#i hope he dies so incredibly slowly and painfully. i wish i could slam a brick in his face myself

[froggyrights]

You guys have no idea how relieved I am that that fucking cunt got arrested. I found out yesterday he's been brainwashing my younger brother and I've been watching hours of video essays and podcasts and anything I could find to be able to convince my brother he's getting manipulated and scammed I've been so fucking stressed about it. this guy is so absolutely and utterly disgusting. I hope he dies I hope he can never hurt another woman ever again

[creativeashproductions]

When Fate Intervenes // Luke Patterson

IN WHICH: Fate intervenes with a trio of musicians on the night that was supposed to be legendary. Fate puts the reader with a special ability that may or may not be able to save them. Fate puts a clairvoyant, an accidentally upsized pizza and thirteen year old oddly obsessed with a rock band.

Warnings: Swearing, food poison, death, and fluff

Words: 2.8k

A/N: Time to get rid of some fic ideas from my TOO LONG of a list. It’s Julie fault, she keeps encouraging each fic idea I tell her.

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Masterlist

The Orpheum, 1995

The line up comprised of countless girls wearing homemade band shirts for the new band performing. Your little sister, at thirteen years old, had pleaded for weeks if not three months to go watch it. It was odd since she was more in the pop scene than the rock music. Your parents would never let her go to the rock show at night, so it was you or no show. It took a promise of doing your chores for an entire month and her dessert for two months. That was why you stood beside Harper among the fangirls while you clicked through the camera you’d saved up for years.

“I’m so excited.” Harper buzzed dancing on your feet as the time on her watch dwindled down more and more.

Your eyes flitted from the screen to the ball of energy you called your little sister, “I can tell. Which one do you have a crush on?”

“Reggie. He’s the bassist and so fucking-sorry freaking cool.” Harper gushed, “A good portion of the fans are obsessed with the lead singer Luke. Bobby is the rhythm guitarist, and he’s a ladies man, but he’s sweet about it.”

“And you’d know that how?” You questioned letting go of the camera around your neck. Your e/c eyes meeting her matching pair of irises; well yours were a bit more vibrant.

“I just know.” Harper retorted before beaming as she roughly poked the pin she’d made herself, “This represents all of them. Red for Reggie’s plaid shirt he always has, orange for Bobby’s love of oranges, yellow for Luke’s energy and pink for Alex because he loves the colour!”

The pin had their band design with Sunset Curve on it with the words outlined with a sunset made up of red, orange, yellow and pink just as Harper had pointed out. By far, it was her best work, but that was expected from an art student at Los Feliz High School. An art school for artists and performers. You attended for photography and creative writing just as Harper attended for art.

“That might be your best work Harps.” You complimented your little sister who shivered in the cool night breeze. You didn’t even think about tugging off your warm jacket to place on her shoulders.

You’d rather be cold than your little sister no matter how much you fought with each other, the Y/L/N siblings had each other’s backs no matter what.

“Thanks.” Harper murmured, leaning closer, “So do I meet Reggie?”

Your eyes widened slightly at her subtle goading to a part of your life was cinematic. It was a piece of you that very few people knew about, only your parents and Harper. Like most of the women in your paternal lineage, you carried the ability to foresee events in the future. A clairvoyant.

“Harper!” You scolded the young teenager who blatantly was just over-excited to see the band she’d been talking about constantly.

Harper’s cheeks turned a cherry blossom pink under the crappy lighting from the marquee sign. Even in the light, you noticed the changes in her face as she matured into a young woman, her cheeks while still full didn’t have that baby cheek look now. You saw a stubborn zit that you could see under the makeup that didn’t entirely match her skin tone. It caused an ache in your heart to know that soon she’d have the experience of heartbreak.

“Sorry!”

“You told me these guys are my age. Need I remind you that you are thirteen? If anyone older than thirteen makes an advance I’ll put my softball skills to the test.” You sternly informed the shorter girl with the pout that screamed rebellion, “Just be a kid Harps.”

“Like you said Y/N, I’m thirteen. I’m not a kid anymore.” Harper dropped the attitude to adopt a more mature soft tone. You could see the tinge of sadness in her eyes at losing the part of life where it was easy.

“I know. I can wish you’ll stay that annoying little kindergartener that stole my clothing.” You chuckled, “You’ll always be the Stephanie to my DJ.”

The two Y/L/N siblings momentarily glanced around before hugging as quickly as possible, they still had reputations to uphold. Had you been actually paying attention, you and Harper would have noticed the commotion from the people behind you.

As you and Harper had the sweet moment, the very band performing had raced out the alley into the street. What brought you back to the surroundings was the pizza boy delivering the pizza box to you. 

“Wait, we ordered a small!” You exclaimed finding the boy holding an extra-large pizza. You only received a shrug in response with the right change given back. 

Two things happened with this food mistake, you didn’t have to pay more than what you actually ordered, and you still got the larger pizza. However, the Orpheum didn’t allow outside food, meaning you’d have to force-feed yourself all the pizza or trash more than half. 

“We could shar-” Harper was cut off as a blinding white light became your focal point. Harper knew what was happening by the specific groan coming from your lips.

A nauseating scent of cheap meat, gas and chemicals flooded your sense of smell in the dingy alleyway. It was nighttime with a few people in the general vicinity with a dilapidated table and mismatched chairs on the walls’ edge. A poorly made sign with Sam & Ella’s and going by the vendor selling the hot dogs the name fit. Sam & Ella sounded like salmonella.

From a distance, you couldn’t quite hear the conversation between three male teens, but you had a bad feeling. They all migrated to a ratty couch that had been better days, a rat wouldn’t even crawl on it you swore.

The first boy had slicked back hair with rosy cheeks you dubbed innocent and cute that juxtapositioned his rocker attire. He had polished black leather shoes, pleather if his choice of food was an indication, a leather jacket and a red plaid shirt around his waist. His attention focused on the two guys beside him. In the middle, the boy had the blue hood of his sweater pulled over his messy brown hair as if hiding. Nothing stood out about him, and it seemed like that was intentional. On the other side, the last one was the tallest with his blonde hair hidden by the backwards black hat. A distressed dark grey jean jacket open to proudly display his pink hoodie. Each one wearing black pants and adorning rings.

“This is awesome, you guys. We’re playing the Orpheum!” The middle boy joyfully spoke head in the clouds instead of the questionable surroundings. He arguably had the loveliest smile you had ever seen, and his friends had nice smiles at that as well.

Yet even if this hadn’t taken place, however, it still felt like you were intruding on something incredibly private, “Why am I being shown this?”

Your question went unsurprisingly unanswered.

“I can’t even count how many bands have played here! And then ended up being huge!” He happily sunk into the back of the couch, thinking of all the bands he had CDs to in his room, “We’re gonna be legends!”

“Oh.” You breathed as you caught a whiff from the boys that quickly gave you the understanding of why you saw this. You could only smell what you had dubbed as death, the scent unchanging from the first time you’d encountered it.

The death stench accompanied a clairvoyant vision if the object of your vision was sick or about to die. The first time you encountered, it was a vision of two cars colliding, the sound of shattering glass and crunching metal, the scent of burning flesh overpowering the milder stench. The next morning school was cancelled after a teacher died in a car accident on the way to work.

“Eat up, boys. ’Cause after tonight, everything changes.” The only vocal one continued with his two friends silently listening. The trio toasted their food together.

“No!” You exclaimed as each boy took a bite. You held your breath, hoping that the inevitable in the vision wouldn’t occur.

Unfortunately, it was right away the warning appeared. The blonde one the most affected, “That’s a new flavour.”

“Chill, man. Street dogs haven’t killed us yet.” The leather jacket guy proudly spoke, the least one concerned. 

Even the guy in the middle was concerned but ultimately continued eating.

“Stop it!” You shouted, but it was no use. As with every vision, you had the potential to stop it from coming true, but while in the vision, you couldn’t interact with the people or surrounding. No matter how much you wanted to slam the food out of their hands.

But one thing sends shivers down your spine. The one in the middle made direct eye contact with you. Something that had never happened before nor to any previous clairvoyants. He kept eye contact as he slowly grew sicker and sicker.

The three boys had no chance as the ambulance rushed to the alleyway to save them. The paramedics weren’t as quick as the vendors who’d already packed and fled to protect their own hides.

You watched as the paramedics did everything in their power to save the young teenagers with everything possible. Just like Luke sang in their last song, the boys felt the darker version of an electric hammer to the heart. The clocks freezing in place as they each took their last breathe in the oddest of deaths. You saw the blonde guy die painfully first before followed by the formerly hooded one, the terrified cries of the last one haunting your phantom ears.

How did three healthy teenagers die on the same night of the exact nature within minutes of each other without one surviving? Maybe it had something to do with the hot dogs chilling in the liquid that was a cesspool of bacteria compounded with tained condiments from battery acid.

You roughly came out of the vision shaking and pale-faced frantically scanning the surroundings. Harper had a grip on the extra large pizza box while the other tightly held yours to ground you in the present.

“Are you okay?” Harper softly questioned with the panic hidden inside her body. Harper knew that this vision had been one of the bad ones. The haunted look in your eyes hinting towards death in the near future.

“We need to go.” You frantically replied, grabbing the pizza that would hopefully have a hand in saving three hopeful teens.

Your gym teacher would be proud of the distance diminished and speed you kept towards the area that would further shatter you. Foreseeing death and sometimes unable to stop it always had a nasty impact on you. 

“Where are we going?” Harper yelled, “We’ll miss the doors opening!”

“We’ll miss them if we don’t hurry up!” You shouted back at the disgruntled little sister but at the moment that didn’t matter. 

What mattered was three hungry teenagers about to gorge themselves on death dogs if you didn’t make it in time. It appeared for the first time you’d actually manage to stop the deaths, unlike the previous three times. 

“-tonight. Everything changes.” The chill-inducing rasp helped navigate you to the disgusting couch. Your cold hand slammed the hotdog from the blonde’s hand, the shocked reaction halting the other two.

“Don’t...eat...it.” You heaved bending over at the waist to catch your breath. Wheezing sounded from your little sister as the running and seeing her favourite band up close settled.

“Excuse me! I paid for that hotdog!”

“You’d be buying yourself death literally. Your dreams of playing the Orpheum would be extinct.” You sighed, chugging the water from the pocket of Harper’s backpack for a few seconds before the owner took it back.

“Okay, look I don’t know how you found us but-”

“You don’t have to believe me ’cause I sure as hell wouldn’t have but don’t jeopardize your dreams. Look my little sister wanted to see your show so I brought her and we ordered a pizza. They fucked up the order by giving us an extra-large pizza. We’ll barely eat a quarter of it, and the venue is strict on the rules.” You rambled using tour hands to elaborate the story before Harper roughly elbowed your ribs, “Ow!”

“Oops.” Harper faked a sugar-sweet smile for your benefit as the interaction with the three musicians slowly dove into embarrassment.

“-sorry. You’d be doing us a favour by not wasting our money and food. What do you say?” You hesitantly asked the trio who didn’t speak vocally; their eyes meeting in a silent conversation.

Reggie sighed as he begrudgingly dropped his hotdog in the bin near the couch, “Pizza outranks street dogs even if the dogs are heaven and to die for.”

“Literally.” You grumbled forcefully pushing the obscenely large pizza box into the middle one’s stomach, “I’m Y/N, this is my little sister Harper.”

“Hi.” Harper shyly waved with cheeks turning a dust pink concealed by the dark of the alleyway. The boys’ lips all quirked at the sudden contrast from the confident sister slamming her elbow in you to the bashful teen.

“I’m Luke. This is Reggie and Alex.” The hooded one, Luke, introduced his bandmates as best he could with his hands occupied by the pizza box.

Without the threat of death by the hot dog, you actually took the time to look at Luke with appraising eyes. His eyes were like oceans of blues, greens and even a brown that both exhilarated you; the desire of studying them not surprising. His smile outshone the sun on the hottest day in August.

“Nice to meet you.” You informed the trio with a beaming smile that matched your starstruck little sister. The interaction gave you the opportunity for immense and untiring future teasing on the teen that daydreamed of the bassist. 

You had to admit the trio were incredibly attractive.

“Come back to the dressing room. We can eat there out of the cold.” Alex courteously invited the two formerly strangers. His blues sharing his pure intentions to repay you for saving their lives and offering pizza. 

“Of course.” Harper nodded her head with her eyes barely meeting the ones of the boys. The shell was broken when Reggie piped up.

“That’s a really cool pin! Where’d you find it?”

Gated Community, Los Angeles, 2002

An off-tune humming filled the modestly sized home in the suburbs of Los Angeles, California with the sound of water splashing. Doing the dishes was a mindless chore that typically didn’t bother you, but the pain in your lower back protested. You’d have used the dishwasher, but the thing was perpetually breaking down. Didn’t seen essential to replace when washing dishes by hand was just as productive.

Or it was when you didn’t have the extra weight in your midsection, a symbol of your love with your husband. In fact, you would have avoided doing dishes if you hadn’t just used the last clean plate and glass at breakfast plus Luke hadn’t been home in the previous week.

Sunset Curve had gone on a press tour for the upcoming album and tour planned for next year.

“Oof.” You moaned as the little rascal once more hit your bladder, “Are you breaking electric guitars in there?”

“Not a soccer player?”

“With you as their father? Not likely.” You snorted as the sudden appearance of Luke became clear. You hadn’t been expecting him, “I missed you. We missed you.”

As had it since you first told him Luke’s warm hand came to rest on the front of your swollen belly. In a short month, you’d be cradling the newest member of the Patterson family with Luke singing the lullaby he solely made for baby P.

“Still haven’t given in?” The lead guitarist teased you with a beaming smile splitting his face, “Go sit down. I’ll finish the dishes.”

You didn’t need to be asked twice. 

“I’m not abusing my clairvoyance to foresee our child’s gender, name and appearance.” You pointed one finger in his direction, “I refused Bobby’s pleading to see which models he would bed. The only time I did something like that was to reassure Alex that he would fall in love with a lovely guy.”

Luke’s heart burst with sheer adoration at how easily you had sunk into the friendship with the band after that one night. A night that had given birth to a friendship that slowly evolved into a romance and marriage. To this day, the group got together as much as possible.

“I love you.” Luke chuckled, “Even-”

“-if I came into your life like a completely crazy person?”

“We’re all a little crazy.”

Your house surely would be when a little tornado with Luke’s energy took over the home you’d made with Luke. The very home you would have more children and grow old together until soon you held your grandkids on your laps.

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[starculler]

Whumptober 2021: Day 4

Word Count: 2048 || Read on AO3

Tags/Warnings: Batman, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Open/Ambiguous End, Injury, Referenced Violence/Violent Acts, Family Feels, Implied/Possible Death

me, chanting: father-son feelings, father-son feelings, father-son fee--

Jason looked between the window and the locked door, determined to ignore the flickering, orange glow peeking in through the gap between it and the floor. He clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth as he spared a look at Bruce, half-slumped and wheezing softly against an alarmingly warm wall midway between the two. They’d trudged up the stairs earlier, Bruce limping and leaning most of his weight on Jason, in an attempt to hide out and recover after their mission had gone tits up in the most spectacular ways. A real prize winner, he thought to himself, derisive and sarcastic.

He sucked in a shuddering breath and tipped his head back to stare up at the ceiling, sorely missing the familiar weight of his helmet — abandoned after some now-toothless idiot had smashed it to pieces. The fault, he knew, lay at his feet if Bruce died. It almost made him laugh. Maybe he would have, if he’d ever really wanted Bruce dead, back before he’d wormed his way back into the family’s mostly-good graces.

“Fuck,” he growled, dropping his head down to drag a gloved hand roughly, painfully, through his hair. “Ten story fall, or trial by fire?” he asked Bruce, knowing the Bat could barely hear him, let alone parse out what, exactly, he’d said. A few hits to the head with a blunt object would do that to a guy, no matter their bull-headed, mile-wide stubborn streak.

Never one to let an injury get in his way or find a way to prove Jason wrong, Bruce managed to muster up a rumbling grumble in response that sounded, to him, a lot like “try harder.” He huffed, shooting the barely conscious man a mild glare. Not that Bruce deserved it much, at least not this time. This time the fault lay primarily at Jason’s feet — a mixture of bad intel, overconfidence, and his inability to pass up any chance to rile the Batman up. Bruce’s only real error in their situation had been trusting Jason enough to not be an overly paranoid asshole just this once, leaving them locked in a room with no working comms, no backup, not a single one of their gadgets still intact — the ones those assholes hadn’t taken at least — and two incredibly awful options for escape.

Or, he mused, death. But Jason wasn’t too keen on giving that experience another go.

He groaned, the acrid smell of smoke wafting in from under the door growing slowly stronger with every passing minute, and started to pace a straight line from window to door and back again. Every so often he stopped — to breathe, to reach for his pistols wishing he could shoot his way out of their situation, to check on Bruce, to think — before picking the trail back up, seemingly intent on wearing a hole through the linoleum flooring.

Every so often his thoughts strayed to things that might help him in a day or two, after he and Bruce were safe, but did nothing for him now. Who started the fire? Had they been found? Was his luck just that shitty, that the first place he’d chosen to hide out in just so happened to light up? It was a struggle to wrangle them back to something useful or productive, but he managed. Mostly.

There had to be another angle he couldn’t see, anything at all he might have missed. But there was nothing. No matter how hard or how often he looked into every nook or cranny or upended piece of old, rotting furniture, there was nothing.

“Fuck!” he yelled, slamming his fist in some shoddy desk he’d shoved over at some point earlier and earned himself nothing more than a dull throb of pain. It didn’t even help cool him off which just further fanned the flames — hah! — of his anger, the core of it a molten, leaden thing, suffocating and sparking in the pit of his chest.

He stomped back to the window, peered out through the cracked, still-cool glass, and sighed, doing his inadequate best to expel as much anger and frustration as he could with his breath.

It’ll be fine, he told himself, unsure if he really believed it.

__ __ __ __ __ __ __

Every inch of Bruce’s body hurt, some of it so badly he coudn’t feel it at all.

He sucked in a wheezing, rattling breath and shifted just enough to see Jason at the window, forehead pressed against the glass. He gritted his teeth, frustrated but not bothering to waste what little energy he could spare on wishing their circumstances were any different. Instead, he poured it into standing, using every ounce of that bullheadedness he was so known for to force himself, however shakily, to his feet.

Every step forward was agony and the room, more gray than color by then, swayed nauseatingly as he made his slow way across the stretch of room that lay between him and his son.

His son.

Those words pulled at a small, shuttered part of Bruce’s heart. Jason had been the second child he’d taken in, almost a teenager by then, but he’d been the first Bruce had been able to refer to, loud and proud, as his son. He remembered Alfred and Jason both teasing him for how brightly he’d grin as he said it, the words sweet as honey on his tongue: “My son.”

He’d watched his son die, once.

He staggered, exhaustion dragging at his every limb those final few steps until he stood, quietly heaving for breath, just behind Jason who didn’t notice him until he reached up to grab his shoulder with one heavy, gauntleted hand.

Bruce would not stand by and watch his son die again.

__ __ __ __ __ __ __

Jason startled when a hand clamped down on his shoulder, weak fingers curling into his battered jacket. He whirled around, tense and ready for a fight, only to find Bruce there, panting softly and swaying in place. The sight of him — pale, sweaty, breathless, and hunched — made his his stomach twist uncomfortably. He opened his mouth, unsure if he wanted to scream at or scold Bruce for being an injured idiot, or help the poor man sit his ass down and breathe only to have the decision ripped out of his hands.

“Jay,” Bruce rasped, breathy and strained and so unnaturally quiet that Jason ached.

He swallowed, a bitter mix of saliva and regret, and reached out to grab Bruce’s forearms, hoping to steady him at least a little. Bruce sagged, just slightly, when his weight wasn’t his own to bear anymore. Jason couldn’t help but squeeze his arms, a slight pressure meant to offer what silent reassurance and comfort he knew, deep down into the core of him, he’d never be able to say aloud.

“You shouldn’t be standing, old man,” he said instead of the myriad of things he wanted to, but never would. Bruce offered him a tight, wobbly smile — the kind Jason hadn’t really seen on his face since before the Joker and the warehouse and his first, explosive death.

“Jay,” Bruce said again, his every word slow and measured in a way that could have been intentional, or a result of how much pain he was in. “Do you trust me?”

“What?”

“Do you trust me?” Jason blinked, feeling a little too much like his brain had short-circuited.

“Wh— I.” He grimaced. Swallowed. Felt a sudden surge of prickling static buzzing under his skin, close to but not quite like the rush of adrenaline that came before a fight. “Yeah,” he finally managed to say, strangled and pitchy. “Yeah, Bruce. I trust you. Always have,” he added, low enough that he hoped Bruce hadn’t even heard it.

Bruce nodded, head jerking up and down like it hurt to move his neck that way. Jason’s brow furrowed and he opened his mouth, meant to ask what the hell was going on, only to snap his jaw shut when Bruce’s hands pressed against his chest. He wondered, brief and panicked, if Bruce was having trouble staying upright and tried to adjust his grip on Bruce’s arms accordingly.

“How long of a fall?” Bruce asked, sudden but sounding almost bored even as the words were a struggle to get out. Jason’s lip curled, a small spark of anger dousing some of his concern as Bruce’s line of continued questions gave him whiplash.

“Ten stories at least, but—”

“I saw … water?”

“Yeah,” Jason growled, annoyed at being cut off and not understanding where Bruce was trying to lead him. Because he was leading. Jason had known the man too long not to recognize that tone of voice, even pained and wheezy as it currently was. “Ocean, right off the cliff,” he said, half-falling into the familiarity of reporting to the Bat. “Bad building design to have it so close to the edge, but I figure that might be why it’s abandoned.” He shrugged. “It’d be a good way out if you angled it right, but…”

But you’re too injured and I’d never make it carrying you, he thought but didn’t say. Bruce seemed to understand regardless.

Slowly, painfully, Bruce reached up and pulled back his cowl. Jason hissed at the damage: most of it bruises, a few cuts, one eye nearly swollen shut, and the very clear impression of the pair of hands that had tried to strangle him wrapped around his neck. With that same hand, Bruce reached out to briefly touch Jason’s cheek, good eye crinkling as his lips twitched up into another, probably painful, smile.

“Proud of you,” Bruce murmured, the words a little slurred. Jason reared back, flinching like Bruce had struck him instead of telling him … that.

“What’re you—” he started only for Bruce to pat the side of his face. Twice. Two gentle, trembling taps that made Jason feel all of thirteen and no taller than Bruce’s chest instead of a man standing eye-to-eye with, if not a little taller than, the person who’d been his father, once. Was his father, still, even if Jason refused to acknowledge it even to himself.

“Proud of you,” Bruce repeated. Paused. Then: “Love you, Jay.”

Tears pricked, sudden and awful, at his eyes. A million words and feeling stuck in his throat, all jumbled together and conspiring to make it impossible for him to speak. Anger and confusion and bitterness at first, all familiar and easy to put a name to. But then: a gooey sort of tingling warmth that spread up from his stomach, so much harder to name and overwhelming on top of that.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Jason snarled, letting himself fall back on the familiar anger he’d relied on for years, and finding it easier than trying to shape the only other words he could have possibly used in the face of that — Confession? Admission? Declaration? None of it felt quite right, and he didn’t have the time to sort his thoughts out just then. Nor did he want to. “What’re you playing at, Bruce? ‘Cause I’m not fuckin’ laughing here.”

“Hold your breath.”

“What?”

It happened so fast.

One moment Jason stood in front of Bruce with his back to the window and the next he was in the air, watching Bruce — His Father — shrink, smaller and smaller until he was just a smudge of black against the bright, burning light of a building being slowly consumed. He didn’t scream. Didn’t think. His body moved automatically, years of training kicking in without so much as a conscious thought from him.

He still hit the water wrong.

It surged up around him, frigid, violent waves swallowing him hungrily as he fought down the urge to scream and worked instead on finding his way to the surface. He didn’t think about anything but moving through the current, gritting his teeth against the sharp, mind-numbing pain in his lower body, and did his best not to drown. Not to die. Not now that he had a goal to strive for in the neat little checklist he arranged in his head as he sank: a shore to find, a cliff-face to climb, and an idiot of a father to punch in the face.

And Jason was nothing if not a goal-oriented bastard with a stubborn streak to rival the Bat’s.

[arewelonely]

wait for me

cw: brief mention of suicidal ideation, anxiety attack

part five

––

He would lie if he told himself that he didn’t like the way his heart beat around her.

“And I’m telling you, she’d be down to… yuh know… if you ever wanted to.”

And it wasn’t just that she was someone to think about other than himself. He had plenty of those: his mother, his father–if he was being particularly generous, Nott.

“I mean, I asked her to Sluggy’s asskissing party, and she said no. Like, she knows you aren’t invited, Malfoy.” Crabbe snorted. “There’s no chance for you to take her.”

And fighting with her was different from bickering with Zabini. Draco inhaled. He remembered the flash of her eyes when she shot hexes at him. She was striking and strong when deflecting spells.

“And she still said no,” Crabbe continued.

“Hey, Crabbe,” Draco said harshly, leaning forward, “I’ll make it very clear: she’s saying no to you, not waiting on me, aight?”

Crabbe stared back from his couch, stunned.

Nott snorted next to him, reaching out to pat Crabbe on the back. He glanced at Draco. “Retiens rien, ouais?”

Draco rolled his eyes and picked up the book that lay useless in his lap. “Je mens pas.”

“Oi, cut it out with the French, you two,” Crabbe grumbled. “I just want Pansy to say yes.”

Theo did a poor job of holding back another snort and Draco felt his mouth squirm with a smile: bittersweet amusement.

Pansy sat oblivious a few couches over, chatting softly with Zabini and Daphne, and Draco flipped a page in his book, the crinkle of the page matching the crackle of the fire.

“Haven’t seen you here in awhile, boy,” Theo said, stretching to nudge Draco’s leg with his foot.

“Yeah, really busy, I guess.”

“The guys were looking for you last night.”

Draco raised his eyebrows. No kidding. He remembered the way Granger’s locs fell out of her bun when she moved quickly. The force with which she spoke. Her strange gentleness when he almost crumbled.

“I’ll have to join you next time,” Draco said quickly. “It’s been awhile.”

“I mean, I get it,” Crabbe said, and Draco highly doubted it. “After everything, Narcissa must be on your case to at least–”

Nott cuffed him on the ear and Crabbe shuddered away. “Seriously?”

“I wasn’t going to say anything bad!” Crabbe insisted, waving Theo off and holding his ear in his palm. “Just that she must want you to do really well at, like, everything to make up for–”

Draco stood up, the book falling from his hands.

He left Theo’s “oh my fucking Merlin, Vincent” behind him as his gut churned. Anxiety shot up through his legs and his arms. He wondered for a moment what he might do, feared for a moment he would stand as a statue in the middle of the Slytherin common room until the end of time. He forced his legs to inch forward one after another.

His ears rung and Blaise was saying something behind him, or Pansy was, and her voice was too sugary sweet for him to handle right now.

The heat from the fireplace burned his cheeks as he walked past, heading to the portrait hole. His veins ached with distress and his joints protested overuse, though he had sat all day.

He swore he could hear the snake hiss in his ear.

It wasn’t any quieter in the hallway, the snake–honestly it might have pounded on his forearm more–and his fellow Slytherins were calling to him from the portrait hole, but he kept moving through the haze and half hoped his heart would beat itself to death.

The tension in his muscles knew where to take him, and he was inside the Room of Requirement, after painfully looking over his shoulder for any followers, before his brain somewhat settled. In this room, the anxiety left him, as it did each time–he could work and research and repair this horrible Vanishing Cabinet and convince himself that he was working towards the goal–

“Fuck!” Draco screamed, spinning around to stare at the closed door of the room. “Fuck!”

He was no closer to killing his Headmaster than he was outside of this room–it was that the Room itself convinced him he was, no? He pleaded and pleaded for a solution each time he paced outside the door. The Room gave him one.

He marched forward, twisted, and then slammed his fist into the wall. He groaned and stumbled back, his knuckles pounding, his forearm tensed. The snake’s venom seeped into his blood; it made the muscles there sore.

Draco’s breathing shook again, unsteady in and unsteady out. He was crying, or dissolving–he wished he could explode. He wished he had enough energy, mental or physical, to punch the wall again, but the snake held his arm to his side like a weight. The snake protected the arm, this spell-casting arm. The snake knew, as Draco did, as the Room, deep down, must have known as well:

The Vanishing Cabinet could only bring the minions here to save the day after the deed was done. Draco’s wand would have to cast the final curse.

His pocket seemed to vibrate with the power it held: it contained a future murder weapon. Draco squeezed his eyes shut, so all was dark.

This was not what he wanted to do with this wand when he received it from Ollivander only five years ago. This was not how he had imagined he would spend his school years when he snatched his already opened Hogwarts letter from atop the marble kitchen counter. He had skimmed the book list, the feeling in his stomach not this terrified awful anxiety but joy, jitters, excitement of Potions and Hogwarts and this place that his parents had been, his family had all been before him, he, too, would get the chance to go!

Draco opened his eyes, his face squirming as the world blurred back into focus. The Vanishing Cabinet in front of him should never have revealed itself. He should be studying for the N.E.W.T.s. He should be attending Sluggy’s asskissing party, making professional connections for a Potions Mastery after Hogwarts. He shouldn’t be in this room every other night, holding back tears or succumbing to the overwhelming tension in his chest that never failed to remind him he was meant to end a man’s life.

And not a stranger’s life–a man he had grown up around. A man who had welcomed him home every September for five years. A man who had done the same this year, who Draco could have sworn had looked him in the eyes as he did so. A man who seemed to know his end was coming near.

Draco sobbed.

A man who seemed to know which cowardly prat was going to bring around his end, if only to avoid his own.

Draco allowed his knees to buckle and his arse to stumble on to the ground. He held his forehead in a hand and fisted his hair with the other.

“Fucking Merlin,” he breathed. “I…”

“You see?”

His neck snapped up and he stared at the door, slowly reaching for his wand.

“Harry, it doesn’t mean that he’s inside there.”

Draco exhaled. Granger.

“Yeah, but, look! He’s literally nowhere else.”

“I dunno what to tell you, mate, but this kind of seems like a–” And the Weasel.

“Just look, guys, okay?”

Draco’s hand clenched around his wand. He stood and faced the door, summoning his books to him slowly as he listened to their chatter. If they were following him, he’d at least give them a reason for it. Or, he’d try. Because it was incredibly fucking difficult to do anything when he listened to their bickering and caring banter only a few metres away.

---

In some ways, he expected it. The twats’ and Granger’s voices had died down several hours before, but she had been sorted in Gryffindor for a reason, and he almost snorted when she scrambled to her feet upon his exit from the Room.

“Thought you would’ve fallen asleep by now,” he said, although he hadn’t.

The circles under her eyes were a bit deeper this early morning, and she pressed her lips together, arms crossed beneath a large woven jumper, as she looked him up and down.

Draco inhaled. “Like what you see?”

Granger’s shock was a joy to watch, and he couldn’t help the smirk that fluttered across his lips as she sputtered out a response.

“What–I–what the hell were you doing in there?”

“I don’t see how it’s any of your business,” Draco informed her, and he began to walk down the candlelit corridor, biting his lip when her footsteps joined his insistently.

“I don’t see how it’s not, as you’ve been absolutely off the rails this year–”

Draco risked a glance and raised an eyebrow down at her. “I have?”

Granger blinked. “You’ve–I think it’s my business when you’re involved in Dark Magic–”

The muscles in his neck tensed. He resumed looking straight ahead, continuing down this hallway though the most direct way back to the Slytherin common room required a left turn a few steps prior. “How do you know it’s Dark Magic?”

“I…”

It truly was wonderful to witness when the class know-it-all couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Quite presumptuously judgy, aren’t you?”

Her nails dug into his arm, instantly dragging him to a stop. Panic squirmed through the snake–she was so close. Her eyes flashed, breathing hard. “How dare you. You have no right to say any of this. Tell me what you’re doing.”

Draco felt his heart pound. He did have no right. He knew this. And this line he approached, it was a very unsteady one. He could not see on either side of it, and it felt a bit like flying–he just didn’t know whether he chased the Snitch or a trick ball thrown by his father in practice to sharpen his senses.

“Am I wrong, though?”

Granger’s jaw worked and her nose flared. Her eyes were the deepest brown, lit up by the flickering candles on the walls. She was unequivocally gorgeous, and she was screaming at him.

She released his arm–he wondered if her nails would leave dents in his skin–and took a few steps back, her hands in the air and gesturing emphatically. “After everything, Malfoy, all the crap you’ve pulled for years now–I cannot believe you would spout this haughty bullshit! You have nothing to stand on, truly, how dare you lecture me about–about anything?!”

Thank Merlin the hallway was still empty. “If you would keep your fucking voice down–”

Granger let out a noise of pure disbelief. “If you would actually do something good for once in your sorry–”

Draco pressed his hand to the top of his nose and shut his eyes. “I think I figured out a way to not do it, okay?”

“Not to–”

Draco opened his eyes. “Not to do it.”

Granger stepped forward. “Not to do what?”

He shook his head. “Not to do it.”

She blinked, stunned, almost in time with the candles’ flickering. “You can’t–”

He laughed harshly. “Oh, I know.”

“You…” her mouth parted and she stood in silence for several seconds. The sudden lack of noise was almost peaceful, except it meant that Draco had no idea what she thought.

He raised his eyebrows. “I can’t and I have to, regardless of which way I look at it.”

Granger crossed her arms again. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you aren’t going to tell anyone else,” he said, and perhaps this was the truth. Why did anyone do anything these days?

“You don’t know that.”

“You haven’t told the two twats about our previous encounters this year,” he said.

Granger frowned. “How do you…”

“They would be on me all the time if you had. They very actively do not trust me, as I’m sure you know.”

Granger lifted her chin. “I do not trust you.”

Draco looked at her pointedly. “Where is your wand?”

Her arms were crossed, and her wand was nowhere in sight. She knew this, as… they were her arms, but she looked down at them nonetheless.

His chest warmed briefly, and he turned away to continue walking, his own wand stashed in his pocket as well.

They walked in silence for a few breaths, Granger’s quiet pads on the ground behind him covering up the snake’s hissing in his ear. He made a turn and snorted to himself when Granger took a breath.

“Hey, Malfoy?”

“Yes, Granger?”

She reappeared next to him. “Why are you going to the Gryffindor Towers?”

He shot her a glance. “Isn’t that your house?” he drawled.

“What business do you have there?”

He raised his eyebrows at her jumper-clad-rumpled figure and ignored some portrait who grumbled as they passed by. Why did anyone do anything these days?

Granger stopped in her tracks and Draco begrudgingly followed suit, spinning slowly to catch her eye. “I’d far sooner return you to your common room than have you,” she snorted, “escort me to mine.”

“Well, that makes two of us. But I think we both know who we’d prefer traipsing through the halls alone at night.”

Granger jutted her chin back. “Um, no, I do not think we–” and here she gestured viciously at the one metre between the two, “know anything!”

Draco cycled through responses.

I like that you’re walking through the halls without your wand out. I like that I’m walking through the halls without mine out. I like that you keep yelling at me. I like the look in your eyes when I’m able to shock you with what I say, when I tell you as much of the truth as I can stomach. I wonder what you look like when you braid your hair.

He blinked furiously and spun right back around. He increased his pace towards the Gryffindor Towers, knowing that she would follow him, and he ignored her eager berates as she did so, letting the portraits chastise her for him. He grinned widely when he caught her flipping off a particularly rude painting and tried to cover it up with a cough perhaps even worse than the ones Theo would fake at Pureblood dinners.

She grabbed him with a grunt just a few steps before the hallway leading to Gryffindor.

“Stop it,” she hissed, “Malfoy, fuh–oi!”

“What?”

“Eugenia’s gonna make a ruckus if she sees you.”

Draco huffed. “Who the fuck’s Eugenia?”

Granger rolled her eyes, her hands still twisted up in his sleeve. “The Fat Lady.”

“Ah,” Draco nodded, letting out a small laugh–of course Granger would know her actual name.

She blinked when his chest moved and yanked her hands off his arm. It fell back limply to his side, and he shifted his weight. Granger took a few hesitant steps past him, watching him over her shoulder. He turned away first, figuring she at least shouldn’t have to fear he would jinx her from behind. He sighed. She at least shouldn’t have to fear that. But he stayed right around the corner until he heard her reassure Eugenia that there was nothing there, that all was okay, that she could doze off back to sleep. Draco rested his face in his palms. Why did anyone do anything these days?

---

And yet, if there was one thing to be grateful for, it was that Draco could be a bit more awake in the mornings. Still stumbling through, yes, still forcing food down to keep his heart pumping, but there were moments, however brief, where he felt his mind click and curiosity worm its way into his skin.

Maybe Snape saw this, and wanted to reward this idiot he had chosen to protect. Draco’s nose twitched and he shifted in his seat as his professor eyed them all. Highly unlikely. Maybe he felt like proving himself, because for all his smoothness Draco felt sure there must be insecurity. Denied Defense Against the Dark Arts professor for years. Must have tortured him.

Snape held himself with the same poise he always had, though, facing the Slytherins and Gryffindors, and Draco let himself rejoice in the normalcy of the side eye he exchanged with Crabbe and then Goyle. They would wait, they had no choice, but the dramatics were a bit ridiculous.

“This year,” Snape began, and Draco leaned back, eyebrows raising, “is obviously an important one. You will not only become extremely proficient in wordless disarming, sophisticated hexes, intricate jinxes, and smooth wandwork–” here, he looked at the Weasel, “but you will receive opportunities to practice, with each other. Malfoy.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Come here.”

Draco slid back his chair and breathed out as he walked past the other students to the front of the classroom. Who in Merlin’s name knew what they were thinking about him? Did they know he was a Death Eater? Now that they were getting a chance to give him their undivided attention, were they thinking about Lucius? About how he–

“And Granger.”

Draco’s breath halted.

Snape’s face remained neutral with its classic, stoic, hint-of-a-smirk nonchalance.

But the air in the room shifted instantly. This was not Malfoy versus Potter, a classic rivalry. No, Snape chose to pair the Death Eater and the Mud–

Draco’s eyes narrowed as Granger slipped out of her seat and walked slowly to the front. Anger simmered gently in his shoulders as his breathing increased again. Granger’s entourage looked on, concerned. As they should be. Granger’s face betrayed nothing, her eyes calmer than they had been the other night. She hadn’t met his yet, and he waited for her to.

“You will demonstrate for the class,” Snape announced. “Wands at the ready.”

It was slow motion, honestly, the speed at which he removed his wand from his pocket. And it wasn’t that his brain was out of it–in fact, he was trying to figure out how on Earth he could get Granger out of this situation. This would not help solve anything. This would very clearly make the house divides worse. Would very clearly bring more opportunities for anger.

Yet, Granger’s wand pointed at him, stable in front of her, and he watched her watch his hand as it mirrored hers.

“Until–” Draco began.

“Standard Wizarding Laws,” Snape said. “And what are they?”

The class blinked back at him, and Draco tried to subtly gulp air.

“Mr. Longbottom?”

The boy jerked his head up, a faint blush settling on his nose. “Uh, yes, in a Standard Wizard’s Duel, the, er, duelers can only use magical means; no physical combat.” He cleared his throat. “Duel until yield. No Unforgivable Curses.” Granger’s eyes fluttered shut. “Both duelers must agree to the laws.”

“Correct.” Snape turned back to the two students in front of him.

They were probably five paces apart from each other, and Granger still hadn’t looked at him directly.

“You may bow and begin.”

Deep brown met grey and they held as the two bent stiffly at the waists. Granger’s gaze lacked its puzzlement from the other night–her purpose determined, the apprehensive stares of her peers creeping behind her ear and the steady one of the boy in front of her, trying to break her concentration. He wouldn’t. She had done this once before, she would again.

Hermione Stunned him the moment their torsos began to straighten–a quick spell aimed at his ankle, rivaling the one he had hit her with those weeks ago in the library.

She saw his countercurse coming and deflected it silently, whipping her wand in the air to conjure rope. She lassoed his left leg the second he began to shift his weight to his right.

She wouldn’t give the class any time to think that he could gain the upper hand. She would give them all no opportunity to think that she, and any other Muggle born, were lesser.

Malfoy grunted as the rope began to tangle around him. He looked up sharply and Hermione yelped, activating a Shield as fast as she could to block the flash of red coming her direction. The spell’s impact pushed her back a few feet, her shoes skidding on the floor.

“Let’s go, Hermione!” Ron called out.

Hermione lunged forward. She clapped thunder above Malfoy’s head, the clouds swirling thick and dark.

“Ey, Slytherin!” Pansy raised her voice. The rain started to hit Malfoy’s hair, the locks sticking together and curling faintly on his forehead.

“Gryffin-dor! Gryffin-dor!”

Malfoy’s eyes flashed underneath the lightning.

Hermione tried him with a hex and he deflected it directly back at her–she dodged out of the way and blinked as it shattered into the cabinets behind her, cymbal to the thunder’s bass. The class’s voices increased in volume. Malfoy’s next spell just missed her shoulder.

Aggravation bubbled in her veins.

“You’ve got this, Hermione!” and “take her down, Malfoy!” and “let’s go, Gryffindor!” and “Draco! Draco!”

And Malfoy’s defenses were stronger (or perhaps just existent) this time, his arms crossing over his body and his wand waving to dispel just about everything she sent at him. His robes flung water as he moved.

And Snape stood next to her in the corner, watching as a glint appeared in Malfoy’s eyes, as he lassoed the cloud and shot it in Hermione’s direction. And it was really just angry adrenaline, feeding off the class and the suaveness of Snape just to the side of them, that allowed Hermione to dissipate it into nothing–she had no idea what spell she was using, only that this fucking cloud was not meant for her and Malfoy would not turn it back towards her–

“Ah!” she gasped, hand clutching to her arm as Malfoy stung her briefly. She whipped back a series of four hexes, but Malfoy dodged them all. His eyes glinted as he built up his shield and her spells started to bounce off of it–

She needed to break through his defenses.

He could break through hers.

Hermione’s gaze darted from his shoulders to his stance, his feet, the way his arm moved when preparing a spell–

His eyes.

Hermione shot a trip towards his legs and then an Expulso directly at his chest. He deflected both easily.

She inhaled sharply, widened her eyes, and glanced right over his shoulder. She cast a disillusionment charm just as he turned his head, and then ran around to get a different angle–

Malfoy’s voice was a low growl: “Granger, dirty trick–”

And she swallowed her laugh, shot a rope from her wand, successfully knotting it around Malfoy’s thighs–

“Fuck–”

–and she huffed, either in frustration or shock, when he dissolved it without so much as tripping. His head snapped over to where she stood in her stance; he hit her with a tripping jinx before she could react. Half of the class cheered.

She caught herself abruptly on the ground, punching out a groan as her hand blurred back into visibility–her disillusionment charm faded with this lack of concentration, and she could only barely shoot an equally strong tripping jinx before she was rolling to dodge a Stun that hit the ground next to her with a few sparks.

Hermione’s retaliating trip hit Malfoy squarely, and the boy fell. The two lay on the ground, one of her hands holding her up as she leaned forward, one of his holding him up as he had fallen backwards, their wands still pointed squarely towards each other.

“Let’s go–”

She saw his spell coming before his neck had even twitched and matched him with a jinx of her own–

Both dissolved in the air and Snape waved his wand over the residual sparks. “Very well. Enough!”

The class’s cheers fell to a hush as Snape walked between the two.

“As you can see,” he drawled, “dueling is not meant to last forever.” Hermione blinked over at Malfoy, the two breathing heavily. “The duelers grow tired quickly. They must find their partner’s weakness.” Snape let the room wait, the students in front of him in their chairs, the two behind him on their arses. “Now, pair up and begin.”

Hermione exhaled as the class began to move. Harry found her eyes and she gave a short nod, heart pounding, as he and Ron retreated to the back of the classroom. A few grumbles arose from the Slytherin side and Hermione glanced over to see Malfoy pushing back on his heels and watching her as he stood. She leaned forward on her hand and rose to her feet as well, crossing her arms and gripping her wand.

She had done all she could, she had hit him a few times, it was just–

Malfoy was awake today.

And once she stood, he turned to Snape, eyes narrowing and walking forward. But the man brushed away, robes swishing with his stride, and called out to chastise some Slytherins fooling around in the corner.

Malfoy lifted his chin and took a step closer to Hermione instead. “Do you speak French?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

He stepped forward again, lowered his voice. “Do you happen to speak French?”

Their space in the front of the classroom was unoccupied, but partners had begun dueling all around them.

Hermione cleared her throat. “A bit.”

Malfoy jerked his chin forward. “On est à égalité.”

“‘On–’” Hermione sputtered. The two were equally matched? “Have you forgotten how I saved you,” she stepped forwards, “from a book, only a few weeks ago?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Clearly was not at my–”

Hermione scoffed. “And your best was, what, just reflecting my spells?” She shook her head.

He shrugged. “You–”

Hermione lowered her voice. “I would have continued, you insolent prick, but Snape stopped us. I had just gained the upper hand, don’t try to deny it.”

Malfoy breathed in. His nose twitched. “Et qu’est-ce qui c’était, mon défaut?”

Hermione felt her heart beat. “Your eyes. They give you away.”

He smiled, ever so slightly. “Well. All I meant, was, you’re good. Excellent.”

“I know.” And she did. And she kind of loved the snort of laughter he half let out at her response. “You’re decent, as well.”

Malfoy gave a single nod. “Well.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

“C'est un con.”

Malfoy, not sucking up to Snape anymore? She felt amusement brush across her lips. “Je ne suis pas en désaccord.”

He smirked and she wondered if her face mirrored his. Snape called for silence again, and they returned to their seats. He turned away first, and she watched a remnant drop of water fall from his hair onto his robes.

---

In bed that night, Hermione thought about peace. She thought about fear, and anxiety of the future, and marveled to herself that, for however long this moment lasted, sleep was close by.

She remembered Malfoy’s face, and how carefully he watched her, and how the corners of his eyes softened when he spoke quietly. She pinched her lips between her thumb and forefinger and rolled over to bury her face in her pillow. Parvati’s gentle snores rang around the room and Hermione wondered what the Slytherin dorms were like. She wondered if Malfoy showered before bed or in the morning. She wondered, just curiously, what he thought of today.

“Harry said Snape’s face was horrific throughout it all,” Ginny had mentioned over dinner. “He enjoyed it? Like, a lot?”

Hermione held her head in her hands. “Gin, I don’t even know…”

“‘Mione did a great job,” Ron informed the table, and Hermione smiled up at him.

“Thanks, Ron.”

“Just, what was the point?” Ginny frowned.

“Exactly,” Hermione waved her fork in Ginny’s direction.

“Snape’s an ass,” Harry said.

Hermione stifled a smile. “You’re not incorrect,” she said.

Harry beamed at her. “Look how far you’ve come, eh? First year, you never would’ve said anything bad about a professor!”

Hermione looked over her shoulder even as she spoke. “Well, he’s not here now, and also, that’s such a lie! I was all convinced Snape was out to get you first year, you recall?” She raised her eyebrows. “I set his robe on fire.”

Ron burst out laughing–“oh Merlin, I forgot about that!”–and Ginny’s fork clattered to her plate. “You did what?”

Harry snickered.

“Oh, have you not heard this story?”

Ginny leaned in closer. “Hermione, you set fire to a professor? To Snape?”

“To Snivellus,” Harry sighed contentedly, leaning back and crossing his arms.

Back in first year, when their concerns seemed smaller. When magic was new and boundless. When Slytherin was a rival in Quidditch first.

Hermione remembered that Malfoy had introduced himself the night of their Sorting with his last name first.

“Malfoy,” he had said to Harry Potter. “Draco Malfoy.”

His surname was the most important thing about him. His family legacy, his Slytherin pride. His gelled hair, if its perfection was anything to go off of. And she didn’t want to give him the benefit of the doubt, didn’t think that she was, and she didn’t want to be interested from a personal standpoint. But Hermione was curious, and there was something in the way he held himself these days. She couldn’t help but wonder, how would the boy introduce himself now?

[itswildwinters]

Hello lovelies and welcome to my October 2020 fic recs. These are the fics that I read these last few months. The main pairing is Louis Tomlinson/Harry Styles.

This is also an appreciation post to all writers out there. Thank you for contributing so much to the fandom, for making all these incredible pieces of work for us all to read!

I’m wishing you all a happy Halloween in advance!

If you check out any of those incredible fics below, don’t forget to leave kudos and comments to show your appreciation!

Enjoy!

From What I’ve Tasted of Desire by @evilovesyou 

When Louis moves to the small Scottish town of Fortrose to spend some time with his father, he thinks he's come to terms with the fact that the next two years of his life will be rainy and dull. That changes when he meets the ever-elusive Harry Styles in his Biology class and he makes it his goal to find out the big secret surrounding him and his family. Louis unexpectedly finds himself in the eye of a storm of secrecy, age-old myths, friendship and romance.

Twilight AU / Vampires / Werewolves / Slow Burn / Highschool & College AU

eyes off you by @soldouthaz

“Just promise me you’ll do whatever it takes to keep us all safe while we’re in there,” Liam says.

Through the crack in the door, Louis can just barely make out the broad curve of Harry’s back, the slope of his curls as they tumble down all sleep-soft and lazy, and the sharp twist of his arm - all leading down to where he’s got his pointer and middle finger crossed over each other behind his back.

“I promise,” he tells Liam firmly, “I promise.”

--

or; a charlie’s angels inspired fic where louis is the brains, harry is the charm, liam is the muscle, and niall drives the getaway car - and zayn is there, too. sometimes.

Action / Pining / Assassins (kill bad people)

Walls by Travis_Crux 

Following his line of sight, he frowned and shook his head, "What's wrong?"

"Wasn't your timer on your ring finger?" Liam asked, at that the Alpha immediately swapped the tumbler and looked down at his finger which sported a string of tiny blue flowers on the underside of his ring finger.

The two of them looked at one another.

"You could've touched nearly fifty people by the time you grew delirious," Liam advocated, always the voice of reason. "Comrades, nurses, doctors."

Sighing, he turned away and continued drinking the water. Literally, the only fucking thing remaining in the middle of a fucking war.

Or

Harry has his soulmate timer stuck at zero from the beginning of time but suddenly the fates show mercy and a lovely forget-me-not takes the place of his timer. In between finding his soulmate in a war camp and solving the puzzle of the charismatic doctor who is treating him, all he can hope for is to live.

ABO / World War I / Soulmates / Angst / Hurt-Comfort

works like a charm by @falsegoodnight

Ever since Louis joined the team in fifth year, a few facts have become set in stone.

One: Louis is the best chaser in Hogwarts.

Two: Harry is the best beater in Hogwarts.

Three: They do not get along.

So it’s really unfair of Liam to think that forcing them to spend time together as Louis recovers from his injury will make them the best of friends. The last thing Louis would do is get along with that git.

Harry Potter Setting / Porn With Plot / Enemies to Lovers

(quiet like a fight) fingers laced together by @letthemkissyou

It’s a thin hope, frail and as thin as the silver strands of a spider web, desperate in the way Louis keeps clinging onto it even when he’s already expecting and preparing for the worst. Maybe one day, he’ll have a home, a place where he can feel safe and sound, tucked away safely from the world that has the tendency to treat him horribly and then even worse, that maybe there will be someone in his life who cares for him, even if in the smallest of ways, and does not just use him for whatever they tend to need at the moment.

Or, the one where Harry is gifted a hybrid and it's a whole new world for the both of them.

Hybrid Louis / Past Abuse / Fluff / Angst 

We’ll Cast Some Light (You’ll Be Alright) by fondleeds 

There’s tense silence, the whole room completely hushed. The other teams on surrounding tables look between each other. Then, Louis pushes himself away from the table noisily, chair scraping. His face is angered and crumpled, red at the ears. The door slams behind him as he rushes out. The surrounding teams look at Harry simultaneously.

“God, Simon is going to kill us if we don’t die on this mission first,” Niall moans into his hands.

-

There’s a standard procedure for this. Scan, track, kill. But with a solar eclipse and a Greater Demon with unfinished business looming, the path to keeping England safe from harm becomes complicated and shadowed by mystery and secrets. For Harry and his team, times have never been harder, especially when a few old friends turned foes show up. Harry is left with just over forty days to overcome the hurdle of tension between them and reconcile their past, and figure out just what Louis is hiding from him before it’s too late.

Demons / Enemies to Lovers / Violence / Angst / Fluff / Demon Hunters / Smut

Three Days in February by @mercurial-madhouse

“We have to get out of here, outside,” Harry whispered, turning his hand in Louis’s grip to hold on and pull them both to their feet. “And how do we fucking do that?” Louis hissed, carefully rising and pulling Harry to his feet before Harry could do it. His gaze darted to the front then back of the arena. “None of the doors are where they’re supposed to be.” “What?” Harry looked around again too, couldn’t see any doors, only knew that they must be there, somewhere. “How do you know?” Confusion slid over Louis's features. “Because we’ve been here before, Haz. It’s the O2.” The show. It must be the first night of their tour. They were too late; they were out of time.

Louis is cursed after a night out with the lads and the five have just three days to figure out what happened and how to break it before Harry and Louis both lose their sanity and maybe something more. Louis can hear everything Harry thinks and Harry isn’t sure he can keep his feelings for Louis a secret from his own mind.

Ridiculous amounts of banter and angst, a lot of Harry and Louis alone together, a healthy dose of OT5 friendship, and one very magical weekend.

Friends to Lovers / Fluff / Angst / Action / Adventure / Magical Realism / Hurt-Comfort / Slow Burn

Soaked In The Blood Of Angels by @crazyupsetter

The boy looks drugged, caught between a man who’s almost twice his size and a girl who looks like she wouldn’t even break a sweat snapping him in half despite her small stature, eyes closed and mouth open as he pants, arching up between them almost as if he’s trying to escape.

Normally, Harry would ignore it and continue on his search for someone to drink from, someone who wouldn’t mind his sharp teeth and rough hands. He’s seen plenty of boys like this one, ones who picked the wrong playmates, and if he stopped to rescue every single one of them he would have died from thirst a long time ago.

This one, though. There’s something about this one, the sheen of his bright blue eyes as he blinks slowly, looks around as though he doesn’t know where he is, the weakness of his hands as he tries to push the girl off of him and make his escape.

Explicit Sexual Content / Vampires / Incubus / Dubious Consent / Blood / Violence

The Compulsion to Find Love by Toomanytears

The most prestigious English third-level institution, Candling University, accepts omega students for the first time and Louis Tomlinson applies with bright eyes and brighter ambitions. There he encounters personal obstacles, traditional mindsets and a beautiful boy who inverts every prejudice Louis has ever known.

ABO / Omega Louis / Alpha Harry / Worldbuilding / Slow Burn / Fluff / Angst

Just a bit of work by missyoutoosweetscheeks

It was quite painfully pathetic, really. Twenty five, stable job, stable flat, stable mind (well, quite), a painfully non-existent love life with an even more painfully intact virginity.

Marcel didn't think his life was going to get better with his painfully aparent sociopathic tendencies to block anyone who showed interest in him.

Until, of course, he became Louis Tomlinson's next prey.

OR

In which Marcel is a virgin, and becomes his office's amorous co-worker's next big conquest.

Top Harry / Bottom Louis / Office Sex / Dubious Consent / Porn Without Plot 

Fuck U Betta by @jacaranda-bloom

There’s something about having Louis like this, exposed and desperate, that makes a primal urge bubble up from deep inside Harry’s chest. Desire mixed with something else, something unquantifiable. It’s the thing that makes them want this, need this. Nothing else will satisfy them or quench their thirst.

OR the one where Harry likes the thrill of the chase, Louis likes to be chased, and everyone gets what they need… in the end.

Porn Without Plot / Light BDSM / Top Harry / Bottom Louis

push you out, pull you back in by @behisoneandonly

Harry grips his head in his hands helplessly, yanking the base of his dark curls and squeezing his eyes shut.

“Fucking hell,” he whispers, knuckles turning white from how hard he’s gripping the strands of his hair.

“Hey, hey,” says the petite stranger in front of him, quickly standing up. “Stop, you’re hurting yourself.”

–

Or Harry hates feeling vulnerable. Louis is set on breaking through his tough facade.

College/University AU / medical student Harry / Fashion student Louis / Strangers to Lovers / Pining / fluff / slight angst / Hut-Comfort / Anger Management

might we be stardust stories by ryanreynolds

"It was easier being at war."

In which werewolves and vampires have been fighting each other for a century, and Harry and Louis' marriage is what's gonna bring peace to the realm. Hopefully.

Werewolves / Vampires / Arranged Marriage / Slow Burn / Falling in Love / Pining / Fantasy

Like Candy In My Veins by littlelouishiccups

“Um…” Harry said slowly after a moment. “Okay. That’s… this is… Let me get this straight.” He lifted up a hand and swallowed. “You told your family that you have a boyfriend… and my name was the first one you thought of?” “Harry Potter was on TV, alright? It wasn’t that much of a stretch.” Louis pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t believe he was explaining himself to Harry fucking Styles. He couldn’t believe he was stooping this low. “Forget it. I’m sorry I even thought about bringing you into this.”

Harry snorted. “What? Did you want me to pretend to be your boyfriend or something?”

(Basically the A/B/O, enemies to lovers, fake relationship, Christmas AU that nobody asked for.)

ABO / Fake-Pretend Relationship

until this blood runs cold by @soldouthaz

In a town as small as Louis’, everybody knows everybody and gossip spreads faster than the wildfires that rage on just outside their backdoors in the sweltering heat of summer. When something happens here everyone knows about it within seconds. Neighbors call neighbors and notes are left on doorsteps, old telephone lines ringing until there isn’t a single person who is left in the unknown.

So it’s definitely hot gossip when a vampire moves in across the street from him, the very same one who’s just become Louis’ boss.

Vampire Harry / Frottage / Blood Drinking

call you mine by @falsegoodnight

“I have a request.”

That’s what Louis Tomlinson says to Harry when he opens the front door a bit too aggressively. The latter feels justified after a round of annoyingly incessant knocking that was much too loud in the drowsy sludge of early Saturday morning.

“Zayn’s asleep,” is Harry’s tired, hoarse reply, irritation prickling at his skin. Less than a minute ago he was in bed, feeling perfectly content sprawled out on the mattress with the chilled air from the fan cool against his bare skin. And now he’s leaning up against the wooden door frame in nothing but his briefs because Zayn’s best mate decided that showing up unannounced at seven in the fucking morning was a brilliant idea.

“I’m not here for him,” says Louis curtly.

-

Or, Louis’ curious about how it feels to be bitten. Harry’s going to need more than just one bite.

Plot What Porn / Vampire Harry / Bottom Louis

your biggest fan by @soldouthaz​

Just like everyone else, Louis has a few habits that he can’t seem to break. Guilty pleasures, rather. His nails are perpetually short because he can’t quit biting them, the bottom of his shoes scuffed from tapping his foot constantly. Sometimes his leg gets a cramp from bouncing it so often underneath his desk. That isn't too bad, he reckons, just some average teenage coping mechanisms.

And also, occasionally, minor instances of theft.

Top Harry / Bottom Louis / Porn What Plot / Nerd Louis / Jock Harry

give me love by @falsegoodnight​ & @soldouthaz​

Despite being an omega, Louis’ always had a blatant dislike of alphas.

-

Or, Louis doesn't feel like a good omega, Harry doesn't remember how to be an alpha, and they figure it out together.

ABO / Alpha Harry / Omega Louis / Bottom Louis / Past Relationship Trauma / Slow Burn / Angst / Fluff

The Stars Look Very Different Today by @kingsofeverything​

For Harry Styles, child genius turned glorified spaceship mechanic, rescuing lost or broken down ships is a fairly common occurrence.

There’s nothing common about his latest mission, the ship, or that ship’s captain.

The last thing he expects to find in a distant galaxy is the one thing he’s been missing on Earth.

Space / Time-Travel / Science Fiction & Fantasy / Enemies to Lovers

The cat is out of the bag by 28sunflowers

Harry somehow gets himself stuck as a black cat on Halloween and needs help from Louis to change back into his human form.

The problem is: Louis doesn’t even know witches exist, much less that Harry is one. And there’s also the fact he thinks Harry is ghosting him after they had sex for the first time.

So the situations isn’t ideal. But it’s okay. Harry will figure something out.

Light angst / Witch Harry / Potions Accident / Fluff and Humour 

[classified-bluerose]

put me back together part II || quentin beck x reader

a/n: so obviously this doesn’t exactly fit the plot as i realised halfway through that peter seems to have met quention prior to the water attack in venice. i don’t want to change it now so let’s pretend they met before the fight. also we gonna pretend peter’s trip was always taking them to prague bc i don’t wanna write in the trip at all tbh lol. again this is probably occ... mainly self-indulgent crap, really. hope u enjoy tho!!!

warnings: cursing, mentions of violence & death, endgame spoilers, and, ofc, spiderman ffh spoilers. manipulative bastard quentin, too. (isn’t that why we love him?)

(GIF is not mine)

—

chapter two: shattered glass

—

it’s almost as though quentin actually planned this - find the girl and take her to one of the most romantic cities in the world. show her all the sights, make her laugh, slowly take down her walls, brick by brick.

the more time he spends with you the harder it becomes to disentangle himself. feelings grow deeper under early morning walks and late night chats. you never ask about the other you, the one quentin supposedly married.

you never talk about tony stark or natasha romanoff, either; when fury mentions iron man you stiffen in the corner and quentin does not miss the way your jaw clenches tight. he wants to poke and prod at these wounds left unhealed, but there’s no time before the stage is set and the water monster erupts from the intricate canals of venice’s streets.

you’re not supposed to be there - you should have been tucked away at the base, safe and sound; but quentin sees you ushering a group of frightened tourists in the opposite direction of the threat. anger coils low in his chest as he watches your figure disappear around a corner - what if something had happened to you?

how could you be so careless with yourself?

he grit his teeth and finished off the ‘’elemental’’ - needing some time to cool off and clear his head.

—

you’re not at the debrief. quentin’s skin feels itchy as he wonders where you are. have you gone home? been sent out somewhere else?

maybe you’d simply walked out. but why... why would you leave quentin? or peter, for that matter? how much you care for the kid is obvious - surely you wouldn’t just go.

surely you - surely you hadn’t actually been injured. right? right? if you had someone would have found you by now. shield would know, wouldn’t they. isn’t that their jobs? isn’t that what they’re supposed to do?

the longer he goes without knowing the more the anger rises to the surface. he tries to pat it down lest he expose himself, cursing you for making him feel this way. his jaw twitches, fist flexing, fingers curling and uncurling and curling again - anything to get the nervous energy out of his system.

after what feels like forever the briefing ends, the plan to get to prague is settled. quentin tries to catch fury but the slippery fucker is out the door in the blink of an eye.

someone taps his shoulder. quentin turns sharply, - ‘’ what? ‘’ - then pulls his attitude in again when peter flinches back. he rubs his forehead and bares his teeth in a smile.

‘’ sorry, spiderman. rough day, ‘’ he makes his excuses and the naieve kid nods and smiles and accepts too easy.

‘’ it’s okay, mr- i mean, myst- i mean, quentin. um, i just - i noticed you were looking around a lot, during the meeting. if you’re looking for her, i can show you where she is? ‘’

god, this kid is painfully awkward at times, but damn if he isn’t useful. quentin nods once. spiderman nods, clearly happy to feel like he can help. ‘’ c’mon! ‘’

he darts out as quick as a bullet from a gun, and quentin has no choice but to follow the teenage hero out into the night.

—

there’s a mural of red and gold painted large as life on the side of a building. your silhouette against it is dark and miniscule. quentin stands a few feet back and watches you stare at it. only when your shoulders begin to shake does he approach.

your breaths are laboured, eyes gleaming with unshed tears. his earlier irriation fades away, though he fights to bring it back - you could have ruined it all by disobeying orders, showing up on the street mid-fight, you could have destroyed his plans in seconds -

somehow, it doesn’t seem to matter anymore.

‘’ hey. are you okay? ‘’

you snap out of the daze and your gaze falls to your feet. you nod and force a smile that’s too dull to be authentic as you look back up. his expression becomes one of caring and empathy, your heart hurting for the man who lost it all.

‘’ m’fine. just ... ‘’ your eyes flicker once again to the painting before moving back to gaze over quentin’s shoulder. ‘’ i’m fine. ‘’

‘’ you wanna talk about it? ‘’

a humourless chuckle escapes your lips. more jagged glass than happiness. ‘’ no. ‘’

quentin pauses. knows that to push you too much too soon would ruin the carefully constructed plan he has perfected. he chances a comforting touch to your elbow, encouraged when you don’t move away.

‘’ wanna go for a walk? ‘’

he hits you with the lopsided grin that he knows has an effect; inside, your stomach swoops and fuses spark lights in your chest. on the outside your eyes soften and your lips curve up in a tiny, but genuine, smile.

quentin holds out his hand. you take it without hesistation.

—

so much about you intrigues him. it’s easy to forget about the truth behind his intentions. your skin, hotter than any normal human being. the knowledge that you have the ability to snap his neck without blinking an eye is... alluring. intoxicating. you were so broken when he met you first, only a week ago. already he feels as though he’s putting you back together. it earns him some pride.

light laughter and little, fragile smiles - moments as delicate as butterflies landing on his wrist. he yearns to touch, to pull, to hold. the plan takes priority, of course it does. but he’s worked so hard to get himself to this point. he deserves a little break with a pretty girl by his side.

‘’ so, one more elemental, ‘’ you begin, conversationally.

quentin nods. ‘’ one more. fire. the one that... the one that destroyed my world. ‘’

he swallows past an imaginary lump in his throat. he feels your eyes against the profile of his face.

‘’ well, now you know what you’re up against. not often we get a second chance. ‘’ the words are bitter, maybe unintentionally, but bitter all the same.

‘’ you did, ‘’ he points out, gently. ‘’ with thanos, right? ‘’

you huff a callous, cold laugh. ‘’ yeah. eventually won, i guess. supposedly. ‘’

there’s a darkness shadowing the curves of your face now, the kind that makes quentin’s heart rate pick up. ‘’ what do you mean? ‘’

you don’t answer for a long while. footsteps echo quietly around empty backstreets. it seems as though the city is deserted; inhabited only by the two of you, and the moon hanging low in the sky. still clad in his armour, quentin wishes to himself he’d had the foresight to change out of the clunky suit.

in the moment of distraction caused by the discomfort, he doesn’t notice that you’ve paused in front of him. he slams straight into you; neither of you stumbling as he hits the solid heat of your body.

you turn on your heel and offer a wry smile. ‘’ sorry, ‘’ you say, entirely insincere. he watches you lean back against the wall, the shadowed alleyway covering up most of your features. your eyes, though. they burn through the night and quentin is powerless to their draw.

he cocks his head to the side. ‘’ what did you mean? ‘’ he presses. ‘’ a minute ago. ‘’

‘’ it’s nothing. forget i said anything. ‘’

‘’ hey, come on. you can talk to me, you know, ‘’ he cajoles, inching closer.

you sigh; ‘’ you have enough on your plate, ‘’ she insists, but your resolve to stay silent is weakening. he can feel it.

‘’ you have listened to me talk about the tragedy of my own life since i got here, ‘’ he points out, lightly. ‘’ let me return the favour. ‘’

you consider the man of mystery in front of you: something about him you can’t quite put your finger on. maybe it’s the smile that always seems a little too sharp for comfort, or the eyes that can’t quite hide the gleam of potential insanity. something tells you, you shouldn’t trust him. something else tells you he’s the only one you should trust.

‘’ it doesn’t feel like we won, ‘’ you admit, finally. the weight falling from your chest as the words fall from your lips, secrets with sharp edges that have been cutting in to you for eight long months. ‘’ tony stark and natasha romanoff, they died. they died so the world could live, and - and that’s what, that was the point. save the world. whatever it takes, ‘’ she spits out the last three words with an incredible amount of venom. ‘’ and it’s stupid and it’s careless and i don’t even care. i want them back. i want them back so badly i would, god. i would burn this version of reality to the ground to bring ‘em back. ‘’

quentin ... did not expect this. yet somehow is unsurprised; and suddenly understands. this is what drew him in. this hidden darkness, this anger and rage buried in layers of sadness. in this moment you are more alive than he’s ever seen you; gone is the morose, flat emptiness, here is the fuel to the dynamite exploding, here is the fierce hurt and the damaged parts coming to the surface, it is magnificent, you are magnificent in your hot fury.

the breath catches in his throat as he realises; we’re the same, you and i. we both want revenge.

excitement sizzles in his veins and in that moment all he wants to do is wrap you in his arms and pull you into his embrace. he reigns himself in, patience, quentin, patience, and allows himself a single step closer.

‘’ i’m so sorry you had to go through that, ‘’ he whispers, voice a few steps lower than usual- steeped in desire he hopes can be read as sympathy. your bright eyes flicker over his face.

‘’ yeah, well. perks of bein’ a fuckin’ superhero or whatever. ‘’ she lifts her chin in the air defiantly. ‘’ but i guess you understand that. ‘’

‘’ i do, ‘’ he responds immediately, ‘’ i do. ‘’

because, okay. maybe he hadn’t actually watched his reality burn; maybe he hadn’t failed to save an imaginary family in an imaginary universe; but he had lost things, fallen deeper into black holes that chewed up his soul and spat it out again.

we’re the same, he wants to say, but again. holds himself back.

instead he smiles warmly - the sharpness still there, something you do not miss - and says, ‘’ at least we have each other. ‘’

your face lights up with mischief. ‘’ we do? ‘’ you ask, with a cocky head tilt. quentin chuckles and plays up the embarassment. acting like someone caught flirting - which he almost-kind-of-maybe was.

a blush adorns his handsome face. ‘’ i mean - uh - if you want that. ‘’ he adopts an uncertain waver to his tone; though he’s already sure you’re falling as hard for him as he is for you.

you bite back a smile and try to dim the fire burning in your belly. it just feels so good - to actually feel something. something that isn’t empty or angry or sad. something good. this connection came too quick and is growing too intense too soon. it can only end in tears. but you make a choice, the only one you’ve ever made.

let yourself be consumed in the flames, and damn the consequences.

—

tags: @loki-doki-fever @tuliptx

[wxlfstxrx]

Gone, Gone, Gone (Oneshot)

A/N: NOW. I honestly never expected to be the one to write this crossover; I was actually hoping someone else would. But I can’t stop thinking about this scene and now I’ve gone and put myself under immense pressure to deliver. HAH. Anyway, I know Gwen Stacy in the comics died while falling off a bridge, but since my post referred to The Amazing Spiderman 2, featuring the gorgeous Andrew Garfield (who I already envision as Remus Lupin anyway), I shall write the clocktower scene instead. As mentioned in my teaser, I also found it incredibly awkward to name Harry as the villain. Because, well. Ha ha. But yes, a major thank you to @fleursowl for prompting me to write this, and for leaving comments on my drafts, I hope I didn’t disappoint :”)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9H9bm1Oj1wQ&t=200s��here’s the link to the video I referenced from!! 

The title is actually a song from the Spiderman soundtrack, and god. I destroyed myself. I’m crying so hard now. Hope you guys like it.

“HARRY! This is between you and me, you wanna fight? FIGHT ME, LET HIM GO.” 

“... Okay.”

Remus’ heart dropped into his stomach.

Everything was happening so fast, yet they seemed to be happening in slow motion. He didn’t allow himself even a breath before he leapt up, off the top of the domed roof. He watched helplessly as jet black hair obscured what would undoubtedly be a face of panic, and hoped and prayed with all his might that he could catch him. He extended his arms, rising to meet Sirius, who was tumbling down through the crisp autumn air. I’ve got you, I’ve got you, he chanted in his head, not letting Sirius out of his sight, although the wind was making his eyes sting. 

Finally, after what felt like forever, he felt the other boy crashing into his body, the pull of gravity sending them both falling through the sky and through the roof of the clocktower with a loud smash. He didn’t care that shards of glass were piercing his skin through his latex suit, he just instinctively curled his body around Sirius’ to make sure he was okay. He could feel the other’s heavy breathing; he knew how afraid Sirius was of heights. He just held him tighter, bracing themselves.

They hit a narrow metal platform, and for a moment Remus allowed himself to breathe. His arms were wound tightly around Sirius’ waist and he pulled him towards his body even more, thanking all the gods that he was safe. 

“I’ve got you, love. God, I was so fucking terrified, but it’s okay, I’ve got you, you’re alright now,” Remus rambled as one hand travelled up and down Sirius’ back, trying to soothe his frenzied breathing. Sirius weakly shook his head before burying it in the crook of Remus’ neck, letting out a choked sob.

A short clink of something dropping, and an accompanying beeping noise startled the two of them, and Remus’ head snapped up to follow the sound just several inches away from them. Too late did he realize where that sound had come from.

A red hot explosion blasted the pair off the platform, and Remus turned them on their sides to shield Sirius. 

And then, they were falling again. 

Remus heard Sirius scream and he felt his blood run cold. With one foot hooking desperately around an intact railing, he grabbed Sirius’ wrist with his hand. He barely had time to look down at him before the latter was slipping out of his grasp. He vaguely heard Sirius cry out his name.

Blood rushing to his head and heart pounding in his chest, he shot a web out to wrap around Sirius’ wrist tightly, breaking his fall. 

A swooshing noise caught Remus’ attention and he was forced to look up. Good thing he did; had he been mere seconds later he would have been knocked off the railing by Harry. Swinging himself up, he dodged yet another attack, and managed to sneak a look at Sirius, who was (sort of) safely perched on a rotating gear just several feet below him. He was looking back at Remus fearfully, eyes widened in terror. 

In normal circumstances, Remus would never be tired of staring into his boyfriend’s gorgeous face. 

In that moment, that was all he allowed himself before he sprang back into action.

Remus leaped from surface to surface, trying to create as many webs as he could around the clocktower to impede the glider’s movements. Harry chased after him relentlessly, missing Remus by a hair’s breadth too many times for comfort. He barely noticed Sirius trying to maneuver himself from gear to gear in an attempt to get to safety. 

Swinging from web to web to confuse Harry, Remus gained enough momentum to jump as high as he could, past the shattered roof. Shooting a well-aimed web down at Harry’s glider, he pounced on his enemy’s back and caught him in a headlock. He knew he didn’t have much time, especially with them zooming around uncontrolled in the air. 

He worked quickly to coil webs around Harry’s throat, praying with all his might that this would be enough to gain the upper hand.

It wasn’t.

The glider reversed at top speed and sent Remus crashing into a wall. His vision blurred for a moment, allowing Harry to break free from his grasp. Recovering quickly, Remus kicked himself off the wall and jumped, swinging himself around a web. He barrelled into Harry and knocked him off his glider, finally, sending him crashing into a metal beam. He thought Harry had fallen face first onto another platform, knocking him out for the meantime, but he couldn’t be sure. 

His eyes were instead fixed on Sirius, who was looking right back at him. Time seemed to slow down as the glider fell through the air and into the gear that Sirius was currently kneeling on.  

Remus didn’t so much hear himself shouting as he felt the burn in his already hoarse throat. 

Sirius was falling further and further away from him, and Remus struggled to web him back. No, no, no, not again, Remus almost cried. But he knew Sirius was counting on him, and at last the web coiled around Sirius’ wrist for the second time in ten minutes. 

Sirius was now dangling in mid-air, suspended only by the strong web Remus had caught him in. 

Remus frantically pulled at the long web, trying to reel him back up onto a concrete surface. As he was almost at a close enough proximity to reach for Sirius’ hand, he heard the other boy shout, “REMUS!”

He turned his head so fast he got whiplash, but it didn’t register in his mind. He had turned back just in time to feel Harry’s hands around his neck, forcefully backing him into a gear behind him. 

Harry grabbed Remus by the shoulders and slammed him down on the gear they were currently on, and the web loosened, jerking Sirius down a few feet. Remus’ head throbbed painfully but he fought to maintain the web even as Harry’s foot stomped down on his wrist with a sickening crunch moments later. 

He heard a broken cry from Sirius, and it wasn’t until he craned his neck to look at his broken wrist, which was still holding onto Sirius via the web, that he realized why. 

The gear was turning slowly but surely, and from the way the web was caught in one of the gear’s teeth, it was a matter of seconds before it would meet the other gear and snap. 

A broken metal joint that had fallen a few feet away from Remus’ hand caught itself between the pair of gears, halting the rotating of gears temporarily with a loud screech. Sirius’ breath hitched as he watched on, helplessly dangling in the air. 

Taking Remus by surprise, Harry brandished a sharp knife-like weapon, aiming it at the web. Thankfully, Remus’ quick reflexes blocked the attack. Pushing his left hand into Harry’s face, he knocked the weapon out of the way with his right arm, letting it skid across and off the platform.

Remus’ hold was broken seconds later as Harry gained control over him once again. The latter wrestled to pin the former’s arms down by the side of his face, but Remus slammed their foreheads together, knocking Harry off balance. He delivered a heavy blow to Harry’s cheek and shot a web out to trap the arm that had been trying to retaliate. 

Harry’s snarled, and his hand shot out to clasp around Remus’ throat, choking him. Through his watery eyes and blurred vision, Remus managed to shoot a web out through one of the gears behind Harry without him realizing. 

Working quickly, he ambushed Harry by winding the long web around his throat several times just as the gear shifted, causing him to howl as the web tightened painfully around his own neck. Still, he didn’t relinquish his hold on Remus’. 

The loud clang of metal caused Remus to turn his head around, watching as the broken metal joint gave way to the force of the shifting gears, and it snapped all of a sudden, falling to the depths below and narrowly missing Sirius’ suspended form. 

Remus let his eyes linger on Sirius, who was dangling a little way below another gear, partially hidden from his view. Despite the chaos surrounding him, all he could hear was his own voice shouting in his mind, over and over again.

I’ve got to save him, I won’t let him die, it’ll be all over soon, we’ll make it through, I love him I love him I love him.

Remus remembered how, just hours ago, they had been on the top of the bridge, on top of the world. How he’d professed his love for Sirius and how he’d offered to go to England with him. To be with him. He wished that he could turn back the time. What he’d give to be back on that bridge, just him and Sirius against the world. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, willing himself not to lose focus. 

In a desperate attempt to buy more time, he stuck his left foot out and wedged it between two gears, ignoring the pain shooting up his foot. He felt like he was being torn apart, what with Harry’s fingers still clamped around his throat, his left foot raised up in an awkwardly painful angle and stuck between gears, and his right wrist hanging semi-limply over the edge of the gear he was currently pinned down on. But it was worth it. 

Saving Sirius would be worth all the broken bones in his body.

The gears were cranking in protest, and the web was centimetres shy of snapping. Remus could no longer feel his foot, but he wasn’t going to let go. There was no way. Mustering all that was left of his strength, he tried to push his upper body up so he would be able to kick Harry off him with his right foot. He was panting heavily with exhaustion and his heart was slamming against his chest. The voice inside his head was going a hundred miles a minute. Just a little more—

A deafening screech filled the clocktower. 

And everything happened so fast. 

One of the gears dislodged itself, producing bright orange sparks as a result of the friction. 

Sirius’ voice broke, “Re?”

No. 

His vision zoomed in to the web, tracing it from his wrist to where it was caught between the two gears. 

Where it snapped in two. 

In that moment, he could no longer feel any pain. He could no longer feel anything. His heart felt like it was about to leap out of his mouth and drop down to his feet simultaneously. 

The gears in the clocktower started spinning furious and uninhibited, and the gears in Remus’ mind followed suit. No no no, shit, fuck—

Remus didn’t even realize that Harry had released his hold on him, sailing across the air with the web still coiled around his neck and slamming into a gear, knocking him out. He was too focused on Sirius’ freefalling form. 

He watched in despair as broken metal joints tumbled down alongside his boyfriend, falling further and further away from his reach. 

So far. 

He took the plunge. 

Willing his body to pummel through the air faster, Remus kept his eyes locked with Sirius’. The glittering pools of molten silver he had come to love after all this time was now a thunderstorm, with flecks of white-hot lightning flashing every few heartbeats. If he thought Sirius had been scared earlier, the look in his eyes now almost made Remus‘ throat close up with raw emotion. The torrential rain took over, and Remus wanted nothing more than to be huddled up together in their thick blankets at home, kissing away every tear that had ever trailed down the other boy’s face. 

So far. 

Extending his arm, he shot a web out. Please let this be the last one. He hoped it’d reach Sirius in time. Please. 

They were still gazing at each other. Remus willed the other boy to understand everything unsaid in the silence that stretched between them. I’ve got you. Trust me. I love you. I won’t let you go. Please. I’ve got you. 

Sirius swallowed hard, gave him one last pleading look, shook his head ever so slightly, a fraction of a degree, and closed his eyes. 

No, please look at me, please open your eyes, don’t let go. 

Don’t let go. 

Finally, the web caught hold of Sirius’ broad chest, capturing him in his grasp, finally. 

He let himself breathe out as he caught hold of a railing, clinging onto it with his uninjured hand. Thank g—

Thud.

Remus’ heart stopped.

Wrapping one end of the web around the railing, he dropped himself down to the ground, where Sirius was suspended a few feet in the air by the other end. 

Remus approached slowly, inhaling sharply. 

Sirius wasn’t moving.

“Sirius?”

He removed his mask and ran a shaky hand through his mussed up hair. His lips were trembling as he stepped forward and lifted Sirius in his arms.

With one arm under his boyfriend’s back, he placed his other hand over his heart, feeling desperately for a heartbeat.

Remus didn’t think he’d ever be able to breathe again.

There was a deafeningly loud ringing in his ears as he cradled the lifeless body in his arms, as though his whispered pleas would be heard. As though they could be heard. 

Please, stay with me. 

Don’t go. 

Don’t leave me. 

Please, I love you.

You’re everything to me.

In just the span of a few minutes, he’d lost the only person he’d ever loved. He would give anything, anything at all, to have the other boy alive again. 

There was complete silence all around, save for the shuddering breaths that Remus let out. He blinked his eyes furiously, tears spilling onto his lover’s face, refusing to accept whatever had just happened. 

“Sirius... Sirius, please. Sirius...”

His whispered pleas grew into loud cries and he didn’t even know how much time had passed anymore; when Sirius had hit the ground it was as though the concept of time stopped existing. All he was aware of was the pain coursing through his veins, searing and never-ending. 

Remus looked up, blinking past the tears, and saw the moon through the shattered roof, watching over him. In sympathy perhaps. 

How was he going to survive this, when Sirius had been his rainbow after heavy storms, and the brightest star on his darkest nights? 

He didn’t think he’d be able to. 

Remus collapsed onto his knees, still clutching Sirius’ body in his arms, and let the wracking sobs take over him.

[ks-caster]

Gone Fishing

Fandom: The Vampire Diaries

Characters: Caroline, Klaus

Summary: The trauma of Bill’s conditioning begins to catch up to Caroline, and as a result of his choice of stimulus, she can no longer tolerate bagged blood. Saddled with the vampire version of an eating disorder thanks to her dad’s idea of being the “good guy,” Caroline resorts to desperate measures, interpreting some advice from Klaus in the darkest and most violent way possible.

Basically, Caroline becomes a serial killer out of necessity - and Klaus wishes he could love it, but mainly he finds he’s just upset that her dad was such a dick.

Chapter 1, part of chapter 2 and my partial outline are available under the cut.

It wasn’t that he intended to stalk her.

Even Klaus knew how incredibly fake that sounded, but really, he didn’t keep tabs on where Caroline Forbes was and who she was with at all times—just, you know, when there was clear and present danger in Mystic Falls.

Which was practically always.

Whatever. Niklaus Mikaelson, hybrid king feared across the supernatural world for centuries, was not one to show chagrin at the accusation that he had merely stalked someone.

He really wasn’t watching her on this particular occasion, however; he was just out for a walk to clear his head in the night air after a particularly useless day of Jeremy Gilbert being Jeremy Gilbert, and her street wound and turned back on itself and basically made for a longer route than its neighbors. He hadn’t intended to listen in on the goings on inside the Forbes residence either, but when he noticed the Sheriff's squad car was missing but Caroline’s car was present and the lights were on, he smiled a little, and tuned his ears in, wondering if she was listening to music or watching TV or on the phone with Elena hearing the “team good-guy” perspective of Jeremy’s day.

What he did not expect—and what took him a moment to recognize because it was so unexpected—was uncontrolled, shattering sobs. He frowned, crossing the lawn in an instant to hear more accurately. A moment more told him that not only had he heard correctly the first time, but it was indeed Caroline sobbing, and it sounded like she was wailing in pain around something that had been shoved into her mouth.

Images of unknown attackers and Caroline with a gag in her mouth blossomed crimson across Klaus’s vision, and he was inside the house and standing in her bedroom doorway before the ragged, stifled cry had ended. However, a millisecond’s scan of the room with his eyes revealed her to be completely alone, curled up tightly on her bed and rocking back and forth in distress, her own hand clamped between her teeth. Her face was a mess of makeup rivulets and puffy eyes—she looked worse than when she’d run to him in Tyler’s body, believing him dead and her boyfriend about to follow, and that was easily the worst he’d ever seen her, including the time she’d nearly died of werewolf venom. 

“Caroline?” he found himself whispering, not sure what to do. Her head jerked up, and he barely had time to register the trickles of blood along her wrist from where she’d bitten through her own skin before she was on her feet, hands shoving him back. In his surprise, she caught him off balance, and he stumbled a little before regaining his footing.

“Get out!” she shrieked, her voice cracking painfully in the middle as she lashed out, punching him in the chest with about as much force as the average human who’d had too much to drink and was therefore unsteady to begin with. It didn’t hurt him, but he caught her fist when she drew her other hand back all the same. She screamed again—not words this time, just a primal shriek as she tried unsuccessfully to wrench her hand free, before successfully backhanding him across the face. He caught her second hand and sped her up against the wall, pinning her there as she struggled and tried to kick him.

“What the hell’s gotten into you?” he growled. Even in such a state, she ought to have had the sense not to physically attack an Original, especially a hybrid. Verbal barbs or slamming of doors he’d expect out of a distraught Caroline Forbes, or if she was going to attack him (for whatever blinkered reason) slightly more skill. Shifting forward, he leaned into her, holding her against the wall, impervious to her struggles. She thrashed in his hold, kicking at his legs and feet, but when he was about as responsive as stone, she gave up, and fell limp in his grasp, head down, face shrouded by her unkempt hair as crying became her primary focus again.

After waiting a few moments to ensure that she wasn’t faking it (only to whoosh away as soon as he loosened his grip) Klaus released her wrists, picking her up in the same instant. She fell limp against his chest, the last of her energy going into curling up into herself and pressing the heels of her hands into her watering eyes. For all her violent rejection moments before, now she seemed completely unconcerned about his proximity. 

As he moved to return her to her bedroom and deposit her in bed—he’d signed up for rescuing her from attackers, not this, and for all his age and experience he’d never yet figured an effective way to deal with this—he assumed she’d simply given up on getting him off her. But when he moved to set her down, he realized that one of her hands had fisted into his jacket, tightly enough that she was stretching the leather. Perhaps giving up wasn’t quite it, he thought, as he maneuvered them so that he could sit down, then leaned back against her pile of pillows so that they were reclining with her only halfway on top of him. He did know enough to guess that no matter what he said or did, she would be unable to give a coherent response in this state, but he could be patient. 

He’d wait her out.

And then she’d damn well tell him what was wrong, and point him towards who he could kill to make it right, whether she wanted to divulge or not.

The hysterics lasted nearly an hour, and after that, she seemed to lose energy, but continued quietly weeping into his shirt for over an hour after that. By midnight she’d apparently run out of tears, but she lay limp against him, face buried in his chest, and he got the impression she’d fallen into the twilight of half-consciousness. He’d started rubbing circles into her spine with his thumb, and some time after that, she’d released his jacket, although she hadn’t retracted her hand; it lay on his chest, her cold palm flush against his heartbeat. 

-0-

Half past four in the morning appeared seconds after one, and Klaus realized to his shock that both he and Caroline had drifted off. He regained consciousness for long enough to confirm that she was, in fact, deeply asleep, and his arms were still resting securely around her such that if she tried to get up it would wake him. 

Her hand was still resting against his chest, and to his mild confusion, it was still cold. While vampires didn’t generate as much of their own heat as humans—or wolves—but they would still pick up heat from resting against warm objects, same as anything else. Slowly, not wanting to wake her and provoke another fit so soon, he wrapped her hand in his; long artist’s fingers picking up the telltale signs that he’d missed earlier. Her skin was unnaturally cold, and a little rough to the touch, with a subtle hardness which, coupled with how light and slow her heartbeats were, could mean only one thing—something he’d never expected to find in a vampire who wasn’t chained up and locked in a dungeon.

Caroline Forbes was beginning to desiccate; dry up and starve surrounded by blood-filled humans. 

What the hell was happening?

He knew she had plenty of access to blood; Meredith Fell used her medical license to stockpile it on the Salvatores’ considerable dime, and the Sheriff looked the other way as long as Caroline was provided-for in the process.

So what the hell was going on? Had someone bled her out in the last 24 hours without him noticing? She did know to drink a lot after that, right? 

His mind spun, inventing horrible possibility after horrible possibility, and he had to fight to keep his arm from tightening around her and waking her. His burning need to know who he had to kill to make it better intensified with each passing second. Caroline wouldn’t just stop eating of her own accord, so someone or something was doing this to her, and he’d be damned—well, again—if he didn’t find out what.

The arrival of 4:45 announced itself rudely as Caroline’s alarm blared, echoing against the walls in a way only a vampire would notice. Caroline’s right hand remained resting in Klaus’s deliberately loose grip, but her left reached over him and unerringly turned off the alarm, ignoring the large snooze button. Klaus must’ve been more asleep than he’d thought, because the blonde pillowing her head on his chest had to have been awake to do that, and he hadn’t noticed. 

Caroline’s arm rested back on his chest immediately, and she lay still, seeming quite unbothered to find him still in her bed. Perhaps, even, trying not to wake him up. Testing his theory, he shifted a bit, re-adjusting his hold on her. She stiffened. Yeah, she’d been hoping he wasn’t awake yet. But she hadn’t made a move to pull away or get up when she thought he was still asleep; he wasn’t sure what to make of that.

“Morning, love,” he greeted her quietly, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Klaus,” she grumbled in a warning tone, but still made no move to extricate herself.

“What happened last night,” he asked as calmly as he could manage.

“Don’t worry about it,” she sighed, but her heart-rate picked up and he heard her swallow. He sat up, pulling her with him and ignoring her glare of protest as he held her hand between his own, thumb running gently over her desiccating fingers.

“Don’t play that game with me,” he warned, ignoring her glare of protest. “I have never seen you in so much pain, Caroline, and I can see the what,” here he nodded towards her hands, “what I don’t have is the why. Why aren’t you eating?”

“I am,” she hissed, yanking her hand out of his and turning to put her feet on the floor. “I said don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah, I heard you, and I’m going to need a bit more than that,” Klaus responded evenly. Her pulse was racing, and the last thing he needed was to push her so hard that she had another panic attack.

“It’s none of your business,” she snapped, whirling to glare at him over her shoulder.

“Sweetheart you’re starving in a stocked kitchen,” he listed, gesturing at her mini fridge with his thumb, “I heard you from down the street last night and came up because I legitimately thought you were being kidnapped and tortured, and you—who have made it perfectly clear that you find my presence irksome in the highest degree—grabbed onto me for dear life last night and are making no real effort to dislodge me now. I am not an idiot, love,” he growled. “I know that means something is desperately wrong.”

Caroline swallowed, breathing deeply and rubbing her eyes. Her shoulder dropped, and she looked deflated.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she finally gritted out.

“I can help,” he insisted.

“No, you really can’t,” she sighed, and although he could tell she was trying for huffy hostility, all he could hear was sorrow and exhaustion.

“Try me,” he demanded, working hard to keep the snarl out of his voice. Wasn’t it just like her to protect the person hurting her?

“No,” she responded flatly, standing up and rustling around in her dresser for some clothes. Her movements were slow and clumsy, and he saw her lips purse together as her dry, painful skin whacked the side of the drawer.

“Not doing a very convincing ‘fine,’ darling,” he commented, laying back and folding his arms behind his head casually.

“What do you want from me?” she demanded, tossing her outfit on the bad so she could throw her hands up expressively. “There’s no one for you to murder, Klaus!”

“Then there's no harm in telling me, is there?” he countered cleverly.

“What are you going to do; kidnap and torture it out of me?” she demanded, voice dripping sarcasm. “A bit counterintuitive if you ask me.”

“I would never hurt you, love,” Klaus responded, knowing she was baiting him and refusing to rise. “But,” he added, “I'm not leaving until you tell me.”

Caroline scoffed wordlessly, grabbed her clothes and flounced into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. As the shower turned on, Klaus surveyed the house with his senses, noting that Liz Forbes hadn't yet arrived home. He lay there comfortably, listening to the water run in the shower—and Caroline try and fail to control her breathing—for nearly half an hour. She dried off, blow-dried her hair (for less time than Klaus thought that ought to take, but then what did he know about blow-drying long hair) and he heard the rustle of clothes being pulled on for a moment before she let out a hiss of pain and froze in place. 

He frowned, then realized that she’d grabbed skinny jeans, and if they were nearly as hard to get into as he imagined, and her feet were in the same state as her hands, that forcing the denim over her skin would likely be extremely painful. He rubbed a hand through his hair in frustration. If she’d just tell him what the problem was, he could figure out how to fix it; in a thousand years he’d learned quite a few facts about vampires, and was confident that he could resolve the issue, whatever it was. 

Unfortunately, the vampire in question was being terribly stubborn; both in her determination not to let him help and, apparently, in her determination to wear that pair of jeans. He winced every time she made a sound of pain, which was quite a few times in the interminably long six minutes it took her to get dressed.

Finally, she exited the bathroom, doing a brief and irritated double-take when she saw him still lounging on her bed.

“You really don’t have anything better to do than sit there and wait for me to change my mind?” she grumbled as she sat down at her makeup table.

“Depends,” he countered, “like I said I’m not leaving you until you tell me, so I suppose I’ll be sitting around your high school at some point.” She whirled to glare at him in disbelief. “Or at the grill, oh, do you have cheerleading practice today?” he added with a bit of a leer. She flipped him off and he laughed. “I’m a very patient man when I want something,” he reminded her, and she wasn’t sure if that was supposed to sound like a threat or a promise.

“We’ll see about that,” she muttered, picking up her phone and sending a text message before turning back to the mirror.

“Is that a challenge, love?” he demanded playfully, wondering which of her troupe of friends she was enlisting to help her shake him off.

“Yes,” she responded coolly. “Because as you’ve noticed, I’m under the weather, so my mom is calling me out of school today. I’m going to sit here and watch makeup tutorials for the next six hours, then go downstairs, eat a tub of ice cream and watch telenovelas. If you really want to glue your immortal, hybrid ass to my bed and try your hand at boring yourself to death, be my guest.”

Chapter 2 Snippet

Apparently Klaus was incapable of getting bored.

She’d thought that the threat of endless makeup videos would scare him off (her boyfriends had always run for the hills when she’d spent more than two minutes talking about contouring) but in short order she realized that he was actually paying attention. She’d follow along with the videos, and at first he just laid on her bed, eyes boring into the back of her head, but after a little while he sat up (she could see him in the mirror) and murmured “turn your wrist a bit.”

She’d frowned, looking back at him, certain she’d imagined that.

“I know my way around brushes, sweetheart,” he’d reminded her with a smirk. 

“This is how she’s holding it in the tutorial,” Caroline had shot back, running the video back and trying again. 

To her frustration, upon a second watching, she noticed that the vlogger had indeed turned her wrist a little more. She adjusted her grip, pointedly ignoring Klaus’s expression of triumph, which was visible in the mirror.

After twenty minutes, he’d moved to the end of the bed to sit directly behind her, commenting on tone differences and blending techniques and natural shading. 

After forty minutes, he had a brush in his hand and was carefully painting over Caroline’s challenging expression—only on one side so she could see the difference. 

After an hour, he was telling a story about a hilarious mishap involving Leonardo Da Vinci, and Caroline was leaning back against her makeup table, laughing so hard her sides hurt.

“And how long did it take Elijah to realize he was flirting?” she asked, tears in her eyes from uncontrollable mirth.

“He’s still in denial,” Klaus shook his head. “The way he tells it, they had a remarkably ordinary modeling session, other than Kol’s interference. Kol swears to this day that if Rebekah hadn’t come in when she did, he could have properly set the two of them up.”

“I can see that, I can definitely see that—but what happened to the sculpture?” Caroline demanded, wiping her eyes.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Klaus checked. “He was the model for David.”

Outline

Klaus is walking by Caroline’s place during season 4 and he notices that he hears crying. She refuses to tell him why she’s desiccating. He gives her an ultimatum—he won’t hurt her, they both know that, but he won’t leave until she tells him what’s happening. She sits down at her makeup table and says “fine—game on.”

Caroline decides to practice makeup techniques all day, and when she get bored of that to watch crappy reality television—he may think he can annoy her into submission, but she thinks he may have underestimated her ability to bore him. However, it turns out that he is apparently incapable of being bored—in fact he winds up  commenting on her technique—artist and all—and then actually picks up a brush at one point—and that’s when Liz gets back to the house and walks right in on them. Caroline cracks up while Klaus just shrugs and admits that there is no reasonable explanation. Caroline realizes that he easily could have told her mother why he was really there—to save himself a great deal of embarrassment in fact—but without missing a beat he hid it. He can keep a secret. And of all the people who won’t think that being hurt makes her weak, he certainly won’t.

She explains the situation; Klaus initially offers to go into her head and fix the problem, which she vehemently refuses, of course. He suggests, since she can drink no “innocent” blood, that she try his—he is, as she has pointed out repeatedly, the opposite of innocent. She is able to drink blood from him easily, and gulps it down in desperation. He says that until she finds another solution, he is more than willing both to keep her secret and supply her with blood. She asks why and he says it’s for the pleasure of her company.

Over time, Caroline and Klaus’s clandestine relationship starts resembling exactly that—now that they’re spending quality time together, she finds she does enjoy his company, and feels like she can be really open with him; she knows he’ll never judge her, as he has no room to do so.

Elena eventually learns of said relationship, and they have a huge fight over it. Caroline, whose confidence has vastly improved after months of unconditional love from someone who wouldn’t dream of putting Elena before her, reminds Elena that Damon raped and abused her, and that their solution had been to drug her and wait for him to kill her so they could poison him. Elena asks if she’s dating Klaus as revenge, and Caroline tells her she’s missing the point. Elena isn’t the only person in Mystic Falls permitted to dispense divine forgiveness. Caroline is with Klaus because she loves him.

Caroline also discovers that the blood of any criminal will do the trick, so she starts going into the city, walking around the seedy parts, and eating the assholes who follow her down dark alleys. She sort of accidentally becomes a serial killer. Then once Elena basically excommunicates her, she decides to go on a trip. Klaus is hoping she means Paris, but no, she wants to eat her way through the FBI’s most wanted list. Which she does.

Caroline becomes such a successful killer of killers that the FBI starts looking for her; while they don’t know what she looks like, her codename is now top of the most wanted list. (How ungrateful! I did your job for you and this is how you thank me?)