#how much of that novel is padding and how much of it is actual scrapped script I NEED to KNOW

[carmensandiego-dreams-collection]

Hello Carmen Fans! I come to you with a plea for help. A while ago, a user in the tag posted about being able to watch the Carmen Pilot on TV and seeing deleted scenes that were not in the original Netflix version. The scenes they described aligned very closely with some of the ones in the Pilot's Novelization-- most notably the fight Carmen has with Sheena where she gets the idea for her codename, and the scene where Grey says goodbye to Carmen after graduating.

I was able to message this user about where specifically they saw this airing, and they said they were able to watch it on the Canadian channel Family TV, which is owned by none other than our friends at Wildbrain, the animation studio for Carmen! Stoked at this knowledge, I was then able to find the broadcast schedule for Carmen on this network:

Now, unfortunately it appears that they have only been broadcasting the pilot and no other eps for now, however, they are consistently airing them and doing so again this week! Unfortunately, I don't have any access to this channel and the original person that discovered this was never able to record them, but I'm sure there are people out there that can! So here's my quest for y'all: If you get Family TV at home, see if you can't catch these broadcasts, and if you see the extra scenes, record them on your phone!

Of course, I could also be 100% wrong here and the episodes they're airing could be totally normal-- it could have been a one-time thing that very few people saw. But even if it's a small chance, I think everyone would be interested in a find like this. I'm honestly dying to know if there's potentially more Carmen out there, and if there is, I'd hate for any of it to become lost media.

I'm tagging @csweekly here because I think a lot of Carmen fans are active again because of them, plus the episode this week is Part II of the pilot, after all!

[spreadyovrwings]

64 Oslo Square

"Companion' Middle English. From Old French 'compaignon', literally 'one who breaks bread with another.

Strapped for cash, John gets a job at a bakery as their new delivery boy. Juggling school and Queen and work is exhausting, but it's more than worth it. It's worth it because of you.

Warnings for this chapter: smut! soft sub/dom dynamics, pegging, a vague understanding of electronics, more smut, this is a sordid chapter lads

A/N: and here we have the penultimate chapter! have fun! let me know what you think!

//

Chapter 12

“I knew I liked you for a reason.”

John looked up.

“Mm? What’s that?”

He’d been sitting in the middle of your living room floor for hours now, cross-legged on a cushion, halfway between the sofa and the telly.

John’s work was spread out across your coffee table, a metal jigsaw puzzle that only he knew how to solve. There was a small wooden box, speaker cones, and a brick-sized 9 volt battery that you’d almost mistaken for an actual brick when you came in.

Not so long ago, this would have been a novel sight, but John was now as much a fixture of your home as the furniture. He spent most nights at yours now, and neither of you could’ve been any happier.

Smiling to yourself, you turned the page of your book, letting the fine edge of the paper slide against the pad of your thumb so that it creaked gently.

“Yeah. You’re a cheap date.”

“There’s nothing cheap about me, sweetheart.”

“‘ow long ‘ave you owned that shirt?”

“Since I was-”

“Yeah?”

“Since I was fifteen.”

“There it is.”

John had come up earlier than you, while you were still closing up. He offered to help, like he always did, but you just smiled and waved him on to your flat with a tired smile and the promise that you’d be up soon.

When you got in, just twenty minutes later, John was kneeling on the carpet, pulling what looked like the guts of a car or a computer from his bag. How he’d managed to get it all in the ridiculous basket on the front of his borrowed bike, you’d never know.

Now he was rearranging these frayed wires and twisted scraps of metal into a specific shape, one he’d made a thousand times before.

John’s hands moved with certainty, his gaze focused and keen. He clearly knew what he was doing, even though you couldn’t even begin to interpret these abstract shapes into something solid and real.

“So the dumpster divin’, that’s a regular thing?”

You’d caught him at it the other day. You’d gone out into the alley to meet the delivery driver and found John with his head in the skip, his long legs kicking into the air, just minutes before his shift began.

When you called his name, John lost his balance and he had to shoot out a hand to grab the side of the skip. When he finally lifted his head your way, he grinned and triumphantly held up a bunch of wires attached to a circuit board, like he was lifting the World Cup.

“People throw away tons of good stuff. You never know what you might find, if you know where to look.”

“And that’s good stuff, is it?”

“I know it doesn’t look like much now but these are actually pretty good finds. Parts can be expensive. If someone throws away an old radio or a good size battery, you can do tons with it.”

You cocked your head to the side, frowning at the mess on your table.

“And you’re makin’… Modern art?”

John smiled.

“I’m making an amp.”

“For fun or to use?”

“Both. It’s just to practise with when I’m away from the studio but if it sounds good enough, I might bring it to rehearsals. I can’t really afford to buy one right now.”

“So you decided to make one.” You reached forward and cupped his cheek, tilting his face up to yours so that you could kiss his forehead. “You’re so clever, John.”

John hummed, his eyes sliding closed as you kissed his nose, then the corner of his mouth, your thumb sweeping across his cheek.

“Yeah, well, don’t ask me where any countries are.”

He tilted his head back further, asking for a proper kiss, and grinned when he got his wish.

John scooped up his project and shuffled nearer so that you could see what he was working on.

“Here, look.”

It was only small, completely portable and light enough to be carried with one hand, though he kept both on the little box to keep it safe. John had retro-fitted the circuit board and wiring he’d foraged into a tiny cabinet, then installed two speakers, a quarter-inch input jack and a volume knob.

“I think I’m gonna take that off though,” John grinned. “It sounds better turned all the way up.”

The amp brought out his two sides: the studious, meticulous engineer, and the long-haired rocker looking for a good time. You loved them both, you loved all of him.

“It's very cool, John. Have you always been this good with your ‘ands? Bet the girls were all clamouring over you at school.”

You’d meant it as a joke but John blew out a long breath like a punctured tire.

“God, no. No, never been very clever there either. Didn’t think I’d ever work up the courage to ask you out.”

You snorted.

“Neither did I. Thought I was seeing signs that weren’t there after a while. Half the time, I was sure it was just me.”

John’s hands stilled. He looked up from his work, his expression dawn into such a look of amazement and bewilderment that you had to laugh.

“What!”

“You’re joking. The amount of times I almost died because I thought I’d said something daft or put you off or embarrassed myself in front of you, love, I- I liked you so much. I was an idiot around you.”

“You weren’t!”

“I am! You make me feel…”

He couldn’t seem to find the words. Instead, John put down his project and moved to kneel on the floor between your parted legs.

Cheeks burning, you fought to keep your gaze steady as John took your hand and slipped it up his chest. His rings were cold against your skin, a reminder of your last night together, when you’d felt them pressed against a more sensitive part of you before John thought to pull them off with his teeth.

He pressed his palm against the back of your hand, flattening it over his pounding heart. Steady and reliable, just like the rest of him.

You let the rest of your noisy, ever-changing world melt away and honed in on the firm, strong thump thump thump of John’s heart, feeling it beat just for you.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” you asked softly, not wanting to break the sudden fragile stillness.

John shrugged.

“I didn’t know if you liked me too.”

“Oh, give over. I know Mickey told you. And Gladys.”

“And Sandra.”

“Sandra? From next door, Sandra?”

“Yeah.”

“What does she know about anythin’?”

“She popped her head out the door the morning after I had dinner at yours. Apparently, you asked her a million questions. Were you worried about what to make me?”

“No…”

You poked his cheek, trying in vain to make his self-satisfied smile disappear. But John just kept on beaming.

“You were nervous, weren’t you. You wanted to impress me so badly.”

“The point is,” you went on, pressing your hand flat over John’s mouth to hide his smirk. “If you knew I’d say yes, why didn’t you ask me out?”

John rolled his eyes. He tucked his fingers over yours and gently moved them away from his mouth so that he had room to reply, though not far. His lips brushed the pads of your fingers as he spoke.

“I don’t know…”

“John?”

He sighed.

“I don’t have much. I mean, I’m- I’m working on it. I will have- Right now, I’ve got nothing. And you have this place and friends and goals and dreams, and you’re so sure of yourself and I just… I didn’t think I had a lot to offer you.”

Slowly, you began to smile. Oh, he knew how to make you melt. This sweet, smart boy, always thinking ten steps ahead. He didn’t want to even entertain the idea of dating you until he had a life to share with you.

Unable to resist, you slipped your hand around until you held his jaw between your fingers and leaned down.

“Well,” you said, speaking inches from his mouth. “I wouldn’t say you ‘ave nothin’.”

You caught the edge of John’s smile out of the corner of your eye before you kissed him, hoping he’d be able to feel how much you adored him in every moment. He was more than enough. He always had been. He was everything.

John hummed, discontented, when you pulled away. The tip of his nose nudged yours, quietly demanding another kiss, and you happily obliged.

Soon you lifted his head, your fingers still wrapped around his angular jaw, and led him up onto the sofa with you, one of his bony knees pressing into your hip, the other separating your thighs.

Groaning softly, John drew his tongue across your bottom lip, just as you slipped a hand into his hair.

Something shifted.

John pressed more firmly against you. The hand that he wasn’t using to prop himself up against the back of the sofa slipped round your waist, kneading at you persistently.

“Bed?”

“Bed.”

John took your hands and helped you to your feet, though your legs felt bandy and useless as he pulled you towards the bedroom.

You were on your back before you could think to be shy, your clothes gone and your smile wide.

John pulled off his shirt, his grey eyes focused and steady and fixed on you.

You held out your hand and he took it immediately, his smile bright with excitement as you guided him down on top of you.

“Have you been practising?” you asked between breathless, messy kisses. “Like I showed you?”

John nodded, his cheeks flushed.

“Mm, in the shower.”

“You wanna try tonight?”

“I…” John glanced away. “Yeah, okay.”

Smiling, you hooked your hands around his middle and ran your fingertips up and down John’s back, seeking out the angles of his shoulder blades and the soft depression of his spine. His body was second-nature to you no, every part of him was branded onto your memory. You’d know him with your eyes closed, with your hands tied behind your back.

“We don’t have to, love.”

“No, I’d like to!” John pressed a sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth, right on your warm smile. “I want to. But I’d like to make you feel good first, if that’s alright. I think it’ll help me relax to see you… Well, you.”

It was perhaps the fourth or fifth time that he’d initiated intimacy, and your heart began to race just as fast as it did that very first night. He was so sweet, so attentive and keen, you couldn’t recall a boy ever looking at you with such intent, or with such a wicked, excited gleam in his eye at the thought of touching you.

John kissed you slowly, purposefully, as his fingers wrapped around the zip of your trousers and dragged it down.

It made your tongue feel heavy in your mouth but thankfully, you wouldn’t need to do much talking.

“Can I..?”

All you could do was nod, your throat too tight to speak, and watch his fingers slip beneath the band of your underwear to stroke tentatively between your legs. You sighed softly, letting yourself sink into the bed, your hands finding a comfortable resting place on his shoulders.

John boldly dipped two fingers into you, and you tensed at how embarrassingly wet you sounded.

He moaned softly, turning his head and pressing his lips to your shoulder.

“God, love…”

“Sorry,” You buried your face in the crook of his neck, feeling oddly shy all of a sudden. “You’re just so pretty.”

“Don’t be sorry, why on earth would you be- C’mere.”

He didn’t waste any time. John’s long hair swept along his shoulders as he settled down between your legs. His stomach had barely touched the bed when he began to press slow, open-mouthed kisses to the inside of your thigh.

Heat pooled in your underwear instantly, and you had to resist the urge to push your fingers into his hair and pull his mouth to where you needed it.

John had the audacity to graze his mouth along your thigh, then look up at you with his teeth poised to sink into you, tugging his lips back in a grin.

“Any of those idiots you used to date get to see you like this?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head.

“No, they- Ah!”

He made good on his threat and sank his teeth into your inner thigh, still smiling.

“They liked to, er, stay up north,” you admitted, your face heating up.

John frowned. He pressed his nose into your skin, then stamped another kiss to your inner thigh, this time far closer to where you wanted him. You had to sink your teeth into your lip to avoid making any noise.

“Well,” he murmured. “I came down south for a reason.”

It was a dumb joke but it made you laugh. You felt yourself relax, all your nerves melting away with one quick, silly smile from John.

“You’re so daft,” you said fondly.

John practically purred as you ran your fingers through his hair, his eyes sliding shut with a soft sigh.

“Daft about youuu.”

His breath fanned across the inside of your legs, so close to where you wanted him, and you barely stopped your hips from rocking towards him. You shuddered as he nipped at the delicate skin of your inner thigh, balancing bites and kisses, pain and pleasure.

“John…”

Without warning, John sealed his mouth over the damp patch on your underwear, sweeping the flat of his tongue over the wet fabric, and an embarrassingly high-pitched keen tore from your throat before you could stop it.

“Can I-”

“Yesyesyes.”

You lifted your hips so that John could curl his clever fingers into your underwear, slide them down your legs and off your ankles. He barely spared them a glance before chucking them somewhere over his shoulder with the rest of your clothes, his attention fixed on you.

John pressed a single, sweet kiss against your swollen, aching clit, the gentlest, simplest thing but you nearly sobbed at how good it felt to be seen and touched by the boy you loved.

“Oh, fuck…”

Your hips arched instinctively into John’s touch, wanting more and not caring how needy you sounded.

He wrapped one hand around the underside of your thigh, pinning your other leg down with his elbow, smiling and smiling as your body reacted to him.

“God, love,” John smiled up at you between your legs, eyebrows arched with amusement. “If I’d known you’d sound like that, I would’ve asked you out a lot sooner.”

“You were worth the wait.”

Breathless, you briefly considered pushing your fingers back into his hair and pulling him down to fix the mess he’d made, but John raised himself up and out of reach.

“D’you want my fingers or my mouth?”

“Either. Both. I don’t care, John, please jus’ touch me.”

He didn’t need much more encouragement than that, but just when you thought you were finally going to get things started, John sat up on his elbows again.

“Tell me something,”

“John…”

You could have hit him, you really could have. Would anyone blame you? There he was, resting between your spread thighs, his big hands pinning you to the bed, his mouth just inches from you, and he wanted to chat.

“That first night,” he said. “When you gave me your bike. Did you know then that we’d end up here?”

You could feel his breath on your slick heat, he was so close, but he spoke so casually, you would think you were catching up over coffee.

“You had my attention.”

“When then?”

“Eh?”

“When did you know?”

Your patience was spread so thin, it was practically translucent. You sighed and sat up on your elbows.

John’s big grin told one story, the light in his eyes another. This was important to him. Before you went any further tonight, he wanted to know this about you.

You wondered how long he’d been wanting to ask. You wondered why he was asking you now. Most of all, you wondered if you even had an answer for him.

You searched yourself, rifling through the rolodex of your memory, and instead of finding one absolute, you came across a hundred moments where you’d fallen just a little bit in love with John.

“You kept askin’ to help in the kitchen.” You cleared your throat, your voice hoarse from moans caused by his touch, “You wan’ed to learn and you listened to me. You knew why Gladys called us 64 Oslo Square. You let me boss you around and tease you and you never show off about bein’ clever. There wasn’t one moment. You were just there one day and everything got be’er.”

John smiled and sweetly kissed the inside of your knee, pressing his face there for a moment before turning his head and resting his cheek against the inside of your thigh so he could look up at you.

“I’ll take that.”

“What about you?” You didn’t want to keep him talking, not when John’s tongue was inches from being buried inside you, but he’d sparked your curiosity. “When did you know?”

He looked at you like it was obvious.

“I said. That first night, when you gave me your bike.”

“Shu’ uuup.”

“It’s true!”

“I don’ believe you.”

“Not my problem, gorgeous,” John purred the words against your core, making you whimper and bunch the duvet up in your fists.

“John…”

“Sorry, sorry…”

John’s sharp grey eyes locked onto yours as he lowered his head between your thighs. You weren’t certain, but you thought you heard him murmur ‘thank you, love’, but then he dragged his tongue against you and you lost all sense of time and space.

“Oh, God, John…”

He shuffled up the bed, socked feet scrabbling against your sheets, wanting to get as close to you as he could as he licked and flicked at you with his tongue, moaning softly against you when you ground against him in response.

Whimpering softly under your breath, you threw back your head and tried to relax, but it was too much. John’s fingers wrapped around your ankle and gently placed your foot further across the bed, spreading your legs even wider so he could bury his face in you.

“Is this alright?”

His voice was muffled but you just about caught his question through your own haze.

“‘s perfect, John, please don’t stop.”

John groaned in response, shaking his head so that his nose bumped your clit while he enthusiastically ate you out, and whether it was intentional or not, it made your hips jump off the bed.

“Don’t worry, love, I won’t. Wanna make you cum like this.”

Pleasure licked down your spine at his words. John’s rough, low voice, the tight press of his fingertips into the soft flesh of your thighs, his warm tongue, the slight graze of his teeth, it was all-consuming, it was all you could think and see and hear, and you never, ever wanted it to end.

“Fuck,” You couldn’t stop yourself moaning, even if you wanted to. You squeezed your eyes shut, reaching out for his hand. “Fuck, John-”

John slipped his fingers through yours, groaning softly when you gripped him tightly. His eyes rolled closed, and he had to grind his hips against the bed to try and relieve some of the pressure.

His jaw was beginning to ache but he didn’t care, the taste of you on his tongue was enough to push him onward, and when you hooked one leg over his shoulder, your heel digging in between his shoulder blades to pull him closer, he thought he’d died and gone to heaven.

“God, I love you,” John moaned into you.

Your breath caught in your throat as your entire body seized, your grip on John’s fingers so painfully tight, you were probably hurting him, but you lost focus on reality before you could think to do anything about it.

He didn’t let up long after you stopped coming, dragging his tongue slowly over and over through your folds and up against your clit until you eventually had to tug at his hair, whispering for him to stop until John raised his head.

He beamed at you, lips shining, as he clambered over you, almost as breathless as you were.

While you savoured the waves of pleasure still thrumming through you, John carefully settled on top of you, warming your trembling body with the weight of his own. He sweetly touched the tip of his nose to yours and murmured under his breath, asking if you were alright.

Eyes still closed, you pulled John down into a deep kiss, moaning at the taste of yourself on his tongue as your legs locked around his narrow waist.

That was all the answer he needed.

John whimpered into your mouth as you ground against him. Smiling, you realised you could feel a damp spot on the front of his underwear.

John gripped you tight, flushed and needy and at the end of his tether.

“Can I… Please…”

Still smiling, still dazed and practically humming with pleasure, you pulled him in for another deep kiss. You pressed your heels into the bottom of his spine, urging him forward, and unabashedly moaned into his mouth,

“Be a good boy and get on your back.”

Something glinted in John’s eyes as he pulled away. It wasn’t quite a light, it wasn’t a gleam, it was pure electricity.

He held out his hand. You took it, slipping your fingers round his so that he could pull you up. Your body still trembling, you carefully moved around each other, never once parting, even as John took your place on the bed and you slipped between his knees.

“Oh, sweet boy…”

You moved over him, planting your hands either side of his slim shoulders so that you could gaze down at him, your hair falling around your face and framing John’s open, awed expression.

“It’s that easy, is it?”

John gave you a shaky grin as you lowered yourself and drew your lips across where his pulse raced in his neck.

“You’ve no idea how easy I am for you, love.”

You bared your teeth against his skin. He knew just what you wanted to hear. He knew just how to please you. Had he been practising that too? Or had John always been destined to end up here, spread out on your bed, his pretty hair pooling around his head like a meadow, his grin wide and a look in his eyes that said ‘do whatever you want to me’.

“You act so sweet and innocent. You’re a needy li’le thing aren’t you, John?”

As you spoke, you reached for the bedside drawer.

John’s eyes followed your hand, his bottom lip caught between his teeth in anticipation.

You pulled out the harness, then the attachment, and carefully rose so that you could kneel. Cheeks burning under his steady, curious gaze, you stood and stepped into the harness, shimmying it up over your hips and tightening the straps with shaking fingers.

“I could listen to you whine all day…”

John’s face tensed into a scowl, his eyes still locked on your hands as you fixed the strap to the harness and reached for the drawer again.

“I don’t whine.”

“Oh, yes you do.” You grinned, upturning the bottle of lube and pouring some into the centre of your palm. “You’re always so noisy for me, honey. ‘specially when I touch you here…”

John’s back straightened like he’d been electrocuted as you wrapped a hand around him. He gasped, his eyes squeezing shut, his mouth falling open, and whispered your name like a prayer.

Beaming, you slipped your hands round to grip the undersides of John’s thighs, pulling his legs up so that his knees were by your sides. You dug your nails into his skin, not enough to hurt but it had its desired effect.

John groaned, his aching cock pressed tight against his stomach. He’d started to leak all over himself.

You kept your eyes on his, even though your heart was hammering in your chest and the way he was starting to roll his body into yours was almost dizzyingly hot.

“This is…” John huffed, shaking his head. “This is so mental.”

You laughed softly, gently, looking down at him with a quiet fondness.

“We can stop if you like? It’s never too late, y’know.”

“No, no! Don’t stop, it’s just- It’s mental.”

John laughed, shaking his head and making his hair fall around his shoulders so prettily, it was enough to drag your gaze away from his pink, parted lips. He was teasing you, his wicked smile told you so, but John’s voice was edged with trepidation.

“Good mental?” you asked nervously.

“Well, we’ll have to see, won’t we?” John’s smile turned a little more reassuring. “I want this, love. I want you.”

“Oh, I know…” The words dripped from your tongue like honeyed gold, easy and relaxed despite your racing heart. “You’ve almost made a mess of the bed and we’ve barely even star’ed.”

The creases bracketing John’s smile vanished. Wordlessly, he nodded up at you.

You smiled when you felt his fingers dip into your hair and immediately start to tangle themselves at the back of your head. It was something he often did when you were cuddled up on the sofa, watching telly, or when he slung an easy arm around your shoulder at work, not caring who saw how soppy he could be sometimes.

“Can I keep goin’, pretty boy?”

As you spoke, you began to work your hand up and down his length, so delicate and slow that John’s dark eyes appeared to gloss over. When his cock bumped against the strap, he hissed softly, half shy, half too turned on to care.

“Please…” John closed his eyes with a sigh. “Please don’t stop touching me like that. Please.”

You took in his flushed cheeks, his bright eyes, the lovely slope of his nose and the way he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, catching it between his teeth to stopper the moan sitting in his throat. He really was the prettiest boy you’d ever seen.

You leaned down and kissed his cheek, his jaw, your free hand coming up to cradle his face as you helped him relax.

“You’re so gorgeous, John. Just wanna make you feel so good.”

“I told you ages ago, love. You can do whatever you want with me. I’m yours. You own me.”

He mumbled the words against your skin, his lips, his breath, his slightly slurred speech all hot as he dragged his mouth along your shoulder.

“All mine. And I’m all yours, honey.”

John groaned when you pulled him into a messy kiss, your fingers pressing into his hollowed cheeks as you held his lips against yours.

You dipped your tongue into his mouth, taking what was rightfully yours, and all the while you stroked him, pulling moan after needy moan from his constricted throat.

Once you thought he’d had enough, you moved down John’s body, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses to his heaving chest.

His rings were cool against your neck. His skin, in contrast, was shockingly warm against yours as you buried your face in his stomach for a moment before continuing your journey downwards.

He was tense at first, as were you, but it didn’t take long for John to relax, not when you were scissoring your fingers inside him with one hand and stroking him with the other.

Flat on his back, his long legs spread, he looked almost sinful as he begged for more and more, until you had three fingers inside him. Even when John raised his head from the pillows and caught you grinning like the Cheshire Cat, he couldn’t stop whimpering and rolling his hips against your hand.

You talked to him sweetly, encouraging him and pressing soft kisses around his bare hips, while your fingers curled inside him.

You were just starting to get tired and almost suggested switching positions, when you happened to drag your fingertips in just the right way and John yelped, his entire body tensing up.

You paused, making sure you hadn’t hurt him, but John immediately began to gabble, begging you not to stop, to please do that again. So you moved your fingers again, brushing against just the right spot, and John melted into the bed like candle wax.

“Oh, God. Oh, fuck…”

You smiled to yourself, self-satisfied and smug, and began to nip at the pale skin of his hips, watching John’s face contort in pleasure as you massaged the area with your fingertips.

“Mm, God, fuck me…” John’s mouth fell open, his long fingers gripping the mattress. “Fuck, I can’t- We need to stop, sweetheart, or you’re gonna make me cum like this.”

You paused with your lips wrapped around the head of his cock, looking up at him daringly, before pulling away with a noise that made John whimper pathetically. That didn’t sound like the worst idea right now. But you were here for a reason.

You took one of his knees, bringing it over your hip, and braced yourself on the bed.

“You ready, handsome? I wanna make you feel so good, love.”

John’s legs were wiry and slim, and as you ran your hand up and down his bare thigh, you could feel his muscles tensed in anticipation.

“We’ll go nice and slow, okay? We’ve got all the time in the world, baby boy.”

Colour rose in John’s cheeks at the nickname. Something coiled in the pit of his stomach, warm and familiar. He could do anything, he decided, if you kept talking to him like that.

You gave him what you hoped was a reassuring smile, but after watching him moan and arch his back for you, the throbbing between your thighs was too much to ignore.

You took the strap in your free hand and pushed in slowly, watching John’s face for any minute change of expression. He’d always been a tough one to read, you didn’t want to miss anything and risk hurting him or make him freeze up.

You needn’t have worried. John’s usually neutral expression tightened, his eyebrows pushing together and his lips parting. He gave a little huff, his eyes squeezed shut, though it was hard to tell if it was out of surprise, discomfort, or pleasure.

“You doin’ okay, sweet boy?”

You squeezed his hip, being careful not to move around too much so as not to jog him.

“I’m good. I’m okay.”

“It doesn’t hurt? You’re nice and comfy?”

“I feel…” John gave his hips an experimental roll, choked, and threw his head back. “Ohhh fuuuck...”

Your hand rose to brush his lovely hair back from his face but you didn’t want to distract him, so you settled for squeezing his hip instead.

“You’re perfect, baby boy. Doing so well for me.”

He gave you a shaky smile, then seemed to take a moment to centre himself. You watched John pull in a long breath, then let it go again, measured and calm.

“That’s it, honey, that’s it.” You rubbed his thighs, moaning softly when John gave a pitiful whine in the back of his throat. “Just like that, pretty boy, you’re doin’ so well for me.”

John was panting, his fingertips pressing into your shoulders every time you moved in just the right way.

Gritting your teeth, you kept going, thighs trembling with the effort. You couldn’t take your eyes off him, the way his pretty face scrunched up in concentration, the way his tongue darted out to wet his parted lips, the way his stomach tensed and relaxed as he rocked more and more on your strap.

You were just about to ask if he needed a break when John’s mouth fell open.

"Ah, Christ."

"Good?"

"Yes- God, yes, good, very good-"

John hissed and bit his lip as he lifted his hips off the strap just a little, his fingers pressing into your sides, then sank back down again.

Your eyes were wide as you watched him repeat the motion again and again, slowly but surely, until John was bouncing on you. This was definitely one of your better ideas.

“Oh God, John, fuck.” Breathless, you kissed his hot cheek. “You look fuckin’ amazin’.”

Despite himself, John smiled. His cheeks were pink and his hair was starting to stick to his forehead. He looked like a dream.

“Is it as good as you imagined, sweetheart? You happy now?”

You matched his grin as you picked up speed. Your other hand slipped around his cock and began to stroke him in time with your thrusts.

“Oh, very happy, honey.”

John whimpered, his hips jerking up into your hand. He arched his back, one hand clinging to your waist for dear life while the other scrabbled at the bed sheets, clawing for grip and not finding a purchase. He swore under his breath, dragging himself up and down the strap, and all the while you watched him with a delighted smile.

“You’re such a good boy, John. Can’ believe how good you look takin’ me, baby boy, I’m absolutely soaked.”

He smiled feebly up at you, pleased with the praise, but then you must have hit some spot inside him because his face fell, his mouth forming a perfect ‘O’ as he froze.

“Oh, God,” he whispered.

John slowly circled his hips, fucking himself deep and slow and deliberate, moaning so obscenely, it actually made you blush.

You stopped stroking him, so in awe you simply forgot. Your hips stuttered, your focus slipping as you watched him groan and shake.

“God, John, look at you. How does it feel?”

He shook his head desperately, almost like it was too much to put into words, and to try and focus on verbalising how he was feeling would distract from the pleasure surging through his veins

“So good, sweetheart,” John managed to get out, his voice tight and hoarse. “You’re so good, it’s so good…”

You hummed, unimpressed, and slowed your thrusts. John gave a meek cry of protest but you didn’t cave. He could do better than that.

“How does it feel havin’ my strap inside you? Fuckin’ y’self for me like this?”

John hissed and bit his lip, circling his hips for any kind of friction, chasing the feeling.

“So fucking good. I can’t- It’s so much, sweetheart.”

You thumbed at his head, then twisted your hand, making John’s hips stutter.

“You look fuckin’ amazin’, Johnny. Look so good with my strap in that pretty little arse.”

His bright eyes met yours. John looked at you like he couldn’t believe you’d just said that. Then he laughed and moaned all at once, like he couldn’t believe how much he loved it.

“Fucking hell, love.”

Grinning, you picked up speed again, moving your hips deeper than before, aiming for that spot that made John see stars.

He tried to move with you until he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. He groaned and whimpered, letting out a sweet little ah! ah! ah! sounds that made you feel dizzy.

“Such a good boy for me,” you murmured, mostly to yourself, then dipped your head so that you could press a kiss to the centre of his narrow chest.

John groaned, his free hand coming up to tangle in your hair again.

“Keep talking like that, I’m not gonna last much longer.”

His words were staccato, cut short by little pants and breathy whines that grew steadily higher and higher as you snapped your hips against his.

“Good,” You kiss his throat, shining with a thin sheen of sweat, and grinned when John whimpered again. “I want you to cum for me, sweet boy. You’re not gonna last long at all, are you?”

“Fuck- No, not gonna last.”

“You never do, do you, love?”

“Wh-” John flushed, the colour spreading all the way down to his navel as he shook his head. “You’re just so good, sweetheart. Can’t help it. I- Oh.”

He stilled suddenly, then the hand at your waist squeezed hard, his fingertips sure to leave bruises.

“I think I’m gonna- Oh, God, this is- I didn’t think it would be so- I mean I knew it would be- Oh, God, I’m gonna cum, love, can I please?”

You laughed softly, always so enamoured by how chatty John got when he was close. You rubbed his thigh sweetly, smiling down at him with pride.

“That’s my good boy. Cum for me, John. You always look so pretty like this, honey. Wanna watch you cum all over yourself, sweet boy.”

“Fuck-”

John’s eyes screwed shut, his mouth hanging open as moan after obscene moan fell from him. He kept bouncing on you until, suddenly, he froze and his grip tightened on your waist.

“Oh, God, love-”

Breathless, you thrust your hips forward and stole a kiss just as John bucked his hips a final time, whining your name. He folded in the middle, and with two more strokes of your hand, he came, hard, all over his concave stomach. You gasped for air, your arms trembling, while John moaned so loud, you were sure your neighbours would hear him.

The hand that still clung to your waist pulled you closer until you collapsed on top of him, your bodies burning and heaving together. He was so sensitive, even the slightest movement seemed to make his whole body jolt, so you stayed as still as you could, whispering praise by his ear and stroking his hair until John finally came back down to earth.

When he raised his head, he seemed to see through you for a second, but then his glazed eyes cleared and he blinked at you dreamily. His pretty mouth stayed open as he panted, his warm breath brushing your cheeks.

“Y’okay?” you asked.

John nodded.

“I’m very okay,” he agreed. “Very okay. Forgot who I was for a second. C’mere.”

He pulled you into a kiss that was half sweet and grateful, and half provoking. His tongue slid over yours, then he caught your bottom lip between his teeth.

“So? Thoughts?”

You squeezed John’s hips, trying to ignore how slick and wet your thighs were. This was about him, about making your boyfriend feel good, you could have another turn soon.

“Few and far between at the moment, love, I’ll be honest,” John smiled, tired and sweaty but sated. “But that was amazing. You’re amazing.”

You beamed, but your loving reply was cut short when you tried to sit up and John tensed, both his hands flying to your waist to slow your movements.

Apologising with a soft kiss, you carefully untangled yourself then laid down beside John. He immediately gathered you up in his arms, pressing a sweet kiss to the top of your head, his big hands splayed against your back.

“I’m supposed to be taking you out for dinner, aren’t I?” he mumbled into your hair.

You huffed, turning and burying your face in his clammy chest.

“Tomorrow. Right now, I don’t wanna move from this bed.”

“Thank God, me neither.” John pressed another kiss to your temple, smiling. “I’ll cook though. I think I owe you one after that.”

“You’re going to give me food poisoning to thank for me for making you cum harder than you ever ‘ave in all y’life?”

“I’ll have you know I make fantastic beans on toast.”

“Stop it.”

“I know.”

“You spoil me.”

“Well, you deserve it.”

You reached round and pressed your fingertips into his side, strategically poking at his ribs to make John jolt, his hands pinning you down harder against his chest to stop you doing it again while you both laughed softly.

But there was still something nagging at the back of your mind. Something you’d tucked away for another time. Words you weren’t sure if you should address, but you knew you’d be analysing and agonising and obsessing over them till you had your answer.

“I might be wrong…”

John huffed.

“Oh dear.”

You poked at his side again, beaming when it still made him jump. You could look at him like this all day, relaxed and comfortable, completely bare for you and only you. You wondered if anyone else in the world got to see that smile, that pointed, broad grin that meant John was completely at ease, or if it was only ever just for you.

“Did you say- Just now, I mean… I thought I heard you say that you loved me.”

“Ah.” John looked sheepish. “I was hoping you wouldn’t remember that.”

“Well, you were doin’ a good job of distractin’ me. Why, did you not mean it? It’s okay if you didn’t, I don’t want you to feel like you have to-”

John slipped his fingers under your chin and lifted your head so that he could press his lips to yours. He kissed you slowly, carefully, gently, until you’d almost forgotten what you’d been about to say.

When he pulled away, he cradled your face in his hand, sweeping his thumb across your cheek, back and forth, back and forth, while his gaze traced the shape of your lips, your nose, your eyes.

“I meant it,” he said. “I just didn’t mean to say it then. I was hoping to tell you in a… More romantic way.”

You shrugged, grinning against his palm.

“Worked for me.”

“Well, you didn’t say anything back, so I thought…”

“Well, I wasn’t sure you’d actually said it, y’know, I didn’t wanna embarrass m’self.”

“Right, right.”

John gazed at you, his eyes steady and still. Then his mouth twitched, right in the very corner.

You rolled your eyes.

“Well, I can’t say it now!”

“Why not!”

“You’re looking at me! I feel on the spot!”

“Well,” John sighed and carefully unwrapped his arms from around you. “There are other ways of making you talk.”

“Oh!” You laughed as he clambered over you, his big hands slipping under your back so that you were laying more comfortably. “Wait, let me take this thing off.”

You moved to sit up but John stopped you with a kiss. His hands covered yours, resting together where you’d begun to unbuckle the strap.

“Leave it on,” he murmured against your lips. “Just for a bit? Please?”

“Ohhh,” You grinned as John moved back down your body and carefully parted your thighs. “Good boy.”

/

Master List

[razorsadness]

surveys are fun, yo.

what cd have you forgotten about and then recently remembered you love so much? dookie by green day. even though it's a tape, not a cd.

what is the most depressing song ever? "olga's birthday" by rose polenzani or "sea anemone" by jets to brazil. or perhaps "pocket games" by cadallaca. i listen to a lot of depressing shit.

what do you think is the best way to get a date? make the person you are crushing on a rad mix tape or CD. or give them a copy of yr zine.

who do you think would cry if they ever read your journal? my mom. some other people, too, maybe.

what is the cure for the summer time blues? trains, travel, tattoos, coffee, friends, zines.

whats the last cd you listened to? "my war" by black flag. but it was a record, not a cd.

give me a quote that will do me so good: i find that alcohol, in sufficient quantities, brings about all the effects of drunkenness. -oscar wilde

Full name: jessica ‘duckie’ disobedience

You reside: near chicago, soon to actually be IN chicago, thank fucking god.

What makes you human? i get inane crushes on "celebrity" boys and girls and then get papercuts when i tear their pictures out of fanzines. i smoke and i cough and my throat gets sore and fucked up when i scream too much which i do a lot. my heart breaks at the drop of a hat, but i always seem to sew it back up again, although maybe it doesn't work as well as it once did. i bleed. i sweat and smell and fuck. i get blisters on my toes from too-tight chucks and on my hands from writing and bass guitar and bike handles. i cry and my tears are salty.

What do you collect? stickers to put on my typewriter and car and bicycle and notebooks, patches to sew haphazardly onto hoodies, multi-colored shoelaces for my multi-colored chucks. tattoos. drawings of skulls; zines and books to read and re-read. CDs, mix tapes from friends and strangers, punk rock records. weird found religious propaganda like pamphlets on how to be saved and "i heart jesus" barrettes. leopard print stuff. blank books to fill up with rants and poetry and journal entries and my novel. cheap typewriters. pictures of punk rockers. photographs. sock monkeys. punk rock barbies. fabric scraps that may come in handy some day. pictures and fliers and posters for my walls. e-mail addresses.

How many issues of Cometbus do you own? not nearly as many as i would like to.

What annoys you most? close-minded people, dumb boys, mosquito bites, restlessness, boredom, sore throats, stomachaches, nic-fitting, being broke, apathy.

When you grow up, what do you want to be? really, doing a zine is the only long-term plan i have. i'd like to write and travel and meet lots of rad people and be in a band. i want to be happy. i want to be a mom someday.

Whats inside your attractive messenger bag? green zine #10, girl swirl #4, inside and out #s 1 & 2, the scorpio conspiracy #1, starlight #4, war against the idiots #19, lab rat #4, skin & ink july 2001, adbusters july/august 2001, packing tape for taping up posters, a black bandana, sunglasses, my keys on a jack kerouac keychain, halls ice blue throat lozenges, a tin of tattoo goo, two mix tapes, a blank book with a typewriter on the cover that i'm writing my novel in, a black felt tip pen, a little flashlight for dumpster-diving, a pack of sugarfree gum, million4roe stickers, a converse all-star pencil case with nothing in it, old breath mints covered in fuzz and tobacco, a receipt for piggly wiggly, some coins, a chicago metra train map, a notebook with random scribblings in it, political posters, a blank book with the british flag on it that has my poetry in it, a half-full pack of sampoerna clove cigarettes, a half-full pack of marlboro reds, empty packs of gpc lights and american spirit lights, a sanitary pad, a leopard print wallet (which contains: 7 dollars, a receipt for walgreens, my driver's license, my library card, a guitar pick, a pink plastic safety pin, a bottle cap that also happens to be an "ad" for free beer zine, two tiny pictures (one of a sock puppet and one of a chalk drawing), & my debit card), old el cards, an old shopping list, an empty coin purse, condoms, a blue felt tip pen, 3 lighters (blue, purple, yellow), tissues, an eyeliner pencil (black, of course), benadryl, my watch, an empty pack of birth control pills, eyedrops, hand cleanser, hand lotion, and lime chapstick.

Shamless About: singing loud in public, thrashing around in my car, public displays of affection, belching, swearing, my tattoos and piercings, armpit and leg hair, scars and bruises, liking girls.

Favorite summer activities: walking on the beach wearing all black and getting my feet wet but not actually swimming, traveling, walking around outside at night with friends either really drunk or really stoned and being really obnoxious, coffeeshops, punk rock shows where it's so hot you can hardly breathe, dumpster-diving, meeting cool people, eating ice cream, drinking lemonade, riding my bicycle, skateboarding, staying up late, catching fireflies and then letting them go, etc.

Favorite winter activities: freezing my ass off while trying to walk to the fireside bowl, freezing my ass off while waiting for the el, generally freezing my ass off, dressing inappropriately for the weather, drinking coffee or chai, making mix tapes, being nostalgic, writing long letters to friends, contemplating things, wearing sweaters, wishing it were summer, crying, having sex, cuddling, shoplifting, hanging out at the library, making snow angels, etc. What side of the Shit Split rocks harder? i'd have to vote for blatz, although filth is really rad.

Who would win a fight, Paul Westerberg or Elvis Costello? well fuck, neither one of them seems like fightin' guys. but i guess i’d say paul, just cuz he seems a little more unhinged.

If you are alone and no one is looking, how many weezer songs will it take to get you sobbing? half of "the sweater song." i'm weird.

Do you Rock the Casbah? yep. even if the sharif don't like it.

What's the biggest lie you ever told? let's see. . .my parents think i'm straight (even though i've tried to tell them otherwise), have no tattoos, have never had sex, don't smoke, don't drink, don't do drugs, and they don't know i'm an anarchist.

What is the meaning of life? zines, records, love & lust, adventure, sex, broken hearts, bass guitars, loud music, screaming, high-top chucks, crushes, henry rollins.

Honestly though. i don't hate myself. and that's all that matters.

[choice excerpts from some surveys I filled out and posted on my LiveJournal, 6/18/01]

[wobinbug]

2023 Media Thread - Part Seven

Avatar, The Last Airbender: The Kyoshi Novels

I have a bit of a complicated relationship with these novels, so I'm glad I can talk about them together now.

The TL;DR is that I think they're a great read once and the first novel 'The Rise of Kyoshi' is much stronger than 'The Shadow of Kyoshi.' They form, overall, a very compelling narrative and it's really great to have more insight on Avatar Kyoshi, but I have now given the books away to my sister.

Further thoughts below, with some very light spoilers.

For my full thoughts, I'll start by writing about 'The Rise of Kyoshi,' which, honestly, I really have nothing but praise for! I loved the concept behind there being a false Avatar, Yun, who was essentially planted to help keep world order, and who Kyoshi greatly admires. We therefore see how Kyoshi initially rejects the idea of being the Avatar and how she struggles with her upbringing and the concept of what justice is to her. I also really like and appreciate Kyoshi's romance with Rangi, it's really clear that they love and support each other and it's just really nice to see that type of bond.

'The Shadow of Kyoshi' unfortunately lost me a bit. I will say, I really like the main villain and it has a strong start and end, but it just draaaaaaaaaaags... Until something actually relevant happens and it suddenly feels really rushed. I also still had some questions at the end of the novel and it didn't really feel like Kyoshi developed much from the first novel (if anything, she regresses for some reason).

As with the first novel, however, Kyoshi and Rangi's relationship was one of the high points for me and, in both novels, the action sequences are mostly really well-written.

It's hard to know what to really say. You could fairly say I'm maybe not seeing the bigger picture; maybe I need to rewatch ATLA and read the graphic novels, I don't know, but, as its own duology, it just misses the mark for me a bit. I hope you can see why I'm conflicted.

I also feel like this was maybe supposed to be a trilogy initially? While the first book sets up the second book really well, the second book is so full of padding, I can't help but wonder if the author had to scrap some concepts they wanted to elaborate on in a third book. Also worth considering the second book is noticeably shorter. I am purely speculating though.

Well, it feels really good to finally type out my thoughts. Tbh, there's actually much more that I could say, but that would involve spoilers and I just don't think it's too worth it 😅 That said, if you took the time to read my thoughts, thank you, I don't usually write this much about media, but I felt I had to this time.

[chiwhorei]

green scrunchies

pairing: dom!k. ukai x sub!fem!reader

genre: smut, 18+ minors dni

word count: 4.1k

warnings: swearing, spanking, smoking, daddy kink, dom/ sub dynamics, brat taming, subspace, dirty talk, degradation, age gap(reader is 22ish and ukai is 26ish) spitting, fingering, oral (fem receiving), edging, orgasm denial, dacryphilia, a little dumification, public nudity (kinda), unprotected sex, tattoos (there’s a tattoo in a really unholy place), this is just filth okay

a/n: i have been sitting on the bulk of this piece for a fucking month and am honestly so surprised i finished it. this was inspired by a picture i saw of a really naughty tattoo and my mind want crazy and vomited on to a google doc.

hymn: nothing’s gonna hurt you baby by cigarettes after sex

“but today isn’t a day of honey-sweet ministrations.”

Ukai Keishin is a gentle man. The team of highschoolers he coaches, his friends, hell, even his mother would beg to differ. But they were not privy to the Keishin you know. The man that serenades you with Elvis Presley while cleaning up after closing the store, grabbing your waist and pulling you into a clumsy slow dance as his gravelly voice croons into your ear. 

He’s entrancing. Hypnotizing you, almost two years ago now, in the most tender pursuit possible, so softly you were unaware of falling deeply in love with him until you had already tipped completely over. Turning to an ink pen and scraps of receipt paper to flesh out the feelings he worried would not sound perfect when they hit your ears. To this day, you’re not entirely sure if he meant to leave the pages to his extemporaneous romance novel for you to find on purpose, but you have your suspicions.

You were in your second year of college when you met Keishin, only 20 years old at the time and clueless to any world outside of studying frantically from one exam to the next. Chasing after a degree you could pursue your dreams with and getting tattoos that would piss your parents off, you crashed into him, literally. 

While walking to class with practiced steps and flipping through a small stack of notecards, you frantically try to accomplish last minute cramming and making it to class promptly at the same time. With one final attempt to understand the scribbles in front of you, you take a sharp turn into a brick wall. A flurry of white papers thrown into the air and falling back down like snow.

It happened in a minute, a minute that held sixty of the longest seconds to ever pass; from the moment you smack your nose into his cemented chest to the moment he saves your head from kissing the ground below. “You need to watch where you’re going, kid.” He says with a cigarette pressed between his teeth. It all happened in that single minute, your soul escaping and crawling into his jacket pocket without even realizing. It’s been there ever since, for safekeeping, of course.

He’s perfect in every way. But just as he is soft and loving, Ukai is not one to take shit. Especially when his sweet, shy baby girl is being a raging brat. It’s like any normal fall afternoon, slightly chilly and crisp on your walk from class. The air is biting at your skin, but the temperature is not what sends a piercing shiver down your spine. You know that as soon as you get home, Ukai Keishin is going to ruin you. 

“What are you doing here, princess?” Your presence is made known with a soft ding from the bell above the door, but Ukai doesn't look up from his magazine when acknowledging you. 

“I live upstairs?” Your tone is light and playful. You decide to test the waters, wondering how much Keishin will let slide today.

“Don’t be dense, little one.” He graces you with his eye contact for the first time, “I know you have a Biology lecture on Friday afternoons. So, why is that cute little ass here instead of on campus?” His lips are pulled tightly in a thin line and he rakes his eyes down your body. You’re wearing a short pleated skirt and a baggie pull-over. Exactly what he picked out for you this morning. Well, almost exactly. He was already opening up the store by the time you woke up, so the clothes were placed neatly on his side of the bed. What he didn’t pick out though, were the stockings currently brandishing your mid thigh, cutting off the supple skin with the soft, black cotton. 

“Oh! My professor cancelled lecture today so I came home early to have lunch with my loving boyfriend.” You smile sweetly, dropping your backpack and rounding the corner of the counter he is sat at. Ukai hums softly- dismissively- and lights a cigarette, his eyes don’t give away any emotion, so you are left hanging off the end of the burning cherry. Has he caught on yet? Maybe the thigh-highs would be enough to distract from your real surprise. 

Before you can ruminate on the thought, a wide, kind smile spreads across his face. If you didn’t know any better, this smile would be comforting. Your boyfriend pats his lap, motioning for you to take a seat. You adjust yourself to fit snugly and lean into Keishin’s chest. He presses a chaste kiss to your temple and takes a drag from his cigarette. Customers trickle in slowly, and you stand a few times to ring up their purchases, always the dutiful girlfriend. Keishin watches you with adoration in between paging through a magazine, everything you did was so perfect, even if it’s just scanning a few groceries. Such a good girl you are. 

It’s not until you sit back down, and he adjusts your hips to settle back into him that he is made aware of the game you’re trying to play. And he is pissed.

“Princess, did you not like the clothes I picked out for you this morning?” He has fully caught on to you at this point, and you both know it, but he isn’t going to show you his hand quite yet. 

“Of course I did, Daddy.” You bury your burning cheek into his neck, letting the familiar smell of cologne and campfires calm your clambering heartbeat. 

“I see, then why are you wearing these…” Keishin’s voice trails off and pulls at the material of the thigh-highs, snapping it against your skin.  

“Actually,” he interrupts, “I have a more important question. But I need you to be a good girl and answer honestly.” Keishin whispers into the shell of your ear and nods a goodbye to the elderly man leaving the store. You two were alone now, the promise of other customers wandering in diminishing quickly with the time of day. 

“I’ll be a good girl Daddy.” You try to coat your words in velvet as best as you can, but Keishin scoffs, clearly unamused. 

“That’s rich, princess. Now tell me, did you go to campus this morning without panties on?” You knew the question he was going to pose, you could have even saved him the breath. You knew you were going to get caught, I mean, that is why you did it. But now, faced with having to atone for your sins, the confidence in your original actions was melting away. 

“I forgot to put panties on this morning, Daddy. I’m sorry.” You try to pout in the sweetest way possible, but Keishin knows. You’re lying through your teeth.

“Tsk, you forgot. How could you forget if I laid them right on top of your skirt this morning?” He fishes in his pocket and pulls out a damning article. As he moves the exhibit into evidence, light pink thong hanging off of fingers, you resolve that your little game was over long before you even tried to start. All you can do now is wait with baited breath and flushed cheeks for his next move. 

“Stand up princess.” Ukai grabs onto your hip bones and lifts you upward. He spins you around to face him and perches his elbows on his knees. “Show me what’s mine baby girl.” His request, his demand, rolls off the tongue like icicles. You know what he means, but still stare back dumbly, mouth wide at what he was insinuating.

“You know I don’t like repeating myself, little girl.” His words stir inside you. If he sees how wet you’re getting, you’re done for. There’s no escaping this moment though. You take a deep breath in a feeble fight against the suffocating feeling in your chest, and lift up the end of your short, black skirt so he can see you. All of you.

Your precious, sumptuous thighs now in his view. He studies the lines of the tattoos not covered with your stockings. Beautiful floral designs in delicate black ink. Keishin thinks the work you get done is always so beautiful. Every addition befitting you perfectly. He loves tracing the pads of his fingers over the art in softer moments. This moment though, was not soft, and the tattoos on your thighs were not the subject of Ukai’s attention. 

He flicks his eyes up to meet yours briefly, and trails down from your quivering bottom lip, to your delicate, freckled collarbones peering sweetly from your large sweater. He drags his darkening gaze down further, cherishing every inch until he reaches your hips. Nestled in between the apex of your thighs, in small, dainty writing lays his prize.

“My Daddy Will Kill You.”

No matter what you did, he would always be there, snugly under the second layer of skin. When his fingers weren’t intertwined in yours, when he couldn’t have a protective hand in your back pocket. Whenever he was away with his team for tournaments or just when you were in class. He was always on you.

“Such a gorgeous little cunt you have.” He leans back in his seat, watching you fidget under his stare, “Whose cunt is this, baby? Is it your classmates? Is it your professors?” You bow your head in shame at Ukai’s insinuation, you know that going to class with a bare ass and a short skirt was going to get you in trouble. How could you resist though, when the punishment always feels so good.

“You’ve been acting like a petulant brat recently. I’ve been letting things slide because I know how stressful your senior year of college has been.” His tone is exasperated, but his eyes are calm, level, dark, “I can’t ignore this, you know that right?”

“I know, Daddy.”

“Your class was cancelled. So that means we get to start the weekend early.” He pulls your hands from your skirt, letting it fall back into place and holds both of your hands in one of his much larger ones. “Go upstairs and sit on the bed. I want you in just your skirt and those cute little tights you were so keen on wearing. I’ll be up in a few minutes.” 

“But Daddy…” you really did like to test your luck sometimes, but the look he gives you, slightly shocked and more than lightly infuriated, was enough to make you hurry to the back and up the stairs to your shared apartment. You kick your sneakers off at the door and head straight to the bedroom. You pull the sweater over your head and unclasp your bra. Usually Keishin likes to do that step for you, savoring the way you shiver as he brushes the straps off of your shoulders, but today isn’t a day of honey-sweet ministrations. 

You tremble like a puppy as you wait for Ukai and almost jump out of your own skin when you hear the front door creek open. Usually you are met with a bellowing voice upon his entry, walking through the door with a hearty, “Honey, I’m home!” even if you had only walked in a few steps ahead. Now, all you can do is wait as he mulls about the apartment with lackadaisical intent and a deafening silence. After a few agonizing minutes and feeling like he made his point, Ukai finally appears in the doorway, arms folded and pressed tightly to his hard chest with a categorically sadistic smile on his face.

“So, you do know how to follow directions?” You gulp loudly and nod your head, but quickly correct yourself. If you don’t use your words you’ll make things worse for yourself. “Yes, Daddy. I know how to follow directions.” It’s not a lie, obviously you are aware of his rules, you just prefer breaking them. Your response is small compared to the loud, sarcastic laugh falling from his throat. Ukai steps towards you slowly. 

“You are such a little tease, I came up to kiss you goodbye this morning and found these still sitting on the bed.” He pulls the thong out of his pocket again and drops the lace into your lap. “You left them there because you wanted me to find them. You wanted me to know you were sitting in class with a bare cunt.” There’s no use trying to find an excuse to push past your locked jaw, because he’s not really asking a question. 

“I left them on purpose, Daddy. I’m sorry.” Your mea culpa is underwhelming to say the least, and you both know it. You may be pleading guilty to all charges, but you don’t seem eager for absolution. 

“You are such a little attention whore. My timid, darling girl has been acting like an insolent slut recently. What am I going to do with you?” His voice sounds questioning, but unmistakingly rhetorical. He’s known what he was going to do to you from the moment he spotted your panties weighing the bed down this morning.

“Turn around baby.” Ukai unbuckles his belt, and you turn away from him, tucking your legs to sit upright. He gathers your long h/c hair from where it was settled around your face and meticulously braids it to lay flat on your back, attaching the green scrunchy from his wrist to the bottom. 

Just like a calling card, Keishin always had a scrunchy of yours around his wrist. Whenever you are hunched over the kitchen table in the middle of writing a paper, he pulls your hair behind you and fastens it into a bun, careful to keep it loose so as to not invite a headache, and kisses the crown of your head. Regardless of where you are: shopping, date night, visiting him at practice, if he notices your hair becoming annoying he will slip it from your neck and twist it into the green scrunchy.

And when you are about to be punished, Ukai pulls your hair into a neat, low braid.

You feel him run his hands from your shoulders to your wrists, pulling them gently behind your back. He presses your palms together and gives them a squeeze so you know to keep them together. Ukai pulls off his shirt, and  frees his undone belt from his jeans, folding it in half and running the cool leather up your thigh. He swats softly at your skin, just enough to make you flinch. 

Ukai tosses the belt to the ground, deciding he would rather you feel the sting of his palm, and sits down next to you on the bed. You face him with your hands still laced together behind you and let him position you to lay across his lap. The side of your face and your shoulders lay flush against the bed and your ass is raised up above his jean-clad thighs. 

“You know the rules, right my love?”

“Yes, Daddy. If I lose count you have to start over.”

“There’s my smart girl. You look so beautiful like this.” He lands a smack on your right cheek, actions greatly contrasting his soft, almost taunting tone. “It’s such a shame you’ve been acting like such a whore.” 

He delivers slap after slap on your bruising ass and you count every one out to him, briefly considering what would happen if you stopped counting, but you know that your punishment is already going to be harsh enough. You’re a masochist, yes, but not an idiot. 

“Why do you always seem to be on your best behavior when I have you over my knee, darling?” Ukai connects his palm with your tender flesh again. “How many was that baby?” 

“Fifteen, Daddy.” You speak in an even tone, if your boyfriend catches on to how much more you like this than he already knows, you’re, quite literally, fucked. 

“You really know how to play me, baby. I’m always wrapped around your little finger.” He starts to knead your ass cheek with his large hand, skimming the tips of his digits against your wanton cunt. He’s testing you, wanting to see if you’ll start squirming or unclasp your hands from their position behind your back, but you hold steady.

“You leave me naughty little surprises. I had you on my mind all day, thinking about this naked little pussy walking around campus. One tiny slip and you would have shown everyone what’s mine.” Another sharp swat to your butt reverberates through the room and you can barely mumble out your counted response. 

“But that’s what you wanted isn’t it? You wanted everyone to see this slutty pussy of yours didn’t you?” Whether that was the truth or not doesn't actually matter, you know not to make an excuse. You are just meant to count and thank. 

“You need to stop squirming, princess, or you’re going to royally piss me off.” Ukai continues his relentless pace, two thick fingers pistoning deep in your dripping pussy. This was one of Ukai’s favorite games, finger-fucking you to the point of the bed under you slamming into the wall. Your job was to keep completely still. One arch of your back or escaped moan and he would land a sharp slap to your puffy, untended clit. 

He’s actually being quite generous despite the circumstances. Usually, you would be propped on your hands and knees, but Ukai has laid you flat on your back with one leg tossed over his broad shoulder. The position, while easier to keep your body still, does mean that Ukai’s piercing, hungry gaze has you pinned like prey under him. The completely pornografic sounds of his fingers are making your head spin. The fact that he’s been hammering his fingers relentlessly into your g-spot for an hour, is starting to make your mind foggy, all thoughts are starting to slip from your brain and your boyfriend can tell.

“God, baby, I love making you absolutely stupid for me. I bet all you can think about is my cock filling this little cunt up, huh?” His words are sneering, taunting. Your response is a babbled agreement and plea for his cock, and the sight of you so completely fucked out makes the bulge in his jeans strain even further. The feeling of his fingers in your squelching pussy is dulling all other senses, so when he pulls the digits away, you can’t help the cry that rips from the back of your throat. 

“Don’t worry, precious girl, I’m going to give you what you want. What you’re fucking desperate for.” Ukai pushes himself from the bed and removes his jeans and boxers, and you watch as his thick cock springs free to slap against his abdomen. The sound makes you mewl, your cunt clenching in anticipation. 

As Ukai crawls back onto your shared bed, his head dips down in between your legs. He licks, flat and languid across your slit, collecting your arousal on his tongue with a feral groan.

“Please, Daddy. Please fuck me. I- I need you. Wa- want to be your good girl.” You find your words as best as you can to beg for him, the sweet cadence of your voice and the way your weak arms reach out for his messy bleached hair signals to him that you’ve fallen completely into a foggy, submissive haze. You tug lightly at the tresses and the impressive self-control he has kept up thus far snaps like plywood under a heavy boot. 

Ukai takes one more deep, hungry lick at your soaking pussy and sits up, pushing your legs further apart, digging his nails into the soft skin under your knees. 

“Open your mouth, Princess.” You are quick to comply with his request, sticking your tongue out and looking up at him through your lashes. You hear the sound of him spitting, his saliva and your arousal coats the thickest plane of your tongue, but connecting one thought to the next becomes impossible as Ukai pushes his thick cock into you at the same time.

“Jesus Christ, no matter how much time I take to get you ready you’re still so tight. God, you make it really hard to stay mad at you.” His hands keep your legs pressed up to your chest, pushing his thick cock into you at an agonizingly lazy pace. Ukai was right, it didn’t matter that he had finger-fucked you into the mattress for an hour, taking him was a tight fit every time. As he buries himself in you, the intoxicating burn of being so full takes all of the air out of your chest. His thick cock stretches you so far, you swear he can feel your own heartbeat within the walls of your tiny cunt. He’s barely halfway into you and you can’t help but constrict, the tinny flavor of your orgasm crawling up from your spine to your mouth. 

“There’s no way I’m letting you cum already.” Ukai snickered sadistically, thumb brushing across your tattoo, the dirty secret you shared, right over where you need his fingers most. He wasn’t going to touch your deprived clit yet, and hoping for him to do so was a waste of energy. 

“I’m sorry Daddy. I promise, I’ll be good.” Your tears are rolling down the side of your face, wetting the sheet next to you. 

“You’re a pathetic mess and I’m not even all the way in you yet. I would save the tears if I were you, babydoll.” You try to compose yourself, but Ukai’s words of dismissive degradation give your whimpers more body, sobbing and babbling as his cock bottoms out. 

You can feel every inch of him, hard and thick and so so full inside of you. Ukai pulls out of you completely, his soaking tip rubbing on your labia before slamming back in to the hilt. His pace becomes brutal with every thrust, original slow pace completely unknown to you now. There’s no way you're going to be able to stand properly after this. 

“Daddy, please. Please let me cum. Need to cum, Daddy. Need to be your good girl.” A series of calls for your daddy and prayerful begs are the only things you know at this point, drool and tears covering your face.

“You know what, Princess? I bet I could make you cum with just one touch to that little clit.” Ukai takes one hand off of your thigh and hovers over where you have needed him since you woke up this morning. “If I’m right, I’ll make you cum again. If I’m wrong, you’re not gonna cum at all.”

You can feel the warmth of his finger looming over the neglected bud, the anticipation is overwhelming and cruel, but all worth it as soon as he pushes the rough pad of his thumb down. Ukai presses a single, taught circle into your clit and the coil wound tightly in your stomach snaps with incredible force. You know there is a scream that rips from your dry mouth, but you can’t hear it with the blood rushing through your ears. Ukai works you through your first orgasm, stilling his thrusts as until you come floating back down.

“I know this slutty little cunt better than the back of my hand. Now, my precious little thing,” You watch as Ukai hooks your limp legs over his shoulders, lining his throbbing cock back to your slopping entrance. “Let’s do that a couple more times.”

“Wise men say, only fools rush in. But I can’t help, falling in love with you.”

You feel your senses coming back to you slowly, with every delicate touch Keishin glides over your skin. He pulls you back to reality with sweet touches and the deep, gravely sound of his voice. After several meticulous moments and even more words of praise, Kei delivers a delicate kiss to your forehead and carries you to the shower. You take a deep, relaxed sigh as he massages your aching muscles under the hot water. After drying your exhausted body with a fluffy towel, Keishin helps you into a comfy pair of leggings and one of his sweatshirts. 

“Take my hand. Take my whole heart too.” Your boyfriend’s broad arms wrap around your waist, hands finding purchase under the orange sweatshirt currently drowning your form, and you melt into his chest. “Because I can’t help, falling in love with you.” You turn around in his arms to steal a kiss, but as your lips attach to his a small laugh bubbles up from your stomach. 

“What are you giggling at?” Keishin eyes you curiously, and you start laughing even harder.

“Oh nothing, I was just thinking about the bloody nose you gave me when we first met.” You cackle at the memory and feel Keishin take an exasperated but amused sigh, joining your laughter with his own.

“First of all, Princess, you ran into me.”

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

[silkiemae]

The Book of Azrael by Amber Nicole

The Book of Azrael by Amber Nicole My rating: 1 of 5 stars I've done it. I finally finished this book. It only took me like a month and a half but I finally battled my way through and boy do I have a lot to say. Strap in folks. This review will be filled with spoilers. Well, we start strong with the name of one of Amber’s islands being misspelt in the book blurb. It’s Erioa, but in the book, it’s Eoria. So that right there should tell you all you need to know about the overall quality of this book. The editing is like that through all 841 pages. It took me, so long to finish this tome of a novel. I stopped it several times but my compulsion to finish things kept gripping me by the back of the neck and forcing me back. I am always wary when debut authors release an 800-page tome for their first novel. I know this book was traditionally published by Rose and Star but it reads like a first draft. It’s very watt-pad tier writing. It’s marketed like a self-published novel and reads like someone who couldn’t be bothered to take the time to edit or proofread. The first 50% of this book could have been removed, and you probably would not have missed a thing. Every flashback could have been scrapped. The first 15 chapters could’ve been condensed and combined. The whole sleepover saga with Gabby could’ve been cut. Nobody cares about the weird face masks they’re wearing or the sappy romance movies they’re watching. No one CARES. I understand she’s trying to build a relationship with the sister to show us how much she means to Dianna, but she tells us about 85 times in the span of three chapters that she never gets to see Gabby, and this is such a rare occurrence. Like, okay, I GET IT. THANK YOU. Shut up about it, for the love of god. There’s a scene where they go to a nightclub to meet up with Gabby’s current fling, and this is after Dianna has been going on and on about how she never gets to see her sister and she’s so glad to see her and blah blah blah. Some guy comes up to hit on her, and she says, and I quote, “But I was here with Gabby, the sister I rarely got to see.” I swear to god, if you tell me one more time, I’m going to lose it. So she rejects the guy because she never gets to see her sister….and then immediately leaves the bar without her sister?????? WHAT? Honestly, a majority of the book felt like filler material. Nothing actually happened that was important. Dianna and Liam banter a lot, but none of it is relevant. Most of the things we learn are in flashbacks or weird robotic conversations. I didn’t buy their relationship. Everything about it felt juvenile as well as the majority of this book. There is so much telling in this story, and I’m so tired. The writing itself is C-Grade mediocre, but I see the potential. I won’t shit on Amber entirely and say that she can’t write at all because there are some good lines, but unfortunately, all the bad ones overshadow it. Not to mention the editing issues. Some paragraphs repeat within pages of each other, word for word like she just copied and pasted them. An editor is credited, but uh…what work did they even do? Because I can’t find it. All the world-building reads like info dumpage. A review says here that all the world-building is given with ‘no info dumping at all!’ And I’m here to tell you that that’s a lie. Every bit of narration has the POV ranting and raving about their feelings, but they repeat it over and over again to the point where I could not care less. Whenever I think something is well done, it gets overdone. An editor could’ve helped with that if an editor had actually gone over this book. It reads like she was trying to fill space, but you didn’t need to write an 800-page book, Amber. You could’ve told the same story and probably a better story in 400 pages. Let’s talk about the dialogue. Everyone speaks the same, like a robot. Every conversation reads like Siri responding to you. The contractions are super awkwardly placed and never at the right moment. It would make sense for Liam to talk stiffly and for the language to be strange since he’s been living away from humanity for however long and had to learn English when he returned. But literally, EVERYONE talks like this. Here, enjoy these treats I’ve gathered. * - with obvious male interest * - his ablaze blade ( it sounds so stupid, I can’t breathe) * The hair on my legs and vagina had gotten a little out of control. — This should have been 10000% scrapped. What the hell was she thinking? * - satisfaction and male hunger flaring in his eyes * - as the aggressive male power in the room increased * I glanced at him and nearly stumbled, the male beauty of him taking my breath away. * In the logical thinking part of my consciousness, I knew it came from a place of caring, but there was so much he did not know. (AMBER JUST SAY LOGICALLY, WTF??) Amber created her own pantheon and her own world, I guess. I’m not sure what she based her pantheon on, but I can say that Unir is basically Odin. With his prophetic visions and golden spear, aka Gungnir. The whole ending part of the book reminded me of the first Thor movie where Thor goes off and kills off a bunch of frost giants, and his dad and all the gods are furious with him. Well, Liam does the same thing with the Ig’Morutthens, thinking he’s fixing a problem and doing what a king would do, but everyone is mad at him. We’re told they speak these weird old languages, but Liam randomly calls his mother ‘madre’? Ma’am, that is Spanish…you had me believing they were saying these unheard-of languages, but no…it’s Spanish. Most of the gods’ and island names read like keyboard smash to me. Ig’Morruthen, are you joking? What is that? We’re constantly told that the fall of the celestials(or gods, can’t remember for sure) destroyed the fabric of the mortal’s world, right…but we are never actually shown how it was changed. We’re never shown any dystopian world where people live in rags because the celestials destroyed everything. No, we see people going to carnivals and The Modern Grill, watching TV, talking on cellphones, and going to the International Airport. So basically, it’s our world? Nothing is different about it save for the inclusion of these creatures. That’s it. Like a plague happened but we don’t get to see any of those results aside from Dianna and Gabby being monsters or whatever now. So Dianna and her sister died or were dying in a desert at some point, and Kaden showed up to save the day. In return for saving Dianna's sister, he turned her into an Ig'Morruthen; now, she's immortal and a super-powered badass. She can wield fireballs, lick people's blood and see into their memories, change her form into whatever she wants, and have super strength! It seems like Dianna was given all her power but never earned any of it. And by that, I mean her rank at Kaden's side. Sure, he sends her to complete all these tasks for him, which she does marvelously, but as the reader knows, she was automatically given the second rank right after she was made. As a human, did Dianna ever do anything notable to prove she deserved such a position? Also, we’re told that Dianna (assumes she) cannot die unless her heart is removed and destroyed, and Amber starts the book out, trying to make her seem invulnerable. But there are several instances when she is poisoned and is supposedly close to death, so Liam has to feed her his blood?? She can eat human food to sustain herself but has to eat humans to maintain her powers? How often does she have to eat humans? Will she die if she doesn’t eat humans? Or will she just be powerless? Could she revert to a human without eating people? Why doesn’t she just….stop eating people? So if she stops eating people, she stops regenerating or something? But also, like she rips her own heart out, Liam just…puts it back in her chest. Lmfao. So Dianna just can’t die. I appreciate the apparent inner conflict regarding Dianna and Kaden's relationship. Like clearly, it's very toxic. Kaden made Dianna into an Iggy monster(I cannot be bothered to spell that out anymore, sorry) to save her sister’s life, and now she has to, like…bone him or something. I’m not sure if that was part of their deal or if that was like a thing that naturally occurred and was somehow mutual(but it would still be coerced if Dianna felt she needed to do it to keep her sister alive) or if Kaden raped Dianna. It just became a regular thing, or what? But it’s still clear that she has conflicting emotions for him. They’re decently explained so you can empathize with why she continues to humor and sleep with him, etc. But then it gets to a point where it’s overkill (sensing a theme here). It’s unnecessary to tell us what Dianna thinks and feels about every little thing. The creatures of the Otherworld are, for the most part, well done. The dream eaters sound scary as fuck. But please, for the love of god, explain to me how they can speak. Samkiel/Liam’s PTSD is well done, but it becomes overkill. Like I’ve said about a dozen times, this book is too long. We’re told information repeatedly in the same chapter; things are over-explained to the point where it becomes redundant, and it’s all for what? Filler space? You could have created a much better novel if this was 400 pages. Honestly, with the number of things that don’t happen, it would’ve been better as a 300-page book. This book was advertised as two villains who fall in love or something like that; I can't remember exactly, but I know Dianna was announced as a villain, but she's not. She's not a villain. She's doing 'evil' things as a means to an end, and that means is to protect her sister. That doesn't make her a villain. Drake and Ethan even say that she’s not evil. Amber tricks us into thinking that Dianna stooped to killing one of her only friends on Kaden’s orders; the guy even turns to ash, and Kaden catches it all on camera, yet SOMEHOW this guy didn’t die. It was all a ruse. In some convenient ass magical loophole, Dianna only killed the ‘image’ of Drake. So right there, she just erased the only ‘evil’ thing Dianna has done in this book. Threatening people without meaning the threat isn’t evil either. The romance is so poorly done. The first 400 pages involve Liam and Dianna glaring at each other every single paragraph(literally, the word glare/glared/glaring are mentioned like 72 times.) while talking like robots and Dianna making a joke that’s not funny at all and giggling. It’s so juvenile, especially for these people who are supposed to be hundreds of years old. Then one night, Liam has a nightmare, and Dianna decides to talk to him about it and comfort him, and things flip around immediately after. Suddenly, they’re flirty and have all these intense longings toward one another. And then Drake and Ethan make a gross comment about Liam sleeping with Dianna, and it just goes right back to being awkward and uncomfy. I felt like I was just reading awkward conversations between these two the whole book while having info dumps on every aspect of this world thrown at me. Also, the minute Liam insinuated Dianna was dressed like a slut and magically changed her dress for her made me mad as hell. I HATE when men won’t ‘let’ their girlfriend wear something because he deems it too revealing. First of all, Liam isn’t even her boyfriend. Second, IT’S HER BODY. Third, instead of getting mad that Liam essentially called her a slut, Dianna starts swooning over the special dress he made just for her. Kill me. I’m sick of reading about their annoying af miscommunication bullshit. Dianna is all butthurt because Liam stopped sleeping in her bed. After all, Drake and Ethan( you have no idea how hard it is not to write Drake and Josh) made a lewd joke insinuating they’re boning. Liam apologized a bunch, but Dianna continued to choose to be mad. He explained to her over and over again that she does not repulse him, and he’s mentioned he finds her attractive, yet she keeps whining about how repulsive he finds her. Like, shut up, Dianna. You are so pathetic at this point. This book was advertised as spicy, right? Like, I’m positive it was advertised as spicy and yet I am nearly 600 pages into this book and Liam and Dianna still haven’t boned. All the sex scenes have been in dreams and have been vaguely worded with gross phrases like ‘my cock was buried deep inside her’ because that’s like….the only thing these ‘spicy’ authors can think to say. Liam’s jealousy over Drake is so juvenile, as is Dianna’s jealousy over Camilla. Why shouldn’t she realize Camilla is hitting on Liam to get back at Dianna? The thing that had me ripping my hair out in frustration was that this book is about finding the Book of Azrael(aka, the cat from the Smurfs), right? Nine hundred pages of filler space, all to find a book that Liam continues to insist does not exist. Well, this witch Dianna used to bone claims to have the book; all she wants in exchange is a kiss. This is the laziest way to create tension between Dianna and Liam I have ever read in my life. First, Dianna immediately assumes Camilla meant she wanted Dianna to kiss Liam, which is the most self-centered thing ever. Like why would you just assume that? Nowhere did she say I want you, Dianna, to kiss Liam. It was obvious as hell that the kiss would have to be between Camilla and Liam since it was THEIR DEAL. And then Dianna is all possessive suddenly and like NO, YOU CANNOT KISS HIM. Like…you’ve spent all these months looking for this book, and you know Kaden plans to use it to destroy the world…and a kiss is where you draw the line? Because you’re jealous? What happened to being in an open relationship with Kaden? Wouldn’t she be used to things like that? And then Liam kisses Camilla, and they have a full-on make-out session. Like I’ve said a million times before, I’ll say it again, JUVENILE. In this make-out session, Camilla gives Liam all the answers they need magically somehow, and there’s some betrayal stuff, Dianna gets shot in the head, and then they end up shouting in the forest at each other like a bunch of high schoolers because Dianna was jealous. Then we get cockblocked by some gargoyles, excuse me, Irvikuven. I’m nearly 80% of the way through now, and still, there is no spice—oh, just kidding, right at 80% is where the magic finally happens. And the magic was only some foreplay that reminded me of the scene in ACOMAF when Rhysand and Feyre share a bed, he finger bangs her, and then they go to sleep. If you were reading this book hoping for spice, I’m here to tell you there are two chapters of ‘spice’: some finger banging and a really uncomfy blow job. And that’s it. I was just begging for the book to end at this point. I was entirely unsurprised by every single person betraying Dianna. It became repetitive after the third betrayal, like how shocking, yet another person betrayed them! Wow, I am so surprised! Dianna crying and constantly whining about being a repulsive monster was so exhausting. I was so sick of listening to her and Liam whine over one another and everything else. I wish this book was cut in half, ripped to shreds, and put back together several more times before it was released. Because, as I’ve said before, I see potential in bits and pieces, but it’s just so poorly written that I cannot give it more than one star. There’s an actual part where she says this as a sentence ‘Logan having the same deposition toward him as I.’ First of all, that’s not even a complete sentence. Second of all, DEPOSITION? Do you mean DISPOSITION? There are about a thousand more things I could say at this point, but I’m running out of space, and I want to touch on the plot twist ending that everyone was so surprised by. Please explain to me how. The whole Dianna/Gabby relationship was so heavy-handed. It was so thrown in your face how much Dianna loves her, and honestly, my thought process was, okay, this book has been advertised that Dianna is a villain. Still, she’s not, so I bet Gabby, her only reason for doing all this will get killed, which will be the catalyst for Dianna becoming an actual villain. And lo and behold, I was right! Predictable. Like good god, that was a month and a half of my life I will never get back. View all my reviews

[bellshells]

Nobody Can Know Part Four

It’s here! The finale of Nobody Can Know! This was actually really emotional for me, 52, 540 words later and this fic has come to an end. I have had the absolute best time writing this and I must send a massive shout out to @hinagiku0 for requesting this in the first place. I do have a bonus chapter in the works set in between parts two and three, but no time frame as to when that will be finished. Thank you to everyone who has come on this journey with me, and thank you to everybody who has liked, reblogged and taken the time to send me your kind words. You’ve made this aspiring writer very happy indeed. Thank you. 

Pairing: George Weasley x Fem!Slytherin Reader Warnings: Language, Angst, Blood, Smoking, Alcohol, Smut Summary: Christmas has come faster than anyone could have anticipated, but with everything so up in the air; it’s impossible to celebrate. The promise of a break away may give everyone the clarity they need.  Word Count: 17.4k+

“No, you can’t. That’s- no. I won’t let you.”

  George looked at you with a look of utter desperation, it made you ache. You bit the inside of your cheek to distract from the pain in your heart, it didn’t work. He shook his head and wiped at his face as a tear rolled down his cheek.

  “I’m sorry, George. I just need to think.” You whispered, you longed to reach for him, to comfort him; but your mind was made up. “I need some time away.”

  “Why? Love listen, please just talk to me. Tell me what to do.” George begged, he grasped your hand across the table and squeezed tightly. “I’ll do anything.”

You smiled sadly; you knew he would; he would do anything in that moment to keep you there. But was that enough?

  “I know George, I just feel…honestly I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus. I just need to get away from everything so I can sort myself out.”   “From me?”   “From you, from the shop, everything!” You answered tersely, you didn’t mean to be blunt with him, you were uncomfortable seeing George distressed. But he needed to understand that you wouldn’t be swayed.   “Do you still love me?” He asked, his face twisted in agony as you pulled your hand away and placed it in your lap.   “That’s never in question.” You stood and walked around the table to where George sat, he looked at you expectantly as you bent down. You pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll send you an owl when I’m settled, so you know how to reach me if anything happens.”   “Where will you go?”   “A friends.”

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

  Cokeworth was probably the most depressing place you had ever set foot in. The industrial town was still dirty from the smoke that the chimney of the old mill had puffed out. While in recent years it had ceased in its emission, the last century’s worth of grime had remained strong. It was a bleak, often sad reminder of the proletariat forefathers of the current upper working-class families who had purchased the many two-bed terraced houses for good rail links to Birmingham and Wolverhampton. You could never have imagined that Professor Snape lived somewhere like that, but really, you couldn’t imagine Professor Snape living anywhere other than Hogwarts. You had seen his office on many occasions, it was to be expected really; full of dusty books and rolled up pieces of parchment. It always smelled distinctly of cedarwood and myrrh, a scent you had almost absolutely convinced yourself that it was Professor Snape himself who smelled of such. You had promised yourself you wouldn’t dwell much on the last few days, instead you would take this time for yourself. You wanted to be kind to yourself for once, to just be you. You weren’t looking forward to the quiet though, your life had never been quiet.

  You walked for what felt like miles, all the streets looked the same, each house identical. It was disorientating, the numbers screwed on to each door seemed to ascend and descend in whichever way they liked. You were about to give up and go back the way you came until a little white sign on the side of a house on the corner of the street caught your eye; it had an arrow pointing in the opposite direction with SPINNERS END  written across it. You breathed a sigh of relief and started off in the direction dictated by the sign. 69, 67, 65- it was 65 wasn’t it? You pulled the crumpled bit of paper Professor Snape left you from your pocket and looked from the words there, to the grey wooden door in front of you.

If you are in need, you need only knock

  You knocked once on the door, you heard a click of a lock from the inside and it swung open slowly. There it was again, that smell. It was almost overpowering as you took a hesitant step into the house. From what you could see, it was immaculately clean. You dropped your suitcase at the bottom of the stairs and removed your heavy cloak from around your shoulders, hanging it over the bannister. The walls of the hallway were a dark green, but this didn’t surprise you. You would have been incredibly shocked it you had entered Professor Snape’s house and the walls had been painted magenta and mustard. You smirked at the idea and followed the hallway round to a room on the right, it looked like it should be a lounge. The walls were lined with books, every surface was littered with them too. There was a well-worn leather armchair in one corner with a drink’s cabinet close by. A table sat in the middle of the room and on the opposite side, a two-seat sofa. The leather of the sofa looked intact, like not a soul had ever sat on it. Whilst you knew that was near impossible, your heart ached for the lonely man who owned this house. Nobody should lead as solitary a life as this.

  You looked for a moment, long the lines and lines of books. Some looked to be incredibly old indeed, some without a dent in the hard spines. There were books in languages you didn’t know and some you recognised as classics in the muggle world. You ran your finger across the spines and sighed, you could imagine clearly that Professor Snape had read each and every one of them. You could see him in his chair, one leg crossed over the other- book in one hand and cigarette in the other. You smiled at the image you had created, you hoped he was happy here. You made your way out of the sitting room and back into the dark hallway, the stairs had a cupboard underneath them, the door painted the same green as the walls. You noticed a glimpse of the kitchen through a door which sat ajar, you pushed it open and stepped through. There were more books, many sat on the small dining table that sat in the corner. It was old, it reminded you pews at Hogwarts in its shape. The kitchen itself was cramped, although it had all the amenities one might expect, the claustrophobic closeness of the cupboards did nothing but remind you of the tiny kitchen in your flat. You walked over to the cupboards and opened them one by one, mugs and glasses, plates and bowls (four of each) and then one full of non-perishables. You laughed slightly at the tins of baked beans and scotch broth, a tin of rice pudding sat further forward on the shelf, as if picked out and then placed back.  

  You opened up a low cupboard next to the fridge and exhaled in relief at the sight of instant coffee, you pulled it out and unscrewed the lid. Giving the coffee a big sniff, you decided it was good enough to drink and sought to put the kettle on. After you had found the sugar and cutlery, you poured the contents of a tin of tomato soup into a pan and lit the cooker. Satisfied with your level of domesticity achieved, you placed your coffee and soup onto a tray and levitated it behind you into the sitting room. You scoured the books for something to read, and finally settled on a dusty black jacketed book called Dracula. The image of the author; a gentleman named Bram Stoker was still and aged, you could but assume this was a muggle book and you secretly relished in the simplicity of it. You settled into Professor Snape’s well-loved armchair and ate your soup quickly, quietly cursing when you burnt your tongue. You devoured the novel, your coffee forgotten until you squealed at the un-dead return of Lucy Westenra. You heart raced and you laughed, having fully immersed yourself in this novel. It was exhilarating. Your coffee was now cold as you brought it to your lips, and you yawned. It was dark outside now, but, in the deep December that could mean it was about five o’clock. Looking over your shoulders as if someone could catch you at any moment, you reached for the handle of the drink’s cabinet and marvelled at the assortment of alcohol stored within. You reached greedily for a bottle of port and padded into the kitchen for a glass, it was then you noticed a scrap of parchment next to the sink.

  (Y/N), it read in Professor Snape’s neat script,

Welcome, if you have decided to stay. I have left some muggle money on my desk in the second bedroom upstairs, along with an almanac of the values of it. There is some food in the cupboards, please feel free to help yourself to it. I am not expecting anybody to arrive, so please do not let anybody inside the house. I would be very much appreciative of that. You may write to me if you wish, I would like to know if you are there. Have a Merry Christmas.

Best,

Severus

  You raced up the narrow stairs of Professor Snape’s house, port and glass forgotten. The landing was small and had three doors that lead from there. One you assumed was the bathroom, you hoped it was as clean as the rest of the house. You continued to the next door along and opened it, Professor Snape’s personal study before you. You walked into the body of the room, absolutely in awe. He had enchanted the ceiling to reflect the night sky, the moon high above and stars twinkled through the heavy clouds. You stood for a moment and appreciated the craftmanship of this, it was silent in this room and the serenity of the night sky filled you with a sense of calm you hadn’t felt for the longest while. By the only window in the room sat his desk, it was surprisingly non-cluttered with minimal books. True to his note, there was an envelope marked Money. It was a curious thing, you peeked inside and found coins but also paper money too. What would muggles do if the paper money floated away? From the cursory glance you gave Professor Snape’s deconstruction of the value of each piece it seemed the paper money, or ‘notes’ as he called them were of greater value than the coins. But the coins together equalled the sum of notes. It was all very confusing, so you popped the envelope back on the desk and opened up the small drawer on top, thankful to find some parchment.

  The feel of Professor Snape’s quill in your hand was foreign and took some getting used to. You wrote two letters in total, one to Professor Snape to let him know you had arrived and to thank him again for his hospitality. He really had gone over and above what you had dared hope, and you sunk further into his debt. The other letter, was to George. Could it really only be a few hours since you had last seen him? You ignored the glassy state of your eyes as you sealed the letter and opened the window. A small silver whistle hung on a chain attached the inside of the sill, it had an owl in flight intricately engraved on the side. It was really quite beautiful, it glistened in the moonlight of the room and felt heavy in your hand. You brought the cold metal to your lips and blew once, but no sound came from the whistle. You looked desperately into the blackness of the street, the only light was the flickering streetlamp; only one was working and that one looked ready to be condemned. You noticed a speck in the distance, it grew bigger as it flew toward you. Your heart leapt at the sight of the black owl that fluttered its wings as it settled on the windowsill.   “This one first.” You instructed the owl as you offered the letter addressed to Professor Snape to it, it presented its leg and you fumbled in the drawers of Professor Snape’s desk for some string. “Fucking fuck fuck, where’s the fucking string?” You cursed, the owl gave an indignant hoot, and you made a face to it. Upon finding the string, you attached both letters to the owl’s legs and watched as it flew into the night.

  You trapsed back down the stairs and collected you dirty dishes and washed them in the sink. You yawned, fuck, you didn’t realise how tired you were until you caught your eyes closing of their own accord as you stood aimlessly in the kitchen. You collected your bag and made your way back up the stairs to the bathroom. You hadn’t expected a bachelor to take such good care of his home; the bathroom smelled strongly of bleach and the toilet was so clean you could’ve eaten your dinner off of it. No shower, you thought. Not a bit of wonder really, especially when you considered how old these houses were. You were thankful though, that Professor Snape must have charmed the brick somehow to keep the heat in, you wouldn’t even know where to start switching a radiator on. You decided against having a bath, it was far too late, and you didn’t fancy accidentally drowning to death as you inevitably fell asleep. You changed and popped your dirty clothes into the empty washing basket in the bathroom, making a mental note to write to Professor Snape and ask for instructions on how to use the washing machine. You felt a pang of loneliness as you walked across the empty landing, you and George never went to bed alone and you had missed his usual night-time burst of energy as you would get under the covers. It usually resulted in you making love for a few hours until you both passed out from exhaustion. No- you wouldn’t think about that.

  You pondered what to do. There was one bed. You hadn’t spared a second thought to the idea that Professor Snape had turned his second bedroom into a study, you cursed yourself as you stood in your knickers and stared at his wide bed. The bedding was black, of course and looked inviting in your sleepy state. You chewed on the inside of your cheek. It wasn’t appropriate for you to sleep in his bed, certainly not. You imagined how enraged he would be if he found out you had slept in his bed. But, he had let you stay here. Surely, he knew you would need to sleep? Maybe he thought you would have a sleeping bag, or even a blanket and you could sleep on the sofa that looked like it had never been sat on. You shook your head and chuckled, what a nightmare. Resigned, you pulled back the covers of Severus Snape’s bed and climbed in. You decided you would find your way to the town centre tomorrow and buy a pillow and a blanket and sleep on the sofa. But tonight, well one night wouldn’t hurt. You had imagined Professor Snape would sleep in a coffin, or perhaps a bed of nails in your youth. You hadn’t considered a large spongy bed, with brushed cotton sheets and pillows so soft your head could sink through them. The sheets smelled of freshly washed linen and you wondered if he had cleaned his house for you coming, you were grateful if he had and impressed if he hadn’t. Your eyes were heavy and closed almost instantly, you pulled the covers tight to your chest and slipped into a dreamless sleep.

********

  You were awoken by the sound of scratching. You opened your eyes and were confused for a moment why there wasn’t a sleeping redhead next to you. It had been three days since you had arrived in Spinner’s End and you felt almost at home now. You had a routine, you would wake up and have a bath, have some breakfast and read. You had managed to find the muggle supermarket and filled the cupboards full to burst. You often found yourself falling asleep in Professor Snape’s armchair. The evening would breach the windows of the living room, and you would drift away. It wasn’t bad, it wasn’t particularly exciting either. You felt the same pang of loneliness you’d felt the night before as you sat slowly and sighed. The black owl tapped its beak impatiently on the bedroom window, you rose unsteadily and pulled a t-shirt out of your open bag. The owl didn’t wait for you to let it in as you opened the window, it swooped into the room and landed on the bed, kicking it’s legs, like you hadn’t already noticed the letters tied to it.   “I haven’t got any treats for you, sorry.” You said as you attempted to untie the letters, at least, if the owl stayed still for a second. You finally prised the letters away and the owl flew out the way it had come. The morning air was freezing, more snow had fallen in the night and the whole street was bathed in an eerily white blanket. There were a few children already out in the street, their parents scraping ice from the windows of their cars. People still need to work, you supposed, regardless of how close it was to Christmas. You closed the window and climbed back into bed, it was still warm under the covers and you settled in to read your letters.

(Y/N), the first one read.

Glad to hear you have settled in. Yes, you may help yourself to some of the drinks in the cabinet, but if you touch my Lagavulin with your grubby little hands, I shall know.

You snorted as you read that. You inched deeper into the bed, craving more warmth.

I’ll be in London for New Year, believe me, it’s as much an inconvenience to you as it is to me. So, whilst you are more than welcome to stay in my house, be prepared for my arrival on 31st December. If you wish to stay until then, I will require you to buy food. Please let me know what you decide to do well ahead of time.

Best,

Severus

That was the third time he had signed off by using Severus and not Professor Snape or Professor S. Snape, Head of Slytherin House Hogwarts, Potions Master, Surprisingly Nice Person as you had almost expected him to. So, he was coming back for New Year? Blanket and pillows were definitely on your agenda for the day. You picked up the other letter. You knew it was from George and you felt a sinking feeling in your gut as you fingered the envelope. You weren’t really expecting a reply, you told him you had arrived safe and you’d write him again soon. You weren’t sure what in the letter you sent actually required a response.

My darling, George wrote.

I’m chuffed to hear you’ve settled in wherever you are. I’d like to think you’re being looked after, but I know you don’t need anyone to look after you. I really miss you, gorgeous. I know there’s not much I can say that I didn’t already say yesterday, but I would have felt like an absolute git if I didn’t tell you again. I’m not going to ask you to come home if you’re not ready, but I wanted to let you know that me and Fred are heading to mum’s for Christmas. Couldn’t quite face it in the flat without you. So, if you decide you want to come home for Christmas, you know where we are. I love you, (Y/N). I’ll do anything to show you that.

All my love forever, George xxx

P.S. I noticed you didn’t take any of your tampons with you, just say the word and I’ll send them to you. Wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable, love x

  You shot out of bed like a rocket. Your tampons? Oh fuck. You raced across the landing to the loo and as you sat down, you saw the same sight that had been staring you in the face for weeks.

Nothing. Nothing in your knickers.

You were late. More than late, it had been far more than a week ago since you were due on and yet, with all the stress of the last few days you had forgotten all about it. You sank onto the bathroom floor and cried. Big, mournful tears and sobs that wracked your whole chest. This couldn’t be, this wasn’t to be your life. With a sniff of resolution, you stood from the floor and looked at yourself in the mirror. You hadn’t realised how haggard you looked. There were dark circled under your eyes and your face was pale and gaunt. You ran a finger across your cheek and felt the hardness of your cheekbone that jutted out further than it ever had before. Merlin, you were far too young for any of this. In the year that you had spent being George’s girlfriend you had had more strife than you could have possibly imagined. Quite frankly, you thought, you had taken it like a champ. But this just seemed one ordeal too far. You were alone, alone and hiding in Severus fucking Snape’s house from your boyfriend. No family, no friends, nothing.  No, no more.

******

  You hadn’t been to this part of London before. You were quite shocked when she suggested meeting you here, you hadn’t anticipated she was one for the theatre. As you stared up at Her Majesty’s Theatre, the bright still photographs of the show stared back at you. A woman, with long curly hair in a pink dress seemed frightened as a masked man with dark hair loomed behind her. What utter drivel you thought, who would pay money to see this? You rubbed your hands together, now significantly warmer with your new gloves you had bought on your way into London; and scoured the busy street for her. You were starting to think she wasn’t coming when you saw an emerald green cape swish in your periphery.   “There you are! Merlin, I was beginning it think you were taking the piss out of me.” You said as you wrapped her into a warm hug.   “Never,” Pansy smirked, she pulled away from you and gazed intently at your face. “You look terrible mate.”   “Thank you dear, you are nothing if not horrendously honest.” You looked at Pansy with a sly smirk. It felt so wonderful to see her again, her arm entwined easily with yours as you started back toward Leicester Square. “Why did you want to meet in front of that theatre?” You asked.   “Oh, I saw the show last week with my parents and it’s an easy location, tucked out the way a bit yet still in central London.” Pansy seemed to have blossomed in the time since you had last seen her. her hair had grown long and glossy, and she was pretty, very pretty.   “You? You saw a musical?” You couldn’t help the laugh that left your lips. Pansy rolled her eyes and pushed you playfully.   “Don’t judge unless you’ve seen one yourself. The music is to die for.” She smirked and lead you up a busy street. “Do you want to look at the Christmas Markets?” Pansy asked as she picked up a bauble from a nearby stall and inspected it. You wondered if it was a mistake to meet in such a crowded place so close to Christmas but, as she had reminded you, less chance of bumping into somebody you know.   “Actually Pans, I need to talk to you.” You replied, she nodded and lead you across the square to a café, all of the tables were either taken or dirty. You both looked over your shoulders as you pointed your wand at a table in the corner and the dirty mugs and plates stacked and ended up on the next table over. “What do you want? I have muggle money.” You said as you reached into your purse and pulled out one of the paper notes; you remembered they were worth more than the coins. Pansy looked from the paper note in your hand and to your face and burst out laughing. “What?!” You demanded. Onlookers from other tables began to stare in your direction as Pansy doubled over laughing.   “Oh, fucking hell, (Y/N). You are so clueless.” She managed through her giggles. “You’re going to pay for two coffees with a fifty-pound note?”   “Is that wrong?” You asked bewildered, surely it was right to take the biggest one?   “Merlin, just put that back in your purse before someone steals it out of your hand and I’ll get the coffees.” Pansy replied, you could see her shoulders still bobbing up and down with laughter even as she queued for your drinks. You couldn’t help but smile too, it had been so long since you had seen her last, too long.

  Pansy ended up taking longer than you anticipated ordering drinks. Your stomach began to rumble, and you felt sick. You ran a hand through your hair and sighed, you needed to speak to Pansy about the situation. You had nobody else to turn to. You stared aimlessly out of the window at the last- minute Christmas shoppers frantically move from shop to shop. You wondered if George would have taken the things you had bought for his family back to the shops, or if he would have wrapped them terribly and dished them out. You cringed at the idea of Molly seeing George’s wrapping and thinking it was yours. Out of the corner of your eye you saw a flash of gold and a suitcase whizz pass the window. Your heart raced as you made eye contact with him, Mundungus Fletcher. Behind him he pulled a trolley you saw old ladies carry their shopping in full of tat. He raised a ringed hand up and waved at you through the glass, a sneer fixed on his stupid face. You reached for your wand, but he was too fast, he weaved through the crowd and was gone. You searched for him wildly with your eyes, you craned your neck to try and see further, but it was no use. He had disappeared as quickly as he appeared. You tried to quell the hatred that bubbled under your skin and took a deep breath.   “Who was that?” Pansy asked as she set a tray on the table. She passed you your coffee and a slice of cake and put the tray on the floor.   “Nobody.” You muttered. You thanked her and took a sip, you grimaced as you swallowed it. Muggle coffee was terrible, watery and bland. It made you long for home, the kitchen staff at your parent’s house were always at the top of their game. It had spoiled you really, you had made such an effort to learn how to do everything yourself. You wouldn’t be one of them. You refused.   “What did you want to talk about?” Pansy said as she shovelled a forkful of cake into her mouth. You bit your lip; you didn’t know how to say it. “Oi, you haven’t dragged me all the way to London just for a coffee so talk.”   “I’m late.”   “What do you mean?”   “My period’s late.”

  Pansy’s fork stopped halfway to her mouth; her eyes wide with shock. You tapped on the table nervously and glanced over your shoulder. You would be mortified if you found yourself in another situation like the one of the last few days.   “How long?”   “Nearly two weeks now that I think about it.”   “Shit.”   “What do I do, Pansy?” Your eyes brimmed with tears as you watched your friends face flit between emotions. Pansy’s usually stern face softened, she ran a hand over her beautifully quaffed hair and sighed.   “Have you been to St. Mungo’s?” She asked, you shook your head.   “I didn’t know I had to. I only realised this morning and that’s when I wrote you straight away.”    “Right, okay. So, first thing you need to do is go to St. Mungo’s, you’ll see a mediwitch and they’ll make you drink a potion to see if you’re…pregnant or not.” She whispered, you nodded tearfully.   “Is that it? I just need to go to St. Mungo’s?”   “Well, you need to make an appointment first. Only-” She stopped short, she frowned, and her brow furrowed.   “Only?” You prompted.   “Only, it’s the day before Christmas Eve (Y/N). They’ll be no appointments until after the New Year, I’m sure.”   “Is it the 23rd already?” You asked, “Fuck me, I didn’t realise.” You paused. “So I have to wait?” Pansy nodded and swallowed another mouthful of cake. She pondered for a second before she sat up straight in her chair.   “Unless…”   “Unless?” You asked, you were growing impatient.   “There is the old-fashioned way of finding out. The muggle way, it’s just as effective. My sister had to do it before she was of age and she had it off with one of the Black cousins.”   “Which is?”

******

  You shifted your weight uneasily from foot to foot. You were in Piccadilly Circus waiting outside of a, you think Pansy called it a chemist? She didn’t trust you to not have a breakdown in the middle of a muggle pharmacy so left you to wait outside. It was bitterly cold and the snow had begun to fall harder than before. You watched as muggle pedestrians tried to weather their way through the flurry. How had it gotten to be the 23rd of December without you noticing? How had you let yourself not notice that your period was late? Very, very late, you cursed. You couldn’t help but be slightly angry at Fred and George, you had worked your fingers to the bone over the last few weeks to make sure the sop was stocked to the brim ready for Christmas. You had been exhausted, and still found time to cook and clean for the boys too. No, stop that, you thought. You were just irritable and nervous. You weren’t angry at the boys; you loved the boys; and were so proud of everything they had achieved in such a small space of time. Its natural to have bumps in the road, you just hoped there wouldn’t be a bump of another kind making an appearance.

  You shook your head to try and rid yourself of these thoughts. It was no use to anyone to berate yourself, you placed a hesitant hand on your stomach. You prayed silently to Merlin, to anybody that could possibly hear you. You whispered the words over and over again in your mind, please don’t let me be pregnant please don’t let me be pregnant please don’t let me be-   “Got it!” Pansy thrust a plastic bag in your direction, followed by a handful of coins. You cocked your head to the side in confusion. “Your change,” she announced and placed the money in your hand. “Merlin, you know absolutely nothing do you.” You offered her a tight-lipped smile as she linked her arm with yours and you hurried away from the pulsing crowd.   “Right, let’s go to your flat and get this over with.” Pansy stated, she pointed to the designated apparation point and looked at you expectantly. The thought of going into an empty flat filled you with a dread that quickly turned to sickness, a bile that rose in your throat. You shook your head and slumped against the wall behind you.   “I can’t Pans, I can’t go back there now. Not today, I’m not ready.” You muttered, your hair fell into your face and shielded it from Pansy’s view. You felt Pansy put an arm around her shoulders. She pulled you close to her and enveloped you in a hug. The tears you had been holding in since you left Severus’ (could you even call him that now?) house fell from your heavy eyes as you clutched to your friend for dear life. She rubbed your back and swayed you from side to side.   “That’s okay, we don’t have to go there. Let’s just go to where you’re staying.”   “I can’t take you there either!” You laughed through your tears, Pansy laughed too and brushed her thumb across your cheek.   “Fucking hell, you truly are off grid, aren’t you? Don’t do break-ups by half.”   “We haven’t broken up, Pansy. I just needed some time away. I haven’t been on my own since…since-”   “Shh. I know, I know. I was just winding you up.” She pushed you back gently and held you at arm’s length. “Now stop crying please, you’re making me uncomfortable.” You laughed again and smiled weakly at her. You exhaled deeply and nodded. You needed to pull up your big girl pants and be an adult.   “I’ll owl you as soon as I know.” You said, Pansy’s face fell into a look of concern as you took a step back from her.   “Have I not shown you, you can trust me, (Y/N)?” She replied, she looked hurt and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.   “Yes, of course you have, Pansy. I just- I need to do this alone.” Pansy sniffed in indifference and crossed her arms over her chest. You felt instantly guilty, you loathed to upset your friend, especially when she had gone above and beyond for you; but you needed to do this by yourself.   “Fine. But you should let George know, it’s as much his concern as it is yours.” Pansy said stiffly before she turned away from you and disapparated with a small pop!

  You were still for a moment. The snow had turned to sleet and it seemed to soak you through to your very bones as you stood. How had everything turned into such a mess in such a small space of time? Of course, Pansy was right, you needed to tell George. He had a right to know what was going on as anybody else and another feeling of guilt flooded over your already aching chest.

******

  Desdemona was waiting patiently on a streetlamp as you approached Severus’ house. She let out an almighty hoot as you spotted her in the encroaching darkness, she flew quicky from her porch and nearly into your face.   “Bloody stupid bird,” You muttered as you extended an arm. Desdemona landed roughly; her talons pinched your skin under your winter coat as she offered the letter in her beak. Your heart sank as you took it, it could only be from your parents. “I don’t have anything for you. Go home.” You ordered her, if you didn’t know any better you could have sworn she rolled her eyes before she took off into the sky. You watched her fly for as far as you could see her, her tawny features hard to make out after a while. With a groan, you let yourself in to the house.

  You settled in Severus’ armchair and kicked your shoes off. The letter from your parents held tightly in your hand, it felt heavy and you were anxious yet reluctant to find out what it said. You sank lower into the comfortable leather and brought your knees to your chest and teased open the envelope. It wasn’t a howler, that was for certain. A smaller envelope dropped out of the initial one, and a folded piece of parchment landed on your lap. Ignoring the small envelope, you picked up the note and noticed immediately it was written in your father’s hand.

Daughter,

I understand you have moved to Diagon Alley with your partner; congratulations, I’m pleased you have found happiness. I must admit, this is to be a strange Christmas without you here with us. I will leave your stocking above the fireplace like always. I wish for you to understand that you are always welcome here, this is your home. I am your father. You will always be my little girl. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.

Enclosed you will find your Christmas present; your mother gave her blessing for me to send it to you.

Merry Christmas, my darling.

You clutched the letter to your chest as you sobbed. You traced your finger over your father’s words, as if you could touch him through the parchment. You missed him more than words could say, you hadn’t anticipated how much so. In the time that had elapsed since you had last seen him, it was easy to forget the good things, the best things about your father; instead remembering him as the distant man who told you to run instead of protecting you. But he had, from the coldness of your mother, from the sneering remarks of the other noble families as a child and finally from your torment as you sat alone at Christmas.

  You padded solemnly into the kitchen and retrieved the bottle of port and the glass tumbler you had set out the night before. You poured yourself a healthy measure and as you brought the glass to your lips, you stopped. You remembered the white plastic bag you had flung on the floor at the bottom of the stairs when you arrived back, your stomach gurgled, and you bit your lip. What were you to do? Well, you knew exactly what you should do. You should write to George immediately, or better yet, go straight to The Burrow and you could do this together but- there was a part of you that felt that if you were to go to him now, you would be conceding. You would be letting yourself down. You hadn’t run straight into George’s arms the minute Mundungus’ plot was uncovered, if you were to go back now after two nights away from him would make you look weak. You demanded space, you demanded time to think and get away; you deserved it! George had to understand that he had hurt you immeasurably and not everything could be solved by a kiss and a cuddle.

  Regardless, if it turned out you weren’t pregnant then what would have been the need? You would have gone back to him at the first sign of trouble like always, and you weren’t prepared to it this time. If you were pregnant then yes, you would go to him. You would sit down and have an adult conversation over what to do next; but if you weren’t? You could perhaps enjoy this time to yourself before you returned to him. Before you decided what it was exactly you were to say to him. The layers of guilt that had so far weighed heavy on your chest eased slightly, your affirmations to yourself that this was the right thing to do, seemed to have assuaged you some. It was time, you knew it was. It was now or never, and it was most certainly, now.

  You read and re-read the instructions on the side of the box as you sat on the toilet. Your hand trembled as it held the little white stick, you parted your legs and pushed your hand between them; no idea if the stick was in the right position. When you were satisfied that you had done what you needed to, you pulled the stick away and popped the little blue cap on the used end. The box said it would take two minutes to give you a result, so with that, after thoroughly washing your hands, you returned to the living room. You placed the ‘test’ (it was most unlike any test you had ever taken in your life thus far) on the table face down, so you couldn’t see the little window and picked Dracula up from its perch on the nearby shelf. It was then that you noticed the small envelope your father had sent on the arm of the chair. You opened it gently, unsure of what it could be. Onto your lap fell an incredibly delicate silver choker encrusted with brilliant emeralds and littered with small diamonds, given to your mother when your grandmother died. You lifted it to the light and watched how the jewels caught the light. This piece of jewellery had been in your family for generations, You had admired it since you were a little girl, it had sat pride of place around your mother’s neck for special occasions, and you had tried it on- once or twice. Your mother would have been furious if she had found out. Your heart swelled with pride as you traced your fingers lovingly across it, that your mother wanted you to have it. Progress perhaps?

  A thunderous banging on the front door caused you to yelp in fear. You reached into the pocket of your jeans and produced your wand, you waved it frantically across the room and with a puff, all the candles were extinguished. You were plunged into darkness. Your heart pounded in your chest as you inched slowly out of the living room; wand raised- you weren’t sure what use it would be in the dark, but you refused to cast a Lumos. Severus had said he wasn’t expecting anyone at the house, and to not let anybody inside. You swallowed your fear and allowed yourself a second to think. The only people who would know what this house was, would either be one of two kinds. Muggles, probably drunk, banging on the wrong door or the darker alternative. The one you hoped to Merlin it wasn’t. The banging recommenced as you entered the hallway, you flinched at the sound but continued in your progress toward the front door. The early evening had well given way to night, and the only thing you could make out through the panes of glass in the door, was the shadowy figure that once again brought its hand up to bang against the wood. You crept silently along the hallway, with each step your pulse quickened as with trembling hand, you slowly reached for the catch. You felt a trickle of sweat run down your neck as you clasped the metal knob and turned it ever so slightly, you aimed to open the catch and fling the door open to the surprise of the intruder. You hoped to catch them off guard. As soon as you heard the click of the door, you flung it open.   “Stupefy!” You exclaimed, but he was faster.   “Expelliarmus.” Your wand flew from your hand and landed in his, bloodied and shaking. You blinked, unmoving as he reached for you. His other hand grasped onto your shirt as he tried to stand up straight. You recoiled backwards; it was instinctual. You noticed the hand which held fast onto the front of your shirt was also drenched in blood.   “Don’t scream.” He breathed, “Don’t scream, just…help…me inside.” You managed to nod and grasp him under his arm, as with the other he left bloody handprints along the wall. He kicked the door closed behind him as you helped him into the lounge, and with a big heave, assisted him to the sofa. “Why…is it so…dark?”

  In a second, every candle was lit, and you were able to get a good look at his face.   “What happened to you, Severus?” You asked horrified, he had a large gash on his cheek that bled freely. He clutched his side, and you noticed a flash of skin underneath his hands, he was wounded, badly. Bleeding profusely, what the fuck do you do? “Tell me what to do.”   “Dittany.” Severus whispered, “Cupboard in…bathroom.” You raced from the lounge up the stairs as fast as your feet could carry you, you wrenched open the bathroom cupboard and frantically searched for Essence of Dittany. You noticed that your hands were also covered in blood, his blood as you twisted and turned every bottle until you clasped your hand around the brown bottle.   “Give it to me.” Severus said weakly, he reached for the bottle, but you shook your head.   “No, you can’t-”   “I didn’t ask for…your opinion witch, give…me the…bottle.” He wheezed through gritted teeth, his face was a mass of blood now, like he had somehow tried to quell the bleeding but had somehow made it worse. You hesitated for a moment before you handed the bottle to him. He reached forward with a surprisingly steady hand and applied three drops to his cheek, his face contorted in pain as a small puff of green smoke rose around him. He winced as he tried to sit up, “Help me,” was all he said. Again, you supported his arm and helped right him. “My coat, I can’t reach-” You reached for his buttons and swiftly tried to undo them, he writhed beneath you, obviously in a copious amount of pain.   “Sorry!” You breathed as you reached his midsection, you could see clearly now the wound on his side. It looked as if he had been sliced, the blood was thick and dark as it oozed out of him. Tears stung your eyes as you panicked, you felt so very overwhelmed and with no idea how to help him. You tried to gently manoeuvre his arms through his sleeves, his jaw clenched and with two tugs, you managed it. He pulled his shirt up to his chest and granted you a look at how thin he was. You almost cringed at the sight of every rib in the poor man’s body, his stomach and what you could see of his chest were absolutely littered with scars; some old, some new.   “You will have to help…with this one.” Severus said, he looked better, if that was possible. The wound on his cheek shone purple, as if it had been there all along. The only tell-tale sign was the blood beginning to dry there. You rolled him onto his side and took the bottle from his hands, opening it quickly. You placed a gentle hand above his wound, just to the side of where his ribs jutted out. Severus flinched one and then relaxed as you tenderly brushed your fingers against his skin.   “Ready?” You asked, he gave a curt nod and you applied four drops of the Dittany across his wound. Severus, to his credit, let out a groan of pain whilst his whole body shook under the strain of new skin closing the wound. The puff of smoke was larger this time, you held your breath as it passed over your face. You held him in place until his breathing slowed, he looked at you askance and motioned to be helped up. “Do you want some water?” You asked as you pulled his shirt back down, covering him up. Severus shook his head.   “Whisky.” You rolled your eyes but knew better than to argue with him. You stood and brushed your hands against your jeans, you were sticky with his blood and felt uncomfortable. You hurried over to the drinks cabinet and pulled out a bottle of the amber liquid. Severus held his hand open and you passed him the bottle, he pulled the cork out with his teeth and brought it to his lips.  

  You watched him as he took sip after sip of the whisky, the colour eventually returned to his cheeks and you felt satisfied to leave him for a moment. You wandered into the kitchen and doused your hands with soap, scrubbing them hard to remove the blood. You fought back tears as the image of Severus writhing in pain engrained itself into your mind. You had never seen so much blood in your life and shuddered as you remembered the smell of the smoke as his skin knit together. You found him asleep on the sofa as you entered, bottle tipped to the side and his face peaceful. Carefully, you slipped his shoes from his feet and propped his legs up onto the sofa. Your wands lay together on the floor, you retrieved yours and Accio’d his duvet and a pillow, laying the latter under his head as you covered him in the blanket.

  You retrieved your cloak and settled into the armchair, you pulled it up to your chin and hooked your legs over one of the arms. It wasn’t comfortable, not in the slightest, but you couldn’t justify leaving him in his state. Your hand closed around your wand and pressed it against your chest, ready, just in case. For what- you didn’t know.

******

  “Sleep well?”

  You awoke with a start. Severus sat across the room from you, he was upright on the sofa. He still looked weak, but his eyes sparkled with humour.   “Like the dead.” You offered feebly; you arched your back; oh, fuck it was agony. You winced and Severus chuckled, your neck was stiff as you craned it to look at him.   “Nice choice of words.” You grimaced as you swung your legs onto the floor and ran your hands through your hair. You were surprised to feel the ends were dried red. Oh, of course. You shuddered as a fleeting image of the previous night’s bloody work crossed your thoughts. Brushing it off, you stood. “Coffee?”   “Please.” He answered, he looked more tired than you had ever seen as he watched you lazily. You returned a few moments later with two mugs of coffee, his black obviously, Severus nodded in thanks. You drank in silence, neither of you looking at the other. After a while, you stood without speaking. You felt disgusting, you were covered almost head to toe in Severus’ blood, although you had scrubbed at your hands- you hadn’t realised how messy it had been.

  You allowed yourself to cry in the bath. The water was hot and as you sank beneath the surface, you felt pathetic. You sobbed, more than you had in days. Your throat hurt and your eyes were swollen. Your heart hurt, why? Were you scared? Scared that someone might come after Severus and you would be caught in the crossfire? Or guilty that the man who had shown you so much kindness had been so dreadfully hurt and you hesitated in answering the door.

  He was sat in the same position that he had been in when you left him. He didn’t look like he had moved a muscle.   “Are you in pain?” You asked quietly, you felt stupid asking him stood in your Christmas pyjamas, but you were quickly running out of clean clothes.   “Immensely,” Severus answered wryly, he pointed at the coffee table. “What’s that?” Your gaze followed the direction of his pointed finger and your stomach fell.   “Nothing. Don’t worry.” You replied quickly, you snatched the pregnancy test and thrust it into the pocket of your pyjama bottoms. How the fuck had you forgotten about that? Your heart raced; you could know. You could know now, all you had to was look at the little window and it would tell you all you needed to know.  “Is that a pregnancy test?” Severus asked, the whisper of a smile tugged at his lips as you blushed.   “No.” You lied, why would he know what a pregnancy test looked like anyway? Especially a muggle one. Severus shook his head.   “If you say so.” He paused and watched you, your hair dripped big, wet droplets onto your shoulders. “Bring me some parchment and a quill, I need to write a letter.”   “Do you not think you should rest?” His face was aghast as you questioned him, you squared your shoulders and met his gaze.   “I promise not to exert myself too much moving my wrist.” You gave him a look of annoyance as he made a gesture as if he were writing. You rolled your eyes again, he chuckled once and then grasped his side in pain. Good, that serves him right for being a dick. You smirked to yourself as you retrieved parchment and a quill along with the silver whistle and thrust them into his hands.   “Would you like something to eat?” You watched him as, even with the sheer amount of pain he was in, his hand was steady as he wrote fluidly across the page. Severus ignored you as he continued to write. You sat in the armchair and watched him for several minutes, you noticed he brought the feathery tip of his quill to his lips every once in a while, in thought. It was almost hypnotic, watching his hand glide across the parchment, the only sound the scratching of his quill.

  The test in your pocket burned with anticipation. You reached for it deftly, careful not to make any sudden movements so as not to disturb Severus. Your fingers grasped it and pulled it out slowly, you shot a glance in his direction, satisfied that his attention was firmly placed upon his writing. You turned it over and…nothing. You panicked and turned it over, upside down and back to front. The little window that displayed the result was empty- no lines.   “Did you not read the instructions?” Severus called from the other side of the room. You gave him an uneasy look. “It quite clearly states that results disappear after twelve hours.” He hadn’t even looked up from his parchment, or so it seemed. You raced from the living room to the bathroom and plunged your hands into the wastebin in search for the box. He was right, of course he was right. Why wouldn’t he be right? You felt the blood drain from your cheeks as you slowly made your way back down the stairs.   “Idiot.” Severus mumbled, just loud enough for you to hear as you paced the length of the room. What were you to do now? It was Christmas Eve; you couldn’t face going back into the crowds. “I need you to take this to The Leaky Cauldron.” Severus’ deep baritone distracted you from your thoughts as he passed the parchment he had been writing on in your direction. You rose from your chair to take it from him, he had closed it in on itself over and over again until it appeared miniscule in your hand. Some kind of enchantment to dissuade the prying eyes of those unintended to read it, you supposed.     “What is it?” You enquired, turning it over in your fingers. Severus motioned you forward and held his arms out to you.   “You don’t need to know. Help me up.” Severus muttered and as you placed your arms around his back, your chests flush together; you blushed at the close proximity. He placed his hands onto your shoulders and supported himself to a standing position. “I need to go to the toilet.” He took two steps and swayed, he grasped hold of your arm to steady yourself.   “I can apparate us upstairs, Severus.” You stated, he grimaced and placed your arm under his.   “No, I’ll be sick. Help me and I might be able to help you with your problem.” He gave you a strained smirk and you nodded. You wondered what he could mean as you slowly supported him up the narrow staircase. You waited awkwardly outside of the door for a moment while he relieved himself, you accio’d his duvet and pillow and returned them to his bedroom, taking care to clear up the clothes you had scattered around the floor. When he emerged from the bathroom, you noticed his face was wet. He had attempted to wash his face rather unsuccessfully and you suppressed a laugh. You helped him into bed and pulled the covers over him, he seemed to relax under your care; letting you wipe a warm flannel across his face to remove the stains of his blood and hummed contentedly.   “You can do the rest yourself,” you announced. He opened his eyes and regarded you, “You can piss off if you think I’m going to give you a bath.” He laughed at this, a real smile appeared on his face and you smiled back, it was nice to see.   “Agreed. I can manage for now.” He sighed, “How late are your courses?”   “My courses?” You looked at him quizzically, Severus grimaced and pinched the bridge of his nose.   “Your period, (Y/N). How late?” You blushed again and fiddled with the hem of your shirt, he looked at you expectantly as if he had asked you a question about the ingredients of a potion.   “Two weeks.” You answered, Severus nodded slowly and looked to the ceiling as if in thought.   “Yes, I think I shall be able to help you. Let me sleep for a while, deliver that letter for me and when you come back, we can eat, and we shall get to the bottom of this.” You sighed; you really didn’t want to go back to The Leaky Cauldron.  “Who shall I give it to?”   “Give it to Tom, he’ll see it gets where it needs to go.” Severus replied, his eyes closed again.   “Am I to say who it’s from?” Severus opened one eye and gave you a dark look, he wet his lips and frowned.   “Obviously.”

*******

  You hesitated before pushing open the door to The Leaky Cauldron, it was midday, and the pub was filled yet again with people making merry. You fought your way to the bar and waited to catch the attention of the young witch behind it, your neck craned in each direction to catch a glimpse of her. She appeared finally, two large trays of glasses hovering behind her as she began to rearrange the glassware behind the bar.   “Excuse me!” You said as you waved your hand, she noticed you and gave you a smile.   “Oh, hiya!” She said warmly, “Can I get you a drink?”   “No thank you,” You replied, “Is Tom available?”   “He certainly is,” A voice behind you said, you whirled round to be met with Tom’s smiling face. “Can I help you, miss?”   “Yes actually, I was told to give you this.” You showed him the tiny piece of folded parchment, Tom’s eyes flashed from it to yours and gave you a concerned look.   “Is this from…”   “Severus Snape, yes. He told me you’d know what to do with it.” You levelled, he took it from your hand and placed it into the pocket of his shirt.   “I assume there must be a reason why he sent you and not delivered it himself.” Tom replied with a raised eyebrow, you refused to let your mind wander to the events from the night before.   “Yes, but it’s not for me to say so- can I leave it with you?”   “Of course, I’ll see to it that everything is in order, tell him.” Tom replied, “Merry Christmas, miss.”   “Merry Christmas, Tom.” You watched as he withdrew into the crowd, you turned to the witch behind the bar. “Merry Christmas.” You smiled, she offered you a grin in return and waved her hand.   “Merry Christmas.” She replied cheerfully.

  You didn’t want to go into Diagon Alley, but your feet carried you over the cobbled stones to the dismay of your heart. Despite the growing tensions in the wizarding world, the wonky street was abuzz with people; not unlike the shoppers you had seen in Piccadilly Circus with Pansy. There was a long queue outside of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and you smiled sadly as you approached the window. The display you had spent so long working on looked magnificent, snow fell from behind the glass and tiny enchanted swans swam in a small lake, surrounded by miniature fur trees and families of deer.     “Penny for your thoughts?” You noticed Fred’s reflection in the glass appear next to you. You wrapped your arms around him and squeezed tightly.   “I thought you’d still be at The Burrow!” You exclaimed, he laughed and hugged you back. You pulled away and looked into his face, he looked well and cheerful. You had learned the differences between him and George over time, subtle though they were.   “Well somebody’s got to be here to run the shop,” Fred said as he gestured to the busy building, “I’m going back tonight.” You nodded in understanding and he placed your hand in the crook of his arm. “Fancy a walk?”

  Fred led you passed the bustle of the shops and back towards the apparation point.   “You okay, Freddie?”   “Yeah yeah,” He answered quietly, it must be difficult for him to see you- to know what had transpired between you and George. “Look, I don’t want to bombard you with questions or anything, (Y/N). But I need to know; is that you and George done? You left things so up in the air with him, and he’s putting on a brave face don’t get me wrong but…he’s my brother, and I can tell he’s hurting.” You bit your bottom lip, you hated to think about George in pain; but you just weren’t ready to talk about things.   “No, Fred. We’re not done…but he really hurt me, he said some awful things to me; accused me of terrible things and it’s going to take some time for me to be ready to have a conversation about it. Let alone forgive him.” You paused and wiped away a tear that fell onto your cheek. “I suppose I just never expected he could be like that. It surprised me.”   “Bloody surprised us all mate. When George came flying down to the shop floor after you left, ranting and raving- I’d never seen that side of him before. And Merlin, when Snape arrived at mum’s with Mundungus Fletcher, I thought he would wind up with a wand suspension the way he was trying to hex Mundungus.” Fred exhaled with a small laugh, you matched it with a smile. “He’s a good bloke, (Y/N). You mean everything to him. Believe me, I’ve had to share a room with him for the best part of two decades. If you’re not ready to talk about anything, can I at least tell him I saw you today and what you said? I’m sure it’ll make him feel loads better if he knew you hadn’t, you know, broken up with him without him realising.” You considered it for a moment, if Fred told George he had seen you today; it might make him want to find you. He had really respected your space so far and you were grateful for it, but the thought of making Fred keep something like this from his brother was too big of an ask. Plus, you were also keeping a huge secret from him, but you couldn’t tell Fred before you told George- it wasn’t right.   “Yeah, of course, Freddie. Tell him, you can also tell him Merry Christmas and that…I love him.” Fred made a gagging noise and you smacked him on the arm. “I need to go.” You pulled Fred in for one last hug and squeezed enough for him and George. He chuckled as you walked to the apparation point and gave him a big wave goodbye.

*******

  Severus stayed upstairs all afternoon and well into the evening. You couldn’t blame him though, it looked as though he had been through a massive ordeal and he needed time to recover, you couldn’t begrudge him that. You found a magical cooking book in one of the cupboards and coupled with some of the food you had bought at the supermarket, you managed to cook a reasonably tasty meal. Severus made comments about the quality of the steak, but you expected nothing less. You suspected it was only to save face though, as twice when he thought you weren’t looking, you saw him close his eyes and savour the taste of the food. You had served him in his meal in bed, he had managed to prop himself up on the pillows and you sat at the foot of the bed. It seemed quite personal really, but you found yourself savouring the intimate moments you shared with him. It made you feel like he did actually care for you, as more than an ex pupil, as a friend. He asked you about The Leaky Cauldron, who you spoke to, how you got home. After a moment, you felt brave.   “Who did this to you, Severus?” Severus sighed and passed his empty plate over to you.   “Nobody.”   “I find that extremely hard to believe. I need to know if I’m in danger.” You asked him earnestly, he met your gaze with a softness you seldom saw from the man.   “You’re in no more danger now than you have been in the last three days. Please don’t concern yourself with my welfare.” He answered, you suspected he intended to seem sterner than he came across. You wondered if he couldn’t muster the energy to chastise you.   “It’s a bit difficult to do that when I have to take you to the loo every time you want a piss.”   “You’re vile.”     “Pot, kettle, black. I found your blood in my ear this morning. That’s vile.” You laughed and he managed a laugh too. “I’m just glad I was here when you arrived last night.”   “Whether you were here or not, I would have gotten inside one way or another.” He levelled nonchalantly.   “Would it really be so horrendous to just say ‘thank you’?” You let out an exasperated sigh and flopped backwards on the bed. He eyed you with annoyance, but you could tell it was fleeting.   “Yes, actually. For me anyway.”     “Well I’m not surprised. You’re just annoyed I’m working off my debt to you.” You winked and rolled from the bed, you picked up your used plates and took them downstairs.

    You returned when he called for you. You held two glasses of port in your hands and found him in his study.   “When did you get in here?” You asked with a smile, pleased to see him on his feet, if not slightly unsteady.   “I am an enigma of a man, (Y/N). I wouldn’t expect your tiny brain to even begin to comprehend me.” Severus answered with a smirk, you passed him the glass and he raised it to his lips and drank deeply. “Delicious.” It was then you noticed the cauldron bubbling contentedly on his desk. You wandered over to it and inspected the shimmering, iridescent silver liquid, it smelled foul; like rotten eggs and you recoiled.   “What the fuck is that?” You demanded as you covered your nose. Severus had his back to you; he ran a finger along one of the shelves which held bottles of all shapes and sizes and plucked a large green bottle with a jade lid. You watched as he carefully unscrewed the top and dropped a tiny drop of the liquid onto a sprig of lavender. The flowers wilted instantly, and he dropped the whole thing into the cauldron. A great lilac cloud erupted from the cauldron and dissipated as Severus waved his hand.   “This, (Y/N) is a pregnancy test.” Severus replied with a satisfied smile. He beckoned you over to the desk and you sighed as the smell had gotten progressively worse with the addition of the lavender. The liquid had changed from its silver to a dark burgundy, it still held its iridescence as it bubbled.   “Is this what they use in St. Mungo’s?”   “Merlin no, they use a potion so convoluted there you could have had the baby by the time you receive an answer.” Severus sniffed, “This is Enfantin Inventim, it’s old. Really, very old. They stopped using this in everyday practise about three hundred years ago. It’s notoriously difficult to prepare and can often lead to an incorrect result.”   “Should we use it then? If it can give an incorrect result?” You asked anxiously, the last thing you needed was to wait another day. You needed to get on with your life, one way or the other.   “Do you think I would prepare something that would achieve anything other than one-hundred-percent accuracy?” Severus snapped. He had a point; he was a potions master for a reason.   “Okay, what do I do?”   “It isn’t pleasant, (Y/N). Do you trust me?” You considered it for a moment and then nodded, he offered his hand to you, you took it and he pulled you towards him forcefully. Severus winced with the effort and forced your hand open. He quickly drew a pearl-encrusted dagger across the length of your palm, easily opening the flesh. You howled in pain and tried to pull your hand back, Severus clasped it into a fist and squeezed tightly. Blood began to fall from you hand and he brought it over the cauldron, the potion drank your blood hungrily and after you parted with ten drops, the potion began to cloud over.  

  “Stand back.” He commanded, he gave you a scrap of cloth and you pressed it hard into the palm of your hand. “If the liquid turns white, you’re pregnant. If it turns black, you’re in the clear.”   “How long do we have to wait?” You whispered and closed your eyes.   “Not long.” In that moment, you wished George were by your side. He would know exactly what to say, and even if he didn’t, he would make you laugh. You imagined his hand around your waist and his lips pressed to your head in a gentle kiss.   “Severus. If I am…you know. What do I do?”   “I imagine what women have done for a millennia-”   “No, what I mean is-” You paused, unsure of how he would react. “Do I have a- do I have a choice?”   “Of course you have a choice. I can put you in contact with some discreet mediwitches. They’re friendly and would have you sorted in no time.” “Okay.”

  You waited for what seemed an age. You tended to your wounded hand and shot a scowl in Severus’ direction when he likened it to a scratch compared to his. The cauldron continued to bubble, it produced green smoke and spat out occasionally. You couldn’t take it anymore. Severus stirred it dutifully and you told him you’d be back in a moment, trapsing your way to the bathroom. You paced back and forth frantically. You couldn’t stand the waiting idly by, you had fashioned a bandage for your hand out of the cloth and some rolled up toilet paper when you caught your reflection in the mirror. You moved towards it and placed your hands gently on the sink underneath it.   “You need to sort your fucking life out, (Y/N).” You said to your reflection, you stared deeply into your own face. Hardly even recognising the person reflected back to you.   “(Y/N)!” You heard Severus shout from the study. “It’s done.” You supressed the bile that rose in your throat and took a deep breath. You stepped uneasily back into the room to see Severus’ neutral face waiting for you. He stood with his hands behind his back.   “Have you looked?”   “Yes.”   “What is it?”   “For fucks sake, have a look.” He snapped; he shook his head with a scowl as you inched toward the cauldron. Your hands trembled as you peered down into the now still liquid. It was black. The liquid was black.   “It’s-”   “Black.” He answered with a smile.   “I’m-”   “Not. Pregnant.”

  You cried out a tremendous cry of relief. Big tears rolled down your cheeks as you moved to Severus in two swift movements and threw your arms around his shoulders. He swayed with surprise.   “Ow. Careful.” He murmured before he patted you awkwardly on the back. When you pulled away, you beamed triumphantly up at him and he returned your smile. “You can thank me by releasing me.” You complied with a laugh, a genuine laugh. You felt like a weight had been lifted from your chest, you breathed easier than you had done in weeks.   “Thank you, Severus. I suggest you stop being nice to me or I’ll forever feel indebted to you.” You laughed, you noticed Severus’ expression alter slightly. “What? What did I say?”   “I feel like I haven’t been quite honest with you.” Severus said quietly, “Don’t interrupt me, just let me finish, yes?” You nodded and took a step back. You waited patiently for Severus to speak, he seemed to mull the words over before he was satisfied.   “You asked me a while ago whether I’m this involved with all of my old student’s lives, and I think we both know the answer to that. When I returned to Malfoy Manor after I took you to The Burrow, your father took me to one side.” You eyed him suspiciously as he wet his lips before continuing, “He knew what I had done and asked for a favour.”   “Of course he did.”   “Shut up, I’m not finished. He asked me if would be able to keep an eye on you, he knew I had connections almost everywhere, and he wanted reports of your whereabouts. And I agreed.” You stared unblinking at Severus. “He offered monthly payments if I could tell him where you were going, what you were doing, who you were seeing etcetera.” Severus squared his shoulders and took a sip of his port. “He just wanted to know you were safe.”   “So he paid you to spy on me?”   “In essence, yes. I never accepted the money though.” Severus levelled, you covered your eyes with your good hand and sighed.   “That’s why you let me stay in your house.” Severus nodded grimly and gestured for you to sit. You did so and chewed on your lip. You felt a multitude of emotions, not one of them good.   “There is one more thing, (Y/N). That night in The Leaky Cauldron where Mundungus saw you and I for the first time. He was there on my orders.” Your mouth fell agape. No, no absolutely not, that couldn’t be. Severus couldn’t possibly have ordered the hurt that Mundungus inflicted. You stared at him again, stony faced as tears began to trickle down your cheek.   “I heard you though, I followed you into the alleyway when you confronted him.” You said feebly, your lip quivered.   “I know, I made sure you would hear so not to suspect me. I was annoyed at him though, that was never part of the plan. He went rogue, so to speak.”

  A heavy silence descended between the pair of you. Severus, his usual staidness reduced to slumped shoulders and a guilty expression. There was a plethora of things you wanted to say, questions you wanted to ask him, but you couldn’t find the words. He finished his port and hobbled out of the room, your heard him enter the bathroom. You sat still, positively unable to process everything he had told you. Was there anything in your life that you held control over? When he appeared in the doorway, his face was ashen with pain and a thin layer of sweat appeared on his brow.   “Do you have any cigarettes?” You asked him slowly. He nodded and pointed downstairs, you pushed passed him and retrieved them from his discarded coat. You carried the remainder of the bottle of port back with you and sat on the floor. Severus moved slowly passed you and collapsed into the chair, the evidence of his exertion etched into his face. You filled his glass with the ruby liquid and then pressed the bottle to your lips and took three deep swigs. He raised an eyebrow as if to complain but thought better of it.   “Did you ever care about me, Severus? Because if it isn’t already clear, I care about you.” You pulled a cigarette out of the packet and lit it, you threw the packet into Severus’ lap, a little harder than you intended. He winced and lit his own cigarette.   “Of course I care.” You scoffed and took another swig from the bottle.   “And are you going to tell him about this? My father?” You pointed to the cauldron full of Enfantin Inventim. Severus shook his head and took a sip.   “No, I did this for you.”   “Why should I believe you?”   “You don’t have to, I suppose. I can’t force you.”

  You were silent again after that, you took long drags of your cigarette until the heat became too much as it reached the filter and burned your lip. You finished off the port and dropped the stub into the now empty bottle. Severus didn’t remove his eyes from your face, as if he were waiting for you to explode. You had every right to, you could go and punch walls and kick holes in doors, but what would that achieve?   “I’m trying really hard to be angry at you.” You whispered. Severus’ look of surprise almost took you off guard.   “And?”   “I can’t.” Severus sighed and slipped further into the chair, he finished his cigarette and beckoned for the empty bottle. He dropped the stub in slowly, his face contorted with pain as he stretched. You watched as he did his usual action of wetting his lips, his tell-tale sign that he was about to speak.   “I do care about you, (Y/N). There’s a goodness in you that one doesn’t always see when they’re brought up in the circles we frequent. I’m satisfied knowing I played my part in ensuring you got out of it all. You remind me very much of somebody I knew a long time ago, someone I wished I could have done more to help, but it wasn’t within my power. This, on the other hand, was very much within my capabilities. I’m not sorry.” His face settled into a frown and you sighed with exasperation.   “Fucks sake.” You muttered, you rose from your spot on the floor and made your way to Severus. You dipped your head and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek. “You’re an arsehole.”   “Believe me, (Y/N). That is one of the tamer names I have been called in my time.” He smiled ruefully and found your hand and gave it a squeeze.   “If I ask you a question, will you promise to answer it honestly?” You asked, you saw the faintest hint of humour flash across his eyes.   “I shall try.”   “Was it the Dark Lord who hurt you last night?” He looked at you thoughtfully, a smile tugged at his lips. Severus lifted his chin and placed a finger on it and brushed it over his lips.   “Yes.” You didn’t quite know what to do with the information, you weren’t quite sure why you asked the question. You simply nodded and gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Please don’t worry about me, (Y/N). I know what I’m doing.”   “Still.” Severus shrugged, he looked to the clock on the wall and then out of the window into the night.   “If you leave now, you could make it to The Burrow by midnight. Bring in Christmas with your loved ones.” He said quietly, you wondered if you saw the slightest twinge of remorse on his face. You cocked your head to the side.   “You want me to go?”   “I think we both know it’s time for you to, what’s the expression, ‘get your shit together.’” You snorted and threw your head back as you laughed.   “You could come with me, if you like; to The Burrow?” Severus shook his head, his hands outstretched in front of him.   “No thank you, I prefer my own company.”   “What will you do? Will you be okay if I go?”   “I have weathered much more serious casualties than this one by myself. I shall be fine. I will travel back to Hogwarts in the morning ready for my Christmas Dinner.”   “Are you sure?”   “Go,” Severus stated with a small smile, “Get out of my house.”

******

  It was five to midnight when you knocked on the door to The Burrow. You didn’t want to just burst in, just in case they were asleep or busy with family time. Your fingers flew to your neck where the intricate choker your father had sent you sat at the base of your throat; it was a special occasion after all. You knocked again and stood back to take a look at the house. There were a few lights still on even at this late hour, you strained to hear any noises on the other side of the wood and were about to knock for a third time when the door flew open. Ginny stood in fluffy red pyjamas, wand raised and a look of shock on her face. You launched yourself at her and she you, you engulfed each other in a vice like hug.   “I knew you’d come.” She whispered, “George is going to wet himself.” She led you through the house where only Molly, Ginny and Ron sat by the fireplace in the living room. Molly clasped her hands to her mouth as she struggled to get out of her chair quickly.   “Oh! My dear!” She said as she tottered toward you, she pulled you close to her chest and rocked you back and forth. “I am so happy you’re here; we can finally celebrate now.”   “Please don’t, you’re going to make me cry.” You said as Molly pulled away and placed a warm hand to your cheek.   “Welcome home.” She whispered. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

  The sound of feet thundering down the rickety staircase made you jump, Ginny arrived breathlessly at the bottom and George immediately behind her dressed in his pyjamas. Your eyes met across the expanse and you opened your arms to him. He crossed to you in a flash and placed two hands on your face and pressed his lips hungrily to yours. You tossed your arms around his neck, and his arms moved down your body and hugged your waist. You pressed your forehead to his and sighed.   “Merry Christmas.” You breathed; a whisper of a smile played at George’s lips.   “Merry Christmas.” He replied, he laced his fingers with yours and beamed at you. “Do you want to go for a walk?”

  Most of the snow had melted in the fields surrounding The Burrow, and you were grateful for it as George almost dragged you along a beaten path to a wooden bench under a tree, a good quarter of a mile away from the house. He pressed a hand to the seat and shrugged;   “It’s not wet, just cold.”   “I can handle cold.” You sat close to him on the bench, his arm around your shoulders as you both gazed up into the crisp night sky. There was something about the way the stars looked from here, like you could reach out and touch them. Lonely clouds like tiny whisps of smoke littered the sky occasionally, and you took turns in those moments where the stars weren’t visible in giving the other a kiss.   “Merlin, I missed you.” George said into your hair, he stroked the side of your face with a gloved finger and you melted into his touch. “I’m so sorry, (Y/N).”   “There’ll be plenty of time to talk about it, George, but I need to tell you something.” You replied, his gaze softened as he placed another tender kiss to your lips. You sighed contentedly at the feeling of warmth that spread through you, you were home. He squared his shoulders and shifted slightly on the bench, so to face you more.

  He listened intently whilst you told him of everything since you had last seen him. He nodded and occasionally asked the odd question like; “Was the inside of Snape’s house full of bodies?” and “God, I can’t believe you slept in his bed. Was it a coffin?” The only thing you neglected to tell him was of Severus’ attack, you didn’t know how deep the waters were that surrounded his area of his life and you didn’t feel like it was your place to share that information. When you told him of your pregnancy scare, his eyes widened, and his jaw clenched.   “(Y/N),” He said sternly, “You should have told me straight away. That’s not fair.”   “I know love, I feel awful about it. That’s one thing I’m truly sorry for, George. I promise not do anything like it again.” He nodded, seemingly content with that and kissed the tip of your nose. You began to tell him of the plot your father had embroiled Severus in, and George’s hands clenched into fists.   “That fucking snake.” George muttered, “How are you not furious?”   “Believe me, I tried to be,” You answered, “We talked about it and I decided there’s more important things to be worried about. I don’t blame him for what he did and neither should you, okay?”   “Fine. But I’m not happy about it.”   “I’ll take it.”

  When you climbed into bed that night, it was nearly two in the morning. The rest of the house was sound asleep as you and George became reacquainted. His hands found themselves tangled in your hair and you moaned quietly as he pulled softly, his mouth lathering your neck in kisses.   “Fuck, I’ve missed the sounds you make.” George breathed into your ear, you tipped your head back and found his mouth with yours. His hands travelled from your hair down to your hips, he pulled you close, and you felt his already hard member as it pushed against his boxers. You brought a hand down and cupped it, he hissed at the contact and bucked his hips forward. “Please let me fuck you, (Y/N). It’s been too long.”   “Yes, oh, fuck yes. Do it, George.”

  He wasted no time in pushing your knickers over your bum, and you wiggled frantically in an attempt to free yourself from them. He pulled his boxers down and climbed between your legs, he rubbed his cock against your folds and spat into his hand, rubbing it along his shaft for extra lubrication. When he pushed into you, you moaned together. It was like for one split second, the earth stopped. Everything stopped. You could hear your heartbeat in your eyes as you pulled George’s head down to kiss his lips. You ran your tongue along his bottom lip, and he shuddered. He rolled his hips against yours, and you grasped onto his shoulders tightly. George pulled out almost completely, before he pushed into you again; fully sheathed inside you. He did this three more times before you cried out;   “Please! I can’t take it anymore!” With a growl, George thrusted hard. His hips snapped backwards and forwards at intense pace, he lifted your legs above his shoulders, allowing him to bury himself deeper within you. You gasped at the sensation of being utterly filled by him, your brow furrowed as you struggled to keep your moans quiet. He continued this pace, his cock now slick with your juices as you bit down hard on the back of your hand. He pushed back slightly and reached a hand in between your legs, parting them slightly as he began to furiously rub your clit. Your eyes rolled back into your head as overwhelming pulses of pleasure coursed through your veins, you moved your hips with his, suddenly desperate for release. George let your legs fall from his shoulders as he grasped your hips, moving you with ease along his throbbing cock. You groaned, as George pressed harder against your mound, drawing from you a string of curses as you trundled towards your orgasm.   “Fuck, I’m going to come, George.” The surprise in your voice was palpable, the swiftness in which George was going to make you come was incredible. You panted hard against his shoulder as with a grunt, his nimble fingers rubbed you to completion, his cock hitting the delicious spot inside you. As you reached the peak of your high, George followed. He groaned as your walls tightened around him and he spilled his seed deep into your quim.   “Sorry,” George breathed, “I couldn’t hold on any longer.” You smiled and kissed him, it was tender and held every ounce of love you had for him. He deepened the kiss, rolling his tongue around with yours as his hand cupped your breast. “I’m going to fuck you so hard as soon as we get to the flat, you won’t be able to walk for a week.”   “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Georgie.” You smirked, he tweaked your nipple between his fingers and brought his mouth close to your ear, his voice deathly low.   “I’m going to make you come, over and over again. You’re going to beg me to stop. Then I’ll fuck you, I’ll fuck you the way you ought to be fucked. Rough and hard because naughty girls don’t get fucked nicely.”

  Your skin flushed with heat as he nibbled at your earlobe, desire already building between your legs. You cast a look to George, who looked about two seconds away from falling asleep and giggled.   “Do you want to be the little spoon?” You asked, he didn’t answer, instead he rolled his body away from you and faced the wall. He pushed his bum out and you gave it a playful slap.   “Don’t get any ideas.” He muttered and you grinned as you wrapped your arm around his middle. He laced his fingers with yours and hummed contentedly as the room gave way to the quiet of the house.   “I’m so happy you came back.” George whispered; his voice heavy with tiredness.   “Me too. I love you.” You replied with a yawn.   “Love you too.”

  George complained the entire way back to the flat. He had insisted on carrying your bags plus gifts you had received over Christmas, including but limited to; a lovely scarf Molly had painstakingly kitted for you and a hilariously ruffled gilet for George. You couldn’t help but grin consistently as you walked ahead of him up the back stairs to the entrance of the flat, his hat had slipped over his eyes and he lost his footing. Your suitcase lurched backwards, it manged to bump comically every step before it lay still at the bottom of the stairs.   “Right!” George announced, he dropped the rest of the bags and grabbed hold of your hips. You yelped in surprise as George hoisted you over his shoulder, fireman style and proceeded up the rest of the stairs. He near enough kicked the front door open and moved swiftly through the flat and into your shared bedroom, he ignored your giggled protestations and flung you down onto the bed. He was on top of you in an instant, his knee pushed your legs apart and his mouth descended onto your throat. He sucked and nibbled at the sensitive skin and began undoing the buttons of your coat.     “Off.” He ordered as he opened your coat and tugged at the bottom of your jumper. Dutifully, you sat up and removed the offending items of clothing. His gaze was ravenous as he watched as you tucked your hair behind your ears and waited for further instructions. George’s gaze flashed down to your breasts. “Off.” He repeated. You felt your breath hitch in your throat as George removed his own coat and shirt, his hands moved to his belt and he slipped both his jeans and boxers from his body, his already hard cock sprung against his stomach as you followed suit. You threw your jeans across the room and your knickers next.

 “So beautiful,” George commented as he ran a featherlight touch across your cheek. “Such a good girl.” You melted into George’s ghost like touch and shuddered. You kept your eyes on him as he brought a hand down to his cock and rubbed along the length slowly. “Touch yourself, (Y/N) I want to see you make yourself come.” Your eyes widened with shock for a moment before a smile crept across your mouth and you brought your hands to your breasts. Was it a show he was after? Then a show he would get. You placed your fingers on each of your hardened nipples and tugged slightly, your lips parted slightly at the sensation. You heard George as he took a sharp intake of breath as he gripped the head of his cock. You trailed one hand slowly down your body and shuffled down the bed as you lay your shoulders back onto the covers. You reached your throbbing cunt and spread your legs wide for George to see, he moaned as you brought your fingers over your clit and rubbed a sweeping circle of it.   “That’s it,” George moaned, “Let me see you- oh! Good girl.” You watched as George began to pump himself faster, your name fell from his lips as you plunged two fingers between your slick folds. You matched George’s pace as you fucked yourself with your fingers, you closed your eyes and fisted the sheets with your free hand. Pleasure built within you as with each pulse of your fingers, you found your sweet spot. “Come quickly, (Y/N). I want to see how fast you can come.”

  You took your fingers out of your entrance and brought them now coated in your juices and recommenced the rubbing of your clit. You moaned as you rubbed tantalisingly quick circles on the electrified pearl between your legs. Your toes curled as you felt your orgasm build in the pit of your stomach, you moaned, and George answered it with a moan of his own. Your hips bucked from the bed as you pressed harder with each swipe of your fingers until you came, it was fantastically intense and your voice, thick with desire called out for George.   “Come here.” He demanded once you had recovered. His cock was impossibly hard and almost screamed for attention as you crawled slowly over to where he sat. George placed a hand on your head as you took him in your mouth, you placed a tender kiss to the tip and licked the little drops of precum that had gathered there. He sighed as you pushed your lips down the length of hi and relaxed your throat, allowing him a small thrust. His gentle hand became a fist in your hair as he pulled you back, almost pulling you away from his cock; but your hand reached around the base of him and began to pump him. Your tongue swirled around his tip and George’s head rolled back as you wrapped your lips around him and swallowed. You found a rhythm and George’s hand on your head helped you keep time; you could see the muscles in his thighs tense as you hummed around him.   “Fuck. That feels good. Such a good girl.”

  At George’s praise, you sucked him faster, hollowing your cheeks and your grip around his shaft tightened. George’s hips began to lift off the bed as he thrust into your mouth. There was nothing you loved more in this world than to feel this man come undone under your hand, you moaned against him and he slid further into your throat. That was enough for George, who parted with four thick spurts with a cry of pleasure. You swallowed it up and wiped your mouth, you pulled away and gently massaged your aching jaw. You watched the rise and fall of George’s chest as he recovered from his orgasm, arm slung over his eyes.   “I love you.” You whispered, you felt tears sting your eyes and you sniffed. George sat up and looked at you, his face etched with concern.   “I love you too, what’s the matter?” He asked, he pulled you close and bundled you into his arms. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, and you nuzzled your face against his neck.   “Nothing, nothing. I’m just so happy.” George chuckled and hugged you tighter, you popped a leg over his and hummed as happy tears fell from your eyes.   “Me too.”

**********

  “No, those need to go to the stockroom, Fred. I’m not having them cluttering up the flat. There’s already zero room in here as it is.” You gestured around you to the boxes of stock that stood tall in your tiny living room.   “Right, and I’m telling you there’s nowhere to put them. We need more space.” Fred sighed and placed the box full of love potions on the floor. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Angelina appeared from behind a tower of boxes, her face aghast as Fred opened his arms to her. He placed a kiss on her shoulder.   “We’re drowning in all this.” She said, you shook her head at you; a silent communication that the boys had finally lost the plot.   “What do we need to do?” George called from the doorway, he levitated three coffee’s behind him as he held a beautiful bouquet of flowers in his hand, a bottle of champagne in the other. You grinned as he rushed to you, he presented the flowers to you and you sniffed them gratefully. Roses, lily’s and daisies. Your favourite.   “They’re beautiful, George! Thank you!” You placed a loving kiss to his cheek and traced a lily petal delicately with your finger as George put the champagne in the fridge.   “Congratulations my love! And happy second anniversary.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you in for a hug.   “This mine?” Angelina asked, she pointed at one of the three coffees suspended behind George’s shoulder.  “Oh yeah sorry, Ange. This one’s yours love.” George smiled and dished the coffees out; Angelina gave George a warm smile of thanks as you sipped happily.   “Where’s mine?” Fred demanded; George patted his pockets sarcastically.    “You weren’t here, mate.” He shrugged, Fred huffed and turned his attention to you.   “Congratulations I suppose, (Y/N). Still think you’re wasting your time being a Healer.” Fred said, Angelina wasted no time smacking his stomach.   “You think I’m wasting my time being a Healer…as we’re about to go into war?” You said, despite the seriousness of your words, a smile tugged at your lips as you knew Fred was just sorry to lose you from the shop. You had spent the last year and a half revising your arse off to be fast-tracked through the training programme. It was the only way you could think of to give back an inch of the kindness you had received. You had received your lime green robes this morning, an immensely proud moment indeed.   “All I’m saying is, you could have been junior assistant manager. I had the badge made for you and everything.”   “Ignore him, (Y/N).” Angelina said as she rolled her eyes, “We’re all really proud of you. Well done, babe.” You handed George the flowers and tossed your arms around Angelina’s neck for a hug.   “Thank you, Ange. What did I ever do without you to help reign dear Freddie in?” You laughed and she laughed with you.   “Think there’s anyway we can back out, Georgie?” Fred whispered dramatically to George who just grinned ruefully.   “Not a chance.”   “Too fucking right. You’re stuck with us now.” Angelina replied, an arm slung round your shoulders. “We still need to work out what to do with these boxes.”   “There’s no room for them in here.” George offered, he waved his wand over your flowers and they arranged themselves beautifully in a vase.   “No,” Angelina agreed, “I think we all know this flat isn’t big enough for four people, couples or not.” You nodded and made your way back to George, he hoisted himself up onto the kitchen counter and you settled between his legs.   “What are you thinking?” Fred asked his girlfriend; Angelina shrugged and sipped her coffee.   “We were thinking,” You replied, “Turning this upstairs flat into a staff room and overflow stockroom. You’re selling so much, so obviously have to have the stock to sell. There just isn’t room for us in here anymore. Plus, I’m pretty sure the staff would love to be able to come up here and have an actual cup of tea on their breaks.”   “We think we should move.” Angelia said, “Separately.” She added softly. George’s hand stiffened around your waist. You wished that Angelina had waited a day or two before dropping the bombshell, but the pair you had spent the last month speaking of little else. You and George needed your own space, and Fred and Angelina needed theirs as much.   “You want us to move away from each other?” Fred asked incredulously, you offered him a small smile.   “Not exactly.”

**********

  The portkey dropped you in the middle of a field. You were on your lunch break and only had half an hour before you needed to be back at St. Mungo’s. George looked stressed as he straightened his tie, you could tell he was nervous. You took his clammy hand in yours and gave it a squeeze.   “You okay?”   “Yeah,” He replied in a strained voice. “It’s just a lot of money to part with.” You sighed and dragged him in the direction of Fred and Angelina who stood waving at you. You approached them with hello’s and hugs and waited.   “What time’s he meant to be coming?” Fred asked as he checked his watch, you followed suit and checked the upturned watch pinned to your robes. Only twenty minutes left.   “Any minute now.” Angelina asked. You all looked in opposite directions, scouring the grassy horizons for any sight of the man in question. What you didn’t expect, was for him to surprise you from behind.   “You can never expect a group of Gryffindor’s to be on time.” You felt a grin widen across your face as you saw Severus fold his arms across his chest.   “Excuse me, I’m one of yours.” You replied, he shook your hand rather formally but gave you a brief wink as he dropped two sets of keys into George’s hand.   “Is it all sorted?” George asked the potions master, Severus nodded.   “Yes, I watched them as they signed the paperwork this morning. All in your names now, though I don’t see why you had to have me do it. I’m very busy.”   “Because I don’t trust anybody else.” You countered, “I needed to be one-hundred-percent sure my parents wouldn’t try any funny business.”   “They were quite happy to get rid of these cottages if you ask me. They have no need for them anymore, especially given that they’ve sold the house in Rouen.” Severus said, he looked up at the old stone walls of the two cottages.   “The price of war, I suppose.” Fred quipped; Severus cocked an eyebrow but ultimately smirked in agreement. You broke away from George and the others and placed your arm through Severus’, wandering a few steps.   “Thank you again, I really appreciate that.” You whispered; your heads close together. Severus placed a hand on top of yours and patted it softly. “Are you still coming for lunch on Sunday? It’s my only day off this week.”   “Are you cooking?”   “No, George is.”   “Yes, I shall arrive at twelve.”

  You waved as Severus made off into the distance, when there was no longer any sight of him. Angelina turned to you, and then back out to the cottages. A pair of great stone cottages with an adjoining garden stood before you. That had been built hundreds of years ago by twin farmers who tended the surrounding fields. They were acquired by your parents in the sixties; and now were to make new homes for you and George, Fred and Angelina. It was fitting really that another pair of twins would live in them all those years later, making new memories.   “How long have you got before you need to be back at the hospital?” George whispered into your ear. You glanced down at your watch.   “Fifteen minutes.”   “Plenty of time.” He breathed, George grabbed your hand and dragged you laughing towards the front door of your cottage. The door slammed behind you as he placed a hungry kiss to your lips. His hands where everywhere at once, slipping your robes over your head and grunting in your ear.   “This is our house, (Y/N). I want to hear how loud you can be.”

Of course, you complied; you wanted everybody to know that you were his, forever.

[frogsandfries]

This week does not feel like it's going how I imagined

I took this week, the first week of my hiatus, to work on my outline/script. The raw bones of my script is just a day by day summary of my protagonist's first semester at the "school for geniuses".

Of course, as they occurred to me, I shoved all these snips and scraps into my notes. Then I realized that I don't actually have anything for week one--I definitely don't have any final writing, not in the journal, which is the first section of my final writing for this project. So I went through my notes to try to find any notes for week one. They're so anemic because at the time, I was like, "aw well, y'know, I'll be writing this stuff down so soon here anyway, and I've been over and over and over the beginning to death, what's the point in writing my notes?"

*the facepalm heard round the world*

I haven't really gone through my notes much--I find myself getting kind of easily overwhelmed and a little stressed out at how long it's going to take to organize my notes into a single document in the first place, never mind how I then want to take that document and cut it into chunks and organize those chunks into chronological order and get all that pinned to my pin board for easy access and reference as I plan out the graphic novel. The idea being, if I need more padding in a section--whether that's more writing to clarify a scene or more events to keep the story moving forward--then I can literally see that.

Anyway. Tl;dr: I don't actually know if I have any kind of thorough, comprehensive notes on Kitty's first week at school. Good thing it looks like Kitty's first three days on campus is shaping up to be about a hundred WebToon strips.......

Actually, that's another good reason to get this day by day summary out of digital land and in front of my face: It'll definitely help me begin to really see how long this story is going to be, how long it needs to be.

It's really important to me to kind of highlight the chaos, the double-life that she's leading, how she has to be whatever almost everyone else around her wants her to be, what they expect her to be and how so few people want her to be who she actually is, she kind of starts to forget who she is and becomes consumed by her own façade. She has to be literally shaken out of it. I'm not sure quite how to accomplish that without repetition? Like, variations on the repetition?

There's just so much material and so much duplication at the beginning and so much material that I'm waiting to nail down other material........

Thheeeennnnnnn I was looking at my galley copy again and I realized that I actually hate it--each of the frames are so big, it's kind of hard to take in--so cool story, I'm going to re-re-redesign it. I'm debating what format I should do it in, but I'm tied between two clusters of two-by-two or two one-by-five strips, per page. I guess I need to mockup some pages and print them out. Uggghhhhh........... This means more than one issue per print volume, because more art on each page, more art per page spread. I also need to chop my left and right margins off in the WebToon version to bring the art in a bit. Or maybe just much smaller margins.....

[aenwoedbeannaa]

Pretty Words | Geralt x Reader

Requested by: salmonbutter 

Summary: Geralt may have needed some help finding a book, and the bookkeeper's apprentice may be the reason he keeps coming back. 

Word Count: 2,319 

Warnings: Implied smut.

The first time he came into the rather blandly named Book Emporium, you had been an Apprentice, still shaking with nerves every time the bell on the door announced the coming of a customer. Now, of course, you can handle curious visitors with ease--you know every nook and cranny of the shop. You know where to find books on monsters, from alghouls to wyrvenns. You know which books identify plants and their magical properties, and which books can help an herbalist use those very same plants to create poisons.

But, on the day that the Witcher first walked into the store, you were probably more lost than he was as you dashed between the stacks, trying to find the book he was looking for. You could feel your face blushing, your cheeks positively on fire, when he gave you a playful feline grin and pulled a book off of the shelf that you would not have been able to reach without stepping up onto the battered wooden ladder.

You were scared, because this was your first time alone in the shop, and you didn't want Artur to think you incompetent. You wiped your sweaty palms on your apron, feigning nonchalance. You were desperately trying to think of something to say, anything to break the tension.

Thankfully, you didn't have to.

"Well, with it being all the way up here, it's not a wonder that you didn't see it," he said with a smirk. 

****

The second time the bells chimed and you looked up to see his familiar white hair, you were thankfully much more composed. It had been at least a couple of months since you had last seen him, and you wondered if he had used that book on wraiths to kill one. He was a Witcher, after all.

You maneuvered around the few stray piles of books behind the counter and stepped around front to greet him.

"Geralt!" You exclaimed, a bit too brightly.

Mentally cursing yourself for looking, you assumed, like a star-struck villager. "How can I help you, Sir?"

"You can start," he began slowly in that gravely tone that you'd been playing over and over in your head since the last time he'd been here, "By dropping the Sir." 

You nodded--too eagerly, once again. "Of course! Sorry si--Geralt."

"Second, I didn't catch your name last time, Miss."

Given that you had spent most of your life lost in books, you were not used to that question. You were invisible to most people, it seemed.

"Y/N," you answered timidly.

You weren't sure if it was the fact that you were not so great at hiding your emotions or whether he could hear your hammering heartbeat with his Witcher senses, but either way, you heart leapt into your throat when he leaned over on the counter, bringing his face only inches from yours.

"Are you always this nervous, Y/N?" He leaned slightly closer, a seemingly out-of-place grin on his lips. "Or are you scared of Witchers?"

It was a rhetorical question, but you answered anyway, conversation coming easy despite all of the awkwardness.

"No, not afraid of Witchers," you said, a vivid memory coming to mind. "Once, when I was little, I was sitting out in the field--on the hill--you know, the one outside the town a ways away?"

He nodded understanding, so you continued on.

"Well, I was reading, and all of a sudden, this thing... " You shuddered at the memory, losing your train of thought for a moment.

"A Drowner?" the Witcher interrupted your strangled thoughts. "The stream there is teeming with them. They usually stay well away from settlements, though." His amber eyes hinted concern as he looked at you expectantly.

You nodded, pushing the unpleasant memory out of your head.

"Yes, a Drowner... And anyway, there was a Witcher... He hacked it up pretty well."

"I'll have to thank him," Geralt said so seriously that you believed him wholeheartedly.

"Vizimir was his name," you added, surprised you could still remember. "He wouldn't even let me pay. I offered him the book I was reading--I didn't have any gold, you see."

"So, the old man doesn't always follow the Witcher Code," he said with a gleam in his eye.

There was a moment of silence before he finally broke eye contact and leaned back, eyes scanning the stacks of books behind you as if searching for something to focus on.

"I am here for a book about similar things," he said. "Would you happen to know if you have a book about alghouls, would you?"

This time, you knew exactly where to point him. He still stuck around to hear your explanation of three different volumes and the slight difference between.

He bought all three.

***

The pattern continued over the next few months. Every few weeks, the door chime would sound and you would look up to see your silver-haired friend.

One time in particular, you were surprised to see that the afternoon had faded to twilight and the candles had burned down nearly to stumps as you poured over books with Geralt. He was researching a Witcher potion, or something like it that was more suitable for humans. He didn't tell you what for, but it didn't matter much.

He ended up purchasing one of the rare texts, the ones you had to fish out from the back room.

Another time, he caught you off guard, while you were completely wrapped up in the novel you were reading. You nearly jumped out of your skin when you heard his voice from just over the counter. Your embarrassment only grew when he asked you what it was that you were so interested in that you hadn't even heard the door chime and you had to give him a brief synopsis of a fictional kingdom... and a princess and a knight.

It was really quite mortifying.

***

Though you will never admit it, your favorite section of the store is nestled in the back corner, where the deceptively large collection of fiction is stacked on crowded shelves. Your mentor is always telling you that you should be reading books of more importance. But those books, as important as they may be, are of little interest to you. You know enough about history and mankind to know that the history books are full of only war, pestilence, and suffering.

Reading is your escape. So, important or not, you spend many a quiet afternoon nestled in the back of the shop on one of the old chairs that has been scratched to pieces by the bookshop's cat, Erasmus. (An old, fearsome looking but completely harmless thing with a bad habit of sharpening his claws on the furniture and chewing on the corners of priceless manuscripts.)

This is where Geralt caught you this time. Though, to be fair, you heard the door chime, and you'd had to scramble out of your warm little corner. It was actually just past closing hours, and there had hardly been a soul in the shop all day. It was one of those early winter days, where the weather seemed to be reminding everyone of the bitter cold to come.

"Y/N," Geralt grinned, "I found your lair." He had somehow managed to cross the length of the shop in only a couple seconds. How Witcher-y of him. You told him so.

By now, you had slipped into an easy friendship with the Witcher. You no longer stammered when he talked. At least, most of the time you didn't.

It took you a moment to realize that he was carrying something this time--a book. You raised an eyebrow, also immediately realizing that it was not a book from the shop. This one had a ribbon tied around it. Artur was not one for such frivolous things. There was not a scrap of ribbon or wrapping paper in the entire shop, you were sure. So he must have brought this with him.

Clearly aware that you were staring curiously, he offered it to you--for once, he was the one with a slightly bashful look on his face as he waited for you to take it.

You took the book in both hands, blushing slightly as you pulled the ribbon loose and inspected the cover. It was well-worn, just like most of the books in the shop. You recognized the author, though, and your eyes sparkled as you teared up slightly. You didn't even remember the last time someone had given you a gift.

"But..." You stammered, flipping through the pages in disbelief. "This isn't even supposed to exist!" It was a continuation of the book that he'd caught you reading before. It was published only once, so there were an incredibly limited number of copies. Sure enough, you saw the words 'first edition' printed on the yellowing page. "I mean... there are only, maybe, fifty in all the world!"

The Witcher's amber gaze was fixed on you as you poured excitedly over the text. "Well, I see a lot of the world," he said. "With my job, and all."

His words only served to fill you with more emotion. You wiped your eyes quickly, not wanting to look stupid for crying over a silly book. "Thank you, Geralt," you said, eyes fixed on the book so that you wouldn't have to look up at him with tears in your eyes. "Truly."

You registered the feeling of his calloused fingers under your chin at half-speed. The world seemed to slow down has he titled your face up to his. He brushed a stray tear with the pad of his thumb. His touch was gentle even though his skin was rough. Your knees nearly buckled.

"Don't cry on me, Y/N," he said, voice softer than you'd ever heard it. "I'm glad you like it."

For what felt like an endless time, but was probably only a few seconds, the two of you just stood there, staring at each other, unable to look away as if held by magic.

Tension pulled tight as a rope when he spoke next.

"I'm not an expert on these kinds of things, but a when there are no monsters to save the Princess from, it only seems right that the Knight brings her a present."

"I...Gera--" he cut off you stuttering by pulling you firmly into his arms and pressing his lips to yours.

You responded immediately, so quickly that the book slipped from your hands as you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him back. Breathing seemed basically out of the question when one one of his arms snaked around your waist and the other tangled itself firmly in your hair.

You had to admit, you certainly felt like a princess when he picked you up, avoiding the stray stacks of books littering the floor. You were absolutely certain, though, that the cold of his Witcher medallion pressing against your chest was a far more pleasant feeling that chain mail would.

You had approximately a millisecond to catch your breath when he pulled away to lay you on on the oversized chair and strip off his weapons and then he was on top of you, with his lips on your neck.

You had no idea how much time passed between that first kiss and when you lay with your head in his lap, his fingers stroking your hair, out of breath and utterly spent. All you knew was that you'd knocked more than a few piles of books over. There was lots of moaning--you? Him? Your head was still too clouded to remember.

Finally, though, you had to get up and pull your clothes back on. You couldn't very well sleep in the store, no matter how much you wanted to just lay there, curled up against his warmth.

Geralt stayed with you as you did your final rounds around the shop, extinguishing candles and placing loose books, abandoned by customers in the strangest of places, as usual. Thankfully, this was a relatively simple task considering you knew the bookshop like the back of your hand. Admittedly, it was a task you usually did in the morning before the shop opened. But Geralt was here now, and you wanted to stretch your time with him as far as you could.

Soon enough, however, every stray book was in its place, and all but the candle glowing on the wall next to the door were long-cold. You hesitated in the doorway, keenly aware of Geralt standing only inches away.

You blinked up at him, feeling uncertain of what you should say next. This was not a position that you were often in. In fact, it was a situation that you were never in.

Finally, you manage to cobble together a sentence out of the thousands of words in your head.

"I do hope to see you again soon, Geralt."

The Witcher's amber eyes are fixed on yours, looking like liquid gold even in the faint light of the single candle.

"Well, it is winter," he said thoughtfully. "And I was thinking that this year, perhaps, I'd like to do my wintering somewhere away from Kaer Moren."

You smiled then, tentatively reaching out to touch him, but pulling back at the last moment. You chewed on your lip for a moment, heartbeat racing in your chest.

"I know a place that you could stay."

Geralt's gaze had not left you for a moment, but now he reached to pull you to his chest, pressing a kiss on the top of your head, stopping for a moment to breathe in the smell of your hair.

Geralt pulled away slightly, one large hand resting on each shoulder.

"Please, lead the way, Princess," he said as he blew out the final candle. 

[draculaurennn]

1; jun 50; cress, 29; luc 43; pad 2-; fuu 10; siona

—Super detailed questions about your OCs— jun-ki — 1 ;; what’s their full name? why was that chosen? does it mean anything? Jun-ki’s full birth name is Tsutsumi Junko. She was born on the border of the Tokyo-Kanagawa prefecture and spent most of her childhood in Tokyo’s better hospitals. Most kids in her class, when she got to see them, just called her Jun. Jun-ki was a name assigned to her by the Fujiwara Technologies Oni-ki project, which she unwittingly paid her way into around the age of eighteen. Her full assigned name was Type-05 Jun-ki, following the four others who were built in her specific hybrid bio-tech format (depending on their degree of human degredation.) One was developed for each of the grand demons said to have been tamed by Fujiwara no Chikata, and each were designed with combat prowess and technique in consideration with that. Jun-ki’s was actually the only one to have no pre-existing oni, but she was not going to be the last in this project line. 

However, she abandoned the project by literally breaking her way out of headquarters before her complete redevelopment was complete. For some time, she operated under the online handle of Sxrapper Midori, and typically does not disclose either her project name, and even less so her birth name. She has, however, chosen to continue using Jun-ki as her identifying name. She feels it best represents her now, both herself and her reality. For Jun-ki, it represents her current state of degredation, a human beyond repair with an almost fully obsolete robotics system operating inside of her. It’s put together with scraps and junk, all of which she painstakingly harvested and reworked to continue powering her Fuji-tech without support from the company or its project. It represents her strength, as a berserker and front-line combatant, an ironically demon-like strength in her small, once-fragile body. Keeping it speaks to some semblance of her self-loathing and self-respect, all at once.

cressida — 50 ;; if they could only take one bag of stuff somewhere with them: what would they pack? what do they consider their essentials? Cressida is a very materialistic girl, so this is definitely a hard question. She values her intelligence and her appearance above all, and which she values more is not really clear. If she has them, immediate essentials for her bag are rouge and a kohl tin. Keeping her unruly curls under control is also important, and difficult without supplies. Secondary to those are a mother-of-pearl comb, pressed rose oil, and some herby hair powder. Those would probably be the most immediate options if the apothic suite of personal hygiene is not available to her (and, as Inquisitrix, it has often not been).

In terms of fashion, she’s not so vain that she feels she has to pack a different dress for every event of the day, thank the gods. In an immediate need to move, Cressida is fine with a change of clothes and something else to sleep in, as long as she’s given some opportunity to wash things. Otherwise, she does prefer two or three outfits. A hat is also an essential need, partly for fashion, but mostly to protect her very fair skin. (Luckily, if there’s no bag space, this can just go straight on her head.)

 The other bag essentials for Cressida are a journal, an entertaining book to read, a dagger, and a non-functional compass. Journaling helps her organize her thoughts for the day and plan her next steps, so often it looks like some bizarre mix between a diary, a day planner, and a to-do list. For books, she usually prefers novels of the picaresque sort, but she is prone to rereading the Black Fox tales over and over. Extra weapons as a given, the most unusual piece in her bag is of sentimental value, and she has done well to not lose it after sixteen years. It was her father’s nautical compass, which she’d stolen from his quarters to play with the night he passed away. She was lucky to have kept it in her pocket, though it was waterlogged when she finally got herself to shore, and no longer works. She keeps it in her travel bags for safe keeping, but if she isn’t sure her bag will be safe on its own, then it’s always removed and placed into her pocket instead.

lucid — 29 ;; what do they do when they find out someone else’s fear? do they tease them? or get very over protective? It could depend on the fear, but more than likely, a fear is something Lucid will keep to herself unless discussed with the person who possesses it. Somewhat frosty though she may appear, it has never been in her nature to hurt others or belittle them for the way they feel. That being said, she isn’t always the most tactful lady, and her attempts to address a problem (if the fear is really that critical) can often come off as hurtful or insensitive. Her other short-coming is her occasional inability to understand exactly what the fear or problem may be, which has led to accidental dismissal or downplay of the severity. But regardless of her fumbling ways, Lucid’s care and concern for others who would confide that information in her has always been with their best intentions at heart, and she would take the information to her grave if it was asked of her. Her nature is to protect and nurture first, and her determination to maintain love and trust for her companions can outweigh the value of her own life, at times.

padrika — 43 ;; are they religious? what do they think of religion? what do they think of religious people? what do they think of non religious people? Padrika’s family was religious. Her parents were casual worshippers of Verna, but she didn’t really live long enough to fully understand the concepts of religion or to make an executive decision on her beliefs. In Litwin, they had very little in the way of organized religion save for what drifted over from the Skelligan collections, but there was a small cult formation following the usurping ruler’s enthusiasm for Padrika’s visions, which was off-putting for her. It was never a fully developed religious practice, or anything, but idea of people putting such fantastic veneration in visions that were, in her opinion, just mystifying and unclear dreams from no one was scary. Most popular in this perception was Freya, goddess of clairvoyants, speaking words of conquest and glory through this unassuming water-being. Less common was her connection to Melusine, as a fellow siren (even if that was also incorrect.)

Unsurprisingly, religion tends to make her uneasy. She never, knowingly, lived with less erratic devotions. Litwin was a clutter in major part due to her own presence, which has caused Padrika to recoil from the concepts of greater beings out of fear. She wants no grand destiny, no great mission or job that she must fulfill for a greater god who hand-picked her for what she represented. She also doesn’t know if that means that divinity and monstrosity are something that are codependent or mutually exclusive. How do you explain a divine monster? Where is the line for goddess and a child who drowned in a mire?

All of that said, she doesn’t necessarily use that as a judge against others, nor does she fault people for having beliefs - Padrika also thinks that having no beliefs is a belief, and admittedly, she herself does believe there must be some strong presence in natural phenomenon. The greater questions of it are ones she just doesn’t feel keen on answering, or having an opinion on. Whether or not others do may be something that makes her wary, but it does not always define their character, and she can look past differences. A belief in something is not the only thing about others that makes them them. 

fuu — 20 ;; do they like musicals? music in general? what do they do when they’re favourite song comes? Fuu likes music to what she considers a normal extent. She was classically trained in piano as a child at her parents’ insistence, but her interest in that was passable since she didn’t find it engaging, and when she took up swim, she managed to weasel out of those lessons all together. She’s spent money on high-tech buds that actually work under water, and likes to listen to her favourites while she studies, works out, cleans, or is on her commute. (She’s also been known to put in earphones to avoid conversations she’s not engaged in or to deliberately ignore someone out of annoyance, boredom, or complete disagreement.) She isn’t the liveliest person in a lot of ways, and that extends to her musical enjoyment, though, but if the song is one she really enjoys, Fuu doesn’t mind turning the volume up over a speaker or tapping the piece out with her fingers. 

Despite that, her interest in musicals is practically non-existant.  Besides her struggle to sit through films, she finds the insertion of musical numbers in a narrative actually erases the tone the film was setting and breaks a greater immersion for her. They’re just jarring and almost upsetting, even if she understands most people don’t perceive them that way. She watches them at the behest of friends or if, for some reason, they’re assigned for an arts course, but otherwise will not pick one up or go see one of her own volition. 

siona — 10 ;; do they like children? do children like them? do they have or want any children? what would they be like as a parent? or as a godparent/babysitter/ect? Siona loves children, but most children don’t like her. She tends to find children charmingly curious, thought-provoking, and squeezable. However, Siona is often perceived as one of two things by children - a fairy or a monster, and depending on the local perception of fairies, both can be bad things. In Castle Town she was very uncomfortably received by local children (and adults, but that’s par for the course at this point), though in Vazaar, many of the little girls thought her small stature and pale hair meant she was just a sickly Gerudo sister. 

Siona has never personally given children much thought. The circumstances floating around her existence have been a little more pressing and dire, and trying to lead a life of some sense of normalcy hasn’t been at the forefront of her imagination. But if asked, she’d certainly be agreeable, and Siona’s cautiously optimistic, adventurous, but ironically grounded disposition makes her a very loving and communicative mother-figure. Alongside that, her protective nature is counterbalanced by her indecisiveness, allowing her child to explore and experience while still receiving guidance when asked or needed.

[ricky-corderbro]

It’s Raining Fish... Hallelujah ||Ricky & Morgan

Ricky and Morgan discover a new and weird twist on that disco classic, and more than they bargained for on the beach. 

Morgan decided she’d rather supplement her income by selling crystals concocted with alchemy, she imagined herself wandering sandy beaches in a heavy knit sweater that billowed around her hips like an H&M photoshoot. She’d fill neat mason jars full of sand and, stop to sip wine and stare at the crisp sky and the rolling tied, and cart her fresh, beautiful resources back to her beachfront bungalow (because of course, with the wild money making wonders of online salesmanship, there would be a beachfront bungalow) in a weathered wagon rescued from an antique store and lovingly brought to a shine. Perhaps she had needed this fantasy in order to talk herself into doing something so ridiculous in the first place. How many of her other mistakes had started with ‘this is fine’ or ‘I got this’? 

Today Morgan was sweating through her hoodie, prickling up to her knees in sand, and dodging broken debris and beached jellyfish from the rough tide. She had her picturesque mason jars, and a number of glass and plastic tupperware from Tookies, and was scrounging for any beach party scraps she could break down for packaging and flourishes. Maybe if she ever got around to breaking the curse and not worrying about her lease at the traveler’s rest, this would all feel the way it was supposed to. 

Though most of the town of White Crest tended to avoid the beaches in the middle of January, this was the time Ricky felt like he enjoyed it the most. Sunshine and beach beer was all well and good but in the middle of winter it turned into an almost alien landscape; wet sand sculpted by the frigid wind and small drifts of snow painted a picture of bleak desolation that spoke to the tremendous power of the ocean. He found himself wandering the beach with no real goal in mind. He had half an eye out for the sea glass, driftwood, and bone he used for work  but mostly it was a day to take in the salt air and try to forget the flooding and the karkinoids and the rest of White Crest’s nonsense.

As he strolled along the cold sand he saw a figure in the distance, apparently scrounging through the beach for something. It’d be rude to walk by and not say anything so as he got a little closer he waved and called out over the wind, “Morning!”

Morgan toppled out of her crouch and landed splayed in the sand. So far she had managed her supply runs without an audience, something she hadn’t realized made the whole thing less shame-inducing. But Mr. Cheerful passing by her didn’t need to know that. “Morning!” She called. “Fancy seeing you or...anyone out here, really. Aren’t you afraid of the tides?”

Ricky rushed over to the woman and offered his hand to help her up, “Sorry! Didn’t mean to startle you. Brushing the sand from his hands he looked at the beach and shrugged, “As long as you know them and what they’re doing there’s nothing to fear from the tides. What about you? What brings you down here to this little slice of the Arctic?” It was a little surprising to see someone else there, but, she seemed to be looking for something, so it wasn’t the strangest thing Ricky had seen on a beach.

Morgan accepted the helping hand and wiped the excess sand from her back. “Thank you. And I’m just, you know, enjoying the scenery! Beaches look kind of picturesque when they’re wind-tossed and and brooding. It makes you feel like you’re in a Bronte novel, right?” As she spoke, the wind rose and the waves crashed forward, splashing their way rather un romantically. Morgan edged out of the splash zone, but not before the next wave reared and crested again. “So uh, what was that you said about knowing how tides are gonna work?”

“Not quite as picturesque as wandering the moors, but it has the same desolate charm. All we need is a lone rider on horseback looking pensively over the surroundings.” Ricky neatly backstepped away from the wave as it crept closer to them, “I mean… they’re on a pretty set schedule. You can always have at least a general idea of when they’re coming and going. Like now. Tide’s coming in. There’s gonna be a lot less beach in awhile.” 

The guy was right, with each wave the sea came closer to her Tookies wagon. Morgan hauled her tupperware up in one armload, then scooped a cup or so of seawater with one of her empties. There were a lot of helpful minerals in seawater and it would make her life so much easier to have them fresh on hand. “Don’t mind me, just collecting!” She said. Actually, a second jar wasn’t such a bad idea. Morgan held up a finger--just one second!--and waded up to her knees to take a good briny scoop. As she did, she knocked into something hard and heavy. “Oh, shit!” Oh god sharks swam up in high tide didn’t they? Was this what shark felt like? Or what about turtles? Had she killed a sea turtle? Did they have sea turtles in Maine? Morgan stumbled back, her errand forgotten. The tide curled away, revealing--a treasure chest? Morgan looked over at her new beach friend. Was he seeing this too?

Ricky watched with a bemused smile as his apparent new beachcomber friend waded into the surf to collect sea water. It had to have been absolutely freezing, since even he could feel the chill of the waves and he was usually fine with water that was all but frozen. He’d been in the middle of reserving a table at The Artesian for his meeting with Deidre when he heard the woman give out a shout. Fearing that some brazen karkinoid or even worse aipaloovik had crashed out of the surf he turned quickly to see her standing in front of what appeared at first to be a mammoth piece of barnacle and seaweed covered driftwood until he looked closer and saw that it was in fact, a giant chest. “The fuck?”

“Okay, so that’s not just me! Good!” Morgan looked back at the trunk. “Second question: does this happen here often? Is the kind of place where buried treasure just casually comes up over the weekend?” Morgan half expected a demon to pop out of it and go ‘boo!’ That was much more the White Crest way. But still--it was kind of exciting. She’d have to tell, well, someone about it online later. She leaned in conspiratorially.  “...Do you think we should open it?”

“Well… i’ve been on this beach regularly for 23 years and never seen anything like this so I”m gonna go out on a limb and say no. Definitely doesn’t happen often.” 23 years on the beach had, however, instilled in Ricky a healthy fear of things that just magically appeared on the sand from within the bottomless maw of the deep. He took several cautious steps toward it and hummed pensively, “On the one hand… treasure potential. On the other…. Body parts from a drug deal gone south. Seems like it could go either way, and with the week the town’s been having it doesn’t seem likely it’s that first option.”

Morgan nodded. Much as she wanted to believe she was about to fuck the universe and her stupid curse with a boatload of cash, she knew sea boy was probably right. “Okay, granted, but we should at least haul it in, right? And uh, fifty-fifty split if it’s buried treasure?” She winked, enjoying the absurdity of the wish. She crept back into the ocean to get a good angle on the thing. She was at least snapping a good picture. Hopefully it wouldn’t have to be captioned something like, taken just before Morgan Beck was eaten my mysterious sea creature! That would be a terrible way to find out krakens are real. 

Nodding pensively Ricky approached the chest to get a closer look, pulling some of the seaweed and ocean grunge off of it. He could faintly see some sort of writing carved into it, but it definitely wasn’t in any language he knew or had seen before. “Looks like there’s something carved into it.” He called as he cleared away more debris. As his fingers touched the wood of the chest he had a sudden shiver run up and down his spine, the rough wood catching on the pads of his fingers as he traced the symbols. Weird he thought to himself as he followed his new friend’s lead and started taking pictures. Definitely weird. “Of course we’ll split it fifty-fifty. If it’s treasure and not the rotted corpse of someone who crossed the mob.”

As soon as Morgan touched the trunk a wave of no clammied up her body. That was definitely not a million dollars. Or if it was, it was the kind of million dollars that made you wish you’d never seen it. But Morgan didn’t know how to explain that to beach boy. She kept her smile on and gave the trunk the ol’ heave-ho until it was out of the water. Christ almighty on a cracker this thing looked terrifying. It looked like it had been sitting at the bottom of the ocean longer than the Titanic. “Um, maybe you should do the honors!” She said. She tried not to sound like she was freaking out, like some of the gunk growing on the lid had slid inside her, but her voice jumped an octave or three as she gestured to the lid. “You got the uh, guy muscles for it, right?” So help her, if this thing was cursed…

It didn’t seem likely to Ricky that they could get the chest out of the surf and up onto the drier dirt, but somehow between the two of them they managed. Every single time he touched the chest to push it or pull it his body rebelled at the action. The truck was cold, the kind of cold he could feel in his fangs and it almost seemed to pulse with it. “This is totally why I go to the gym daily, to open strange runed treasure chests that wash up mysteriously on the beach.” He scraped more of the detritus off, shivering with every touch of the chest. “Have you ever seen this writing before? I may speak three languages but they all use the same alphabet and this ain’t it.” As he cleaned more and more he came to a strange conclusion. “I don’t think this thing opens….” He made a full circuit around the chest and came back frowning, “No crack where the lid meets the body, no hinges, nothing. I guess it could be the world’s largest puzzle box but it doesn’t seem to have any pieces that move.”

“There has to be something,” Morgan said. She crouched down and took a closer look at the markings. Nothing really stuck out as particularly alchemical or magical. “Maybe you just have to...pop the lid off straight up?” But where was the lid? It was just..box. Morgan fished out her phone. She could try turning the box into something that was already open, but as she scraped her fingers along the sides, looking for something, anything, she lost interest in putting her magic anywhere near...whatever this was. She backed away slowly. “You know, maybe we’re better off just calling the police, or the neighborhood watch or--” Morgan didn’t finish. The clouds overhead grumbled with thunder and a wave of fish hailed down.

“I’d be inclined to agree with you and go get the crowbar from my truck… but I don’t even see a seam at the top. It’s just solid gross damp wood.” Ricky tried to do exactly that though, no harm in trying, but as soon as he gripped the wood tightly to try to pop what was supposed to be the lid off he was hit with a gut-punching wave of nausea and he doubled over in pain, retching slightly, “Okay. It’s not coming off like that. Definitely not like…” before he could finish his sentence the sky murmured with the sound of a far off storm and Ricky felt himself get hit, not with raindrops as might expect, but with what appeared to be a halibut. “Okay what the fuck.” The sky opened up and they were suddenly pelted by a wave of fish, “This. Is not. Supposed to happen!” Ricky shouted out. 

[asktherexsquad]

"... I can hear it when you mess with the map, Rem."

Rem jumps in surprise, quickly pulling his hands away from the large holographic display he had been fiddling with.

"For the last time, we are NOT stopping at that planet with the race of puppies with human-level intelligence."

Rem grumbles, giving the map a disappointed look. But you don't even know where we're going! Isn't having a destination good?

Rocket, reclined in his seat at the helm, glances up from his novel, giving Rem one of his characteristic one-eyebrow-raised looks. That's how we roll, Rem, you know this. We don't need a destination, we just need a direction!

Rem gives a long-suffering sigh, flopping into his seat. All right...

Rex turns around, grinning and crossing his arms. "Besides, do you really want to go back after you tried to pick up and cuddle their king?"

Hey, they forgave me for that already! How was I supposed to know he w--

Rem is cut off as the ship suddenly lurches, sending everyone stumbling, warning alarms and lights blaring to life.

"The hell--?!?" Rex quickly turns around, hands flying over the dashboard. "Something just came out of nowhere!!"

Rocket drops his book and hurries to Rex's side, pulling up a small hologram of the ship. The impact was right on the front of the ship, we practically hit it head-on... How did you not see it coming??

"No, Rocket, it literally came out of nowhere. There was nothing on the scanners a moment ago!!"

Rem hurries over to the hologram of the map, dismissing it and pulling up the scan of the Rexcelsior's immediate surroundings. Is that... A ship...?

Rem studies the scan intently. It is indeed another ship, one he doesn't recognise, yet there also seems to be something familiar about it… It seems to have a spoiler, almost like the Rexcelsior’s--but that's not what Rem is most confused or concerned about right now. He quickly noticed something more pressing about the ship than its physical appearance. 

I'm not getting any power readings from it… There's some residual strong energy signature, but the ship itself is just off. It's dead in the water! Not even the life support seems to be on!

Rocket frowns as he glances over at Rem. 

You're telling me a ship just pops into existence out of nowhere and it's not even powered up??

Rex brings the Rexcelsior to a halt as more of the damage report comes in. "Guys, forget that, we need to see if there's anyone even on that thing…" Rex runs a quick scan of the small ship for lifeforms. "I'm getting… One. A human. … That can't be right. A one-man crew, all the way out here…?"

Try and hail them! Their ship might be out, but maybe they still have something that can receive a message.

Rex doesn't look convinced. "I dunno, Rem…" 

It won't cost us anything to try. Rocket pulls up comms on a separate panel, trying his best to get into contact with the little ship. 

While Rocket busies himself with that, Rex turns his attention to the Rexcelsior damage report. "Okay… Good news, looks like it was nothing we couldn't take. Just to be safe, though, we should get started on r--" 

Guys, I got something!!

"What??"

There's silence for a moment. Then, a buzzing static comes in over the comm. Rocket frowns, fiddling with a few settings on his panel. Then there's just more silence. He worries it hasn't worked, or the static from before was just a glitch. But then, there's more buzzing coming through, along with something else. 

{tshk... -lo?... tssshk... -ou read??}

Rocket's eyes widen, and he speaks loud and fast in his excitement. Yes, yes I can hear you, you're faint but I can hear you.

Rex and Rem exchange glances, Rem's overjoyed, Rex's unenthused.

We should bring them on board! Offer to teleport them on!

"Odds are this is a trap…?" Rex grumbles, but no one's listening to him at this point. (... He's probably just grumpy that his ship got banged up, anyway) 

Rocket starts adjusting the controls again, trying to boost the signal as well as preparing the teleporter settings. But as he does that, more static comes through again, as the stranger on the other side mutters to themselves. 

{tsssshk... -on! Work you piece of cr-! tsssssshk}

There's more static after that for a long moment, but then it abruptly resolves to a single high pitched whine, leaving a much quieter but still persistent fuzzy noise coming in over the comm.

The stranger speaks again, the interference distorting their voice and modulating it in weird ways, but at least they aren't being interrupted anymore. 

{Hey! - Whoever’s out there- You hear me now?}

Loud and clear, Rocket responds, grinning. He and Rem fist-bump. We've noticed that your ship isn't giving off any power readings, are you--

With your permission, we could bring you aboard and get to work on repairing your ship!!

Rocket and Rex both turn and shoot Rem A Look. 

... This is the first actual human we've met out here in ages, sorry for being excited… Rem grumbles, turning pink.

The stranger laughs at their bickering. 

{Well I'd sure appreciate an assist. I wasn't exactly planning on being out in space today!}

Rex frowns in suspicion, and even Rocket and Rem seem confused. 

“... What do ya mean?”

{Well ya see, I was giving our ship's engine a bit of an upgrade with some scrap from a previous project my friends and I were working on. Which maaaaayyy have been a bit… unstable…}

{Let's just say one second I was tinkering with the warpcore, with the ship parked up on my home planet, and the next I'm being thrown around in zero G and trying to find an emergency helmet, so I didn't get crushed from the sudden change in atmosphere.}

The stranger chuckles, as if what he just said wasn't at all terrifying. 

{But I can tell you more about that if you decide to let me come over.}

... Uhm… Sounds like a plan! Setting the teleporter to your heat signature-- Rem turns and begins punching something into a panel. 

Rex steps forward and places a hand on the panel, expression grave. "Are we really doing this?" he mutters, quietly enough that his voice isn't picked up. 

... Why not? Rem looks back at Rocket, who nods.

Besides, there's three of us, and one of him. He tries anything we can take him.

"... All right." Rex lifts his hand, and Rem beams, finishing setting the teleporter parameters. 

O-K! Ready when you are, stranger!

There's a very brief pause, then the stranger responds. 

{OK. I'm good to go now buddy.}

Rem grins wider in excitement. 

Okie dokie! Initiating teleport… Now!

Rem hits the final button, and all three of them turn from the console to face behind them. Rapidly the stranger materialises in twinkling lights, until finally he's standing on the Rexcelsior’s bridge. 

He wobbles a little as he finds his footing in normal gravity again, but he's quick to steady himself. The trio watches as his helmet turns from one side to the other as he takes in his surroundings. But then, he fully takes note of them, and visibly tenses in sudden shock. Rocket frowns at the stranger's reaction, Rex raises his fists ready for a fight, but Rem looks at him curiously. 

There was something eerily familiar about the stranger, so Rem studies him intently. 

The blue helmet he wears is rounded and the visor prevents them from seeing his face, but Rem doesn't need to see that to have his curiosity piqued. The stranger has deep blue pants and matching colored long sleeved shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He also has bright orange steel toed boots, silver knee pads, black fingerless gloves, a watch on his right wrist, and (weirdly enough) a bright orange safety vest with an-

… 

with an R over the left side of his chest… 

Finally the stranger makes a move, the trio tense up but decide to watch on as the stranger slowly lifts his right hand upwards. He brings it to his helmet, pressing a button on the side of it which quickly makes the whole thing recede to a necklace-like thing around his shoulders. 

And the familiar, rugged face staring back at them is one no one anticipated.

"........................

There's a tense silence for a long moment. Everyone on the bridge studies each other intently. 

Then, realisation hits everyone like a freight train. 

"What the F--?!?"

The “stranger” cries out in shock and stumbles back a few paces, raising his fists defensively as his eyes dart over the trio in complete confusion. The trio across from him responds in turn, recoiling and tensing. A few nearby raptors go on alert, readying themselves for a potential fight, but stay where they are and watch on silently. 

W-who the-! H-how the-!... THREE?!?! Wha-! WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!?!

“We could ask you the same fucking question!!”

I think it'd be obvious that I DON'T FUCKING KNOW!!!

Rex grits his teeth and raises his right fist a little higher, but pauses as Rem rests his hand on top of it and slowly brings it down. 

Guys! Whatever’s going on here, it doesn't have to end in a fight! We can talk this out, right?

Rem looks from Rex, who begrudgingly lowers both his fists to his sides, to the “stranger” as he says that. He notices an odd look on the “stranger’s” face as he looks back at him. He still looks utterly shocked of course, but there's a hint of something else in there. Some emotion Rem can't quite place. But whatever trace of it is there fades away as the “stranger” also lowers his fists and frowns at them suspiciously. Sure… Talking sounds like the smart thing to do…

The four men cautiously appraise one another for a moment. Talking… Where the hell could they start here?

Rocket finally clears his throat, redirecting everyone's attention to him.

So… Rex Dangervest I presume?

The "stranger" crosses his arms.

Actually, not quite. Name's Rex… Rex Brickowski.

There's another stunned silence after this. Rocket and Rex exchange a glance, before they both turn to Rem with scrutinizing looks. 

Rem shrinks away slightly at their intense stares. He glances at "Rex Brickowski," who seems to be analyzing them in a similar fashion. Why were they looking at him??

There wasn't any connection between them!... Was there?

[spnfanficpond]

December 2019 Pond LiveChat Recap - Structuring Longer Plots

We had a great time chatting with @jhoomwrites​, today! Thank you so much for joining us and sharing your wisdom and experience!

Our chat was all about structuring longer plots, filler vs plot, and the different types of structures that are out there. (Mostly, we talked about how we don’t always have a structure in mind when we’re writing, and how we deal with it when a story breaks apart the structure we’d so carefully constructed.) A rundown of the chat, as well as general Pond news, is below the cut!

For those who don’t know her, Ashley is an avid writer, not just of fan fiction. She’s popular on Tumblr and AO3 for Destiel stories of all lengths, from little emoji ficlets she bangs out from requests (where followers send her a short string of emojis and she writes a story using them all) up to epic stories. She’s currently working on a hockey fan fiction that was her NaNoWriMo project, but with 120 SPN works on AO3, we’ve got plenty to read while she’s distracted with her hockey boys! (I’ve convinced her to be a member of the Pond, so hopefully we’ll see her around a lot in the future!)

We started off talking about how long our fics can get ( @katehuntington​ won with her Sullivan Series, which is currently at 570k), and whether we’re planners or pansters or a mix. Kate and Ashley are both kind of mixed, while @mrswhozeewhatsis​ has never successfully outlined a story, yet. 

Q: Was My Liege Lord (her longest at around 80k) planned or pansted?

Ashley: It was both. I had planned out some things, but then I got new ideas as I went that I wanted to explore and it padded out the length. I had a whole fic worth of plans, but just the amount of time in their lives I ended up covering necessitated adding things. Kate: I do that too. I stick to the plan, but I add soooooo much stuff along the way.

Q: When you write, and plan out a story, do you use a particular structure?

Ashley: I haven't written out a plan for a fic in some time, but I was really consistent with the style I used for a while. I would do a chart with the main plot points to the left, and then details (excerpt of dialogues, notes about specific scenes, etc) to the right. Here’s an example:

Ashley: It helps me when I get ideas later, I can find parts in the story by looking to the left and then add notes. It's my favorite way to plan out a story, especially if I know it will be multiple chapters and if I might not be starting it any time soon. This is much nicer than the outline for the story I'm working on now, which is just a list of events in chronological order (and another list of "things i could add but i don't know where this goes"). I wrote the outline about a day before I started so I didn't need as much structure.

Q: Having a plan helps, then?

Ashley: I didn't used to plan, but then I started a multi-chapter fic and realized...... I don't have an ending. So, I like to plan that out to make sure I have an actual beginning, middle, and end. Michelle: When I start, I have an idea and an ending. That’s it. All my stories have the same ending, though: And then they kissed and lived happily ever after!

Kate: It does give freedom, not having a detailed outline.

Ashley: That is true, it does make me sad when I get somewhere in the outline and there's something I'd liked, that I'd wanted to include, but it doesn't work anymore and I have to scrap it. Gotta balance sticking to the outline vs adapting to how the tone/characters have developed.

Q: Is your planning method something you learned, or something you developed? And do you use the same structure for all of your stories?

Ashley: Something I developed. I haven't had any real training or instruction in writing. I was struggling with longer fics being unorganized and not coming together at the end, so I needed something for myself. I like making charts, so I figured that was a good way to start! lol It's not something I do as much, anymore. It was a great tool when I started doing it, and I did it for years... but possibly because I've gained more writing experience with longer stories, I don't need to do it anymore. I start a fic with a general idea, I figure out where that idea is going, and start writing. I do more of a mental checklist now. Of course, for original stories, things I hope to one day publish, I will still outline.

Q: Do parts of your structure have names? A quick Google search on how to structure novels brought back about a lot of different methods for structuring a novel, all with different numbers of steps. Each step had a general idea, like rising action, climax, falling action, etc. I guess I mean, what parts of a story do you feel need to be there for it to work? What are the parts of your structure?

Ashley: Having never paid particular attention in my English classes, I would be hard pressed to put names on different parts of my story structure. I view it as beginning (set up, putting things in place), middle (the actual story more or less, all of the action), and ending (wrapping things up, resolution).

Q: When you half wing it and the story is coming along, and then you hit a plot hole, how do you handle that? 

Ashley: Well uh... **points vaguely towards abandoned WIPs** it can be rough. I do have some people I work with in terms of brainstorming. And if I get stuck with a fic I'm committed to, that I'm enjoying writing, then I talk it through with them. Sometimes, those issues are coming up--not because the story wasn't outlined--but more because I've just lost that spark of interest that I had before, and it's time to move on, anyway.

Q: There was a question submitted to the Pond by @kittenofdoomage​ about filler vs. plot.

Ashley: I think that's a real issue I face, filler vs plot. For some stories, I feel like I write a chapter and then can't really see what it adds to the story except maybe giving more characterization. My Liege Lord, I can think of some examples... and sometimes those things are cool, they're fun little ideas to explore and that's the only universe you could do it in, so you do it maybe for your own sake more than the story's. I think there's also a difference between reader and writer perceptions of what's filler. For my current project, there are scenes I wanted to include because I felt they were necessary to the plot, but I got the impression from people I'd polled that they would not be interested in those scenes (basically it's a romance and I was going to include things that were not directly related to the romance aspect and they said if it was more than a few paragraphs or so they didn't care). Michelle: I struggled with that with The Babysitter. Almost half of that fic is flashbacks to when the brothers were growing up and how their relationship with the reader developed. I considered cutting them all, but the fic felt thin. Sometimes, I'd pop a flashback chapter in there just to slow down the action in the present a bit, if you know what I mean. Like, chapter X is the night before the big battle, and chapter Y is the big battle, but it felt rushed to just go from X to Y, so I stuck D in between them. Ashley: Yeah, pacing is important, so the "filler" can help regulate that. It might also depend on if you view stories as about the plot or about the characters. If you view it as plot, then yes, you don't want that non-plot filler. If you view it as characters, then the filler doesn't necessarily move the story, but it adds depth and dimension to the characters and makes you appreciate them more. (I mean... I love the characters so much, I'd watch an episode of them just doing chores around the bunker...no plot, just them.) Kate: I just write what I feel like is right. Plus, I’m a sucker for a slow burn myself, so I’m not scared to let the readers wait.  I like to use fillers as a stairway to the big reveal or moment. What I love even more is to put a lot of foreshadowing in there, so when they read it the second time, they go: oh! Rhi: The thing is that I've found is that filler serves a lot of purposes. As mentioned above it's great for dropping a bit of foreshadowing. It's also great for expanding your background and making your characters more than two dimensional. It also gives your readers a breather. Especially if it's a heavy plot. I often find myself rambling in filler, which is where rereading is key. With longer stories, I have a brief outline of what I want. Sometimes I'll write the major points first, the ending etc then follow up with the filler. On occasion, your filler will end up imploding your plans but that's cool. That's when you either roll with it or take a break and neither of those are bad choices. It depends on the individual.

Q: (In one of the articles linked below) Peter Behrens mentioned a novel idea. He basically said he doesn’t worry about structure until the revision stage. He writes what he wants to, and then when he’s revising, he tweaks the story to fit whatever structure it fits to best.

Ashley: I do like that, and that's something that @unforth-ninawaters​ has mentioned. We're working on shorter stories that would need to be under 7.5k and I said I don't know if I could hit that. She said to write the whole story, even if it's longer, and then have someone edit it with an eye to shorten it, if necessary, and you'll probably end up with a tighter story that way. So, basically, that's how I view writing things, now. I write what I want to write for the story, and if it needs to go, it'll disappear later in the editing process. But what if it does belong? Well, then it's there, already. And yes on slow burns... for fic, it's a staple, and for WIPs, it's part of the lure, the draw in, as a reader--knowing that maybe they will maybe they won't hook up this week.

To close out the chat, we talked about the story structures listed in the following two links:

How to find your novel’s structure - This article discusses the traditional 5-stage plot structure (exposition, rising action, climax, falling action and resolution) and the 3-act structure (setup, confrontation, resolution), as well as some other points, like how characterization can affect structure.

Writing Cooperative -  Use a story structure to make writing your novel a lot easier - This article lists several structures, and includes links to read more about each one and their strengths and weaknesses. Different stories might do better under different structures, too. A romance novel wouldn’t necessarily need the 12 steps in The Hero’s Journey.

These links are definitely worth checking out if you have any fears or concerns about your story’s structure!

Next month we’re going to talk about Real People Fiction! We’re still looking for a guest speaker, so if anyone is interested, send a message to @mrswhozeewhatsis​!! Date and time to be announced!

General Pond Updates and Reminders

What we’ve got cooking up next: Not much, at the moment, since everyone is busy, so we’re just trying to keep up with the day-to-day at the moment! Our to do list is still long, though, and will not be neglected forever! Next up is organizing the tagging system on the blog to make it easier for readers to find the stories they’re interesting in and for writers to find the help they’re looking for!

Reminders:

Angel Fish Award nominations are accepted all month long! No need to wait to tell us how much you liked a fellow Fish’s work!  IF YOU HAVE SENT IN A NOMINATION, BUT HAVE NOT RECEIVED A PRIVATE MESSAGE CONFIRMING WE RECEIVED IT, WE DIDN’T GET IT. Be sure to use Submit instead of Ask!

Don’t forget to submit your stories to be posted to the blog! When your stories are on the blog, then they are easier to nominate for Angel Fish Awards!

Say hi to November’s New Members! (If we missed someone, let us know!)

Check the Pond CALENDAR to see when Big Fish will be in the Skype chat room/discord general channel and other Pond and SPN events are happening! Know of something that’s not on the calendar, send us an ask or submission with the deets info details!  The calendar offers a lot of features, such as showing you when things are in your own timezone! Since we’re an international group, that’s a definite plus!!

We’re looking for a guest speaker for January to talk about RPF! If you know of an RPF writer that you’d like to hear from, let us know!!

[maresdotes]

Tag Game

Beneath a cut for length:

RULES: tag ten followers you want to know better!

Tagged by: @reallyginnyf (thanks!)

TAGGING: @zabbers, @medinaquirin, @ladyswillmart, @kungfufightingisoursong , @napelf  and anyone else who’d like to play along at home. :) (I know a couple of others who I usually would tag have played this one recently so that’s why I left you out)

NAME: Yes, I have one.  :D  Starts with a ‘K’.

STAR SIGN: Sun is Libra, Moon is Virgo. Funny story in that I was supposed to be born as a Scorpio, but since I was already a planned Caesarean and the doctor performing it was going to go on vacation, they rescheduled my mother a week early. This is why I often comment that I can relate to Scorpio horoscopes as much as I can Libra ones.  For sure I’m very much a moon Virgo.

HEIGHT: 5’7”

PUT YOUR ITUNES/SPOTIFY ON SHUFFLE. WHAT ARE THE FIRST 4 SONGS THAT POPPED UP? I don’t have either. I was in Google Play to drown out the background noise from work. It’s my Florence + The Machine playlist so: Leave My Body; No Light, No Light; Bedroom Hymns; Howl.

GRAB THE BOOK NEAREST YOU AND TURN TO PAGE 23. WHAT’S LINE 17? From the copy of Pride and Prejudice I snagged: “the most of every half hour in which she can command his”

EVER HAD A POEM OR SONG WRITTEN ABOUT YOU? Not that I can recall.

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU PLAYED AIR GUITAR? Coworker’s wedding earlier in July. I was actually low-key playing air pedal steel using the railing to the deck we were all standing on. 

WHO IS YOUR CELEBRITY CRUSH? I crush on characters, not celebrities for the most part. I try to keep my celebrity knowledge to a minimum because I don’t want it to shade my enjoyment for a particular character (like I’ve heard through the Discourse(tm) that an actor who plays a character I like is a shitheel and a lech toward actresses much younger than him and now I feel like the character is a bit tarnished. How do I resolve disgust I feel for an actor/actress with the love I feel for a character?).

WHAT’S A SOUND YOU HATE + SOUND YOU LOVE?

HATE: Random, attention grabbing noise, especially when I’m trying to concentrate. Right at the moment, hating the whiny meow my youngest cat does for no reason at all and sounds like he’s crying “mooom!” like a bratty toddler.

LOVE: Soft noises.  Horses chewing hay, cats purring, rain falling.

DO YOU BELIEVE IN GHOSTS? Not particularly, but I’m also the type to say hello to the gravestones in cemeteries because who knows and it never hurts to be polite.

HOW ABOUT ALIENS? In the same sense that I believe water is wet? No, but the universe is a very, very large place and I’d hope the Earth isn’t the only occupied planet out there.

DO YOU DRIVE? I do and LOVE to. If I had money or better connections (or both), I’d learn how to track a car (race) or rally cross. I definitely want to re-learn how to drive a manual -- the truck I had 18 years ago soured me on it entirely, but now I wouldn’t mind a short-throw little hatch to have fun with.

IF SO, HAVE YOU EVER CRASHED? Yep.  Three times, although one I can’t really consider a crash. First was shortly after I got my license I was driving a truck I wasn’t used to for my summer job and it had terrible brakes (it was long past due needing new pads to the point of ridiculously unsafe...in fact, the brake lines were likely half rusted out) and I misjudged how long it would take to stop.  I rear-ended the person in front of me. No damage to either vehicle, but I was scared out of my wits that I was going to get fired.

Second time was in that god-awful ‘88 Toyota pickup I had with freaking bald tires (off road ones at that). My folks lent me the money to buy a vehicle which meant my dad wanted me to get something he thought would be easy to sell if I “defaulted” on their loan. Basically, I got screwed royally on that deal.  Anyway... Bald tires hit a patch of black ice and it ended up going into a guard rail, flipping over onto the passenger’s side, and spinning a few donuts before coming to a stop.  It was interesting unbuckling my seat belt while hanging sideways.  Amazingly enough, no broken glass! 

Third time (which doesn’t particularly count imo) was hitting a deer about four years ago. The front quarter panel of my Fusion was never the same even after the repair. 

WHAT WAS THE LAST BOOK YOU READ? I sadly don’t read much. So it’s likely a book from two years ago while in Canada when I ran out of my own books to read so I snagged one from the shelf in the cabin.  A Higher Call by Adam Makos. It’s a WWII historical biographic, but it turns the typical WWII novel on its ear. A badly damaged American bomber is trying to limp its way back to Britain after a bombing sortie in Germany. A Messerschmitt figher pulls up on its tail and instead of finishing it off, the pilot escorts the bomber past the German anti-aircraft artillery and points it in the direction it needs to go to get home. Majority of the book is about Franz Stigler, the German fighter ace, but it’s especially poignant when it gets into how Stigler and Charlie Brown (the American bomber pilot) come to find each other and meet forty years later. I usually hate war novels because it’s all flag waving/chest thumping/us versus them, but this is more about what war does to the individuals wrapped up in it.

DO YOU LIKE THE SMELL OF GASOLINE? It’s a mixed blessing? Because yes, but also it makes me immediately think of what’s leaking and is it going to explode.  Also makes me think of summertime lawn mowing jobs as a kid (which was sweaty, nasty, ground bee-sting business).

WHAT WAS THE LAST MOVIE YOU SAW? Sky on Fire.  Oh my god what a terrible, terrible movie that was. And not in the so-bad-it’s-good way either.  The Maserati was nice though.

WHAT’S THE WORST INJURY YOU’VE EVER HAD? No idea how old I was, but I tripped and fell while holding a glass bowl in my hand and it shattered when I landed. I sliced up the interior of my thumb pretty bad from one side to the other just a smidge under the first knuckle. I’m not exactly sure what possessed my mother NOT to take me the emergency room (maybe the lack of funds to pay the bill), but between the butterfly sutures and antibiotic ointment, that sucker healed right up and now it’s just a thin white line across my thumb.

Getting bit by a squirrel ranks up there too -- mostly because of the wait to see if it was rabid, not because of the bite itself. (I was a kid, one got hit by a car right in front of me, and animal lover me wanted to help it.)

DO YOU HAVE ANY OBSESSIONS RIGHT NOW? I’m between obsessions. Trying to work up the enthusiasm to pick up my quilting project again but failing miserably.

DO YOU TEND TO HOLD GRUDGES AGAINST PEOPLE WHO HAVE DONE YOU WRONG?  Unfortunately yes.  I’m still nursing a 31yr old grudge against my mother for throwing out a prized toy of mine while I was on a fishing trip. 

A neighbor threw out a broken lamp and I snagged it off of the trash pile before pickup -- the base of the lamp had a black plastic horse a little bit larger than the average Breyer model. I think it was missing part of a foreleg but I didn’t care. I managed to unscrew the horse from the base, touched up its paint job with markers, stole some scrap leather from my brother from his Boy Scout projects to make a little saddle and bridle, etc -- she tossed it out while I was gone calling it trash.  Maybe, but it was MY TRASH.  And it isn’t like I left it on the floor -- it was standing in front of the books on my bookshelf! No reason to throw it out, NONE!!

I still feel a little stab in my heart whenever I see Breyer models that come with saddles...

IN A RELATIONSHIP? forever alone.  No, seriously. I haven’t had a date in 20 years. But I’m also mostly ambivalent about it.

[ocean-tumbled-pebbles]

QZGS Conflict!

Happy Valentine’s Day! (I know it’s after midnight but whatever.)

This is my first ever fanfic and I wrote it after reading (fellow YX lover)  @alsheon‘s lovely YeHarem fics. So this is my valentine’s gift to you. @alsheon‘s fics can be found at FFN and AO3 so definitely give them a read. 

My story’s loosely based off of the anime/game/novel Brother’s conflict. I fudged around with ages and there may be OOCness. I have other ideas for this AU but they probably won’t get written  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

Tags: 全职高手, QZGS, TKA, Ye Xiu, AllYe, Brothers conflict AU, Brocon AU, OOCness, I wanted to keep the full names, so they’re all adopted, YQ is a cat, just fluff, first fanfic, plz be nice

Cast List

HWQ -24 - Boxer

WJX - 23 - Botany

ZJL - 22 - Florist

ZXJ - 21 - Med student

YWZ - 21 - Management

XSQ - 21 - Engineer

ZZK - 20 - Model

YX - 18 - Rich boy

HST - 17 - Soccer star

SX - 16 - Closet Glory Nerd

Ye Xiu looked up at the large fence surrounding the mansion. It was quite a formidable fence, about 3 meters tall and made of wrought iron. It wasn’t like him to be apprehensive though, so he paid no mind and found the intercom at the entrance of the gates.

“Hello? Anybody home? It’s Ye Xiu. I’ll be living here from now on. Please take care of me~”

Ye Xiu waited for an answer but nothing came out. The gates swung open though, meaning that at least someone was home.

“How rude. Not even greeting me.” Well, whatever. He picked up his luggage and the carrying case and headed up the long driveway to the mansion.

Ye Xiu was no stranger to mansions. He had grown up in one after all. He would have rather stayed in his own mansion, but his (rich) father had insisted that he up and move to his new (rich) step-mother’s mansion instead, to live with her family. (“You can’t just stay in your room and play computer games all day! Go socialize with kids your own age!”) He had been informed that he would be obtaining 9 new step-brothers. Honestly! Wasn’t this too much of a jump? Going from being an only child to one of ten was just ridiculous! What if he had to actually spend time with them and he was unable to play Glory?!

Thinking about it was just too much, so the most Ye Xiu could do was just move onward. He reached the large doors and was about to knock, when they swung open. Again, there was no one there.  

“Well that’s not creepy at all.”

He left his shoes at the door and padded around in his socks, wandering to what looked like the main living area. What surprised him was not the stylish and chic living room furniture, but the table of nine desktop computers in the middle of the room.

“Wait, is that a Glory card reader?”

“Why yes it is.”

Ye Xiu jumped at the sudden voice from behind him. It was a tall older man with uneven eyes. Ye Qiu mewled a complaint at the sudden jostling from inside his crate.

The man stifled a laugh. “Sorry about that. I’m Wang Jiexi.”

Ye Xiu gazed at him curiously. “I’m Ye Xiu. I take it you’re one of my new brothers?”

Wang Jiexi nodded. “You’re 18 right? So that makes me your older brother by 5 years.”

Ye Xiu bowed his head slightly. “Please take care of me, gege.”

Wang Jiexi smiled. “No need to be formal in this house. I’m sure the others will say the same.”

“Big-eyed Wang then. Nihao.”

Wang Jiexi’s eyes widened comically, only emphasizing the size difference. “Hey!”

Ye Xiu only hid a half-laugh behind a hand and apologized and then turned to the more important thing in the room.

“So you guys all play Glory?” he asked excitedly. “You any good?”

“Everyone except Sun Xiang. We’ve tried getting him to play, but he says he’s not very interested. And I’d call myself good if I say so myself.”

“Oh yeah? What’s your username?”

Wang Jiexi gave him a lopsided smile. It made Ye Xiu’s heart thump a little bit. “Haha. Guess.”

Ye Xiu couldn’t even get one guess out when he spied a large looming figure out of the corner of his eye. He quickly darted behind Wang JieXi and peered out at this huge person.

“Oh Good. You’re here.” The man said gruffly. “I’ll call for the others.”

“That’s Han Wenqing. He’s the eldest of us brothers. He looks scary, but he’s a reliable person.”

“Hmmph, he looks more like some sort of boxer that could and would smash your teeth out.”

Wang Jiexi laughed again. “That’s because he is one. Er the boxer part. Not the teeth smashing part.”

“Wonderful.”

Just then a large crash came from the stairwell. “Ye Xiu! Ye Qiu! Where are you? How old are you? Huh? Huh? Are you older or younger than me? Do you two want to share a room with me? It’d be like a cool sleepover and we could play Glory all night? Do you play Glory? Are you good at all? Let’s PK! PKPKPK!”

Wang Jiexi sighed. “And that’s Huang Shaotian. He’s the youngest after Sun Xiang.”

Another older man with blue black locks came down slowly after the explosion of words that was Huang Shaotian. “Shaotian. Don’t overwhelm him with questions.” He turned to Ye Xiu and smiled warmly. “Hello Ye Xiu. I’m Yu Wenzhou.”

Huang Shaotian was not looking at Ye Xiu but peering behind him and looking confused. “If this is Ye Xiu, where is Ye Qiu?”

Ye Xiu bent down and let Ye Qiu out of the carrier. The black cat rubbed up against his legs and then hopped onto his shoulders. “This is Ye Qiu. He’s been with me since I was small.”

Huang Shaotian offered the cat a finger. Ye Qiu sniffed at it and proceeded to rub his cheeks on it, purring. “Huh. From the way it sounded from step-father, I thought Ye Qiu was your twin or something.”

“He does say I’m like a cat sometimes.”

“Hmm, well I’m a little disappointed that he isn’t your twin. I wouldn’t mind having two pieces of eyecandy to look at.”

Ye Xiu went red.

Yu Wenzhou bonked him on the head. “Shaotian. Have a little tact. Ye Xiu is your older brother after all.”

“F*ck! So he’s older? He’s so pretty I thought he was younger.”

Yu Wenzhou and Wang Jiexi sighed in tandem.

“Well, I guess I can’t disagree,” Yu Wenzhou said with a smirk.

Ye Xiu’s blush crept up his ears.

Wang Jiexi coughed, but wouldn’t look Ye Xiu in the eyes either.

Huang Shaotian smirked and grabbed Ye Xiu’s hand and started forcefully dragging him to the dining area. Ye Qiu gracefully leapt off his shoulder as they exited the living area.

“Come, come. We’re meeting in the dining room!”

“Woah, slow down a bit.”

Ye Xiu was being dragged so fast he couldn’t quite keep up and kept stumbling.

“Ah!” He suddenly tripped over a large metal object. He closed his eyes before he could hit the ground.

When he opened his eyes, he wasn’t in pain sprawled on the ground, but was in another person’s arms?

“I got you.”

The person had caught him by the waist and slowly helped him up.

“You’re not hurt are you? I keep telling Xiao Shiqin to put his robots and stuff away.”

“No, you caught me before I fell. Thanks.” Ye Xiu embarrassedly brushed himself off and finally got a look at the man who had helped him off.

The man wore his long reddish hair in a low ponytail. The man winked and pulled out a rose blossom out of nowhere, offering it to Ye Xiu.

“No problem, darling. Zhang Jiale, at your service.”

Ye Xiu embarrassedly accepted the flower and tried to hide his blush by turning to put the rose in one of the vases on the table. Sprawled on the table, surrounded by bits of metal and wire was another person, sleeping.

Zhang Jiale huffed. “Xiao Shiqin! Wake up! You almost killed our new brother!”

Ye Xiu sweatdropped.

“Wha-huh?” Xiao Shiqin looked up blearily. “Sorry, I just-” he yawned widely, “am so tired. I-” he locked eyes with Ye Xiu and froze mid-yawn. “I’m still dreaming, aren’t I?”

Huang Shaotian yelled out excitedly, “You sure aren’t! Can you believe it? Huh? This is Ye Xiu! And the cat is Ye Qiu! I didn’t know that before did you? He’s our new brother! Ye Xiu that is- not the cat. Although some people do say their pets are like family? So maybe that means we did get two brothers after all?”

Yu Wenzhou and Wang Jiexi entered the room from behind them.

“Shaotian, you should apologize as well. It’s your fault that you were going too fast.”

“Whoops, sorry.”

“I’m sorry as well.” Xiao Shiqin stretched and got up from his position at the table. He began clearing away the scraps on the table and put them into a hatch on the metal thing Ye Xiu had tripped on.

“This is a robot that I’m making. I haven’t finished it yet though, so it’s not much to look at.” He offered Ye Xiu a hand, and Ye Xiu accepted it. “I’m Xiao Shiqin.”

They shook hands, and Ye Xiu also introduced himself. They stood like that for a second.

“Uh, you can let go now.”

“Oh!” Xiao Shiqin abruptly dropped his hand. “Sorry, it’s just… you have really nice hands…”

“I noticed that too.”

“Aren’t they beautiful?”

“…”

Another person had silently arrived from behind Yu Wenzhou and Wang Jiexi.

Ye Xiu turned to look at the newcomer to introduce himself, but was rendered speechless. The person in question was incredibly handsome! And he looked slightly familiar…

“You’re that McDonald’s model! Er… Zhou Zailai?”

“… Zekai.” he corrected, but gave Ye Xiu a radiant smile nonetheless.

Ye Xiu had to look away. Zhou Zekai was too shiny.

“Let’s all sit and wait for the others to come,” Wang Jiexi suggested.

Huang Shaotian pulled Ye Xiu over to the head of the table by the arm and sat down beside him. “I call dibs on the right!”

Zhang Jiale pulled out the chair at the head of the table and gestured for Ye Xiu to sit. Before Zhang Jiale could grab the seat on his left, Zhou Zekai had quietly snatched it up.

“…Dibs.” he said with a small smile.

Zhang Jiale pouted, but had to settle for the next seat over.

The chairs were soon almost filled. Ye Qiu had wandered over from the living room and hopped onto Ye Xiu’s lap. He gave a purr as Ye Xiu stroked the cat’s back.

Huang Shaotian was chattering animatedly to anyone and everyone, every so often directing a question to Ye Xiu. He followed Yu Wenzhou’s lead and answered with non-committal hums and uh-huhs, not really listening. Huang Shaotian kept asking Zhou Zekai questions as well, but always ended up cutting him off before he could give an answer. Xiao Shiqin had taken out some of his things and  had started tinkering with them slowly spreading out his mess to the other parts of the table and Zhang Jiale had taken to playing with the random gears that came his way. Wang Jiexi had taken out a plant magazine from who knows where and was looking up decorative cacti.

When the clock struck 4’o clock exactly, another brother stepped through the door. He crossed the room efficiently and met Ye Xiu at the head of the table.

“Ye Xiu,” he greeted, sticking out his hand. Ye Xiu took it. “I am Zhang Xinjie. It’s nice to meet you. I’m your older brother by three years.”

“Nice to meet you.” He gave him a lazy smile. “As you know, I’m Ye Xiu, and this is Ye Qiu.”

Zhang Xinjie gave the cat a rub behind the ears. The cat leaned into his touch and purred contently. “He’s a cute cat. Just like his owner.” He pulled away his hand from Ye Qiu’s head to lay it on Ye Xiu’s to give him a head pat.

Ye Xiu felt his face flush.

“Hmm? You’re a little red. Are you getting sick?”

Zhang Xinjie brushed Ye Xiu’s bangs away from his face and bent down to press his own forehead to his. Ye Xiu could feel himself getting hotter.

“Well, it doesn’t seem like you have a fever. If you’re ever feeling unwell, feel free to come to me. I’m studying to become a doctor.”

Ye Xiu nodded looking at his lap, not trusting his voice to not make a squeaking noise. As a result, he wasn’t able to see the piercing glares the other brothers sent toward Zhang Xinjie nor the man’s smirk in response.

Zhang Xinjie went to sit at his place at the table and finally there were only two chairs left.

He heard the last two before he saw them.

“What’s wrong with you? Don’t you want to meet your new brother?” a growl came out from the other room.

“Hmph! What’s one more older brother when you already have eight?!!”

In came Han Wenqing dragging the youngest in by the collar. He was unceremoniously shoved into a chair, and the last one at the other head of the table was taken by Han Wenqing.

“Ye Xiu.” He was acknowledged by the oldest brother. He jerked his head toward the sulking blond. “That’s Sun Xiang. It’s nice to meet you, isn’t it xiao Xiang?”

“Yeah, yeah. Nice to meet you or whatever.”

“You are welcome in our family.”

Sun Xiang rolled his eyes.

“Thank you, gege.” He nodded his head toward the elder. “I’ve just been getting to know everyone a little bit.” He then excitedly addressed the question he had been keeping since the beginning. He was so happy to talk about his baby. “So I hear you all play Glory?”

Han Wenqing huffed a small laugh. “Play Glory? Oh we do much more than just play. What’s your username, didi?”

Ye Xiu smiled and tilted his head coyly (read: cutely). “One Autumn Leaf.”

Sun Xiang suddenly stood up, almost knocking over his chair in the process.

“You mean you’re the number one battle mage One Autumn Leaf, also known as the Battle God?!”

“The one and only. Also, I thought you didn’t play Glory?”

Sun Xiang sat back down and crossed his arms. “I- I don’t! I wouldn’t play even if I was paid to! It’s just ‘cause living in this house full of Glory geeks that I know!”

“Er… Okay then.”

Huang Shaotian was whisper yelling into Yu Wenzhou’s ear, “Oh My God! I can’t believe he’s hot and he’s a top tier Glory god! This is the best!”

Meanwhile, Han Wenqing’s eyes were sparkling with something like hunger. Or maybe lust.

“So we finally meet in person, One Autumn Leaf.”

“Do I know you? Are you on my friend list or something?”

Han Wenqing smirked.

“Desert Dust.”

“What?”

“I’m Desert Dust.”

“Wait. You mean my new elder brother is my so called “number one rival”?”

“Hey don’t forget me! I’m Troubling Rain!!”

“Swooksaar.”

“Vaccaria.”

“Life Extinguisher.”

“Immovable Rock.”

“Dazzling Hundred Blossoms!”

“… Cloud Piercer.”

“…F*ck. What kind of house is this?” Ye Xiu stared at the brothers, gaping. How could it be that all (minus one) of his new brothers were all gods?

“Come on, come on! Let’s PK! PKPKPK!!” Huang Shaotian burst out excitedly.

“Tournament style maybe? I’ll sit out though, since I’m a cleric,” suggested Zhang Xinjie.

“I’ll watch. N-not that I’m interested in the Battle God or anything! I just want to see you guys get pummeled!” exclaimed Sun Xiang.

Han Wenqing had gotten up from his chair and swiftly crossed the room to the other side of the table. He scooped up Ye Xiu, bridal style, with Ye Qiu still in his lap.

“W-wait! Put me down!” He wrapped his arms around the older man’s neck, hanging on for dear life.

“We settle this now. Don’t struggle.”

And Han Wenqing walked off carrying a blushing Ye Xiu leaving the others to follow behind.

Those competing looked at one another and nodded in silent agreement.

Whoever wins gets the first date with him.

[breakingdownsu]

A String of Pearls Chapter Ten

Continuing my burst of sudden free-time-having creativity, I bring you another chapter of this fic, as well as another spamming of my now-available-on-Amazon novel that I finally got finished and uploaded. The better I can do with my original work the more free time I'll have to work on both original and fanworks, so please excuse me for spamming the link. Also for a limited time, you can get it for free, I only ask that if you do get it for free that you leave an honest review after reading:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07BGSPPBY

And now, back to our somewhat regularly scheduled pearl-related shenanigans.

…..

Champion

It started as a joke. It was never meant to go so far.

The matches had been getting dull; the initial thrill of running something illegal right under the noses of Homeworld's higher ups ran out after a few dozen matches, and there were only so many times you could watch a big burly gem beat the stuffing out of another big burly gem before the shine wore off.

They had never had any problems sourcing the fighters; most of the time they were retired Jaspers looking for some action, or Amethysts stuck working boring jobs who missed out on breaking up riots and storming black market compounds. Occasionally a rogue Topaz or a collection of fused Rubies would join in just for flavour, but nine times out of ten the match was Jasper vs Amethyst.

The betting pool still brought in decent cash, but even the regular betters were getting tired of the same old thing. The Hematite running the operation was not a gem that tended to get stressed out, but this was worrying her. The betters were starting to drift away.

“I don't know, throw something in,” her companion Larimar had muttered after listening to her complain about it again and again. “Something they're not expecting. A pearl or something.”

Hematite stopped dead in her tracks.

A pearl?

A pearl had no chance of winning even if they wrapped it in protective layers and put an electron charge on it, but it would be something to see. Hematite knew there were certain subsections of Gem society that paid good money to see pearls destroyed. On a personal level she thought those gems were creeps, but their money was as good as anyone's.

“Yes, a pearl,” she mused out loud. “Why not? For the novelty....”

“Well, don't look at mine,” Larimar retorted, pulling her own pearl onto her lap. “I just had it redesigned.”

“Of course not,” Hematite scoffed. “I'm not going to use a good one. We can get some worn-out scrap from the black market, doll it up to look like new. The patrons won't know the difference.”

They found the 'worn-out scrap' two cycles later; it was a former barracks pearl, with its gem still miraculously intact. Hematite set Larimar up to make the pearl look as sweet and dainty as possible. She was given a redesign in shades of pink and aqua, her hair cut to a neat waifish bob and outfitted in a plain white frock with a single layer of ruffles on the edge. It looked harmless.

As expected, the first arena match of the night was sold out in parsecs, gems clamoured to see the pearl get smashed to pieces live and in person. Even the regular fighters begged to be the ones to do it; in the end Hematite chose a particularly large Jasper with deep battle scars to contrast the tiny pearl.

“Just...do your best,” Hematite said when the pearl asked what her orders were.

The fight started, and it looked like it would be over in parsecs when the Jasper swung an enormous hammer down on the pearl.

Except the pearl dodged out of the way, nimbly ran up the handle of the hammer and the Jasper's arm and drove a loose screw she had found somewhere into the Jasper's eye. The Jasper howled, pulled away, and the pearl swung around her head to the back of her neck and drove the screw in there.

The audience were silent, too dumbstruck to comprehend what they were seeing.

Once the Jasper's spine had been immobilized and she collapsed to the ground, the pearl dropped neatly to the floor, managed to pick up the hammer and brought it down on the Jasper's head, hitting her gem dead one.

Boom. The match was over.

Hematite couldn't find a single word. The pearl stood in the middle of the arena, in the dust of her conquered foe, waiting for instructions. The audience mumbled and stared. They had paid good money to see the pearl destroyed, but this was so unexpected they just didn't know how to react.

“Well, it looks like we have a winner,” Larimar said at last, striding with (fake) confidence and holding up the pearl's skinny little arm in victory.

For the next few cycles, as they wrestled with themselves over what to do, the pearl sat in a corner with Larimar's pearl, calmly waiting for more orders.

“It was a fluke,” Larimar hissed for what seemed like the hundredth time. “They are not made for fighting, for Core's sake! I slapped mine the other day and she fell over! It was just a defective Jasper.”

“That Jasper won fifteen matches,” Hematite hissed back.

“Well, then, she must have taken damage,” Larimar retorted. “That hammer wasn't as solid as it should have been, otherwise the pearl would never have been able to lift it. She was on the verge of crumbling anyway and just didn't have the decency to say it to you.”

Reluctantly, they staged another match. This time, they chose an Amethyst who was relatively new to the arena, and proven to be strong.

Her strength didn't matter in the end; the pearl prised a long shred of metal from the fence and dug it in behind the Amethyst's gem, snapping it in two.

When they sent another Jasper in afterwards, the pearl managed to break both of its arms by dodging her throws at the last minute, then stepped neatly on her windpipe and kicked her gem until it was destroyed.

The audience were morbidly fascinated, and it kept them coming back every time. No matter who the pearl was set up against, she always managed to find a way to kill them.

Not beat. Kill.

Even in the roughest matches before the introduction of the pearl, a gem shattering was a rare occurrence. The loser usually yielded when they felt their lives were in danger, but going up against the pearl meant they had no time to yield.

It was frightening, too, how the pearl always managed to find something to turn into a weapon. Even when they removed as much debris from the arena as possible she found something; a piece of the flooring, a chunk of concrete, a shoe thrown by an audience member, even her own severed arm. Her preferred technique, it seemed, was the opponent gem's own manifested weapon.

She had no shortage of opponents. Hematite had worried that the pearl's vicious track record would stop other gems from wanting to fight her, but it had actually become a matter of pride for the fighting gems to be the one to finish her off. They died in their tens, and then twenties, and after a time in their hundreds.

Rumours were spread that the pearl was infected with a zoatox, and it still didn't stop gems wanting to fight or audiences wanting to watch. Hematite desperately wanted to end the matches and have the pearl liquidated but the proceeds made up so much of her income now that she couldn't afford it.

At the end of every match, she had to bring the pearl back to her home, perch it in the corner with Larimar's pearl, and hope that the pearl had decided not to target her.

Sister, you are doing well. Are you happy?

I am quite happy. Many are gone. I shall destroy many more.

Why did you do this? You said you wanted your gem destroyed. You gave me your memories.

She told me to do my best. And so I did.

…..

Distracted

It was a bad idea to bring a pearl with them. That's what they had been told, even though they all spluttered and insisted that they didn't have a pearl, it was against the rules.

(They did, of course. She was under the floorboards.)

The cycle before they were due to leave, five of them individually had the idea to take her out of hiding and stow her in the pipes of the ship. They happened to bump into each other on the way to get her, and swore each other to secrecy. The pearl, for her part, amiably crouched in the pipe for the entire journey with no more damage than a face full of soot upon landing.

The planet was meant to be mostly unoccupied. A handful of zoatoxes, that was what they had been told. When they were rushed, Jasper 72-BF panicked, grabbed the pearl and ran for her life. Somehow, they managed to get away.

Jasper co-ordinated with some of the others that had gotten away, but they were deep in zoatox territory now with no hope of getting out. The ship was overrun and they were a long way from the nearest warp pad.

“We go in shield formation,” the defacto leader told them grimly. “Everyone takes a turn on the outside, no exceptions.”

“What about the pearl?” Jasper 72-BF asked.

“Doesn't count,” the leader spat.

So they proceeded in shield formation, the main body of the group surrounded by the shield Jaspers looking every way possible for danger, and the pearl skipping nonchalantly three paces behind them. When they did trigger a nest awakening, the pearl moved out of the way to let them fight, as ordered.

Three cycles in, they were down to just seven individuals, worn out and wounded. The warp pad was still a good distance away.

“I don't think I can do this any more,” Jasper 72-BF mumbled, more to herself than anyone listening. “Just shatter my gem now. It's better than being taken by those things.”

The other gems groaned in agreement. Their leader had been taken during the last attack and their morale had been taken with her.

“Excuse me?”

The pearl's melodious trill was incongruous to their surroundings and their situation, so at first they thought they had imagined it. Some of them had even forgotten the pearl was still there, unharmed.

“Um...I think I can help? If you need it,” she insisted.

The Jaspers gaped at her. The pearl rarely spoke unless spoken to, and even then not much beyond stroking someone's ego or agreeing with something.

“Okay, whatever,” Jasper 72-BF muttered, sinking to the ground. “Let's hear it.”

“Zoatoxes are not interested in pearls, and I can communicate with them. I can lead them away from you if you like.”

The Jaspers looked at each other in stunned silence. This was an option?

“Why didn't you say anything before?” one of them finally asked.

“Jasper 46-BF ordered me to stay silent. She is gone now, and the order is nullified.”

That made an awful sort of sense. To think, they'd had a way out of this mess the whole time but one of them had screwed it up by throwing her weight around. Typical.

“Okay, sounds good to me,” Jasper 72-BF admitted. “I'm willing to try anything. But what happens if you lead them away and we get to the warp pad without you?”

“You leave me here,” the pearl shrugged. “I will be fine.”

They didn't like it, but it was better than nothing.

They continued in shield formation, but this time the pearl walked ahead of them, gesturing back for them to stop when she had located a hive. They watched from a safe distance as she made some odd movements with her limbs, and to their astonishment the zoatox got up and left.

“How did you do that?” Jasper 72-BF whispered when she got a chance.

“Pearl gesture-speak and zoatox language are very similar,” the pearl replied.

Pearls have their own language?

They located the warp pad, and as expected it was crawling with zoatox. The pearl readied herself to go to them, but before she did she gave Jasper 72-BF a small object made of cloth.

“Please give this to the next pearl you own,” she said, and then she was gone.

They warped out as soon as the last zoatox clattered away, landing to answer hundreds of questions about the planet, the infestation and how they had managed to survive. They explained about the pearl but it was laughed off as impossible, and they were all determined to be suffering from 'zoa-pox', the madness that usually hit after encountering the zoatox.

A new pearl was illicitly purchased for the remainder of the squadron, and on Jasper 72-BF's first night with her she gave her the little object.

“What is it?” she asked curiously, still thinking of the pearl wandering around alone on that planet surrounded by zoatox and shuddering.

“It is for pearls to know,” the new pearl answered, and no more was said.