adjusted to the idea you had of not getting each other presents. you’re treating it like a regular day. some takeout and cuddles is all you’re doing.

peter would rather buy you things until his pockets are empty. not that there’s much in them, anyway. the point is that you deserve proper spoiling instead of corny words in his shitty handwriting.

“peter, honey. it might be better to stick with what y/n wants,” may suggests while stirring the sauce in the pot. she’s well aware that a few paragraphs from peter won’t change your mind. your opinions belong to you, and there’s nothing he can do about it, though he does have good intentions.

ignoring what may just said, peter makes a request. “what if you help me write it?” she faces the stove again. he can picture her playful smile when she quirks back, “she’s not my girlfriend.” “no, but you’re a girl... a woman,” he corrects himself, earning a scoff from may. “you’d probably know what sounds good.”

“you know y/n better than me, peter. do it on your own,” she exhales and turns back around with the wooden spoon in her hand. “it’ll be more... heartfelt.” peter hates that may is right because he’s completely stuck. his heart is being stupid today. “okay. i’ll try.” he gives her a slow nod. “why don’t you take a break? come stir the sauce. i’ll start the pasta.”

peter gets up from the table and grabs the spoon from may. she pinches his cheek on her way to the sink, getting a tight lipped smile from him.

this is not good.

-

the next day at school, peter asks around the lunch table for advice while you’re on line getting food. he feels guilty about it because may told him not to. he’s never going to get your valentine done if he doesn’t, though. it isn’t the worst thing in the world to bring on some co-writers.

“ok, what do you have so far?” betty asks, fully invested in the situation. she’s hoping this will switch up your views on valentine’s day. peter pulls out the same piece of paper from last night and says verbatim what’s on it. “dear y/n.” he looks up at ned and betty, the corners of his mouth twitching down. ned motions with his hand for peter to go on.

“that’s it,” peter confesses and folds the paper back up in shame. “dude, you told us it was a work in progress,” ned winces, betty taking his hand that’s resting on her shoulder. “where’s the progress?” betty patronizes him. they’re making him feel worse than he already did. what great co-writers he’s collaborating with.

peter throws a hand up, an eye roll included. “yeah, it’s terrible. can you help me or not?” mj narrows her own eyes at peter from the other end of his bench. she’s not interested in participating when the conversation is about forcing you to celebrate a holiday you don’t like.

“ooh!” betty squeals and squeezes ned’s hand. “you should make a list.” ned grins, leaning his head on hers. “genius, babe.” “a list of what?” peter furrows his eyebrows as he looks between the two of them. “what you love about y/n,” she explains, ned adding on, “stuff you do together, or you appreciate.”

“put whatever you come up with into sentences and voilà,” betty says in her best french accent. “oui oui,” ned agrees, both of them giggling. that doesn’t sound half bad. peter could manage a list about you. “thank you so much, guys. you literally just saved valentine’s day,” he confidently tucks his paper into his pocket. “it’s what we do,” ned tells him coolly.

“you never asked what i think,” mj cuts in, staring down her friends, who reluctantly meet her gaze. she pushes her bag of goldfish aside and raises an eyebrow. “mj, we know how you feel about valentine’s day.” peter presses his lips together. “y/n feels the same way,” mj reminds him dryly.

it’s true, but he doesn’t want to hear that right now. he’s having a breakthrough.

like clockwork, you appear at the table. you slip into the spot next to peter and put down your lunch tray. “what’d i miss?” you comment on the obvious tension, eyeing betty for an explanation. mj gives it to you. “valentine’s day discourse,” she tells you knowingly. peter shifts in his seat, uncomfortable, like he’s been caught doing something he isn’t supposed to.

he technically has.

“yuck,” you murmur, winding your arms around peter’s neck. “yuck, yuck, yuck.” he finds your words ironic because you then kiss his cheek, and peck his lips when he turns his head. peter puts a hand on your side and lets his eyes go up and down your face. a smile spreads across it, which he returns without thinking about. mj huffs in disapproval. she’s seen enough pda.

-

peter makes his list later that night. he decided he isn’t being inauthentic because he’s coming up with everything himself. he breezes right through it, jotting down what he loves most about you across the paper. it’s a mess. scribbled out misspellings and shreds of eraser, single words and whole phrases covering both sides. he’s proud of his actual progress.

he’ll write the official letter tomorrow since you’re coming over tonight. he at least has his material. the next, thankfully final, step is to reword it.

you’re ranting to peter about some drama with one of your teachers. he listens intently as always, chuckling when you crack jokes and grinning the entire time, feeling so lucky to have the most passionate, say whatever is on her mind girlfriend ever. seriously, it’s inspiring to watch.

“no, like, i never know what’s going on in that class,” you snort, peter snaking his arms around your middle from behind. “because you don’t pay attention,” he hums with his face nuzzled into the back of your neck. “because it doesn’t make any sense!” you defend yourself. his lips brush against your bare skin, drawing a giggle out of you.

“back to what i was saying,” your voice drips with sarcasm. the two of you naturally gravitate to his room, you walking in first. “she called on me, and i- what’s this?” you escape peter’s arms and head over to his desk. crap, he was working on your valentine and forgot to put it away. it caught your attention because it’s surrounded by crumpled papers and glitter.

peter was... experimenting... with designs for the front of the card. he’s learned that he isn’t too artistic either.

“wait, don’t read that,“ peter tries, but you’ve already got the list in your hands. he anxiously sucks his lower lip into his mouth and comes to stand next to you.

you first see the ‘dear y/n,’ then focus in on a few other words. my person forever, which makes you coo at the paper. insane (in the best way), which makes you gasp dramatically. i know you don’t like valentine’s day, but...

you drop the card back on the desk and let out a breath, shutting your eyes as irritation creeps in. it wouldn’t be fair for you to be mad at peter because it’s a sweet gesture, it really is. just, not for you personally. you’re on opposite sides of the valentine’s spectrum. you despise it, he sort of loves it. you’d hoped to meet somewhere in the middle.

“i thought we said no gifts,” you keep your voice level and spin around to look at peter. his face is painted with guilt. “it’s a card,” he murmurs, then meets your eyes with his brows knitted together. “i can’t even give you a card?” “i mean...” you shrug and shake your head. “look, peter. we had an agreement. i’m not doing valentine’s day.”

his disappointment comes out in the form of hanging his head. “yeah, you’re right. sorry.”

may tried to tell him this would happen, mj tried to tell him, and now you’re telling him. he should’ve expected it. he isn’t sure why he’s being so mopey about it because he was fully aware of your hatred for anything with the word valentine in it. it still hurts. peter just wishes you’d let him have the one day to love you and only you, give you some special attention.

“it’s nothing against you, babe,” you reassure him, noticing the shift in his mood. you put a hand on his shoulder. “i really just don’t like valentine’s day. it feels so... fake to me.” peter musters up a smile that doesn’t meet his eyes. it drops when you loop your arms around his torso.

“if i celebrated, you’d be the first person i’d wanna spend it with.” you punctuate your words with a kiss to his cheek. he rests his chin on your head, you nuzzling your own cheek into his sweater. he’s feeling a bit better now. it’s not about him, that’s what he needs to remind himself. “thanks, baby,” peter speaks lowly into the air. you hum as if to say no problem.

scratch literally everything he’s done.

-

peter rolls over in his bed, rubbing at his eyes as his alarm goes off. it’s today. happy valentine’s day to... himself. he doesn’t think you’d want to hear it.

he’s not as broken up about everything as the other day. you have your reasons for not celebrating, and peter accepts them. hey, he still gets to spend the whole day with you. you’re technically having an unspoken valentine’s date.

he gets up from his bed with a yawn and starts to dig through his drawers for an outfit. you should be over soon.

before you head over to peter’s, you decide to make a quick stop at cvs for a few things. you ended up feeling pretty terrible about snapping on him essentially for loving you. it was over a harmless valentine, something to make you feel good and be an outlet for the hundreds of romantic bones in his body. basically, you were bitter about having a thoughtful boyfriend.

you want to make it up to him by giving him gifts instead. you’ll never be down with the whole exploitive and capitalistic side of valentine’s day, but there’s a deeper meaning to it than what you give it credit for. you see that now. peter was able to show his love for you through a homemade mess of a card, and you felt it. the price tags don’t matter. the meaning does.

dressed in his nicest sweater with his hair all styled, peter answers your knocking at his door. a grin instantly paints his face as he takes you in. you’re bundled up in a coat and holding a bag by your side. “hey,” he greets you and lets you past him. you shut the door behind him, returning the smile and winding an arm around his neck for a hug. his drapes around your back.

“hey. happy valentine’s day.” “happy valentine’s-“ peter realizes what he’s about to say and what you just said, then stops himself. “what?” he breaks the hug, squinting at your odd behavior. you’re the last person he’d expected to hear that from. “it’s valentine’s day. so, happy valentine’s day,” you tell him like it’s nothing.

he stays quiet while you shrug off your coat and throw it over one of the kitchen chairs. you bring your bag along with you, peter following you in. he’s suspicious. intrigued, and suspicious. it’s been less than a day since he last say you. you had a change of heart that fast? you aren’t the biggest valentine’s day anti he knows anymore?

“where’s may?” you wonder aloud, taking both of peter’s hands in your now free ones. he eyes the shopping bag you put down while you lace your fingers together. “with happy. they’re getting brunch.” he’s never particularly psyched to talk about their relationship. it’s always been in a joking way, though. now, he sounds genuinely upset to go over may’s whereabouts.

“they’re so cute,” you comment, tugging on peter’s hands so he looks at you. “you good?” “great,” peter half lies and nods, then presses a reassuring kiss to your cheek. he’s not bad. puzzled is the word. what you say next only adds to it.

“good. i have a few things for you,” you beam at him and grab your shopping bag off the chair. that’s what that’s for? peter isn’t fully sure what you’re up to. it doesn’t stop a smile from stretching across his lips, though.

“what happened to no presents?” he tests you as you reach into the bag. “well, i feel bad about how i acted the other day.” you pull out a heart shaped box of chocolates. “the card was really sweet, and i was too caught off guard to appreciate it. i’m sorry, pete.” peter’s eyes twinkle at you, gazing as you give him a smile with a hint of shyness behind it. you’re leaving your comfort zone and entering his.

“i was wrong and cynical and just, yeah. happy valentine’s day,” you add on and shove the box into his hand. he finally grins, so wide and then lets out a breathy laugh. “thanks, y/n. i know it was probably hard to shop being surrounded by this stuff.” he holds up the box. he’s right. you’ll unfortunately be seeing pink and red for weeks. “it was, but i did it for you.” you happily open up your arms for him.

peter puts down the chocolates and pulls you into his arms, his cheek squished against the side of your head as he hugs you to his chest. “oh my god, i love you so much,” he mumbles out, you squeezing him in response. “i love you, pete.” you press a quick kiss to his neck and hold him at arm’s length so you can see him. “i have something else for you.”

“baby,” peter coos, a pout on his lips. “you don’t have to do all of this. i would’ve been fine without the chocolates, even.” “stop, you deserve it,” you shut down the part of him that’s way too nice and selfless. “you’re my real present,” he says lower and with a toothy smile. shaking your head, you reach behind you and into the bag.

he can’t believe you’ve switched stances on valentine’s day. you’re the present pusher, and he’s refusing them. peter thinks it’s some sort of miracle that you’re not only acknowledging the holiday, you’re also partaking in it. his hopeless romantic side tells him it’s actually love, and it is. that’s the cheesy, hallmark movie truth. you suffered through shopping at a heart themed cvs because you love him. simple.

you return with a pink envelope that you place into peter’s hand. his face softens as he closes his fingers around it. “y/n, you made me a card?” “kind of,” you laugh at his overstatement. it’s obviously pre-made. you’d used a pen to fill it out in the store, scribbled a few words and tucked it into the envelope.

“it really doesn’t compare to yours, though,” you simultaneously warn and compliment him. peter dismisses you with a lighthearted click of his tongue. “oh, shush. that was only a rough draft.” “which proves my point even more. open it.” you grip onto the bottom of his sweater and grin.

he keeps his eyes on you while ripping open the envelope, then looks down and chuckles at the gag of the card. it has r2d2 and r4d4 from star wars on the front. inside is already written, “r4 is red and r2 is blue. if i was the force then i’d be with you.” you giggle to yourself, watching him read what you wrote next. i love you more every day, especially on valentine’s. xo, y/n.

peter holds the card to his side and slings an arm around your waist. “they make star wars valentines?” he murmurs, another smile breaking out on his face, one that you of course return. you use his sweater to pull him closer. “apparently. perfect for you.” peter tosses the card down next to the chocolates, both arms now holding you.

“thank you so much, baby. you’re an angel,” he sighs and pecks your lips after. “call me cupid,” you answer.

you give him a longer kiss back, tilting your head up to deepen it. your hands find their place on his biceps, earning a hum from peter as he moves his lips against yours. you can feel his love in every little movement, how he hugs your waist like you’re made of glass, rests his forehead against yours. when your lips mutually detach, peter speaks first, voice slightly husky.

“happy valentine’s day, cupid.”

you breathe out, peter closing his eyes in content.

“happy valentine’s day, r2.”

[flourgirl]

Sick of Losing Soulmates

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: Months after you and Peter have broken up, you run into each other at Harry’s Christmas party.

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: Both fluffy and angsty. Mentions of alcohol and sex. A mild amount of curse words.

A/N: I’m ALIVE! I hope you all are having a wonderful holiday season, and Merry Christmas to everybody that celebrates it! I am so happy to be able to share my work with all of you! Enjoy <3

“And maybe we got lost in translation Maybe I asked for too much But maybe this thing was a masterpiece Till you tore it all up” -All Too Well, Taylor Swift

He wasn’t supposed to be here. Harry had promised you that his roommate would be spending the holidays with May back in Queens. But here he was, wearing the sweater that you had given him last year with his arm snaked around another girl’s waist.

“Hey!” Betty grinned, throwing her arms around you. She had a half-empty glass of mulled wine that you could tell was doing a good job of getting her tipsy. “I’ve missed you so much, Y/N. We never see each other anymore.”

She pouted, a pair of reindeer antlers where her signature black headband usually sat. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah,” you assured her, still staring at Peter effortlessly carrying the conversation with a bunch of people you didn’t recognize. “Uh, who’s the girl with Peter?”

“Gwen Stacy,” she muttered, obviously not a very big fan. You figured it was because there was only room for one preppy blonde girl, and Betty didn’t feel like sharing that position with anybody else. “Don’t worry though! It’s nothing serious. Peter actually hasn’t really dated anybody ever since the two of you…”

Her voice trailed off as you locked eyes with her, silently communicating for her to drop the subject. It was a relief to know that he hadn’t moved on, but the fact that he was wrapped up in a fling with somebody else still made your heart hurt.

“Come on, Y/N. I’m sure MJ and Ned would love to see you! They’re over in the kitchen.” She reached for your hand, dragging you along through Harry’s expertly decorated apartment. 

You dropped the box of cookies that you had baked on the counter before tapping MJ on the shoulder. She was turned away from you, lecturing Ned on why his secondhand Beyblades were not acceptable Christmas presents.

“Who the hell is touching me?” she snapped, turning around with a look on her face that told you she was ready to throw hands. “Holy fuck. Y/N! How long have you been here?”

MJ’s frown faded into a smile as she pulled you into a side-hug, her other hand busy nursing a glass of Harry’s infamously terrible eggnog. “Only a few minutes,” you laughed, your face smushed into her torso. 

“Hi,” Ned piped up, offering a small wave. You could tell he didn’t really know where he stood ever since his best friend basically ripped your heart out and threw it on the floor. Well, it wasn’t actually that dramatic, but he had a flair for exaggerating stories. “Remember me?”

“Of course, stupid,” you grinned, offering a fist bump that he happily accepted. “How could I forget those iconic fits of yours?”

“True,” he said, popping his collar and doing a little twirl that made Betty and MJ roll their eyes. “You look pretty fly too, though.”

“Thanks,” you replied, holding the edge of your dress as you curtsied, something you and Ned had made a habit of doing as the so-called best dressed members of the group.

“You two are just as ridiculous as ever,” Betty mused, happy to see you still fit in just as perfectly as when you were Peter’s girlfriend, even if you weren’t around as much.

The reunion was interrupted by the loud chatter of a certain couple, and your heart sank as you watched a very drunk Peter and Gwen stumble towards the kitchen, a giggling mess. They situated themselves under the archway that separated the two rooms, a piece of mistletoe conveniently hanging above them. 

You could tell that MJ was ready to put a stop to her friend’s embarrassing behavior, and the looks on Ned and Betty’s faces told you that they had no intentions of holding her back. 

“They’re so gross,” MJ complained, setting down her untouched cup before excusing herself to drag Peter out of his drunken makeout session. “I can’t believe he’d do that when you’re right here!”

“Wait, MJ,” you blurted, grabbing onto her wrist to stop her. She turned to face you, her eyebrows furrowed. “It’s okay. I don’t care about it. I’m just going to head to the bathroom, alright? I’ll be right back.”

You did your best to stop yourself from tearing up, although you realized you had made the utter mistake of forgetting that the very arch that Peter and Gwen were sucking each other’s faces under was the only way out of the kitchen.

Not even a few moments of you awkwardly standing next to them, occasionally clearing your throat, made them notice you. Eventually, the discomfort grew too heavy, and you tapped Peter on the shoulder. He finally pulled away from Gwen, her lipstick smudged across his mouth and a dazed look on his face.

Gwen whimpered at the loss of his kiss, obviously annoyed at the random girl that had just interrupted them. As soon as Peter recognized that it was you, he stepped away from her, wiping his mouth and fixing the hair she had been running her hands through, just like you used to.

“Y/N. I didn’t know that you’d be here,” he reasoned, a blush spreading across his face as a sense of regret settled into his stomach. 

“Obviously,” you sighed. This wasn’t the Peter you knew—the sweet, shy one that you had fallen in love with. “You guys are blocking the hallway, by the way.”

“Shit, sorry,” he stammered, stepping aside to allow you to pass in between them. He followed you, leaving Gwen irritated and confused as to who you were. “Y/N. Can we talk later?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Nice sweater, though,” you quipped, not even turning back to meet his gaze before climbing the stairs towards the guest bathroom. Everything felt all too familiar, memories of you and Peter stumbling up the same steps after a date flooding your brain.

The first time Peter had kissed you was after MJ’s birthday party. Neither of you had been drinking, since you hated alcohol and Peter refused to touch any before he turned 21. This meant that you got to spend the whole night laughing at everybody else’s drunken mischief. 

In the middle of his performance of some Nicki Minaj song, Ned managed to spill a whole can of beer on you and Peter, which resulted in many cheers as the two of you ran to his room to grab a change of clothes. Shirts came off, confessions were made, and the party went on without you guys.

You took a deep breath, shutting the bathroom door behind you and sitting on the edge of the bathtub. If you had known Peter would end up being here, you would have never accepted Harry’s invitation. There were so many old wounds being opened up that you had spent months trying to heal, and you weren’t sure some stupid Christmas party was worth it. 

But you didn’t want to leave. It wasn’t fair how much the break up had stolen from you. All of your friends were here and you were tired of shying away from going out with them anymore because you were too scared to see Peter. Too scared that you would never be able to stop being in love with him.

By the time you rejoined the rest of your friends, Harry was announcing that it was time to start the game of White Elephant. You bit the edges of your fingernails as the party guests filed into Harry’s living room, hoping that Peter wouldn’t somehow pick your present.

“What’d you bring?” you asked Betty, squishing in next to her on the couch. 

“Gift card to In-N-Out,” she giggled, satisfied that her present could only be used on the other side of the country. “But Harry’s rich friends might not have any trouble flying their private jets to California, so maybe I’m not as clever as I thought.”

“Heard that,” Harry said, leaning behind you on the edge of the couch. He placed a quick kiss on your cheek, something the two of you had always done as friends but stopped once you started dating Peter. “Hey, Y/N. Glad you could make it.”

“Hey, you,” you replied, smiling back at him, your leg bouncing impatiently. “We doing this thing or what?”

“Yeah, yeah, give me a minute,” he laughed, running out of the room. Moments later, he came back wearing a fake beard and a Santa hat, complete with a miniature sack of toys. 

“Alright, boys and girls. Let’s get this game started! Hopefully you all know the rules, but I’ll repeat them anyway. I draw a name out of the sack, you pick a random present and open it up for everybody to see. The next person that goes can either steal your gift or pick a new one. If your gift gets stolen, you get to do the same. No stealing twice!”

The first couple of people you didn’t really know, and they had all pulled presents that were relatively uninteresting. A scented candle, toilet paper, a pair of socks. Nothing you really considered worth stealing, although Ned ended up taking a framed, autographed photo of Harry from MJ, which resulted in her stealing Gwen’s mini waffle iron.

By the time it was your turn, there weren’t many gifts left. Going with your gut, you grabbed the bag covered in glittering polar bears. Reaching past all of the tissue paper stuffed inside, you pulled out a red sweatshirt that you unfolded to see had a large graphic of Spider-Man printed on it. 

“Oh,” you said, a little confused. The only people you knew that wore stuff with the Avengers on it were little kids, but you figured that was part of the joke. “I mean, I prefer Captain America, but thanks, whoever this is from!”

Peter’s face blushed to a shade of red, amazed that out of all the presents, you picked his. The only issue was that you didn’t know that he was actually the guy on the front of it. Nobody except Ned knew, although he was sure that MJ and Harry had caught on to his secret identity by now.

“Okay, two people left. Jake, you’re up next, buddy,” Harry called out, happily bouncing around the room, his Santa hat now replaced with a baseball cap that had “I Love Ned!” embroidered on it. You watched nervously as he walked around the room, eyeing up all of the presents before settling on the tiny, golden box that you had placed under the tree when you first arrived.

“Let’s see what we’re working with,” he smirked. Your thoughts raced, immediately feeling a sense of regret over the gift you had picked. “Oh, shit. Sweet! I’ve got a date with Y/N!”

“Sup, baby,” Jake continued, his words slightly slurred. He pointed at you and winked, and you offered him a polite smile in return. “We’re gonna have a good time. Just name the time and place and I got you.”

“Awesome, congrats, man,” Harry said, obviously ready for the game to be over. It had been going for way longer than any of you had expected, mostly due to the fact that two girls wouldn’t stop arguing over a piece of rose quartz. “Okay, we’re nearly finished, guys. Peter, you’re up. Pick any of the gifts that haven’t been stolen yet, or the last one under the tree.”

You locked eyes with him, a familiar scowl on his face that told you he was thinking really hard about which gift to pick. His spidey-senses felt your heartbeat pick up as he walked around the room before stopping in front of Jake, who was busy gloating to his friend about how “hot” you were. Your face heated up as you watched Peter take the little note that you had written out of Jake’s hands, smugly gesturing for him to pick up the present under the tree.

He waved sheepishly at you, and you felt both relieved and angry at his decision. Did you want to go on that date with Jake? No. Were you still mad that, technically, you now had to go out with your ex-boyfriend? Yes.

The game ended and the party-goers dispersed throughout the apartment. You lingered in your spot on the couch, your arms crossed and heart full of mixed emotions. Peter, whose gaze never strayed from you, walked over to where you were sitting.

“We don’t actually have to go out,” he whispered, hoping that you’d actually look at him this time. “I just didn’t think you wanted to go out with that guy. He seemed like kind of an asshole.”

“Yeah, well, it would have been nice if you let me decide that. You’re not my boyfriend, anymore Peter. We aren’t even friends. You don’t get a say in who I go out on dates with,” you grumbled, your eyes focusing on everything in the room except for him.

Before you could say anything else, Peter had already grabbed you by the hand, dragging you away from the rest of the party. Strangely enough, you went along with it, a little curious to hear him out.

You started to remember your first date, and it was almost like you could hear his excited laughter after you finally managed to knock a pin down. It became a tradition that whenever you had something to celebrate, Peter would pick you up and twirl you around until you had to beg him to stop.

Your thoughts were interrupted by Peter slamming the door behind him and cornering you against it, his heartbeat racing. He had pulled you into the laundry room. “I can’t stand seeing you with anybody else,” he panted, eyes flickering down towards your mouth.

His hand pushed a piece of your hair behind your ear, and your breath hitched as you felt his rough fingertips against your skin. But before he could lean in to kiss you, you were ducking underneath his arm and backing away.

“Peter, we really shouldn’t,” you whispered, watching the disappointment wash over his face. No matter how much you wanted to kiss him, you just couldn't forget how he had broken your heart months ago. “It’s over, okay?”

“Y/N, please. I—”

“You what? You love me? Because last time we were together, I told you how much I loved you and you said that we should break up. Remember?” you cried, embarrassed at how you couldn’t control your emotions anymore. “You’re just… you’re too late.”

You fumbled with the door, slipping through the opening before rushing towards the balcony. As soon as the cold air hit you, a wave of relief washed over your body, and you laid your head against the metal railing. Your breathing slowed and time seemed to stand still as you watched the snowflakes flutter through the wind.

“Peter’s an idiot,” you heard a voice call out from behind you. You turned to see Harry holding an extra coat in his arms, and you started to wonder just how long you had been standing out there. He draped it over your shoulders before leaning next to you against the balcony’s edge.

“Huh?” you asked, wondering if he knew what had just happened. You looked at him, the multicolored Christmas lights reflecting off his shiny hair. “What do you mean?”

“He’s stupid for ever letting you go,” he remarked. He had a look in his eyes that made you unsure of what he actually meant. “I mean, look at you. You’re so beautiful, and smart, and funny. And if he was dumb enough to throw all of that away, then yeah, Peter’s an idiot.”

“Oh, thanks, I guess,” you shrugged, your voice faint under the music that was still playing inside. You looked at him, his cheeks a rosy hue, which you couldn’t tell was from the cold or whatever he was trying to tell you.

“You know, I used to have the biggest crush on you,” Harry admitted, laughing a little bit at how nervous he was. Everybody knew that he was a player, so being flustered over a girl was uncharted territory for him. “I never told you this, but you were my first kiss.”

“Wait, really?” you asked, a little shocked at his confession. “But I thought you kissed Sarah Emerson on the playground in the fifth grade?”

“Nope. I was just a liar,” he grinned, running a hand through his hair. “It was right before our eighth grade formal, when you asked me to teach you how to kiss because you were scared that Jeremy Pellegrino was going to try and french you.

“Oh! I forgot all about that,” you laughed, suddenly remembering just how long you and Harry had been friends. “Hold on a second... You gave me kissing lessons without knowing how to kiss!?”

“Guilty,” Harry chuckled as you punched him on the arm. “Ow! Damn, Y/N. When did you get so strong?”

“I have a lot of rage,” you mumbled before the two of you burst out into laughter, which slowly faded into a comfortable silence. 

“You don’t feel that way anymore, right?” you wondered out loud. Harry looked at you, smiling softly.

“No, not anymore,” he affirmed, and you let out a sigh of relief. You knew what it felt like to love someone and not be loved back. “I think what really helped me get over it was seeing how happy you and Parker were when you were dating.” 

“He misses you a lot,” Harry continued, his tone more serious than before. “He keeps this scarf that you left behind under his pillow because it still smells like you. I found out because he was having a pretty bad dream one night and I had to try really hard to calm him back down. And we both thought Gwen would help him move on and get his mind off of you, but I think she only made him realize just how much he still loves you—”

“Harry,” you interrupted, cutting his rambles short. “Why are you telling me all of this?”

“Because you and Peter should be together.”

“You think so?” you asked him, pulling the jacket tighter to keep you warm.

“Yeah. We all do.” It took only seconds for Harry to realize his fumble, accidentally admitting that the whole thing had been planned by him and your friends.

“We?” Your frowned, all of the coincidences from tonight suddenly making much more sense. “Wait, did you know that Peter was going to be here tonight all along?”

“Uh… yeah, about that. MJ, Ned, and I have kind of been pulling a Parent Trap on you guys.”

“HARRY!” You glared inside to see them not-so-secretly watching the entire exchange from behind the Christmas tree. Ned did some awkward finger guns, which MJ immediately swatted down. “I am so going to get you guys!”

You marched inside to where your friends were attempting to hide, the rest of the party guests too drunk and oblivious to notice what was happening. 

“The eagle has left the nest. I repeat, The eagle has left the nest!” Ned yelled, ducking behind MJ, who was already shielding herself with a throw pillow.

“What’s going on?” Betty whined, half-asleep on the couch. “Is this that stupid plan about Peter and Y/N?”

“It’s not stupid!” Harry grumbled, his voice cracking a little bit. You could hear MJ snorting about it from her hiding spot. “Whatever, Michelle.”

“Shut up!” she shouted back.

“No, you!” he said, crossing his arms and standing his ground.

“Make me,” MJ said, narrowing her eyes and shooting daggers at him.

“Uh, guys. This isn’t about you two,” Ned interrupted, snapping them out of their mini argument. There was a weird tension between them that you just knew you would have to address some time in the future.

“Right,” MJ continued, sticking a middle finger up at Harry before turning to you. “Y/N. You should go talk to Peter.”

You nodded, exchanging hopeful looks with each of your friends before walking away. They might be dramatic goofballs, but you loved them so much that you didn’t really care.

Wandering around the party, you spotted Peter trapped in a conversation with Brad Davis, who was explaining his conspiracy theories about the Denver Airport and its demonic horse statue.

“So, all I’m saying is that they’re totally planning the end of the world over there. I mean, the Freemasons built an entire bunker for when they activate the nukes!” he rambled, Peter politely nodding along to his nonsense.

“Hey,” you said, tapping Brad on the shoulder and batting your eyelashes at him. “Can I borrow Peter?”

“Uh, yeah, totally, Y/N,” he stuttered, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards into a smirk. You could smell the peppermint Schnapps on his breath.

“Great. Thanks, Brad!” you smiled, grabbing Peter’s hand and pulling him towards the staircase. By the time you made it to his bedroom, he had already asked what was going on about ten times.

“Why’d you dump me?” you asked, the two of you sitting together on the edge of his bed, your knee brushing against his. He could tell you were wasting no time in getting to the point. “Be honest.”

He stared at the floor, unsure of how to answer your question. You reached for his hand, running your thumb across his knuckles until he looked up to see you smiling at him. His eyes were starting to water. “Just tell me, Peter. It’s okay.”

“I was scared,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “I was scared of how much I love you. I mean, Liz was just a crush, and Gwen was a hookup. I’ve only ever loved you, Y/N. Before we met, I had to watch May’s heart break day after day when we lost Uncle Ben, and when I realized how much I loved you... I just wasn’t sure if I could handle ever losing you like that. And so I felt like I needed to protect you from all of the people who would want to hurt you.”

“Hey, Peter. Calm down. I’m right here,” you whispered, wiping a tear from his face. You watched as his breathing slowed, eventually evening out. “Why would anybody want to hurt me?”

“Because…” he started, hesitating a little bit. “Because I’m Spider-Man.”

Your eyes grew big as you mulled over what he had just said. “Are you being serious right now?”

He nodded, feeling a weight lift from his chest. Your eyes followed him as he walked over to his closet, digging around through piles of clothes before he found what he was looking for.

“Holy shit,” you breathed out. Peter was holding up Spider-Man’s suit. His suit. The sweatshirt from earlier made a lot more sense now.

“I would never lie to you,” he said, folding it up and sitting back down. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I thought I was doing the right thing—that you’d be safe—but I was so stupid. I, uh, I think about you all the time. I worry whether you’ve gotten home alright and how your little brother’s doing and if your mom got the promotion that she wanted and—”

You cut him off with a kiss, something you had been dying to do ever since you shut his bedroom door. “I forgive you,” you sighed, gently playing with his hair.

Peter stared back at you, a grin slowly spreading across his face. “Does this mean that we’re back together?”

“Yep,” you confirmed, before leaning into another kiss. And another. And another.

“Wait,” Peter said, breaking away from you. “I have a present for you. It’s actually from when we first started dating, but I was waiting until Christmas to give it to you.”

He moved to his desk, digging through one of the drawers before pulling out a flash drive. “Here it is,” he smiled, dropping it into your hand. It had your name scribbled on it next to a cat sticker. “It’s a playlist. Of all the songs that make me think of you. I think it’s got around a hundred on there?”

“Wow,” you beamed, marveling at the little piece of plastic in your hand. “You’re making me look bad. I didn’t get you anything.”

“Not true. You owe me a date, remember?” he reminded you, wiggling his eyebrows and pulling you into his lap.

“You’re right. Let me think,” you hummed, running through all the ideas of what the two of you could do. “Oh! I got it. The Central Park Squirrel Census for this year just got released. What if we analyzed the data? You could do the wrangling and I could do the visualizations!”

“I love you so much,” he laughed, pressing a kiss onto the tip of your nose. You giggled as Peter buried his face into your shoulder, his grip around your waist tightening. “But you are such a nerd.”

“I’m your nerd, Parker,” you agreed, leaning further into his embrace. “Always have been and always will be.”

—————-

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[unfortunatelysirius]

╰☆☆ ℕ𝕆𝕋 𝕐𝕆𝕌ℝ 𝔾𝕀ℝ𝕃𝔽ℝ𝕀𝔼ℕ𝔻 ☆☆╮ [Sirius Black – Marauders Era] [Part 14]

Previous Installments: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13

╰❂╮ prompt ╰❂╮ ☾ ¡Original! ☾ With the perpetrator on their tail, and Sirius’s prejudices no longer something that can be ignored, relationships shatter and a safe way out is near unimaginable. ╰❂╮ author’s note ╰❂╮ Sorry this is so, so late. I hope the installment is to your satisfaction. AND IM SORRY IT’S SO SHORT BUT PLS, FEEDBACK WOULD BE APPRECIATED AND I’LL BE MORE PROMPT ON UPDATES. Will be updating Chocolate Frogs and Love Notes soon. Tell me if you want added to any of my tag-lists! ╰❂╮ warnings ╰❂╮ Angst, Swearing, Violence ╰❂╮ word count ╰❂╮ 2043 ╰❂╮ tag-list ╰❂╮ @kapolisradomthoughts @rageofcaliban @saucyleftovers @bunnymother93 @siriuslyr5 @apareciumimagines  @random-quartz @ruefulposts @seabasstiantrash @starlightspidey @pinkettepoet @peppermintspecks @jiongyongguk​ @bethanystan​ @raindancer2004​ @where-are-my-gummy-bears​ @cutebutnotinorcent​

           IT WAS NEARLY MIDNIGHT, and a disturbing sort of cold Y/N thought she might never experience in her lifetime, shivers up and down her spine within the dark, suffocating corridor. The stars were like silver dewdrops splattered across the navy sky, visible through each old window’s silhouette littered around the castle; with every passing step, Y/N caught another glimpse of Nature’s finest canvas. She was curled into Sirius’s side, squished between his subtly muscled body and James’s near-identical shape, both Remus and Peter trailing the three of them by seconds. It was reminiscent of times that seemed so far away.

         Y/N thought it was all too good to be true. Everything, from her and Sirius falling back into same-old, same-old routine like they’d never left the honeymoon phase to James looking quite sullen compared to his usual upbeat, enthusiastic self. She wondered if it was all a twist on reality to make her think things were fine when really, Sirius wasn’t anywhere near, James still hated her, and the Marauders were leading her somewhere to hex and discard their latest “conquest.”  It made all the more sense the longer she thought about it, but thoughts of the way Sirius felt—flesh, bone, whole—made her realize she was daft, and just a little bit mad.

         He was so obviously here, a living, breathing wonder, and she was trying to make it a mirage. She wanted it that way.

         Or maybe she’d just went long enough with things going wrong that miracles seemed far too good to be true.

         “I have to meet with Regulus,” murmured Y/N into the quiet air, after the silence became a tad bit too smothering. She was also alert of her own negligence, from her delirious daze to her angry soul’s demands for an apology, as Sirius’s arm looped around her became a bone-crushing reality. Not so much a reality she craved anymore, but one that needed multiple bandages slapped across it; the Muggle way of rekindling old flames and licked wounds. Y/N was beginning to grow agitated and nervous, as this reality crushed down on her. As her newly-put-together world fell apart in the wake of unanswered questions. “He—wants to help. He thinks I was Obliviated.”

         Sirius glanced down at her, looking unsure, his own face not betraying the inner turmoil running their world ragged. The two of them didn’t know how to approach their current problem, the one that kept them from falling together as happy memories asked them to; Y/N was afraid of what lay in wait, Sirius’s admittance that he thought so lowly of her that for even a millisecond he thought she might have been a slag, and Sirius dreaded the moment he had to let his betrayal out into the open. Neither of them were willing to ruin their reconciliation by simple, trivial ire, the kind that winded up someone alone and heartbroken, the kind that could get anyone and everyone hurt.

         Even the most painful of thoughts were best kept internalized, if it meant staying locked tight in a dream.

         Even now, the two of them were so different. Differences Y/N once overlooked in favor of what made them compatible.  

“Regulus doesn’t care about anyone except for himself,” Sirius snapped at Y/N, the three Marauders looking nervous in anticipation for the argument to come. “He’s a Slytherin. The bloody git is tricking you.”

         “How the fuck would you know?” Y/N was never one for confrontation. This was all new territory. She was tired, and depressed, and dying of questions; she loved Sirius, she did, but he was still the prejudiced, arrogant prat he was before they started dating. He’d always hate Slytherins because he grew up in a world full of snakes that rejected him for being who he was, and maybe that was a drawn line for why they weren’t meant to last. He was the charismatic, hateful railroad tycoon, and she was his subdued wife that tiptoed around his temper. Stupid, foolish—she was letting herself use another goddamned Muggle analogy—Americanized, no less. Maybe Y/N was running low on a lucid mind as much as she was excuses.

         He knows nothing about Regulus, she thought anyway, looking into those silver grey eyes she’d always loved. Sirius didn’t. He refused to talk to his brother; maybe Regulus was growing into himself and losing that part of him that preened and prawned from pleasing his parents. If he was scared, if he was determined to find the truth because he wanted to sabotage dark plans, he never once betrayed it. But deep down, there was nothing else rational to explain his motivations, and Y/N knew he was a scared little boy afraid the monsters would someday catch up to him—

And they’d eat him alive like all wolves just so happen to do.

“Regulus is your brother,” continued Y/N. “He doesn’t want to be part of whatever it is your parents do. I can see it in his eyes.”

“You didn’t grow up with him. You didn’t see him do nothing when his brother was lying on the ground, with their father standing above him,” seethed Sirius. “Don’t act like you know him; you sure as hell don’t.”

Y/N felt like crying, as she wrenched herself away from Sirius’s warm, comforting embrace. “Don’t act like you know me,” she spat. Sirius’s jaw fell downwards, a flicker of hurt flitting across his face. “Go mope in your dorm. I’m getting down to the bottom of this, with or without you.”

Sirius was silent. Y/N continued to watch him, imploring him to say something, wishing he wouldn’t just let her leave. If she left, she could get hurt, and Sirius wouldn’t be her knight in shining armor. They went so long in turmoil that Y/N wanted there to be some sort of compromise; if they could argue and fight for so long, the two a mess with their friends on the fence on how to fix them, then they sure as hell could be soft and melted together, too. Maybe they were different, maybe Sirius couldn’t let his old ways go, but truth be told—Y/N always wanted to show him a new perspective.

She’d tried doing that before things went wrong.

“Really, Sirius?” she said now, staring brokenly at him. “We could finally figure this out, and you’re backing down? Really?”

“Whoever’s done this is dangerous,” Sirius told her. His voice had lost all its shake, all its fury, rendered a new sort of mellow Y/N had hardly ever seen from him. He looked like he itched to hold her and reassure he was just an asshat, but his asshat ways betrayed none of his true love for her, or his need to protect her. None, nada, zilch: right? He was a teenage boy, a prat, but he didn’t mean anything out of his pathetically unfiltered mouth. “I want you safe, Y/N. We should leave this to the professors.”        

Those words were foreign out of his mouth. Y/N took a heavy breath and she said, “Sirius, do you even hear yourself? Merlin, what’s happened to you?”

“What’s happened to me? Me?” Sirius’s laugh was humorless. “You’re bloody mad.”

“Sirius, Y/N, this isn’t the best time,” said Remus, looking between the two with apprehension.

“This is the best time, Remus,” Y/N said, refusing to look at any of them. She knew Peter was fidgeting; she knew James was gap-mouthed like a pufferfish; she knew Remus was trying to hide his trepidation. She knew Sirius was silently seething. All of them, they weren’t clearly thinking. They didn’t have their nerves together. Y/N was terrified that solving the bottom of the mystery would never come if they fell apart before they came together. But Y/N could no longer go on if her experience with the love of her life was only going to be heartache and pain, two things she had felt since coming to this God-awful school.

You’re not any better than him, thought Y/N, her brain suddenly going to Ashton. He was dead, and she’d never get to see him again; she’d never get to tell him she was sorry, that she never meant to use him, that he was someone she came to love in her desperation to feel. He taught her about love. He taught her that it was okay to be without for a little while because wholes always regain their lost pieces. Maybe he threw her into an abyss after he broke her heart that left her sad and lost of all hope, but now, with her head on her shoulders again, she could safely say he taught her a lot—yet she gained nothing.

Y/N was happy with Sirius, but he did not teach her anything. He was a fun partner in crime, but when it truly came down to life lessons, he wasn’t a teacher; he was along for the ride, a mere passenger in a bus packed to the brim with faces from the crowd.

Standing in the hallway, letting these thoughts wash over her, Y/N could not do this anymore. She needed to find Regulus and reach the climax of this game. Someone was toying with her and her feelings, and if she didn’t put a stop to it, if she didn’t find a way to draw the villain out and stifle the madness, there was no way for her to get peace—and she’d stay stuck in an endless cycle of being a living ghost.

“I can’t anymore, Sirius,” whispered Y/N. “I can’t.”

She turned around and ran.

The Marauders watched after her, one looking horrified, two looking shocked, and the one this mattered to most—he looked heartbroken.

And none of them even bothered to go after her, as the guilt sunk in and they realized—

Was the love-potion maker truly the villain? Or was it them?

-

Y/N had stopped running after reaching the fourth corridor. She eventually stopped walking altogether. Her pace slowed until it was nonexistent, her harsh, shaking breaths fell into soundless sniffs, her erratic thoughts slowly but surely came to a close. All she could think about now was Regulus, who was waiting at the library for her presence. And that half-blurry, half-familiar memory of a white-haired girl in the very same forest Y/N was in herself

Y/N knew it mattered. She knew she’d been Obliviated, and she was foolish not to go to Headmaster Dumbledore for help in retrieving her memories… but she was a foolish girl, and foolish girls wanted to figure out mysteries by themselves.

“I’m a bloody fool,” mumbled Y/N to herself, clutching her head like that would heal all trace of confusion, as well as her sadness. It wouldn’t, but it felt like it did—so Y/N continued to grope at her temples and scalp. The corridor echoed with spooky creaks and even spookier whistles. Y/N felt regret seep into her bones, as she realized she was still a bit of ways away from the library—and she was totally, utterly, completely alone.

Y/N heard someone laugh.

“You are a bloody fool,” they said.

Out from the end of the corridor emerged a girl, whose entire face and hair were obscured by shadows—but the pretty little patch on her robes had a snake on them. Y/N knew it was a Slytherin. But all she saw was the patch, as her body and face were near invisible—and even then, the patch’s emblazoning was blurry to her. She felt her head grow light, her eyes squinting to see within the darkness. She was so caught in looking at the patch to even pay any regard to the words the stranger spoke or the wand as it lifted, pointing right at Y/N’s chest.

“Who are—”

The girl flicked her wrist. “Stupefy,” she said.

Suddenly Y/N was knocked off her feet by a powerful spell, the backlash sending her head cracking against the corridor wall, rendering her immobile and near-unconscious.

She felt her body crumble, but only half of the way—a steady stream of numbness shooting through her like lightning.

         The stranger walked up, a laugh emptying from her mouth.

“Got you!” the girl sang happily.

That was when things went black.

[ineffable-dads]

A. Z. Fell and Co.

Good Omens OCs, Peter Walsh, Isabelle Crowley, Snake!Crowley, FLUFF, Awkwardness, Peter being a soft bean

Summary: The first time Peter Walsh and Isabelle Crowley meet.  Crowley is amused.

A/N: I know nobody is going to read this, but I just wanted to write about my OCs meeting. If, however, you do read this PLEASE COMMENT AND REBLOG!!!

Word Count: 3.3K

           Peter Walsh stood silently for a long while staring up at the words scrawled carefully across the top of the corner shop. 

          A.Z. Fell and Co. had long been a rumor among the lecture halls at University, particularly in the religious studies department.  Students, professors, and even professors of the professors talked about the shop like it was a mystic castle on the moors, only appearing in the light of a blue moon.

          Despite his major or perhaps because of it, Peter put little stock in the supernatural.  Similar description of the supposed owner across all tellings as a dapper, slightly plump middle-aged gentlemen with white blonde hair and blue eyes and a propensity to kick one out of the shop with polite determination, could be written off with some degree of logic.  

          Strong genetics could certainly be a factor if the business was passed down through the generations. There was also the fact people had the amazing ability to create images out of whole cloth.  For example, it is widely accepted in the western consciousness that the devil is associated with fire and the color red.  There was no evidence for it and even some decidedly against, but the image isn’t liable to die any time soon.  A.Z. Fell and Co. and its mysterious owner had simply fell victim to a similar affliction, Peter was sure of it.

          All the same, there were things about the stories that did intrigue him; namely, the supposed quantity of quality religious text which lay within it’s walls.  It was why he had tried to find it when he was in London, how he came to discover it had moved some twenty-five years previously, and was what finally brought him to the South Downs to a tiny shop snuggly placed in the corner of a quaint seaside village.  It had taken him some time to get there and he wanted to breath in the moment of a job well done.

          “Right,” he told himself.  “Best foot forward then.”

          A small chime of the bell welcomed him as the distinct musk of old books washed over his senses.

          It was a bookshop if ever a shop had books in it.  It was the kind of bookshop he read about as a child just before the protagonist was whisked away on some wild adventure. It had the right smell, the comforting soft browns of faded spines and the perfect temperature for curling beside the nearest window and laying there for hours.

          He only had to take a cursorily glance at the titles to know the rumors didn’t do the collection justice.  He picked up a random book to find not only was it a first edition of The Voyage Out, but it was signed by Virginia Woolf herself.  

          Upon seeing the signature, he all but snapped the book shut and placed it back on the shelf. He wasn’t entirely sure he was allowed to breath near the collection.

          His eyes made a quick turn around the space.  There was no one else there.  Not even the mysterious owner who he was growing more curious to see.  The door was unlocked and there was no closed sign. Just as it occurred to him, he ought to call out to someone, he heard a small rustling behind one of the shelves followed by low, indistinguishable whispers.

          He let out a small breath, relieved he hadn’t accidentally committed a minor felony, and wandered over to the line of shelves.  He turned the corner ready to greet the mysterious Mr. Fell, but the words died before they could even enter his throat.

          A woman stood before him.  A very pretty woman.  A very pretty woman near his own age, who looked more at home among the shelves than anyone had a right to.  She was dressed like a bookkeeper from her long skirt and buttoned up blouse to her large round spectacles. In her hand was cradled a tanning copy of what could only be a first edition of Oscar Wilde’s Poems in Prose. Even her mass of black curls only seemed to cement the impression of an eccentric intellectual as they perfectly framed her high cheekbones and brought a compliment to her dark skin.

          The only thing to prevent his eyes from focusing solely on her, was their current preoccupation with the massive black python wrapped around her neck as comfortably as a knitted scarf.  Its large head hung gently in the air at the same level where the woman held her book. If Peter hadn’t known better, he might have thought it was reading along.

          “Can I help you?”

           The words snapped him back to attention as he tore his eyes away from the snake.

          He was suddenly very aware of the pounding in his chest and the fact his eyes had been wide open for solid minute.  He blinked a few times in a row to make up the difference all while willing his heart to move back to a jogging speed.

          He focused his attention now fully on the woman. This did little to help his nerves, but he found it easier to deal with.  He had only been scared silent by something capable of killing twice in his life.  One time after crossing through the neighbor’s yard when he was six only to be confronted with their rather enthusiastic guard dog and another after nearly getting hit by a spooked horse when he was twelve. Both experiences left him rather shaken and he hadn’t developed a system for coming down after the experience.  Being scared silent by girls decidedly prettier than him, however, was something he had perfected.

           “R-religious texts?” he managed.

           The women stared at him a moment, a look of surprise quickly running across her features.  “Two shelves down, near the front desk.”

           Peter nodded, and quickly moved in that direction.

           He was only partially aware of the murmuring behind him.  The words “your idea” and “doesn’t scare easy” being the only clear ones. A part of him wanted to linger on the words and their meaning, but more pressing matters pushed the urge aside; namely, the largest collection of Bibles and books of prophecy he had ever seen in his life.  

          His mouth gaped as he stared at the titles.  It was a theologian’s dream come true.  

          He let his eyes wander up and down the shelves not daring to soil any of the spines with his bare hands. He wondered if he should ask for a pair of gloves, but quickly dismissed the notion. The idea of having to face both the woman and her snake gave him a fresh wave of anxiety.  Instead, he pulled his sleeve over his hand and carefully pulled a book off the shelf.

          A deafening hiss came from behind the book just before a flash of black scales snapped out of the dark opening.

          Peter jumped back, barely managing to keep hold of the book.  The snake stared back at him with dangerous yellow eyes. Another hiss filled the air as its tongue flicked in and out of its open mouth.  Peter then remembered snakes smelled with their tongues and was left with the same feelings a chicken has when cornered by hungry fox.

          “That one isn’t for sale.”

          The voice came straight into his left ear.  He whipped around to see the woman standing barely three feet from him. Her arms were crossed, her eyes narrowed, and her lips were pressed into a fine line. In that moment, he wasn’t sure if he should be more frightened of her or the snake.

          With caution, he slowly moved his hand back toward the shelf.  

          The snake seemed to understand as it retreated from it hole, allowing him to put the book back in its place.  Unfortunately for Peter, the snake had decided to take a more precarious spot on top of the bookshelf, allowing it to keep its eyes on him and within biting distance.

          Peter moved down the shelf, his eyes glancing between the snake, books, and the woman equally.  His hand went for another title only for the snake to give the same warning hiss.

          “That one isn’t for sale either,” the woman confirmed.

          Peter didn’t even bother to look as he hand when for another book.  

          Another hiss.

          “Not that one either.”

          A pause followed.  Peter felt the need to stay something, but the number and variety of stressors currently looking at him left him drawing a blank.  He could only think in clichés and so let out a cough.

“Are these all on reserve?” he asked.

          The woman’s expression didn’t change. “They’re not for sale.”

          He nodded. His mind clinging to the wall as it crept cautiously towards an idea. He wasn’t going to leave empty handed. He was sure about that, but clearly a change of tactics was in order.  Part of the legend of this place was the owner attachment to all of his books. Of course, he wouldn’t have a shop if he didn’t want people to at least look at the books, would he?

          “Well, what if I don’t want to buy one?” he said, his mouth moving at the same pace as he mind; slowly, but with forward momentum.

          “Excuse me?”  The woman’s tone was more curious than accusatory.  

          Peter felt a small relief, giving him the boost he needed and picked up speed.

          “I just want to look at them,” he explained.  “I’m a student, you see, and frankly I can’t afford this stuff to begin with.  Not stuff! I don’t mean it like that.  I just mean…this is an amazing collection and I wouldn’t want to sell them either.  But, you see, I really, really need to look at these books.  Study them, I mean.  I’ve got a dissertation to finish by PhD, and I literally can’t find works like this anywhere else.  You don’t have to sell them to me, if you don’t want.  And if you’ve got buyers for some of them, I understand, but if I could just read them.  I’ll rent them if you like.  Or hold my kidney’s ransom or whatever it is you want, but…”

          He took a breath, finally getting his thoughts in some kind of coherent order.

          “The simple fact is; I need these books.  And they’re not going to be much use to anyone sitting on the shelf.  Books are meant to be read and appreciated and learned from, and that’s what I’m trying to do.  So, let me. Please.”

          The woman, stared up at him with an unreadable expression.  Despite his instincts, Peter maintained eye contact. Even if he couldn’t express why, he knew it was imperative he didn’t so much as blink during her investigation.

          A small tug came to the corner of her lip until it formed into an amused half smile.

          “That was quite an impassioned speech.”

          She looked just a little impressed with him, and Peter felt his heart beat harder against his ribs.  He was sure he was blushing too but was in no position to do anything about it.

          “I meant it,” he said, his voice surprisingly steady, given the state of his insides.

          “I’m sure you did. Was that your plan all along?”

          “What?”

          “Well you’re not from around here, obviously,” she said, matter-of-factly. “So that must mean you heard about this place when it was in London.  And if you heard of it, you must have also heard about how the owner doesn’t actually like to part with part of their collection.”

          Peter knew this was coming to something and so said cautiously, “More or less.”

          “So that begs the question,” the woman continued, “was your plan to come all the way down here to the South Downs, to treat the shop as your own personal library?”

          Peter opened his mouth.  It hung there a moment, but no sound came out.  He closed it again.

          She looked at him expectantly, with the same unreadable expression he was starting to think was her default setting.

          “It wasn’t plan A.” He said it slowly, unsure what line he crossed but trying to show atonement for whatever it was.

          The woman let out a laugh.  It was clear, bright, and if it hadn’t been at his expense, he would have enjoyed it immensely.

          “I’m just messing with you,” she assured. “I’m sure it won’t be a problem.”

          Peter blinked. “What really?”

          She nodded.  “I’ll have to double check with Papa, but I’m sure he won’t mind.”

          “Oh,” he said, unable to keep the smile off his face.  The legend might still have some truth to it yet.   “Your Papa is the owner, then?”

          “Yes.”

          “So that would make you Ms. Fell?”

          “It would make me Ms. Crowley,” she corrected.

          The look of confusion must had been evident on his face as she elaborated. “My Dad got first dibs on the name. Though that does leave me curious, do you call every girl you meet, miss?”

           “Only the ones that scare me.”

           A wide smile spread across her face and Peter was faced with the mortifying realization he had said the words out loud.

           “If I told you my name was Isabelle, would you be less scared,” she asked, still laughing at him behind her eyes.

           Peter’s lip twisted upward despite himself.  He did like her laugh, even the silent ones.

           “Just a bit,” he said. “I’m Peter by the way, Peter Walsh.”

           He offered her his hand, which she immediately took in hers.

           “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Peter Walsh.”

           “Nice to meet you too, Miss Isabelle Crowley.”

           Their hands dropped.  Peter swore he could feel his hand tingle ever so slightly.

           “I suppose I’ll be seeing you around then,” she said.  

           “Yeah,” Peter said, the thought of seeing her again leaving his brain a little fuzzy.  He would be seeing her quite a bit if this worked out with her Dad. Almost every day.  He did have a paper to finish after all.

          Her head tilted to the side, her eyes narrowing slightly in confusion.  

          His stomach dropped then.  He had been staring too long.

          “Right!” he said, just a little too loudly. “Of course you will.” He pointed vaguely towards the door behind him, not having it in him to fully turn away from her. “I’ll just see myself out and see you tomorrow, maybe?”

           She shrugged. “Only if you want to get started sooner rather than later.”

           He stared to nod. “Yes. Good. Research. Books.  I definitely need to get started. Tomorrow.” He couldn’t stop nodding, even as he slowly made his way towards the front door.

          His back hit something hard, and it was only then did he realize he hadn’t bothered to turn around.  He whipped around to see the shelf he had run into rock slightly, but not damage had been done.  

          Just above his head, he heard a small hiss.  He looked up to see the snake staring at him. He didn’t think snakes were capable of showing any real emotion, but in that moment, he could have sworn the serpent was laughing at him.

          He looked to Isabelle.  She was trying her best, but the smile on her face would not be contained by the hand over her mouth.

          Peter gave a short laugh, as if that would make it less embarrassing, and all but ran out of the shop.

           The door shut behind him with a chime as cool sea air poured into his lungs. He took heaping gulps of it as if he had just come up from a deep dive.  It hadn’t been real, had it? Logically it must have. It had just happened.  All the same, the cobble stones beneath his feet, the sun glowing behind thin cloud, and the breeze against his skin felt more real than anything he had experienced in the last ten minutes.  He turned back around, half expecting for the shop no longer to be there, like in all the story books where the protagonist can never find the little door beneath the staircase or the hole in the fence once they come back from the other side.  But there it stood.  The sign A. Z. Fell and Co. still hung over the shop door.  Shelves of books could be made out through the window and Isabelle Crowley walked among them, book in hand, and the snake draped once again around her neck.  

          Peter took another breath and let it out slowly.

           “Fuck me.”

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

           Isabelle couldn’t hold it in any longer.  As soon as the door chimed shut, she let out a hearty laugh.

           Her Dad joined her, his laughter coming out in a series of high pitched hisses.  

           “I think that went rather well,” he mused.

           “Yes, you’ve successfully traumatized a grad student,” Isabelle said.

           “Asss if you wasn’t your idea.”

           Isabelle rolled her eyes and walked over to the shelf the serpent was perched on. She held out her arm, allowing him to slither down and curl himself around her neck.

           “Do you think he will come back?” Isabelle asked, idly.

           “Oh, I think ssso,” Crowley answered.  “Ssseemed like the determined sssort.  Besidesss, he’s got a reason to come back.”

           Isabelle nodded, taking a quick glance around at the shelves of books and all the knowledge they contained.

           “I suppose you’re right,” she said. “There really is no other place like it, is there?”

           Crowley hissed out a chuckle.  

           She looked down at him, her brows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

           He shook his head.  “Nothing Izz, just sometimes, you act exactly like Aziraphale.”

           She laughed it off, or at least tried to.  The sound never even made it to her throat.  She had assumed he was referring to her clear love of books, but something in his eyes told her otherwise.

           “What did you think of him?” Crowley asked, before she could linger on the feeling.

           “Who? Peter?”

           Crowley shot her a sardonic look.

           She shrugged, not knowing what else to do.  “I don’t know.  He seemed nice enough.  A nervous wreck, but you did almost bite his face off.”

           “Is that all?”

           She stood silent for a moment. She wasn’t sure what to make of him.  Everything in his demeanor and tone painted the image of a shy, slightly awkward academic. He was slim, but not overly so.  Tall, but not too tall.  A little pale, no doubt from the lack of sunlight in dark achieve basements.  His hands fidgeted, but she didn’t get the impression he was perpetually nervous.  All the same, there was something else about him.

          His little speech spoke of an underlining passion. He knew what he had come there for and wasn’t going to leave until he got it. It hinted at a confidence she was interested to see more of.

          Yes, she would like to see him again.  She would like to talk to him and see if she could get him to smile that wide smile which lit up those green eyes of his. She couldn’t think of a single person she’d met with proper green eyes like that.

          “Wouldn’t mind talking to him again,” she admitted. “Why do you ask?”

          Crowley rocked his head from side to side, giving the effect of shrugging without shoulders.  “No reason, just ssseemed like a bright young lad.”

          Isabelle narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Why is it I feel like you know something I don’t?”

           “That’s because I do.”

           Isabelle frowned, but Crowley countered by playfully nudging her with his scaly head.

          “Nothing you need to worry about, my girl, crosssss my heart.  All will reveal itself, soon enough.”

           She wanted to press the matter, but let it go.  If her Dad wanted to play his little game, she’d let him.  No real harm could come of it.

           “So, which one of us is going to tell Papa we’re allowing someone to rent his books?”

           “I did no such thing,” Crowley defended.  “That’sss all on you.  You explain it to him.”

           She let out a groan.  

           “No good deed goes unpunished,” he teased.

           “Right,” she grumbled.

           It really was going to be a trick convincing her Papa.  But then she thought of Peter, and all her doubts melted away. She could do it.  She told him she could, and she would.  No matter what it took.

[frizz22]

Restoring What Was Lost

JuJuChick30 prompt: Madam Spellman, Lilith bringing Vinegar Tom back for Zelda. Read on ao3

Zelda sat in her new office at the academy, elbows on the desk, rubbing her temples. Though she was well suited to the position of high priestess, Zelda couldn’t help but feel a bit overwhelmed. Where before select coven members and staff at the academy would have handled many of the everyday tasks that went into running the church and school, they were greatly depleted. She still couldn’t fathom what Faustus thought he’d accomplish by poisoning the coven, they’d have followed him anywhere... even off a proverbial cliff, it appeared.

Regardless of Faustus’ motives, Zelda was left short staffed in cleaning up his mess. Meaning most responsibilities fell to her and her alone. She hadn’t slept in a week, the pep up potions she kept nicking from Hilda, her black expressos, cigarettes and a staunch refusal to fail the only things keeping her going. 

But even those could only take her so far. And Zelda could feel the beginnings of a headache at the base of her skull; already knowing it’d grow into a monster if she didn’t address it now. And that meant eating a full meal, drinking something that wasn’t caffeinated and getting some rest.

Though she felt a twinge if guilt for taking time for herself when there was still so much to do, Zelda reasoned that perhaps she’d get a bit more done if she took a break. Pushing back from her desk and looking over to where Vinegar Tom was perched in his basket by the fireplace, Zelda ran a hand through her hair with a sigh. “What do you think, Vin, time to go home?” She asked, slowly standing and wincing at the stiffness in her joints; she’d been at her desk for almost the entire day.

Before she could go more than a few steps, the fire roared to life; Lilith’s calling card. Pinching the bridge of her nose, Zelda leaned against the front of her desk and tried not to look as worn as she felt as the new Queen of Hell emerged from the flames.

“What can I do for you, your highness?” She arched a brow, too tired to do more than pay the bare respects.

Inclining her head, Lilith walked over to where Zelda kept the whiskey and poured them each a glass. “I need to not be surrounded by demons seeking favor for ten minutes,” she exhaled loudly, slumping in a chair in front of Zelda and holding out one glass while she drank deeply from the other.

Not one to pass up alcohol, even if it wouldn’t help her headache, Zelda took the glass and half saluted the witch in front of her before drinking as well. “Being Queen not all it was cracked up to be?” She asked impertinently; she’d had a healthy fear for Lucifer, built up over centuries of tales and firsthand experience to his cruelty... but Lilith? Lilith was still half school marm in Zelda’s mind and an interfering one at that. Which meant she had much less of a problem talking to the woman and speaking her mind.

The comment had a bark of laughter escaping the brunette. “I could ask you the same.” Lilith gestured around the office, indicating to the piles of papers and books that covered nearly every surface. “You look exhausted, being high priestess taking its toll?” She inquired over the rim of her glass.

Seeing no reason to lie, Zelda shifted a bit until she was sitting on the desk instead of leaning against it. “Yes. Though if I had more witches, I don’t think it’d be an issue. We’re severely low in numbers, the ones that didn’t follow Faustus were poisoned. Despite Prudence’s efforts we were only able to save about three quarters of them. Some of the survivors fled, wanting to avoid the drama and the new knowledge that the Gates of Hell are at our front door scared more than it emboldened. I have my hands full, to say the least.”

“What if,” Lilith murmured, swirling the remaining liquid in her glass and not meeting Zelda’s eye. “What if I could get you some help?” She glanced up at Zelda who scoffed.

Peering into the fire where it was still going, Zelda shook her head. “If you can find it where I could not, then you truly are the Queen of Hell. I’ve checked and reached out everywhere; other witches and covens are keeping their distance, afraid to provide assistance. They are sure Lucifer will return and punish us; they don’t want to be included in that punishment for helping.”

Lilith hummed and set her drink down. “What do I get,” she asked, the corner of her mouth curling up, “when I find you some help?”

Rolling her eyes, Zelda brought her gaze back to Lilith. “I’ll invent some new holiday celebrating you.” She remarked, sarcasm dripping from her lips.

Unimpressed, Lilith stood and walked over to the fire and placed a gentle hand on Vinegar Tom’s back and whispered a spell. Her familiar twitched, then blinked, then stepped partially out of his basket, stretching, his tongue curling as a soft whine left him.

“Vin?” She whispered, tumbler still half full of whiskey slipping from her fingers and landing with a dull thud on the carpet, spilling its contents as it rocked to a stop. He finished stretching and bounded over to her, his entire body wriggling in excitement. “Oh, oh, Vin!” Zelda dropped to her knees to hug the restored dog now eagerly trying to lick her face. “Beelzebub, I’ve missed you so much. Oh, there is so much to tell you, oh Vin.” Tears were forming in her eyes as she clutched at her familiar who she’d thought was lost to her forever. “Oh my dear Vin,” she whispered, burying her face into his fur to hide the tears in her eyes, not wanting to cry (even happy tears) in front of the Queen of Hell.

Finally bringing her gaze up to Lilith, Zelda couldn’t help but beam. Standing, Zelda shook her head in disbelief. “I can’t, you really, I, thank you.” She kissed Lilith briefly on the lips in her excitement and gratitude, not even thinking of the action until Lilith’s hand was suddenly on her elbow, stopping her as she’d bent down to lavish Vinegar Tom with more attention.

“While this may not be the help you asked for,” Lilith breathed, drawing Zelda back towards her. “Returning your familiar to you, to ensure you are caring for yourself...” she arched a knowing brow and her other hand came up to tuck some hair behind Zelda’s ear. “That’s the help you need. I cannot lose you; especially not to yourself if you continue pushing your body this far.” She murmured, hand sliding from next to Zelda’s ear to the back of her neck, bringing Zelda even closer. “Besides, I had to reward my most devout witch,” Lilith leaned in and Zelda’s breath hitched a bit at her words and proximity. “The one who helped put me on the throne, who is helping build up my regime.” She stepped a bit closer, their noses brushing each other as her nails scratched softly and deliciously against Zelda’s neck and scalp. The contact had her heart pounding and electricity crackling up her spine. “It was the least—” Lilith closed the distance between them, touching her lips to Zelda’s, “I—" another short, soft kiss, that left Zelda wanting more, “could—" another kiss, this one longer, “do.” She murmured, sealing her mouth over Zelda’s completely, hungry.

And Zelda returned the kiss eagerly, her hands snaking around the brunette to pull her closer and angling her head to deepen the kiss, their tongues dancing and hands clutching at one another. When they finally broke, it was only because Vinegar Tom was butting his head against their legs, whining.

Still in Lilith’s embrace, Zelda laughed as she looked down at her familiar. “Yes, I’m sorry, I should have realized you’d be hungry.” Lilith took advantage of her distraction and planted several long, slow kisses along her neck, making Zelda stutter. “Dec—, decades spent frozen will do that, won’t it?” She managed, head tilting on its own accord to give Lilith better access. The brunette hummed her approval and pressed her body harder against Zelda’s making her gasp. “Perhaps we could continue this at the house? I could feed Vin and we, we could....” She petered off as Lilith found her favorite spot just under her jaw.

Halting her ministrations, Lilith pulled back and arched a brow. “We could.” She agreed, giving Zelda a wolfish grin but then stepped away completely. “But we won’t. You need to rest.”

Zelda swallowed and smoothed her dress down. “Of course, your highness. Excuse my assumption.” She turned away to hide the disappointment and embarrassment sweeping through her.

A pair of hands bracketed Zelda’s hips and tugged her back, so that they were slotted against Lilith’s. “Don’t misunderstand me, Zelda.” She purred, tipping her chin up to rest it on Zelda’s shoulder. “I want this,” her hands squeezed Zelda’s hips deliciously before they roamed her curves and she nuzzled Zelda’s neck. “And had I known bringing your familiar back was all I needed to do for a kiss,” she sighed dramatically and dropped her hands. “But as much as I’d like to…” and Zelda turned to face her again, face now carefully neutral until she saw the raw lust in Lilith’s eyes. “As much as I’d like to,” Lilith repeated, as though convincing herself as well as Zelda that they shouldn’t continue. “You need to care for yourself first... only then,” she captured Zelda’s lips in a slow, sensual kiss as she ground their hips together. “Then I will take care of your… remaining needs.”

With that Lilith stepped away once more, winked and disappeared into the flames and back to Hell.

At a loss, Zelda stood there, staring into the flames with a hand on her lips and the other in her stomach where heat was pooling. Not entirely sure what had just happened but pleased about it nonetheless. Vinegar Tom barked at her and sat at her feet, head cocked expectantly.

Regaining herself, Zelda chuckled and knelt to pet his ears. “I don’t know, Vin. That was the first time. I, I don’t know what else to tell you except that I’m looking forward to exploring whatever it might be.” With one last look at the fire, a smile coming unbidden to her lips, Zelda teleported the two of them home.

[suckerforsmylex]

Burn One Up for Me, Baby

It was a shitty, little, greasy spoon. The kind housed in the skeleton of an old rail car. It was a fossil from the forties, with a long, sit-down counter, slow service, and a greasy, dirty-apron-ed, cook in the back. Sylvie had only meant to work there for a summer, but here it was, almost two years to the date, and she was still working the graveyard shift a couple of nights a week. On late nights, Sylvie served double duty as waitress and cook. It worked well because nearly nobody ordered food at this time of night. Once she made it past the late-night dinner rush, it was all coffee, donuts and the occasional pieces of pie. She could pour a herself a cup and read or get lost looking at nonsense on her phone.  July was always disgustingly sticky in Gotham, and tonight was no different, even though it was nearly midnight. 

Sylvie lazily poured a cup of mediocre coffee into a coffee cup and took a sip from it and promptly spit it out. It was nasty. This wasn't the place to try it black. She poured a ridiculous amount of whatever was in the pink packets into the cup and followed it up with a healthy dose of cream like she normally did.  The owners were nice enough, but they penny pinched, and they never had the yellow packet stuff that Sylvie preferred. She stood against the counter drinking coffee and wiping aimlessly at an invisible spot with a damp rag.

Earlier that night, someone came in and ordered breakfast for dinner. It was a common occurrence but the grease from the bacon frying up on the flattop had left an oily spatter, barely visible on the dusty blue fabric of her lightly starched dress. The white Peter Pan collar was another story. The fabric of it was tarnished with an oily stain.  Finally having a moment to herself, Sylvie reached for the collar, pulling at it to assess the damage and then applying some water to it. It did nothing to remove the stain and she groaned audibly. She was working so hard at scrubbing at the fabric, that she barely heard the Joker’s voice coming from across the counter at her. “Tsk, tsk. That’s going to be a permanent stain, sweetheart.”  

He spoke softly enough, but Sylvie was startled and jumped backwards, knocking into the wood where the counter wrapped around in the tiny space.  His eyes were the first thing she noticed. It was an almost laughable thing to observe initially, considering his many absurdly conspicuous features.  His hair was a shock of snake green, slicked back and wild in the front, as if he’d been into something physical recently. His mouth was a mess of shiny metal.  He wore a black button down with the sleeves rolled up, revealing his forearms, inky with tattoos.  His fingers were ringed in gold and his knuckles were bloodied.

Even still, she noticed his eyes first.  They were crystal blue and she had never seen any like his before, so vast and beautiful, looking back into her own, ruddy brown. She was so taken with him, that she could almost feel her own pupils dilating.  He was a dose of deadly nightshade, in human form.  He sat there for a moment, glaring at her and grinning, clearly amused by the fright he’d given her and then he leaned forward, squinting to make out the name on the tag she wore and beckoning at her with a finger. “Come here…Sylvie.  What a pretty name.”  He exhaled and then said her name again, drawing out every syllable as he smirked at her.  “Syyyllllvvvviiiee…you can call me Mister J.”  Sylvie swallowed and walked forward slightly, grabbing a laminated, one-page menu and set it in front of him.  “It’s nice to meet you, Mister J.” He grabbed it from her excitedly, grazing her finger with his and lingering there for a moment before pulling it away completely. He was a vicious flirt.  

Sylvie had her fair share of flirts that came in to court her occasionally.  She knew how to deal with them, remaining pleasant while ducking their advances.  She only had to call the police once when one of her regulars had too much to drink and wouldn’t leave her alone.  Sylvie had dealt with all of it, in fact.  The rowdy drunks, the two-bit criminals, the assholes, the weirdos.  It was one of the reason’s she was still working the godforsaken graveyard shift.  Sylvie knew how to handle herself better than any of her predecessors, and yet, she couldn’t figure out why she was so unnerved by the strange man. He let his gaze fall over the short menu for a moment and then let his eyes rise back up to hers.  “What do you recommend?”  She thought for a moment and then giggled out an answer, sounding giddier than she intended to.  “It depends what you like.  Maybe you’re a meat and potatoes kinda’ guy.  Myself?  I’m partial to grilled cheese.”  The Joker considered that for a moment and chuckled.  “I’m starving, Sylvie.  I think I could eat one of everything on the menu.  Maybe I’ll do that.  How does that sound? You want to cook one of each for me, sugar?”  Sylvie let out a full bellied laugh and reached out to grab his forearm playfully.  “You do that, Mister J, and we’ll be here all night.  But I won’t be able to keep you company because I’ll be on the flattop slaving away.”  When her fingers met his skin, he snarled and pulled back instinctively, surprised by the contact.  Sylvie’s eyes darted back and forth, and she pulled back, afraid that she had ruined whatever was happening between them.  

He was suddenly on his feet, walking away from her, creating a bit of distance between them.  She noticed his attire, head-to-toe black, the only slight contrast coming from the shiny leather of the gun holster that hung from him as he paced.  He seemed to calm with the distance between them.  “I’ll have that grilled cheese.  Burn one up for me, baby.”  Sylvie smiled meekly and took the menu from the table.  “Anything to drink?”  He answered with his back turned to her.  “I didn’t see any grape soda.” He craned his neck to see her shaking her head ‘no’. “Give me a cherry coke, doll face. Easy on the ice.” Sylvie, put some ice in a glass and pumped cherry coke into it, until it met the brim and pulled a paper covered straw from her apron.   She set both items onto the counter and waited for him to return to the stool.  When he sat down, she set a newspaper in front of him.  “In case you’re bored while I cook this up for you, hon.”  

The Joker popped the straw into his glass and took a large sip before pushing the newspaper away. “How could I be bored with such interesting company?”  Sylvie spread some butter onto a couple of slices of bread and placed them onto the greased flattop with a sizzle, and then laying the cheese atop them.  She could feel his eyes all over her, examining her from top to bottom.  Her neck grew warm as a fluttering sensation danced up her legs and through to her thighs. Grabbing a spatula, she turned to him, smiling again. “It gets quite sticky in here and all we have it that crappy fan. You can crack the door if you feel hot.” He looked up at the sorry excuse for a fan, tied bits of fabric blowing upward lazily with each pitiful gust of air, and then towards her.  “I’m alright. But it looks like you’re a little flushed.”  He walked over to the door and engaged the kickstand with his foot, propping the door ajar enough to let in a cool breeze.  It flowed into the tiny diner car and kissed along Sylvie’s warm face. She had started to sweat and as she was plating, she had to stop to dip a clean cloth in ice water and put it against her forehead.  “Bon Appetit. Let me know if you want something else and I’ll whip it right up for you.”

The Joker took a large bite of the grilled cheese, letting it drip a little bit from the corner of his mouth, making Sylvie giggle again as she tried to cool herself down.  “Here’s some napkins, before you get cheese all over your face.”  Instead of using a napkin, he proceeded to stick his tongue out and lick for the cheese, sliding it into his mouth successfully and then sneering.  “Come around to me.”  He summoned for her with his finger again, until she gingerly emerged from around the counter.  He gave her a long look, from her white Keds, up the aproned, blue dress and up to her swingy ponytail and then pat the stool beside him.  His legs were open, and his knee claimed the stool he was asking her to sit in.  It was impossible for her to sit without leaning her body against his.  She considered this and did it anyway, sliding in until she felt his knee against her backside.  “You’re buttoned up to the neck.  No wonder you’re sweating.  Look at me. Do I look like I’m sweating?” Sylvie let her eyes fall on his exposed chest.  His shirt was practically open, only a few measly buttons fastening the shirt closed. The gold chains he wore glinted through and she was so distracted that she didn’t notice his fingers beneath her chin, lifting it up until she was staring directly at him.  “Let me help.”  Sylvie was forgetting how to breathe and then his fingers were making fast work of the buttons on her dress until the top of her lacy white bra was exposed. He let his eyes remain there, admiring her plump cleavage and then caressing at her arm delicately.  

The tension in the small diner was palpable, their mouths almost touching as he leaned in, breathing hard and fast.  They stayed that way for an indefinite amount of time, until he heard the Batmobile roll up with a screech.  He was expecting it and he calmly grabbed another bite of the grilled cheese, chewing quickly and then beaming like a lunatic.  “Do me a favor, honey.  Hold onto this for me.  I’ll be back for it.”  He wrapped a large blade in a white diner napkin, someone else’s blood seeping through it and staining it crimson.  And then he was gone, as if he was never there, running off into the night, the sound of his cackling penetrating the thick night sky.  Sylvie took the knife and did the only thing she knew to do. She stuck it at the bottom of her purse and lay her scarf over it.  When she got home, she unwrapped it, tracing her fingers over the embossed “J” and allowed herself to close her eyes and whisper his name. “Joker.”    

[sourcherrymagiks]

Carry on Countdown 2019

Day 18 - Crack!

Lamplight

Ao3

Simon

He’s trying to avoid talking to me. That’s how it happens. There was kissing. Amazing kissing. Merlin and Morgana, he’s beautiful and when he kisses me back.....

But anyway. He’s also a stuck up twat who can avoid the shit out of anything. We were back in the room after the kissing (Great Snakes,that kiss though) and he was taking forever to hang his blazer up so he didn’t have to look at me or talk to me. What was I going to do but come up behind him and kiss his neck? I ask you, what else could I have done?

Which is how we came to stumble and fall into the wardrobe. And then straight out of the back. Into a drift of snow.

“Erm Baz, this is going to sound pretty stupid but I think we just fell into...”

“Narnia”

“Yes”

Baz

I know that this is somehow his fault. Why does he always have to involve me in his ridiculous heroics. Although, to be fair, this is well outside of his usual remit.

“Snow, might I suggest we go back? From memory Narnia has its own set of chosen ones. Lots of them. They can probably get by without you”

“I’m not sure that’s how this works, the path has gone”

I look around and he’s totally right. It’s just us, in the snow, under a lamppost.

I can’t keep the petulant tone out of my voice as I say “But you are our chosen one, you belong to the world of Mages”

He laughs and kisses me. “Didn’t know you cared you big softy” I briefly toy with the idea of snapping at him but instead I pull him back into another kiss.

When I pull away to catch my breath and try to get a hold over my treacherous body, Simon gets up. I grumble a bit under my breath but then I decide to co operate a bit. Grudgingly. It seems very unfair that we are here and not snogging in our room. Even though I was the one avoiding the snogging (Why?, I’m such an idiot)

Snow’s sketching in the snow with a stick. It looks like nonsense until I’m standing right next to him. Then it hits me at once, he’s drawn a map of Narnia. From memory.

I must be staring at him because he starts laughing.

“I know you think I’m a thick urchin who’s only ever read cereal packets but I’ve loved Narnia my whole life”

“Me too, that part is not quite right” I alter the shape of the western forest slightly so it ends further from the frozen lake. “I would definitely remember if you were the hero in it. I suppose you do have a bit of Peter about you”

“Fuck off Caspian” he throws a snowball at me. I throw one back. Then I kiss him again because this is all unbelievable.

He’s sketching plot points out now, trying to work out the timeline.

“Right you gorgeous villain, we need to get to the camp here in time for the battle. There’s enough footprints and sled tracks here to show they’ve all been through fairly recently. I don’t think we can help at any point up until the end, do you agree?”

“I do, excuse me while I try to absorb the shock of you being a reader.” He lightly punches me on the arm, he’s blushing. “Is your magic working?”

We both laugh

“As well as it ever does, yours?”

I take out my wand and cast ‘lights out’ at the lamp post. It blinks off.

“Cool. Let’s get moving. Keep your wand out. I don’t want to draw my sword until I need it and I, Erm, can I hold your hand please”

“Come here” I grab his hand and before I can stop myself I’ve kissed his knuckles.

“I like this, you,like this” he bumps my shoulder with his.

Simon

I’m really excited. I dunno if it’s the Baz thing or the Narnia thing but I’m so amped up I’m practically skipping.

“So, Caspian then?” Baz asks with his eyebrow up.

“It’s possible that I might have been not entirely straight for a while”

“You think?”

“There’s no need for that tone you wanker”

Then I’ve got him up against a tree. This want is everything. I need to touch him, kiss him, press myself against him.

He doesn’t just let me, he right there with me, pulling my hair, licking my neck, moaning into my mouth.

He pulls away gasping “Right Snow, let’s get back to the mission and stop debauching the pristine Narnian forests”

“But I like it, I like you” I’m whining a bit.

“You aren’t completely intolerable either Snow”

We seem to have been walking forever. I slept about ten minutes last night. I would kill for some Turkish delight.

“In the books it doesn’t seem this far”

I moan to Baz

“Heaven forbid that the made up world is larger than the children’s book made it appear”

“I get your point, even though you’re a twat, but its hardly made up is it?”

He shrugs. I’m rubbing off on him. That makes me smile. I nearly don’t hear the crack of the twig, I’ve disarmed the guard before I’ve had chance to worry about my sword or magic. They aren’t the best written soldiers.

“Take us to either Peter or Aslan please” I ask the battered looking Narnian as politely as I can be arsed to. I’m not great at manners when I’m hungry and tired.

Baz

Peter is beautiful, not a patch on Snow obviously, but still. The two of them together are blinding. Simon offers our assistance and Peter accepts a little unwillingly. I’m not sure he would at all if not for the wonderful Lucy. She never sees herself as the protagonist so she doesn’t have the same struggle as Peter. To be fair I wouldn’t want to share my story with Simon bloody Snow if I already had three siblings and a lion muscling in on the action. Poor fuck.

The two of them spend the afternoon practicing, Snow is better trained and in great shape but Peter is faster and lighter in his feet. It’s glorious.

When Simon fights Edmund it’s a different thing. No longer a master class in heroic swordplay fought by two golden leaders. Now it’s like a cunning bar fight. Simon has to stop himself from head butting Edmond. When he throws an elbow at Edmond’s face,then stops before it connects, Edmond is not so polite and punches Simon in his exposed ribs. It’s very feral.

When they’re done he comes over and presses his sweaty lips to mine. I don’t know how I avoid making a scene.

Obviously it’s still a bit of a scene. Uncomfortable coughs and averted eyes abound. Then simultaneously everyone decides to ignore it and peace is restored.

I leave to speak with Lucy. She’s got magic and I want to see if I can help her use it. It doesn’t work like ours though. She can’t harness it. I advise her to go to Watford as soon as she can when she returns home. She probably won’t.

She gives Simon a small banner embroidered with a dragon holding a blazing sun. He tucks it into his pocket because the courageous fuck won’t wear armour. He kisses her head. I’m completely flabbergasted when she gives me one emblazoned with a flaming moon. I must be allergic to it because my eyes are watering.

After dinner we talk tactics. Simon keeps quiet about upcoming plot points and focuses on the battle. Simon and Peter lean over the map, blond hair and copper curls tumbling together as the argue over every inch. From his plan I deduce that Snow’s aim is to kill the witch while keeping all the kids well out of the way. This goes down like a sack of shit with Peter. It’s his story and he is the king. Gorgeous (and capable) as Simon is he can’t lead this army. They aren’t loyal to him. Also he won’t play by their outdated battle rules, fight in a line and die, because he knows better. They finally agree on enough compromises to keep everyone happy and save lives. A lot of lives.

In spite of the protests I hold my ground. I will stay by his side regardless of what he thinks he’s going to order me to do.

It’s fun. Really. I mean there is an impending battle but, Crowley, I’ve read that battle so many times. It’s going to be brilliant. I catch Simon’s eye and I know he feels it too.

Simon

I can’t fucking sleep. This is going to be epic. I’m traipsing around the camp looking for anything to take my mind off the combination of wanting to get into this battle and wanting to do unspeakable things to Baz.

It’s not the time though, right?

We still haven’t talked. It’s possible we’ve managed to bring a fictional world to life to avoid talking. But I’m going to tell him after the battle. Hopefully it will be dead romantic.

Baz

The battle starts off early and badly, not quite as badly as I remember because Simon is genius at this and Peter listened to about a quarter of his suggestions. Plus there are two of them.

The absolute confidence of them helps keep up the morale that’s been damaged by Aslan fucking off.

Simon hadn’t mentioned that he was the bearer of a flaming sword or that he had a particularly impressive brand of violent, pulsing magic so when he calls his sword, the fear it causes slams the first wave right back.

I cast quickly and use so much magic that I’m nearly spent in moments but I have taken down most of the ogres and a couple of hags. Peter, Edmond and Simon smash through line after line of the White Witch’s army. Simon is actually grinning, the prat.

I wait for Simon’s signal to disarm the White Witch. Then he’s on her in a moment with Edmond and Peter. She never stands a chance.

By the time Aslan arrives back with the girls there’s only cleaning up and healing to do. He growls at Simon and Simon shrugs at him. He turns his back clearly as pissed off as a magical lion gets.

“This was not your battle Mage”

“Explain how it just was then wise one?”

Simon is brillant at one liners, when he’s not fighting me. I guess it’s in the job description. Aslan grunts and continues back to his tent. What a prick. I guess he’s not willing to let the homoerotic subtext turn into the story.

It’s very clear we’ve outstayed our welcome.

Simon

That was mega. But now it’s time to go. I don’t want to fuck with these guys and I also don’t want Aslan to eat me.

It’s a pretty shitty deal those kids have got anyway. Kings and queens in one land but not able to stay. We hug them goodbye. At least I live where I live. Except for right now obviously.

I grab Baz and we set off back to the lamppost.

“That was amazing, you were amazing” I say to him

He looks at me like he thinks I might he taking the piss.

“You did an ok job yourself Snow. You’re not as pretty as Peter though”

I’m glad he catches me when I jump on him. “Take that back Pitch”

“It’s an objective fact Snow, he is more dashing, I just prefer you”

“You do?”

“Yes you attention seeking numpty, I have appalling taste so I prefer you to most people”

“Good. Because, well, I’m, I think I might be, falling, you know, for you” Merlin. I doubt he’s even going to understand that.

Then he kisses me and I know he does.

Baz

I’ve been kissing Snow for hours. We don’t know how time works here relative to Watford so we should get back. But it’s complicated there and easy here under a lamppost in a forest full of spring.

It’s also not our story.

Simon still has his own story to finish.

“Ready Sweetheart?”

“Not really love”

“Shall we do it anyway?”

“After you”

[a-heart-inscribed]

Operation Eros- End

You watch his chest rise and fall for a moment before you let yourself meet his eyes. They hold you to the spot, something flashing in his eyes that is unfamiliar to you. “Y/n, I…” Words fail him, and he continues to hold your eyes and it feels like he is searching them for something.

When he doesn’t go on you start to get worried. “Steve? Is everything alright?”

His breathing catches for a moment before he shakes his head and moves towards you. You know how fast he can move, so you know that even though he reaches you fast his steps are slow, measured, and controlled. His movements are smooth and steady as he draws in close, stopping barely a step from you.

Your own breath hitches to match his when he brings a large hand up to cup your cheek, thumb stroking along the edge of your mouth. A small nervous smile graces his lips as he looks down at you. Then, suddenly, his lips are on yours.

The whole cliché of ‘time stood still’ people talked about had never made sense to you, it had never happened to you before. As your heart pounded in your ears, you finally got it. It felt like everything around you froze and you were acutely aware of everything about Steve. His smell, how warm he was, the firmness of his chest, and it still took a moment for you to process what was happening. It only clicked when Steve started to withdraw his hand, as if he was going to pull away. The movement shook you and you finally responded, kissing him back.

There was a definite sigh of relief against your lips, and you could almost feel him smile against you, as his hand again became steady and moved to the back of your neck. Your response wasn’t so delayed this time. One of your arms snaked around the back of his neck and you let the other hand rest against his collar bone. His hand at the back of your head wove into your hair and his other came to your waist, pulling you flush against him.

As he moved you to him, he angled his face to deepen his kiss. It was reverent and passionate, as if he was content and relaxing into the comfort of it. You could feel your heart pounding through your whole body as you took in every detail, his hands, his smell, his taste, his lips, his tongue, the press of his chest against yours. It was intoxicating and you wished you could stay like this forever, even as your lungs started to protest from a lack of enough air.

Eventually, Steve broke away and rested his forehead against yours, puffs of his breath warming your cheek. “God, I was scared to hope…”

“Steve?” You open your eyes slowly to look up at him. With his forehead still brushing yours, he looked down at you through his lashes with a crocked grin on his pink lips. Those blue eyes shone with warmth and hope.

“I love you, too.” He moved slightly to trace his nose along your cheek softly.

You didn’t know you could blush any deeper than you were, but new heat burned in your cheeks. “You remembered…”

Both his hands come to rest on your waist, holding you close. “I did.”

“I should have said something sooner… it’s just… I…” You don’t know how to explain, even if you had been making the excuses to everyone else for so long.

“Y/n,” He brushed some hair from your face then pulled your chin up so you looked at him. “You were scared. I get it. I was too…” He smiled down at you as shock crossed your face. “I’ve been in love with you for a while. I think it started the very first time I walked into that coffee shop. You sassed Tony about something, and I knew the cute girl I had been watching with the others for months was something special.”

“Really, Steve? I… I liked you a lot, even back then. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Same as you. I was scared. Everyone was so sure of how you felt, tried to convince me you liked me as more than a friend too, but I… What if they were wrong? I’m Captain America, what if you didn’t want to deal with that in a relationship? I just… I couldn’t lose you and what we had already.”

Your throat was tight, and you want to kiss him again to reassure him you care but then your mind latched onto a few of his words. “That’s why you came back to the tower that night… you were scared you’d lose me.”

He shook his head and placed a kiss to your temple. “I was terrified something would happen to you before I got here.”

“You ass.” You push his chest a bit but don’t pull away from the hands still on your waist.

Shock was clear on his face. “Excuse me?”

“You are a complete ass, Steven Rogers. You were so concerned about losing me that you rush back here, into danger, without telling anyone? You showed up half dead already and I… God, Steve. You were bleeding out in front of me and I couldn’t do anything. I thought I lost you. I did! Your heart stopped three times in surgery… You were a complete and selfish ass…”

His shoulders drooped and his face took on that familiar ‘kicked puppy’ look he got when he had to apologize. “I wasn’t thinking, and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put you through that.”

“Just… think next time okay? The others would have helped secure the tower. Especially if you had just told them I was here.”

“I promise.” He smiled sheepishly at you. “Am I forgiven?”

“Oh, shut up.” You smiled as you pulled his lips back down to yours.

Chuckling against your lips he hugged you to him and your feet came off the ground. He held you like that as your hands played in his hair, lips still moving softly together.

“It’s about damn time! Good lord!” Tony’s voice rang out over the speaker and you pulled back, squeaking in surprise.

Steve returned your feet to the ground but doesn’t let you move from your spot against his chest. The two of you looked around until your eyes landed on the second level platform, an area Tony and Bruce and sometimes the others will use to work on things that need to be presented.

In the window you see Tony leaning over to the mic, looking you dead in the eye as he flipped the mic on to be able to catch the voices from others around him. You looked over those gathered and found Bucky, Natasha, Thor, Sam, Loki, Bruce, Peter, and to your surprise Dr. Strange. Most of them had smug smirks on their faces, the exceptions being Strange, who looked mildly amused but overall board, and Peter and Bruce who both looked utterly delighted.

“What the hell are all of you doing here, spying?” Steve asked, his captain tone clear as he pulled away just enough to put one hand on a hip and furrow his brows at them.

“Bucky paged us that ‘Operation Eros’ was coming to fruition. We mobilized ASAP and found you here.” Natasha said and shrugged a shoulder as Bucky glared her way.

“’Operation Eros?’” Steve’s brow furrowed further. “What the hell is that?”

“Wait… Eros… so like ‘Operation Cupid’?” You raised your brow. “Really?”

None of them really looked that guilty. In fact, most of them looked even more smug.

“Are you saying that the nine of you covertly formed some operation, named after the Greek god of love, that involved me and Steve?” It was your turn to put a hand on your hip.

“Well neither of you were going to do anything on your own with any speed, clearly. You needed the prodding.” Loki rolled his eyes. “And for your information, I was in favor of the name being ‘Operation Freya’. It encompassed more.”

“Mine was ‘Operation Oxytocin,” chipped in Bruce and you snorted.

Peter raised his hand, “Operation Short Round.”

You laughed harder and smiled up at him. “Is that an Indiana Jones reference?”

“See!” He gestured to the others and down at you, “She gets it! ‘There’s no-”

Your voice joined his, “No time for love, Dr. Jones.”

“Yes.” He puts one fist up in the air. “Vindicated. I win.”

Laughing Steve tucked you into his side, shaking his head at the others. “And how long have you all been up there watching us?”

Tony perks up. “Long enough.” He meets your eyes and his go a little soft though. “But honestly, we just found you before we made ourselves known.”

Steve takes your hand and leads you up to the landing to join the others, the moment officially spoiled. You can tell when he looks at you there is more he wants to talk about, but right now he is content to wait.

You offer to make a late night snack for everyone who wants to stay up to celebrate. You leave the conference room with the team, hand still in Steve’s. As you enter the kitchen something dawns on you. “So, what were the details of ‘Operation Eros’ then? How, exactly, were you all meddling?”

Smiling back at you as he headed to the living room Tony quips, “That’s classified!”

Tag List:

@georgialeighc13 @denzmallows @elizabeth-marie-moon @itsallyscorner @evanstush @ginnygerbil

[hiddendreamer67]

The Sanders Games- Part 4 (Enemies are Made)

(Find a link to previous parts in my reblog, and updates are on Fridays.)

Summary:  In the 75th Hunger Games, only one male* tribute is chosen from each of the twelve districts. As the tributes begin their training, alliances are formed and enemies are made, including what may be a change in the all-so-important annual career alliance.

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The third day of training was more focused. Thomas could feel it in the air, a sense of finality to it. With every hour the games were drawing closer, and many tributes scrambled to find the one skill that would allow them to survive.

Of course, looking around the room, Thomas couldn’t help but think about how only one of these children would be alive in, what, two weeks? It was a smaller group, so maybe even sooner.

He wondered how Patrick had viewed his fellow tributes, or how they would compare to Thomas’ own enemies. Of course, it was hard to think of the twelve-year-old with purple hair as his ‘enemy’, or the two farming kids who kept laughing while painting camouflage on each other.

Thomas sighed, shaking his head. He just hoped he wouldn’t have to witness their deaths first hand.

“No, you’re doing it wrong!”

Thomas glanced up, noticing the careers were fighting again. They seemed to have welcomed the boy from three into their ranks. Thomas had no idea why, considering all he and the boy from 1 did was fight constantly.

“You are not an instructor.” Logan ignored Roman, following his sparring partner’s technique at the sword station. “Spar yourself if you think you’re so clever.”

Roman smacked Logan’s blade out of his hand with his own, and immediately a swarm of Peacekeepers were breaking the two apart.

Thomas shook his head, taking stock of his other opponents. The other two careers were just as dangerous, one all muscle and one with a snake-like gaze. This one hissed at him as he walked by, and Thomas was quick to pick up his pace. There was another muscled dude, Peter from 7. Right by his side was Magenta, the bright-haired purple short stack that seemed glued to Peter nowadays. Then Remy, a boy who was getting worryingly good at tying knots. Virgil, the recluse from 12, Ethan, the cute one from 6…okay, make that the really cute one from 6…Good Lord, Thomas was so gay.

Thomas took a second look, watching the agricultural pair transfer from camouflage to the knife throwing station. It reminded Thomas that despite their carefree, friendly attitudes, the pair would likely not hesitate to kill someone outside their alliance. Districts 10 and 11 were resilient and not to be disregarded.

Patton and Emile. His brain supplied, finding it difficult to refer to tributes simply by district as time went on. The friendliest faces here. If the situation was different, Thomas would have loved to get close to them too. But with a glance towards Ethan, Thomas remembered how dangerous it was to get attached.

Thomas wasn’t sure if it was better or worse that he was learning all his victim’s names. It reminded him that these tributes weren’t just targets; they were people, stripped of their potential to all live a fulfilling life of happiness and contentment. It felt far too personal, and when it came down to it Thomas wasn’t sure if he could go through with this.

Thomas shook his head. No, he couldn’t think like that. He had to survive, his family needed him. He thought of his brothers, Shea and Christian, waiting back home with his loving parents. He thought of Patrick, and how Thomas had to make his brother proud by succeeding where Patrick had inevitably failed. Thomas owed it to them and himself to live on. Whatever happened, Thomas knew that family came first.

But…didn’t these kids have families, too?

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Logan sat alone, just as he had every other lunch session. Despite being a part of the careers now, he found their company tedious. Instead Logan was content to get to lunch early, eating in solitude and then training with his new allies.

Of course, the boy from 11 had other plans, slamming a muffin down in front of Logan. He looked up at the intruder over the edge of his glasses. For once, the peaceful boy looked almost furious. “Can I help you?”

“Why are you teaming up with the careers?” The boy asked, sitting across from him.

“That’s none of your business.” Logan replied, getting ready to move tables.

“It is too my business!” The boy’s tone turned almost to pleading. “You’re trying to slaughter the rest of us!”

“...Yes?” Logan confirmed, watching his opponent deflate. “It seems you are unfamiliar with the rules of this particular event. This is not a social event and frankly the way you’ve been treating this like one is demeaning to everyone involved, including those who will perish. Take this seriously.”

The boy- Patton, was it? - seemed to stare into his eyes for an uncomfortably long time. “I am taking this seriously.”  Patton said finally. “But I don’t believe innocent children should be killed. If we all banded together, maybe we’d stand a chance. Or at the very least, I think I owe it to everyone here to help make their last moments as pleasant as possible in this horrible place. I am taking it seriously, in my own way, because I’m a good person.” Patton stood up, pushing the muffin towards Logan with a sad sort of finality. “And I was starting to think you were one, too.”

Logan looked down at the muffin, unsure what to make of Patton’s little speech.

“Oi, Dawdle Dork.” Roman gave whistled at him, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorway. The other careers were with him, looking annoyed. “Let’s go, we don’t like to be kept waiting.”

Logan sighed, gathering his trash and throwing it out as he followed Roman out towards the training area. “Name calling, really?” Logan muttered under his breath. “It would be more beneficial if we appeared to be a cohesive group to intimidate the competition.”

“Aww, is the techie feeling embarrassed?” Nate teased, harshly ruffling Logan’s hair. Though disguised as a jest, Logan knew it was just another excuse for the career to try and intimidate him. It seemed common among the careers for them to try and ‘flex’ on each other, and subsequently now that included himself.

Logan found the whole ritual tedious. It was just an animalistic instinct to try and establish a pecking order within the pack. Still, disregarding this pomp and happenstance, Logan knew he was fortunate to gain stronger allies than himself. He didn’t feel particularly safe in this group, but Logan had the comfort of knowing he wasn’t an immediate target. He would do his part, assist the careers until it was no longer in his best interest, and then as the game progressed Logan knew there would be a tipping point where he too became prey and would need to hightail it away from these predators. No matter, such was the way of the games.

“Logan’s right.” Deceit spoke up suddenly, surprising Logan. “We need to keep up appearances.”

“We’re not in the arena yet.” Nate reminded him.

“No, but practice makes perfect.” Deceit glared at him, and Logan wondered if Nate’s comment qualified as insubordination.

“If we show up in the Arena acting like this, no one will take us seriously.” Deceit continued. “But by all means, if you’d like to make a fool of yourself, keep it up. I’m certain your parents will be proud when your coffin arrives on their doorstep.”

“Ouch.” Roman hissed. “Jeez dark and brooding, lighten up.” Nate went unusually quiet, not bantering back as he usually would.

 Though Deceit was less vocal about his superiority than the other two, Logan knew not to underestimate him. There was something fishy about Deceit that went beyond his nautical roots. Often it appeared that Deceit was weaker than the others, yet he held the uncanny ability to keep them in line as an undeclared Alpha. It gave Logan pause, wondering what the snake-like figure was hiding.

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Roman bounced his leg up and down, anxiously watching the screen. He could care less about all of the Capital tabloids scrolling across. All he was waiting for was the scores- earlier in the day, each tribute had a private session with the game makers where skills were showcased so you could be judged on how worthy an opponent you were. Of course, none of it really mattered, the only true title of any worth would be the victor title given to the winner of the games, but nonetheless Roman hoped to outrank every peon he was matched with.

“Be patient, Roman.” His mentor advised, watching Roman twitch.

“Be patient, Roman.” Roman mocked. As if that advice would do him any good. His mentor had been feeding him terrible advice the entire journey, almost as though he wanted Roman to fail. No matter- Roman didn’t need him. Roman didn’t need anyone.

The district 1 tribute leaned forwards, watching the news channel change to the familiar score screen. Being from the best district- why else would it be number 1?- Roman would get his score first. He waited, folding and unfolding his hands and wishing the news anchor would just get on with it already.

Finally, the big number appeared on the screen, broadcasting to the whole world Roman’s score.

“...a ten?” Roman felt his face fell. Certainly not a terrible score, the highest being twelve, but Roman had truly thought he earned higher.

“It’s just as I told you.” The mentor looked almost bored, picking at his nails. “They don’t care about some fancy sword swinging.”

Roman huffed at him, watching the rest of the scores appear on screen. He tied with Nate, the big lug getting a decent score wasn’t surprising, but it did make Roman’s spirits sink. Still, tied for first was acceptable, and he still did better than the other allies. Deceit earned a nine and Logan scraped by with only a seven.

Honestly, that didn’t surprise Roman. Logan was clearly not made for hand-to-hand combat, so he had no idea why Deceit had brought him onto the team. Frankly, it was a bit embarrassing, especially considering some of the other lesser tributes beat Logan’s score. Particularly that Peter fellow, who pulled out with a solid eight. He could be a threat, but Roman was certain the group could easily overtake him.

The boy from district 9, Remy...his score was more surprising. How on earth had he managed to earn a nine? If Roman didn’t see his picture on screen, Roman wouldn’t have even recognized him. That could be a challenge. Roman must have missed something when he was sizing up his opponents.

No one else on the leaderboard came close to beating Roman’s score...until, district twelve, when all of Panem had nearly turned off their televisions of boredom and Roman himself was hardly paying attention. Roman’s eyes widened, not believing what was right in front of him.

“An ELEVEN?!” Roman screeched, standing up so fast his chair tipped over. “I- but- how- ? How could a nobody from a loser district like twelve beat me?”

“Well he wouldn’t have, if you actually took this seriously.” The mentor lectured, although he too seemed impressed by the score. “Guess you underestimated him.”

“I did not!” Roman insisted. “There must be some mistake.” Roman refused to believe this was anything more than a pathetic mishap. He deserved to hold the top rank. No matter; Roman would just need to prove it, out in the games where he would spill that little coal miner’s blood himself.

[raging-violets]

Everybody can tell they’re in love except the people in question (9) for Edmund and Issi?

Narnia: Everyone Can Tell But Them // Prompt // Edmund x Issi

A/N: Under a “read more” due to length.

[ Number/Ship Rom-Com | Ask Box ]

Peter knew when Edmund turned down medical help at the castle.

“We’re already out here,” Edmund explained to Peter’s incredulous look, “let’s just go into town. Issi will patch me up faster than we can say ‘Aslan.’” Peter lifted an eyebrow. Edmund shrugged. “It will be quick, and we haven’t done our royal duties and checked in with everyone in a spell.”

Peter held his brother’s gaze for a silent moment before he turned away to face the castle in the distance. Miming deep thought. Trying to hold back the knowing laugh that bubbled up in his chest. His horse shifted a few steps and Peter swayed along to the movement. “We’ll be back there in no time,” he said, “besides, you Fuddy-Duddy, Lucy gave you her healing cordial.” His lips pulled back into a hint of a smile when Edmund’s nostrils flared in frustration.

“Fuddy-Duddy,” Edmund repeated, eyes briefly flashing with challenge, “I used to be older here. So, that would make you…”

“Watch it,” Peter warned.

A hint of a smirk sat on Edmund’s face for a moment. Then it was gone, traded for thoughtfulness. A look Peter had seen more often, lately. Edmund certainly had grown up, shedding his outward

A muscle in Edmund’s jaw twitched. Pulling his gaze from the castle, Edmund briefly glanced into the direction of the castle town, before looking back at his brother. Peter blinked innocently at him. A moment later, Edmund’s frustration had cleared, and he angled his own horse towards town.

“We should really save that just in case, Pete, don’t you think?” He was talking quickly. Peter realized he had already made up his mind.

“I’m sure Lu won’t mind.” Peter had said it lightly. He knew for a fact that Lucy wouldn’t mind. This was just too funny. His brother would find any excuse to go see Issi. This time, he just needed a logical reason that Peter would accept. And he’s doing a good job of it, Peter could admit. He was just risking Lucy’s admonishment of teasing Edmund. After all, she was finally old enough to understand, and to start forming her own opinions on the idea of romance. And she was a big supporter of it.

“Come on, Pete!”

Peter watched Edmund take off across the grass before he was swallowed by the shadows of the forest. Finally, finally he allowed himself to break from his royal airs and laugh out loud. “Why can’t you just do as you’re told?” He had said this with a smile, shaking his head back and forth.

Not to tease young Edmund, though he had many clever quips primed in his mind, but in amusement. Edmund wasn’t even that injured, a nick on his shoulder that may or may not require stitches, and yet he was insistent on medical attention. The best could be acquired at the castle. That of which he had turned down in favor of visiting the castle town’s herbalist, and their friend, Issi.

It wasn’t too long ago that Edmund had the audacity to turn his nose up or curl his lip at just the thought of having any suitors around the castle for Susan. This, of course, was broken up by the laughter he and Lucy shared at her expense. May Aslan show mercy, however, to anyone who would bring up the suggestion that one day soon, he would be the one with suitors travelling far just to meet and potentially match with himself. Then he would grow silent. Thoughtful.

He had been doing that more often: thinking. His impulsive nature had waned as he matured. Most suggestions and notion backed up with an obvious care to his words and reasonings behind his choice. It still appeared in shades; he was just as confident as he was on a horseback as he was with a sword and would let everyone know it when he wanted. Though it was this quieter, I person that had stuck around more after he had spent time with Issi.

For she could challenge Edmund on his deep-rooted self-deprecation, just as well as she would open her ear and herself to carry the burden he held on his shoulders. Jadis was alive and well in Issi’s life as well – manipulating her and feeding off her own insecurities in an attempt to use her physical form as a vessel to return to Narnia. Edmund had truly found someone who understood the residual guilt that was left behind from being coerced – he’d argue, easily – by such dark uses of magic.

Peter was not surprised to find Edmund wanted to spend time with her when he could. At first, maybe. Now, it just made sense. He supposed that Edmund was thinking in this moment. Thinking about seeing the one person that saw her own mistakes in him, but never held it over his head, or allowed him to dwell on them for too long. Thinking about seeing the person who could wound his ego with her words just as easily as she could soothe any ache or pain with the right mixture of berries and leaves.

And, Peter supposed, gently guiding his horse forward with a well-placed nudge of his knees, soothe an aching heart. Hair flying past his face, Peter leaned into the wind that whistled past his ear as he pushed himself faster, faster, even faster still through the brush. Trying to catch his brother, all the same not trying too hard - lest he be roped into a competition to see who the better, faster horseback rider was. Lest he have to ride back with a gloomy, and sulking Edmund.

The muffled hoof falls turned into an ear-drawing clip clop as he burst out of the trees and onto the main road that snaked through the castle town. Peter graced the Telmarines with a smile, nodding his head in response to the waves and bright greetings the townsfolk threw in his direction. With a pull of his reigns, he slowed his horse to a slow walk, pulling it alongside Edmund’s just outside a stone alcove.

“High King Peter.” Issi gathered handfuls of her dress into her hands to curtsey in his direction. Upon dropping the folds, the faint smell of smoke wafted in the air. The heavier cloth creating the sleeveless tunic dress Issi wore the skirts brushed with dirt and streaks of green grass; a stark contrast to the finest Narnian textiles that graced the clothes Peter and Edmund adorned at the moment, clean, and measured to their bodice. “What a delight it is to have the two Kings of Narnia grace my presence today.”

She had said it sincerely, Peter knew her well enough to know that, but still there was a glint in her eye. A hidden mischievousness in her smile. One that Edmund noticed, recognized as his own, and earned a snicker from him.

“Hello, Issi,” Peter said, ignoring Edmund’s laugh. “I hope Edmund hasn’t interrupted any intentions you had for the day.” He angled his head towards the basket of wash, sitting just outside the alcove.

“Don’t you even worry a lick about that, your majesty,” Issi said, waving a hand in the air. “It is but a scratch, but I am happy to tend so that you can get back up to the castle in one piece.” Her lips parted into a smile. “I suppose the two of you had a right go at it, eh? Men playing sport indeed. Won’t stop until one comes out on top.”

“Of course,” Peter said, “Ed still has a lot to learn to wield Rhindon accurately.”

“I handled myself fairly well, I think,” Edmund protested, a flash of annoyance crossing his face. His eyes darted briefly around the small, stone room. Peter clicked his tongue, gaze flickering towards the wound on his shoulder. Edmund lifted his hand and gently touched the wound, wincing slightly at the sight of blood on his fingers. “I lost my balance is all.” He then said quietly to himself, “How could I be so stupid?”

“With great practice,” Issi said with a mocking sigh, eyes glittering, “everything is possible, I suppose.”

Peter felt a bubble of laughter lift in his chest. A response worthy as one of his own. A small chortle slipped out until, at Edmund’s glower, he pressed his lipstightly together. Issi, on the other hand, continued her boisterous laugh. Edmund managed to crack a smile.

All in all, Peter was glad Edmund has someone to talk to at least.

 -

Susan knew when Edmund…lost a chess match.

Or rather, had been distracted during one, which resulted in his loss. Susan carefully gripped two pieces from the chess board between her long fingers, trading out Edmund’s captured piece with one of her own. Adding it to the steadily growing line of discarded black chess pieces, Susan waited for Edmund to take his turn.

“What do you think Issi needs to talk to Peter about?”

It was a simple question. Yet still a question that drew Susan’s attention. Her dark ringlets brushing over the curve of her shoulder as she ventured a look. Just past the bay window of the library, Issi slowly strolled the   A question that, she noticed, had pulled his attention from the game.

The calculated look she would usually find on his face was not direction at the chess board. Not currently, though it had been a moment before. Susan sighed and decided to take this time to think about her next move - usually a futile decision, Edmund was always three steps ahead. This time, though, his attention hadn’t always been on the game.

“To give him an update on her patrol this morning, I suppose,” Susan replied.

“Something she should be explaining to all of us,” Edmund said, his fist propping up his cheek. “Not just Peter.”

“True.” Susan lifted her eyebrows. Cleared her throat.

“Are you coming down with something, Susan?” Edmund asked. Still, his gaze was settled on the window. At least until Susan landed a kick to his shin. “Ow!” Cheeks puffing, Edmund turned his dark gaze to his sister. “That wasn’t very gentle, Su.”

“It’s not polite to make a lady wait, Edmund,” Susan said in a light tone. And a pointed stare. “It’s your turn.”

“Sorry.” Edmund set his elbows on the table, lacing his fingers together. His brows came together as he looked over the board. There wasn’t a lot of turns left for either of them, Susan surmised, but that had never stopped Edmund before. He was the voice behind the words of official decrees as it was. Weighing every option before concluding what could not only help themselves, but aid in peaceful ties with countries to the West, East, and South. “Let me think for a minute.”

“Of course.” Susan understood the importance of thinking. Maybe herself and Edmund more so than Peter and Lucy.

Aw, Lucy; always eager to jump into the next thing that came their way. The one who believed in Narnia and Aslan the most. Peter was nowhere near as outwardly rambunctious but was just as loyal to the title, and the land of Narnia, that Aslan had bestowed upon him. They both would do whatever it took to keep the land, and it’s people safe. For now and forever – to make up for what they had abandoned years ago. She and Edmund on the other hand, grew to be more critical thinkers. Susan was all about logic and thinking about the picture, how one decision would dictate what could occur in the future. Edmund was the same to an extent, though more of the type to wish to hear all sides to a problem before deciding. Though, whichever decision he came to, he fully put himself into.

Though, if he were truly putting all of himself into this chess match, Susan would have been defeated ages ago. It’s your own fault, she reminded herself, you agreed to play against him after helped you sharpen your arrows. He had complained every time he accidentally nicked himself with the ends. But if he could take the time and care to clean his own sword, she had reminded him, then he could handle helping her.

“A sword has one blade,” Edmund reminded her with a grumble, shaking the sting out of his finger, “you have so many arrows.”

Now, Susan felt like complaining – knowing it was unbecoming of her. Edmund was a serious chess player, but he was still taking way too long to move one piece. Even for him.

“Pete will tell us what she told him.”

Susan blinked. Was he reminding himself? Reassuring? Certainly, Issi would have a reason to converse with Peter outside of her appointed Narnian duties. Or did Edmund feel like that was something only they shared? True, Issi and herself weren’t the best of friends, but a mutual respect of their hierarchy in Narnia was well known between the two of them. There were times Susan could be just as open and relaxed with her at times, but also knew when to keep a separation between them as well. She couldn’t imagine how hard that may have been for Edmund; for someone who didn’t realize their strong feelings. Or acknowledge them as the case may be.

Edmund pressed his mouth to the side of his hands, and Susan watched the movement closely. He stared so hard at the pieces laid out in front of him, Susan started to wonder if he realized they were actually there in front of him…and not out the bay window. Which was exactly where his eyes kept shifting towards every few minutes.

“I’m sure he will,” Susan said, “if it’s important.”

“What else would they need to talk about?” Edmund asked, giving Susan a weird look. Before she answered, his gaze was out the window again.

Susan shifted in her seat to look out the window once more, catching the face Issi made when Peter’s back was turned. Even Susan nearly had trouble turning her full-blown laughter into a polite chuckle. Edmund seemed to press his mouth harder into the side of his hands, though the crinkling of his eyelids and the sudden lightening of his dark eyes gave away the smile he was trying to hide.

“Ed!”

Shooting Susan an annoyed look, Edmund reached for a rook and slid it across the board, capturing one of Susan’s remaining pawns. Moving slowly, checking to see if Edmund had in fact taken that move, and, symbolically, used her Queen to finish the game. “Checkmate.”

“What?” Edmund blinked in surprise. Repeatedly. His eyebrows pulled towards each other. A frown pulled his lips downwards and he scanned over the board. “What?”

“I suppose,” Susan said with a sigh, settling back in her seat, “you just got distracted.” She smoothed the skirts of her dress with her hands before clasping them in her lap. All with a smile.

“No,” he said, rolling his eyes, “I wasn’t distracted.” Susan noticed they paused for a fraction of a second in the direction of the window. Again. Her smile widened. “Don’t get fired up, Su, this won’t happen again.”

Susan tilted her head slightly, giving Edmund a patient smile, “I’m sure it won’t.”

-

Lucy noticed when Edmund forgot about her.

Arms crossed over her chest she waited, bracing herself against the slope of the underside of the bridge – trying to hide as much of herself as possible. It wasn’t one of the easiest places to reach, but closest to the castle grounds that Edmund was bound to start looking for her there. If he were smart.

And he was. He was a strategic person, after all.

And you thought Professor Kirke’s country home was the greatest place to play hide and seek, Lucy thought to herself with a little giggle. If it wasn’t for an afternoon of boredom, she never would have found Narnia, and they never would have fulfilled the prophecy they unknowingly had placed upon them.

Closing her eyes, Lucy let out a sigh of content. Narnia was almost indescribable. The most beautiful landscapes. The most majestic creatures. And she was lucky enough to experience it all with her own two eyes. How she missed it in the year they had been gone. Drawing pictures didn’t do Narnia justice; you couldn’t accurately describe how breathtaking it was. Sharing memories of a time where she was older than her current age was odd yet had a wistful feel to it. Like she was looking back on the greatest dream she ever had. A dream that, as she moved on in her “real life” seemed to slip further and further away from her.

Such as her patience in that moment.

“Edmund,” she huffed. “Where are you?” The castle grounds were more expansive than she could ever imagine. At this point, they knew it like the back of their hands. And Edmund knew her. It shouldn’t take so long for him to find her.

Then again, it wouldn’t be the first time for him to give up and wait for her to come to him, either. But she was older now. She knew better. Well, she had learned after the fifth time he had tricked her into getting “out” faster than she realized. Only with a pout and a well-timed stomp of the foot would Peter and Susan convince Edmund to not only play fair, but to let her back in the game.

Only now, she wanted the game to be over. It was boring waiting to be found. And the smell of the murky water was starting to get to her. Gathering her dress in her hands, Lucy carefully stepped out from her hiding spot, and back into the fresh air. She allowed the breeze to gently over her face, squashing her frustration for a moment.

“Edmund!” she shouted, her voice carrying over the grounds. “Edmund, I’ve been waiting!”

Silence.

At a quick pace, Lucy headed further into the main entrance of the castle, calling as she went. Getting no response, she turned right around, passed through a battlement, and peered over the edge of the rampart. Her frustration quickly flowed away, replaced by a certain giddiness. She clasped her hands together at the sight of Edmund and Issi strolling side-by-side through the lush grass of the bailey.

From her distance, she couldn’t make out what they were saying, but the conversation seemed to be flowing easily. Just the fact that he was talking to any girl, without a grimace, and without the outside circumstances of visits from neighboring royal families was a good sign. His easy-going smile was another. The slow pace in which they moved, the cherry on top.

All things she had witnessed with the men from home, attempting to woo the object of their desires and even in Narnia with those who were granted permission to a solo walk around the grounds. Lucy squinted, leaning forward even further. Was he even – could he be – yes! Edmund had one hand situated behind his back, the other gesturing as he spoke.

Clapping her hands together, she hurried towards the two with light steps. Of course, she wanted to know everything they were discussing, and how could she report back to Peter and Susan if she didn’t have as much information as possible?

“Would you like an escort home?” she heard him asking as she neared. “’It’s getting late, you know.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. If the sun barely cresting the tops of the trees meant anything. Yes, then, of course, it was late. “Edmund,” she called, planting her hands on her hips as she strode over to the two.

Edmund briefly closed his eyes before turning towards Lucy. “Yes?” he asked.

“Hide and seek?” Lucy lifted her eyebrows, trying to put her previous frustration back into her voice. It was oh, so hard to do when she just wanted to smile. “You were supposed to look for me. Hi, Issi.”

“Hello, Lucy.” Issi bowed her head, bending slightly at the knee in a bow. “It’s lovely to see you.” She cast a sidelong glance at Edmund. “You must have been hidden very well so that Edmund had no choice but to give up.”

“He would never have found me,” she said. She reached up a hand and brushed her hair behind her ear. “I see that he had no problem finding you.” Lucy faced Edmund as she talked, and she relished in his sudden rapid blinking. She almost missed the twitch of a smile on Issi’s face. Almost.

“Reckon it’s the red hair,” Issi commented, shaking back her red curls. She then reached out a hand and gently touched Lucy’s. “We’ve got a fire inside that matches that of our manes, yes?”

“Yes,” Lucy happily agreed. She closed one eye, miming pulling back on a bow. “You’d be surprised at how well I can handle myself.”

“I don’t doubt it, your highness. Not even for a minute.”

“So, you’d probably need me to protect you on your way back home,” Lucy continued with a sly smile. She rolled her shoulders back. “No one would dare threaten the King and Queen of Narnia.”

“You know Peter doesn’t want you wandering too far outside of the castle,” Edmund said to her.

“I’m just ensuring Issi’s safe travels home,” Lucy said, widening her eyes. “You forgot the rules to Hide and Seek. It would be absolutely dreadful if you got lost along the way.” Edmund closed his eyes, pressing his lips together. Issi laughed behind her hand.

“I have an excellent sense direction, Lu,” Edmund said, tightly. He turned to Issi, placing a hand  

“I know we will,” Issi reassured him. She reached into the bag that hung off her shoulder and motioned to the rolled up pieces of parchment inside. “I’ve scouted this whole area, know it like that back of my hand, I do.”

“I’ll let Peter know when to expect you back,” Lucy said. “Shouldn’t take you long. Maybe twenty minutes or so.” She rocked back and forth on her heels. “Half an hour, maybe. If you take the path ‘round the creek, I reckon. Issi have you seen that yet?”

Lucy turned on her heels, smiling to herself (Edmund muttered an “Um, thanks,” to her back). It was a short trip. The extra ten minutes was bound to give them plenty of time alone together, away from prying eyes. Unfortunately, that included hers.

 -

Edmund wasn’t sure.

He was a king of Narnia. She was just accepting the wishes of a king. That was all. Of course she would accept his request for conversation. Of course she would allow him to escort her while on the castle grounds.

She’s just being nice, he would remind himself whenever she allowed him to open up about his past with the White Witch. As slowly as it had taken him to do so. As hard as it was to talk about. It was natural for her to reciprocate, he was the only other person that understood the  Still, she never once made him feel like he had to be ashamed for what he had done.

She could just make him feel…different. In a good way. Stronger. Important. Funny.

Though, she had a knack for making him the butt of her jokes – only in the present company of the other Pevensies, of course. He was a king. She was townsfolk. It wasn’t right to speak so commonly with that of such high order. “If you defeat me,” he had said to Peter one afternoon with a flourish of his sword, “then I will give you a piece of my mind.”

“Careful, Edmund,” Issi had responded, sitting in the grass with Lucy and Susan, “we’re already so worried about what little would be left.” He found himself laughing along with everyone else, but still found himself stunned. If not, dare he say, impressed.

Over time he had grown to learn that Issi had a hardened soul, but a gentle spirit. She wished to help anyone that needed it – including the spirits that sought her out for help from the next life. Including the witch that had used her caring nature to their advantage. Despite her fear, and one wish, that her father’s spirit would one day reach her, and she could stay in touch with him.

Despite her past, and present, experiences with the manipulating magic of the White Witch, he trusted her. He felt a sense of peace around her. A familiarity he didn’t even feel with his brother and sisters – and they all had Narnia in common. It didn’t need to be said out loud. It was a quiet understanding. He understood that no matter what, her opinion of him could not be swayed.

He was Edmund. “Just Edmund” as she would occasionally refer to him.

Just.

Just friends.

He was just being nice. Just being a gentleman when he escorted her home, or offered his travel cloak when it rained. Just being a ruler who cared about his people when he offered to teach her how to handle a sword. Just being a man of the people by giving her his, seemingly, undivided attention.  

At least, that’s what she told herself.

[babywarg]

ironstrange multipart fic: Settling for a Miracle [5/?]

Chapter Summary: You can't use any other spells while you're drawing power from the Dark Dimension. Stephen stops drawing from the Dark Dimension for the first time.

Notes: 2015. A lot of things happen in this year. This is the year Avengers: Age of Ultron takes place, and also the year I presume Peter gets his powers.

I wanted this part to be longer, but in the end I decided that 3k+ characters is the best I can manage without...postponing an update for another week.

This part drones on a bit because it sets the scene for Stephen relearning how to use his magic. The next part is sliiiiightly more action-packed.

This was the piece I imagined Stephen playing to wake Tony up. Minus the singing in the middle :P

Originally on AO3.

***

As there was absolutely no way Stephen was moving all the way out to the west coast, Tony had to be the one to adjust. This meant carving out a space where, in his words, he could “keep an eye on” Stephen until he was sure that the danger really had passed.

There was no danger in the first place...but Stephen felt Tony knew this, and simply wanted an excuse to spend more time with him.

Tony got himself a fully serviced apartment in one of the many more discreet Stark-owned buildings in New York. It was, technically, Tony’s place. Stephen was just welcome to stay whenever he wanted.

Which was pretty much whenever Tony was in town.

It felt like there were no secrets between them - which was, of course, untrue. That was just how it felt, due to the sheer amount of talking that went on. Tony didn’t speak about confidential matters, though he did speak about the Avengers rather a lot. Especially Steve Rogers - who was, in fairness, quite fascinating.

And Stephen never mentioned magic.

It was as close to happiness as Stephen had gotten in a long, long time.

But something was still missing.

They’d already talked about their screwed-up past. The traumas they’d lived through: the deaths of their family members. Tony’s kidnapping. Stephen’s accident.

At times Stephen asked himself if opening up about his time in Kamar-Taj would fill in the missing part...

But then common sense hit him upside the head hard. Yeah, he said, go ahead and tell him you can do magic but won’t.

And while you’re at it, tell him you’re breaking the laws of nature. Constantly. Without regard for the risks. Just because you missed the accolades and praise you used to get.

That ought to make him like you more.

Tony got a piano for his apartment. It was nothing fancy: an upright that fit comfortably in the living room. This was, of course, a day after Stephen mentioned that he used to have a grand piano in his old apartment in Midtown - one of the very first things he’d bought after moving in.

Stephen had not expected to fall in love with that piano, but he did. He looked forward to playing it whenever he was over.

“Good morning, genius.”

Tony laid his hands on Stephen’s shoulders, bent down and planted a kiss on the side of his neck. Stephen smiled.

Stephen imagined there were other couples in the world who called each other “genius” and “smart guy” as terms of endearment, instead of as snarky insults. But he and Tony had only been together a couple of months, and he really didn’t care about other couples.

“You playing this thing,” Tony murmured into his ear, “has got to be my second favorite way to wake up.”

Stephen raised an eyebrow. “Is it? What’s the first, then?”

“Your mouth.” The smirk was right there in the words. Stephen didn’t need to turn. “On my - ”

“Really, Tony? So early?”

Tony pulled himself upright, chuckling. “What? Such a dirty mind, doc. I mean the smell of coffee.” He took a deep and noisy breath. “And I have both going for me this morning. Lucky me!”

“Lucky you.” Stephen had not stopped playing. “Sleep in any longer and you’re going to miss your flight. Had to do both, to be sure.”

“Hm. Wow, you’re right, look at the time. Well, I’m showering before coffee. Join me?”

“Not if you want to make that flight, Tony.”

“Yeah, yeah...”

Tony’s anxiety from the night before was creeping back in. For some reason, this trip to Sokovia was bothering him. He wouldn’t tell Stephen why. He only said it was probably going to be dangerous.

Although all of Tony’s trips for S.H.I.E.L.D. were dangerous.

There was no time for breakfast after Tony’s shower. He needed to perform a final check on the suitcase he was bringing (generally, Tony brought little with him on trips; he just bought new clothes wherever he landed). As he was doing so, he took the mug of black coffee handed to him by Stephen, and downed it in one gulp.

He gave a hearty whoop and blinked rapidly as the caffeine rush kicked in. And as the chemicals settled in his brain, he addressed Stephen.

“Listen...there’s something I want to tell you.”

Stephen raised an eyebrow. “I’m not housesitting for you while you’re gone.”

“I told you, I got people to do that.” He faced Stephen, looking him straight in the eye. "I'm serious, Stephen. This is important. You know the work. You know there’s always a chance I won’t come back. I just didn't want to go off to this one without letting you know how I feel."

There was a seriousness to Tony that Stephen didn’t often see. It alarmed him slightly.

"And that is...?"

Tony reached for his hands, his fingers twining restlessly with Stephen’s.

"You keep me calm. And God knows you turn me on. I don’t get as many bad dreams as I used to since we started sleeping together, and that alone I think is a goddamn miracle.” He smiled. “These days, things can get overwhelming. So I just want you to know, I appreciate feeling like you got my back. I like having you around."

Stephen had to smile again.

“I always have your back, Tony. And I like having you around, too. Just in case that wasn’t clear.”

It seemed this was exactly what Tony needed to hear. Stephen could feel his grip on Stephen’s hands loosening, his entire body relaxing somewhat.

"Anyway," Tony said as he released Stephen, "I hope I didn’t just creep you out. Or will I find all your stuff in boxes in eight days’ time?"

“All I have here is a toothbrush, a towel and a change of clothes. I doubt you’ll notice if they’ve been packed away.”

Tony snorted. “Good job revealing your master plan, Sherlock. If the toothbrush, towel and change of clothes aren’t here when I get back, I’m hunting you down.”

After this, Tony turned and resumed sifting through the contents of his suitcase.

As he did, Stephen, standing beside him, came to a decision.

There was no way on earth he wasn’t doing this.

***

This was how it worked: One performed a specific ritual from the Book of Cagliostro every so often, and in so doing, channeled energy from the Dark Dimension into one’s own body, for a period of time.

There would be a constant light tingling sensation in the parts of one’s body where the dark energy would reside. It was largely unobtrusive; one could get used to it. One could forget it was even there.

In most cases, the exhilaration of restoring one’s limbs to perfect shape and health was enough to offset any discomfort.

The ritual was deceptively simple and surprisingly quick. Any idiot could do it, as long as that idiot had basic magical knowledge and prior exposure to dark energy.

And that, Stephen supposed, was why it wasn’t taught to every idiot who came asking to learn.

Jonathan Pangborn had also spent 2 years in Kamar-Taj, before the Ancient One taught him the spell. Stephen was never taught it at all, not by choice. One night, a number of forbidden spells from the Book of Cagliostro had mysteriously entered his dreams and burned themselves into his brain. Stephen simply sought to do the best he could with the invasion.

The Ancient One had made a similar decision. Instead of wiping the spells from Stephen’s memories, she opted to guide him on how to use them, instead.

He doubted Pangborn had been taught all of the spells that were in his brain now. Some of them were vastly powerful and destructive - certainly not for 2-year novices. From what Stephen could gather, Pangborn had just been taught the one spell: how to turn his own body into a conduit for dark energies.

Still, it was not a spell that could be taken lightly. For one thing, it disliked all other spells.

This meant that once the ritual was in effect, no other spiritual activity was possible.

No astral projection. No telekinesis. No portaling. Even the most fundamental novice spells were blocked.

That is, until the ritual was cancelled - by willing the dark energy in one’s body, back to its source.

For another, as the Ancient One had said: anyone who could draw even a little power from the Dark Dimension, had the ability to draw more.

It was possible to draw too much. At the risk of losing one’s mind.

Did one ever desire to turn one’s body into a vehicle for chaos, a puppet for dark forces? All one had to do was draw vast amounts of power and let it take over one’s entire being.

Deceptively simple. Surprisingly quick.

And so Stephen had to be careful. Every time he had to do the ritual, he took enough. Just enough.

Until the magic ran out, and he had to do the ritual again. Over time, Stephen had needed to do the ritual less and less often.

It had been over a year since he last did any kind of magic that was not the ritual.

He was about to perform his first spell since leaving Kamar-Taj.

And he hoped to God he’d get it right.

***

The first thing he did was to end the ritual, to send the dark energy within him flowing out.

His hands immediately started to shake.

His unsteady fingers fluttered behind Tony’s head, just barely touching the tips of his hair.

Hairline tendrils of light snaked out from his fingers, formed a small golden spider in the air.

Once fully formed, the spider leapt onto Tony’s nape, and sank into his skin.

Then the light disappeared.

Thus Stephen planted a tracker: a magical way of monitoring Tony’s emotions as if they were his own.

Tony turned to face him again.

Stephen stuck his hands into his pockets quickly.

“All right, everything in order,” Tony declared with a sigh. “God, I miss your coffee already. And I know you love it too, so you better not finish it all off while I’m gone, mister.”

Stephen’s eyes narrowed at him. “Why do I even like you.”

Tony smirked again. “Not only do you like me - you can’t keep your hands off me. Which you may think sucks for you, but I’m just rolling in the benefits.”

Stephen hesitated. Funny you should mention hands...

“Okay. You know what, smart guy? I can so keep my hands off you. Just to prove it, I’m keeping them behind my back until you’re out of sight.”

He took his hands out of his pockets and crossed them behind his back to demonstrate.

Tony smirked. “Kinky.” He stepped toward Stephen again, placed his hands on Stephen’s hips. “Gives me a few ideas for when I get back.”

He leaned in for a kiss, and Stephen obliged, his hands behind his back trembling harder as he tensed up slightly.

Tony said one last reluctant goodbye, then left without noticing the shaking.

So much had happened, and he never noticed.

***

There was enough to keep him occupied over the next few days. There were complex post-operative complications with an elderly patient, a new stumper referred to him by Nic West, a toddler with a tumor in an extremely difficult location, among others.

(The Strange Device prototype would help vastly with most of these cases. But until Tony got back from Sokovia, development was stalled.)

Like Stephen, Tony was busy. But what bothered him was not Tony not answering his texts as quickly as he used to...

It was him still not feeling what Tony felt, close to a week after he planted the tracker.

Did the spell not work?

Did the tracker fizzle out, like spells used to do when he was still starting off?

A part of Stephen told him he didn’t need to do magic anymore, not in the life he’d chosen. So it was pointless to obsess over whether or not the magical spider he’d planted inside the base of Tony’s skull was working.

But it troubled him nonetheless, because of the implications.

Scrying and mind-reading were skills that were beyond Stephen, but spells to read other people’s emotions and dreams were available to novices.

Did he seriously just fuck up a novice spell?

Or did exposure to dark magic reduce the effectiveness of regular spells?

One night, as he puzzled over these things, he came back to his apartment late to find Peter Parker sitting up against his door.

Stephen wondered how long he'd been there. There was an anxious look on the boy’s face as he stood to acknowledge Stephen’s approach.

"Hey, doc...”

"Peter. Were you waiting for me?"

"Um, yeah." Peter promptly began avoiding looking him in the eye. Unsure of what to do with his hands, the boy started rubbing his own wrists, for some reason. "I was kind of just wondering...you're a doctor. Does that mean you're good with, uh, science and...stuff?"

"Science and stuff? Fairly good, I'd like to think.” Stephen frowned. “Why do you ask?"

The frown seemed to give Peter pause. He stammered as he replied, "I-I was wondering if you could help me out with, um, chemistry."

Peter didn't even sound sure about that; it could have been any other subject.

"See, I'm struggling with it some in school, and May says I should ask around for someone who can help. The first person who came to mind was you." He seemed to suddenly hear himself, and he put up both his hands in a gesture of surrender. "But it doesn't have to be you! I know you're busy and all, being this big-shot doctor, so maybe, you know, you can point me to someone else who could..."

"Peter," Stephen calmly interrupted, "it's all right. If it’s just an hour or two a night, maybe we can make it work. Twice a week, is that all right?"

That ended up being easier than Peter might have expected. It seemed to have caught the boy by surprise.

"Twice a week is...fine! Thanks, doc!" Remembering something important, he ventured "Um...how much are you charging? It's by the hour, right? I've never really had a tutor before, so..."

Stephen shook his head. "May has you send over food when she's made too much. I'll consider this my payment, for her kindness and yours."

“I really appreciate it, doc. Really. So, uh...is now good?”

Stephen blinked.

“Erm...no, not tonight, Peter. It's late and I need to rest. Maybe tomorrow?”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” Peter was already backing away, into the direction of his own front door. “I understand, I’m bothering you, you’re a really busy guy, and I just - really, really appreciate it, doc." He turned to leave. "I-I’ll see you tomorrow night, then, okay?”

Stephen raised his hand for a wave. “Get a good night’s rest, Peter.”

As he watched the boy run off, Stephen wondered what on earth the boy had to be so anxious about. He radiated tension.

Was his problem really about schoolwork?

He wondered why Peter would think of him. Sure, they'd been interacting quite a bit over the past year, but surely there was someone more accessible to Peter who could serve as his tutor - a classmate, perhaps? A more knowledgeable upperclassman in need of extra cash?

Most worryingly, Peter had always struck him as a smart boy - a mathlete, a fixture in academic competitions, and handy with computers. May and some of the other neighbors were even overtly proud of him for it.

For him to suddenly say he was bad at science was...certainly unexpected.

But maybe it was nothing.

Stephen resolved not to think any more about it. He had more urgent concerns. And magic-related concerns just had to throw themselves into the pot.

He set aside his groceries, fired off a final “rest up” text that he was sure Tony wouldn’t answer, then thought about the best approach to his problems.

He could try meditating. He hadn’t meditated in a while.

***

Stephen entered a dream that night.

One of the perks of being a sorcerer (of sorts) was being able to recognize dreams when he had them. It would not feel real immediately.

Another was being able to recognize that the dream he was in, was not his own.

He found himself in a desolate place. Not Earth - it seemed like a barren rock, an asteroid, perhaps. There was no atmosphere. The dark of space surrounded him and he could almost feel its cold.

The first thing he noticed was a roaring noise overhead. He looked up.

An army of worm-like creatures of titanic size dominated the skies. Far underneath them, Stephen felt microscopic.

Stephen wasn't in New York when the alien invasion occurred - the one that introduced the Avengers to the world. But he'd seen the videos. He'd heard the stories from survivors. He knew what those creatures were.

He suddenly knew whose dream this was.

"Tony."

He ran through the rubble, calling out the name.

"Tony!"

He must be somewhere nearby. That was how dream trackers worked - you always ended up somewhere in the immediate proximity of the dreamer.

And he'd apparently cast a dream tracker.

Not an emotion tracker.

Brilliant, Strange. True master of the mystic arts material.

Even as Stephen berated himself, he understood where he went wrong: the procedure was the same - to cast a single-use, single-purpose golden spider that would sink into the skin and magically embed itself into the host.

It was the location he'd gotten wrong. The spider should have crawled down to the left ventricle and stayed there. It shouldn't have crawled all the way up to the cortex. The location should have signaled its purpose.

He blamed a deeply ingrained med school mindset that said emotions were not in the heart, but in the chemicals in the brain.

Being out of practice wreaked havoc in one's lesson recall...but he wasn't in a position to beat himself up too much for it.

He had to find Tony.

This was clearly a nightmare. And that became most apparent when he reached a certain hill -

***

And Tony was there.

At the base of the hill where the bodies of fallen Avengers lay.

Tony was on his knees beside a busted-up Steve Rogers, a stunned look on his face.

Rogers was gripping his arm. He was saying something to Tony. Stephen was too far away to hear.

"TONY!"

Tony turned toward him, wide-eyed, broke free from Rogers' grip to get on his feet.

"...Stephen?" That one word brought out all of his confusion, all of his fear.

Stephen had never seen Tony so afraid.

The look in his eyes said No. No get away they'll get you too

"Tony." He opened his arms as he approached. "It's all right."

"No, don't -"

Stephen muffled that objection in a tight embrace.

Tony collapsed against him. Stephen had no other word for it. Tony was sweating and shaking - an odd state for a dreamer, who was supposed to be disconnected from his body.

But Stephen could hardly argue that now, when there was hardly any strength in Tony's legs.

"I'm here," Stephen said over and over, stroking his hair. "I'm here now, Tony. I've got you."

"I could've saved them," Tony said against his shoulder.

"It's not your fault," Stephen assured him immediately. "None of this is real."

"I could've saved them." It came as a sob now.

Something was going on here. Tony couldn't hear him, or couldn't listen.

This didn't feel like a simple dream. It was a dream, but it also felt like something induced. Something Tony was trapped in.

Magic?

In that case, they had to get out.

Now.

"That's enough," he said firmly. "This is a dream, Tony. None of this is real. Wake up."

***

"Wake up."

The sound of his own voice was the last thing he heard, before he opened his eyes.

It took him a second to get his bearings. He was no longer in a desolate rock in space with Tony. He was in his apartment. In bed. Alone.

Stephen looked at the clock: 2:13 AM.

It would be around 9 AM in Sokovia.

Tony would not have been asleep at 9 AM, not if he was on a mission. So he could not have been having a natural dream.

What the fuck was going on?

Stephen reached for his phone. Tried to reach Tony on speed dial. He knew Tony had his secure personal number patched into his suit, so even if Tony was on a mission he'd see Stephen's call.

There was no answer.

Stephen comforted himself with the thought that if he was awake, that certainly meant Tony was awake, too. Stephen's tracker had dissolved, severing contact, because the dream was over.

And they had both escaped that nightmare.

What mattered to him now was that, like him, Tony should have escaped intact.

But Tony wasn't picking up.

Not for the first time, he fought the excruciating urge to open a portal to where Tony was. If Tony was facing a powerful sorcerer who knew how to mess with his subconscious, he could well be in truly deep shit.

And yet - what would Stephen do, even if he ended the dark ritual currently in effect and portal over?

He couldn't even conjure a weapon, like he'd seen the masters at Kamar-Taj do.

At best, he could provide a momentary distraction for the sorcerer attacking Tony - and then he would die.

And then Tony would hate him for 1) never telling him he could portal, and 2) dying within 2 seconds of coming over.

Yeah. Brilliant.

No...he had to content himself with the thought that Tony could hold his own. He had always done so. He was the smart guy - Stephen's smart guy - and he could get himself out of this.

But his fingers found their way back to his phone's keyboard, and they had already started typing:

It wasn't your fault.

For a long, long time, Stephen stared wordlessly at the letters on the screen.

Then, when he got his head back together, he deleted them.

Tony would return his call when things had settled down for him. And talk to Stephen about the dream if he wanted to. He and Tony talked about nearly everything. No need to complicate matters.

So Stephen shut his eyes tight, gripped his phone, drew in a deep breath.

Exhaled slowly.

He needed to calm down. It was the best thing he could do for Tony at this moment.

[moonprincess92]

Congrats on your follower milestone my dear! You certainly deserve it 😘 For the rebelcaptain prompts, how about fake dating in a modern au?

IT WOULD BE MY PLEASURE :D 

Thank you so much Jen!!! (and I hope you like havin a laff bc I apparently went straight up comedy/fluff for this hahahahhahahaha) 

Fuck.

Fuckity fuck.

That bitch washeading her way and unless she did something stat, Jyn Erso may as well kissher miserable excuse for a life goodbye. She probably (100%) should not have had that second wine earlier, but her day hadrather called for it and naturally, it was hard to resist when you had good-for-nothing best friends in the background yelling over the pounding ofthe bass, “So you got fired! Fucking drink, bitch, and you’ll forget all aboutit!”

“Until I wake uptomorrow with no job,” Jyn had pointed out earlier that evening.

“Tomorrow’stomorrow, this is now!” Bodhi had called out to her, before naturally gettingdistracted by his newest piece of ‘mancake’ (who was admittedly kind of hot atleast this time, in a Californian surfer dude kind of way).

Hence the reasonshe was now well on her way to Trolleyed Town, when JUST HER GODDAMN LUCK,Queen McFuck Your Boyfriend showed up.

Somewhere up there(or down there? She was casting a bit of judgement now) The Big G himself wassplitting a rib laughing at her.

“Quick!” sheslammed her glass down and turned to the first person she could see – a kind ofscruffy, yet not-un-handsome dark-haired bloke sat on the barstool next to her.“We have to do something!”

The bloke ignoredher completely.

“WHY AM I DOOMEDTO DIE OF PURE HUMILIATION?”

“I’m sorry–? Areyou talking to me?” the bloke finally turned.

“Finally! I amgraced with His Majesty’s presence!” Jyn would have curtseyed, if she weren’talready sat down on her own bar stool and too worried about her balance shouldshe get off. “I literally have less than 30 seconds before McBitch shows herface and I’m not at the point of literally running away yet, so you have tohelp me!”

“McBitch?”

“KEEP THE FUCK UP,she slept with my boyfriend!” Jyn yelled.

High and Mighty ScruffyBoi crinkled his nose as he glanced around in confusion. Maia (otherwise known as ‘McBitch’) had almost certainly spotted her at this point,if the little wave was anything to go by. Damn her and her perfectlystraightened hair, deep tan and baby blues that she swore could rope in demonsif she truly put her talents to work. Not that Maia had ever lifted a manicuredfinger for herself in her entire life. Scruffy Boi was eyeing herappreciatively, so Jyn groaned and tugged on his shoulder.

“Do not be takenin by the hotness,” she insisted. “She will roast your insides and eat youalive.”

“How could youstill be alive if she’s already roasted your insides?”

“SCRUFFY BOI, KEEPUP,” she cried. “I cannot let her win!”

“Well, what thehell do you want me to do about it?” Scruffy Boi asked, eyes slightly unfocusedas if this constant back and forth conversion was whooshing straight over hishead, along with her dignity and self-respect, particularly in the wake of whatshe was about to say next. Did she have much choice?

She was alreadyregretting it.

“I want you tokiss me.”

No, she trulydidn’t wake up this morning thinking that she was going to end up here. Believeit or not, but Jyn Erso usually lived a very quiet life! She lived alone, sheloved tea and snuggly blankets and occasionally entertained the odd guest(which basically just meant Bodhi coming over and eating out her entirefridge).  She had done the crazy shitalready. She wasn’t 16 and on the streets anymore, drinking until 5am andsleeping with Scott Melshi (now THERE was a mistake). Nopity nope, she was aself-confessed grandma now, and she was totally ok with that! She only wantedwhat everyone else in their late 20s wanted: a stable job and living withoutthe debilitating fear that she was going to die alone and in debt.

Of course McBitchhad to move in.

She honestlywasn’t quite sure what had come over her in asking this very random, verybewildered (albiet very cute) guy to kiss her, but what could she say, she wason a roll here. She knew it sounded ridiculous, even as the words were comingout of her mouth, but she hadn’t stopped them. She knew that she didn’t live ina romance novel like that line seemed to have apparently walked straight outof. In fact, Jyn was 100% certain that he was about two seconds away fromtelling her to fuck off, which would be fair. Honestly, since it was years agoJyn wasn’t really pissed about the whole ‘being cheated on’ thing anymore, itwas more the fact that McBitch seemed to think they were still BFFs for someunholy reason (did ‘you slept with myboyfriend and I hate you’ mean nothing?) so she would honestly just takewhat she could get.

Scruffy boistarted laughing. He was shaking his head and as he drained the last of hisdrink and Jyn sighed in exasperation.

“Fine, go on then.Laugh it up, mate,” she said. “My life is now a sham, thanks to you! I hope yourealise–”

Somewhere inbetween his laughing and her complaining, she had apparently failed to realisethat he had slipped off his bar stool and now stood in front of her. In fact,she didn’t realise anything at all until he was cutting off her words, kissingher with the kind of passion that can only come from third drinks and latehours.

Well, holy shit.

The bar stool shesat on gave her the added height she needed to comfortably reach his lips, and JesusChrist, what a pair of lips they were. She always liked to think that she’dbeen not just kissed, but Kissed™ at least a fair few times throughout herlife, but apparently she was wrong. Scott Melshi had been an opening act. ScruffyBoi was where it was at and she didn’t think, she only felt with a kind ofblind ohmygodohmygodohmygod panic.Where was fucking Bodhi when she was the one finally being the wild one for achange? Scruffy Boi gripped her hips in a way that made her stomach flip andshe separated her knees, drawing him in, dragging him closer –

“Oh my god, Jyn!Haven’t seen you in forever – have I caught you at a bad time?”

Bitch, you can very well see that this is afucking bad time!

Jyn pulled away invery un-fake irritation. She kept an arm slung around Scruffy Boi’s shouldersand she turned to face McBitch. “Oh, Maia. You could not have turned up at aworse time. How’s it going, girl?”

“Oh, so great,thanks for asking,” Maia simpered

“Was there anything you actually wanted? ‘cause I’m kind of busy…”

She felt Scruffy Boi’s lips pressed firmly to her neck, travelling theskin there and quite honestly, it was making it very difficult to think. He wasapparently taking her request to heart and Jyn noticed Maia’s eyes narrowingslightly as she watched. Time to milkthis. “Hey, babe,” she nudged Scruffy’s Boi’s head with her own, making himglance up. “This is Maia, we knew each other back in the day.”

“Oh hey, Cassian,”he introduced himself. He pressed closer to Jyn, occupying her space with hishands at her hips. “I’m the boyfriend.”

Yeah, you are.

“I didn’t evenknow you were dating again!” Maia said in false happiness.

“Yes, this isCASSIAN, my BOYFRIEND,” Jyn practically yelled. Quite frankly, her quota tohold inane conversations had been used up and she made a point to turning backto Scruffy Boi (wait, Cassian, of coursethe guy’s name is Cassian, you never could choose a Peter or a John could you?).She didn’t give him any warning when she kissed him this time, but she hoped togod that he’d just roll with it and he did. They were probably way toooverly-enthusiastic, but there was just enough tongue to make her stomach churnand she found her hands snaking up around his neck, into his hair.

It took severalminutes for Maia to finally get the hint and trill, “Um, byeeeee then!” beforeflouncing off through the club.

Jyn hastily pulledback from him, praying that her face wasn’t as red as it felt.

“Oh good god, thank you,” she breathed with relief.

“I – shit – Imean,” he laughed nervously, stepping back out of her arms. “No problem.”

“I didn’t even say– my name’s Jyn.”

“Cassian,” hereiterated for her. Bizarrely, he held out a hand for her to shake and she tookit. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

“I feel like I’mkind of owed an explanation for… well, whatever all that was,” Cassian pulledback to wave his hand in the general direction that Maia had gone off to. “Idon’t know… did you want a drink or something?”

It only took herabout five seconds to make the decision.

“Sounds great.”

[alcoholicseraphim]

The Year Before Tomorrow

Chapter Five-Year I- Echo, Love

On Monday, October twenty-seventh, a small family made up of Muggleborns was found dead. Hermione felt an exhausted sigh bubble up in her chest. Two Muggleborn parents and their eight-year old daughter were killed in their living room with the Dark Mark floating over their house. Eight years old, and still filth.

Hermione wasn't the only one affected, either. Lily was fairly subdued that day, and most of the other Muggleborns as well. With the rest of the students it really depended on the individual.

"It's begun, hasn't it?" said Lily at breakfast that morning. "They haven't caught him over the summer. He's still here. He's not going to go away, is he?"

The time-traveler looked down at her plate and said nothing, gritting her teeth against the words she wanted to say.

None of the teachers commented on their somber students, which Hermione was grateful for. "Business as usual" would probably be the best thing to do.

"Miss Granger," called Professor McGonagall. "Would you please demonstrate the wand motions and incantation necessary to change a tortoise into a hat, without using your wand?"

Hermione complied absentmindedly, earning herself ten points for Gryffindor. Lily reached under the desk and squeezed her hand. The bushy-haired girl squeezed back.

Lunch came and went, and Hermione was happy to find the volume level back to normal. Things like this would happen all the time, and it wouldn't do to get hung up on each. At the same time, Hermione felt herself wincing internally at their willingness to move on so quickly.

Hermione found Lily in the library later that day. "You're planning something," she observed.

The redhead nodded without hesitation. "I've been thinking. Perhaps Potter can have a chance. If the war's on... we don't have 'all the time in the world', do we? And it would just be a date, not getting engaged. No commitment, right?"

Hermione nodded, doing her best not to seem too enthusiastic. It was about damn time! "When?"

Lily's only response was a thoughtful shrug. Hermione joined her and they both began studying, although fundamentally different subject matter.

*|II8II|*

Lily was a very bold girl.

Hermione smiled at the tiny blush on Lily's face as Lily daintily speared her pasta with her fork. The brunette wondered vaguely how Lily could be so graceful about it, seeing as she was hardly looking at where it was going. She was far too busy trying to be sneaky about staring at James Potter.

Was today the day?

Dinner ended soon after, and no one was in a huge rush to get back to their common rooms. Lily strode up to the Marauders and tapped on James's shoulder. "Excuse me, may I have a word?"

Anyone with eyes could see the shock and excitement that were at war on the boy's face. He nodded eagerly and glanced at the others. Sirius was grinning.

Would you like to go with me to Hogsmeade this weekend? Hermione didn't have to be within earshot to understand the phrase that Lily had rehearsed over and over.

James said yes immediately, as Hermione had expected. She felt almost as if she should applaud.

It seemed that she'd drifted over to the other three Marauders, but she didn't notice until Remus said, "Well, I wasn't expecting things to go quite that way." Sirius laughed at Hermione's startled jump. She normally would have glared, but she didn't really feel like it. Everyone was in an exceptional mood.

Lily practically dragged Hermione away, boldness evidently drained for the moment.

"Merlin, that was- that was scary, and exciting, and- wow! I'm going on a date with James Potter! Can you believe it?" Lily was beyond happiness, and into the giddiness that only such a situation could warrant.

"You and I both knew he would say yes, Lil." Hermione couldn't fight down her grin, either.

"Yeah," said Lily. "Still, it's not normal for the girl to ask the boy out." Hermione felt a twinge of irritation. She'd forgotten the mindset of the seventies when it came to gender roles. "All the better! It's a welcome change."

*|II8II|*

The date evidently went well, judging by Lily's rosier-than-normal face. Her eyes were positively shining, and she couldn't seem to stop giggling.

"What did you think?" Hermione asked, patting the space next to her on the bed.

Lily's grin grew. "It was wonderful! James was a perfect gentleman, but not so much that he was overbearing. He didn't take me straight to Zonko's like I expected, he asked me where I wanted to go and actually seemed happy to follow me around a bookstore for two hours! Can you believe it? I mean, I know I asked him and everything, but I kind of expected it to be a flop."

Hermione smiled back, rubbing Lily's hair until it was messy and static-y. Instead of yelping and rushing to fix it like Hermione anticipated, Lily just laughed and mussed her hair right back. Hermione scowled. She deserved that.

"I think it's about time for dinner, Hermione," declared Lily after glancing at her watch.

Dinner itself went without a hitch. Lily couldn't stop touching or looking at James, and James just seemed completely thrilled at Lily's hard-won attentions. Hermione doubted that very much food actually got to their mouths, as their plates were both nearly full when dinner ended.

Sirius was still confused about James and Hermione getting along, and now Lily had finally agreed to date James. Hermione could read all of his emotions on his face: bemusement, smugness, and concern. She smirked and patted his shoulder sympathetically. He swatted at her hand vaguely, scowling at her.

Dinner was over soon after, and the group picked up their bags and made to leave. They were halfway out the doors when Hermione spotted Severus Snape approaching.

Oh, no, she thought, horrified. This would not turn out well at all.

"What do you want, Snape?" Lily asked coldly as the boy stopped in front of them.

"How could you, Lily? After six years of abhorring Potter, you date him? What about all he's done to you? To me?" Severus Snape was well and truly furious. Hermione knew that he loved the woman he was yelling at, and so did Lily, so Lily shouted back. No one seemed to care that they were in no way somewhere private. The six of them were drawing a crowd.

"We aren't friends! You have absolutely no right to say anything about us, not after what you called me! If I date James, it's my own damn business! Keep your nose out of it!" Lily was worse. Her eyes snapped with rage, and Hermione wanted to smack some sense into her. Not enough to actually do it, apparently, because she remained shifting her weight awkwardly.

"Snivellus, I suggest you find your snake pit and slither back in."

Lily shushed her boyfriend, but Sirius found his way into the screaming match.

It was almost too loud to hear what they were shouting.

Hermione, Remus, and Peter exchanged glances. This whole thing- it wasn't their battle to fight. Yet, they couldn't leave, because the three angry teens would turn on them later if they did.

This went on. Lily ended up in tears, James was obviously a hair away from punching the boy, and Sirius's face was purple.

Severus walked away quickly, and Hermione could have sworn he was also about to cry.

She felt sorry for him, but not enough to abandon Lily.

"Come on, then," said Remus after a moment.

Lily sniffed, wiping at her cheeks and attempting a smile. "Yeah," she agreed. "There's homework to do before tomorrow."

Hermione and Peter followed the rushing quartet at a more sedate pace. Hermione glared over her shoulder at the crowd. "Get a move on, would you?" she growled, and the hallway cleared.

Entering the common room some minutes later, Hermione saw the Marauders, but no Lily. Sirius noticed her roving eyes and jabbed his thumb in the direction of the girls' dorm. She smiled politely to thank him and raced up the stairs.

Lily was sitting on Hermione's bed, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. She greeted her friend with a watery smile and a shrug. "I knew that would happen," she said.

Hermione wrapped her arms around the crying girl. "It still should have happened differently. It'll be fine, Lily." When that didn't cheer her up, Hermione decided to try a different tactic. "So you and James are dating now, huh?" She grinned slyly down at Lily.

The redhead was startled into laughter. "Oh," she said, calming down. "Yeah. We decided at dinner."

Hermione pulled her into another hug. She was relieved that her work hadn't been for nothing.

Later that night, after homework was finished and the lights were out, Hermione could hear Lily's muffled sobs. She pretended to be asleep when Lily got up early the next morning to clean up before anyone saw her face. Lily hadn't slept any more than Hermione had, and she was pretending not to hurt. Hermione knew better, and she frowned into her pillow. When Lily came to wake Hermione up, Hermione smiled at her friend. "Are you okay?" she asked as if she didn't know the answer.

"Not really," Lily answered honestly. "But I'll get over myself." She busied herself at the vanity, puttering over lotions and cosmetics before applying nothing, as usual.

"What are your plans for the holidays?" Hermione changed the subject, stretching languidly once on her feet.

Lily's lips turned up. "Going home," she said. "It'll be good to see my Mum and Dad, and even Tuney. Maybe she'll be happier now that she's going out with that Dursley boy."

Hermione agreed, thinking on her own arrangements. She would be staying in Aberforth's pub again. A contented smile spread over her face at the thought. When Lily asked her, however, Hermione lied and said that she would be staying with her parents. No one here knew how alone she was, fortunately. Except for Dumbledore, of course.

"Do you like them?" Lily asked curiously.

Hermione started, not expecting her friend to ask for details. "They're wonderful, especially since I'm never around. They don't have enough time with me to become frustrated, which does wonders for our relationship."

Lily giggled. "It's the same with mine, actually. Distance hasn't exactly made my sister fonder of me, though."

"Oh." Hermione remembered very well the personality of Petunia Dursley. She wasn't sure that the woman could feel any fondness for anyone who wasn't completely, totally mundane. Like herself.

Potions that day was full of tension. Lily was determinedly not looking even in the direction of Severus Snape. The boy himself was focused on his cauldron with a carefully blank expression.

Hermione frowned. This wouldn't do at all.

Perhaps the only upside to the situation was that Lily and James had gotten closer faster. Lily hesitantly pulled him aside on the way back from dinner and gave him a kiss.

Hermione thought it was sweet. Normally she would feel at least the tiniest bit of disapproval, but James was Harry's father. She couldn't possibly want them to not get together.

She couldn't help but be slightly annoyed at finding Lily and James snogging in the corner of the common room whenever she came back from the library. Thank Merlin Madame Pince didn't allow displays of affection in the library.

*|II8II|*

The search for the properties of the stone wasn't going well. No matter how many books Hermione stayed up until dawn reading she couldn't find even a mention of the thing. Even just the name of it would be helpful.

The stone was safely wrapped in exactly eighteen pairs of socks. For a reason unknown even to herself, Hermione was terrified of her roommates seeing the stone. What if they discovered its powers and she wasn't there? What if they asked where she'd gotten it?

In any case, Hermione figured the best place for it was inside her locked and warded trunk.

Hermione was locked inside the bathroom well after the rest of the Gryffindors left on the Hogwarts Express, examining the stone as best she could under the bright light. There was nothing new. She didn't know what she'd expected.

She sat cross-legged on the cold floor, cradling the stone in her lap. One hand ran over the surface, when she found an irregularity that hadn't been there before.

"Hmm?" she said aloud, holding it up to the light. She hadn't imagined it! There was a crack, spanning over half the thing. Before Hermione's thrilled eyes, several more appeared. There was a clicking sound from inside.

How foolish of her, to just assume that it was a stone! It was so obvious now that it was an egg, and she couldn't wait to see what hatched from it.

Then it occurred to her that not everything was harmless. Basilisks, for example, turned their mothers to stone immediately upon hatching.

As much as Hermione didn't want to, she backed away from the egg and placed protective wards around herself, feeling what little magic she'd regained drain away. She found a handheld mirror and angled it just so. If she did accidentally catch sight of the thing's eyes, she wouldn't die.

The first thing she saw was the head, pretty and damp. It was the color of fire, but Hermione could see shades of purple in there, too. The creature's beak was deadly-looking, but it was obviously not a basilisk. Hermione dropped the mirror.

"Hey," she crooned, realizing it was a bird of some sort. There was something incredibly familiar about it, she thought as the beautiful baby shook itself free from its shell.

Hadn't Fawkes looked much like this when he was reborn?

Oh.

Hermione canceled the wards and the baby phoenix waddled towards her. Its feet were purple and silver, just like Fawkes's had been. It rubbed its head against the bare skin of Hermione's leg. She smiled fondly down at the creature.

"Do you have a name?" she asked, and the phoenix jumped slightly. "No, I suppose not. I don't know much about new phoenixes, though, as Fawkes was very much grown up by the time I knew him. What do you eat, anyway? I'll bet you're very hungry, my love. We'll see what we can do, won't we? To the library!"

She scooped up the phoenix and placed it on her shoulder. It grasped her hair tightly in it's talons, and Hermione felt a moment of worry. Her shoulder probably wasn't a very secure perch. Sweeping out into the dorm room, Hermione grabbed several pieces of cloth and wrapped them into a makeshift pouch, lamenting her lack of magic.

"Is this okay?" she asked the phoenix, showing it the pouch. There was a small chirp in response, which Hermione took as a yes.

Once the phoenix was situated and hidden in the folds of her robes, Hermione made her way down to the library, intent on searching for information on phoenixes. However, it quickly occurred to her that it would be much more efficient to go to Harry's and look there. After all, as smug and obnoxious as Keane was, he had obviously known what the "stone" was. He would be able to point her towards the most helpful books.

"We're going to go see Keane, okay?" she told the phoenix. Hermione really needed to find a name for it. And find out its gender.

The pair successfully maneuvered through the streets of Hogsmeade without the phoenix being spotted. Keane greeted Hermione immediately upon their entrance, and Hermione beamed at him.

"A phoenix egg," she breathed, and showed him the pouch and its occupant.

"May I see?" asked Keane, and Hermione looked to the phoenix for permission. It didn't seem to have any problems with the man handling it. After several moments of scrutiny, Keane announced, "A female. She's a female."

Hermione took back her phoenix and settled her back in the pouch.

Keane took her into the second room, and Hermione was surprised to find that the books had changed. Instead of the rather broad topic of "Light magic", now the room was filled wall to wall with books on phoenixes.

"Thank you," said Hermione. Her phoenix trilled.

Hours of research later, Hermione felt that she knew everything she could possibly want to about phoenixes, the most important of which were eating habits. Phoenixes evidently did not kill even to eat, and lived on dew. Judging from her own phoenix's lack of grumpiness, they didn't get hungry very often.

"Well," she told her phoenix, "I guess all I need to do is take you outside in the morning. You think?"

That night, settled once more in Aberforth's pub, a name occurred to Hermione. "Echo," she called quietly, and the phoenix's head popped up. "So mote it be."

*|II8II|*

The first morning of Christmas break came with a small struggle between Hermione and her new companion. Echo had spent the night curled up on the pillow by Hermione's head, and was reluctant to be left behind when Hermione went downstairs to get back to work at the bar.

"I can't let the others see you," Hermione explained. "You haven't grown enough yet to defend yourself, and I don't want you to be stolen."

Echo gave an indignant squawk as Hermione tried once more to open the door.

Hermione sighed. "Please?"

The phoenix snorted.

"Oh, fine!" Hermione scooped up the creature and placed her in the hood of Hermione's jacket, hiding Echo in her voluminous hair. "Just try to be quiet, all right? I haven't told Aberforth about you yet, and I don't want to have to do that in the middle of washing dishes. Capische?"

Echo crooned and settled into the hood, evidently satisfied with those conditions.

The time-traveler smiled fondly over her shoulder at her before going downstairs to earn her keep.

"'Morning," said Aberforth. Hermione mumbled something similar and set about washing the dishes that Abe couldn't be chuffed to do. It would be a while before customers came in, so she could do as she pleased until then. Once her morning chores were finished, of course.

Hermione could not, however, leave the Hog's Head. With Echo so unwilling to be left behind, Hermione couldn't risk some ruffian deciding he wanted the pretty bird. Echo was a hatchling, and Hermione couldn't defend either of them, as her magic was so woefully nonexistent.

The pair contented themselves with staying in their room and reading, Hermione wondering if she could possibly teach Echo to decipher the letters and form them into words. Phoenixes were intelligent creatures, there was no doubting that, but were they coachable?

It was a worthy use of her afternoon, in either case. "Echo?" Hermione called softly, watching as her phoenix stretched her neck towards the witch. "Do you see these? These are called books, and they hold knowledge. These little squiggles are called letters, and they make up words. Do you want to learn?"

She didn't know what she was expecting. After all, human babies weren't taught to read until they were several years old. Echo had been born the day before. Even if phoenixes were intelligent, one simply could not expect any day-old creature to do much in the way of learning anything.

Still, Hermione was disappointed when Echo simply rubbed her head against her arm, showing no signs of even comprehending her words.

Hermione fell back down the well of thought, open tome forgotten.

Had she ever loved anything so quickly and unconditionally as she loved Echo? She hardly thought so. Crookshanks had been an immediate infatuation, but certainly not love. That had grown with time. Harry and Ron were definitely a very long process. If she had a younger sibling or a child, Hermione supposed that the feeling would be quite similar.

Casting a quick Tempus, Hermione realized that it was time to head back to work. She replaced Echo in her hood without any prompting, and the phoenix gave a low, satisfied trill. It seemed Hermione was trainable after all.

"Stay quiet back there, all right?" Hermione reminded Echo.

Hermione was greeted with the grins of some of her early regulars. She'd forgotten how much she liked it here.

The night went well, perhaps louder than she remembered, but overall pretty great. They made a good profit, with Hermione even being tipped. She was in a better mood than she'd been in since going to Hogwarts.

That is, until Sirius Black stepped in.

He made a beeline for the counter as soon as he spotted Hermione. "What are you doing here?" he asked stupidly, eyes skating down her figure as if to make sure it was really her.

"Just washing glasses for kicks," Hermione shot back. "What did you think? I work here." And live here, but that's beside the point.

Aberforth appeared to her left. "What can I get you?" he asked curtly. Hermione flashed him a smile.

Sirius considered for a moment before replying, "Just a butterbeer, thanks."

Hermione turned abruptly and took a bottle from the shelf, popping out the cork and pouring some into a glass. She set the beverage in front of her irritating classmate without a word.

"Hey, thanks," he said, as if it were a favor she'd done him.

"Mm," replied she. Hermione realized that she was probably being a git, but it felt good. She didn't even know why she was so aggravated with him, or why her mood had completely flipped as soon as Sirius had walked in.

Echo's feet scrabbled slightly at the back of her neck, and Hermione jumped. They were both getting agitated, and the last thing she wanted to do was expose Echo so soon.

"What's wrong?" asked Sirius, noticing her brief expression of panic.

"Nothing," said Hermione with a bright smile. "Just forgot something."

Sirius continued to stare at her suspiciously until Hermione resumed wiping the glasses. Then, taking a few large swallows of his butterbeer, he said, "What's that in your hood?"

Hermione froze, looking at him sharply. "Nothing. What would possibly be in my hood?" She winced internally as soon as the words left her lips. Engaging Sirius's curiosity was exactly the wrong thing to do.

He, predictably, reached over the counter and tried to catch the back of her jacket. Hermione leaped backwards, knowing at the same time that there was very little that could get her out of this situation without causing a scene.

"No, let me see," Sirius said, eyebrow furrowed. "There's something in there."

"You know what? Why don't I just go check in the the loo?" she said, already moving away from him.

Once safely locked inside the loo, Hermione set Echo on the edge of the sink. "That's why I didn't want to take you," she groused, crossing her arms at the phoenix. "I guess there was no way of knowing that Sirius would show up, though. And it's entirely my fault, anyway, so don't listen to me." Hermione bit her lip. "How are we supposed to sneak back up to our room?"

Echo responded with an unhelpful chirp.

Hermione sighed, squatting on her heels and leaning against the wall, prepared to think. "He's wondering why I'm taking so long," she predicted. "Should I just hide you somewhere else? I don't see a way I could sneak past everyone and go to our room, and I don't want Sirius to know I live here. He would... I don't know, do something very Sirius-y. I'd like to avoid that if at all possible."

The hatchling phoenix tilted its head, looking her in the eye.

"That's the best solution, then," Hermione decided. She spent several moments searching her clothing for possible hiding places before finding pockets on the inside of her jacket. "Is this all right? It'll be hot in there."

Echo didn't seem to care one way or the other, so Hermione transferred her to the pocket immediately, not wanting to spend too long away from the bar.

"What did you find?" asked Sirius as soon as she was back behind the counter.

"Nothing, like I said," Hermione said nonchalantly, passing a bottle of firewhiskey to another patron. The woman returned her friendly smile with a strained look in her eyes before popping the top off and chugging straight from the bottle. The woman swayed slightly, and Hermione slid to her side and guided her to a stool. "You all right?" she asked, genuinely concerned.

The woman put her head down on her arms, firewhiskey forgotten. Hermione smoothly pushed the bottle further back from the edge so that it would be less likely to fall to the ground and shatter.

Hermione stood there for a moment, rubbing the woman's back in soothing circles. She'd worked at the Hog's Head long enough to know when someone had had a horrid day.

Sirius clinked his glass slightly against the tabletop, reminding Hermione of his presence. "Wait," she mouthed. Then, to the woman she said, "Hey, do you want to talk about it?" She noticed out of the corner of her eye Sirius finishing his drink and then leaving, tossing a few galleons onto the counter.

She loved working here, she thought, listening to the woman's life story. If only her classmates would just go somewhere else.