#i have a wound on my face from picking at a pimple and now it's bad because I keep picking at it. augghhgg stop it

[trial-by-yuri]

when picking at a scab makes it bleed instead of just making the wound disappear

[lavendertownfreak]

Impidimp Update

I didn’t find an Impidimp, but I DID find and Catch its evolution Morgrem. In related news, I had to stop by a hospital in Hammerlock because the mfer got me with the hair-spear. It hurt like a mother fucker, but was but a flesh wound. Got it checked and left. I’ll be fine, wasn’t even bleeding really, but did need stitches. For reference, fucker stabbed out at me from the brush. Honestly, I respect it.

I’ll now use this opportunity to give a little team update! (Epsilon is being omitted because neither of us have caught them)

My Team:

Suki is still herself. She did get REALLY concerned after I caught the Morgrem though, due to her seeing the wound.

Nature: Quirky

Ability: Filter

Moves: Frost Breath/Psybeam/Teeter Dance/Shadow Ball

Crawler is still a giant sleepyhead. Hell, couple of random trainers we encountered on the way up to the Mushroom Forest commented on how he’s the chillest Drednaw they’ve ever seen! The biggest difference between him before and him now is that he’s the about size of the coffee table back at our place.

Nature: Lax

Ability: Strong Jaw

Moves: Crunch/Razor Shell/Counter/Ice Fang

Brownie is still a joyful little goober. She’s very playful with everyone while still being protective to us (or at least attempting to given how she’s a Rockruff). She still gets on really well with Suki and Crawler, and has really gotten close with Baron.

Nature: Jolly

Ability: Vital Spirit

Moves: Howl/Rock Throw/Mud Slap/Bite

Baron has definitely let up on the edgy loner thing he had going on, though he’s still cautious of newer faces. He’s also still a bit of a dick, but that’s fine.

Nature: Lonely

Ability: Gluttony

Moves: Night Slash/Pin Missile/Counter/Headbutt

Pimple is a greedy little asshole, but like, in a kinda endearing way. They also bites a lot. Trying to get them to stop. (I’m use neutral pronouns for Pimple because I still haven’t gotten around to figuring out their sex, though they don’t seem to mind them so I may just keep referring to Pimple gender neutrally.) They like eating and trying to egg on Baron into fights. I’m also trying to get them to stop doing that.

Nature: Naughty

Ability: Hunger Switch (obviously)

Moves: Bite/Flatter

The new Morgrem I’ve named Gaz Drek. Idk why, just felt like it. I haven’t had Gaz out to much, but he seem like a mischievous and also prideful type. He have definitely shown a habit of lashing out when he gets agitated, which is concerning. Trying to calm his short fuse at least a bit.

Nature: Rash

Ability: Frisk

Moves: Fake Out/False Surrender/Swagger/Sucker Punch

Then there is Vi’s team:

Mari is her usual playful and kind self. She’s very chill (no pun intended). Pretty protective though. She’s also got some fun sass on her. She kinda reminds me of Vi’s sister now that I’ve met her lol.

Nature: Sassy

Ability: Curse Body

Moves: Destiny Bond/Hex/Ice Beam/Will-O-Wisp

Hexed is a little clingy baby. We love him. Mari has basically taken the little dragon under her wing, and it’s really cute! Little guy really likes battling, but isn’t very good at it due to how incredibly baby he is. He’s trying his best!

Nature: Jolly

Ability: Infiltrator

Moves: Curse/Infestation/Quick Attack/Disable

Vi is honestly not the type I’d really expect to pick up a Stonjourner, but alas Stanley is here! Stanley is… honestly the best way I can sum him up is that he’s just… Stanley. He’s definitely friendly, and tries his best to be helpful, but that’s all I can really put into words about Stanley. Honestly, this living pile of rocks kinda radiates himbo energy and I’m here for it.

Nature: Gentle

Ability: Power Spot (obviously)

Moves: Gravity/Rock Slide/Wide Guard/Low Kick

Fun trivia fact! Vi DOES NOT have an actual Rotom Phone! Turns out her “Rotom Phone” was actually one of those Porygon Phones that a wild Rotom decided to take over (we were under the impression it was just a really old model). We figured this out when we had to go to a fuckin shop in… Motostoke I think is the place’s name? The cool steam powered city. Anyway, we had to stop by because her phone was refusing to unlock. When we got there, they employee who helped us very kindly explained the situation, and even let Vi keep the Rotom after catching it to get it out the device. (The problem was that the Rotom apparently took over the unlocking function and completely forgot it did.) So now Vi has Siri the Rotom! He’s a playful (if shy) little guy! Makes me kinda wish I could get the Rotom in my phone (but you know, those Rotoms are technically owned by the phone company…)! So yeah! Rotom! (Siri still usually chills in Vi’s phone.)

Nature: Bashful

Ability: Levitate (obviously)

Moves: Discharge/Hex/Thunder Wave/Synchronoise (Foul Play)

So yeah.

//ooc: Enter the Electric/Psychic Rotom-Com. It's a Porygon Phone, but showing the traces of being under Rotom Control. Unfortunatly, you have to deal with Synchronoise as you move.

[jawllines]

“You’re really gonna go in there?” Y/N queries gently, and Harry only nods his head in response, reaching for the door handle. An urgent, delicate touch of Y/N’s hand startles him, looping around his wrist and dragging his attention toward her, “Shouldn’t we have a game plan if something is behind the door?” She asks, her hold on him tightening just a little, and Harry notes how soft her palm feels against his skin, “Like, let’s say we open the door and a behemoth is standing there, what do we do?”

“The only behemoth that could fit in this tiny room is the band from Poland, Babe, and I reckon they have better things to do on a Thursday night,” he retorts, clenching around the knob and tilting it down, “Now unless you want to hold hands in there. . .”

She lets go before he can finish, and he doesn’t have to look back at her face to know she’s irate. A small smile quirks at his mouth as he pushes his shoulder against the heavy door to aid him opening it, bracing himself to see something potentially horrid. . .

And there’s nothing.

or

Harry and Y/N are witches, they hate each other, and something’s coming

19K+ words

(A/N: Hiii!! So, I’ll be honest I know absolutely nothing about real witches at all, so what is in this story is not fact! it’s just an AU and doesn’t speak toward any of my real witches out there unless i accidentally got some things right. Happy reading, I really liked writing these guys I hope you like them just as much!!)

i.

It was dark. 

Both in the state of the sky and the feeling that slithered through Y/N’s body while she tended to the Brugmansia finally flowering in her garden. The shift in the air could have easily been inculpated by the cool breeze that blew past her face, shepherding clouds thick and heavy with autumn rain, but Y/N knew better than that. Those feelings typically bring her peace; the rattle of thunder soothes her aching bones while fat drops paint the pavement, wet the dirt to mud, and feed the drying grass.

This feeling made her bones rattle. It crawled beneath her skin like billions of tiny beetles unearthed within her vessels; her stomach churned, her shoulders were weighed down, there was a gnawing pain at her temples, so fierce she held her hand to them. The cold brass of her ring cools her heated skin. This feeling was vile, it was awful, for fuck sake what was causing it? 

She stood from her crouched position and slid back into her store. Technically, she’d closed about three hours prior so she should have been home well by now, but when she’d finally gathered her things in her duffle at 12, she looked out the back window and noticed some of her moonflowers had begun to bloom. There was a small part of her that had been reluctant to step outside at all, but she needed to greet them and water them, no matter the odd, unfamiliar troubling sense that had initially confused her. She ignored it -- she thought maybe she was just nervous to say hi to them, sometimes she was. 

(Flowers and plants hold a special connection with their caretaker, from a tiny seed to a flourishing garden, they place their lives in the care of the earth or a human. If not properly nursed, their wilted petals appear so quickly, a silent plea for water, or sun, or even a little attention -- Y/N found that plants liked a little attention. That’s why she spoke to them, she cooed and gave them well-wishes when she left them alone. They felt just a part of her family as any blood relative had, from the moment she had sliced the tip of her finger in a torn brush and the petal she’d touched afterward fused together her tiny wound. Her nan had always told her that maybe she was a bit closer to plants than others were, so she probably shouldn’t share this with kids in her class because they might be jealous of her (Y/N knows now her nan just didn’t want her getting picked on.) 

It was clear to her now that this feeling was a bit more than that when her goose pimples sunk back into her skin after stepping into the warmth of her store. Though it was not just because she had been keeping her shop pleasantly warm as the nights grow colder and longer; she kept herself protected in here. In between these walls lied a sanctitude that kept all evil out, in all manners, of all species, besides two. 

One of which is her bunny, Thumper, who in all ways but emotionally was her familiar. He was a ghostly white Holland lop, with big dopey ears that she slid her fingers beneath and flipped up and down in spare moments. She accuses him of being evil because he’s always nipping at her fingertips, demanding food with a stomp of his foot, and gives the silent threat that he’ll nibble on her plants if she really pisses him off (he stands by them, twitches his little nose and shows his two front teeth until she gives him what he wants -- it’s usually more hay). He’s nothing but a little, greedy nuisance that showed up on her step one day and hadn’t left since.

The other. . .well, the other was Harry Styles. 

Y/N liked most witches, no matter their point of interest. She knew that there could be a certain level of distrust amongst the syndicate -- hexes, and curses placed upon one another, but she tried to stay out of that -- she held no disfavor toward most of the others either. Everyone connected with things very differently, what she may connect with might not be that of what her neighbor connected with and that was okay. Her nan’s emotions had been in accord with the sea, and even though Y/N spent most of her life fearing water, she bore no judgment. 

What she does is done in the mind of good favor, of bettering oneself with the world around them in a way that would beneficial to not only them but the people in their lives. Open up otherwise closed eyes to the beauty of the spirit and soul they possess, and the beauty and soul that the world around them held. The town she had moved to at 20 was so rich in natural beauty, ponderosa pine and hemlock trees grew tall in an extensive, juniper green forest almost always clouded with thick fog, the soil was soft and fertile, the air was crisp and clean. She felt happy here and wanted the others around her to recognize how lucky they were to be in an area so free of sordidity. 

There was an empty shop up the brick road of the older part of town, that had been crowded in cobwebs, leaves that had blown in from the broken window, and animal droppings. Her nan came to help her clean it up (her mum had too, but she was dog tired after her workweek so spent most of the visit asleep on Y/N’s couch), and did something short of absolving the land so that she could grow a garden behind the store, in the clearing of 200 or so meters before it meets the mouth of the forest. She sold herbs, people came to her for intricate, meaningful bouquets with flowers that could not be found in just any store (and she was good to her plants, so if she asked very kindly, and sent them with a packet that produced a very special brew when dumped in the water, they would live very, very, suspiciously long), plants that would liberate people of their aches and pains so long as they tended to them, journals of reused paper, scrubs, oils. . .there were many things. She offered classes too, to help people learn how to better cater to their flowers.

That had been a year ago, so she was still finding her footing, but not six months into this happy reality she had created for herself, Harry Styles had come to town. It took nothing but a few minutes of coming to contact with him that he was a bad apple, and when the once sweet-tempered town had begun mottling with dark splotches, she knew for sure. Harry was like her, but his book of shadows had pages filled with wicked words of revenge, conjuring demons and letting them wreak havoc. His business was more under the cuff -- he posed as a writer who needed a scenery change for his work, but Y/N knew it had to be more than that -- but he did his bidding in the night, seeding through clubs, in alleyways, in the forest. . .if someone knew about Harry, it was because they knew a guy who knows a guy. 

And for some reason, unbeknownst to her, he refused to leave her be. 

This is why it almost makes sense that the bell of her store would jingle brightly no matter the fact she’d locked the doors hours ago, and her attention would be brought to the pest himself. He wore a sweater that threatened to swallow him whole, and baggy, holey jeans he rolled at the cuff showing off his bat printed socks, stuffed into grandpa-Esque loafers. The necklace he always wears around his neck (a small pendant that she had never gotten close enough to make out) is sat atop of his sweater today rather than hidden beneath it as it usually is. His hair is getting longer, more unruly with his warm brown curls than it had been when she first met him -- she really hadn’t known he’d had curly hair until the more recent months when it had started growing out. 

His eyes were always the same soft, crystal green that matched his character none, and a pawky smirk on his mouth as he dragged his fingers along the lavender jars placed on her shelves, “Shouldn’t you be home by now? I figure it’s past your bedtime.” He leans down like he is about to pick something up, and when Y/N peers over the counter, she sees him slide his hand beneath Thumper’s soft white belly and pull him up to his chest. That was another indicator that Harry was just no good -- he was the only human that he liked, and the little creatine didn’t even like her. 

“Shouldn’t you?” She flips it, continuing to gather her things so she could head home for the night.

“You know these are my typical hours, Babe -- everyone wants to curse someone at 1 AM, there was a study done in the east end.” He pets between Thumper’s ears as he sets him down on the counter beside the cash register, before he reaches out for the wooden crafted incense burners, “Have these cheap little things been selling any?” 

“Piss off,” she stuffs her phone into her purse, then flips through her things to make sure her wallet was tucked in there as well, “What do you want, Harry? I’m about to go home, if you wanted to come around to bother me you should have hours ago.”

Harry feigns a gasp like he does any time she curses, “Thought good little witches didn’t have such foul tongues?” He flicks the candle jar on her counter, an apple scent had been melting around the wick for the better half of the day, “I don’t want anything in particular, just passing through. You know you’re right in the way of the forest, don’t you? S’kinda of obnoxious when you’re trying to summon imps at the cave -- they hate the bloody “stench” of the flowers.” 

“Good,” she retorts, “You shouldn’t be summoning around here anyway, this area’s off-limits.”

It was barely an agreement but still an agreement nonetheless -- if Harry left her be, she would leave him be because Y/N wasn’t an idiot. If he wanted a fight, Harry could start one and he would fight dirty. All she asks him is to stay away from her store and her flat, and to keep away from certain areas of the forest where the soil was always soft -- in return, he would do his activities, sometimes he would need her flowers for different spells and she would turn a blind eye to what he was doing. She does a few gentle protection spells here and there but otherwise, he’s a free man to do as he pleases, just so long as he respects her request. He’d seemed perturbed by the conditions none -- had even chuckled and said as long as he let her keep her “pretty little flowers” he could get away with murder. 

A heavy, weary sigh leaves him, “Yes, I’m well aware,” he rolled his eyes before crossing his arms on top of the counter and tucking his face in his elbow,  “Gimme a moment though, it’s warm in here and I was freezing outside.” He muffles into his sweater. 

Y/N had almost forgotten what she had felt prior to coming back inside, but his words bring it clearly to the forefront of her mind once more. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, hearing the floorboards creak beneath her as she wondered if he’d felt it too. It couldn’t have been him -- no, he was powerful but by no means powerful enough to conjure up something like that. And she’d like to ask him, but Harry has never been someone who took her seriously -- he would just make a joke of it, probably, or tease her. It wouldn’t be worth asking. 

But the feeling that she’d gotten is chewing on her memory, so she asks anyway, “Hey,” she began and the only indication that he was listening to her is the fact his fingers stopped tapping against the wood beneath them, “Did you. . .when you were outside, did you feel that?” 

He picks his head up from the crevice of his arm, “You’re gonna have to be a bit more descriptive than ‘that’,” his brows are raised as he continues, “Are you talking about the new pleasant but cold breeze we’ve gained for autumn, or the gut-twisting odious one?” 

Y/N looks at him impassively, “The latter, idiot.” 

“Yeah, I felt it,” he ignores her insult, “What about it?” 

The skin between her brows pinches, “Are you not concerned? It felt. . .bad,” she couldn’t think of a better word to describe it, “I didn’t like it at all.” 

“Are you scared?” There is delight swimming in Harry’s gaze as he stands up straighter, “Don’t tell me Glinda the Good Witch herself is scared of a little frightening feeling? I thought you were tough as nails and all that, hm?” 

“Never mind, forget I even brought it up,” she tried to dismiss it, as she slings her purse over her shoulder and plucks Thumper up to sit him in the cradle of her arms -- she knew better than to ask him like she might get any comfort at all from his words. 

He steps up and in front of her before she could start toward the door, “Oi, listen scaredy-cat, I don’t know if you’re aware but I deal with shite like this all the time, which means I’ve got a few banishments spells up my sleeve. If it’s really something that awful, I’ll cast it back to hell, easy as that.” Harry follows close behind her as she exits the door, feeling the same shiver of fear slither through her body, “I do want to see what it wants first though.” 

“Of course you do,” she utters in disappointment, “Just keep it away from my garden, please.” 

“I’ll try,” he tells her just as she reaches her car before he dips into his pocket and reveals that he’d stolen a baggy of chamomile, “If I didn’t keep your precious garden safe, then I wouldn’t have anywhere to get enchanted chamomile, and it works lovely in a sleepy time tea, I’ll tell you that -- your lavender is shit though. Never puts me to sleep like it ought to.” 

She pops open her car door, “Stop taking stuff from the store, or I’ll start lacing it with laxatives.” 

“While you’re doing that, won’t you plant them Clathrus mushrooms? I reckon the imps would prefer them way more than the mums.” He looks serious -- not a trace of a joke laced in his features and somehow that leaves Y/N more irritated than if he were laughing at her as he spoke. 

Her response is blunt, “No.” 

“Listen --”

“Harry, I’m not going to plant mushrooms for the damn imps!” 

                                                         .                             .                          .

When Y/N had met Harry, she was angry. 

She had never been a very angry person. Seldom has someone or something truly has gotten so deeply beneath her skin that she felt the need to yell or grump about it -- mild irritation was never off the table, but true, unadulterated wrath and resentment? It was rare she ever felt the need to even make a snide comment. And that wasn’t to say she was better than anyone else, she was just mild-tempered and forbearing. . .it took a little more than a remark or two to make her angry.

But when she was angry, she was an amalgamation of vexation and fire, and there was no surer way to disrupt her peaceful demeanor than to compromise her flowers. 

The day had been uneventful up to that point. It’d been a week since Harry had moved into town and Y/N was surely feeling the negativity that followed in his wake, but she was focusing on maintaining the tranquil, idyllic environment that she had around her previous. As much as she would have loved to seek him out, ready to squabble, tell him off for bringing any dark energy into such a calm place -- she had to come at it pragmatically. She and her friend Niall (who wasn’t a witch but knew about her) had both agreed that while it was aggravating, they didn’t know him. They did not understand the depth of his power, or what he was here for, nor had they understood wholly what he was capable of. Y/N had felt his presence, but Niall had confirmed it after hearing the underground chatter of a dark witch who made promises to turn glitter to gold. 

She was on her way to her store. Though she was closed on weekends, she always went by to check on the flowers, water them, tell them about her day, and with her was Thumper who would be hopping around the grassy field and gnawing on the blades. It was very peaceful -- the time she spent with her plants -- so she always looked forward to it, but that day she was filled with trepidation as she parked her car. Something was off. . .not in the air, but with her flowers -- she could feel it deep in her marrow that they were in pain. 

So she huffed it to the back of the store, and there she found Harry, two of her purple vervains nestled against his palm. He noticed her before she could even think to say anything, and something short of relief had flushed through him, “Oh thank fuck, you’re here,” he sighs, referencing her garden with a wave of his hands, “I cannot for the life of me remember what hazel looks like.” 

“What the hell are you doing?” Y/N demanded, stomping toward him, but instead of shoving him to the ground like she wanted to, she dropped to her knees and caressed the remaining vervain, “Why would you pluck them like that? They aren’t ready!” 

“Ready? They’ve flowered haven’t they?” His brows had been tilted while his mouth dipped in a frown, “I need them for an incantation, figured you wouldn’t mind if I borrowed these two. Aren’t we meant to help each other out?”

 “You should have asked, you prick,” she pointed up at him, “And even if you had, I would have said no. I don’t know what you’re doing here, but you’re really disturbing an otherwise pleasant place. I wish you would leave.’ 

Harry feigned hurt, placing a hand to his chest, “You wound me,” he mocks her, “Listen Glinda Good Witch, we all gotta get by somehow, yeah? Not all of us talk to plants or whatever it is you do. So do you want me to pay or --” 

“Those won’t work for whatever it is you’re trying to do,” she cut him off, “If it’s something with cruel intent, it won’t happen -- they were grown to do good.” 

“Which is exactly why I needed them from you,” he wiggles them in her direction, “Well, I need to get going. You’re awful in particular about a garden that is subpar at best. Wish you well, see you later.” 

Then he left. No guilt, no apology -- he just up and left, and Y/N was livid. 

(Later that night when she had explained the situation to Niall, he was nothing short of outraged, so they had tried to find out more about Harry. Anything about him, really, but he leaves a very little paper trail in his endeavors -- from public records they find that he’s 25 and from Holmes Chapel, and from a google search they find he has two books out, published online, and doing decently well. There was nothing else apart from that, he kept his socials pretty dry, and what he did post was nonsensical drivel.)

Y/N thinks about this, as she sinks into her tub, the burning water scalding against her skin. Harry had always driven her mad but he has never seemed half as angry as she was -- hell if anything he always seemed like he enjoyed it. 

He was just absolutely rotten. 

                                                           .                                  .                           .

Harry thinks Y/N is just absolutely rotten. 

There were many reasons that he had classified her as such, but namely what he was concerned about now was how she kept her shop closed on the weekends. 

Who kept their store closed the entire bloody weekend?

It wasn’t so much that he wanted to see her -- Harry actually found the girl quite plaguy. Her opinions on his practice were priggish, not unlike the others like them he had met in the past. There has always been an unfaltering stigma that was carried with what he did, one that was quite hard to shake within the factions of other witches that are sprinkled across the world. He’s seen as careless, cruel, greedy, and selfish -- he doesn’t practice magic for the love of the world around him, to feel a deeper, spiritual connection with the fecund soil that covered the earth, or with the water gently slipping past rocks along a stream bank. They look at him and see someone who shakes hands with the devil and ruins lives for a cookie. 

Harry lets them think as they wish, he has no patience to attempt correcting them. If they’d bothered to learn an inch about him at all before passing their judgment then they would have a clue about his true character, but the jury had already made the decision before Harry even realized he was on trial. They never really wanted to give Harry a chance, so he knew he would be hated no matter where he decided to reside. The pack mentality that they carry is the reason he has to move around so often though (more than any 25 years old was typically doing) he gets run out of a lot of areas because a group of soft witches decides he’s no good. 

That’s what drew him to this place -- there was practically nobody. He could sense when there were more like him loitering around an area, and made an effort to keep a decently low profile so that he could stay around longer (but they always managed to find him), but here, he only sensed one. That had been good enough for him to know this was the right move -- the beautiful scenery surrounding them; the soft bed of dirt that Harry’s feet would sink into easily; the dense, damp fog that covered the forest floor in the early mornings; the lush, green trees and how life seemed to remain there when it was meant to be waning in the colder months -- all of that, had only been a plus. 

When he’d met Y/N, he knew that she disliked him, but Harry had expected as much so it disturbed him none. If anything, he was delighted to have a purer witch than himself around, all things considered. There were no others that she could develop a hive mind with to drive him out of town, but she was no competition to the businesses that he provided, and when a decoction called for an obscure plant or an unsullied petal -- well, a Garden witch was not the worst kind to have nearby. She may be devout in her notions that Harry was a disagreeable, repugnant being, but she was good at what she did. Anything done with her plants was twice as effective as any other person’s flowers he’d used in the past, so it was necessary he bothered her often. 

She refused to sell to him -- something about her doing business with a demon, or whatever she’d said -- but so long as he doesn’t go and cut them from the stem himself, she helps him out. Will give him the plants he needs, and in return, he doesn’t taint certain areas of the town and the forest that she declared were off-limits. It was a spoken commercial agreement that both of them went by and because of it, their lives near to one another were comparatively peaceful to any other situation Harry has found him in prior. 

That didn’t come without its faults. They butt heads often, their bickering is nonstop, and Harry could think of many things he would rather do than have to stay in a room with her for longer than the ten minutes it takes him to get what he needs. It was fun to fluster her -- getting beneath her skin was an easy feat that he found a lot of joy in, and sometimes she gave him a run for his money. He always kind of liked making a normally mild-tempered person grump at him a little, if not for his impish ways, then so he could get to know them as their full self. 

So he wasn’t mad that she was closed because he particularly wanted to see her, no, he was mad because he was exhausted. Absolutely drained. The business was incredible when you’re the only dark witch willing to do some questionable, immoral things, but that also meant long nights and incredible emotional toil -- it wasn’t a walk in the park to conjure up a bloody demon! 

Ever since Harry had started this path, he’d had immense trouble sleeping at appropriate times, if he could fall asleep at all. He guesses this was what he gets in return for what he practices, and it could be worse so he doesn’t mind it too much, but it was still a hassle. It had been a good four years since Harry just had a good, peaceful night of sleep. 

Up until he had moved here, of course, because the same little garden witch that thought he was the devil incarnate, made a tea he could brew that set him right to sleep. Kept him asleep the entire night too, which had always been an impossible endeavor spanning back to when he was a child, but there was something about her chamomile -- hell, it really knocked him out. 

He tested his theory -- part of him thought that maybe chamomile was suddenly working for him, but no matter the brand that he tried, or the amount of tea he drank, none of it could compare to what Y/N’s did. When he visited her store, he took what he could to hold him off to the next time he came by. He hadn’t realized how low he was though when he had seen her last and she threatened to lace it with laxatives -- he should have taken two because he used his last bit the night prior to the one he’s suffering through right now. 

And he could have gotten more this morning if she didn’t close her stupid shop on weekends!

If Harry were not positive that he needed to rest, he wouldn’t bother to be trying. There was nothing worse to him than the laying in his bed and waiting for sleep that refused to come...it felt like he was being stood up by a date. It hasn’t happened often, but enough that Harry could match the feeling low in his stomach, indicative of discontent and sadness while he waited. . . . .and waited. . . .and waited. . . .and waited. 

It was useless -- the universe’s retribution for summoning spirits to the living world left him with what a doctor might diagnose as chronic insomnia, but none of the treatments did him any good. No mortal medicinal could soothe him of this ailment. So one would think he would be smarter about keeping a hearty stock of it at his disposal rather than one at a time, but Harry never claimed to be the best at planning ahead. 

And now here he was, staring at his ceiling fan whirl, his cat at his side while he contemplated if breaking and entering her shop was against his morals (he had a few left, surprisingly). 

God, she was so rotten! 

                                               .                                     .                                 .

“Have you felt weird lately?” 

“Hm?” Niall’s face scrunches up in confusion, his mouth stuffed full of noodles he just slurpped into his mouth, “Wha’ d’ya mean?” He muffles out, reaching over to her side of the table for a napkin to dab at the corners of his mouth.

The record store that Niall worked at wasn’t too far from Y/N’s shop so if her day wasn’t too busy, she would step away from the store for her lunch break and seek him out. It was never a planned ordeal; Y/N would stop off somewhere to get them something to eat and appear at his storefront, the sharp ding of the bell knotted on the door alerted him of her presence. He was always one of two places: in the back, tuning the old guitars the owner would bid on different websites, or he was in the front thumbing through the record baskets, organizing and reorganizing them by name. Sometimes he would be sat behind the counter, with his feet kicked up just beside the register but Y/N scolds him for that (he’s always wearing a dingy, scuffed pair of shoes that have no business seeing the light of day, let alone be shown off to others). 

His head would perk up, he would look toward the door, and his face would bloom into one of sheer delight as he would call over to her, “Oh, thank fuck! Thought I would go crazy if I had to listen to myself think for one more second.” 

Today was no different. She brought him ramen from the place three buildings down from his own, where she bends down a street that feels more like an alleyway and the door is hidden beneath a brassy fire escape. The owners were always very kind to her, and since she came often and tipped well, they would give her free bowls if they were in the mood. Y/N never liked the idea of a one-sided relationship with a business, so she always brought them herbs, and gardenias to plant at home (they were the husband’s favorite). She takes their fliers and posts them up in high traffic areas too, and when they have their business cards made and an extra hundred or so, she slips them in the paper baggies that she gathers her customer’s things in before sending them on their way. 

Niall was grateful. He did a little cheer, left his spot from behind the counter, and urged her to follow him to the back where the break room was located (if a customer came around he would hear the bell and duck his head out to greet them, but for the most part their Tuesdays were pretty uneventful). He told her he had sensed her coming so he already had two stools set out for them to sit on, and napkins placed in the middle of the table, but she’s almost a hundred percent sure they had been left like that last time she was here. 

Try as she might to let her mind flee from the dark, hazed feeling that had overcome her last week, she couldn’t. Even as she listened to Niall prattle about some Gibson Les Paul custom that the owner purchased a while back, she struggled not to wonder what it was that was worming itself into her brain; slick tendrils of dismay overcame her. The true, unadulterated, execrable feeling only truly hits her in the night if she is outside the safety of her home or her shop, but otherwise, it was memories of this haunting aura that struck her throughout the day.

She couldn’t place her finger on it though, what it could be. There are feelings she garners when Harry summons certain spirits, but she can typically tell when he’s doing that, and they’ve never felt so. . .evil, before. What Harry deals with is evil, sure, but this was so smothered in turpitude that she couldn’t make it out. Like spilling black ink over a letter written in blue. 

That’s why she asks Niall -- it feels too strong for it to be something only felt by her and Harry. It would also soothe her mind if someone had felt it as horribly and heavily as she did, considering it wasn’t affecting Harry enough that he would try to banish the damn thing before things went sour. 

“Like, do things just not feel. . .off, to you?” She didn’t want to feed him any impressions of what she might be speaking about -- she would like to know if it were true to him. Niall is sweet as he could be, but not always when it was appropriate; he would tell her he did just to spare her from feeling foolish. It’s why she thought berets were her thing for about a month when really she looked like a washed-up indie artist trying too hard (Niall had agreed they weren’t her best fashion venture, but he certainly didn’t think they were that bad). 

His face contorts in a pout as he mulls it over in his head, stabbing his fork into the noodles and catching a bit of pork on two of the pronks, “Hm, let’s see. . .” he looks like he’s spinning through a Rolodex, “I have not for the life of me mustered enough energy to have a wank in about a week, that’s some cause for concern,” when she responds with a blank stare, he holds his hands up, “Okay, fine -- Butternut was biting at the air when I took him on his walk the other night -- like. . .chomping at it, I was actually gonna ask you what that might be about.”  

Now, don’t get Y/N wrong, any other time Niall would have told her that his great Pyrenees puppy was yapping and chomping at the wind, she would have brushed it off. “Niall, you’re just going to have to accept that he’s going to be a big, sweet dummy when he’s older.” But she was so desperate for something, anything -- because if something felt it other than she and Harry, then she wouldn’t feel quite as crazy. 

“Sometimes it feels a bit like something’s watching me,” he tacks on at the end, taking the brown napkin from the stack in between them and dabs roughly at his mouth, “At night, when I’m walking Butternut, I get these chills but there’s no wind around.” 

Y/N leans forward, thankful, “Yeah?” she presses, “Is it like -- describe it. What does it feel like?” 

“Y’know, I do forget you’re a witch until times like these,” he leans back in his chair, a heavy sigh slides from his lips before he closes his eyes like he’s trying to place himself back at the moment, “I’ll tell ya what, it’s fuckin’ -- it’s a bit like I feel it right down to my bones, but then --” he opens his eyes, raises his closed fists and flicks his fingers out at her, “Poof, s’gone as quick as it came and I forget about it. My nan used to tell me that was the devil patting your shoulder, but if it went away quick s’because an angel kicked his arse out of there.” 

It’s enough, Y/N decides, so she nods and relaxes back in her seat, “Okay, good.” 

“Good?” His brows furrow, as he reaches for his can of soda and the aluminum can crinkles beneath his fingers, “Tell you that I get chills and you’re relieved? Should I be relieved too, or worried?” 

“It isn’t anything to concern over, I don’t think,” she explains to him, “If anything changes I’ll let you know.” 

Niall uses one of his fingernails to dig the dirt from beneath the other, “Did that Harry bloke muster some horrible demon up again?” His voice is laced with vexation. Niall wasn’t a hard guy to get along with -- he was loud and Irish, could chat up a storm about anything and everything, and while he could be scrappy at times, it was for all the right reasons. He was equanimous in most situations, even-tempered to a fair degree; if Y/N were in a situation where a cool, calm collected head would be the best approach then Niall was definitely the person she wanted on her side. 

(Like when they had to drive home from a day trip to the massive lake just north of them, but the roads hadn’t been pretreated for the icy sleet that gripped the pavement. He drove them the whole way on the windy roads with little traction from the tires to the road, and was still bobbing his head and singing along to Ed Sheeran on the radio). 

But Harry Styles? Oh, the mention of his name could dig right beneath Niall’s skin. Y/N would like to think that it was because he was so cruel to her, but she knows that there are two main reasons Niall is not too fond of him nor his craft. One of which is the fact that he slept with Liana (she happened to be one of Niall’s flings at the time -- there were plenty, but Y/N only remembered this one’s name because she shared it with a woody stem rooted to the forest soil that made for easy climbing), and the other, the fact that he had helped the captain of the opposing summer footie team with one of his enchantments to make them win. There are few things Niall cares for so deeply that he would dislike someone, but his sex life and his footie were two things a person just couldn’t mess up for him. 

“No, it wasn’t him this time,” she clears her throat, pushing the rest of her ramen around idly, “It’s a bit too strong to be his doing -- more sinister too. He conjures mostly petty demons; the little ones that don’t have much better to do anyway. This is something. . .I don’t know, it just feels different.” 

Niall sighs heavily, “Well, thanks for that, reckon I won’t be sleeping tonight,” he pushes the container away from himself to signify he’s done and when she takes a peek inside and sees nothing but a few noodles limp along the sides, “I like that you keep me in the loop, but sometimes I wish you would let me live in ignorance.” 

“You know, I would apologize, but you’ve gone into an in-depth description of your arsehole to me so I thought any boundaries and forms of secrecy were long gone by now.” 

His brows furrow features contorting into that of the same desperation he had come to her with two months ago, “Ugh, c’mon! You’re practically like a witch doctor or somethin’, I thought you would have a cream or something for it.” 

“You had a hemorrhoid, Niall, for fuck sake! Even if I were a “witch doctor” then I would never let you put anything that came from my plants on your filthy bum.” 

Niall stands, gathering their trash from the break room table but using his free hand as he passes her, he swats her shoulder, “You better be nice to me, or you’re gonna have to start eating lunch with Styles.” He steps on the level for the waste bin, throwing the trash in the bag, “Though I think you two would just end up hate fucking and the food would go cold.” 

“No,” she rolls her eyes, “I would never let that Gremlin near my naked body.” 

“Listen, I’m not saying I want the guy anywhere near your naked body,” he plops back down in his seat, “What I am saying is that you lot have such unbridled sexual tension it is practically palpable when I’m at the shop with the both of you. Maybe it’s ‘cos the two of you are the only witches, and opposites at that.” 

Y/N snorts, “Maybe if we were in some enemies to lovers film, sure.” 

   After they finish their break, and Y/N realizes that she’s been with him for a little over an hour, they make plans to meet up tomorrow for a movie and she heads out. The air was cool -- when she had made her way over here the sun had been glittering rays down that bathed the world in gold, but it was now hidden beneath an overcast of thick clouds. Rain always carried a familiar scent just before it started to pour and Y/N had forgone a jacket, so she huffed her way back, breathless by the time she made it up the hill and saw Harry leaning against her door. 

The sight of him makes her exhausted, but not in the usual way it does. He looks awful -- and typically he doesn’t! Y/N could admit that Harry was gorgeous; his hair always appeared soft, loose curls dispersed along the brunette strands, his eyes are a sea green, tender in his gaze when he wasn’t being an absolute prick and always bright (even when he was). His lips were pink, shaped perfectly, and his skin is typically smooth but even when he grows out his facial hair it still manages to look good. He had dimples. . .hell, Y/N would place a bet that he’d made a deal with the devil to look like that. 

But today, he just looked worn down, and exhausted, like he might not have slept the entire weekend. His eyes were closed, his hands were in his pockets and his chin was tilted down towards his chest. If not for the way his head perked up immediately when her foot crunched into the gravel pathway leading up to her store from the small parking area (that was more so a beaten down, once grassy area now just dirt with tire tracks in it), she would have thought he was asleep standing up. There’s relief in his eyes when they meet her own, which she isn’t used to seeing from him, “Thank fuck.” 

“You look horrible,” Y/N slides her hand into her pocket, pulling out her keys so she could unlock the door, “Budge over.” 

“I feel it,” he rubs tiredly at his eyes, “Go on and open up quickly then. Why the hell do you keep your store closed on weekends?” 

Y/N fits her hand over the knob, twisting it and shoving the door open with her shoulder. Thumper greets them at the door, nudging the top of his head against her ankle, “Do you work every night?” 

“No --” 

“I keep it closed on weekends for the same reason why you don’t work every night,” she heads toward the counter, settling her things down and reaching in for Thumper’s hay stash so that she could give him some, “What’re you here for? You usually come around to bother me later.” She chances petting at Thumper’s head for a moment, and since he was preoccupied with his hay he would allow it.

“Fuck!” Y/N startles, popping up from behind the counter, looking back up only to see Harry with wide, disgruntled eyes, “Where’s your chamomile?” 

Her brows dip, “I’m out right now, so --” 

“How the hell did you run out? Shit, what am I going to do now, hm? Shouldn’t you keep up with shite like this?” He’s going a mile a minute, he’s walking closer to her, distress was written all over his face and Y/N is alarmed to a fair degree -- Harry’s always seemed very collected and calm, it was seldom she ever seen him have more emotion than pure elation to fuck with her or displeased with her presence. 

“ -- so I’m going to make more today. What’s going on with you? Why are you so pissy over it?” She finishes her previous thought, watching as he leans against the counter, propping his face up with his hand and she could now more clearly make out the bags beneath his eyes.

He rubs at his temple with the finger closest to it, “The only way I can sleep is with your bloody tea,” he grumbled, “That’s why I come around all the time -- well, that and to fuck with you, but mostly the tea.” 

“Oh?” She reaches down, plucking Thumper from where he’d been positioned by her feet and setting him on the counter. He thumps his foot at her once but eventually makes his way over to Harry, sniffing at his chin before resting right before him. Y/N wasn’t necessarily doing it to be nice, but the energy he was exuding could really dampen the growth rate of her plants, and Thumper had a soothing way about him that drew all that negativity out. It was one of those odd little familiar powers that went unexplained for the most part. “Why aren’t you sleeping?” 

“Dunno,” he shrugged his shoulders, but the tension in them begins to dissipate as Thumper snuggles beneath his chin, “Reckon I pissed off some demon or summat -- usually it isn’t this bad. Without your tea, I can at least get to bed for three hours before waking up and catch cat naps during the day, but nothing was working this weekend. I think I’ve slept a total of two hours?” 

“Christ,” she tuts her tongue, but her brain starts churning, “Do you think it has anything to do with that. . .with that thing, that’s around? That feeling?” 

Harry huffs a sigh, “Fuck, here you go again -- Babe, listen, I can barely keep a coherent thought, so why don’t I just give you some money and you make that tea for me, alright?” 

“That’s no way to ask,” Y/N chastises him, and though she is already beginning to gather the supplies she needs so she could go out and harvest her leaves, she taunts him, “You’ll have to say please, or I might just decide to wait on this batch.” 

“Please,” he wastes no time in saying, “Pretty please harvest the chamomile so that I can sleep and I promise I’ll sit and theorize with you over whatever the fuck thing you’re feeling.” 

Y/N could go through the trouble of doing a blood binding with him to ensure that he wasn’t lying to her, but she felt that was a little on the extreme side so she took his word for it. She could easily harvest her chamomile here at the shop -- she had two doors behind the counter, one that led to her garden, the field, and the forest outside while the other led to a backroom that was made into a little kitchen area. It was easier for her to do things here rather than at home and have to risk tainting them in transport; for the best results to any enchanted item, one has to seal it immediately and it should only be reopened prior to use. 

She wouldn’t allow Harry to hover over her while she worked, so she sat him behind the counter and told him to not speak to any customers if they come through (“Wasn’t planning to,”) while she went to work. Y/N gave Thumper a look when he had started to follow her, and with a small thump of his foot (his way of saying Fine!) he hops himself into Harry’s lap and settles there. The tension once again eases from Harry’s features, soothing the pinch in his brow and the way his lips had been pursed in a frown. 

It was silent as she set to work, and save for a few customers who filtered in and out (at least a dozen of them, only eight purchased something but her Mondays were always pretty slow so that was expected), there wasn’t much to disturb what appeared to be a dozing Harry. He looked much more peaceful than she’s ever seen him, and for a brief moment she contemplates sending Thumper back home with him, but she shakes her head physically as if to expel the thought from her brain. What was she going on about? She would give him his tea and send the heathen on his way. No matter how empathetic she felt for him (she had struggled with issues sleeping when she was a lot younger), there was no need to go out of her way. . .even if she could admit that the sight of him cuddling with a bunny was a little too sweet not to be documented somewhere. 

She’s finished drying the leaves and carefully stirring them in the fine powder that she still had leftover from her last batch (there were many flowers from her garden ground up and enchanted with an incantation, which sounds like a simple enough task but the entire process took a little over a week -- the magic had to be purified several times, and the potential adverse effects had to be mollified. . . if she didn’t, instead of pleasant dreams of floating in clouds, her customers would be in an unsolicited astral projection) in a little over an hour. Y/N takes care to bag them delicately, adding a little extra in the two bags she would be giving Harry so that he would bother her less over it. 

By the time she’s retreated from the back preparation room, she finds that Harry is awake now, eyeballing her Intimacy and Romance section. When he sees that she’s returned to the front, he holds up the small, cardboard parcel, “I didn’t know you doubled as a Pulse and Cocktails.” 

“That’s a natural aphrodisiac,” she tells him, walking over to her empty chamomile shelf before she begins to fill it,  “You might want to take some so your partners will actually desire you for once.” 

“Oh, Honey,” he shakes his head, a look on his face almost like he pities her, “Don’ know a thing about how people desire me. Barely have to take my cock out for them to be gagging for it -- kind of how you are, but won’t admit it to yourself.” 

Y/N kisses her teeth, “Alright lecher, come and get your chamomile then,” she plucks the two remaining bags from the box she brought them in and holds them out for him, “You should look into some spells to combat that though -- if a demon is purloining your sleep, then it’s probably still hanging around and like deluging your flat with negative energy.” 

“Dunno’ if you know this, but I work with demons often, I’m always surrounded by negative energy,” he plucks the chamomile from her grasp, before reaching in his pocket and producing a small wad of cash that he places in her palm-- Y/N opens her mouth to decline it (she felt that his money was earned in a dishonest way and would not accept it for her flowers, because it felt as if she were disrespecting them. . .she would much rather give it to him for free), but he cuts her off, “Oh, hush and take the money. This is from a care package my Nan sent me, so it wasn’t earned in any rotten way, you spoiled brat.” 

She sighs, clutching the money in her hands, “You still better keep your end of the deal,” Y/N tells him, “I want to talk about this. . .whatever that feeling is, around here lately. And I want you to be serious about it!” 

Harry was already retreating, waving his hand up at her, “Yeah, sure thing, I’ll have my secretary get in contact with you --” 

“Harry --” 

“M’only joking. I’ll come around Friday.” 

                                                                     .                       .                         .

Later that night, with Thumper snuggled in her lap snoozing, Y/N looks into purging a home of sleep stealing spirits. 

She’s only curious. 

                                                             .                         .                        . 

Sleep comes gradually, then all at once, like the shift between summer and fall. 

Wind whistles past window sills singing shallow songs of change, while red apples ripen on their branches in the orchard during harvest season. The air grows colder in the mornings and at night, the day is still steeped in the sun’s benevolent kisses of heat at first until even that begins to wane. An aesthetic of reds, oranges, forest greens and golden hues occupy the minds of many as the leaves start to stain with color. Everyone waits with bated breath for true autumn to come around the corner. 

And when it does, it’s with a cold slap of air against the face when they step outside. The air carries that distinct autumn smell, the world is chilly enough for thicker jackets and long socks, rain comes in sheets during the evenings, and the colorful leaves that had drooped from the trees adhere to the concrete, or in matted piles on the forest floor.  Suddenly, the warm drink in everyone’s hand is a little less for the excitement and impatience for fall to begin, and more so to warm their cold palms from the onslaught of biting wind. 

It isn’t autumn, and then it is -- just like sleep. Harry’s awake one minute, and then he’s passed right out. 

Well, with Y/N’s help, bless her. Sure, she had been rotten before, but she made him a new batch and sent him off with two hearty bags full of tea that would soothe his worries and put his arse to bed. Plus, he had cuddled with her sweet little bunny Thumper for a while and he had a feeling the little bugger was exuding some sort of her soft magic unto him in the form of calming waves. When the rabbit sat in his lap, all the tension eased from his muscles and he sank into an otherwise uncomfortable chair like it was the softest mattress he’d ever been privy to. So by the time he came home, started the kettle, drank a mug full, and hot tailed it to his bed, he was asleep before his head could even quite hit the pillow. 

It was so good. His dreams were pleasant, his sleep was heavy, and deep, and lasted around fifteen hours -- which in the grand scheme of things, made him feel a bit like a sloth, but he knew he needed it. He still couldn’t quite pinpoint what had happened that he just couldn’t sleep even a little bit, but he has no interest in investigating now that he had a full night’s (and partially day’s) rest. Plus, there was no time to do any exploring when he needed to make up for the work he’d missed in his time exhausted -- his powers are nowhere near as strong if he is tired, and it’s incredibly dangerous to be working with little sleep. He could mess up, and a mess-up could mean someone would likely end up possessed and -- albeit how interesting they are -- Harry’s intrigue with exorcisms ended after the seventh one he performed. 

After he woke up, showered off, and ate brekkie, he sat down with his kitten and they cleaned his crystals and a few amulets before he set on preparing some of his finer elixirs, that he always waited until he was down to the last drop to begin making more canisters of considering how extensive the process was. It would be easier if he had someone else to help out, but the only other witch within 160 kilometers of him, he wouldn’t label as the type all too willing to help him break into a blood bank. 

But he did have his kitten Oat. He was his little miracle -- Harry had been so sad when he learned that witches could have familiars, but the animal would come to him and he was supposed to just know. At that point, he’d been practicing for three years and the only feelings he could sense from any animal around him were fear and disdain, so he had thought that maybe he just wasn’t meant to have one. Which felt horrible. . .he loved animals. 

One day, when the chill in the air rosied his cheeks and the cardigan he sported did little to shield him from the cold, he was taking a walk in the forest nearby. He’d left the trail, but not because he was working. . .if he were honest, he thought that the garden that Y/N kept out there was quite magnificent. It flourished even in the winter, a meadow of flowers that’s petals never frost, and the ground never grew hard. There was an air around it that made him feel warm and pleasant, so he visited often without letting her know. Which was what he was doing, walking through the small path that she had created so that she could tend to them (he’d seen her water them once when he’d come unknowing that she was there to cater to them). 

And one moment he was looking at what he believed to be an oat grass, he heard a rustle from the bushes to his left that he looked toward (it was a bird flying away), and when his gaze returned to where it had once been, there a small kitten was laying. She was the kind of small that made his heart ache, with her eyes barely open as she yawned and stretched very wide -- she wasn’t there, and then she was. Harry always liked to say she was born from the soft soil of Y/N’s garden which was why her grey fur felt like clouds and she always smelled sweet as heliotrope. . .and, well, she smelled a lot like Y/N too. He may not be all too fond of the girl, but she did always smell nice. 

She hadn’t grown bigger than one of his boots, the tiny little thing, but not because she was malnourished in any way (Harry always made sure she was well-fed), he just thinks she’s finished growing. He couldn’t tell her breed, but if he had to guess she was some mix between a munchkin and a ragamuffin cat. Harry knows all familiars have their duties and special abilities, but he wasn’t quite sure what hers was -- he just knew that he loved her to bits and pieces, and couldn’t ask for a better little ball of fur to sit on his shoulder while he made coffee in the morning. 

What Harry did know, was that none of the demon’s he had ever conjured had ever bothered her, and she loved to be rubbed behind her ears. 

So Thursday night, when the town grew quiet and the air was still, Harry ventured out with his tote bag slung over his shoulder. It was easy to move about relatively unseen in a place like this, that wasn’t so big there were people constantly looming around the corners of every nook and cranny, but wasn’t so small that everybody knew everyone’s business. It was a pleasant in between, where he could snake through the mouth of the forest, walk a trail and end up on the other side of town without having been seen by more than a few critters. He typically made this journey relatively late, without a worry or stressor in sight -- it only took him about an hour and a half to get everything done. 

Today though -- today, he felt off. It hadn’t been immediately when he’d stepped outside, but after some time in his walk, goosebumps prickled his skin and the hair at the back of his neck stood on end. He couldn’t quite decipher what was making him feel like this when the wind hadn’t rustled the trees in a few minutes, but it put him on guard. He disliked the feeling and had only truly sensed it to this degree that night Y/N had originally questioned him about it. It was an unsavory sensation, and for it to even make him feel uneasy was saying something tremendous. 

He attempts to ignore it, even though it only grew stronger the closer he was to his destination. He weaves through the trees, stepping over the thick roots, crunching over fallen leaves, and appreciating the scent of autumn as he goes. It was a nice night, despite the chill that ran just beneath his skin. . .it was the kind of night that he might go out on his balcony and sip on his tea until he grew weary enough to step inside. Oat liked to sit outside with him, curled peacefully in his lap and resting without a care in the world (she made him feel not so lonely all the time, which he appreciated immensely). 

Harry was thinking about how that was precisely what he was going to do as soon as he returned home after he had emerged from the trees and walked through an expansive field, toward an old road that led him back into town and entered the blood bank (after melting the lock with one of his crystals). Though he sensed something strong when he was walking down the cold, dark hall. . .or someone that is, who --  before he could register their presence -- ran straight into him as they were peeling around the corner and nearly knocked him on his arse (but definitely knocked them on theirs). 

“Fuck sake!” He cried out, steadying himself, looking down at the assailant, “Watch where you’re going, mate, or you’ll -- oh, Y/N?” He pauses, confusion laces through his brain as he recognizes her, “What’re you doing here so late?” 

Y/N was on her bum, scowling at him as she gathered herself before flattening her palms to the cold, white tiled floor and pressing up to a stand, “I could ask you the same question.” 

“It would be a silly one if you did, ‘cos you and I both know what I’m doing for a living,” he watches as she swipes her bum of the dust adhering to her sweatpants -- he had never seen her so dressed down before, in a dark-colored hoodie that just about swallowed her whole. She appeared much less ferocious this way -- not that she appeared very ferocious before, but he is always intrigued to see typically put together people in their sleep clothes. . .he thinks it says a lot about a person. From Y/N’s choice of pajamas, he could tell that she probably kept her flat on the side of too cold because she liked to bundle up. . .she felt safe that way, he would guess, and he would bet 50 quid that there was bunny hair all over it because -- despite his grumpy tendencies -- Thumper loved a good cuddle.

“I felt it again,” she says after a moment, her voice only above a whisper, though there was no security here -- or anyone, for that matter since the place closes at 7 PM, but her eyes still shift around like she’s a high schooler ditching class and the headmaster's down the hall, “. . .that thing, y’know, while I was getting ready for bed, so I followed where it felt grossest and came to check it out to see if it led me anywhere.” 

Harry’s brows furrowed, “Well that was stupid,” he derides her, fixing the tote around his shoulder and shifting weight from one heel to the other, “What were you going to do if you found something, hm? Fight it off with your bunny and rose petals?”

Her scowl returns, “Piss off,” she utters before her gaze flickers to his tote and the reason he’s here becomes clearer to her than it had been before, “You shouldn’t be stealing blood. Isn’t that unethical?” 

“It’s either this or siphoning it from a live vein, Babe, and while I’m aces at plenty of things, I have not been properly trained to set up an IV. I only take the blood that’s about to expire anyway,” He nods down the hallway, toward the refrigeration where they kept all of the baggies, “You might as well continue investigating while we’re here because it’s coming from that way -- plus you can make yourself useful by keeping the door propped open for me.”

In all honesty, Harry expects more fight than he was given considering how often she seems to object to every move he makes, but she merely rolls her eyes and starts ahead of him. The feeling does grow stronger the further they descend into the hallway and he knows Y/N can feel it too, from the way she shuffles just a little closer to him, and he can hear her breathing hitch to a small halt as they stood before the door and it felt like it had all been focused just behind the door. As strong as the taste of frozen orange juice concentrate, it made his face pucker just slightly as he raised his fingers toward the keypad and began punching in the code. 

“You’re really gonna go in there?” Y/N queries gently, and Harry only nods his head in response, reaching for the door handle. An urgent, delicate touch of Y/N’s hand startles him, looping around his wrist and dragging his attention toward her, “Shouldn’t we have a game plan if something is behind the door?” She asks, her hold on him tightening just a little, and Harry notes how soft her palm feels against his skin, “Like, let’s say we open the door and a behemoth is standing there, what do we do?” 

“The only behemoth that could fit in this tiny room is the band from Poland, Babe, and I reckon they have better things to do on a Thursday night,” he retorts, clenching around the knob and tilting it down, “Now unless you want to hold hands in there. . .” 

She lets go before he can finish, and he doesn’t have to look back at her face to know she’s irate. A small smile quirks at his mouth as he pushes his shoulder against the heavy door to aid him opening it, bracing himself to see something potentially horrid. . .

And there’s nothing. 

Actually, as soon as they open the door, the dark, odious feeling that had been encompassing both of them disappears entirely. “Whoa,” Y/N pushes her hand against the door and keeps it open, taking one step inside of the room, “There’s a lot of blood in here.” His gaze flickers back at her, as she looks around, looking more intrigued than disgusted -- there was a lot of blood, 8 by 5-meter room just filled with it, so he could understand some of the awe. The more he returns, the less awe he feels, but he reckons that was to be expected. 

“There are about five other refrigerators in this building too,” he tells her as he lowers to his knees, cracking open his tote, “This one’s computers are easier to get into though, and doesn’t say the date and time the amount was changed so nobody knows anything is missing. Easy peasy.” 

Y/N nods, “Right. Stealing blood -- easy peasy,” she leans against the door, “What is it that you use it for?” 

“It really depends,” he murmurs as he pulls out a rack, counting out the baggies he needed, “Some demons like blood more than ash, so they come when called and are more willing to help you out when given a little gift. There are a few spells that call for it, and elixirs are twice as potent — sometimes I have to drink it, which is...unpleasant,” he hears her shiver, “—but it makes the outcome better. All in a day's work.”

“Oh wow,” Y/N hummed, “That’s...different. I think the weirdest thing I’ve had to drink for a spell was doe milk and I felt guilty the whole time. Like I was taking it from a fawn that needed it.”

Harry huffed out a laugh — Y/N was a soft little thing, comparing drinking blood to milk — sometimes he forgets how sheltered her world of magic is compared to his own.  It was easy to forget with all the spiteful words she could throw his way, but to see her out of her comfort zone. . .it’s refreshing. Not because she is less confident in her surroundings, but because she is more open to his own If someone would have told Harry they would be even remotely civil with one another in a room full of blood, he would have snorted before asking what they were snorting. 

“I oughta call you Bambi then.” 

He was on his last baggy of blood, checking the expiration date, and logging it into the computer when the dreadful feeling returned. Like a fly to rotting meat, it clings back to the room they were in tenfold. From behind him, a sharp clatter and Y/N’s squeal startles him to look back at her, “Harry!” She cried, pointing ahead of her, “The walls! L-look at the walls!”  

Harry follows her finger, watching as a thick, black substance oozes from the wall’s coving. When Y/N had noticed as much, she knocked down a stray IV pole that had been left in here, and it lay at her feet where the same black ooze had begun seeping up from the trim of the floors. In all his time doing what he does, Harry had never seen something so odd, nor had he ever felt something this grotesque overcome his being. It makes him act quickly, and while he doesn’t speak, he does fix his tote over his shoulder and practically jog the short distance to Y/N, knocking her out of the room, grabbing the door by the handle, and swinging it shut. He had hoped to seal it in there, whatever it was, but when they look down at the floor, the goo bleeds beneath the door and they both take a startled step back, “Oh fuck me,” Harry mutters to himself, shaking his head. 

“What the hell is this?” Y/N is panicked -- it’s very clear in her voice, and while Harry was a tad thankful not to be dealing with this alone, he can’t say that a soft which, who planted pretty flowers and made sleepy time tea was necessarily the backing he wanted in the event he had to exorcise a demon. He didn’t even have the proper tools for it. . .he didn’t know what he was exorcising, fuck sake --  “Harry, shouldn’t we --” 

“We need to leave,” he states, pivoting on his heel and hustling down the hall, Y/N was quick to scurry behind him, though she still murmurs some protest. 

“We shouldn’t just --” 

“Listen, unless you have any idea what that is and how to clean it, let alone banish it to hell, I saw we have a better chance through those doors than we do staying in here for even a second more,” he told her, holding out his hands to the crash bar, shoving the heavy door open, only looking back to make sure that Y/N had made it through, seeing that the black ooze had been following them before he promptly slammed the door shut. 

This was one of the back doors, so it spits them out to the graveled employee parking lot that dances along one of the many mouths of the forest that surrounded them. They’re both out of breath, adrenalin zipping through their veins in a tidal wave as their chests heave and they stare at the door. They wait for it to crawl beneath these doors. . .they wait for the building to either be overcome by sludge or combust from whatever sinister being had decided to preoccupy this space. 

But nothing happens. 

The wind picks up, the leaves rustle against the branches, and as if it were a gift from the Earth, the sordid feeling blew right away with it. 

“What the hell was that?” Y/N asks for the second time. 

Harry straightens out from where he’d been crouched, inhaling the cool air, appreciative to be in it. 

“Do you think for a second, with my reaction, that I have any fucking clue?” 

                                                        .                             .                              .

Y/N doesn’t have people at her flat often. 

Actually, apart from Niall and a few maintenance men, nobody had ever really come over. Not for any particular reason, really, and not because she didn’t want them to necessarily -- the opportunity just rarely arose, or more so, she didn’t often allow it to. If she were going to meet someone then she would meet them somewhere else, and they would part ways after they were finished (again, apart from Niall, who would simply follow her home, kick his trainers off, and head toward her couch which he had told her was simply the comfiest he’d ever been on). Her home was her humble abode. . .it was where she came to destress after a long day, and where Thumper sometimes waited for her debating whether or not he wanted to nibble her bathroom rug to shreds.

Not to mention she had plants growing here too, and flowers that she held dear to her, and while people are more reluctant to go touching what isn’t their business at a store, they are much less disinclined to give that same respect to her plants. Once Y/N had a maintenance man over to fix her faucet and she’d walked out from her room to see that he was caressing her snake plant’s leaves. She couldn’t blame him -- the plant had a very encompassing presence about it and had a way of drawing people in if they weren’t careful. . .hypnotized by the way it made them feel. All of Y/N’s soil and seeds are charmed with special incantations and concoctions that took her years to perfect, she would be disappointed if they weren’t causing people to leave all semblance of professionalism to even for a moment feel as if they were in a room with such clear air, their lungs felt renewed and they deemed it necessary to get closer. 

But then she had to apologize to her snake plant for nearly two days after! It had been so upset with her, she could feel it, so she started being even more careful about who she let in.  If she was going to go out of her way to have someone over, then there was a good reason for it. . .or it was Niall. 

And a demonic, gooey substance sweating from the walls of a blood bank, was well enough a good reason to have Harry over. 

It took some coaxing on her part -- he was convinced that they needed to just go back to their respective flats and go to bed, but Y/N was adamant in vetoing the idea. “We’re supposed to talk tomorrow anyway, so we might as well just go ahead and do it tonight -- and you are not leaving me alone after whatever the fuck that was!” 

After a good ten minutes, he finally relented as long as they could stop by his flat so he could get his kitten. Y/N hadn’t known that he had a kitten and thought maybe he would bring out some ragged-looking thing, but she was surprised to see through her windshield window that Harry was approaching her car with a small grey kitten. Her face contorts in the way everyone’s face might when they see something small and cute, “Look at her,” she coos once Harry opens his door, “What’s her name?” 

“This is Oat,” he answered, holding her out for Y/N to pet, “Be careful, she’s vicious.” 

Y/N pet at her head and Oat’s eyes shut as she nuzzled into her palm, “Oh yeah, what a panther.”

 Apart from the nerves that had already materialized from what they had seen in the blood bank, she was a little worried about inviting him into her home. When she visualized her safe space, Harry was not typically who she saw sitting on her couch when she came in from the kitchen, holding mugs of warm tea. Yet there he was, introducing Thumper and Oat to one another (who merely sniffed each other, then immediately cozied against her olive throw blanket on the end of the couch), and Y/N is handing him his steamy mug. 

“I’ve been thinking,” he began, immediately nursing the mug between his palms and lifting it up to his mouth for a small sip -- the steam disperses around his face in plumes, “And it wouldn’t make sense for. . .for whatever that is to just be a demon.” 

“What?” She inquires, taking her seat beside him on the couch, her body twisted so she was facing him entirely. Y/N had adjusted the temperature to something that would be a bit more suited toward having a guest -- when she’s alone, she keeps it ungodly cold so she has an excuse to bundle up in her clothes and blankets. There’s nothing like feeling safe in a cocoon of various fabrics with Buffy the Vampire Slayer on the telly. 

Harry strategically places the mug between his knitted socked feet, steadying it there as he begins to play with the thick, brassy tiger ring on his index finger, “Demons are strong, sure, but if they’re gonna be that strong there’s typically two reasons for it: they have already inhabited that area, or someone is controlling them behind the scenes. I would be more inclined to believe the prior, but I’ve been going to this blood blank for about a year now and unless there were some pentagrams I’ve missed or a gruesome ordeal that never made the papers in the past two weeks -- then there’s no reason for that to have happened at the hands of a spirit. Even a blood demon isn’t strong enough to make what happened in there happen, and they literally feed off the substance in the room.” 

“So you think someone summoned it or something? I thought you were the only one around here that did that?” Y/N probes, trying to look in his eyes but she keeps getting distracted by his rings -- how many did he have? She thinks he nearly has one on each finger, and he’s plucking them off and placing them on different knuckles as he speaks. Y/N wonders if it’s something he does in response to a stressor, like how she picks at her nails. 

“I’m the only witch that summons things around here, but not even I could conjure something that feels that vile.” He explained, fitting the last ring against his knuckle before he pops the bones in his fingers, and Y/N watches as the skin stretches and moves around the muscles in his hands,  “I think someone is trying to manifest something without the proper safeguards in place. . .the lack of protection charms, crystals, and spells can invite much more heinous creatures to the living world. They feed off shite like that -- naivety. . .thinking that any person could decide they’ll have a demon carry out a job for them. It’s easier for them to take advantage of them that way.” Harry exhales, running the pad of his thumb around the rim of the mug— she’s given him the one that has intricate, realistic drawings of beluga whales on it, not for any other reason apart from that one was her favorite and she liked to see it in use, “And with a full moon coming up? Recipe for disaster.”

“Oh shit,” Y/N holds her tea closer to her being, “That’s why the feeling is so profuse and disagreeable in the air then, ‘cos they aren’t containing it right? When I was looking into a little bit of what you do, I read that there are containment spells so the demon or spirit doesn’t have free range to do as it pleases, but the spell is dependent on the demon in question and the severity of its power.” 

Harry looked pleasantly surprised, “Yeah, that’s right -- what’re ya looking up what I’m doing for?” He settles into her couch, “Have you got a crush on me or summat?” 

If Y/N rolled her eyes any further back, she thinks they would have done a 360 in her eye sockets, “I fell down a rabbit hole the other night when I was trying to figure out why you couldn’t sleep,” an impish grin slides onto his mouth, “And not because I’m “in love with you” -- I just thought it would be interesting to know if your insomnia was the reason of a demon because that would mean one of my items combats against that and wins. My. . .most of my magic is based on prevention when it comes to dark things like that, not really to fight what’s already there.” 

“So your flowers don’t like -- I dunno, Little Shop of Horrors it?” He teases, motioning to her Hoya plant that had just begun to bloom for her, “I reckon when I think of plant magic, I think of you snapping your fingers and thorned ivy whipping around to slow assailants.” 

“No, none of that,” she laughs lightly, shaking her head, “They’re much too nice and gentle. . .they only want to help. And I’m rarely in a situation where I would need thorned ivy whipping around.” Y/N locks eyes with Oat for a moment, whose eyes close nice and slow before she reopens them and Y/N thinks she might just melt, “What do we do then? How do we stop it?” 

He slides a ring with teddy bears from his pinky and spins it between his forefinger and thumb, “There’s nothing to do -- if we don’t know who the problem is, then we can’t fix anything.” Harry shrugs his shoulders, and the action makes his already loose cardigan slide down his arms, revealing more of the cream-colored shirt he wore with Smokey the Bear on the front reading Only YOU! can prevent forest fires, “All we can do is wait for the next fucked feeling and hopefully run into the person causing -- oh,” Harry pauses, motioning toward her, “You’ve got a new friend.” 

Y/N’s confused, brows knitted until she feels a paw press against her shoulder and the telltale purr of a happy kitty. When she turns her head, she finds that Oat has snuck her way up to her, and is now attempting to perch on Y/N’s shoulder. She presses closer to the back of the couch so that she had a better footing, and in return Oat bumps at her cheek with the top of her head, “You’re so cute, stop it,” she murmurs, and when she takes a breath through her nose, she smiles, “She smells like my heliotrope flowers too! How are you the familiar of such a grumpy, cruel lug, huh?” 

“Oi,” Harry mutters, “I resent that. I’m not grumpy or cruel, you’re just rotten.” 

A retort plays at Y/N’s mouth but her phone screen lights up from where it’s sat on the coffee table and strays her attention. She’s confused -- the only person who would be messaging her this late was Niall but she’s almost a hundred percent certain that he was supposed to be out at the bar tonight. It is him though. 

Fuck me, have ya looked at the news? Is this that thing we were talkin bout? 

Harry is a nosy bugger, and after reading the message with her he reaches for her remote, “You told him about it?” He turns on her telly, quick to open her TV guide, “So he knows about you?” 

“Yeah, he knows -- turn to 3,” she tells him, and soon enough the local news is playing out, big bold letters on the blue band stretched across the bottom of the screen. 

MAN TO BE CHARGED WITH ATTEMPTED MURDER ON GIRLFRIEND 

He turned the volume up, so they could hear the news reporter who was on site. There was yellow caution tape stripped around a house, police lights, cops walking around in the back, and frightened neighbors who had left the comfort of their homes to investigate what was happening. The woman on screen had long blonde hair that whipped when the wind blew and muffled her microphone feed, her face set stony as she recounted the events as the police had told her, “. . .has no recollection of the event, and is claiming the “walls” were dripping in blood and demanding that he do it. Jacobs is being taken in for further questioning and pending a psychiatric evaluation -- his girlfriend Amanda Wilson is being rushed to hospital that’s all anyone knows right now. Back to you Tom...” 

“Oh, fuck sake,” Harry groaned, shaking his head, “Now this is a problem, problem innit?” 

“Was it not before?” Y/N takes the remote from him, turning the volume down, “Do you -- does that sound like anything you’ve dealt with? That would try hurting someone like that?” 

He presses his knuckles to his eyes, sighing, “Not that I remember -- I’ll have to do some digging. . .this is bollocks, you know how bad this is for business? Nobody wants to mess with dark magic when shit like this is going on.”

“Aish, don’t think so selfishly. People are in danger,” she tsks at him, “And we’ll need to -- what are you doing?” She asks as he removes his feet from where they had been on the couch, reaching down for his loafers like he was about to put them on. 

“S’getting late,” he responded, “I was g’na head home --” 

“No you’re not,” she told him, her face dropping in borderline disgust as he seemed genuinely confused with her, his face twisting, “We experience something like that, then see the news, and you not only want to separate, but you want to walk all the way home, alone, in the dark? No way, that’s too stupid, you’re staying here.” 

Harry’s brows dipped in, irritated, however, he did stop reaching for his loafers,  “But --” 

“Listen, we may not be fond of each other but I’m not letting you put yourself in danger,” she tells him, before adding quickly, “And you are fucking not going to leave me alone after that! Are you mad?” 

“I’m sorry, I thought I’d be doing you a favor without bothering ya with my presence. Never thought Miss. Good Witch of the North would want me breathing her air for too long.” He ripostes and it reinvigorates any distaste for Harry that had been easing throughout the night the more they spoke. He always did that -- always made her feel like she was some stuck up prick who never gave him a chance, but she would have if he hadn’t started out being such an arse to her. Sure, the circumstances they had met under weren’t fantastic. . .she snapped at him for taking her flowers without asking, but he could have just apologized -- could have said sorry, and they could have started over but he was immediately put off by her she presumes, because ever since he’d been nothing but cruel to her. His knocking her out of the room in the blood bank was probably the first kind thing he’d ever done for her, and she isn’t a hundred percent certain that she wasn’t just in his way while he was trying to get out. 

So she glowers at him as she pushes from her couch, “Sod off. I’ll get you some blankets.”

He almost immediately replaces the spot that her body had been with his legs, stretching out as far as he could and his feet flop on the arm of the sofa, “Reckon you should make me some of that tea though, so I can sleep.” He called after her. Thumper hops off and follows after her, while Oat finds her spot at Harry’s side and cuddles into where his cardigan’s extra fabric bundles. Y/N goes to the closet in the hall that leads to her bedroom, pries it open, and reaches to the top shelf where she keeps her extra blankets and pillows. Despite how irritated he makes her, she grabs him one of her heavier quilts, because even with her heat kicked up higher than normal her flat has very poor insulation, and the night’s into early mornings get pretty cold. She’s about to grumble at him that he better thank her for this and the bloody tea, but when she returns to the living room. . .he’s asleep. 

Harry just fell right to sleep. 

She’s confused -- understandably, she thinks, because she remembers how much of a fit he’d thrown about her tea and how she was closed on weekends so he couldn’t have any of it. Had whined how he wasn’t able to sleep without the tea, and she had only given him peppermint tea tonight, so there was no reason that should have put him to bed. 

Yet there he was, fast asleep with his arms crossed over his chest. 

 Tutting her tongue quietly, she unrolls the blanket she had chosen for him and strategically places it over his legs. She is careful to move Oat so that she doesn’t suffocate under the covers as she pulls them over, up to Harry’s chest before replacing her in the spot she had snuggled prior. She pauses for a moment before she leaves them, taking in a completely relaxed Harry -- not that he doesn’t seem relaxed all the time, but he’s just. . .calm. His muscles have melted against her couch cushions, his brow has soothed and his amaranth pink lips are soft and parted. Gentle, easy breaths slip through his mouth. . .Y/N thinks that she likes him like this. Not spiteful, or crass -- this Harry doesn’t seem to hate her. This Harry is warm and comfortable enough to just fall asleep on her couch. 

Thumper thumps his foot against the floor, his not-so-silent request that they go to bed and Y/N snaps out of whatever hypnotic state she’d been in watching him rest. She feels creepy but shakes it off, reaching down to pick up Thumper by his belly and cradling him to her chest as she leaves the living room, keeping her lamp on for him in case he wakes up to have a wee or anything. 

It’s when she goes to the kitchen to grab him a bottle of water to leave at the coffee table for him, that she can feel Thumper judging her. This is only confirmed by the way he is looking up at her when she looks down at him, his small, pink nose twitching, and she can just sense him repeating Harry’s tease of have you got a crush on me or summat? -- it’s not like he hasn’t questioned her before. She reckons if Thumper could actually speak and not just implant little thoughts of his in her head through whatever little bond they have, he would be very free with his accusations about who she might have feelings for. 

Y/N rolls her eyes. 

“No, I don’t,” she disagrees with him quietly, “What do you know about crushes, hm? You’re just a bunny.” 

                                                         .                               .                              .

It had been a while since Harry had worked. 

Though he was always hesitant to call it work, all things considered. Y/N had once described to him that what he did was lurk around seedy clubs and wait to be recognized by a sorry sap that wanted something they didn’t want to put much effort towards, and Harry can’t necessarily say she’s wrong.  He preyed on the lazy; men and women who couldn’t be arsed to obtain a goal without the help of a little magic no matter how negative, and Harry couldn’t really fault them for it. One, because sometimes goals are unattainable with literally anything other than a demon's help, and two because he gets a hefty wad of cash in his pocket for his trouble. How hypocritical could he be to deprecate their usage of dark magic when he is doing the same thing. . .when he relies on that more than anything, even the silly little romance novels he writes so that nobody questions where his money’s coming from. 

It was a Friday night, and since he was no longer tied to the commitment of meeting Y/N to discuss the horrible, no good, terrible thing that was slithering its way through town and apparently spurring bouts of attempted murder -- he was able to visit a club. Though Y/N had made him lock pinkies with her that morning, telling him to keep his eye out for anything suspicious that may or may not have led to the events from the night prior. 

Promise me that you’ll keep informed on what’s going on there, okay? And promise me that you’ll tell me about it. 

The club he’d visited was one of the more popular of the four he frequented, and within the walls, amongst the gyrating bodies in scant clothing and sweat-drenched skin, were many of his regular clients. One of which had been blowing up his phone for the past week telling him how he desperately needed help, and he needed it ASAP. Harry finally replied to his message with a simple time that he would meet him, and that they would discuss the cost once he’s explained what is being asked of him. This guy, in particular, wanted many frivolous things, and typically his requests revolved around wealth, though Harry thought he had more than enough. And while Harry could do a few simple spells that would bring the money gradually and don’t come with the dangers that a demon will, he refuses. Harry has always told each of his clients that a spell and a demon could do the same thing, but demons brought faster results, albeit potentially precarious consequences.

And when it comes to summoning, things can get a bit tricky. If the person who is summoning is the person who will benefit from the demon’s will directly, then it may come with a price, and that price may or may not be hidden between the lines. Especially when it is someone who has no clue about the actual process, offerings that could be made without including their soul for the taking, and spells that could be done that would protect them. After doing this for so long, Harry had developed and harnessed enough power that it was rare a spell every backfired or a demon ever bested him, but if Bradley Evans tried this himself, he’d be good as dead. 

This is why, no matter how this man grates every open end of his nerves with a dull blade, he continues to help him. Again, Harry gets paid an obscene amount of money for what he does, so he sucks it right up -- and it’s not as if this money is just for him. He has people to take care of, his own personal gripes with the smarmy, rich, meat-headed pricks that want him to summon Clauneck for a trip to the Bahamas matter very little in the grand scheme of things. 

He’s leaning against the far back corner, at a table that he’d claimed for the night and a cherry mango cocktail that wets his lips and stains them red. He really isn’t scouting for suspicious behavior like he had promised to, only because his mind had floated elsewhere entirely. Like how, after so long of only ever being able to rest with help of Y/N’s chamomile, he was able to fall asleep without the help of anything. He had asked her about the tea that she and he drank prior to him passing out unprompted on her couch, but she told him it was just a store-bought strawberry tea that was a guilty pleasure. 

It perplexed him greatly. He only remembers her demanding him to stay the night because she didn’t want to be alone (and if he’s honest, neither had he after the night they had), he remembers her standing and him stretching out on her couch, and he remembers asking her for the tea that would help him sleep. 

And then he remembers waking, feeling refreshed, and renewed. Confused, but reinvigorated, he had a wee before poking around in her kitchen for something to satiate his grumbly stomach. Y/N was still asleep -- he’d peeked his head into her cracked open door only to find her dreaming peacefully, relaxed, and content. As creepy as it felt to stare at her as she slept, he did watch for a moment. It was different to see her without the accompanied scowl he usually coaxed upon her face -- the blissful gleam that exudes from her now is the same that he sees when she’s tending to one of her gardens. 

He brewed two chai lattes in her Keurig with Oat on his shoulder like a bird and she woke as he was taking the second mug, setting it on her kitchen counter, “G’morning,” she yawned, Thumper hopping behind her, looking just as sleepy, “Did you sleep through the night? I made you a cuppa and kept it in the microwave in case you woke up.” 

His heart had lurched. . .a genuine clench that Harry had not felt in a while.

“Oh,” he blinked at her owlishly, “I slept just fine, but thank you.” 

“Mm, good,” she was so sleepy still, Harry remembers wondering if she was even fully awake speaking to him, “I  have sliced fruit in the fridge if you want, for brekkie.” 

It was a domesticated scenario that Harry had not been privy to.  

Had it been her flat? Maybe the plants that she had strewn about the room were all enchanted, singing sweet songs of sleep that lulled him to sleep without him knowing. All he could recall was feeling so unbelievably comforted and no matter how cold it was in that damn flat, he felt so warm. . .so warm, and it smelled so good, and Oat was snoozing happily at his side. Plus she had wrapped him in this quilt that was heavy and smelled nice -- he thinks, in that moment, he finally understood why babies liked feeling contained in a swaddle blanket. Regardless of what happened at the blood bank, and what they found out on the news, Harry felt safe in her flat. And he probably wouldn’t have left either, if he didn’t have to work. 

He’s so caught in his reverie, that Bradley’s arrival truly startled him. A clearing of his throat catches his attention, dragging his unfocused gaze from the crowd of dancers to Bradly, dressed in a Lacoste polo that thought was ugly but he would never say it aloud, “Oh,” he straightened up, bringing the rim of his glass to his mouth and taking a small sip of it, “Right then, what can I do for you? Another trip to Barbados?” 

Bradley shakes his head a little frantically, and it's only then that Harry takes in the actual appearance of him, that surpasses the Lacoste and zeros in on the panic that decorates his face, “I need like -- like a demon protector or some kinda spell or -- I don’t fucking know, or something.” 

“Oh --” his brows dip, “What’s wrong? Is something bothering you?” 

He starts to nod, then switches it to a shake of his head, and that morphs into a shrug of his shoulders, “I don’t know man, I just don’t feel -- I don’t feel safe. I wondered if one of those demons from before were like. . .after my soul or summat.” 

“Not possible,” Harry dismisses the idea, setting his glass down on the high round table, “When I work with them we make a spiritual, contractual agreement that they are bound to. If your soul was not on the table, then it will never be on the table -- it must be something else,” he thinks for a moment before a slither of realization stokes the fire in his brain, that sets the coals aflame and heats the cogs to a churn, “What -- explain to me what you’re feeling?” 

“Like something is watching me,” he blinked, crossing his arms on top of the table and leaning most of his weight onto it, the scent of liquor wafts over Harry’s face when Bradly breathes, “It’s heavy and. . .it’s like swimming in ink. It’s horrible and frightening, and I’ve never -- I’ve never been one to rely on vibes, but mate, they were bad. . .they were like -- vile. Vile vibes, man.” 

Harry thinks, while his description is repugnant, he knows exactly what he’s talking about, but there wasn’t much he could do. Harry can make protection spells that are generalized but he doesn’t believe that any of them are strong enough to fend off whatever this thing is. In cases like this one, sometimes dark magic is not good to fight dark magic, it can only make it grow and fester like a nasty, infected wound. He really did not want to try that out on Bradley. . .he may not be fond of the guy, but he didn’t wish anything ill on him. 

“You wouldn’t come to me for a protection spell, for something like that,” Harry begins, “You would need --” You would need Y/N -- is what is about to leave his lips, but it drops away. As much as it’s true -- as much as Harry knows that the reason he felt the safest he’s ever had in Y/N’s presence was whatever protection spells she had put in place and strengthened -- he couldn’t. The thought of sending someone like Bradley to someone like Y/N, makes him feel sick. “Give me one second, yeah? Stay here.” 

Y/N gave him her number that morning, telling him that it was silly for them to be unable to contact one another. Harry saved it into his phone and sent her a picture of Oat so that she would have his, but left it at that -- he had assumed, until this moment, that he would never have a reason to have her number. If he ever wanted anything from her he would just show up at her store. 

But here he was, scrolling through his contact list to find her, pressing her number and holding his phone up to his ear. It only rings twice before she’s answered it, “Hello? Is everything okay Harry, did you get a lead?” 

Harry laughs in disbelief, “What’re you, a detective?” He cleared his throat so he could speak over the music clearly, “I need you for something, and I’ll give you half. And before you get all high and mighty, it isn’t for anything bad -- one of my regulars is experiencing the same fucked thing we have only it’s more vile vibes opposed to blood seeping from the walls. Need a protection spell -- whatever you use for your flat and store.” 

She’s quiet for a moment, long enough that Harry questions if his service dropped, but her voice reappears.

 “Where are you?” 

Fifteen minutes later, Harry is flagging Y/N down to his spot in the club where he stood next to Bradley whose friends kept coming around wondering if Harry was his pull for the night. Her jumper with a printed bunny right in the center made him chuckle to himself -- it was more than clear that she had not planned on coming out tonight, and if not for Harry, he thinks she would have spent three more hours at her store tending to the garden there if not for him. When she sees him, noticeable relief makes her shoulders slump, and as she gets closer, she reaches into her pocket, “Thank god,” she called over the music, “I’ve been in here for three minutes and if I got knocked into one more time I was going to lose it.” 

She produces two things -- one is a tiny vial, with an unidentified green liquid, and the other is a small baggie of her tea. Harry takes both from her hand, “Thank you,” he murmurs, before dipping down closer to her ear, “Go over to that empty table near the bar, I don’t want this guy seeing you clear enough that he could ask you for anything ever again.” 

Though she was confused, she listened to him, slinking her way over to the table while Harry turned to Bradley who had been looking at his phone, before both were placed in front of them, “Thank you,” he tells him, “Thank you, thank you, thank you. How much?” 

“850,” Harry says without batting an eyelash. Typically his business runs closer to the thousands but he cuts the guy a break since he’s scared.

“Each or what?” Bradley asks as he fishes his wallet from his pocket, flipping the leather open and beginning to thumb through his bills. 

“No, just 850,” he takes the bills from him, folding it between his fingers, “I shipped your crystals last week, did they come?” 

Bradley nods, a big grin on his face, “Oh, fuck yeah dude, I almost forgot! I already transferred you the money for them right?” 

Harry thinks it’s a shame that he doesn’t keep track -- he could really scam him if he wanted to, with these black crystals bathed in the water of Asmodeus (they increases stamina and aids them in not being shit in bed; it was a fucking full-day event to get Asmodeus to recognize the clear stream water, in an incubator that he checks every 15 minutes or so to see if the water has been touched red)  “Yeah, you sent double the amount ‘cos your buddy wanted some too, right?” 

“He loved them, mate,  he’s way less narky too now that he’s getting his dick wet.” 

Harry holds back a grimace, “Alright then, stay safe. You know how to contact me if you need anything.” 

Bradley bids his goodbye and Harry seeks out Y/N, who is picking idly at her fingernails and bobbing her head slightly to the music. When he gets close enough to her, he starts on his spiel as he waves the money toward her,

“Listen, Babe, you used your plants to help him, honestly you deserve way more than this -- a fucking Nobel Prize probably,” he holds it out to her, “Here.” 

She shakes her head, but not in the way she would if she were refusing it because she was disgusted by him -- no, instead she closes his hand around it again and presses it closer to his body, “No, no, you keep it, he’s your guy or whatever.” 

Harry tilts his head, brows knitted, “But they’re your plants.” 

“Yeah, but I would just feel guilty taking it from you so --” 

He sighs, counting out 450 of it, taking her hand, opening her fingers, and sliding the bills into her palm, “Even split then. If you’re going to utilize something precious to you to help someone like that fucker, you deserve a little compensation for it. “ 

Y/N must realize that he wasn’t going to let it go, because she finally folds it in her hands, slipping it into her pocket, “What’s with that guy then? Why do you not like him?” 

Harry can see it clearly; the image of his childhood self, his family struggling to make ends meet but going to primary school with the wealthier kids. The ones who laughed at his faded shirts, and holed winter coats -- who would ask him to their birthday parties and talk shit about the gift he’d scraped up coins for doing miscellaneous work around the neighborhood. He thinks about how he knew they would go home to kitchens full of food, and bountiful dinners that they would never appreciate, while Harry never took seconds because no matter how hungry he was, he made sure their bellies were as full as they could be. And Harry remembers how the headmaster did nothing to quell his worries because those kid’s parents could buy out the school if they wanted to. 

He sees it all, and he hears it all, and for a moment -- selfishly -- it makes Harry wish he had never given Bradley the protection spell at all. 

But he only shakes his head, “He’s just a prick,” he answers simply, before nodding his head toward the door, “Reckon we should get out of here, it smells like piss.” 

It’s always a little easier to leave the club than it is to enter it, so they’re out in the cool air soon enough. A small line had formed outside since Harry had been in there last, and as they step out, a group of three is let in through the rope chain that the bouncer is policing. This part of town is always bustling late into the night, so neither feel the cold brush of fear they have been when they’re out in the dark -- or at least the relaxed way Y/N is looking around tells him that she’s pretty content. 

“Do you want to get something to eat?” She asks him, pointing at the 24-hour diner right across the street, that had been strategically placed there because people who are drunk and high who just sweat out half their body weight love greasy food, “I skipped dinner today.” 

“What a coincidence -- so did I.” 

They got a booth in the far back corner, where the white and maroon tilted floor glistened wet from a recent scrub from the mop, and the air smells of lemon pine-sol. This along with the fact that the black leather seats were dusted of the crumbs that usually mottles them, Harry would assume that they had come just in time for their 12 AM clean up, where the first batch of besotted clubbers had left a mess and they were waiting for the second wave to come through. He didn’t miss the eye that the waitress had given them, looking them up and down like she was trying to decipher what state they were both in, but when neither of them wobbles in their stance, or slur through their words asking for a table, she relaxes and asks them where they’d like to sit. 

After they get settled and order their food (Harry convinces her to get one of their malted milkshakes with him -- his favorite was strawberry and after she confessed that she never had their strawberry malt, he was insistent on her trying it), Harry’s curiosity is suddenly piqued as he thinks of something he hadn’t thought of before, “How did you make it over to the club so fast, hm? Do you just have jars of this stuff made laying around?” 

Y/N sticks her clear straw in the icy glass of water she’d been poured, stirring it like there was anything to mix, and the ice cubes clink together soundly, “No, no, I actually don’t make protection spells unless I’m asked directly -- or usually that’s the case, but I was already in the middle of making some for you and me, so I had a little leftover.” 

“For me too?” Harry inquires, genuinely surprised by the concept that she would make him something to keep him safe. She nods though, like it was silly that he thought she wouldn’t have, only this time she reaches into her purse and retrieves two much larger vials with little cork tops, and one bigger bag of the dried leaves, accompanied by a smaller one tied with red ribbon. 

“I was doing some research while I was at work --” 

“You do a lot of research, don’t you?” He cuts her off and she nods. 

“Mhm -- and there’s this like. . .there’s this elder witch who lives an hour or so drive away from us who I think might be immortal, but that’s beside the point. She has this blog that I was scrolling through and she linked her email, so I messaged her and she sent me her number and told me to call her immediately.” She slides one of the vials over to him, along with the tree leaves, “When I did, she told us that we were in a little more danger than everyone else ‘cos like -- whatever this thing is could start trying to feed off of us, especially you. Said that we needed a potent protection spell, and I told her about mine. You feel safe in my store and in my flat right? Like -- like whatever that thing is couldn’t get to us?” He nodded, eyes fixed on hers, “So this is a version of that suitable for our bodies. The tea leaves are for your flat, and then this little bag here --” she points at the one tied closed with the small strip of red ribbon, “-- this is a tea version of it safe for Oat to drink.” 

Not only had she made him some, but she also made Oat some too? As much as he disliked her before, he can’t help how this warms his heart, zipping through his body and makes him feel just as safe as he did when he was wrapped in her quilt snug on her couch. Harry wonders if this is what she’s like all the time with her friends. . .he wonders if this side of her, that researches and makes protection goodies, brews him a cuppa just in case he woke up in the middle of the night and comes out in the depth of night to the seedy clubs she despises just because he called and asked -- if that’s what they get to see. If that’s what he would have seen had their meeting been any different. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, taking the vial and the bags, looking at them against his palm, “A lot. You didn’t have to do this for me.” 

“I did though,” she takes a drink of the water through her straw, “I may not agree with what you do but we’re the only two witches here and there is power in unity, even if our versions of magic are different. We have to be there for each other -- Thumper agrees, and that’s a lot coming from him because he doesn’t like much of anybody. . .he barely likes me,” she holds her hand up, the index finger of her other going from finger to finger as she lists off the ingredients, “So we’ve got fern, anise, leaves from the ash tree in the forest, fennel -- the nice old woman told me to hold off on the mugwort unless we’re planning on astral projecting or doing anything with divination, but if we felt that it was necessary we could wear a wreath of it around her necks. That’s an old wives tale though, I’m pretty sure.” She wiggles her fingers, “All that and a little bit of moon water, and we have ourselves a little protection spell! I dipped my finger in for a taste test and I’ll be honest, it’s awful and plant-y but I reckon we can toss them back like a shot and chase it with a sweet drink like juice or something.” 

It hits Harry that he gave Y/N very little credit for what she did, but now as he’s looking at something that she’d made specifically with him in mind, that wasn’t just a glorified sleepy time tea, it puts some things in perspective for him. Sure, she’s been a dick to him in the past, but he was a dick too, about her magic. While he isn’t going to start kissing the ground she walks on, he decides then that he’ll be more mindful of her craft. Plus, from the amount of time that they’ve had to spend together in the past two days, she’s tolerable when she isn’t on her high horse about him summoning spirits and ruining the town. She’s even helpful. 

“Thank you,” he repeats, “I really mean it, I appreciate this a lot.” 

Y/N smiles at him and it’s a smile that he’s never been gifted before. A smile that makes him smile back, as she places her elbow on the table and holds out her pinky toward him -- she’s big on pinky swears, he’s finding. 

“We’re looking out for each other, okay? I’ve got your back if you’ve got mine. . .I swear it.” 

Harry locks his pinky with hers without a second thought. 

[awallflowersjournal]

THE ORDINARY REVIEW

As I promised here is my 1 month review of the ordinary products I got in June.

I’ll do another review when I used the products for 3 months and for 6 months because I don’t think a product can change your whole skin texture in just 30 days🧡

This was and still is my skincare routine since 8th June:

Morning:

Wash face with Neutrogena Visibly Clear, oil free facial wash (I got rid of it because I wasn’t happy with it)

Niacinamide 10% + zinc 1%

La Roche Posay Effeclar mat moisturizer

ISDIN Fotoprotector Sunscreen spf 50+ (oil free)

Night:

Garnier Micelle water

La Roche Posay moisturizer

Azelaic Acid Suspension 10%

Glycolic Acid 7% toning solution on my back

So here is the Review

Niacinamide 10% + Zinc 1%: I really like the consistency of this, it’s not too thick or too watery, you don’t need much and it’s easy to apply. Normally it doesn’t burn or sting, only if I just picked the skin and have open wounds, but it doesn’t hurt it just tingles a bit. When you apply too much it peels off so make sure you use the right amount, for me it was 2 to 3 Drops for my face. I am pretty sure my skin texture is better than before but still not perfect obviously, I’ll definitely continue using it to see what happens.

Azelaic Acid Suspension 10%: It is a thicker cream and is not as easy to apply as the Niacinamide but still okay. It doesn’t smell nice but that doesn’t bother me. It doesn’t burn or hurt in any way. I am not sure it did something or changed my skin in any way, maybe it needs time, so I’ll keep using it. However I also got a cream from my dermatologist and it also is Azelaic Acid but 20% so I am sure that the acid itself is right for my skin, but maybe this one from The Ordinary is just not strong enough for me.

Glycolic Acid 7% Toning Solution: It is the most watery out of the products I used. You apply it with a cotton pad on your skin. Since I used the Azelaic Acid on my face I decided to use this on my back (You shouldn’t mix two acids). After applying it, it feels a bit sticky on my skin, even after a few hours. But since I applied it at night I did not care. I think that I got less pimples on my back, I can’t really tell if any scars faded but maybe that just needs some more time.

The other products I ordered were used by my mom and this was her routine:

Morning:

Facial wash Garnier Bio with lemongrass

Hyaloronic Acid 2% + B5

Ascorbyl Glucoside Solution 12% (Vitamin C)

Sunscreen spf 50 (The Same one I used)

Night:

Garnier Bio Facial wash

Buffet

This is her review:

Ascorbyl Glucoside Solution 12% (Vitamin C): We are both sure that her dark spots got clearer/lighter, so we definitely recommend this one.

Hyaloronic Acid 2% + B5: My mother thinks that her face doesn’t feel hydrated enough but she used it only in the morning, so from now on she will use it morning and night and we’ll see what that will do

Buffet: We are not sure if we see any results from this, but I read online that the buffet serum needs time and you won’t see immediate results so we’ll just be patient.

Overall my mother is pretty satisfied with her skin, her dark spots got a little lighter and she thinks her skin texture is a bit better too. She will definitely continue using these products.

🧚🏻‍♀️Here is everything I ordered and the prize for every product 🧚🏻‍♀️

[the-shadow-of-atlantis]

My Friend Got Turned Into A Werewolf

Part 9 Control

Tagging: @melyaliz @sea-quinn @coffee-randomness @speedypan

A/N Red Belongs to @melyaliz

Red was starting to see why everyone was saying the first full moons were rough. A week into his training and he felt like his bones were on fire. He groaned as he settled into the recliner wanting nothing more than to sleep. Granted the training was fun it was almost the same as what he was doing with the X-men and the pack was amazing. However it was starting to get hard to enjoy when his body felt like it was going through a massive growth spurt.

However as promised Aquata began helping him, her little exercises and messages were something he looked forward to. Partly because it was the only time he could fully relax, the other part was because it was the rare time Aquatas' mind seemed to open.

Not that he went poking around no, her thoughts just seemed to float out of her more easily. Though granted a lot of it was mainly her planning what technique to use or how to improve it. However every now and then he'd get her mind focusing on a part of him that she hadn't noticed.

That's a funny looking freckle.

Huh his shoulder dimples didn't disappear in all the new muscle. Focus.

Is that a pimple? Should I pop it? No, no touchy… great that's gonna be bugging me now.

He tried hard not to laugh because every time he even showed a glimpse of a smile her mind would close up again and it took awhile before her thoughts came floating out again.

She even went as far as learning new techniques that could help with his new wave of headaches. However Red was starting to feel bad, she was doing all this for him but what was he doing?

"Something wrong?" She asked softly, her hands hovering over his head.

"No." Red said, opening his eyes and staring up at her.

"You were making a face. Was I rubbing too hard?" She asked, carefully placing her hands on his scalp again.

"No just thinking." He said closing his eyes again as her fingers pressed into his scalp again.

"About?"

"Just the fact that you're helping me with all this yet I'm not doing much in return." Red shrugged.

"Well you're not really doing nothing you're helping me not fall behind in my classes. Heck there's a good chance you might even get me further than everyone else." Aquata said.

"Still feels like I need to do something more." Red said with a slight pout. Then he felt a flick on his nose and growled softly causing Aquata to chuckle a little.

"Stop, I don't need anything in return." Aquata said sternly.

After a long pause Aquata sighed. "You're not gonna let this go are you."

"Nope." Red smiled knowing Aquata was rolling her eyes.

Despite all the help however it didn't stop the nightmares from coming. And they were getting worse the closer the full moon was getting. He woke up with a start his body trembled as he breathed hard. Shaking his head the memory of the nightmare slowly vanished leaving him even more tired as he sat there in his bed.

The smell of lavender, honey, and sugar made its way to him and he sighed. Getting up he made his way down the stairs and to the kitchen where Aquata was already sitting at the table with a cup of tea in her hands.

"Nightmare?" She asked softly, though her eyes seemed distant.

"Yeah." Red sighed as he rubbed his head settling down across from her and grabbed the cup that seemed to be waiting for him.

"Do you remember anything this time?" She continued.

"Not really." Red tried to think the dream had gone by too fast but he had this strange feeling. "I think it was about you."

That made her look at him.

"Me?" She asked bewildered.

"I think." Red said glancing at her. "I can't remember but I'm pretty sure you were at the center of it."

Aquata blinked then looked down at her cup. The silence began to drag out and Red found himself focusing on her. Her eyes seemed a bit swollen, her fingers mindlessly rubbed the handle of her cup. He looked down at his own cup and realized something.

Usually when he'd wake up from a nightmare Aquata would wake up and check on him before coming down and making him tea. He glanced up at her again.

"You had a nightmare too." He stated, still Aquata said nothing but he noticed her shoulders slump.

"Yeah." She whispered. "I guess maybe you might have picked it up. Sorry."

Red thought about, it was a possibility. He did remember sharing dreams with his sister's back when they were younger. He also recalled Aquata always seemed to suffer from nightmares though like always her mind was quiet even in a dream.

It was his turn to ask. "Do you remember what it was?"

"Yeah." Aquata smiled sadly. "One of the cons of meditation is that it sorta helps me remember dreams. But this one it's one I always have."

She sighed as she rubbed her eyes, Red waited for her to continue.

"Sometimes. When it feels like there's something I can't control, I always have this dream." Aquata closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I remember the night I got shot on that mission. I remember feeling like I couldn't breath. I remember losing my connection to my body. All of that it just comes flooding back."

Red remembered that night clearly. It was the first time anyone on the team had gotten severely injured. He remembered Aquata laying on the ground; it was the first time her mind ever rang out so loud only for it to grow quiet in a way that scared Red.

“What is it that you feel you can't control?” Red asked, suddenly catching what she had said at first.

“It's stupid.” Aquata mumbled as she took a sip of her tea.

Red simply stared at her waiting once more.

“I feel like I should be doing more. Like helping figure out who attacked you and why. I hate just sitting still and not being able to contribute anything.” Aquata said and she glared at the little bracelet she wore that held the tracker.

“And here you are telling me I shouldn’t be worrying of not doing enough.” Red chuckled and even Aquata smiled slightly.

“Eh it's the Wayne in me.” She shrugged then got up. “Come on you should get as much sleep as you can. The full moon is two nights away and it’s going to be hard enough without you messing up your sleep.”

Red nodded and downed his tea. His head was trying to soak in the information he just found out. Maybe he did tap into her nightmare but something about that didn't seem right. He seemed to recall seeing her on the ground but he wasn't sure if he saw the bullet wound or not.

[ellaofoakhill]

Kindling, Part One

For everyone who’s stuck with this story so far: first off, thank you so much! Just knowing you’re out there appreciating my work means a lot, and can really buoy me up on a bad day!

Second: this chapter introduces one of my favourite characters (simply a delight to write), and marks the first of several small multi-story arcs, and I am REALLY happy with how it turned out; hopefully you are too.

Meline allowed herself the smuggest of grins as she came up the West Earth Shaft; she’d gathered enough deep-black for several mantles. She thought about curing it; cured deep-black was sunbeam-resistant, but it didn’t offer the same level of concealment. She patted her rucksack; there was lots of time to decide what to do with it.

The elevator stopped, and she got out. A short walk down the passage, and she halted. The lid of the shaft was ajar; not how she’d left it. She spoke a word of power, and her staff brightened.

A scuffle came from the alcove beside the opening. Staff across her body, Meline cautiously moved forward. Crickets weren’t dangerous, but their bites hurt like Dramfa.

She jumped around the corner, pointing the lit emerald at the alcove. She almost dropped her staff.

A fairy child was fitfully asleep. Meline propped her staff against the wall and knelt. It was a little girl, maybe two hundred years old, so skinny she was nearly see-through, with a mat of hair all about her. Meline furrowed her brow. The girl’s clothes, though filthy and torn beyond recognition, looked well-made. Touching the child’s tiny hand and forehead felt like brushing against ice.

Meline removed her rucksack, and wrapped the girl in deep-black. The risk of tearing it hardly crossed her mind; deep-black, despite its native shafts and caverns, was quite warm.

Once the child was swaddled, Meline thrust the lid aside, hefted her in both arms, and somehow clambered out of the shaft. It was a cold autumn night, though the wind was dying. As Meline set the rock back in place and picked the girl up, she supposed the chill had forced her into the hole.

Meline whistled for Coarser; the child was lighter than anyone her age should be, but Meline was unused to the weight. Before she’d crossed halfway to Oakhill, Coarser was flying across the grass toward her. “Get Ella,” Meline said, “this child needs food, and shelter from the cold. Hurry!” Coarser sniffed the bundle once, reared, turned about, and was gone toward the hall.

Meline felt the child stir. “It’s alright,” she murmured, hugging the bundle to her chest. “You’re safe now. Soon you’ll be warm and full.” Whether the girl heard her, or was reassured by the contact, she settled back down.

Meline was in the light of the stable door when two figures approached, led by Coarser. Havel’s size gave him away, and Meline would recognize Ella’s stride anywhere. She held out her arms, and Meline passed the child to her. She pulled back a fold of the deep-black even as she turned on the spot and rushed inside, Meline and Havel on her heels.

“She’s cold,” Ella said. She looked to Havel. “Stoke the kitchen fire and gather the blankets from the storeroom in the upper wing. She’s injured too,” Ella said as Havel raced ahead. “Her right eye’s swollen shut. Once we’ve got her warm, we’ll have to check if she has any other wounds.”

“I didn’t see any blood,” Meline said as they passed the front landing, “though the poor thing’s filthy head to toe. If there are any cuts, we’ll have to clean them.”

“I’ll grab my supplies from the infirmary,” Ella said as they mounted the stairs; Meline had to puff a bit. “Could you re-warm the carrot-potato soup? She should have something thick and nourishing, but not too much if she’s starved.”

“Yeah,” Meline said, “and maybe a sip of faerye. It’ll warm her immediately.” Ella nodded. They came to the kitchen, the fire roaring in the hearth. Ella set the child by the fire and went for her supplies. As Meline pulled back the swaddling, Havel came in with blankets piled over his head. “Thank you,” Meline said. “Once I’ve unwrapped the deep-black, could you give it a shake and put it in my storeroom? It needs to cure for several months.”

Havel nodded. “How is she?”

“We’ll know once Ella gets back,” Meline said. “For now, she’s alive, and warming up. If we can get her clean, put some hot food in her, and make sure she’s not seriously hurt, that’ll be a good start.” Havel nodded, then left with the deep-black.

Meline made a bed out of the blankets on the floor, then set the child on it, and threw more blankets on top. She let the fire die down—Havel had built it up too high—then set the pot of soup on.

Meline felt the girl’s hand and forehead again. They seemed warmer. Hopefully she wouldn’t develop a fever.

Ella came in while Meline was stirring the soup, carrying two hefty cases. One held gauze of spider-thread, silk ties, and absorbent fluff of various kinds, along with glass knives, probes, and other instruments. The other held a number of small bottles. Meline examined these; various cleansers and tonics that would give strength to the weak and purge sickened cuts.

Meline turned back to the soup; piping hot. She pulled a small bowl out of the cupboard and was just filling it when she glanced at the makeshift bed. A dark eye blinked at her.

“Hello,” Meline said, kneeling. The child twitched as if resisting the urge to move away. “Are you alright?” After a moment, the child nodded. “Are you hungry?” Another nod. Meline glanced at the cutlery drawer. “I have some soup for you. I’m just going to grab a spoon.”

Meline scooted over, and reached up with one hand while the other grabbed the bowl from the counter. “Can you sit up?”

The child gingerly propped herself up. She caught sight of Ella, and stopped like a rabbit heard a twig snap.

“You have nothing to fear here, child,” Ella said. “You are in my house. And Meline has some soup for you.” She added in a stage whisper. “Between you and me, it’s pretty good.”

The child looked back at Meline, who held out the bowl. “Careful,” Meline said as she took it, “it’s…” the child, after a quick sniff, shoveled soup into her mouth until her cheeks were full to bursting, “…hot.”

But the heat seemed not to bother her. The soup was swiftly gone, and the girl held out the bowl to Meline. Her hopeful expression needed no translation.

“Before you have another bowl,” Ella said, “I’d like to have a look at you.” She knelt on the other side of the makeshift bed.

Havel came back into the kitchen. “The deep-black’s put away, Miss—”

It was lucky the child had eaten so fast. The moment the door opened she dropped the bowl and threw the blankets over herself. A small, ominous feeling crept into Meline’s heart.

“The child just woke up, Havel,” Ella said, turning to face him, “and she might be scared if there are too many of us here. Maybe go down to the forge and work on one of your projects. We’ll call if we need you.”

He bowed. “I’m just a bell away.” He backed out of the room, looking undeservedly sheepish.

Ella turned back to the blankets. She set a hand on top of them. “You can come out.” The blankets stirred. “Havel is a kindly soul. He has three little sisters, and he’s a big teddy bear to all of them.”

Two small hands appeared above the blankets, and pulled them down. The girl sat back up. Ella held a hand to her chest, and made a small, seated bow. “I am Ella,” she said, “and this is Meline. She found you in a mine shaft we have in the yard, and brought you here.” She smiled. “As I said, you’re safe here.”

The child sat still, then turned to Meline and held up the bowl.

Meline chuckled. “Still hungry?” She took the offered bowl.

“I’d like to have a look at you,” Ella said, “before you have more soup. Maybe we could wash you up a little bit? I’d especially like to have a look at that eye.”

The girl held a hand up to her face. Her other eye went wide, and she started trembling like a leaf. The ominous feeling in Meline’s heart grew.

She put a pot on the fire to boil. “Shall I grab the wash basin?” She looked at the girl. “Does a hot bath sound nice?”

The girl looked up at her. She stopped trembling, and nodded. She watched as Meline brought in the copper basin and filled it, adding hearthstones warmed by the fire. They hissed as she dropped them into the basin with a pair of tongs. Soon the water was steaming.

The girl’s clothes were caked with dried mud and bits of moss and grass. Once she felt the water with a tentative hand, she was all too happy to get out of them, though here and there she winced as they got her undressed. Meline noticed she wasn’t breathing very deeply. The child hissed between her teeth when Ella took her arm back to get it out of its sleeve. She shared a glance with Meline at that, but said nothing.

A moan rumbled from the girl’s throat when she eased into the bath. Goose-pimples erupted all over. She settled down until only the top of her head was above the water.

Ella and Meline each took a small copper bowl, and poured water over her head. The girl spluttered and shook herself. Her hair grew darker as the dirt washed away, and while Ella kept pouring, Meline started brushing.

“You have so much hair!” Meline said as she brushed. “And it’s so thick and straight! Ella, look!” she held up a lock she’d teased the moss and seeds out of. “When this is straight, child, it must reach to your knees!”

“Jealous?” Ella said with a quirked eyebrow.

“Only a little,” Meline said, resuming her work.

“When Meline doesn’t put anything in her hair,” Ella stage-whispered again, “it sticks up all over. Ow!” Meline had tugged her braid. Ella was smiling even as she yelped. “I’m going to go bald if you keep pulling my hair!”

Meline eyed her a moment. “You wouldn’t look too bad with a bald head.”

“I like my hair where it is, thank you.” Shortly thereafter, while Meline kept teasing out the girl’s hair, Ella lathered up a bar of soap. The smells of sage and lavender filled the room.

“Can I have your arm?” She held out one hand while the other held the soap. The girl hesitated, then gave her arm into Ella’s care. Soon she was covered in soap bubbles. Ella carefully worked all over her arms and back, then gave the child the bar to scrub her legs. Ella took a warm, soft cloth, and cleaned the girl’s face. She scrunched her nose and resisted, at first. But Ella’s kindly patience won out.

Ella made no sudden noise or movement that Meline noticed, as she finally wrapped the girl’s hair in a towel. But the way Ella carefully wrapped the soap back up, and picked the bowls up off the floor and set them on the counter, gave Meline to know she was reining in a terrible anger.

They got the girl out of the basin, and Meline dried her off as Ella went to dump the water, promising she’d swiftly return.

That was when Meline saw the bruises. The ribs on the girl’s right side were already yellowing, as was the hand-print on her arm, just visible against her creamy skin. But the bruise under her swollen right eye was unmistakably a fist. Meline took a long, long breath. Ella had obviously noticed. There would be time to talk with the child about it.

“Well,” Meline said, “I wish we had a nightgown in your size. Maybe I can stitch a few for you, and ask Havel if he could bring some of his sisters’ old ones. In the meantime, would you like a shirt of mine, or Ella’s? We can wash your clothes in the morning.”

Ella came back with the washbasin.

“Ella’s.”

Ella stopped mid-stride. “Yes?”

Suppressing a smile, Meline turned to Ella. “She’d like one of your shirts to wear to bed.”

“Oh?” She looked to the girl. “Is that right?” The child nodded. “Then I’ll go fetch a few, and you can choose one. Would you like more soup while I get them?” Ella bit her cheek at the girl’s aggressive nod. “Then I’ll be back shortly.”

The girl, wrapped in a blanket, was almost done her bowl when Ella returned. She had four short-sleeved flannel shirts of different colours. “Which would you like?”

After a moment’s thought, the girl pointed at one with a chocolate and cream tartan pattern.

“Excellent choice,” Ella said, setting the others on the back of her chair while she handed the chosen shirt to Meline. It was far too wide in the shoulders, which went almost to her elbows, but it was the right length for a nightgown, at least.

Ella knelt on the floor, and beckoned the girl toward her. The girl grabbed Meline’s hand, but she approached Ella.

“As I said before, child,” Ella said, meeting her eye, “you are welcome here, and you are safe under my protection.” She fidgeted. “I don’t know how you came here, and I don’t know where you came from.” She held up a hand as the girl froze. “I don’t need to know right now. But I need to know three things before you go to sleep.

“First…” Ella gulped, “do you want to go back to where you came from?” Meline’s heart twisted in her chest as the girl shook her head. Ella struggled again. “Is there anyone who loves you who wants you to go back to them?” Meline didn’t try to stop her tears as the child shook her head again.

“Alright.” Ella took a deep breath; it seemed to steady her. “Now, what is your name? If you decide to stay here, I would rather not call you ‘child’ all the time.”

The child gave Meline’s hand a small squeeze. She spoke so quietly Meline heard only a murmuring.

“I’m sorry?” Ella held a hand behind her ear.

“’m Selva,” the girl said.

Ella grinned. Her eyes were shiny. “Well, Selva, shall we get you to bed, then?”

The room Ella picked out for Selva was cozy. The bed had a down comforter, and a thick green and cream quilt. It even had a small lamp on the night table. There was just one problem…

Meline laughed. Selva had a death-grip on Ella’s left hand. In the brief instant Ella managed to prise her hand out of the child’s grasp, Selva got up and followed her out of the room.

“She’s quite attached to you,” Meline said, covering her mouth.

“Whose side are you on?” Ella was trying to loose her pant leg from Selva’s grip. And failing, but judging by her poorly-concealed smile, that wasn’t important.

“I have a thought,” Meline said.

“Is it helpful?”

Meline huffed, and met Selva’s eye. “This is what I live with. Are you sure you want to stay?”

“Yeah.” Selva’s nod, and her grip, were firm as bedrock.

“What’s the plan, Meline?”

“I don’t know if it’s ‘helpful’ enough.” Meline made no effort to hide her grin.

“Meline!” Ella was trying not to laugh.

“Selva is clearly anxious about sleeping on her own,” Meline said, removing Ella’s hand from the offending Selva. “So, this first day, why don’t we sleep in her room?”

Ella stopped struggling, and looked down at Selva, who nodded so aggressively Meline worried her head might fall off. She groaned. “Ugh, fine.”

[my-hetero-side-just-won]

Ok, so where I am I just missed the deadline for day eight, but oh well. Close enough. So, I’ve missed a couple days, but here’s a really awful stupid fic for day eight! I don’t really have anything else to say, so hopefully you get something out of this garbage. (Warning: slight nsfw)

Hidden

“Kevin, we should get up.”

“Ugh…” Kevin groaned and rolled over. “Can’t we just stay here all day?”

“Kev, you know we can’t. It’s 10:30. We need to get up.” Connor sat up and patted his boyfriend’s shoulder. “Come on! Let’s start the day!”

Ugh. Sometimes Connor’s over the top enthusiasm exhausted Kevin.

Kevin rolled over and faced his boyfriend, grabbing his hand and pulling jokingly. “Lay back down.”

Connor sighed and laid back in the bed.. “Five minutes. Then I’m leaving.”

Kevin smiled, content with himself. He was admiring his boyfriend when his eyes widened. “Holy shit…”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Your neck.”

“What?”

Kevin carefully rubbed his thumb across the dark purple bruise, causing Connor to flinch.

“Hickey?” Connor questioned.

Kevin nodded and said, “You have to cover it up.”

“What? Why?!” Connor sat up.

“Do you want everyone to see it?”

“Why does it matter? They know we’re dating.”

“But they don’t know we’re so intimate!”

“None of them care! It’s okay, Kev. It’s no big deal, really.” Connor grabbed Kevin’s hand.

“But it’s so obvious. Can’t you just wear a scarf or something?”

“It’s way too hot for a scarf!”

“Well, you need to do something!”

•••

It was a Saturday morning, and Arnold had spent last night rooming with Elder Neeley. Every Friday night the sleeping arrangement was switched up so both James and Chirs, and Kevin and Connor could be together.

The fact that Kevin didn’t want to spend every night with Arnold broke his heart slightly, but he wouldn’t admit this to Kevin. He didn’t want it to seem like he was jealous, because he really wasn’t. He loved how close Kevin and Connor were, but sometimes Arnold worried Kevin was getting sick of him.

Arnold grabbed for the doorknob when he heard Kevin yelling.

“Oh, my god. It’s HUGE.”

Arnold took a deep breath. That sounded very...surely they weren’t hooking up, right? Kevin wouldn’t do that in their room without permission, right? Of course not.

“Shut up! It’s not that big!” Arnold heard Connor shout, and even though Arnold couldn’t see him, he was sure Connor must’ve been blushing.

“I don’t know, Con. It’s pretty large.”

Arnold blushed. So, his best friend was having sex in his room. What should he do? Just walk away and never bring it up? Have a conversation with Kevin later that night? Barge in and interrupt them, showing the couple how inappropriate Arnold thought this situation was?

As rude as it was, Arnold was seriously considering the third option. It was his room, after all.

Before Arnold let himself think the idea over, he turned the doorknob. He’d learned that he preferred to act without thought. It made for an exciting life.

“Freeze!” Arnold barged in, expecting to find the two boys entangled in each other, most likely naked. 

Instead, they were just sitting on the bed, fully clothed.

“Yes, Arnold?” Kevin asked, annoyance in his voice. He quickly pulled his hand back from where his thumb had been on Connor’s neck. Arnold was quick to notice the huge bruise.

“What’s happening here?” 

Connor and Kevin followed Arnold’s view to the hickey. Connor quickly smacked his hand over it.

“Can we help you?” Connor flushed.

“Well, I heard Kevin screaming about how ‘it’s huge’ and, uh…”

“You thought we were having sex?” Kevin rubbed his temples.

“Yeah…”

“Well, no. Connor and I were cuddling last night when...well you can see what happened.”

Connor avoided eye contact with Arnold. He could now understand why Kevin has wanted to hide the hickey. This was embarrassing to say the least.

“And,” Kevin continued, “now we don’t know how to hide it.”

Arnold’s face lit up. “Wait a minute!” 

He stood up and walked over to his night stand. He opened the drawer and began to dig through the many items.

“There!” He picked up a small tube and presented it to Kevin.

“Why do you have concealer?” Kevin took the product from Arnold’s hands, examining it carefully.

“When my mom heard I was going to Uganda, she wanted to make sure I’d have anything I could possibly need. That included concealer, in case I needed to cover up a pimple or something. But I’ve never used it.”

“Thanks, Arnold.” Kevin gently began applying the makeup to the bruise.

The shade was slightly off, but it was better than nothing. It hid Connor’s wound for the most part and he took a deep breath, feeling more relaxed about the situation.

“Thank you so much, Arnold. You won’t tell anyone about this, right?” Connor asked nervously.

“Of course not! I’m just glad I could help. But if you ever have sex in here—“

“I think that’s our cue to go!” Kevin stood up and grabbed Connor’s hand. “But seriously. Thank you, Arnold. You’re the best friend I could ask for.”

Arnold smiled. Maybe his best friend wasn’t annoyed at him.

Throughout the course of the day the other missionaries saw the strange discolored patch on Connor’s neck. They didn’t think much of it, until dinner when most of the concealer had rubbed off and they could clearly see the hickey. They all exchanged looks and silently agreed not to bring it up. However, Kevin and Connor didn’t realize that everyone else knew. They went to bed feeling proud and thinking about how they had all the others fooled. They couldn’t be more wrong.

[gyromitra-esculenta]

The penultimate chapter for Something Ends, Something Begins - still ‘Bad Witcher AU’. The song sung in the beginning is Lament of Orpheus by Darren Korb.

Warnings: none (unless you count friendly ribbing and calling names, weasels (one particular weasel)). 

Gabriel wakes up alone and with the aftertaste of the chaos on his tongue. From the outside, a melody plucked on lute's strings floats. Absentmindedly, he picks straw from his hair and rebinds it in a low-hanging ponytail. Custom calls for it to be shorn with the mourning ended but he is hesitant, not willing to make his mind up yet – what is the point of keeping the customs he does not know the true weight of?

He loosens the buckles and clasps of the armor, the particular feeling of having slept in it fading – the drops of dried blood on it reassuring. Soon, the brassards join the chest piece on the blankets, and Gabriel turns his attention to the bags showing obvious signs of having been tampered with, obviously so. A fresh shirt, although wrinkled, hangs above them, thrown haphazardly over the wooden wall of the box. He runs his fingers against the dyed cloth, the weave tight and simple, the stitching reinforced with strips of cured leather.

Outside, a distinct voice meandering between harmony and dissonance carries a maudlin melody.

"Hear, o gods, my desperate plea, to see my love beside me."

He changes, listening to the song and wondering over its rhyme, or maybe he's trying to look too deep into it, and the words of warning to not mistake the stars for their reflection on the surface of the water come to mind.

"Sunk below the mortal sea her anchor weighs upon me."

Still, it's one of those songs performed when drunks had either slipped under the tables or turned contemplative – and when the brawls and the boasts transformed into the philosophies discussed over the cups of mead and dirty tables.

"Fasten her tether unto me that she may rise to sail free."

Gabriel steps out into the open. The sun pleasantly warms his skin, the smell of meat roasted with juniper and rowanberry wine wafts on the air.

"Don't look back," Sombra holds the melody on her tongue, the words mingling fluidly together into one flowing utterance. She puts her palm across the strings of the lute held in her lap, a fleeting smile on her lips. By her side, with his legs crossed, sits Jack, looking up with an expression equal parts fond, apologetic, and the kind a mischievous kid caught stealing apples might wear.

"I was looking for clean clothes for you, and you had her crystal at the bottom of one bag, so I thought..."

"...you'd call me in the middle of the night?" Sombra snorts.

"It was an hour before noon, witch."

"The middle of the night, as I said, you incorrigible forest pest."

"Oh, excuse me, your witchness, I forgot about your never-ending moral hangover."

"Rich, coming from an ungulate," Sombra tries to sound offended but her face betrays her with how red-rimmed her eyes still are, and her hair curl around her cheek naturally, the coiffure forwent. The same with her garments, the frilly shirt with several laces undone and breeches more akin to something gathered at a moment's notice in a frantic hurry. Gabriel smiles, coming closer, beckoned with Jack's outstretched hand.

"It's not me with a weasel betwixt my tits."

"He likes it there because there is something he can lie betwixt, warm and soft, and voluminous."

"I'm still growing so that's uncalled for," Jack gives her a look full of almost genuine hurt as he pulls Gabriel down to the ground to rest between his now uncrossed legs.

Gabriel lets himself be guided and falls with his back against Jack's chest, different yet so familiar – arms circling his waist and the chin wedged over his shoulder as Jack laughs with a huff. "Oof, you're heavy now, cub."

"At least, we're past the puberty," Sombra smiles indulgently.

"Don't get me started, witch, the pimples were the least of my worries, the wenches are like bloodhounds after a wounded stag," Jack jests with a note of challenge in his tone. Sombra brushes her fingers against the strings, wresting a whimsical accord out of the lute.

"Forgive me for having no sympathy, ungulate. Now," she cocks her head, mischief in her gaze, "what are your plans?"

"I was thinking, I've never been to Skellige, little cub."

"Skellige?" Gabriel questions, shifting somewhat. "Why Skellige?"

"Oh," Jack moves one hand to his hair and picks at the stray blade of straw Gabriel must have missed earlier, "lots of druids to piss off, and we might still get there for the sirens’ nesting period, I hear they're testy and irritable then, more than usual."

"I'll give you two months and meet you at Bremervoord. I'm booking the passage because I absolutely do not trust you both not to choose a hole-ridden tub that will sink if the wave rides higher than a hem of priestess' skirt," Sombra clicks her tongue at the end.

"Three months."

She stares at Gabriel, at first incredulous, then her expression morphs into a sly look unbefitting her lousy appearance.

"Yes, yes, a vast quantity of time to make up for, indeed, I do feel a ballad calling to me."

"No," Gabriel sighs, closing his eyes. “No ballads..."

"Yes, absolutely no ballads, I am still very much traumatized by your appalling rhymester vagaries," Jack pitches in his two crowns and Sombra is opening her mouth to object already.

"We have to drop by the stronghold to pick something up."

"We do?" Jack sounds surprised and Gabriel feels his chin shifting on his shoulder – imagining the inquisitive tilt of the head he needs not to see to know well.

"Your swords."

"You kept them."

"Of course I did. They were-are good swords," he catches himself too late. Only now, Gabriel notices how profound the shift from 'was' to 'is' is - it's one thing to believe this reality, and another to accommodate it and let it redefine the pain and the loneliness, and finally the acceptance, in the years before – and some surprise resentment lingers.

He's reminded of how everything – and nothing at all – had changed after he had acquiesced to Jack's attentions for the first time.

"I need a leak." Sombra pulls herself up, leaving the lute on the ground. "Don't wait for me," she adds before briskly moving to the fence and vaulting over it. Strangely, no retort is coming from Jack, and Gabriel notices the tears when a brush of the lips on his cheek smears the moisture. How kind of her to leave.

"I'm sorry, cub. I am," Jack whispers, "truly, terribly, horribly sorry, for all. For everything. I could feel you, know that you are out there, but the knowledge of seeing you was beyond my grasp," he muses, his palm rising to Gabriel's other cheek. "The flower weaves its protections, even from me, so I could only wait for you to come to me until I could go to you myself."

"Your farewells."

"Today, the same as Nielub's hair-cutting, but it doesn't mean I have to leave in the evening," Jack sighs, fingers playing with Gabriel's hair again, twirling the loose strands with a doting tempo. "Tomorrow's not too late, and neither too early."

It strikes him that maybe Jack does not want to leave having known family life now, something he would have not experienced before. Something of the thought must reflect in him because Jack chuckles and nuzzles his cheek with his nose before speaking again.

"It's my time to leave, with you, cub. You're all I need, and want," he sighs. "It won't be the easiest, I did get used to this kind of existence, but... I didn't know better, it was wrong of me to take them from you."

"You're keeping them safe for me."

"Always will."

The irony of 'I didn't know better' does not elude Gabriel; having his own words turned against him in a strange twist brings comfort rather than uneasiness – two admissions of guilt neither of them faults the other for.

"It's enough, knowing they are with you."

He wants to add his own apology but the unexpected screech has him looking at the source: Sombra frantically trying to wriggle her hand into her shirt from the top.

"Watch the claws, you furry Nilfgaardian bastard! Out! Out!"

"I think that's our cue, hm, cub?"

"Did you...?"

"I'd never. He just got bored," Jack chuckles as Sombra turns twice on the spot unsuccessfully attempting to halt with her hands the bump moving under the cloth, the weasel each time squeezing under or between her palms.

"Your whore mother of..."

"Murder mother!" Jack quips, slipping away from behind Gabriel. "Just stand still."

"The demon has the claws in my belly," Sombra hisses, arms outstretched and held away from her sides. "Get it out. Now. Or there will be a fried weasel appetizer."

"You wouldn't," Jack puts a palm against his chest with a horrified gasp, stopping just before her and leaning down. "Lord Murders-A-Lot does not deserve such a barbaric end!"

"Or a ballad."

"Now, this is a fate worse than death."

He grabs Sombra's shirt and pulls the bottom out of her britches, catching the falling weasel with his other hand. Lord Murders-A-Lot scurries up his arm with a chirp and briefly nibbles on his ear.

"I'm scratched all over. Devil, not a weasel."

"All weasels are devils."

As Jack pets the Lord, Gabriel feels himself slipping and falling back into the rhythm of it, the equilibrium snapping into place like the last piece of an astrolabe tracking the movement of the spheres.

"Just don't get him started."

"You're just jealous of my wee murder ribbon."

"I don't get his obsession with weasels," Sombra mutters, stuffing her shirt back where it belongs before she leans down for her lute.

"Neither do I?" Gabriel chuckles looking to Jack who smiles softly - his gaze warm and content, and something more elusive swirling behind it.

"C'mon," he beckons with his head, offering his hand to Gabriel, "it's about to start, would be rude to keep everyone waiting, wouldn't it?"

"It would." Gabriel accepts and grips his palm, pulling himself up and stumbling Jack for a moment – at first trying to steal a quick kiss but losing himself in it amidst the laughter.

[futurewriter2000]

Schemes ~ Letter to Sirius

A/N: Finishing this and saying goodbye to my masterpiece of a work. I love this part so much. L.O.V.E. I just- WOW.

XX

‘ Dear Sirius,

Courtyard; place where we crashed, shared a first kiss and found each other. But we found each other broken and lost, bad timing and toxic surroundings.

Every choice I made before us, ruined us. And for such a long time I blamed myself for something that wasn’t even my fault. The reason for our breakup wasn’t my choices before us. Me sleeping with James before we happened wasn’t the problem for everything to turn out as badly as it did.

I loved you. Once.

I cared for you. Since always.

But we were never meant to be.

I wish you everything you dreamt to have, everything you told me about your future and everything I never gave you.

Love, (y/n). ‘

“And everything I never gave you.” he let out a soft, fake chuckle, crumbling the paper in his hand and throwing it on the ground.

You stood frozen in the same place as you did when he came and started to read you the letter. The fabric of your jacket felt as if you have first laid your fingers on it. You were numb, your fingertips were numb, your legs felt as if somebody cut them at the knees. The heart felt as if it was growing bigger and suffocating you. Your throat was sore and you knew if you wanted to talk, no sound would come out.

“Look at me.” he spoke softly, standing on his two feet and staring at your back. “Look at me, (y/n).”

But with all your might you put in moving your feet, you were still standing firmly on the ground, determined to stay the way you were.

But with the silence that was just so painful for you to listen to, you turned your head first but truly looked at him when your body was facing him. His expression was unreadable. The stare of his heavenly grey eyes, the glower of his plush lips. As much as you knew his every feature, this one was the most foreign.

“Why didn’t you come?” he asked, his voice shaking despite the strength he put not to show his desperation. But you were quiet, still holding the jacket and avoiding his eyes. “Why didn’t you come?!” he started to shout. “You came to James and Remus! Why not me!?” the tears shimmered in his eyes and that caused your own heartache just as much as his.

“I couldn’t.” you mumbled, letting tears fall down your cheeks and turning your head away from him.

“You couldn’t?” he scoffed, not believing you. “You were the best I ever had, (y/n).” he said and that only impaired your heart that it bled. “I never told you but the moment I saw that ring on you, your pale and cold finger- I broke. I was half whole.”

You forced yourself to look at him, lifting your head and looking at him bravely through the tears.

And he knew. He knew because he loved you.

“You love him.” he said faintly, under his breath. This time, for the first time, he turned his head away from you, fat tears falling down his cheeks. “It’s always been him, wasn’t it?”

“That’s why I couldn’t.” you let out a sob. “I couldn’t look at you in the eyes and tell you the truth.”

“If I was before them- If I was the first you met- before Remus and James- wou-would it still be him?”

“I don’t know, Sirius.” you gave him an honest answer and he took a deep breath in, placing his both hands behind his head with his elbows pointing out.

“You know...” he forced himself to smile. “Since the beginning, I knew. Deep down I knew but I didn’t want to believe it. I was so in love with you that until now I kept it buried and with your eyes- damn your stunning, gorgeous eyes that I missed so much- you dug it out... opening old wounds.“

Merlin, how much his words hurt. They were so honest, pure, true... and there you were, standing with your mouth shut. No words came to your head, no words to reply as all you thought about was how much you hurt him.

He sat on the sofa, brushing his tears with his sleeve and running his hand through his hair. He stared at the blank wall, so many words to say to you yet not ready to say them out loud.

“From everything I put you through, this hurts me the most.” you started, walking over to the sofa and sitting next to him. “To see you, Sirius Black-” you smiled and tugged down the sleeves of your sweater. “-with tears in your eyes and confessing your love to me. God, I’ve dreamt it since I was 12.” his eyes flickered to yours and stayed there. “You were so cute with your messy hair and telling your brother what to do, embarrassing him a little-so bossy.” you smiled and he simpered. “And you started to grow older and your face structure was like a God and your hair was growing longer- though there was a pimple phase somewhere at the age 14-15...”

“We don’t talk about that.” he chuckled and you felt your heart lighter at the sound of it.

“I was crushing on you but I never knew how to approach you so I didn’t. Plus you became a total arrogant arse-” you stated the fact but he only rolled his eyes. “You know you were, Sirius.”

“As I remember you were the one calling saying I have a nice arse.”

“In conclusion-” you put your hands over his and gazed into his eyes. His smile faded and he looked you back.”Back then, I never believed there would be an us and it stayed that way until the day I found out you fancied me. But that same day I realized that all you ever were, Sirius, was a dream. Us wasn’t the ideal of love as I once thought. It was a mess.”

He stayed quiet for a while, his eyes directed on your holding hands and his mind, torn. “He looks at you like you’re his world, you know?” he looked at you, smiling. “He never smiles so brightly as he does when he thinks of you. He’s a total wreck when he sees you.” he now let out a chuckle. “I want you to be happy, (y/n) and you’re happiest when you’re with him.” he looked at you, his hands tightening your grip. “You said no to both of them, even me but I know you best and I know that one of the answers was a mistake.”

Tears fell from your eyes, joyful? Sorrowful? You couldn’t pick them apart anymore.

“You’ve done it for me like I should have done for Remus and James. But I am going to be okay because thinking everything back, you were right. We were never meant to be.” he smiled and a tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “I’m letting you go, (y/n). I want you to be happy. So go to him and be happy.”

But if you only knew how much he wanted you to be happy with him.

---

You stepped into his home.

He was alone and sitting on the armchair next to the fireplace. His feet were on the table, his hands supporting a book.

“I wondered when you would come.” he turned around with the same depravity in his eyes as he did the last time you saw him. “Wife.”

“You murdered me.” you spoke harshly.

“Did a lousy job doing it, apparently.” he rolled his eyes, focusing them back on the book. But before you could reply, he stood up and turned to you. “But did you ever think that I perhaps knew about your little scheme?”

You lowered your wand and quirked an eyebrow. “Did you?”

“(y/n).” he smiled widely and opened his arms as he approached. “I’ve known you since we were two years old. You’ve got scheming from me and hiding your evidence under pillow sheet is for beginners.” he was now close with his hands on your shoulders.

“You knew? Then why did you do it?”

“Because your way of dying was humiliating and I wanted for you to die with honor.” he smiled broadly and you smiled in return.

“So you knew about my plan all along?”

“Yes. I’m just shocked you didn’t tell me about it.”

“And you’ve found it all under my pillow sheet?” you laughed.

“You need a better hiding place.” he laughed with you.

“I’m so dense.” you continued with the same behavior until he turned his back on you. “-to think that you were hiding your plans under your pillow sheet as well.” you removed the mask you put on for him and pulled out his wand. Before he heard you correctly and grabbed his wand, you were faster. “CRUCIO!”

He fell on the floor, knees buried in the fur of the rug as he grabbed the sides of his head and started to scream in pain.

“Did you really think I hid them under the pillow sheet on purpose?” you walked at him, cursing him again. “I knew that all you and your father wanted was the gold! I knew it but I wanted to be sure so I put everything there and the idiocy that you accused me of? Well, I’m listening to it scream.” you pressed your wand against his throat as he tried to catch some breath. “If you think this hurts, you should have known the pain I went through when the killing curse touched my veins.” you pushed his chin up, his long blonde hair falling behind him as you forced him to look at him. “I want you to remember these eyes you betrayed. I want you to remember the colour when I put you through hell you have.”

“Twinkles, please-”

“AVADA KADAVRA!”

---

You’ve finally put the leather jacket down. You passed the boots on the hallway floor and reached for the headband to wrap around your hair.

His voice was still in your head; his prayers, his begging for life- You sat on the sofa and threw your head in your hands, sobbing.

---Six months later---

“Sirius is coming so hide the booze.” he ran into the kitchen with a bottle of wine in one hand and firewhiskey in the other.

“Nice try, mate.” Sirius shot him a narrowed glare, shaking his head left and right. “But it’s my birthday.” he took the bottles in his own hands.

“It’s not your birthday, Sirius.” you grabbed the bottles from his hands as you passed him by, putting them on the kitchen counter and checking if the dinner is ready.

“Well, it’s someone’s birthdays out there so we should have a toast on his life.” he said behind you before grabbing the bottles and quickly running in the kitchen. “When are the other three coming?!” he shouted from the living room.

“Peter’s not coming! Said he’s got some Gringotts business to deal with!” you shouted back. “Lilly said she and- FUCK!” you grabbed the pot and removed it from the stove, its boiling water scorching your wrist.

“You okay, love?” he jumped over to you, taking a hold of your wrist.

“Yeah.” you turned your wrist to see if it was a harmless burn and it was but he still took a hold of it and put it under cold water. “I’m alright. ”

“I’m looking if the ring is alright.” he joked and touched the golden ring on your ring finger. “Can’t have a fiance without a ring, now can I?”

“Bog off.” you laughed and pushed him away but he quickly stepped back and kissed your lips. His hand placed itself below your jawline while the other on your lower back, bringing you closer as he continued to kiss you. “Can’t have a wedding without a fiance, either.” you smiled and he let out a hum, his nose tip brushing against the bridge of your own.

“You know what else?” he asked quietly.

“What?”

“Sparkles.” he smiled widely, pressing another kiss on your lips. “What on earth would I do without you, Sparkles?”

[tippitv]

SPN 15.02 “Raising Hell” - TippiTV Recap

Welcome to the recap of episode 2 of the final season! As with the first episode, I will be providing descriptions of graphics I would have made if I didn't have a shitty pain-wracked upper body. I tried making graphics with my feet, which feel great, but it was... too artistic...

I didn't want to set such a high bar for myself.

Okay in the intro bit Belphejack describes his warding spell on the town as a mile-wide circle where "ghosts can't get in or out." Now I'm confused because the cemetery from which all the ghosts/demons erupted like a Dr. Pimple Popper compilation video is outside of this circle. Isn’t it? All the evacuees are also outside this circle. What's keeping all the people at the shelter from getting possessed by ghosts that didn't happen to be in the town? Wouldn't it have made more sense to get everyone into the shelter and then make the circle around that? All they've done is created a Venn diagram where the warded circle doesn't touch either the cemetery or the shelter.

[Graphic: just a terrible drawing of the above to illustrate my point.]

Actually screw it I need to make this graphic.

Or wait... Are they saying this bustling town AND the cemetery fill up a space of only 1 mile and are warded together?

And that somehow the majority of ghosts are in this area for some reason and that they hadn't managed to go much further than that after they were freed?

OH MY GOD WHY AM I THINKING SO HARD ABOUT THIS?

Anyway we now move to the present day, which seems to be soon after the evacuation. I'm actually slightly pleasantly surprised that they picked up here instead of moving on to the other three billion ghosts that need dealing with.

A woman sneaks around the supposedly deserted town, covering her nose and mouth with a scarf. Ah right... the "benzene." I actually did live through a few benzene leaks and you can smell it. The CDC describes it has smelling something like gasoline but to me it smells like... a certain kind of bandaging. Medcinal and rubbery. It seems unlikely that nobody in this town would know this and point out that there's zero benzene smell in the air. The woman runs into her neighbor, who's acting like a stone cold weirdo. She's wary but keeps chatting right up until the moment he stabs her a bunch of times.

A ghost pops out of him. He somewhat resembles the prophet who lost his soul so I was mildly confused for a moment. Also throughout this whole episode it's like he can't decide what his accent is and it's very annoying. Hell, he goes through like three accents just spelling the word "disembowel" here.  Because the neighbor lady had been chatting about spelling bees.

At the high school, Castiel tells Sam about the neighbor lady going missing. For some reason, Sam has trouble getting everyone's attention. Did this town only have forty people in it? The cafeteria isn't  remotely full. Sam reminds everyone to stay out of the quarantine zone. "Any questions?" Everyone raises their hands.

Sam's face makes a bunch of faces that can be summed up as "uh oh spaghettios."

Dean and Belph are in town bonding (not really) over being good soldiers who just wanna do their jobs. The mixed-accent ghost tries to make an escape through the warding whe Dean blasts him with rock salt. Belph points out they're not dealing with regular ghosts. "That was Francis Tumblety." Oh no the inventor of Tumblr!

[Graphic: Dashcon as Hell]

Turns out Francis is more famously known as Jack the Ripper. When Belph explains this Dean is like, "Cool," which seems like a weird reaction for him to have. Also wouldn't the soul of someone as bad as Jack the Ripper have become demonic by now?

High school shelter. They picked a really weird building for their exterior shots. It looks like a cross between an Alpine chalet and a city hall. Some of the antsy townsfolk with strong Canadian accents decide to escape back to their Kansan homes.

One of the homes is currently being used as a meeting hall by the ghosts. I cannot overstate how much I hate seeing ghosts in full daylight. The makeup looks straight out of a school play. Like Sam earlier, Francis has some difficulty getting everyone's attention. What kind of parallel is this supposed to be? He gets the other ghosts to agree to mount an attack against the hunters and then they can put on a production of The Importance of Being Earnest and Dead.

Two of the townsfolk sneak back home only to encounter two of the ghosts. They look terrified even though the ghosts look absolutely comical.

[Graphic: Photoshop these two ghosts into a Scooby Doo scene]

Sam and Castiel argue about what and when to tell the evacuees. Rowena walks in on them and acts like she just got a Samstiel idea for Whumptober.

After some exposition about God and his sister and the soul-bomb that Rowena made back then, Sam says he needs her to make something similar that will trap the ghosts. She says it will be very difficult and will take her until nearly the end of the episode.

Then Sam gets called away to join the other plot line. The two people who slipped out of the shelter are now possessed and oozing some CGI out of their eyes. Man, daylight really is unkind to everything except like Jensen Ackles's complexion.

Francis Tumbledore materializes and demands they erase the warding or the ghosts will start killing people. To make his point, the two recently possessed people get their innards turned into Hamburger Helper by the ghosts inside them. Someone offscreen shoots them with a confetti gun!

Ugh. It's that wanker Ketch, which I believe is his full name, and the confetti is actually a bunch of "iron flakes." The flakes just gently tickle the skin instead of penetrating and thus damaging it, which doesn't seem like it would harm ghosts. I mean, we have iron in our blood and that doesn't seem like a deterrent to ghosts but whatever. Even Ketch's dumb pocket square is annoying me. I don't remember why he annoys me but I feel it deep in my soul.

Everyone reconvenes at the school for a stand-n-chat. Rowena and Ketch reminisce and flirt. Oh, Rowena. You can do so much better. Ketch gets around to being surprised to learn that Jack's corpse is now being possessed by the demon Belphegor, even though he's currently on a mission to kill Belphegor. He had to be momentarily ignorant so we could get some clunky exposition. Blah blah blah a demon named Ardat was the one who ordered the hit but neglected to mention what Ketch would be looking for.

Cut to Reno where Amara is in her well-appointed hotel suite getting a temple massage from a masseuse named Kimiko. Kimiko's hands disappear to be replaced by slightly more masculine hands.

Amara sits up, startled and displeased to discover her brother. I don't care if y'all are billions of years old it's gross to show up in your sister's room when she's only wearing a sheet. Also it's rude to smite a masseuse in the middle of an appointment.

"Sooo how about that Game of Thrones ending?" Chuck small-talks. "Pretty great, right?"

[Graphic: Screenshot of my post about Supernatural's showrunner comparing the show's finale to GoT that inexplicably has 35,000 notes]

Amara, naturally, is suspicious of her brother's sudden appearance and wants to know why he's there.

You know, it's too bad Castiel doesn't have that power where he could touch someone on the forehead and make them sleep. Instead of dealing with all these angry evacuees he could just tap them all into a short coma.

Rowena wants Dean to tell her more about Ketch like he's the village matchmaker instead of a guy with three billion evil souls to deal with. He's nice enough to warn her away from him, but it just seems to make her more intrigued.

Time for Dean and Castiel to hash out their feelings. I mean the feelings where Dean is mad at Castiel for not telling everyone about Jack losing his soul, not the feelings where they keep staring at each other like "In Your Eyes" by Peter Gabriel is playing in the background but they can never act on it because they live in a very heteronormative universe. Generally speaking, Dean is also just mad at this whole thing where free will is an illusion and they've been playing God's games. "Nothing about our lives is real."

[Graphic: Screencap of the Scoobynatural episode]

Dean dramatically stalks out of the room while Cas, his back turned like they're in a soap opera, calls out to him. They face each other. "You asked what about all of this was real... we are." Dean doesn't say anything to that and leaves the room heterosexually.

He goes out on patrol with Ketch and gives him an iron necklace to keep from getting possessed. Ketch wants to know more about Rowena.

[Graphic: I mean... can I do something with Dean as Bea Arthur in Fiddler on the Roof?]

Luckily he gets word about trouble down at the ol' abandoned meat-packing plant. Two hunters have gone missing. Ketch gets thrown into a concrete wall in such a way that would kill him or, at the very least, leave him with a spine made of oatmeal. Lizzie Borden aims to kill them, but a new, unseen ghost shouts at her to leave.

Aw, it's Kevin Tran. I like how he moves the plastic doorway strips with his hands instead of just blinking his way into the room. Turns out God sent him to Hell instead of Heaven, but at least it's given him sort of a badass reputation among the other ghosts so that they do what he says. Ohh I bet that gets pissed away pretty soon.

Reno. God is watching something on TV where the CC says "a sexy pastiche of fragrant tripe" which is often the tagline of Buckleming episodes. Amara is trying to get her yoga on but he wants to talk about taking a vacation together. She figures out he needs her for something. She zeroes in on his shoulder wound that mirrors Sam's. "You're not complete," she says. "You're not at full strength."

And this, my friends, is where I began to get this tingling discomfort that made me wonder if Sam is going to become the new God by the finale.

The switch from night to day to night to day is so weird in this episode. Or maybe it always is and for some reason I'm noticing it more. Anyway while Kevin is off doing recon on the other ghosts, Sam and Dean fret about the warding starting to fade. "We're gonna need you to charge it back up," Dean says to Belph. "Sorry guys it was a one-time thing," Belph says. And nobody asks any followup questions like "WHY?"

Belph also says, in regards to Kevin, that the default setting on Heaven is souls can't get in once they've been to Hell. God made exceptions for John and Bobby but he doesn't exactly like the Winchesters anymore. I feel like y'all really ought to talk to Billie about this. Also, doesn't that mean Sam and Dean would never get to go to Heaven? This just lends further credence to a Samgod hypothesis.

Ghost meeting. One of the ghosts logically points out that all they have to do is wait for the warding to fail completely and then just stroll out. Random ghost would be excellent at snarky recapping. But Francis Tumbledry is the Veruca Salt of serial killing ghosts.

[Graphic: Screencap from Willy Wonka where Veruca is saying she wants and Oompa Loompa right now except it's Francis and he wants to break through the warding]

Kevin pops up and tries to act tough but immediately gets found out as a spy.

Rowena and Ketch flirt and make rather strained sexual innuendos for a scene while working on the ghost vacuum. You can't make me transcribe any of it! Luckily she gets called away before anybody's pants come off.

And then she apparently goes, on foot, from the high school to the warded town some five miles away. Either that or she needlessly parks really far away from her destination. Either way, it gives Francis Tumbleforya a chance to intercept her and tell her the ghosts have Kevin. Oh and Ketch gets his ass ambushed.

She meets the Winchesters in the middle of the street to deliver the news. I mean, Kevin is in the same room with the ghosts but how do they "have" him? He could blip away. This was a dorky plan from the start but I guess I relate. I, too, took a lot of AP classes in high school and I can't plan for crap.

The Winchesters meet with Francis. He sticks his hand through Kevin and turns on his heart light. 

They let this go on for a weirdly long time instead of pretending to negotiate until Rowena runs into the room. She brandishes a Himalayan salt lamp at the ghosts and shouts, "Capare!" A couple get sucked in but the rest blip away. Only Kevin remains.

Everyone runs off to where the ghosts are planning to attack the warding in a mostly invisible, budget-friendly manner. Ketch shows up, too, but everyone's too busy dreading the imminent breach to notice he's not wearing his iron necklace anymore.

[Graphic: A catalog ad from GOOP dot com selling the iron necklace as a belt to keep your nethers from getting overrun with evil spirits]

He lets Rowena vacuum up a few ghosts before knocking her out. He reveals himself to be Francis Tumbleweed and says he's going to use the crystal as a bomb to knock out the warding because bad guys always talk too much about their plans. Indeed, Dean quickly shoots him in the arm and the crystal goes flying.

Dean catches it and hands it back to Rowena so she can finish Dirt-Deviling the ghosts.

Denouement. Castiel tries to heal Ketch but can't for some reason. Did he get some kind of cooties from trying to heal the godly bullet wound in Sam's shoulder? Is he just tired? Does he just hate Ketch as much as I do? Time will tell.

The Winchesters say their goodbyes to Kevin, who's decided to wander the earth like some kind of phantom Dr. Banner.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=33izVlIOgnQ

"I love you guys," Kevin says. They smile at him. Like dang, say you love him too! I mean just give a guy a moment of happiness before he leaves to gradually lose his sense of self and his soul fades to nothing. Also maybe hug him. He's solid-ish.

Man, what a bummer.

In Reno, Amara is saying her goodbyes, too, but in a much sassier and satisfying away. She gets to tell her brother off and wear magenta lip stick. She mentions that he's lost so much power that he can't even leave this world without her help. Oh honey just punt him into Apocalypse World, then. Leave his ass to flounder.

We end with a bunch of ghosts (red glowing nuggets of light) trying to break into the town from the top. But like... why? They have the whole rest of the world. Why are they bothering with this mile-wide circle of real estate? The Winchesters and associates fret about how they're going to stop all the ghosts.

It's a shorter season, so they better hurry...

***

If you enjoyed the recap and are able, please visit my virtual tip jar: paypal.me/TippiBlevins or https://ko-fi.com/A4017DA

[sidereal-kindergarten]

what is chaotic order doing in jack's home now??

They lay cuddled on Damien’s bed, Stevie on Damien’s chest and having just made an offhand comment about his pimples.

"They're ugly," Damien muttered, tugging his hoodie further down over his face.

"Don't be silly," said Stevie, pushing himself onto his elbow so he could look down on Damien's face. Slowly he reached out to touch a scarring wound on the bridge of Damien's nose. He had a tendency to pick on pimples, who then turned to injuries, who then turned to pale scars. His face was covered in scars and cuts and marks and pimples, and to Stevie, it was proof he was human. "They're cute."

Damien gave him such an utterly exasperated and disbelieving look that Stevie couldn't help the small snicker that escaped him.

"Look, I like them, okay?" he said. He moved his finger, now tracing lines between the marks on Damien's face, lingering at his jawline before drooping to brush against his collarbone.

Damien swallowed. "Why? It's just... a bunch of - of marks."

Stevie looked up at his eyes again, deciding to ignore the unsaid and undone almost that hung in the air. Damien didn't need that right now, and neither did Stevie. It'd been a long day. "Yeah, so your skin is covered in marks, and scars, and cuts, and bruises," said Stevie, shifting so he could lie on top of Damien, crossing his arms over Damien's chest and resting his chin atop them. "But so is the night sky, and humanity calls those marks stars and constellations and magic. Where's the difference? If the marred sky can be beautiful, so can you."

Damien stared at him, then wrapped his arms across his back with a small smile. "You're drunk, man."

"I hate alcohol."

"You've never tried it."

"I'm not allowed to."

Damien laughed, a warm and soft sound, then leaned up to peck Stevie's lips. "My adorable little goody-two-shoes." A moment passed, then he winced, and pecked his lips again. "Right, that's the wrong thing to say, sorry dude. I forgot."

The simple 'I'm sorry, I forgot' correction was enough to send a wave of warmth through Stevie, and he leaned forward to tuck his head beneath Damien's chin to hide his goofy smile.

Damien shifted, hands tightening around the back of Stevie's shirt. "Stevie? I'm really sorry, I slipped into old habits - "

"I love you," Stevie mumbled.

" - what?"

Stevie raised his head and looked Damien straight in the eyes, repeating the confession again. "I love you."

Damien had never looked more shocked than he did now. "I'm sorry?"

"Somewhere between point A and point B I fell in love," Stevie said. "You're not unlovable, Damien."

"I - I," said Damien, and then he sat up, pulling Stevie after him and into his lap, kissing him with a feverish need he'd never touched upon before. He pulled back with a gasp, hands in Stevie's hair, grip on Stevie's heart. "I - I - "

"Shh," said Stevie, smiling like the sun grew in his chest. "I know." He kissed him again, and again, and again, - would kiss him a hundred more times a hundred years from now if every moment blossomed from this.

[pisati]

december’s only just started but I think now’s a good a time as any to start a 2019 recap. 

I don’t remember much of the first half of this year, if I’m honest. I remember it starting in a pretty dark place. I do remember starting talking to Gavin at the tail end of 2018; that was honestly a light spot in that space of time. I’d really been through it last year, and it was so nice and refreshing to talk to someone who genuinely seemed to care, who was genuinely interested in what I had to say and was genuinely curious about me. I felt kind of weird about that level of attention at first, but now I miss it. time’s gone on, what can I say, maybe I’m a little attached. not painfully so, but. this is someone I really do care about a lot.

which is why I’m still pretty regretful about january. I still don’t really know what happened over festivus weekend. I’d been so upset for so long, and next thing I know it’s back to the usual. but it was just.. nothing. I felt blank. my heart dropped into my stomach the next day once I realized how something that felt so insignificant could be so hurtful, and honestly I spent all of festivus in that dead zone at T’s house just really upset with myself. I don’t know how much I would’ve enjoyed it even if that hadn’t happened. 

my depression was really bad. I remember my emotions being all over the place. I remember drinking and eating bundt cake alone at home in my bathtub on valentines day. I remember sending some messages I kind of regret, others just for fun, because fuck it, why not? I remember spending a lot of time in bed. a lot of time trying to reassure myself that I hadn’t done irreversible damage; that I hadn’t fucked up everything as per the usual. journaling, trying to keep my mood up above rock bottom. I was fostering that litter of rats early in the year, and that felt like a whirlwind. I remember going out to dinner with a friend, and coming home, even after having a good night, in a horribly sad mood. I barely remember any of the rest of it. 

I’m sure some good things happened earlier in the year too. one of the few things keeping me sane, besides my rats, was waking up in the middle of the night to snapchat and whatsapp messages from Gavin. I was a complete mess, but having someone consistently showing me they cared and actually wanted to.. I don’t know, follow all my social media, get to know me, all that. it was nice. I remember having a real bad day mood-wise and going to yoga with charlotte, and coming back to a message that I was the ~some kinda angel~ he’d been dreaming about. amazing how something like that can pick you right up. I remember a lot of voice clips; he was real excited to hear my voice the first time. I don’t much care for my voice, but... that enthusiasm gave me a little more confidence to do more song covers. I hadn’t recorded that many in years, if ever.

I think I went to a few shows earlier in the year. I got to meet Phoebe Bridgers, which was so cool. Carmen took me back out to Baltimore after I’d just seen Hozier, and we saw Weezer and The Pixies. and I got to hear all about her girlfriend troubles and her adventures in Cuba. it was really nice reconnecting with a friend, hearing how she’s been trying to do better for herself, and she really is. I can’t say I’m not a little jealous of her; her confidence and radiance; but I’m also really proud of her too.

I started my mood tracker app in february, and I think I started seeing my psychiatrist not long after that. I’m still amazed she started me on something that didn’t make me sick, and might actually be working for me. I’m still recalling that one night I had, must’ve been february. I felt absolutely godawful, and nothing helped. it wasn’t anything in particular, I just felt Bad. I wouldn’t have done anything stupid, but I also felt for a minute like it’d never go away. I tried everything. I tried a bath, possibly a face mask. I tried writing, I think. I tried music. I even put on a disney movie or two like I would if I were feeling sick (I rarely ever watch anything disney, but when I get panicky from nausea I need something comforting). nothing helped. that I think is what prompted me to go to a psychiatrist this time. I hadn’t been in that deep of a pit in a long time.

things started to pick up with the weather. I felt myself balance out. I really thought for a minute that I was going to scare Gavin away with my erratic moods, and I thought he had this perception of me that I was some kinda crazy or overemotional or whatever else... but I was just in a real bad spot. I’m still grateful that he stuck by me through all that, and wasn’t too weirded out by me for it to be actually exciting when I got my plane tickets to Scotland. I was really excited too, but of course kind of nervous because I’d never been that far away from home by myself before. 

I remember doing a good bit of volunteering, but I was really tired and couldn’t keep up with much more than one day a week. my energy levels were worrying. I know I saw a few doctors, because thankfully I had the time, but they weren’t terribly helpful. 

I’m sure I went to more shows. I lost my Louie in June, not long after his second birthday. that was heart-shattering. I wasn’t expecting it from him; he was just fine. he just had a lump removed from his tail. he was such a happy, sweet boy. I couldn’t believe one minute he was snuggling with his cagemates, and the next I was holding his tiny little body in my hands, trying to get CPR to work, watching the life leave his eyes. taking him to the crematory was hard. picking up his ashes was hard. everything about it was hard. but I had to keep going. I wasn’t expecting that at all, and I was so scared Ollie would be alone, because Fitzie’s time was coming fast too. he’d been deteriorating over the course of the year and I just knew it was only a matter of months. his legs were going, and he couldn’t clean himself. towards the end I had to check his privates at least once a day; male rats get buildup of various fluids, oil, and skin cells, and those plugs can block their urethras. they generally clean it themselves, but when they get so old they can’t do it. so it was up to me to pull it out. I can’t say it wasn’t weirdly satisfying, kind of in the same way that popping a big pimple is satisfying, but it was definitely gross.

so I looked for more rats to adopt. and by some miracle, just like the day after Marty passed, I found a brand new litter posted by the rescue some of my fosters went to. I went to meet the baby boys and picked two, and while I probably could’ve picked a better match... I love my Harper and Micah to bits. they’ve got such personalities on them.

but of course, nothing is ever convenient. right after I adopted them (because I had to go through such a long adoption process; I could’ve had more time otherwise), I had to go to farm jam. I was a little over-prepared this year, but I’m glad I got myself a nice tent and prepared for rain. farm jam honestly wasn’t that great this year, though. my friends wanted to hang out with each other, hardly anyone talked to me, and their friends from other places that I didn’t even know had other friends that they brought to our campsite, so there were a lot of strangers around. not that that’s a bad thing, but... I just felt uncomfortable. everything is so different now. not to mention I just felt really alone. people talked to me when they needed to. I ended up actually pretty bored; I’d brought some things to keep myself entertained, but I was asleep before midnight every night because there was only so much I felt like staying awake for by myself. there was one night I was just really upset, so I made myself a quick dinner and shut myself in my tent while everyone else was up all night. I read by lantern-light, put in my earplugs after I was tired enough, and went to sleep. I was ready to be home again. I’m not sure if I want to go again next year. I like farm jam, truly, but it’s just not fun when you’re surrounded by ‘friends’ who can’t eve be bothered to talk to you. it was painfully obvious that I’m just not part of the group anymore.

I was glad to have Scotland to look forward to. I got to unpack and repack; thankfully I was smart enough to make packing lists before I even left for farm jam. I was nervous as all hell once I got to BWI and found my terminal, and once I landed in JFK I was trying real hard not to call my mom like I usually do when I get nervous. I get the travel jitters pretty bad. but I took some zzzquil before I got on the plane, and since I’d already been up all day I was grateful to sleep through a good bit of the 5.5 hour flight. I managed to stave off jet lag by staying up for another full day, but I can’t say I enjoyed it, ha.

I did enjoy everything else about that trip, though. I definitely had plenty of high points in my year (much more than last year, for sure), but this trip was probably the best. I know I wasn’t the most expressive (I guess I’ve learned not to be?), but I loved it there. I also know I got real lucky with the weather, so it’s not always as gorgeous as it was when I visited, but it really was lovely. I’d love to go back to Gourock one of these days. sit on the shore; a little slice of such a big world. I wouldn’t have wanted to skip rocks with much of anyone else.

I had a moment while I was catching my breath in Edinburgh; I’d gotten the tiniest bit lost and wound up in the park across the street from the Botanic Gardens, so I sat on a bench for a bit so I wouldn’t look weird. after a while I got up and crossed a big football field to get back where I was trying to go, and I remember looking up at the sky for a split second, and it really hit me that I was alone. that was the furthest away I’d been from home by myself, and I was in a city 2 hours away from the only other person I knew for thousands of miles. it wasn’t scary, necessarily. not even lonely. I think that feeling would’ve given me anxiety in the past. it was just... a profound aloneness. 

I was really proud of myself for tackling Edinburgh by myself. figuring out the trains, going to see the castle, managing to avoid looking like a tourist so nobody hassled me, finding a little record shop to browse through, walking around the gardens alone. I was in so much pain I couldn’t even believe it, though. I’m amazed I made it back to the train without my leg bones breaking through my heels, and amazed I could even still walk by the time I got back to Gourock. my hips were so stiff and every step was hard. I know I pushed it. but it was so worth it.

I miss the feeling. that no-obligations feeling; being able to do pretty much anything we wanted because it was vacation time. I do remember feeling bad, not knowing what it was that I must’ve said or done (because why else would you go quiet on me?). that wasn’t so fun. but I know I’m not unreasonable. I’m not hard to talk to, I don’t think. I don’t explode over little things; I’d much rather talk through them than be left wondering what I did wrong, and then do it again. I don’t mean to be rude or mean or anything like that. we grew up with very different perceptions of things but I want to be on the same page, and sometimes that means being a little more conscious of what I say and do.

I wasn’t really looking forward to coming home, but thankfully I had a little bit more down time before I started my new job. and ever since the end of august, I’ve been in work mode, it feels like. I’ve tried to keep up with volunteering, I’ve kept myself entertained sending packages out to Scotland (can’t say I’m a fan of international shipping costs though), and I’ve dealt with the loss of a few pets. I’ve been lucky enough to have my mom’s help with moving out, and I feel like my meds are really helping me now too. I feel a lot more balanced out than I did, and having such a good work environment is helping immensely. I’m still not quite where I want to be, but I feel better than I have in years both mentally and emotionally.

the emotional front has changed too. back at the beginning of the year, I was so messed up, still. there was a lot of residual hurt after the 2 years or so prior, but I was also still super depressed. but the waters have calmed, and I’ve found that I’m not completely alone, necessarily. I have the hope that I have one person in my life now that won’t give up on me. I’ve had... something like a year now of something relatively consistent. I feel like I’ve been able to build some trust, and like I’m slowly chipping away at these walls I’ve had built up. for the first time in years I’m actually kind of upset about feeling lonely. for the first time in years I’m not feeling sick to my stomach thinking about holding a hand, or someone holding me, or, god forbid, even kissing someone. I might even want that. and it’s weird to me, now, because it almost seems out-of-character, since I’ve been so messed up for so long. but this isn’t out-of-character, it’s the character I used to be before things all went sideways. I’ve had this image of being distant and detached and repulsed and unfortunately that ends up getting tied to the fact that I’m asexual (though in actuality they’re not related). but I know that’s not me. I know my asexuality is just a fact about my attraction to other people, and it has little to do with my behavior. it’s weird to me, feeling like this again, but I’m so relieved the damage might not have been permanent. it helps that my memory is such garbage. hard to remember how to feel fucked up when you can’t hardly remember how you got there to begin with.

maybe my year will end on a little brighter note. I’m seeing a new rheumatologist on new years eve. I hope a few people will come visit for new years. I’ve got crafts to do and things to keep myself busy with. I hope Gavin will want to skype before the end of the year, but I get not feeling good. I get that talking takes energy. sometimes I feel like I just take a lot of energy to interact with, so I’m trying not to be annoying. I’m fine doing my own thing, as I have been. but I do miss his [virtual] company. it’s getting a lot more obvious since moving out how really quiet and lonely it is by myself, and I have this feeling in the bit of my stomach that I’d feel a lot better if I could share this space with someone. sometimes I just want to show someone something, make them smile, talk about little nothings. and I don’t have that right now. I’m trying to let little things make me happy and let that be good enough, but it’s hard sometimes. it would just be really nice to be able to rest my head on a shoulder. to laugh about a dumb tv show with someone. even though I feel a lot better than I used to when I missed people, things sometimes just aren’t as good alone.

a lot of this year felt really foggy. but I’m glad to be where I am, even though it’s making me nervous. I hope I’m putting a good foot forward. and I hope 2020 brings more growth and healing. I hope one of these days I can learn to be the kind of person I want to be, and that I can be good for someone else too. so I can just know that to at least one person I’m not completely insufferable. so I don’t have to be so afraid that I’m just going to drive people away so I self-isolate. I’m doing a lot better about the negative thoughts, but I want to keep improving on that too. I have a lot of work to do, but I want to do it. it’s scary to feel like I’m doing so much alone. it’s sad knowing everyone else is caught up in their own lives, but at least most of them have someone else. it hits me sometimes how really, really lonely it is to have your own life but completely alone. I don’t mind being single. but it would be nice to come home to someone I love. someone that isn’t my rats, though of course they brighten my day no matter what, ha.

so. yeah. I’m a little hopeful. I want to get my shit figured out a little bit more. it’d be real nice to go back to Scotland too, but I might have to put that idea on hold til my life balances out a little more. I’m just going one day at a time right now. I’m doing my best. and thankfully my best is getting a little better. I want to keep that up.

[saccharii]

How to Win Back Your (Villain) Ex Boyfriend

A guide by Hawks

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Summary:  Arresting Dabi and putting him in prison has put quite a big of strain on his and Hawks’ relationship, but Hawks is determined to work through it.

AO3 Link

If you liked this fic, please consider buying me a coffee.

“Hey,” Hawks says and sits down at the table that Dabi — no, not Dabi; his real name is Touya, Todoroki Touya, and hadn’t that been a ride? — is handcuffed to. “It’s been a long time, huh?”

Dabi (Touya?) glares at him flatly, his head propped up on his hand. His orange prison jumpsuit clashes with his purple scars and now red hair. His hollow cheeks and pale skin serve to make him look more sickly than usual.

That’s fair. Hawks probably wouldn’t be very friendly towards the guy that arrested him either.

“So... what have you been up to?”

Dabi’s expression doesn’t change. Hawks winces. God, why is he so awkward? What has he been up to? Prison. Prison is what he’s been up to.

In front of a camera Hawks is as smooth as silk, but sit him down across from his (ex?) boyfriend that he’d arrested and all of a sudden everything that comes out of his mouth is pure idiocy.

“I’ve been good. Doing hero stuff,” he forges on, bravely or stupidly, he doesn’t know. “Arresting bad guys, posing for pictures, the usual.”

Dabi’s glare sharpens.

“I’ll cut to the chase. Are we still dating?”

“No.”

“Cool, cool. Totally understandable. Do you want to get back together?”

“No.”

Hawks clasps his hands in front of his face and braces his elbows on the table, giving his best puppy dog eyes.

“C’mon, please?”

“No.”

“How about friends with benefits? They have conjugal visits at this prison. I checked.”

He wants more than friends with benefits, but it’s a start. He can work from there. That’s how it happened the first time, after all.

Ex boyfriends to friends with benefits, back to boyfriends, then in a few years when Dabi’s out on parole: Boom. Marriage. Maybe they can buy a house with an actual, walled off yard. It’ll be expensive as hell in this area, but between Hawks’ salary and Dabi’s trust fund they can pull it off. Married with a dog, not a cat. Cats always try to attack Hawks’ wings.

His plan is foolproof. This sort of thing happens all the time; he’s seen it on those rom-coms that Rumi hates but agrees to watch with him anyway because he’s her only friend.

Dabi’s mouth drops open slightly, and he furrows his eyebrows. “Hawks, what the fuck.”

“That’s the idea. Us the fuck.”

Haha. Why did he say that? ‘Us the fuck’? That doesn’t even make sense.

“Do you proposition every villain you arrest?”

“Only the hot ones — both literally and figuratively.” Hawks winks and shoots finger guns.

Finger guns. Why. Why did he do that? Holy fuck, he has to get out of here before he humiliates himself further. Lesson learned. Next time he’ll practice what he’s going to say in front of the mirror.

Dabi says nothing, presumably stunned into silence by Hawks’ finger guns. (Why finger guns? Why is he like this?)

“Anyway,” Hawks says quickly. “I gotta get going. Want me to bring some of that strawberry shortcake you like so much next time?”

Dabi mouths the words ‘next time’ with an incredulous look on his face.

“What the fuck, Hawks? You fucking tricked me and arrested me. Now you’re here asking me out and offering me cake? Why do you think I even want you here?”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Hawks raps his knuckles on the table and stands up. “I’ll bring some cards next time, too.”

He signals the guard who escorts him stiffly from the room. As they pass through the heavily armored door he gives Hawks some serious side-eye before he realizes Hawks saw him and looks away.

Oh yeah. He just witnessed the whole ‘begging his felon ex boyfriend to take him back’ debacle. Complete with finger guns. (That’s something that’s going to haunt him for the rest of his life, isn’t it? He’ll be eighty and lying in bed and it’ll pop into his head. He won’t be able to remember what day it is but he’ll remember the goddamn finger gun incident from when he was twenty three.)

“So, uh, I don’t suppose I could pay you not to ever tell anyone about that?”

“We are bound with a strict confidentiality clause,” the guard says, staring straight ahead, determinedly looking anywhere but at Hawks. “Nothing you do or say here will be released to the public.”

Hawks nods. “Gotcha.”

Confidentiality clauses don’t do much from Hawks’ experience. Sure, the guard won’t run to the presses or blab on his blog, but once he gets home there is no doubt that he’ll immediately tell his spouse or call up his best friend or someone, and who knows who’ll find out after that. Before you know it one of Hawks’ sidekicks will pull him aside and ask him if it’s true that he shot finger guns.

Hawks claps his hand on the guard’s shoulder. “Good to know.” He looks at the guard’s name tag. “Officer Naya. I’m trusting you.”

Lay the guilt on thick enough and maybe he won’t tell anyone.

“Right, right,” Hawks mutters. He grips the edge of the sink until his knuckles turn white. “I can do this.”

Dried toothpaste flakes under his hands. The sink hasn’t been cleaned since Dabi last scrubbed it months ago, before Hawks arrested him. Hawks’ lackadaisical attitude towards wiping down counters drove Dabi nuts. Who knew someone who looks so much like an unwashed hobo would be such a clean freak?

Yet every night Dabi would put on thick rubber gloves, wipe down the bathroom, wash the dishes, clean the kitchen, pick up the living room and bedroom, and vacuum the carpets, complaining the whole time.

Hawks was shocked by how domestic Dabi is, nothing like the twenty something disaster he expected him to be. (Well, he was a twenty something human disaster, just not when it came to chores.) Hell, Dabi had even packed Hawks’ (very delicious) lunch everyday. Damn, he misses that. KFC has nothing on Dabi’s homemade chicken karaage.

It probably has something to do with his scars. Dirty sheets and open wounds do not go well together. Every day Dabi disinfected the entire apartment, and every night he doused himself with antiseptic and bandaged along his seams with sterile gauze. Hawks hopes they’re taking good care of his scars in prison.

He takes a deep breath, holds it for four seconds, then breathes out to quell the anxiety twisting in his gut. It doesn’t work. He’s such a disaster without Dabi here. He was a disaster with Dabi here too, but he was a disaster with a clean apartment and home cooked food.

He slicks his hair back with water. He can do this. Hero monthly voted him the hottest single hero in the country; he can seduce his ex boyfriend back.

(Dabi had grinned and waved the magazine in his face, then proceeded to prove just how single Hawks wasn’t.)

He can do this. He runs his fingers through his hair one more time. “Hey,” he says to the mirror in his most seductive voice.

He can’t do this.

“Goddamnit, why am I so bad at this?”

He slaps his cheeks and stares at himself in the mirror.

“Let’s try this again.” He smiles his best TV smile. “Hey Dabi,” he says. “I just want to talk more about what we discussed last week. You know, things didn’t end well between us. Honestly they ended terribly, so, uh, I want to fix that. I think we had something good going on, before I arrested you and you set yourself on fire trying to get away.”

Shit. This isn’t Hawks. He isn’t the planning type. He’s more of the ‘winging it’ type. (Heh. Winging it. That’s a good one.) Alright. One more time.

“Hey! I’m back. I, um, brought you flowers.” Hawks grabs a toothbrush from the holder and mimes giving it to the mirror. “I don’t know if you like flowers, since I’ve never given you flowers. I’ve never given anyone flowers.

“I know that things ended badly between us, but I’ve never felt this way about anyone else before. So I was thinking, maybe, we could try again? God this is so stupid it’s never going to work.”

Hawks rubs his face, almost accidentally stabbing himself in the eye with the toothbrush. Okay, maybe he should start small. He said he was going to bring cake next time, so he’ll start with that.

“I brought that cake you like so much, just like I promised.”

Hawks groans. He has no idea what to say. Looks like he’ll be an awkward mess, but  he’ll be an awkward mess with flowers and cake.

At least his makeup is on point. You can’t even tell he has bags under his eyes and a stress pimple coming in. His eyeliner is amazing. Wings sharp enough to kill a man. He looks good.

He checks his phone. He’s got an hour until he needs to be at the prison. That’s just enough time to run to the bakery and the florist. He takes a deep, fortifying breath.

He can do this.

He lied. He can’t do this

The flower shop is so small that every time Hawks turns around he nearly knocks everything off the shelf, and that’s with his wings tucked close. The overwhelming fragrance makes his head spin.

He doesn’t know anything about flowers. Apparently some have certain meanings and others have different meanings and if you choose the wrong ones you accidentally end up saying ‘I wish you were dead’ instead of ‘I like you.’

“Can I help you, sir?”

Hawks starts and spins, knocking vases off the shelves. Only two feathers and quick reflexes prevent disaster. How did some florist sneak up on him? He’s the number two hero, for god’s sake.

“Yes, thank you,” he says with practiced, disarming charm. “I don’t know anything about flowers. Maybe you could recommend something?”

“Of course.” The florist’s voice wobbles. Ah, she recognizes him. “What do you need them for?”

He scratches his chin.

“Hypothetically, if you were a spy,” he says slowly, “and you fell in love with your mark, then arrested him, what kind of flowers would you give him to apologize and ask him back out?”

“Oh,” the girl says, her eyes wide and her mouth open in a perfect ‘o’. “Um. I... I’ve never encountered that, uh, exact situation before. Maybe some sort of apology bouquet? Or something to indicate, that, uh, you’ll wait for him? To get out of jail?”

“I like that second one. I kinda had to arrest him, and I’m sorry, but not really sorry, You know?”

She nods, her eyes wide and glazed. “I understand completely.”

What a trooper. Hawks is pretty sure she doesn’t understand, but he appreciates her putting up with him anyway. It’s not everyday the number two strolls into your shop and makes such a bizarre request.

This is going to be all over the tabloids tomorrow, if not tonight, isn’t it? His PR team is going to kill him. Oh well, it’s bound to get out eventually. No way is he going to be able to marry a convicted felon without someone cottoning on.

After a half hour of back and forth over the pros and cons of what various flowers mean and how they would look together in a bouquet, they finally decide on a bouquet of forget-me-not (for true love), white anemones (for sincerity), and camellias (for waiting) tied together with a blue ribbon the color of Dabi’s eyes. It looks kinda like a bridal bouquet. Hopefully it isn’t coming on too strong. He doesn’t want to seem as desperate as he actually is.

“These flowers look nice,” Hawks says idly as the florist lady (Okumura, he found out. Her quirk is making no noise when she moves which is how she snuck up on him. Thank god he isn’t losing his edge.) rings him up. “Maybe I’ll get some of them next time.”

Okumura glances at the flowers in the vase next to the register. “Those are yellow tulips. They mean ‘unrequited love’ in hanakotoba.”

“Ah, I don’t want those flowers.”

“No, probably not.” She hands him the bouquet. “Three thousand yen, please.”

Hawks pays and bids Okumura goodbye. What a nice lady. She did a great job taking his ridiculous request seriously. If it was him, he would have laughed in his face.

He checks his phone and grimaces. He has less than thirty minutes to drop by the bakery and get to the prison in time for visitation. Hopefully there won’t be a line.

Shit, shit, shit. He’s late. How did this happen? He’s supposed to be the hero that moves too fast.

Hawks hops from foot to foot as the guard, a small woman with a spider web of glowing blue lines around the corner of her eyes, undoes the complicated locks on the heavy, metal prison door. He hates being late. It makes his skin itch.

He fidgets, trying not to drop the pastry box in one hand or the somewhat squashed bouquet in the other. He’s on friendly terms with the baker from his favorite bakery, and the man keeps special reinforced boxes made to withstand flight on hand, but Hawks hadn’t thought of how he would carry the flowers, so he had to stuff them down his jacket.

The prison guard yanks the thick door open with ease, and Hawks nods at her in thanks and enters. (How did she manage that? She’s so petite.)

Dabi is once more handcuffed to the table, reclining in his chair, head back and eyes closed.

“So,” he says, and opens his eyes, piercing Hawks with an intense stare. “You came back.”

Hawks shivers. That look never fails to get him. “I said I would, didn’t I?”

“Did you shave? You look like a twelve year old.”

Good to see that prison didn’t break Dabi’s lovely personality.

“I think it looks nice,” Hawks mumbles. “I brought you something.”

Hawks holds the flowers out to Dabi. He looks at them dispassionately and makes no move to take them. Hawks places the slightly squashed bouquet down carefully in front of him. Dabi looks him straight in the eyes and pushes them off the table with the back of his hand.

Yep. Same old Dabi.

“I have allergies,” he says.

“Noted. Good thing I have backup.” He puts the pastry box on the table in between them with a flourish. He picks at the thick tape, cursing. Goddamnit, why do these things have to be so difficult to open? There’s cake inside, not government secrets. Hawks sharpens one of his feathers and slices through the tape. Dabi huffs out a quiet, amused breath, and Hawks’ cheeks pinken.

He gingerly lifts the slice of cake out of the box. “Tada! I got strawberry shortcake for you and chocolate cannolis for me. And-” He pulls a thermos out of his coat. “-I remember how you feel about cake without milk.”

Dabi resists for all of two seconds before he takes the cake. Hawks tosses him a plastic fork before he can start shoveling it in his mouth with his hands like the heathen he is. Dabi doesn’t thank him, but he’s never thanked anyone for anything before, as far as Hawks is aware, so it’s not like he was expecting it.

“Here. Check this out.” Hawks unscrews the thermos and places the lid on the table. “The top doubles as a cup. Neat, huh?”

Dabi takes the thermos and drinks directly out of the container. Alongside the whole Dabi-is-a-Todoroki-holy-shit revelation was the realization that Dabi came from money and probably had a rich kid’s upbringing. Which means that Dabi knows how to use his manners, he just chooses not to. It’s such a Dabi thing that it makes Hawks smile.

Hawks snags one of the chocolate cannolis. He got two because he knows Dabi will steal one. He takes a bite and sighs with pleasure, his eyes fluttering closed. The crisp shell contrasts perfectly with the creamy filling. Watanuki’s pastries really are the best. (And the most expensive.)

He misses this. He misses eating in silence across from Dabi. He misses the comfortable stillness that comes with familiarity. He misses Dabi.

He slowly opens his eyes and his gaze meets Dabi’s. For a moment he sees his own emotions reflected in those eyes before the walls slam down again.

Dabi snorts and wipes his hands on his prison jumpsuit. “Nice try, birdy, but it’s not gonna work.”

“I brought cards, too.” Hawks slips the deck out of his pocket and takes the cards out of the box. “I thought you could use some entertainment.”

“The cake was a better bribe.”

Hawks shuffles the cards with a perfect riffle and bridge. Dabi can’t do it. Every time he tries he sends the cards flying. It drives him crazy. He pretends it doesn’t bother him, but Hawks knows.

“Do you know how to play bullshit?”

“No.”

“Damn. Neither do I. I saw some people on TV playing it and it looked fun. How about egyptian rat screw?”

“That’s a three player game.”

“Is it? Maybe guard lady can join us.” Hawks turns in his seat to face the guard. Huh. The glowing spiderwebs around her eyes are gone. “Hey guard lady, you wanna play egyptian rat screw?”

Guard lady regards him solemnly then shakes her head.

Dabi snorts. “You’re not going to get anything out of her. She’s got a giant stick up her ass. All about ‘professionalism’ and ‘protocol.’ At least the other guards will talk to you or crack a joke.”

“Fine, fine. Poker, then?”

They play the world’s most boring game of poker. With only two people and no stakes, there’s no risk or room for scheming. When Hawks suggests strip poker, guard lady finally says something for the first time — a sharp ‘no’.

The hour passes too quickly. Dabi’s parting “Fuck off and die” is less venomous than last time, but he’s still shut off. More so than before.

Hawks is going to need some outside advice.

[melaschnie]

tw: skin picking and hair pulling

Today in class my professor briefly talked about picking and pulling and I was just like "don't touch your hair or face now or they'll notice".

I have never mentioned it before but I struggle with both hair pulling and skin picking, so when my professor mentioned it I thought why not share my story with you guys, perhaps there's people out here that are specifically looking for stories like mine and I can somehow help them with recovery, even though I'm not a professional, I'm not officially diagnosed and am not completely "clean" either. 

The pulling started in 8th grade which was a generally hard time for me in school. I noticed how some of my hair had a different texture and I desperately wanted to fix it. I wanted it to be perfect. And I tried fixing it by pulling those unwanted hairs out or sometimes only yank out the tips of my hair. It became such a habit that often I don't even realize what I'm doing until there's a giant heap of hair on the ground next to me. It's definitely not as bad as I've seen it on pictures but it was bad enough that it stopped me from going to the hair dresser for like four years. I was so ashamed of the bald patch at the back of my head and how the hair on my right sight was (and still is) so much thinner than the other side.

Eighth grade was probably also the time when I started skin picking. I'm not as sure about the time as I am with pulling though, but I'm pretty sure both started around the same time. Skin picking for me always was about not wanting to have pimples out in the open and having clear skin in general. Fat chance there, it was practically bye-bye clear skin the moment this habit started. I started picking consciously whenever I saw a pimple in the mirror which resulted in me picking it open, therefore generating a wound and keeping that one open all the time because whenever it closed there was this little "wobble" that I also picked at because it stood in my way of having clear skin. There was also quite some time when I would pick at the skin of my scalp so much that it would bleed. By now skin picking got to the place where I would do it when I'm anxious or bored, which is the same with the hair pulling btw. Mostly I realise what I'm doing early on before I can do any damage to my skin, but of course there's also times when I don't or when I don't want to stop what I'm doing.

I didn't go see a therapist mostly because I didn't think what I did was a thing but also because my parents told me all the time to just stop or that pulling at it wouldn't make my hair look better. And I tried. I knew of course that pulling and picking wouldn't make me look better and I really didn't want to make it worse but I just couldn't stop, but I don't think my parents ever really noticed the depth of all of this. It's still hard for me to keep from pulling and picking but by now there are so much more good days than bad and it's what keeps my spirits up that I'm able to stop completely one day. Another thing that I know for a fact is also not original to me, it was only very recently that I googled what I was doing, simply because I was curious. Turns out, it has a name, it's not a bad thing and I'm not alone in it.

In retrospect I don't think that I ever made a conscious decision that I wanted to stop doing what I was doing. By now I'm positive that my social circle had a lot to do with my picking and pulling getting better or worse. It got better when I started my last three years in school which in Germany is when the class structure is dismissed and the schedule works with courses that all the students in the same year are put into depending on which subjects they chose. That change gave me the opportunity to spend time with the people I liked and that liked hanging out with me, too. All the previous years I was pretty much a loner in school, I was bullied and I think that had quite a big influence on me and mostly on me starting with pulling and picking. But in 10th grade suddenly there were people that laughed with me and not about me, people that understood me and wanted to do things together and that pulled me out of my hole. But the most important thing about them is, that they made my need to be perfect to be accepted much less prominent.

So if there is ever anything you want to talk to me about, I'm here for you. Like I said, I'm neither a professional nor am I completely healthy myself, but I'll do my best to help you if you want my help - or even just need someone to talk to.

[neshabeingchildish]

14. College Wasteland

So, somebody was recently asking me about these kiddos’ jealousy culture and whatnots and it just so happens and we get to see some of that in this chapter! Granted, a lot of this is zodiac information that I swiped from the web and forgot to cite. Not tryna plagiarize. Got ‘em in quotations. 

This is the longest chapter that I’ve written in this story, I think. I wasn’t tryna, but it was actually gonna be LONGER, and I wound up separating it. But... Chile, Idk how y’all gon’ take this one.

College Wasteland

Freshman Year.

Jasper and Charlotte were going to the same college, but on different “campuses.” Honestly, she felt like this entire community was part of the college and even though there were a few blocks between where they studied, in between were really just dorms, apartments, college houses, and businesses that college students frequented. He was more on the outskirts of town and she was towards the center. 

At the beginning of the semester, Charlotte already had her things moved into the dormitory that her scholarships were paying for. She was able to get in, unpack, settle in, bless the place and decorate before Jasper even figured out where he would be able to stay. He, too, was in a dorm, but one of the ones that people often rumored about how terrible they were, etc. It was all that he could currently afford, and he’d have to get to work very quickly if he wanted to be able to survive another semester!

“The Leo man craves fun and excitement and nothing is more displeasing than being home alone or with one other person."

Jasper honestly didn’t feel above any particular type of work. He was willing to try anything, if it meant that he could buy all of his books for class and still eat regularly. He figured that his tuition and lodging were probably the most important, so that was what he paid first, then he remembered that he might need supplies, and he didn’t even fathom the cost of books. Like… for what purpose? How could ANY book be worth what these were??? 

“Do you need help with anything?” Charlotte had asked him, a hint of concern in her voice as she stared at her worn out lover, this being the first time she’d been able to actually see him in a couple of weeks.

“No!” He said and laughed, shaking his head. He needed help with everything. But, he’d be damned if he told Charlotte that and made her worry, or worst - feel bad for him. “I’m just tired and I’ve missed you,” he told her (which was true, even if it wasn’t the whole truth).

“I’m sorry. I’ve tried to free up some time for us, but I put our schedules in my calendar and it’s a biweekly, sometimes monthly match up possibility at best, for like, this entire semester.” They both frowned, until she changed the subject, “Have you talked to Henry?” She asked, a little more cheerfully.

“Have I talked to Henry? I’ve hardly been able to talk to you! Have you talked to him?”

“Yes. We have free Wednesday nights, after I’m done with my lab, so that’s the time that we have scheduled our phone calls. I’m thinking I’ll probably head home every other weekend, for right now. Until I’ve adjusted, more, to being away. What do you think?”

He shrugged his shoulders, “I’m working every weekend, so I can’t come along. But, tell everybody that I said ‘hey.”

“You know… You could try to call them?” She held out her hands in a shrug. Jasper seemed a little moody or something. Maybe he was homesick. Maybe he missed Henry, the Man Cave, hell, maybe he missed his mom. She didn’t know for sure, because he wasn’t telling her something.

“Yeah, I know. I just don’t really have anything to say, yet. I’m working two part time jobs, pledging to a fraternity, getting my ass handed to me by entry level college classes…” He shut up abruptly. He didn’t want to spend what little time he had with Charlotte whining. But, he must’ve needed to vent, because he couldn’t help but to mutter, “Maybe, I’ve overshot my capabilities with this.” She furrowed her eyebrows and he immediately regretted admitting that.

“I don’t think that you did. I think that you’re selling yourself short right now, though. What are you having problems with? I can help you study!”

“You just said like 10 minutes ago that you’d only be able to see me like once every two or three weeks!”

“Can you only study with people in person? I was gonna do so over the phone or video call or something. You can even send me images of your chapter pages (or lend me your book) and I can notate what you’ll most likely be expected to know.”

“That… Sounds like you putting a lot into me not failing.”

“Maybe. But, I mean… If you fail, we fail. We’re a team, still, right?” She made a pouting face and he melted against her.

“Of course. Char… I’m… Everything’s not okay...” 

She nodded her head and stroked his hair with her fingertips as he rested on her tiny shoulder. “I could tell. But… You know that it’s gonna be okay, right? You don’t have to do any of this by yourself, Jasper. I’m busy, but I can figure out how to make time for you.” He squeezed her tightly and then actually fell asleep in the cafe, on her shoulder. He hadn’t really slept well since they’d been in college and he never got the chance to lay down with her anymore and well… *Snore sounds*

"During Happy times the Leo man can bring out the most of loving side of the Taurus woman and he can boost her confidence and self-esteem too. She in turn can offer him some grounded common sense for his more airy fairy grandiose plans and she supports him through thick and thin."

Yes, Jasper worked every weekend. He did overnight stocking at a home improvement store every Friday, Saturday and Sunday night. Yes, he also had classes on Monday mornings, and yes, he also had pledge things taking place during this time. His other job was simpler. He cleaned up at a tattoo shop right outside of campus Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday evenings. Fortunately, all of his classes were on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. 

SO, if he got himself some sleep late Monday night, he slept well into Tuesday. He also slept late Wednesday, into Thursday, and a few hours on Thursday night between closing the tattoo shop and Friday morning class, and a few hours Friday afternoon until his nighttime shift on Friday. Saturday mornings he slept unless he was asked to pick up a few hours at the tattoo shop. Sunday, he HAD to sleep all day, because once he got up for his night shift, he wasn’t even going to see his bed again until the following night. 

Charlotte had planned to spend every other weekend in Swellview, but the weekends that she stayed around campus, she asked Jasper if she could come over. He’d be asleep, but if he really wanted to sleep well, he’d NEED her there. Plus… they really didn’t get that much time together, considering how close they lived to each other. Her first few visits, she was most concerned with the condition of his dorm. Not in the way that people rumored about - the crime in the neighborhood, or the alleged pests, and slow management. But… It was a mess. 

When she got there on Friday, he’d told her that he’d be awake and waiting for her. He was asleep and she was fine with that. He needed that sleep, based upon his terrible schedule that she’d tried to talk him out of. She began to pick up his things and place them in mplaces that made the most sense to her. He didn’t seem to have any rhyme or reason to this mess, but knowing Jasper, he probably did, or at least had gotten used to it and controlled the chaos mentally, somehow.

While she was cleaning, she accidentally woke up his computer and saw several open tabs of payments that he’d made, and a calendar where he was trying to figure out when to pay what. She took a seat in front of the screen and began to study the tabs and make some notes. She was there for a while, and eventually got up and finished cleaning. She returned to the computer a few more times along the way.

Jasper’s alarm sounded on his phone and he jumped up and gasped when he saw a clean, organized room and desk. Charlotte came from the bathroom, cleaned up and a little dolled up, but in night clothes. “Hey, Sleepyhead,” she said, positively glowing as she sat down next to him.

Jasper shook his head, “I’m so sorry that I fell asleep and we didn’t really get to spend any time together!”

“I expected you to fall to sleep. It’s good, Jasper. I had a chance to get some things done for you that I suppose you haven’t had the energy to do.”

“Yeah. Sorry about that too. I should’ve cleaned up before saying you could come over. My punishment is now I probably won’t know where any of my stuff is.”

“It’s in places that make perfectly good sense, but since I presumed that what makes sense to you is likely different from me, I made you a list.” She pointed to the computer. He mouthed a thank you to the skies. “I also got all up in your financial business.” He frowned. “Jasper, before we started dating, you’d ask me for help with anything in the world, from popping pimples to feeling how sweaty you are. I’m not sure why you didn’t want to come to me for help with this, but whatever your reasons, I made some decisions for you. I set up a budget for you based upon what you have to pay and what you make. I set everything to automatic withdrawals from your account on dates that made the most sense. I also signed you back up for that text therapy, because you can afford it and you need it, so if that’s too much of an issue, I’ll just wire you the total every time. If you won’t talk to me, I need to know that you’ll talk to someone. Plus, I arranged for weekly grocery deliveries. There’s a co-op place on campus that puts together nutritious grocery lists and you can add on or take away whatever they have for a certain additional fee. They deliver it to you at your convenience each week, even if your time slot changes. You just need to let them know at least 24 hours before the delivery. And, I’ve also allocated a percentage of your checks to go into savings, too. On this budget, you still wind up with an additional $200 every paycheck for whatever else.”

“WHAT?”

“Yeah, you can afford to pay your bills, eat, put some into savings and still have $200 left over… if your schedule stays the way that it is for the rest of the semester with your current pay. So… buy something nice for yourself or something. You deserve it.”

“No, you deserve it! Thank you for this. I wouldn’t have ever thought of that and I’ve just been eating on the run and buying the cheapest of everything whatsoever and…” He pulled her to him and kissed her. 

“So, did I earn a little… something…?” She gave him the look and he knew it was about to be ON before his shift tonight. She deserved it.

"The Taurus woman can be very possessive in love and quite jealous, but the Leo man doesn't mind this. In fact, probably enjoys it and finds it flattering. In reality he is unlikely to stray far which is reassuring for the Taurus woman who is seeking stability and commitment."

The twelve weeks that Jasper was pledging to his father’s old fraternity was hell. Not even because of the frat, but because of his personal life. He had gotten a little depressed working as hard as he worked and after a while, wanted to at least do something fun. So, he asked the tattoo shop owner about possibly becoming an apprentice. He was told to create a portfolio and after that, his boss would decide. 

Jasper worked on some sketches in his little free time (usually at the shop whenever he didn’t really have much cleaning to do), and whenever Charlotte came over on his weekends, he drew different designs on her. “Jasper, this isn’t the same thing. Drawing on skin with a pen isn’t the same as when you’re drawing into someone’s skin with a needle…”

“I know. I just need to practice what I can,” he said. Charlotte ended up with all kinds of tattoo sketch potentials on her body over the weeks.

She was in Swellview and Henry nearly passed out, “WHAT is that???” He wondered. She looked in the direction of his eyesight and saw the orisha goddess she’d requested on her side, peeking out. 

She laughed and raised her shirt a little more to show him. “Have you not been paying any attention to Jasper’s twitflash? He’s been using me as a canvas to practice sketches for a portfolio to be a tattoo apprentice.”

“That’s what those were? I didn’t really understand what I was looking at.” He opened the app to go check it out and wound up going through liking every single one of them.

“The apprenticeship would be unpaid, of course, but I’m hoping that he gets it, because once he gets a license, he’d be able to possibly make a lot of money. College kids are always at that tattoo shop.”

“Yeah, these photos have a lot of comments about how people want him to do theirs whenever they get one,” Henry said.

“People, or girls?”

Henry laughed, “Aren’t girls people?” She rolled her eyes. “Uh oh, I feel like I missed something.”

“So. He’s past pledging now and living in the frat house. It’s a little cheaper than his sucky dorm that he was in, so I’m glad for that. Plus, it’s more space there for him, despite all the guys that live there. Now, all of a sudden, all these women know who he is and they just… irritate me, is all.”

“That’s all?” 

“Yep.”

“Okay, then.” She could tell from Henry’s face that he knew that wasn’t the case, but he didn’t press, so she spilled it herself. 

Basically, during Hell Week, Jasper and other pledges were moving their things into the frat house wearing nothing but loincloths and sandals. Their sister sorority came out to ogle them and make unnecessary comments and whatnot and post pics and videos on their socmed. Charlotte never really got into the frat boy stuff that Jasper was doing, because it was frat boy stuff and she wasn’t interested. However, as Jasper is Jasper, of course, some manner of calamity has to follow him around. This particular event it manifested itself in the form of a wardrobe malfunction while he was carrying a box. Several frat brothers expressed that it would be illegal to post any images of said malfunction, though everyone present had a good laugh about it, and at least 30 girls got a good eyeful as he had to set the box down then figure out how to get that little piece of cloth back around his junk… which Charlotte discovered from all the upcoming whispers is pretty nicely sized.

She didn’t have anything to compare it to, so she figured that the size was great to her, but for some reason, other people knowing what he was working with and the increase of a following that he got afterwards, unnerved her. He always had women sliding into his DMs now and he laughed it off, but she knew that he liked the attention and it frustrated her that he did.

She wasn’t trying to be that way, but in her mind, what Jasper had was hers and she felt like she needed to reinforce that to others on several occasions. Whenever the sister sorority pledges had Mingle Night and Jasper had to take off work on the weekend to attend, she was frustrated that he could find it in him to ask for time off for that, but not to go to Swellview with her, any of the trips that she had made. She made one comment about it, but wouldn’t dwell on it, at least not out loud, anyway.

She usually skipped parties, so the time that he would make for social events, she either had to tough out a crowd of people that she didn’t really care for, or wonder how his night was going and who was taking up his time and space throughout the course of it. She was the one who had to try to make more time for them. She asked Henry if it was possible for him to visit them, for a change in October and it became a practice for her to visit Swellview once a month and Henry to visit them once a month. (Henry rarely saw Jasper whenever he did visit, though.

“Where are we going?” He’d asked as they were heading deeper into the campus. 

“The outer gym,” she said.

“The outer gym?” Henry repeated.

“Yeah. Jasper has Dodge-a-leen training, then kite disc practice. He’ll be happy to see you!” Henry made a confused face, because did she say “kite disc” practice? “Dude, you really ought to at least glance at Jasper’s social media at some point.”

“I don’t even really have the time to glance at mine! I’ve been in college, too, Dude. Studying to try to be the heir to Junk N Stuff, plus training hard and working nonstop to take up the Man Cave duties. I only study during the week, sometimes on missions, because my time is so pressed. I do most of the night patrolling by myself. If you hadn’t set a call schedule for us, I’d probably talk to you just as much as I get to talk to Jasper… HELLO!” He said upon coming to the crowded seating area and seeing a bunch of pretty ladies in the bleachers. Some of them had on practice uniforms - cheerleaders, drill team, pep squad, etc. They were practicing, or having meetings. Others just seemed to be there. 

“Our spot is over here,” Charlotte said. She had a spot. It was where several of the “alternative sports” fans sat. Alternative sports was what they were calling what Charlotte thought of as “fake sports” or at the very least “sweaty games.” Like Dodge-a-leen, which should not exist, in her opinion, but did and had an entire team that would go to competitions, representing the school. Jasper met a girl that he did a tattoo for who played something called kite disc, which was like frisbee playing, but with a damned kite attached to the discs. Players had to fly the kite and throw the disc to a partner, who in turn had to do the same. She hated it. But, Jasper immediately loved it, joined the growing league and fought for a team to be formed on the campus. She still couldn’t tell if she was impressed or something else about it. 

As they settled into her spot, she asked Henry, “So, if you haven’t talked to Jasper, I guess he hasn’t told you about his new best friend?” She pointed at a tall, blond girl who was getting the equipment ready for kite disc practice while the Dodge-a-leen team was practicing several yards away. The blond girl waved at Charlotte and she waved back, hoping that her stank face wasn’t on.

“Um, no. Jasper has no new best friend, but whoever that is, is hot.” Henry admitted. Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Who is she?”

“They call her Ghost. Jasper calls her Casper, because he says that she’s a “friendly ghost.” She’s an athlete here. She loves kites and discs, so whenever kite disc was created, she jumped in and she’s the reason that Jasper took on another fake sport, despite his already busy schedule. They’re together A LOT. Jasper and Casper. Everyone knows he has a girlfriend, but most people think that’s her.”

Henry laughed, then apologized. “Well, do you like her? Is she good people?”

“She’s okay, I guess. I don’t really know much about her. She always tries to be really nice. She loves all the photos that Jasper posts of me and she seems to happy to see me whenever we cross paths. But… She’s super close with my boyfriend, you know? And I know that shouldn’t bother me, because Jasper is capable of having a platonic friendship with a woman in very close proximity. We did that for YEARS, but, then again… it eventually grew into something else and now, even that is… changing.” She said the last word so sadly that it startled Henry and he looked at her, watching Jasper, sweaty and pouring water down his throat now that Dodge-a-leen practice was ending.

“Hey… You two alright?” Henry wondered. She shrugged her shoulders. He felt bad that he didn’t know more about this. These were supposed to be his two best friends, and while he was grateful that he still had regular contact with one of them (he and Jasper did talk, but only in small intervals, or very spaced out conversations, the last one being weeks ago). Jasper was rushing over to Casper. They hugged and immediately started talking and laughing. Hello hugs, huh? Henry couldn’t say that was weird, not knowing whatever changes Jasper had made and not knowing Casper, at all. But, she pointed over to where they were and Jasper only just noticed him. He felt a way about that. Jasper smiled and came rushing over to greet him.

“Henry!” He cheered. “What are you doing here?” He didn’t hug Charlotte, Henry noticed, but maybe that was because he was all sweaty. But… he was all sweaty when he hugged that other girl. Maybe she didn’t mind? 

“Ummm… Visiting. You took my friend’s Swellview visits away, so I gotta come all the way here to see her and I guess you too,” he joked. 

Jasper looked like there was a slight flinch in his face for a moment, then he nodded and said, “I’m glad you’re here. Where are you gonna sleep?”

“Char’s dorm,” Henry said. 

Now, Jasper definitely looked a way. “There’s more room in the frat house. You’re perfectly welcome to crash there.” Charlotte and Henry both looked surprised by that suggestion. He noticed and expounded, “I know we’re all friends, but we’re also grown, Bro. I don’t really want you and my girlfriend sleeping in the same bed.” He shrugged his shoulders and kissed her on the nose. “I gotta get back. We’ll talk after.” He rushed down the bleachers and back to the field and Henry was still stunned.

“Was… was he serious?” Henry asked. “You and me have been sharing a bed since before you even felt comfortable using the word ‘friend’ to describe him and now he wants to call dibs or something?”

She sighed and shrugged her shoulders, “I mean, I guess he has a point, but it’s not like with me and you anything would ever happen.”

“Right. Even if either of us was remotely attracted to the other, neither of us would do that to him, or to our friendship! The nerve of him to suggest it, meanwhile, he’s giving that one girl sweaty hugs in front of everybody, knowing that you’re jealous of her and that people think that she’s his girlfriend!”

Charlotte scoffed, “What do you mean, I’m jealous of her?”

“Don’t try to play me, Dude. I saw it within five minutes.”

She flared her nostrils. He was right. “Well, you know… Jasper doesn’t always see the things that we see. He’s you know… innocent in a way. Well, innocent isn’t the right word. Naive.”

“He thinks because the ladies gossip about his big old thang he’s gotta come over here swinging it around?” Charlotte wanted to greet that comment with disdain, but she laughed, in spite of herself. Henry stood up, gesturing swinging around a big… package… and saying, “Don’t get in bed with my girlfriend like you’ve been doing for most of your life. Sleep thirty minutes away at the jock campus for less smart people in the institution…”

“Henry, stop!” Charlotte said, suddenly not enjoying it anymore. “This is their campus! And… that’s not even entirely true. This isn’t a movie, Guy. If you wanna stay in college or on a team, even a fake sports team, you’ve gotta make the grades. Jasper has excellent grades. He’s on the dean’s list, here.” Henry stopped and sat down, looking confused. “I help him study with the stuff he doesn’t get and the stuff that he does get, he tends to take in right away, so…”

“You help him study science and math, right? And the dude that once said batteries was gonna be the next power source is on the dean’s list?” Henry asked.

“Why do you do this to him?” Charlotte asked.

“What do I do?”

“You act like he’s stupider than what he is. He’s your best friend and you’re talking about him like he’s some brute that knocked into you at a bar.”

“I think that you’re maybe getting defensive. I was just fooling around. I love Jasp, you know that. It was honest fun. I’d pick with him the same way.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t like that. You know what he likes? Whenever people tell him he’s great and awesome and they love to just be around him and don’t fuss at him for getting sweat on them in his excitement to see them or crack jokes on stupid stuff that he’s said impulsively, because he thought he had to answer right away. He’s… already replacing you, Hen. For all we know, he’s already replacing me.” She messed with her fingertips. “He’s not as… interested as he used to be… in… you know…” Henry frowned. He was always interested in that area of their lives, but he certainly didn’t want to dive into it when they were having problems. “And I can’t help but wonder if it’s because here, I’M the lucky one. Here, he’s a budding superstar. Everyone loves him. He’s the life of the party, the heart of the team… I’m his uptight girlfriend who gets mistaken as his tutor, like all of the time, even with some of his frat brothers.” She laughed a little, then wiped her eyes, feeling silly for feeling how she felt.

“Have you talked to him about this?”

“Not in these exact words. Because, they sound pathetic, right? I’m out here at practices for stuff I don’t care about, just to get to spend more time with him. He has a ton of people to spend time with. I haven’t made one friend since I got here. I mean… I’ve already got TWO! I didn’t think I needed to add any, but he stays adding them in. Adding so many, I can’t even figure out where I fit anymore…” She felt like she was going to start crying and looked like it, so Henry sat next to her and wrapped an arm around her to pull her in, in case she needed that. Jasper noticed, from the field and missed catching a disc, which the kite  was taking away, into the sky. He quickly caught himself and grabbed a grounding shot (it was just a sticky ball, heavier than the kite that if you threw it and it stuck to the disc, it weighed it down enough to bring it back. He got it, then he looked at Henry and Charlotte again, frustrated.

Intimate relationships between Leo men and Taurus women can be a flip of the coin. Either or troubled, and not for lack of effort. The innate stubbornness of both signs tends to rear its ugly head here most frequently.

If Henry was staying at Charlotte’s, so was Jasper, or if he had to ask Charlotte to stay over at the frat house to get Henry to stay, whatever, he wasn’t gonna leave them alone together, though. Charlotte had been insecure lately. Jasper, to the best of his ability, tried to reassure her that he wasn’t interested in any other women and that he wasn’t “tired of” her. That was a ridiculous thought. Had their sex life been less powerful than when they first started? Well.. Yes, but both of them were extremely busy and they really were just kind of squeezing in sexual stuff where they could fit it. Plus, he felt like she was just doing it nowadays to thwart him from cheating or looking around - stuff he wasn’t gonna do, anyway. 

The best that it got for them was study sessions. Charlotte would make mock tests to help him study and they were multiple choice, which he answered by touching her in certain places. It was an amazing way to recall the information. He spent tests thinking about how it felt to touch her body and look into her eyes whenever she said an answer was correct and honestly… it was how he wound up getting all A’s now. He’d never been able to do so in the past. He’d make A’s in stuff he understood and be so far off on the stuff that he didn’t understand that his mother thought that he was either cheating in most of his classes, or “mentally retarded at math and science,” which he had to repeatedly tell her wasn’t appropriate and not actually a thing. Charlotte had convinced him to take an aptitude test their junior year, but he got nervous and felt so weird about it that the results weren’t accurate. 

She got him to take another their senior year, at the end of the year and it was actually pretty helpful and put his talents into perspective. It made him more confident about finding some direction. Charlotte always added to his life and enhanced it. He didn’t know what condition he would be in without her. He seriously thought that if they weren’t together, he might be one of those people who was so filled with excitement and fervor who went into the world, got beat down and lost the light in their eyes. Instead, she magnified it. And yes, other people were noticing him, other women… but, he couldn’t understand why she would think that would mean that he would notice them. 

She still also had time for Henry. He hadn’t been able to squeeze their best friend into his schedule, but figured that they both drifting away from him. Now, he felt like he was the one drifting away from them, and if he wasn’t careful, Charlotte might wind up being Henry’s light, instead. “That’s crazy!” He told himself, brushing his teeth in the locker room after his shower. “That’s crazy.” But, if there was one man that he feared MIGHT be able to get Char’s attention, it was Henry. He didn’t like feeling that way, because he wasn’t a jealous person, at all. In fact, Charlotte had accused him of not even caring if guys flirted with her (which technically, he didn’t) because he figured that it was the same for her as for him - nonfactors. It was only when she looked uncomfortable or like she might be being harrassed that he usually jumped in, ready to defend her space and her comfort. Jasper wasn’t a jealous person, no. But, he was extremely protective, especially of her. He wasn’t a jealous person, until it came to Henry and her. He wasn’t sure when it started, but whenever he saw them together, still happy to see each other. Still having fun, something possessive and territorial was stirred up in him. 

He remembered things that he hadn’t really thought about in years or cared much about whenever he had thought about them - how people used to always think they were together, how they were friends almost automatically and he tried to become friends with Charlotte because he was scared she might steal his best friend. Even though she didn’t like him and never regarded him with warmth, he took a liking to her because she was Henry’s friend, therefore, they had to be friends or he might not be able to spend as much time with Henry! And then there were the dreams that they were having about each other shortly before she and Jasper became a thing. He never knew for sure if Henry didn’t actually have some feelings for her, the way that he kept trying to butt in when they were building their foundation. Now, they were on some shaky ground and Jasper just felt uncomfortable with Henry being there, with them like this.

He was overcompensating. He knew it, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. Charlotte… didn’t seem as flattered as he was whenever she was acting crazy over him, but she didn’t call him out, either. She just sort of gave him disapproving looks and rubbed his shoulders a lot to smooth him over. Henry was another story. They bickered about his behavior, then they went on to bicker about the time that they weren’t spending together, and it eventually got to the point where Jasper said, “Our entire lives, I’ve had to be the one to always reach out to you, to come to you, to back you up and support you and be your friend. So, I decided that I was gonna focus on me a little bit more and you know what happened, Henry? We stopped being friends, because you can’t even be bothered to toss me a like on Twitflash and if I don’t call you first, THIS is what we have. We didn’t drift apart. I stopped reaching out to you and now you’re seeing just how much I was the one doing so.” Jasper’s fists were clenched and he added, “Charlotte’s the only person who ever makes an effort for me, and just… Don’t try to get in the way of that, okay?” 

Henry was floored. Why would he ever try to…? Jasper got up, eyes red and damp, embarrassed and worried about how Charlotte would take that outburst. “I’m gonna go ahead and get out of your way and stop ruining everyone's good time. Call me when you get home safe.” He dared a kiss on her cheek, but she was looking stunned, still. She followed him outside. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say all of that…”

She shook her head and threw her hands into the air, “Jasper… I understand that you’re doing a lot of finding yourself and maybe that means that you and Hen don’t make it, but… I have to admit that I’m insulted that you for whatever reason think that I don’t have any autonomy in our friendship. Henry can’t get in the way of what goals I set for myself. Henry can’t damage something if it’s something that I’m working on, and whatever issues that you have with Henry, you two can try to talk out, but leave me out of it. I’m not taking any sides of something that I have nothing to do with, with two people that I love. It’s not fair.”

“I said I’m sorry, Char. I’m tired. I have to go home and get some sleep.”

“Okay,” she said, sounding and feeling defeated. Jasper gave her a hug. A desperate, tight, but soft thing that she sank into and just wanted to vanish with him inside of. But, then it was over and he was walking away. She felt like he probably needed her to go with him and stay with him, but Henry was inside and he was the one who had traveled the three hours to see her when Jasper most of the time didn’t travel the 30 minutes to do the same. She stayed with Henry and apologized for whatever that was. He brushed it off and insisted that he’d just do better, be a better friend. But, whenever he’d reach out to Jasper after that night, he was less available than before.

By the summer break, Jasper was definitely taking summer off of school, unlike Charlotte, who not only still had classes, but classes everyday. Henry wasn’t taking summer classes, either. Both of them had a chance to squash everything. In fact, Charlotte suggested that Jasper spend some time in Swellview, since he’d have more time. But, Jasper didn’t want to leave her when he finally had time to work on them. So, he was working and saving up for the upcoming semester, summer training for his alternative sports teams, doing community stuff with his fraternity since he was staying in the house but not in classes, and doing his apprenticeship too. His art was getting good. And people were super into getting free tats from Jasper Dunlop, aka Big Dog. Charlotte had gotten more used to sharing him with a fan base.

He began vlogging whenever he started his apprenticeship and called his channel ExJasperation, but still would use it if he ever decided to go back to podcasts. He talked about his friends, his frat brothers, his girlfriend. Charlotte didn’t make the time to watch his channel, but she’d hear things about it whenever she was on the other campus, or in the frat house. She got used to sharing him with an audience. He enjoyed being noticed. He enjoyed the limelight. She just had to shrink back a little, to make sure that she didn’t wind up in it. She didn’t care too much for that. Not in these settings, at least. 

She was doing great in her academic circles, though. Not getting close to people. It was more like being in a room full of loners who loved their fields of work and could muster up the energy to talk about that for a while, then go back to their own devices. Even her calls with Henry decreased and visits became less doable, too. Sophomore year, they spoke less and saw each other occasionally. Junior year… seldom. And Jasper hadn’t really seen or talked to Henry at all, not including a few likes and comments on their social media every now and then.

Junior year marked a lot of significant changes, for all three of them.

[skingenixreviews-blog]

Skingenix - Remove Your Face Wrinkles

Nowadays, wrinkles and fine lines are appearing earlier on people all across the world. There are many anti-wrinkle treatments, in advertisements, on billboards and in the cosmetic counter of every local pharmacy. As we age, our skin loses its elasticity which results in folding and wrinkles in the skin. But, what is an effective treatment for such a natural occurrence of the skin? And is it possible to retain our youthful appearance for a little longer? Skingenix  This vitamin A is a proven anti aging antioxidant.

 It is a topical ingredient that promotes collagen production, improves the skin color and Reduce Wrinkles mottled patches on the skin. Instead of coffee drink cocoa Cocoa Reduce Wrinkles contain two dietary Skingenix and catechin. They protect skin from sun damage and improve skin cells circulation making it smooth.Scare away acne as well as vampires (and maybe your significant other too) with this garlic remedy. The smell is actually not too bad. Garlic works because it has powerful antimicrobial properties that you can utilize against bacteria. Take a clove of garlic and mash it up.

 Spread the past over problem areas as a spot treatment. Skingenix Repeat several times a day. Note, only put on problem areas as garlic can sting if you place it on open wounds. But you have to remember that you cannot get any miraculous results if you simply pick any r eye cream. To achieve the best results, you have to buy the most reputable cream that has already been proven to Reduce Wrinkles and other signs of aging. The cream you choose must be safe to use on the skin around your eyes and should contain ingredients effective to address the root cause of these wrinkles.

Now apply this blended pack to your skin on the area where stretch marks show. For most of us, the places we want to get rid of stretch mark from are breasts, hips, arms and stomach. Skingenix You should massage this liquid into these areas until the skin absorbs it completely. This should be done twice every day; make it a part of your morning and night (before going to bed) beauty ritual. You can put the remaining mixture in the fridge and the shelf like of each such mixture is about two weeks. And now by visiting my website listed below I can show you how you can get 

these ingredients that will help remove dark skin spots and get an even skin tone. As I'm looking for acne treatments online, I realize that more than 50 million people are affected with acne each year. Did you know this? There are several things I am referring to when I speak of acne. I mean whiteheads, blackheads, pimples, cysts, nodules, Skingenix Reviews and more. Not to mention, sometimes they get so bad, that they leave scars on your face that cocoa butter can't even get rid of. This is what I have experienced so far.

 I have tried so many treatments and acne products on the market, that it's just plain ridiculous. To keep skin fresh and wrinkle-free during the aging process, you want to consider using an oatmeal wash. Oatmeal has a soluble fiber called beta Skingenix This fiber contains a think film, which when applied to the surface of facial skin, helps to Reduce Wrinkles and keep your skin smooth. I've tried to add Reduce Wrinkles just a tiny little bit of humor to this article. However, the more serious undertone to it, 

is you have to think over all the above issues and be realistic with your expectations, and also decide if your going to follow through and use the skin cream until you get your desired result. Throwing the cigarettes in Reduce Wrinkles the bin or on the fire can also make your teeth look whiter and improve your dental health. According to the Skingenix of National No Smoking Day, "nicotine ends up staining your teeth yellow and puts you in line for gum disease and tooth loss".

Click Here >>> https://www.fitdiettrends.com/skingenix/

https://twitter.com/skingenix https://www.pinterest.com/pin/829366087611033745/ https://skingenix.podbean.com/e/skingenix-skin-care/ https://soundcloud.com/user-405667221/skingenix-skin-care http://skingenixskincare.pen.io/ http://skingenix.aircus.com/ https://skingenix.hatenablog.com/entry/2019/09/13/141003 http://skingenix.zohosites.com/blogs/post/skingenix-reduces-the-size-of-wrinkles