#it’s not make or break because they’ve already demonstrated how they show up for each other when they can

[kingofmyborrowedheart]

Seeing entertainment publications post articles that are basically saying “Travis and Taylor NOT attending the Golden Globes together. Is this the end?” makes me roll my eyes because that’s such a middle-school mentality to have. Like maybe they’re not attending the award show together because they’re both adults and have preexisting obligations related to their careers and nothing more?

[ladycamdens]

i’ve seen too many claims already that what transpired wasn’t bad writing it was narrative choice, but no i’m sorry the writing in the series did get progressively worse.

we were promised a gritty sex and drug romp that accurately portrayed queer life and what we got was church camp by the end. as someone who was knee deep in the queer scene as a young 20 something i can assure you a. sandray and topmew would not still be together as demonstrated by the fact that they had to give them complete personality transplants by the end to justify it - i.e bad writing. it wasn’t character growth it was retconning and we all know it. hell, that friend group just wouldn’t be talking anymore. they would have imploded by the end bc of how shittily they were treating each other and there’s your realistic ending.

sand and top had zero personality outside of extremely shallow things we knew about their interests and trauma but were more so there to make mew and ray more interesting - which didn’t work. ray’s storyline got closer but it still presented addiction recovery farrrr too cleanly imo.

what did the boeing storyline actually accomplish? because i love mond but boeing was just further “we hate sluts” narrative fodder. we got no insight into why sand loved him so much and was so fucked up over him. and this thing that clearly left him fucked up over relationships was just ended by mew and ray being kinda mean to boeing and then sand making out with top. no acknowledgement or recompense for the crazy sex tape debacle or the fact that he clearly still hasn’t dealt with his issues or his issues with ray.

and i mean this next part with love but too many of you are too quick to believe that they were trying for some deeper commentary on how society treats polyamory/sexually liberated people with boston’s storyline. let me be very clear - it wasn’t. boston being as shameless and upfront as he was the entire rest of the season he would never have lied to boeing or nick about communicating his expectations. and they never wrote nick as this monogamous damsel until the very end. to quote their writing “i don’t have to be his number one, he doesn’t even have to love me, he just can’t hate me” and “why do you still love me? i did so many nasty things to you” “i’m nasty too. i bugged the car when you and top were having sex. don’t we deserve each other?”. they up until that point communicated the best out of all the couples in the show, so to end it like that cold turkey made no narrative sense. they didn’t need to break up to continue learning healthy boundaries and how to love themselves. but if you still disagree with all that, it’s pretty clear they weren’t trying to side with boston, because where were the shots of him happy in New York *despite* how people treated him back home. otherwise all they’ve communicated is that people like boston and boeing are irredeemable and will only end up miserable. i just don’t think some of you want to accept that tbh.

either commit to everyone being terrible and amoral or don’t but being selective just was never gonna be a good look

[matan4il]

Buddie 510 meta

The first call starts with Buck and Eddie being their usual amazing battlefield boyfriends (and if I have contributed nothing else to the Buddie fandom, I contributed this term, I’m proud of it and love that others are using it, too), BUT what I particularly like in this case is that they pair up and start working together and in such perfect sync even before Bobby tells them to. It shows us that they’re truly meant to be partners! ~~~

The whole ep sets up the idea of personalized gift giving as a symbol of knowing people really well, or at least wanting to and being willing to make efforts to. It’s therefore also a symbol of closeness and emotional investment. And Buck? In that context, we see his intimacy with Taylor once again appearing somewhat off, since he says he finally understands his ex-roommate who would break up with girlfriends after Halloween (implying Buck has also felt, at least for a moment, a desire to break up with Taylor rather than shop for her). Then that’s followed by him hearing that Bobby got Athena an engagement ring for their first Xmas together, and Buck absolutely balks at the idea. Which, given the stage of their r/s, isn’t out of the ordinary, it’s the slightly too emphatic reaction that makes this moment feel like B/T are not even close to being the stuff that epic love stories, like Bathena’s, are made of.

And then we get this amazing contrast between Buck and Taylor on one hand, who clearly don’t know each other well enough and have no clue what to get their partner for Christmas, and the couple from the elevator call, who show their affection and their desire to be together by giving each other a gift for Xmas (this connection is emphasized by the fact it’s clear Buck is thinking of his own gift giving trouble during the call). What really stood out to me is that Melia paid so much attention to Marco even before getting together that she knew he’s constantly going to these concerts. And yeah, she missed the mark a bit because she didn’t know everything (i.e why he’s going to them), but it’s clear she was paying attention and wanted to get to know him, making B/T, as an established couple, pale in comparison. They both completely fail to find even one personalized idea for each other. Which is especially surprising given the ending of this mini arc: usually these stories show a partner being at a loss but then eventually pulling through and finding the perfect, most personalized gift imaginable, the one that shows they do know each other better than anyone else. Not in this case, since even at this story’s closure, Taylor still goes with the not-very-personal sweater, and while Buck’s gift is very much from the heart, it seems to be way more about him (as someone used to saving people) than about her. It’s still not a gift that shows a profound and intimate connection. Add the fact that this ep comes on the heels of 509, which in itself demonstrated that Buck doesn’t really know Taylor, so we witness they’ve not made any real progress as a couple, not even after her backstory was revealed. ~~~

Compare all that with Buddie in this ep: in the very next 118 scene we get after it’s made clear Buck is clueless when it comes to Taylor’s gift, he once again proves to be Eddie’s partner in real life as well as on the job, as they talk about Eddie’s concerns regarding Chris. The entire time, they’re framed by gifts (I just HAD to gif this), which were already established in connection to Buck as the symbol of knowing one’s partner (in fact, the scene starts with a close up shot on the gifts). This is highlighted by the fact that Buck proves to know Eddie and Chris’ life so intimately that he immediately offers an insight on why Xmas would be a time when Chris is struggling. In addition, clearly Eddie came to Buck right away and trusted him with the info about what he’s going through. In comparison, we see in this ep repeatedly how other people in Eddie’s life, even close ones, are kept in the dark until he has no choice but to share. Hen and Ravi didn’t know about Chris’ nightmares, Carla didn’t know about the kidnapping. The one person who knows everything Eddie’s going through, the one person Eddie CHOOSES repeatedly to confide in, is Buck. And to add to that, in this one brief scene he appears more willingly invested in his partner than in all the scenes where he’s trying to find a gift idea for his actual gf. ~~~

It’s a tiny moment, but when Hen doesn’t know where Eddie is, she asks Buck, just like how when the team didn’t know where Buck was, it was Eddie who had the answer. And I know it’s a split second moment, but given the ep’s theme of knowing your partner, I felt like it mattered that this is how they kicked off the closing sequence of the ep, with Eddie’s dramatic decision. ~~~

Which brings me to discuss the very structure of this ep. When it starts, it looks like Buck’s storyline for it will be all about Taylor and proving himself as a bf by choosing the right gift. So this should have been Buck’s emotional happy climax for the ep, but it wasn’t. Instead, we get him after that, still feeling somewhat melancholy when Hen asks him how he is (he says he’s fine, but we know what Buck sounds like when he’s actually happy and this ain’t it. Plus, remember his 403 confession to Maddie? He says he’s fine, he just wants to be… finer). That shows that his deeper emotional state is the one that caused him to cancel his and Taylor’s participation in Bathena’s Xmas party: he’s sad over a part of his family not being there and despite being in his first serious r/s during Xmas, that doesn’t quite fill the emotional pain he’s experiencing since Madney aren’t there. This perfectly leads to the real emotional climax of the ep: Eddie’s announcement that he’s leaving the 118. This is the one thing in Eddie’s life that Buck didn’t know about, pointing to its devastating effect that caused Eddie not to share about it until after he’s spoken to Bobby. After all, this ep starts with Buddie naturally gravitating to working together even before they’re instructed which (which they’ve done all along… Chim is still gone, the partnerships set up in 505 are still technically in effect, yet we’ve always seen Buddie together in all the following eps) and it ends with Buck hearing he’s losing his partner. It’s no coincidence that the first face the camera pans to right after Eddie speaks is Buck. This is another part of his family leaving and his most significant partnership being dissolved, this is the bigger story this ep is telling regarding Buck. I mean, we could have discovered Eddie's decision through Bobby’s POV, but by doing the reveal in this way, the show is telling us that that would not be as impactful as seeing it through Buck’s eyes. ~~~

Now I normally try to stay away from speculations, but we’re looking at maybe the biggest cliffhanger this fandom has known and 3 months of hiatus, so let me say: I absolutely don’t believe Eddie will be leaving the 118. Remember ep 505? Buck wanted to leave and Eddie was having none of that. That was a decision based on fears and so is Eddie’s. It feels bigger, because it’s the mid-season cliffhanger, but… remember 310’s cliffhanger with Michael’s tumor? That was arguably even more serious and could have had even more devastating repercussions for the firefam, but that’s not the direction the show took. It ended up being just one more challenge that needed to be faced, opening new opportunities (David), but not drastically changing the fate of the characters or their dynamics. A more likely possibility is Eddie turning into a paramedic, but… I also can’t see that TBH. Because in 506, when he was kidnapped, he was acting as Chim’s replacement, as a paramedic, meaning that role isn’t any safer than his current one. They could find Eddie a different first responder role, maybe something like dispatch, but that would separate him from the team completely, and I can’t see that happening, he’s too much of an integral part of the 118 team, which is the heart of the show. The most likely thing IMO is that this will be an opening for Eddie to talk more about what brought him to this decision, which the show IMO hinted at by having the shooting and the kidnapping both be brought up during Eddie’s talk with Carla. I can’t know any of this for sure, of course, but this is how I see things at the moment and why I’m not concerned…

The unbelievable @judsonryder​​, in addition to making all these amazing gifs for my meta (throughout all of season 3a, thank you SO MUCH!) also added to the poignancy of Buck’s heartache at the end of the ep with this incredible gifset, please check it out and give her some well deserved love! If you like my perspective on Buddie, you can find more of my meta and fics here. Thank you for any like, comment and of course reblog! These posts require a lot and it’s wonderful to see people enjoying them and sharing them with other! I will continue to post content during the hiatus, so please don’t hesitate to stop by and say hi! xoxox

[smokestarrules]

My Interpretation of Pen : Chikara : Katana (SPOILERS)

So I’m gonna be honest. When I started to watch this movie, Junna was my least favorite out of the main nine. I LOVE HER, but she was the one I was least interested in. HOWEVER. I am certainly interested in her now. Holy shit. 

Now, even in the very beginning of this, after she learns who she’s going to be fighting, Junna is already angry. Understandably so; after all, in Wi(l)d-Screen Baroque, Nana had callously slaughtered them all, and she’d severed Junna’s cloak without even giving her a glance. This is the person she’s been living with for the past two years (and for Nana, far longer) and she hadn't even looked her in the eyes when she defeated her, because, seemingly, she hadn’t cared. 

These two are the pair that had the least amount of conflict in the anime, and this Revue plays on that previous stability; the setting is outside of Seisho, the same place Junna had cheered Nana up after her defeats against Hikari and Karen. And with Nana being the one in control initially, this is clearly a strategic move. 

Pen : Chikara : Katana begins very similarly to Wi(l)d-Screen Baroque had, with many of the same tones. Nana’s barely even acknowledging Junna as a person anymore, and she’s certainly not acknowledging this Revue as anything but a continuation of her previous one. Nana attacks directly at Junna’s weakest points immediately; showing video evidence of Junna’s shortcomings and failures and shoving them in her face as if to say my victory is inevitable. 

And yet...

This isn’t Nana. Nana’s color has never, ever been red, and this particular shade of it has never been anyone’s but the Giraffe’s and his deadly Stars. This is the Giraffe’s influence showing freely in her actions and thoughts, and it is him who has pitted them against each other once again. Nana and Hikari are the two who seem to be the weakest against his influence, and that’s because they are two of the most caring. 

It’s safe to say that Junna begins this Revue terrified. This is the person who recently demonstrated enough skill and shine to defeat them all, so how she is supposed to win on her own? There’s that, and there’s also the rift that Nana’s torn between them in showing no mercy, and worse, no recognition. 

This entire Revue, Junna is set up to fail.  She begins on her knees and weaponless, Nana standing behind her one sword drawn and the other sitting in front of her. Of course, they can’t bleed in these Revues probably, but Nana’s sword is still stained red as Junna runs, because in her mind, she’s already won. 

But Junna is, above all things, a fighter. Even when desperately outmatched, she is not one to quit, and so she fights back, caging Nana like a rabid animal. This is the Revue of Hunting, and now both of them have established themselves as both Hunter and Prey. Junna’s already ran, with Nana following, but now Nana is the one trapped. And with that, it’s actually Junna who’s rewarded with the first few lines of the song. 

But Nana’s not done yet. 

“You were beautiful. You were foolish, blazing, and beautiful.” (N) Note the past tense. Nana is perhaps the one who uplifts the rest the most out of anyone, and she knows exactly how to tear them down. 

“You were dazzling, Hoshimi Junna.” (N) And when the moment comes, she doesn’t go for Junna’s cloak because she doesn't need to. She said it herself, these are not the same auditions they’ve fought in before; you make your own rules inside to determine how someone wins. Cloaks aren’t necessarily the winning thing here, and so Nana goes after something far worse; the physical sign of Junna’s own brilliance, her gemstone. This is a direct attack against Junna’s entire drive; this is Nana saying you are not good enough to succeed anymore. She doesn’t have to break Junna’s cloak, because with this blow, she’s broken Junna. She even leads her second blade in front of Junna, and I think she left it there so that Junna could cut her own cloak with Nana’s weapon, entirely hopeless. 

Which.......  almost works. Junna is broken, and the music returns to how it began; rumbling and tense, waiting for Nana to declare her victory. Nana even acknowledges Junna’s crying as a parallel to her own breakdown in the anime, which had happened in this very place -- the grounds of Seisho. 

But then Junna realizes that she can’t keep relying on other people’s words. She takes Nana’s blade, yes, but not to cut off her cloak, no, instead, she does this.

And here the tides turn. She takes Nana’s blade and rebuilds her brilliance with it. She says “Try and see if you can kill me, Daiba Nana!” she challenges Nana in return; she refuses to lose. 

Immediately, the stage is flooded with yellow, and Junna takes over the song almost effortlessly. She’s still knocked down, but she gets back up again and keeps fighting. And Nana? Nana’s unsettled. She demands her katana back, she insists that Junna’s out of her league, but Junna keeps. getting. up. 

“All you do is parrot borrowed lines. Your star is just a piece of space trash.” (N) Again, doing anything she can to discredit Junna, to defeat her drive, but Junna’s done listening. 

“Gotta try to kill me, right!! Don’t you!” (J) Junna is refusing to go down unless Nana makes her stay down. If Nana wants to win, she’ll effectively have to kill her. 

“Her” Junna wouldn’t stand on her feet and declare you’ll have to kill me. “Her” Junna wouldn’t have kept getting up after being knocked down, time after time. This isn’t Nana’s Junna anymore; she doesn’t need to fall back on Nana anymore. She can push forward on her own now. And then everything goes blue. Nana’s not in charge anymore. Junna doesn't need the role Nana’s given her; she doesn’t need to be “Nana’s” anymore. 

And in the end, Nana’s the one without her cloak. 

And look, see how their colors intertwine now; Nana’s yellow (note, a much more saturated one than the sickly color from her Revues in the anime) focused on Junna and Junna’s light, dull blue on Nana. Nana’s been defeated, and she has to learn to move on. Of course.. there’s always going to be another stage for the both of them, they just have to be patient. 

“Let the curtain fall. We’ll meet each other in due time.” (J) - Beaten, Nana lets Junna finish the Revue without another word. She’s deserved it. And once again, Nana cries at their parting, cementing the connection between this Revue and their old conversation when she let herself break down. 

They’ll be okay. 

[missania]

Modern Day AU: Haunted Mansion

Anna decides to drag a reluctant Elsa to an allegedly haunted mansion. Surely there is no better way to spend Halloween than to try out her newly acquired ghost-hunting devices, right? Needless to say things don't go exactly as expected...

AO3

" This is such a bad idea, Anna," Elsa said for the hundredth time since the beginning of the evening.

She hung behind, taking cautious steps on frozen leaves. Anna could imagine her eyes darting around the darkness, looking out for any possible danger hidden behind the dense foliage surrounding them. 

She herself was skipping ahead, trying not to think about how the shadows seemed to stretch after them wherever they went.

" Oh, come on, relax! If the ghosts - and yes, I say ghosts because there might be several in there - even show a hint of bad intentions, we're out of there, I swear!" She looked back at Elsa and tried giving a reassuring smile. She ended up grimacing instead. 

Of course, Elsa's apprehension was understandable. Heck, she already halfway regretted her decision to go to this place at midnight. Especially on Halloween, when the veil between the living and dead was said to be the thinnest. But they've already come so far. If they were to turn around and leave now, Elsa wouldn't let her hear the end of it.

Besides, it's been so long since they'd gone out and done something together. Elsa was too busy with her work, and Anna had her own problems to sort through. It's been more than a year since they'd last seen each other. Now that Elsa had finally taken some time off, it would be a waste to stay inside and watch the same old horror movies as they'd done before. 

So why not try something new? Something way more exciting? 

That was why they were currently making their way down a hidden pathway.

After a couple of twists and turns, they finally reached their destination.

" I'm more worried about breaking into this property without a permit than supposed ghosts." Elsa clarified. She then levelled a sceptical look at Anna's shaking hand, which was holding the flashlight." And it seems to me that you are the one who is scared of ghosts, not me. Are you sure you want to do this?" She gestured to the foreboding building in front of them.

Said building was the old, abandoned mansion located on the outskirts of Burgess - the little town Anna had moved to a month prior. With everything going on at the time, it was only recently that she had overheard a group of children talking about this place. They had spent the night there as a dare, and apparently, something had happened because they were absolutely convinced that the mansion was haunted. They were also very adamant about never going there again. 

Standing in front of it, it was not that hard to see why they had been so spooked. The dark house towered over them, and from close up, it looked even more unwelcoming than from afar. It was apparent there hadn't been any renovations in a long time because the colour was peeling off the old wooden structure. One of the windows had cracks stretching like spiderwebs over its glass. White curtains were blocking the view from the inside. All was completely silent around them. Only the full moon made it possible to see anything. 

And their flashlights.

" Sure! It was my idea, after all! And you know I never go back on my word!" To demonstrate her sincerity, Anna marched up the stairs, ignoring their groaning. Once she reached the top, she turned around and stood proud right in front of the door. " Are you coming?"

"Only if you stop shining the light into my eyes."

" Oh, sorry!" 

Anna redirected the light to the door. She was about to reach for the door handle but froze mid-movement. 

It was already open. 

For a moment, she just stood there staring at it. Then she giggled. " Seems the kids forgot to lock it last time they were here." Shaking her head, she pushed the door open and stepped inside. She heard Elsa following right behind.

The inside of the mansion looked even creepier than the exterior. It felt like entering a completely different time, seeing as nothing had been touched for decades - possibly even more than a century. There were thick layers of dust and cobwebs everywhere. The once beautiful tapestry was partially torn down, leaving the wall behind it bare. Some of the furniture was lying on the floor, overturned, making it hard to navigate the rooms.

The only sound they could hear was the creaking floor under their footsteps.

Anna let out a shaky breath as she took in their surroundings. The smell of old wood permeated her senses and left her lightheaded. All of a sudden, her backpack weighed heavily on her shoulders. Not for the first time did she question her sanity in compulsively buying some ghost-hunting equipment on Eway for this particular night. It had seemed like a stellar idea at the time, but now that they were here, she wasn't even sure if she wanted to use them anymore. The deeper they went into the mansion, the more insistent a little voice inside of her whispered to leave and never come back. 

Her sister's quiet cursing startled her. " There's no signal here!"

When she checked her own phone, she got the same result. No signal. What a coincidence.

" Ah well, I'm sure everyone's busy anyway, so there won't be any messages," she said airily.

" This is not good... What if someone from work contacts me?"

Anna raised her eyebrows. " This late? And on Halloween? I know your superiors are crazy, but surely not to this degree!"

"You'd be surprised...," muttered Elsa, frowning at her screen.

Anna pursed her lips. She knew too well, in fact, how much of her sister's time was monopolised by her work. 

But instead of a reply, she just continued her trek through the old mansion. After a moment, she heard Elsa's footsteps following her again.

Once they reached the living room, Anna's eyes lit up with an idea. She went straight to the middle with no hesitation. " Right! Before we begin, it is important to know the history of this mansion! Have you heard of it?"

" No, I haven't." Elsa still looked a bit irritated, but Anna deliberately ignored that.

Instead, she continued: "Perfect! Let me tell it to you then!" She cleared her throat dramatically, and shone her flashlight so it would illuminate her face from beneath. All humour left her expression.

" So apparently, this mansion was built in 1857 and home to the Pitchiner family, " she began with a sombre tone. " For someone so wealthy, they were open and kind to the townspeople and thus very much liked by them. All was well until Kozmotis Pitchiner was called away to war. Seraphina Pitchiner and their daughter, Emily Jane Pitchiner, were on their own for several years before the war ended. Or at least they were supposed to." Here Anna lowered her voice. " A month before Kozmotis Pitchiner returned home, the neighbours noticed the mansion was empty. There was no sign of either the family or the servants. Allegedly everything was left behind, and nobody ever returned to retrieve anything. It's as if they had vanished into thin air."

Elsa raised her eyebrows at that part but did not interrupt her. 

" When Mr Pitchiner finally came home, he was dismayed upon discovering this and promptly started looking for them. He searched for them tirelessly, day and night, but to no avail." 

A faraway look settled over Anna's eyes. She could envision the desperation Mr Pitchiner must've felt with each day that passed without any results. But still, he had refused to give up despite the bleak outlook. Slowly she lowered the flashlight away from her face and back to her side.

She continued, her voice strained. " Another month passed. That was when Mr Pitchiner stopped leaving the house. Remembering the strange disappearance of the rest of the family, the neighbours immediately grew concerned over him. And for a good reason. Because the next day, they found him lying in the middle of the floor in this very room. Dead." She cleared her throat when her voice failed her at the last word. " Some said it was from a heart attack. Others were sure it was of heartbreak." She trailed off as she reached the end. " And that was the dark tale of this mansion's very first owners." 

For a moment, all was silent. Anna looked to the side toward where Mr Pitchiner had been found dead. A shiver ran up her spine when thinking about how close she probably stood next to that exact same spot. But there was also a sudden deep sadness tugging at her heart. Yes, it was an unsettling story about the first family that had lived here. But it was also a sad one. Until his very last moments, Mr Pitchiner had never found out where his family was or what had happened to them. He had died alone in his empty home.

Suddenly she heard a whisper right next to her ear. She spun around and shone her light around the room.

" Hello?" she called out. 

" What is it?" asked Elsa, shining her light in the same direction as her.

" I thought I just heard something."

"I didn't hear anything..."

They spent the next few minutes in complete silence, listening for anything else, but nothing happened. No matter where they looked, there was no indication of what could've caused that noise. Everything looked the same. 

" Maybe it was just a mouse," suggested Elsa. " There's probably quite a few here." 

Anna shook her head. " No, no, it was very close to my ear. Almost like someone whispered something."

Elsa raised an eyebrow. " Someone? What, you mean a ghost?"

Her eyes widened. Of course! Why did I not think of that? Another shiver raced up her spine at the possibility of a ghostly presence near her. 

She hesitated.

There was no way, was there? They had just entered the house. Maybe this was just her imagination playing tricks on her. She could admit that she was a bit jumpy this night. Maybe, it was just a mouse. Or maybe, it wasn't. 

There was only one way to find out. 

That was, after all, why she had spent all that money on her little ghost-hunting devices. That was also why she had spent so much time convincing Elsa to come here with her. To find out whether this was a haunted mansion or not. And to have a good time. Though, that last one was pretty much out the window now.

Slowly she sat her backpack down and started rummaging around inside it.

" What are you doing?"

" Trying to find- Aha!" She procured something that looked a lot like a flashlight. Something Elsa was quick to observe.

" Oh, it is! But you can also use it to communicate with spirits!"  Anna placed it carefully on the edge of a nearby table. "You pose a yes or no question, and the ghost can answer by turning the light on and off." Stepping away from it, she came to stand next to her sister.

She took a breath to calm herself. Okay, you've seen how this works. You ask a few questions, and it may or may not give a reaction. No biggie. When she opened her mouth to speak, Elsa interrupted her: " This is a Maglite, Anna. It is known to turn on and off at random."

" Well, this is why the answers should be on time to our questions," she explained. "There's only so often the light can turn on and off for it to be a mere coincidence."

"Hm..." 

It was apparent that Elsa did not buy any of this, but there was no use in convincing her with words only. So instead, Anna refocused her attention on the Maglite.

" Alright. Uh, hello! Good evening! I am Anna, and this is my sister, Elsa. We only came here to visit and maybe even chat for a bit? I-if you would like to, of course." It felt weird addressing the empty room, but she did not let this deter her. " That is if there is someone actually here with us. If you are, could you turn on that light, please?"

A minute passed, and nothing happened. Elsa shifted next to her. Anna waited just a bit longer before she cleared her throat.

" Or maybe you don't want to talk? If you don't want to talk to us, turn the light on then, please."

The light turned on so quickly it startled Anna. She couldn't help but let out a surprised laugh. " Oh wow, okay, I see. Do you want us to leave as well? If so-"

The light turned off before she could finish giving instructions.

"I-is that a yes?"

The light did not turn on again.

" Could you turn on the light, please, if you want us to leave?"

No reaction.

Anna shared a look with her sister. " Guess we're free to stay here for a bit longer, right?"

Before Elsa could answer, the light turned on again.

" Oh! T-thank you, that's very kind of you!" Anna's heart was beating fast still after her initial surprise, but she did her best to calm herself. Instead, she tried to smile at whoever - whatever - was in the room with them.

Being polite was probably the best way to go about this. They did break into this house, after all.

She was about to take back the Maglite when something occurred to her. Yes, the light gave a distinct "no" to any possible conversation, but her curiosity was a relentless beast. How could she just let such an opportunity go to waste? She had watched countless videos about ghost hunting, and the Maglite did not always provide such a ready answer. 

Just one more time. 

She would ask one more thing to be sure this was not a fluke.

" If I may ask one more question..." She watched the Maglite with bated breath. Would it answer without any instructions?

Sure enough, the light slowly dimmed until it turned off completely. Almost as if whoever was communicating with Anna yielded to her request reluctantly.

She couldn't help but smile at that mental image. " We did introduce ourselves before, and I would really like to know who you are. I have a guess - and I'm sorry if I'm wrong - but I want to be sure I got it right-" Oh God, Anna, stop rambling before you aggravate the ghost! You only have to ask! " A-are you Mr Pitchiner by chance? If yes, then, please, one last time, turn on-"

The light was on before she could finish her sentence.

Mr Pitchiner. The original owner of this mansion. The one who had died in this very room.

She swallowed. " Nice to meet you, Mr Pitchiner! And I won't bother you any longer. Thank you again for letting us stay here!" Even to her own ears, her voice sounded unusually high-pitched.

She then quickly took the Maglite and turned it off. Once she put it away safely into her backpack, she turned toward her sister. " Okay! Do you want to go upstairs?" It was then that she noticed Elsa looking at her strangely. " What?"

Her sister shook her head. " Nothing. You sure you want to stay here?"

She gave an emphatic nod. " Yes." There was no way they were leaving after getting permission to stay - and from the original owner, no less. So what if she was a bit spooked? She would be a fool to give up now!

Elsa sighed when she saw the look of determination in Anna's eyes. " Fine. Let's go. But we will be quick about it, alright?"

"Sure."

Once they left the living room, Anna felt like she could breathe again, though that tight feeling in her stomach didn't leave her. And on top of that, she felt like someone was watching her. Maybe it was Mr Pitchiner making sure they weren't up to no good.

They soon reached a dark, wooden staircase. One after another, they went up, the stairs creaking under their weight. The noise was so loud that it almost echoed.

" So, what do you think?" asked Anna.

" About what?"

" Well, with what happened in the living room. That was pretty exciting, wasn't it?"

" Anna...," Elsa sighed. " I admit, it was a bit strange, but that was most likely a lucky coincidence. You do remember what I told you about the Maglite."

" Yes, and you probably remember what I said. The answers were clearly on time with my questions. I can't believe we actually got to meet Mr Pitchiner!" Her hands were still slightly shaking from that encounter, in fact. " It's a shame he didn't really want to speak to us..."

Elsa gave her a sidelong glance. " The flickers weren't always on time."

Anna only rolled her eyes. " Sure, it was all very random with no pattern to it. The conversation didn't make any sense at all," she drawled.

" You can't possibly call that a "conversation" back there."

Anna only gave her an annoyed look but didn't press the matter. It was impossible to prove something to her sister when she believed she was right. Stubbornness was a trait both of them shared, which wasn't always a good thing - especially not when they were at odds with one another. But something inside her told her that Elsa might change her mind this night. Maybe.

Once they reached the top, a long, narrow hallway greeted them. Ghostly rays of moonlight shone through the window at the very end of it, making everything look unreal - almost like a dark painting. There were doors on each side of the wall, each one closed. The one near the window was especially noticeable because of its peculiar shape. Upon a closer look, it became apparent why: several wooden planks were blocking anyone from opening it.

Anna hummed. "  I wonder what could be behind this..." 

Before she could reach for one of the planks, a sudden loud creak echoed through the hallway. There was movement out of the corner of her eye, and she spun around to face it. What she saw made her blanch.

A door had opened. Eyes wide open, both sisters watched as it moved a little more before coming to a halt.

Several seconds passed, but it didn't move again.

" So, how do you explain this?" asked Anna breezily.

Elsa gave a shaky exhale. "Probably a draft. I'm sure the door was already open." Despite the logical explanation, she sounded unsure.

Anna cleared her throat. " Mr Pitchiner, is that you? D-do you want us to go in there?"

The door creaked again, opening a bit more.

That's insane! That is so insane! He is actually responding to everything I ask of him!

She took one step forward before a vice grip on her arm held her back.

" Wait. What if someone is behind that door? " hissed Elsa.

" You mean we would be able to see Mr Pitchiner?" asked Anna. Usually, people could see ghosts only through photographs or special ghost-hunting equipment. But Mr Pitchiner was very present. He didn't seem to have trouble manipulating the Maglite, and now he's even able to push doors open. Would it be too far-fetched to believe he could manifest his physical form?

" No, I'm not talking about some ghost but an actual human being!" Elsa continued with a harsh whisper. " What if there's a homeless person in here? Or someone else? We're completely on our own! We can't call the police because there's no signal here!"

" Oh." Anna's cheeks burned with embarrassment. She hadn't even considered this possibility. " W-well, we still need to go past it if we want to leave, so... might as well investigate."

" Anna..."

" Don't worry! You know, I've got a mean right hook in case someone tries to attack us!" She winked, then freed herself from Elsa's grip. 

Together they approached the open door with cautious steps. One look inside revealed an empty bedroom. They both checked for a possible attacker but found nothing. There was no sign of anyone else - besides them - being there. 

Anna slowly walked around, taking in her surroundings. She noticed immediately how tidy everything was, compared to the chaos downstairs. There seemed to be even less dust here, and she had yet to see a single cobweb.

Elsa noticed it, too. " This room is too well-preserved. Someone must've been looking after it."

She agreed. There was no way it could have stayed in such good condition without help.

When she passed the dresser, which stood opposite the bed, she heard a faint scraping sound. She stopped short, wondering if that had been her imagination. Elsa didn't seem to have heard anything and wasn't paying attention to what Anna was doing. She was too preoccupied with studying the book collection at the other end of the room. But no, there it was again. Anna shined her light towards the source and found a framed photograph. It was standing right next to her on the dresser. Curious, she stepped closer, reaching for the frame to get a better look at the picture.

It was the portrait of a young girl - maybe around twelve years old. Her beautiful raven locks cascaded down her back like a waterfall forming a sharp contrast to her pale skin. She almost looked like a porcelain doll if it weren't for her eyes, which twinkled mischievously at Anna as if she was really looking at her. 

" That must be Emily Jane," whispered Anna. Her heart sank thinking about how, after all those years, it was still unclear what had happened to her. How there was no trace of her and how much her father must have grieved for her. " She's so lovely." Her voice sounded all choked up when she said that. 

Something ice cold passed the back of her hand, and her flashlight flickered. Her breath hitched. 

After a moment, she continued gently:" You must've loved her very much."

Again, the light flickered, almost turning off in the process.

Anna bit her lip in contemplation. He was very responsive for someone who claimed he didn't want to speak to them. No matter what she asked of him, he would try to give a clear answer. 

And then there's the way he had guided them into his daughter's room. As if he had wanted them to see it. Now that she thought about it, the scraping sound that she had heard must've come from the portrait. Maybe he had moved it so she would see the picture of Emily Jane.

Would it be too far-fetched to think he might want to speak about his daughter?

She decided to take a chance. After putting the portrait back where she had found it, she sat her backpack down to search for a different device. One she had been eager to use back when it had arrived in a package. It didn't take her long to find it.

" This is what we call an Ovilus," she explained softly. "I know you didn't want to speak to us, and I won't force you to. I just thought-" She faltered for a moment, searching for the right words.

She didn't get to finish her sentence. 

" What is that? " asked Elsa.

Anna startled. She hadn't even heard Elsa approach. " Oh, this?" She showed her the device. " This is called the Ovilus. I read that spirits can control the temperature or electromagnetic fields. And this device takes environmental readings and converts them into actual words! I have it on Dictionary Mode right now, so the words should show on the screen."

Elsa studied it with furrowed brows. " Where did you find this? And how many devices did you buy, anyway?"

" Ah well... I found it on Eway. And there's just one more device in my backpack. But I didn't want to use it because it's rather loud."

" How much did all of this cost?"

" Oh, definitely less than what they usually cost! Don't worry about it!"

Elsa gave her a doubtful look, not at all calmed by her assurances. Anna sensed she was about to scold her for the reckless spending of money, so she decided to change the subject quickly.

" Here, " she thrust the Ovilus into Elsa's hands. " Try it."

" Wha-!" Bewildered, Elsa grasped at the device before it could fall to the ground. " What do you want me to do with this?"

" Ask a question."

" I thought your ghost didn't intend to speak to us."

Anna shrugged. " I wanted to give Mr Pitchiner another chance to speak, but this time with words." She glanced briefly at the portrait of Emily Jane, and her expression softened. " I feel like he might want to tell us something."

Elsa sighed. " Fine. How do I use this?"

Anna gave her a quick rundown of the essential functions. Afterwards, she stepped slightly behind her sister, watching the screen in anticipation.

" Alright... Mr Pitchiner? Do you want to speak to us?" began Elsa with a clear voice. She held the device out to the empty room, waiting for a reply.

Seconds passed by with no words showing.

" Ask him about his daughter," whispered Anna. " Ask whether he wants to tell us something about her."

" Do you want to speak to us about your daughter?" she asked, following her sister's advice.

Another minute and still nothing.

Irritation seeped into her voice at her next question: " Are you even here with us?"

Anna pressed her lips into a thin line. Strange. By now, there should've been at least two or three words, even if they would've been nonsensical ones. She had had a test run back at home, and it had worked to a degree. Yes, the words hadn't made sense, but that was because there were no ghosts where she lived. She'd read that that was normal because the device needed some time to get accustomed to the environment once turned on. But here, it did absolutely nothing. No matter how long they waited, the screen stayed empty.

She got goosebumps, only thinking of the possible implications.

" Well, " Elsa turned sharply towards Anna, " seems like Mr Pitchiner doesn't want to talk to us after all. Or maybe he's not even here with us. Or most likely," she raised her eyebrows pointedly, " this whole thing is a scam, and you should've known better than to waste your money on this."

Ah, there she went, scolding her about how she was spending her money. Anna rolled her eyes as she took back the device. " It's my hard-earned money, and I do with it whatever I want. You can worry about your own money."

" There's not much to worry about because I don't spend it carelessly."

Anna ignored her. Instead, she studied the device with her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. She turned it this way and that, trying to see what might be wrong with it. Maybe there had been a good reason why it had been so cheap. She couldn't help but feel disappointed. How could it have broken so quickly after being used only once? 

" Oh no! No, no, no!"

Anna blinked at the sudden interruption. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Elsa fumbling with her phone.

" What is it?"

" My phone died! Which doesn't make any sense because I had it fully charged before we went here!" Elsa pressed several buttons but to no avail. It would not turn on. She scowled as if its unresponsiveness had caused a personal offence to her. " We should really go, Anna, " she said with a tight voice. " Nothing good will come out of us staying here any longer, especially if we get caught."

" But we've only been here for a short while! And so far, we haven't seen anyone patrolling the perimeters!"

" Oh, come on, you've also noticed that this room is far too clean, which means someone does come here. Besides, we're just wasting our time. I'd rather we stay at your home and relax instead of sneaking around inside a creepy house." 

Anna averted her eyes and bit her lip. " I just thought you might want to do something different...," she began hesitantly. " And it's Halloween, so I thought coming here would be at least interesting."

"I know, and I appreciate your effort, " Elsa responded, her voice more gentle this time. " But I enjoy a calm evening way more. Especially since I need a good rest before I have to get up early in the morning."

She stilled. " Why would you want to get up early?" she asked, confused. They had planned to go sightseeing around her new little town tomorrow. There was no need to get up early for that. It was supposed to be a calm and enjoyable walk where they would finally catch up on all that had happened after the last time they had seen each other.

" Because I need to go back to my place."

Anna looked up sharply. " That's the first time I hear about this..., " she said slowly. Confusion transformed into a whirlwind of emotions, making it hard for her to keep a straight face. Of course. Why hadn't she realised this sooner? All the signs had been there from the very beginning. It now made sense why Elsa had been so reluctant to go out with her, why she had wanted to leave even before they entered the mansion. 

Elsa sighed. " I'm sorry. I know I promised to stay this week, but-"

" But something came up," Anna finished tonelessly. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to gather herself. She should've known better. After all, this hadn't been the first time it had happened. Elsa's job in the corporate world was incredibly demanding, and more often than not, there would be a problem that she had to help solve. Her hard-working nature wouldn't let her rest. Of course, Anna understood the importance of what Elsa did and that she didn't mean to hurt her in any way. She cared for her in her own way and to the best of her abilities. 

Still, Anna couldn't help but feel dejected. She felt like they had been drifting apart from one another ever since Elsa had left for college. Even more so after their parents' sudden deaths. Try as she might, she had no idea how to bridge this rift between them. That never stopped her from trying, though. No matter how difficult it turned out to be.

Elsa cleared her throat. " Right. " She opened her mouth, hesitated, then slightly shook her head. She tried again. " Look, I'll do my best to deal with this as fast as possible. Then we can meet up again, and this time, I'll really stay for a week, alright?"

" That sounds great, " Anna said with no enthusiasm. " You told me so the past three times, and one of them had been on my birthday. Who's to say you won't have to leave again?"

" And I told you that I am sorry for that. I really am." Elsa sighed again and pinched the bridge of her nose. "But understand that I also can't ignore my superiors. That would be a sure way to lose my job."

" You could take a vacation for a change. Surely there's nothing criminal about that? When was the last time you had one, anyway? And I mean one where you didn't even look at all those emails from work?"

" It's not that easy, Anna."

" What the hell is not that easy about it?" Anna clapped a hand over her mouth. She had not intended to react so harshly. " I'm sorry I didn't mean it like that."

" Then how did you mean it? " asked Elsa, a disapproving frown making it clear what she thought of her little outburst.

" I mean... whenever I talk to you, you seem to be in the middle of something. When we meet, your thoughts always circle back to work, even on your supposed days off. One email is enough to make you go back, forgetting about your free time. That can't be healthy."

Elsa crossed her arms. " I can look after my own health. But this is not about my well-being. It's about our meetings."

Meetings. As if they were attending business meetings and not spending time together as sisters. " Well... yes, " admitted Anna. " That, too. I can't even remember when you stayed as long as you said you would. It always ends with you having to leave for something work-related."

" Look, I'm sorry, but as I've told you, I can't exactly ignore it when I am needed. You could also visit me for a change. Then I wouldn't have to go back and forth so much, and we could spend more time together."

" But I did!" protested Anna. " And you know why this didn't work out? Because it seemed like I always arrived at an inopportune moment, despite you inviting me. Either you're working home-office and don't want to be disturbed, or you need to pull some extra hours at work and don't come back until late. And I'm left to sit in your flat, not knowing what to do. It's not any different from me sitting alone at home." But at least there, I don't feel like I'm intruding, she added silently.

She didn't like fighting with her sister. They didn't get to spend much time together, and it seemed like a waste not to treasure those moments. But over the years, all those empty promises started to pile up. She couldn't help but feel treated like an insistent distraction rather than a beloved sister. It felt freeing to voice what had been eating away at her for years.

Even if it was at the risk of them fighting.

" Why didn't you say something then?" asked Elsa, exasperated. "I can't read your mind, you know! I won't know how to do better if you don't tell me what's wrong!"

" Don't you think I tried to? But it's always "I'm tired, Anna" or "I'm busy, Anna, can't it wait until later?" and "later" you're too tired for it. Rinse and repeat. There's simply no chance to say anything! I kept quiet every time because I didn't want to add this to your never-ending list of problems. But it's hard to ignore at this point because I hardly get to see you anymore!" Anna's voice rose with each word. " Last year, we didn't see each other at all! Not once!"

" You know exactly why!" cried Elsa. " Back then, we had trouble meeting any deadlines for our elaborate project, and it was hell! I even texted you about it! I wouldn't have had the time to focus on anything else, and it would've been unfair to you! That's why I kept declining!"

"Yes, I know! But my point is: there's always something that comes up! We hardly ever talk to one another because of it. And text messages aren't helping! Either you turn off your phone because you're working, or it's turned on because you're working off the clock. And when you finally get around to answering my texts, it's always in such a curt manner-!"

" What are you even talking about? My text messages are fine! I text like that with everyone!" protested Elsa. " Maybe it sounded rude at the time because I was tired, but it's never intentional!"

 "But it makes me feel like a bother to you! Sometimes I wonder if you dislike me because I annoy you so much! That's why I keep my texts at the bare minimum nowadays! That's also why I think twice about asking you to meet up again!" 

" That's ridiculous! Why would you even think that? Of course, I do not dislike you!" shouted Elsa. She made an exasperated hand gesture. "Don't you think it's also hard for me? With how much work I have to do, I still try to make time for you! Sure, it's unfortunate how our meet-ups get interrupted sometimes, but I thought you understood! Apparently, I was wrong! From what I hear from you, I'm beginning to think that no matter what I do, it will never be enough for you! You will always take it personally!"

Anna's mouth hung open. The last two sentences ran through her head on repeat like a broken record. She could not believe what she had just heard. She didn't even know what to say. The only thing she knew was that it stung. Badly.

Wordlessly she turned around and stormed out of the room. She did not know where she was going, but she didn't care. The only thing that mattered was to get away from Elsa as quickly as possible. 

" Anna!"

Anna picked up her pace, quickly descending the stairs. Her surroundings began to blur until she could hardly see anything.

" Anna, come back!"

" Please, leave me alone, " she whispered, blindly stumbling into the next best room she found and quietly shutting the door behind her. Elsa would surely think she had left the house and no doubt go after her. That is why she, on a whim, decided to hide inside the house. She wanted to be left alone until she could calm herself. 

In her distracted state, she did not notice the additional clicks coming from the door she had just shut.

Slowly, she sank to the ground, resting her arms on her knees and burying her face in the soft material of her coat. Her body shuddered with suppressed sobs. Outside, she heard her sister's hurried steps rushing down the stairs. They passed the room where she was hiding.

" Anna, wait!" called Elsa again, her voice growing fainter. A few seconds later, a loud slam echoed through the house - probably the front door.

Anna continued to listen with bated breath, straining to hear whether her sister would return to the house. But nothing happened. All of a sudden, it was deathly quiet.

Probably for the best.

Angrily, she wiped away some of the tears that had managed to escape.

Great. Only then did Anna notice the absence of her backpack. In her hurry, she must've left it upstairs. But instead of going back to retrieve it, she remained sitting on the ground. 

She didn't have the energy to get up right now.

The only thing she had taken with her was the Ovilus she was still holding in one hand. The Ovilus that didn't seem to work anymore. She grimaced, thinking of all the money she had spent on all those devices. Maybe, Elsa was right. Maybe, this had been a waste.

She was about to put it down next to her, but a quick glance at the screen made her freeze.

» Selfish. «

One word. One word which seemed to glow incredibly bright in this permeating darkness. Anna stared at it for so long the letters started to lose shape. They seemed to almost dance as if they were mocking her.

For a moment, she felt a spark of anger return. " Selfish? Me? After all those years of her brushing me off no matter what I did? I-" 

" Don't you think it's also hard for me? With how much work I have to do, I still try to make time for you!"

"...no matter what I do, it will never be enough for you! You will always take it personally!"

" I mean..., " she faltered. " Yes, maybe I could've brought this up later. But to be completely honest, it's never a good time because she's always so busy. O-or maybe I shouldn't have said anything at all in the first place- "

One look at the Ovilus made her go quiet.

» No. «

» Selfish. «

» Her. «

» Not. «

» You. «

One after another, the words appeared, almost forming a coherent sentence. In all the videos about ghost hunters she had watched, this was something she had never seen happen before. That was too much of a coincidence - as were so many other things that had happened tonight.

She became very conscious of what had transpired in this house and what kind of a commotion she and her sister must've caused. She swallowed. " I'm sorry I snapped at you, " she began quietly. " And I'm sorry I caused such a scene in your house. I will understand if you want me to leave."

It answered immediately.

» You.«

» May.«

» Stay.«

" T-thank you, " she breathed.

Dizziness overcame her, making it hard to form a coherent thought. She realised only then she was alone in an abandoned, haunted house.

Her eyes darted around the room, trying to make out her surroundings. There wasn't much she could see. The full moon must've been overcast because scarcely any light reached the inside, despite the curtains being open. She could vaguely make out the shapes of the table near the window and the bookshelves looming near the walls. Nothing was out of the ordinary, yet she felt this prickling sensation as if someone was watching her.

He was here somewhere with her.

She drew an arm around herself, feeling cold all of a sudden.

" Mr Pitchiner?" she addressed him with a small voice. " W-was I wrong? Upstairs? Did you want to speak to us again? I didn't want to force you, but I did it anyway..."

» Only.«

» You.«

Crap. " O-oh, so it was only me who had wanted to talk..." She let out a nervous giggle. " I'm sorry, I tend to be very talkative-"

» No. «

» Talk. «

» To. «

» You. «

» Only. «

Her throat ran dry when she finally understood. Mr Pitchiner had wanted to speak to her specifically. Not Elsa.

She didn't know what to make of that. 

Why her?

She must've thought out loud because the answer was immediate.

» Because.«

» You.«

» Care. «

It quickly added:

» Because.«

» You.«

» Are. «

» Polite. «

As if he had wanted to drive away the previous words before she could read them. It was too late, though.

A quiet laugh escaped her. She couldn't help but picture the way he quickly tried to backtrack after disclosing more than he had wanted to.

" I do try my best, " she admitted, a bit of tension leaving her.

So it hadn't been her imagination. Mr Pitchiner had truly wanted to speak to her back then. But why not Elsa? Not that she minded communicating with him. However, she wondered at his rather decisive refusal to acknowledge Elsa in any way. Was it really because of politeness - or lack thereof? Or was there a different reason?

Anna decided against asking him. Now that they could speak to one another undisturbed, she could finally find out more about him. Ask about his past, maybe even the afterlife.

There were so many possible ways to start she had no idea where to begin. 

In the end, she settled on his family.

" Mr Pitchiner, I wanted to ask... are you alone? Or are your wife and your daughter here with you?"

For a while, nothing happened. Anna began to worry whether she had been too forward, but then Mr Pitchiner answered:

» No.«

» Gone.«

» I. «

» Remain. «

" Oh." There it was again, that heaviness in her heart. " I am so sorry. I can't imagine how much you must miss them..."

She was about to change the subject but paused. " So, they moved on, but... why didn't you? Why didn't you go with them?"

» Do.«

» Not.«

» Know. «

» Where. «

She furrowed her eyebrows. "You don't know where they went? But didn't you see each other after... a-after you... well..." She took a deep breath. " I mean, didn't you find them?"

» No.«

» Never.«

He never saw them again. Not even after he had died. Until this day, he still didn't know where they had disappeared to.

" That's why you're still here," she whispered in realisation.

He didn't answer. He didn't need to.

She leaned slightly forward, eyes searching the room for an indication of his presence, trying to find out where he might be. For the first time, she felt frustrated not being able to see him.

" I wish I could help somehow, " she said, her voice laced with regret. " When I researched the history of this manor, I also looked into what might've happened to Mrs Pitchiner and your daughter. But from what I've read, there are many theories and no definite answers. Nobody knows what is true."

She felt terrible not being able to give him any more than that. Worse yet, she probably just took away his last hope of finding his family ever again.

" Anna?"

She froze. 

No, it couldn't be. Not right now.

Somewhere in the house, a door opened. Quick footsteps followed soon after, going from room to room, judging by the sound. As if someone was frantically searching for her.

Anna slowly stood up, her free hand reluctantly dusting off her clothes.

The footsteps drew nearer.

" Anna? Anna, are you in here?" Elsa called out. This time her voice sounded more desperate than angry. Clearly, she had been searching for a while now.

Anna bit her lip. Despite their fight, she felt slightly guilty for hiding away like that. She had no idea how much time had passed, but had the roles been reversed, she would've been out of her mind with worry. Hopefully, Elsa hadn't called the police yet.

» You.«

» Want.«

» To. «

» Leave. «

She sighed, defeated. " Not really, to be honest. But I can't hide away forever. It would be unfair to make Elsa worry so much. I need to talk to her and settle this argument once and for all. It would be childish of me to avoid this any further." Besides, she usually didn't shy away from something difficult.

" Very well then."

The soft and decidedly masculine voice startled her. She whirled around, eyes wide and searching for the source. There. In the middle of the room stood the dark figure of a man. The edges of his silhouette kept shifting around, and the moonlight streaming in from the window made his body look almost translucent. It was hard to make out his face except for his golden eyes, which glinted at her from the darkness. 

Her lips parted at the unexpected sight, her body frozen in uncertainty.

She couldn't move. 

Not even when he slowly approached her. There was something elegant about the way he moved toward her. Something captivating about the way he was watching her. And she, in turn, watched him, not averting her eyes even for a moment.

He stopped right in front of her, and she had to tilt her face upwards to meet his gaze.

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed him raising his hand and reaching passed her. Breathlessly, she watched him lean closer - so close, she could feel the temperature drop. His cold breath brushed her cheek, and she couldn't help but shiver.

Absentmindedly, she noted the few clicks as if someone was turning a key. It was only when the door opened that she broke away from her trance and turned around.

There stood Elsa, swinging her flashlight around at the sudden noise. Anna had to shield her eyes against the blinding light.

" Oh, Anna!"

Before she knew it, she found herself enveloped in a tight hug.

" Thank God, I found you!" Then she leaned back and grasped at Anna's shoulders. Her expression turned thunderous. " Don't you ever do something like that again! I thought something had happened to you!"

" I'm so sorry, Elsa. I-" She glanced back into the room and stiffened. There was nobody there.

That couldn't be right. 

She could've sworn-

" Let's just get out of here. I've had quite enough of this house." Elsa was already guiding her towards the entrance when Anna remembered something.

" Wait! My backpack!"

" Alright, I'll get it, " Elsa assured her. " You stay here. Don't move!" she added emphatically. After one last warning look, she hurried upstairs.

Despite her sister's order, Anna quickly returned to the room where she had stayed. She frantically searched for him in the darkness, but there was no trace of Mr Pitchiner's ghost. Nothing to indicate that he had been there at all.

" Mr Pitchiner?" she called out softly. 

No response.

There was no way she had imagined it all. Right?

When she heard her sister come down the stairs, she quickly whispered: " I know, you're here. And I will come back here, like it or not." She paused. " Of course, I'll leave right away if you don't want me to-"

" Anna! What did I tell you?!" Elsa shouted once she found her missing. Again.

"- stay." She finished. Then she spun around to rejoin her sister quickly.

Once the sisters had walked quite a distance away from the house, Anna chanced one last look back at it. It still looked eerie in the moonlit night, but somehow it felt less intimidating than it did before.

Some movement caught her eye, and she squinted, wondering whether it had been a trick of the light. But no, the front door was definitely moving! 

And there he was, standing at the entrance like a shadow, watching them leave.

So she wasn't crazy! He'd really been there with her!

Making sure her sister couldn't see, she tentatively raised her hand - the one still holding the Ovilus - and gave a small wave. It was only then she noticed new words appearing on the screen.

» Farewell. «

» Until. «

» We. «

» Meet. «

» Again. «

She smiled.

[thecinematicalgorithm]

10 Reasons Why Zekaela Should Be Endgame (And Jachaela Should Not) - Part Two

Here is part two of my Zekaela endgame argument as promised. Beware of potential spoilers and enjoy.

5. They Communicate Well

Many argue that the key to a healthy relationship is communication. If a couple has an issue how can it be resolved unless they communicate? It’s easy to shut someone out when you don’t think they will understand, or you don’t trust them, or you’re afraid for whatever reason. Because Zeke and Michaela understand and trust each other they are able to communicate well, even about issues that are hard to talk about. Communication takes honesty and vulnerability, and something that many fail to realize, it also requires the ability to listen. Though Zeke takes time to open up to Michaela he never lies to her. He told her about his drug and alcohol addictions, his assault charge, his relationship with Courtney. There have been a few instances when they didn’t agree with one another but instead of becoming a deal breaker they were able to work through and resolve the issues with communication.

Michaela often shuts Jared out because she does not think he will understand or agree with her on her callings. Oftentimes, Jared does not listen to Michaela and even acts against her wishes. If he had truly listened to her and given her the space she needed he may have stood a better chance of rebuilding their relationship, and she would not have gotten shot either. In reality, Jared not listening to Michaela when she communicated her needs to him is what pushed Zeke and Michaela toward leaning on one another.

4. They Don’t Get Carried Away By Jealousy

There are many instances when Zeke and Michaela could be jealous of each other, and at times are, but instead choose to look past it. Michaela allowed Courtney to shelter with them despite her being Zeke’s ex-wife (though apparently not legally). Zeke has shown some discomfort with Jared and it’s not hard to see why. However, neither of them takes it out on the other. They don’t try to sabotage their partner’s relationship with the object of their jealousy and they even show understanding over why that relationship is important to their partner.

Jared is the complete opposite on this point. I really don’t think I need to elaborate. Mick literally got shot because of Jared’s jealousy.

3. They Put Each Other First

Zeke and Michaela are couple goals much of the time because they know how to put the other first. This demonstrates true, selfless love. There are so many instances of this quality in each of their characters. Michaela putting her job and relationship with Jared at risk simply to break Zeke out of jail. Zeke putting his life at risk to stay beside Michaela. Michaela putting her fears aside and marrying Zeke so that he could have the memory of their love rather than the memory of a desperate clinging to treatments in a sterile hospital. Zeke following Michaela’s lead and trusting in her decisions. They love each other so much that they are willing to overlook their own immediate needs or desires in order to make sure that the other is happy, because in short their partner’s joy brings them joy.

Jared often refuses to put Michaela first if it does not favor his desires. He could not give her space because he wanted to be closer to her. He could not let go of his vendetta against Zeke. He resents her for following her callings despite how they might save her life. This is not selfless love. It is possessive love. 

2. They Are Married

I cannot tell you how tired I am of Hollywood and entertainment making something as sincere and binding as a marriage so light and wishy-washy as if there aren’t enough divorces in real life. In today’s society marriage is not given the level of gravity and sincerity as it should be. Marriage should never be entered into lightly and it should not be so easily disintegrated. Despite the speed in which Zeke and Michaela got married the writer’s insured that there was a weight to the decision. It was given thought and both characters understood what was at stake. And when Zeke beat his death date the two were thrilled at the idea of “growing ancient” together. Michaela’s statement to Grace on how she couldn’t wait to “be on the other side” of the death date with Zeke shows that both want a lasting marriage. They want to spend their lives together, grow old together, make mistakes together. Their vows also demonstrated this with Zeke vowing to love Michaela as long as his life allows, and Michaela vowing to fight for their lives together for as long as they both shall live. Both kept that time stamp open-ended because both hoped it could be far longer than one day. Also Michaela’s sadness of her brother’s dilemma in his marriage and her immediate remorse over her affair with Jared and having destroyed another woman’s (her best friend’s to boot) marriage shows that she understands the importance of marriage vows and the ugliness of divorce and I am sure she would not want to go through that in her own marriage.

Jared has demonstrated twice how easily he overlooks the importance of marriage and marriage vows. He cheated on his own wife, and no matter how you justify it being with Michaela, it was still cheating and he still broke whatever vows he made. He showed very little remorse over it and didn’t fight for his marriage at all. Then he told Michaela in the season 3 finale that he only stood by and watched her marry Zeke (which he didn’t since we all saw him leave before the ceremony anyway) because Zeke would be gone soon. As if marriage to Michaela was a bone to throw to the poor dying man before he could have his chance to step in and have her to himself. He showed no thought in how this would have hurt Michaela to have been a widow so soon, and he did not hesitate in making his confession despite knowing the strain it might put on Zeke and Michaela’s marriage. I hope to God that the show writer’s will surprise us and show Zeke and Michaela work through even this obstacle only to come out in an even better and stronger marriage. They’ve shown us they can handle a good marriage with Ben and Grace, so hopefully they keep it up.

1. The Callings Brought Them Together

Lastly, the Callings, or whatever the entity behind them is, brought Zeke and Michaela together. The two were resurrected. They received callings that led them to find one another. They found a petrograph that showed their experience together. They received some of the same callings that led them to work together and hence grow closer. The callings ensured they got married when Michaela feared they were missing out on an opportunity to save Zeke’s life. If this is not the universe screaming out that they belong together I don’t know what is.

However, the first thing that the Callings did in order to insure that Michaela ended up with Zeke was separating Michaela from Jared in the first place. Indeed the Callings have actually managed to drive a wedge between the two on top of the already complicated nature of their relationship. Why go through this whole predestined story line only to go “Sike! She ends up with Jared anyways.” Not making Zekaela endgame would make everything that’s happened between these three characters completely pointless.

At the end of the day the story is in the hands of the writers. They have a plan and goal in mind. It’s impossible to tell what route they will go. However, the relationship of Jared with Michaela and Zeke with Michaela since season 1 has shown time and again that Jared does not have a healthy or selfless love for Michaela, but Zeke does. Every Jachaela worshiper always argues that there is too much chemistry and history between them for them to not be endgame, but relationships are so much more than chemistry. You can have chemistry with many people in life but that doesn’t mean you should end up with them. And oftentimes history can be toxic and unproductive which is shown with Jared not being able to let Michaela go or give her space. I don’t go running back to my exes all day long simply because we have chemistry and history. Oftentimes, history is enough to get you running away as we’ve seen Michaela do. So without their chemical history what do they really have?

Well Team Zekaela I hope you enjoyed! I will be going into Manifest Season 4 with hopes that the writers don’t sink our beautiful ship. Please share your thoughts and look out for future posts about Manifest, Zekaela and more!

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Nineteen

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: another chapter where the girls are clowns and cassian worships nesta's every breath 🙄 i promise some variety is headed your way soon

***

Gwyn adamantly refuses to accept any gifts for her birthday, much to Emerie’s irritation and Nesta’s relief. No amount of love for her friends can make Nesta enjoy the turmoil of hunting for the perfect gift, and she happily shows up at Gwyn’s apartment that night with nothing save for an overnight bag.

Gwyn easily has the nicest home out of all three of the girls, and it makes Nesta feel oddly proud to have a financially stable friend. Nesta herself has been flacking on her legal consultant duties to Night Court Inc., choosing to make do with the money she’s already earned while focusing on school.

Once they’ve all changed into sleep clothes and are settled around the living room coffee table with a cupcake and a glass of wine each, Gwyn pulls out a brightly colored bracelet-making kit with a sheepish grin. “I found this while I was looking through my childhood things,” she says, opening the kit. “You guys aren’t too grown for it, are you?”

“Depends,” Emerie hums, leaning over to get a closer look. “Is it Rainbow Loom?”

She gets her answer when Gwyn dumps out bundles of multicolored string instead of rubber bands onto the table. Looking disappointed, Emerie plucks up a handful of string. “Fine, I guess I can make do.”

Nesta licks cream cheese frosting off her thumb. “How do you make them? The bracelets?”

She’s met with two dumbfounded stares. “Have you never been to a thirteen year old’s slumber party?” Gwyn says.

“...No?”

When Gwyn and Emerie keep staring, Nesta feels the need to add, “I’ve never been to a sleepover. This is my first.” She was never one to be invited to sleepovers or social gatherings; even when she made acquaintances in middle and high school, they were just that—acquaintances.

“That’s… actually kind of sad,” Emerie says. Gwyn elbows her hard, making her yelp.

“I never thought of it that way,” Nesta says, shrugging. Though maybe it’s because a lot of things about her childhood were sad; it isn’t like she kept count of it all.

“Well, you can learn how to make bracelets now,” Gwyn states, taking out a little plastic baggie and emptying it out onto the table. Small silver charms scatter everywhere. “Everyone gets three colors and one charm.”

Nesta leans forward, making out the different charms. She spies one in the shape of a book, and another in the shape of a dove, and one in the shape of a music note. She snatches up the eighth note before anyone else can. Gwyn takes the book for herself, and Emerie considers the selection of charms before picking a dagger-shaped one. They prepare their string next.

“Now, we can either braid them or knot them.” Gwyn demonstrates how to do it either way, Nesta watching closely before imitating her. She braids the strings of her bracelet as best she can, her cheeks turning red with frustration whenever she spies one of the other girls’ perfect knots. Her half-eaten cupcake is forgotten as she tries to get her bracelet to stay together.

At one point she just has to accept the shoddy work she’s done and tie the bracelet off. She checks to see if it fits on her wrist.

“Now everyone give their bracelet to the person on their left,” Gwyn declares.

Nesta clutches her sloppily-made bracelet to her chest as Emerie responds, “What?”

“So we can wear each other’s bracelets,” Gwyn explains. “And carry around a part of each other all the time.”

“If I had known we were gonna be sentimental, I wouldn’t have picked the cute charm,” Emerie grumbles. Nesta agrees, but Gwyn just clicks her tongue and starts switching bracelets around. In the end, Nesta has Emerie’s dagger bracelet, Gwyn has Nesta’s music note bracelet, and Emerie has Gwyn’s book charm.

Nesta wiggles her bracelet on and turns her wrist over in the light. “That was fun,” she decides. “What happens next at a sleepover?”

“Next,” Gwyn says, “we exchange our most embarrassing secrets with each other, and then we do each other’s hair.”

Emerie shakes her head. “Okay, now I’m really too old for this. Anyone want to watch a movie?”

Gwyn nudges Emerie. “I’m the old one here, and it’s my birthday.” She raises her pert chin in a way that doesn’t look very grown up at all. “What I say goes.”

Emerie flicks up an eyebrow and stares in challenge, which Nesta interrupts by saying, rather exasperatedly, “I’ll go first, then.”

She digs around in her head for something embarrassing enough to be socially acceptable, only to realize that although a lot of embarrassing things have happened to her before, none of them are secrets. She finally settles on an admission. “When I was a kid, I had a thing for breaking and entering into rich people’s empty houses and hanging out in them. Does that count as a secret?”

Gwyn gapes, laughing in disbelief. “Are you going to leave it at that?”

“That actually sounds fun.” Emerie swirls her wine. “Why’d you stop?”

Nesta had almost forgotten. “I got caught.” She remembers the terror of being fourteen and fleeing past cherry blossom trees on her bare feet. “The owner’s family showed up early to vacation one year, and I never risked going back after that.” She shrugs. “Who’s next?”

Gwyn raises her hand excitedly. “I used to be a hardcore Gleek. Like, I had a closet full of Glee memorabilia.”

Nesta doesn’t quite know what to say. Emerie winces. “Maybe you should’ve kept that one a secret.”

“It was only one facet of my entire theatre kid personality. Should I tell you about the rest?”

Emerie raises her hands in surrender. “Please don’t. I’ll go next if it makes you stop.”

Gwyn laughs and Nesta perks up. “What’s your secret?” She hopes Emerie will finally admit to filling their shared Kindle account with lesbian spanking fiction.

But Emerie suddenly gets serious, clearing her throat and fingering the stem of her wine glass. “I might have the worst secret,” she says awkwardly. “I haven’t been honest with you guys.”

Nesta straightens, and Gwyn looks intrigued.

“In my defense,” Emerie says, “I never expected all of us to end up hanging out this much. Before Nesta and I became friends, all I did was show up to school to kick rich kids’ asses and make career connections.”

“Spit it out, Emerie,” Nesta tells her.

So she does. “I’ve been lying about my age.” Her cheeks turn red, either from alcohol or embarrassment, Nesta doesn’t know.

Nesta furrows her brows. “You’re not twenty-four?”

Emerie shakes her head in guilt.

“How old are you, then?” Gwyn says.

Emerie mutters something too low for them to hear. When Gwyn tells her to repeat herself, she says, too loudly, “Twenty-eight.”

She’s met with silence, and then—

Gwyn starts cackling, nearly keeling over. Nesta can only stare in shock. “Why would you—?”

“Because school is a shark tank,” Emerie says. “Everyone else went there straight out of undergrad, and I had to work four jobs for four years just to afford tuition. Being old at Prythian means being poor.” She quietens, looking down at her brown hands twisted together. “And by the time we started to get close, it felt too weird to bring up. So… I’m sorry?” She looks up to see if Nesta is upset.

Nesta doesn’t know what to feel, but Gwyn seems to. “You called me old,” she accuses. “You’re nearly a grandma!”

“Were you going to lie about your age forever?” Nesta interjects.

“If I had known there was going to be a forever, I would have opened up a lot sooner,” Emerie defends.

Nesta drops her head onto the table and covers her ears with her arms. “This is so weird,” she says against the wood of the table, her voice muffled. “I can never look at you the same way ever again.”

“That’s fair,” Emerie says cautiously. “But are you really mad?” Nesta feels a hesitant hand touch her shoulder.

“I need time to process,” Nesta says from her cocoon. Suddenly she hears a hum and a click, and her cocoon gets even darker. Gwyn and Emerie make twin sounds of surprise.

Poking her head up, Nesta blinks to find total darkness in the apartment. The heater has stopped running, leaving behind a quiet stillness.

“Shit,” Gwyn curses, fumbling with her phone. The flashlight turns on, lighting up her face. “I swear I paid my electric bill.”

“I don’t think it’s just you,” Emerie says, getting up to look out the window. “Look, the whole street is out.”

By the time they gather some candles and light them, the apartment has dropped twenty degrees in temperature. Nesta shudders, wishing she’d brought some warm pants with her.

“Let me get us some blankets,” Gwyn says, running off to the linen closet. Emerie and Nesta huddle together on the couch while they wait.

“So you’re really not mad at me?” Emerie asks, hope in her voice.

“Not mad,” Nesta says. “But I think we all lost a little respect for you back there.”

Emerie smiles. “Just a little?”

Gwyn comes back then wearing a thick sweater and carrying a pile of comforters. “I got a text from the landlord,” she says, unceremoniously dropping the blankets onto the couch. “Ice took out the power lines in the whole neighborhood, and we’re not getting any electricity until morning.”

“But it’s negative temperatures outside,” Nesta protests. “We’ll freeze to death.”

“Not if we all cuddle.” Gwyn tries to beam at them, but the effort is futile. “I’m sorry, guys,” she sighs, plopping onto the couch beside Nesta. “This is a terrible birthday celebration.”

Nesta wraps an arm around Gwyn and tucks her into her side, soaking up her warmth as Emerie spreads a heavy comforter over all of their legs. “What are you apologizing for? You did nothing wrong.”

The girls sit in silence for a few minutes until Emerie speaks up. “I wonder what Mr. Madani is doing right now.”

“What?” Nesta frowns.

“He’s probably all alone in his fancy heated cabin, unaware that you’re stuck in the cold dark.” Emerie suddenly smacks Nesta’s arm. “Hey. Why are we freezing our asses off here when you practically own that cabin?”

“I do not practically own that cabin,” Nesta splutters. “And this is Gwyn’s birthday. Why would I take you to Cassian’s place on her birthday?”

“Exactly!” Emerie says. “It’s Gwyn’s birthday, and she deserves better than this. Can’t your boyfriend be a little charitable and share his nice house with us?”

Nesta turns to Gwyn for help, but Gwyn just says carefully, “...Is it a big cabin?”

Emerie nods fiercely, pulling out her phone. “Eris has a picture of it from New Year’s on his Instagram. You wouldn’t believe how much money these Night Court execs make.”

Nesta makes pointed eyes at Gwyn. “You really want to spend your birthday with two strange men?” Cassian and Azriel aren’t exactly meek, nonthreatening men either—at least not at first glance. Considering the state Gwyn was in just some weeks ago, this doesn’t sound like a good idea at all.

Gwyn sounds wary but open-minded when she says, “You trust them, right? And it’s not like we’re going to let the guys join our sleepover. We’re just going to have a warm place to stay while we wait for my power to come back.”

When it’s phrased like that… Nesta purses her lips, thinking.

“Fine,” she finally decides. “Let’s go.”

***

Nesta strips off her jeans almost as soon as she enters the cabin. Much to Cassian’s pride and pleasure, this leaves her wearing only one of his old sweatshirts. Meanwhile, Gwyn and Emerie stand around awkwardly in the middle of the living area without knowing what to do next.

“Make yourselves at home.” Cassian grins at them. “Do you need anything? Food? Drinks?”

“Stop worrying,” Nesta groans. “We don’t need to be mothered.”

“I totally hear you,” he nods. “I’ll make cookies.” And maybe some hot drinks. It’s supposed to be a birthday party, after all.

Just then, Azriel appears at the top of the stairs in a dark hoodie and sweats. He’s halfway down the steps when he notices the living room full of girls and promptly turns around.

Cassian calls his name before he can escape. “Want to help me out in the kitchen?”

“No, thanks,” Az says over his shoulder, leaving Cassian alone to play host.

While Gwyn and Emerie admire the cabin (“There’s a gym down the hallway and a library upstairs,” Nesta points out to them), Cassian gathers baking ingredients in the kitchen. He rarely eats desserts or junk food, much less makes them, but surely he can manage a snack for the girls.

When he returns to the living room half an hour later with cookies and mugs of hot chocolate, the coffee table has been moved out of the way and replaced with a spread of blankets and pillows. The fire crackles hotly enough that Gwyn and Emerie have joined Nesta in discarding any extra clothing articles, and they all cheer from the couch when they spy the food.

“Goddamn,” Emerie whistles at the platter of cookies on Nesta’s lap. “Nesta told us you were a catch, Mr. Madani, but she didn’t tell us she got the full housewife package.”

“Shut up.” Nesta shoves a cookie into Emerie’s mouth and passes Gwyn some hot chocolate. Any toughness vanishes when she looks back at Cassian. “Thank you,” she mouths, and he answers by smoothing out her ponytail.

Satisfied with his work and feeling guilty for crashing the girls’ fun, he’s about to call it a night when he feels a tug at his pants. Nesta is looking up at him with eyes that ask him to stay. Cassian glances nervously to Gwyn and Emerie, who are arguing about what movie to watch from his extensive streaming collection, and glances back to Nesta. Are you sure? he asks her silently.

She nods, but it isn’t until Gwyn says, “Just sit down, you’re blocking the TV,” that he indeed sits his ass down on the floor by Nesta’s feet.

A short tug of war between Gwyn and Emerie results in Emerie getting the remote. She blows a hair triumphantly out of her face. “No Planet Earth documentary for you, then,” she says.

Gwyn sits back, grumbling, “You’d think I’d get treated better on my damn birthday.” Nesta adds, “I like documentaries.”

“You’ll like The Proposal even more,” Emerie refutes, scrolling through the TV.

The smell of melting chocolate chips must invade the rest of the cabin, because not long after the movie begins, Cassian catches Azriel sneaking downstairs. As subtle as a shadow, no one even notices him until he plucks up a cookie from the side table by Nesta.

She slides her eyes over to him without turning her head. “You look like a punk with your hood up,” she snorts. “What are you, fifteen?”

From the floor, Cassian withholds a sigh.

Az shoots her a dark look, clearly not appreciating the attention brought to his presence. “Don’t be a little shit,” he warns in a low tone. He reaches for another cookie and Nesta bats his hand away. “Those aren’t for you,” she hisses.

“Can we please not—” Cassian tries.

Az glares and goes for the cookie again. Nesta smacks him back, which results in a slap fight that is only interrupted by Gwyn pleading, “Guys, we’re missing Sandra Bullock!”

Nesta pulls away, looking apologetic, and Az flushes pink. “Sorry,” he mutters. But he snatches up three cookies with a final look at Nesta and goes to sit in the armchair on the other side of the room.

Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie get cozy once more, quickly forgetting that Az is there. Emerie stretches her brown legs out across Gwyn’s lap like a cat. Nesta drapes her own leg over Cassian’s shoulder without warning. He turns around to meet her eyes, surprised, but she’s already intently focused on the movie. Smiling faintly to himself, he reaches up to brush her skin. It probably looks to everyone else like she owns him head to toe.

One thing Cassian quickly learns about the girls is that they simply can’t sit still. Even Nesta is more restless than usual, and she nearly kicks Cassian in the head more than once while readjusting herself on the couch. Emerie moves to sprawl on the rug. Gwyn sits upside down and watches with her head dangling off the seat.

As for Cassian, he loses all interest in the movie once Nesta joins him and Emerie on the floor, unable to contain her emotions from the couch. He glances between the movie and her face to find what’s making her so giddy, but it’s only the two main characters getting ready for a shower. He lifts a brow in amusement for no one to see, but settles back to watch her face in the glow of the dying fire. He’s waiting for her smile.

Because when Nesta really likes something, she’ll smile, and when she smiles… Everything scrunches up: her nose, her eyes, her cheeks.

On the TV, a naked Ryan Reynolds and Sandra Bullock collide into each other, toppling to the floor. Nesta’s grin makes an appearance, and she slaps Cassian’s thigh in excitement, hard enough to hurt.

He hisses in a sharp breath, but doesn’t say anything or look away. He thinks he might have to kill anyone that refuses to protect the smile on her face right now, no matter who it is.

Once the scene changes, he walks two fingers up her leg to get her attention. “Nesta,” he whispers, unable to help himself.

She glances at him for half a second before looking back to the movie. “What?”

He opens his arms and gestures her closer. Come and let me hold you.

Nesta makes a face. “Don’t embarrass me in front of the girls.”

Cassian’s lips turn down. “You don’t mean that.”

She does. To prove her point, she crawls closer to Emerie and settles down next to her. Gwyn joins them on the floor, and they all huddle together.

When he catches Az staring at him with a hint of revulsion, Cassian coughs off the yearning and rejection and glares right back.

After the movie finishes, Emerie victoriously crushes an empty can of beer in her fist. Cassian has no idea where it came from. “More Sandra!” she demands.

It takes three more movies before Emerie is knocked out cold on the arrangement of blankets and pillows on the floor, Gwyn with her. Nesta eventually came back to Cassian and fell asleep with her arms wrapped around his waist, and Azriel passed out sometime after Miss Congeniality, curled up in the armchair with his fist propping up his head.

Now, Cassian carefully untangles Nesta from himself, nudging her towards Emerie instead. In her sleep, Nesta turns over to clutch the other woman’s arm and mumbles something unintelligible.

Cassian props a pillow gently beneath her head and picks up another one, throwing it harder than he needs to at Azriel’s face. “Get up,” he hisses.

Az jerks out of his sleep, looking around the dim room in confusion. Cursing lowly, he pushes himself out of his seat and scrubs a hand through his hair. “What time is it?”

“Three.” Cassian pulls a comforter over Nesta and Emerie’s shoulders.

Az crouches and picks up the other side of the comforter, adjusting it over Gwyn’s body. Cassian thinks he might see a frown cross his face for half a second, but then Az is standing up and brushing off his clothes.

After turning off the TV, the guys head for their rooms. “I didn’t think three grown women could be so... much,” Az says as they climb up the stairs.

Cassian huffs a laugh. “We were like that when we were younger, too.”

“Yeah, but we were teenagers.”

They reach the hallway. “I don’t know about the others,” Cassian says thoughtfully, “but Nesta never got to be a normal kid.” She barely got to be a normal adult. And in a couple of short years, she’ll be working her ass off at some prestigious firm and won’t have time for simple things like sleepovers anymore.

Cassian selfishly hopes he can give Nesta all the normalcy he can before that happens.

***

a/n: i’m gonna do my best in future chapters to give cassian depth beyond just his relationship with nesta 🥴 but first, be on the lookout for a gwynriel bonus scene :)

tags: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes @readiajin @nessiantrashh @live-the-fangirl-life @ifinallygavein @xoblivisci @sjmships @jungtaekwoonie-is-life @lysandra-tiara9 @lanyjoy-13 @frosted-crackers @post-it-notes33 @loosingdreams @fromthelibraryofemilyj @18moneytoad

[panda-noosh]

something gained {george weasley x reader}

  words: 13.8k

  summary: you’re a beater on the slytherin quidditch team, so naturally, george weasley is your worst enemy.

   genre: fluff

   notes: masterlist - ask me about commissions! - enjoy my good pals. 

----

  the crowds are loud this morning.

   much too loud for a nine am rise, in your opinion, though you appreciate their enthusiasm. the bellows echo through the changing rooms, rattling the walls, poking at your nerves like a teenager prodding a zit.

    you sit on the floor, your back against the wall. around you, your team buzzes, making battle plans to defeat gryffindor, but you can barely hear them over the paired chorus of the chants outside and your own heartbeat. sweat rushes to your palms, and you gingerly wipe them on your quidditch gear.

    “we’ve got this one in the bag,” marcus flint says for what must be the seventeenth time since you first laid eyes on him this morning. “they’re not getting away this time. if we have to get violent, we will.”

   “and start the season off with a disqualification?” you pipe up. “wonderful game plan. very well thought out.”

    “it’s you who needs to listen up the most, l/n. you’re a beater - i want to see you causing damage.”

   you roll your eyes. “i cause damage every bloody game, flint. you don’t have to tell me how to do my job.”

    flint’s lips curl into a frown, his dark eyes glaring at you. you refuse to meet them, instead picking up your beaters bat from the side and getting to your feet.

    “the match starts in two minutes,” you point out. “are we gonna keep talking shit or are we gonna get out there and beat gryffindor?”

    much to flint’s dismay, it’s your tiny little speech that seems to get the slytherins riled up. they cheer, stampeding from the changing rooms, each giving you a warm clap on the shoulder on their way past. flint stays behind, glaring daggers into your head.

   you nod at the open door. “after you, captain.”

    and so, despite the hidden rivalry you and flint have with each other, you walk out onto the quiddich pitch together. the cold air immediately sets you off, a feeling of dread settling in the pits of your stomach; it’s always been easier to play in the warm weather, when the risk of rain is minuscule and you don’t have to worry about obtrusion's. now, however, the sky is overcast and threatening. frost coats the grass beneath your feet. you have to rub your hands together to bring feeling back into them.

    the gryffindors are already there, as you expected. oliver wood stands tall in the centre of the field, his team crowded around him. they all look so confident, a feat the slytherin team have yet to master; your people walk onto the field with heads held high and shoulders drawn back, but the tension between them is always so tremendously obvious that it takes away from the confident aura they’re always trying to convey. it’s not something you’ve ever tried to fix, because there’s only so much you can do.

   you and marcus wade to the centre of the field, giving each other a brief nod before taking your places, marcus right in front of oliver, and you stood by his left shoulder. 

    madame hooch addresses the two captains, ordering them to shake hands before the game begins. as soon as she blows her whistle, you kick off and soar into the air.

   the cold is immediately a disadvantage. it whips at your cheeks and claws at your throat until your eyes are watering, definitely not a good thing when you have to keep an eye out for a two ton flying ball coming right for you.

   you do what you’ve always done, though, and fight through it, blinking the tears away at any moment you are given. as the match progresses, however, those moments get few and far between, the tension rising between the two teams.

    you stop paying attention to the score board, because you have to. already your mind is racing, focusing on a million different things at once. you have to keep an eye on all the gryffindor players, make sure you know where they are so you can knock them from their brooms - and you do. with the skills of a world cup player, you pummel the gryffindor players into the ground one by one, repeating the process when they clamber back onto their brooms.

    “doing well, l/n!” flint cries, whizzing past you at lightening speed. you give him a thumbs up, distracted for only a second, but it’s a second too long.

   you know of the weasley brothers, the beaters on the gryffindor team. they’re good. they come from a family of decent quidditch players, and their childhood training shows through. you’ve played them a handful of times, and they’ve always been equal competition.

    they take your distraction as an opportunity.

    the bludger is whizzing towards you before you can even drop your hand back to your brooms handle. you hear it, the screech as it races in your direction. you cry, slamming your hands into the front of your broom in any attempt to do a downwards dodge, but the bludger catches the rear end of your broom and sends you spiralling towards the ground. 

    your feet slam into the mud and you stumble. pain spears through your ankles and legs, making you whimper, but the anger and determination chases the feelings away, increased only when lee jordan calls out, “gryffindor scores!” over the loudspeaker. 

    you growl, low in your throat, and remount your broom. you kick off with renewed vigour, heading straight for the weasley twins. they circle the pitch, darting to and fro with a synchronisation you and the other slytherin beater could never emulate. it makes you mad. it makes you so, so mad, because this is a competition, and how are you ever meant to win a competition if your team won’t even cooperate? 

    “oi! goyle!” you yell.

    goyle spins in midair, scowling the minute he meets your eyes. “what the hell do you want? we’re in the middle of a match!”

    “i want you to do your fucking job!” and just to demonstrate your point, you slam your bat into a bludger heading right for goyle’s distracted mug.

   he whirls back around, gets ready to scream at you, but you’re already whizzing towards the centre of the pitch. the crowd is louder than ever now, but you have to ignore them, you have to keep going, you have to do some damage, just like flint told you back in the changing rooms. 

   your arms ache. your ankles throb. your fingers are numb, wrapped around the handle of your broom, but you push past all of it. you become a monster, unrestrained as you chase after the bludgers, catching them with your bat, speeding them at gryffindor flyers with a ferocity you have never before showed in a match. 

     one of the bludgers smacks george weasley right in the face. you hear his nose crunch from halfway across the pitch.

    you punch the air. “take that, asshole! woo!”

    the game continues, brutal by the end of it. your nose bleeds when oliver wood catches you with his arm; you get a free hit for the penalty, though, so you’re not even mad. george weasley’s own nose is broken, dribbling blood throughout the remainder of the match. multiple players have nose-dived into the grass.

   but at the fifty minute mark, lee jordan has to grudgingly call out, “draco malfoy has the snitch, the little pest-”

    and that’s the game over. a win for slytherin - first win of the season.

    you zip to the floor to an immediate group hug. it’s uncomfortable, with none of the slytherin players really knowing how to handle affection, but your own excitement chases away the awkwardness. you bundle draco into your chest, one hand in his hair, the other shoved in the air in a pose of victory that the gryffindors scowl at.

   you meet the eyes of george weasley. he cups his nose in one hand, holding his broom in the other, and never before have you seen such malice in someone’s expression. it sends excitement coursing through you. you give him a grin, a sarcastic little wave. he scowls, turns on his heel, and follows his retreating team back to the changing rooms, where they can wallow in their loss for the rest of eternity for all you care.

    ---

    in all your years at hogwarts, never before have you seen the gryffindors and the slytherins more hostile towards each other than they are after the match.

    you tend to stay out of house confrontations. you don’t see the point in them; you’ll play a little dirty during a quidditch match, but you won’t be caught dead sneering at any other houses on your days off. it’s pointless. it’s a quick way to get into some not needed trouble.

    but things are being taken a little too far now, and you’re struggling to keep your nose out of it.

    everywhere you go, a gryffindor has something to say. a puny little first year will yell insults at you as you walk to class. a third year will throw something at you in the dining hall. fellow fifth years will make it their life’s work to make your days a collage of living hells, just because your team managed to beat theirs during a quidditch match.

    “it’s getting quite ridiculous now,” you say into the fire, the head of your father bobbing up and down within the flames. “the match was a week ago, and the gryffindors still haven’t got over it.”

    “so quidditch is still as competitive as it was back in my day then, eh?” your father says, before breaking into a fit of coughing that you have learned to ignore over the years; he hates it when you bring up his peaked appearance, or the way his eyes sometimes roll into the back of his head without warning.

    “i suppose so,” you mumble. “i don’t know what they want me to tell them; i’m just the beater, for christs sake.”

   “hey,” your dad scolds. “everyone in a quidditch team is important.”

   “yeah, but i’m not the one who handed their arse to them on a plate, am i?”

   “you helped with the process.” your dad smiles, tilting his head a little bit; he looks at you like this sometimes, like you’re holding the world in your hands. you suppose it comes with you being his only child, his last remaining family. he is yours, as well, though neither of you ever talk about it. 

   after your mother died, it was just the two of you. at ten years old, you were too young to do much in terms of helping, but then you aged and got your acceptance letter to hogwarts, and for a long time, you were fully prepared to ignore it, pretend you never received it and get on with the faux muggle life you had been trying to settle into these last few years. however, your father has always been a smart man, and even after he started getting sick, he was always telling you to go ahead and do it - go to hogwarts like you were supposed to, like you had always dreamed. 

   and now here you are, miserable.

    “i miss you,” you say when the silence gets too much. you can hear his heart monitor over the crackling flames, and it puts you on edge. “how are things at home?”

   “oh, the usual,” he replies. “days are boring without you, love, but i’m cheering you on. you’re making me so proud.”

   you smile. “i try, dad, i try.”

    “well-”

   before your father can finish his sentence, however, the door to the slytherin common room bursts open. a group of three stampede into the centre - draco, goyle, and crabbe.

   you frown. “do you lot not see i’m a bit busy?”

    draco spins. his hair stands on end, and black soot covers his face. his eyes are startled but wide with a fury you have seen far too often on the young boys face - it still makes you snicker.

    your dad sighs. “i suppose i should let you handle this.”

   “talk to you later, dad.”

   his face disappears up the chimney, leaving you alone with the three panting boys.

   you stand, wiping your hands on your robes. “what happened to you?”

   “those bloody weasleys!” draco exclaims. “oh, i’ll get them. i’ll get them back, i swear to it!”

   you raise a brow. “the weasleys? you’re gonna have to be more specific.” 

   “well, who else?” draco gestures to his soot-stained face. “them filthy twins think they’re soooo funny with their little jokes, but wait till my father hears about this! they’ll be out of this school before they can even blink!”    

   you raise a brow. “is this about the fucking quidditch match?”

    “yes,” draco snaps. you can see the tethers breaking away, his temper rising as he trails his fingers through his hair, breathes heavily through gritted teeth. “of course it’s about the bloody quidditch match. them gryffindors wouldn’t know fair play if it hit them in the face; they just can’t accept that the better team won.”

    you bite your lower lip. it’s been days of this exact same behaviour, these childish pranks just because the gryffindors are mad that the slytherins finally had a taste of victory.

   it makes you mad.

   you curl your fingers into your palm, gazing down at the three younger boys as they pace back and forth, treading ash in their wake. you’ve never been overly fond of crabbe and goyle, but you’ve always looked out for draco - call it an older sibling kind of thing, but you’re always the one sitting next to him when he has something to rant about, always the one rolling your eyes and putting him in his place, because you’re the only person in the world he will actually listen to.

   your protective instincts flare up before you have a chance to stuff them back down again. 

    “i think i need to have a chat with the weasley twins,” you say.

   draco’s head snaps around. “what?”

    but you’re already grabbing your cloak, dragging it over your pyjamas. 

    “y/n, what are you even going to say to them?” draco demands. when you don’t respond, he groans and grabs your arm. “if they do anything-”

    “they’re not gonna murder me, draco.” you shake him off, offering a warm smile. “i might murder them, though. we’ll have to see.”

    draco doesn’t argue. he watches you go, open mouthed and exhausted. you crawl out of the slytherin common room and into the hallways, thankful that curfew has yet to appear - you can march through these corridors with as much anger radiating off of you as possible, and filch can’t say a damn thing.

   that’s exactly what you do, because your fury only builds the longer you walk. it’s one thing for you to be harassed in the corridors by angry gryffindors; you’re a fifth year, and you’ve been through this many times. it’s a completely different thing to go after draco.

   and you understand, of course, that draco malfoy is hardly someone who needs to be protected, covered in bubble wrap for fear of shattering. he’s a little shit, and you’ll admit that as soon as the next guy.

   but he’s like a little brother to you in the sense that he was the only person in the world who knows about your fathers illness, and he hasn’t told a single soul.

    you round the corner, and that’s when you see him. it’s one of the rare occasions the weasley twins aren’t joined at the hip, because as far as you can tell, fred is nowhere in sight. george stands - alone - at the top of the stairs, waving goodnight to a group of gryffindor girls. there’s a slight red tinge to his cheeks, like he’s been running through wind, and you hate how adorable it looks.

   you push aside this thought, replacing it with the anger settled in your system. you march right up to him, grab his arm, and shove him up against the wall with the strength built from years of being quidditch beater.

    he stumbles, eyes widening a fraction before he realises what’s happening. his hand doesn’t even stray to his wand when he sees you, which just makes you mad; you want him to put up a fight. you want him to do something, anything that gives you an excuse to draw back and punch him in the nose. 

    “l/n,” he sneers instead. “what a pleasant surprise!”

    “you really are a piece of shit. you know that, right?”

    he laughs. it’s so jovial, so easy.

   you hate it.

    you shove his chest, willing his attention back to you. “i’m being serious! why can’t you and the rest of your slimy gryffindors just accept the fact that you lost? just because you’ve been lucky with potter on your team, doesn’t mean you’re exempt from losing.” you lean forward. “which, just to remind you, is what happened - you fucking lost, so suck it up and deal with it.”

    george blinks. that stupid grin is still on his face when he says, “christ, y/n, i haven’t even said hello yet!”

   you groan, stepping away from him to trail your hands through your hair.

   george points, squinting one eye in your direction. “draco does that all the time. is it a slytherin thing?”

    “what’s your obsession with draco?” you spit. 

   “he’s a tit. never leaves my brother alone, so he doesn’t.”

   “and is ron not capable of fighting his own battles?”

   george scoffs. “oh, he is, but being the amazing big brother that i am, i like to take the burden off him sometimes.”

   you scowl. george grins.

    “pathetic,” you grumble. “all of you. absolutely pathetic. when the next quidditch match comes around, you’ll be forgetting all about this one.”

   “ah, but the slytherin’s won’t, will they? you lot will be basking in your only victory in three years for as long as you can.”

    you growl, lunging for him. george laughs, placing his large hands on your shoulders to keep you at arms length, and you’re honestly not even sure what it is you plan on doing - scratching his eyes out? punching him in the face? some muggle fighting tactics you don’t understand?    

    “this is adorable,” george comments, casting a glance over his shoulder to where a painting of Sir Edmund Christo hangs behind him. “isn’t this adorable, Christo?”

    you groan, step away from him, shocked at how angry he can make you in such little time. his eyes glint in amusement as he stuffs his hands back into his robes and says, “finished?”

    “go to hell, george weasley,” you spit.

   his eyes pop open. “oh, look at that! you can tell me and fred apart!” 

    “leave draco alone,” you growl. “or next time i’ll put my hexes to good use.”

    ---

   the threat was idle. you weren’t actually going to hex george, or any of the gryffindors for that matter. you love draco dearly, but risking expulsion for him was not something you were willing to do.

    nonetheless, george seems to take your threat seriously, as he leaves draco - and the rest of the slytherin quidditch team - to their own devices. at one point, you even notice him telling ron to stop glaring over at your dinner table, and ron actually listened.

    “this might be the first time in hogwarts history the slytherin and gryffindors haven’t been at each others throats constantly,” says blaise, taking a seat next to you.

    draco scowls, still glaring over at the gryffindors despite your previous scoldings. “it’s weird. i don’t like it. they’ve got something planned.”

    “okay edge lord,” you grumble through a mouthful of yorkshire pudding. “this is literally why we can’t have nice things; you ruin it with your pessimism.”

   “coming from you, that means nothing.”

   you slap the back of his head. draco swats your hand away.

    “look, we don’t have to worry about the gryffindors any more,” you continue. “it was one quidditch match - they can’t hold a grudge forever.”

    “quidditch is a serious game,” blaise says through a snicker, because he’s never understood the fascination, no matter how many hours you and draco spend explaining it to him.

       “serious, but not enough to start a bloody house war.” you tap draco’s hand. “now stop staring and eat your roasties; you’re starting to look desperate.”

   draco scowls, but prods his fork into a roastie nonetheless.

    but now your attention is caught, no matter how much you want to forget all of it. the gryffindors aren’t worth your time and attention. they’ve done nothing but make your life a living hell these past few days - most of your hogwarts experience, actually - so why give them even the tiniest bit of your attention?

    you glance over to the gryffindor table. george is already looking at you.

   it’s reflex when you scowl. your eyes meet his, and you remember the night before when he was laughing, teasing you for your anger, and with those memories comes a surge of fresh anger, all pointed directly at him. you wonder if he feels the same, if he perhaps shielded his own frustration with humour; you don’t know an awful lot about the weasley twins, but from what you have gathered, that seems to be a common theme. they play pranks, and they tease people, and deep down, they are most likely dying inside.

    dying because they lost a fucking quidditch match.

    you look away when george sends you a grin. “idiot.”

   draco looks at you. “huh?”

    “nothing.” you stand, brushing your hands down your robes. your dinner was finished a long time ago; you were only staying seated to make sure draco didn’t throw himself into further conflict - not after you smoothed things out the night before. “i’m off to the library for a bit. you-” you poke draco in the cheek. “stay out of trouble, alright?”

    draco stares after you; he knows what off the library really means, and you appreciate that he isn’t blabbering the truth to the entire table. you give him one final smile before walking off, heading straight for the slytherin common room.

   it’s empty when you clamber inside. slytherin’s don’t spend an awful lot of time in the common room - that means socialising with one another, sharing pleasantries, and none of you are particularly fond of that kind of thing. you don’t mind, hating the faux pleasantries yourself, but it also gives you free rein to use the fireplace whenever you please.

  you sit on your knees and pull your wand out. it takes a bit of memory power before you can utter the spell your dad has illegally been trying to teach you since you left for your fifth year at hogwarts, but you eventually manage it. your body shrinks - at least, that’s what it feels like - and before long, heat is clawing at your face, and you’re staring into the family living room.

   what used to be the family living room. now, it’s empty besides your dad, curled up in the arm chair, watching the muggle news. he doesn’t notice you at first, giving you the time to analyse his form without him putting on a brave face. 

    he looks sick.

   very, very sick.

    you swallow thickly. his hair is thinner today than it was yesterday, if such a thing is even possible. his baby bird bones are tangled upon the arm chair, covered by an exceptionally thin blanket that makes you hope with every fibre of your being that he has the heating installed, running at full blast. his lips are chapped, and his eyes are bruised from lack of sleep, and just seconds before he turns to see your head bobbing in the fireplace, he coughs blood into a light blue handkerchief.

    his eyes widen when he spots you. he quickly shoves the handkerchief into his back pocket, stumbles from his arm chair and drops to his knees by the fire.

   “y/n!” he exclaims. “goodness, you could have made a little bit of noise. i didn’t even notice you!”

    “hi dad,” you reply quietly. “how are you?” 

    “very well.” he grins, grabbing the thin blanket you suddenly despise. “i’ve been crocheting, finished this a few nights ago. i was thinking of sending it to you, but the owl isn’t back yet, so you’ll have to wait a little longer.”

   you force a smile on your face. it must be a family trait, all these forced smiles. “that’s great, dad. you’re getting good at those.”

    “yes, well, i’ve got a lot of time on my hands now that i’m not running after you.” he scowls, but it lasts only a second before his expression breaks into a grin. “but enough about me; how are things with you? hogwarts treating you good? are those kids still giving you a hard time?”

   “dad, we spoke yesterday. how much do you think has changed?”

   he waves a dismissive hand, dropping his chin upon a shelf made by his interlocking fingers. “each day is a chance for new experiences, my dear.”

    “i nearly got in a fight with one of the beaters from the gryffindor team.”

   your dads eyes widen. “love, what have i said about using violence as a way to solve problems?”

    “i said nearly!” you exclaim, folding your arms across your chest, and even though he can’t see your arms, you know for a fact he is imagining you in this very stance, so familiar from your childhood. “he’s a real pain in the arse, dad, you don’t even understand. he winds me up something shocking.”

   “who is this boy anyway?”

   “one of the weasleys,” you grumble. “george.”

   your dads eyes pop open. for a brief moment, there is a flicker of life back in his body, startling you. “a weasley? goodness, y/n, i remember that family well! molly and arthur were in my year at school!”

    “yeah, well, george and fred are in my year at school, and they’re a set of bastards.”

    your dad chuckles, because that’s what he does when you get like this; he laughs, and he shakes his head, and he pretends you have the potential to be a Hufflepuff, just like he was back at hogwarts. 

    “i’ve never met them personally,” he says. “but i’ve never met a bad weasley in my life; some could be a bit overbearing, but they always had good intentions, and i think that’s what matters.”

    “i don’t think george has ever had a good intention in his life.” you slump forward, propping your chin on your palm. “all he cares about is quidditch and making people’s lives a living hell.”

    your dad frowns. “oh, love, i don’t think that’s true. i think you’re just angry at him. what did he actually do?”

    “he’s been tormenting draco since the quidditch match.”

   “is draco your little successor?”

   you scowl. “draco’s a little shit, and i’ll be the first to admit that, but george and fred are just taking the piss now. the match was a week ago. they need to get over themselves.”

    he hums in response, looking thoughtfully into the fire. “well, i hope you don’t mind me saying, love, but you’re quite competitive when it comes to quidditch, too.” 

    “not that competitive. i’m not a sore loser, that’s for sure.”

    “listen, i’ve never been an avid quidditch player, so i don’t know what it feels like getting sucked into that environment, but i’ve seen you get into some pretty deep dramatics over it. maybe george is just doing the same thing.” he shrugs. “nobody likes losing.”

   you scowl; sometimes you hate your dads ability to make sense, to explain every situation like it’s the worlds fucking philosophy. huffing, you cross your arms and lean your head upon them, staring at your dad with a disproved expression.

    he meets your gaze and laughs, raising his hands in faux surrender. “i’m just saying, love. i’m happy you’re sticking up for draco - god knows that boy needs a friend - but i don’t want to be receiving any owls from your teachers informing me about your expulsion because you’ve got in some fight with a boy in your year.”

     “i can’t make any promises on that, dad.”

    he rolls his eyes, no malice in the action. “whatever. just be a little wise, alright? you’ve got exams coming up, and i don’t want you flunking over something like this.”

    the mention of exams makes your stomach churn; through all the drama taking place these past few days, you had forgotten all about the end of term exams, approaching much quicker than you’re prepared for.

    dad smiles, as if reading your expression. “you’ll do great, love. i know you will.” he glances over his shoulder, spots the clock hung on the wall before turning back to you. “you should get going. it’s getting late.”

    you raise a brow. “will you be alright on your own?”

    “i’ve been on my own for a while now, sweetheart - i’ll be fine.” he smiles, blows you a kiss before swiping his arms through the fires flames, sending you back to the common room before you can even blink.

   ----

    christmas settles amongst the hogwarts students, and exams are dangerously close.

   quidditch must be set to the back burner, a fact that leaves you slightly depressed as you wade through what feels like a hundred hours of classes you have no interest in. revision piles up around you, leaving with you very little sleep and very little patience.

   call it a slytherin thing, but the desperate need to succeed has overtaken your entire being these past few weeks. you haven’t even spared george weasley - or any of the gryffindors - a glance, too absorbed in spell books to pay attention to their continued jeers. 

    george doesn’t go near you.

   you find it weird, of course, but that tiny voice in the back of your head scolds you any time you think too deep into it. you have to remain focused on exams, and exams only, because you have not left your dying father on his own for so long just to come home with no O.W.L’s. you have to succeed for his sake, to show him these difficult few years have not been for nothing.

   you’re in the library with draco on this particular day. outside the high windows, snow drifts pleasantly from the sky, and you can imagine the quidditch pitch in that moment, beautifully blanketed with little snowflakes that you will have no access to, because you’re stuck in the stuffy library with a slytherin fourth year who wouldn’t know the meaning of concentration if it struck him in the face.

    “why are you even here?” you snap, just as draco makes another comment about a passing gryffindor fourth year.

    draco raises a brow. he’s leaned back in his seat, so casual, textbooks open in front of him, though he pays them no attention. you don’t think he’s even glanced at one since he sat down. “what do you mean?”

   “i’m trying to revise.” you tap the front of your potions book to exaggerate your point. “in case you’ve forgotten, our exams start in a week. i don’t have time to sit here and scowl at gryffindors with you.”

    “i never invited you to scowl at gryffindors with me.” he throws a pencil across the room, just missing a distracted first year. “i can do that perfectly well on my own, thank you very much.”

   you slap his arm down, giving him your customary grimace. “wind your neck in, draco. how many times do i have to tell you you’re not special just because you’re a malfoy?”

    he opens his mouth to respond, but takes one look at your deadly scowl and goes quiet. he huffs through his nose, folding his arms over his chest as he leans over his textbook and gets to reading.

    you join him, tracing your wand over the words that are failing to embed themselves in your mind. why you ever decided to take potions - with snape as a teacher, no less - will forever be beyond you, and one of the greatest mistakes you have ever made in your hogwarts life. nothing he says makes any sense, and although you’re in his house, he still derives great pleasure in seeing you suffer at the hands of-

    “malfoy! are you studying?”

   your head snaps up. draco joins you.

   walking through the doors, and the most likely suspect of the jeer, is george weasley.

   your heart barrels into your stomach, a fresh surge of anger coursing through you at the mere sight of him. he’s done so well keeping himself to himself these past few weeks, and seeing him now - right back to square one - makes you want to punch him in the face all over again.

   because he strolls towards your table with that stupid little grin on his face, the evidence of a smirk taking place upon his face, and you hate that it suits him so well. you hate that you can’t even bring yourself to deny his attractiveness, no matter how hard you try.

    you slam your textbook closed. “let’s go, draco.”

   “what does he want?” draco stands and calls over to the approaching weasley twin. “where’s your dumb little sidekick, weasley? got lost in the halls?”

    “oh, would you-”

   your protest is cut short by george’s laugh. “actually no. he’s got a revision class with professor sprout, so i thought i’d come in here and check on my favourite beater.” he looks at you, smiles. “got a minute?”

   “no.” you scoop your textbook into your arm and stand, grabbing draco’s collar. “let’s go, draco. one more wrong move from you, and mcgonagall might not be so nice.”

    draco thrashes against your grip, grabbing the table to prevent you from dragging him right past the grinning weasley and into the hallway. “what do you want with y/n?”

    george raises a brow. “why would i tell you?”

   “because i’m their friend, and last time i checked, you’ve done nothing but torment them since that bloody quidditch match.”

    you groan. “again with the quidditch match? i thought we dropped that ages ago!”

    “apparently malfoy here holds grudges.” george turns to you again, ignoring malfoy’s disgruntled protestations. “i literally just want to have a chat; no funny business.”

    “no funny business?” draco screeches. “don’t listen to him, y/n. anything he wants to say to you, he can say in front of me.”

    a burst of affection blossoms in your chest. you push it down, turning to draco. “i can handle this, mate. you just go and find pansy or whatever it is you do. i’ll catch up.”

   draco narrows his eyes, going still in your grip. “you’re sure?”

   “when have i ever not been able to handle myself?”

   he pauses. “good point.” giving george one final warning glare, he straightens his robes rather theatrically and strolls from the library like nothing happened, like he hadn’t just made a massive scene on your behalf.

    with draco gone, you and george stare at each other. he’s got these pretty brown eyes, a little wide, a faux play on innocence. you see right through him, though. you recognise the glint of mischief he does nothing to hide, dancing behind those pretty brown eyes.

    finally, he says, “got yourself a little body guard, have you?”

   “draco’s protective.” you gesture towards his discarded chair. “take a seat, i guess.”

   grinning, george sits. you follow his lead, scooching your chair back a little bit; you have no idea what he has up his sleeve, and you’re not willing to find out.

    “what do you want?” you ask.

   “i know you and i didn’t exactly hit it off when we first spoke,” he begins.

    “that’s not my fault.”

   he pauses. “i think it was, but that’s not why i’m here.”

   you scowl, folding your arms over your chest. “you were the one being a dick to draco; you started it.”

    “i started it? you were the one pushing me up against a wall! and not even in a good way!”

    “because you were-”

   “being a dick to draco, yes, i heard you the first time.” george shakes his head, trails a hand through his hair. “now you’ve got me off track and i haven’t even been sat for two minutes.”

    “i don’t want to hear any apology - i know you don’t mean it.”

   george scoffs, glancing at you without entirely looking up, which is a look you never thought you would find attractive, but here you are. “i didn’t come here to apologise. in case you didn’t catch on, i don’t think i did anything wrong.”

    “no, you never do.”

    “but, i did come here to talk to you about something. just something i heard on the grapevine.” 

   you pause.

   george smiles, but it holds none of his usual playfulness. this smile actually looks genuine, maybe even a little soft.

    “so i was walking through the corridors - all on my lonesome - the other night, when i came across the slytherin common room.”

    you blink. you don’t know what else to do, having no idea what he even means. 

   he continues. “the door was left open, which i thought was a little weird; usually them things just close over by themselves, and you’ve got all the passwords and protection spells and stuff keeping peeping toms out, isn’t that right?”

    “what are you-”

    “does anyone else know your dad is sick?”

   you honestly would have preferred it if he had just drop kicked you then and there.

    you stare at him, waiting for a punchline that very clearly does not exist. you can scarcely believe your ears, let alone come up with a decent response to such an obtrusive, confusing question. confusing only because you have no idea how he could have ever found out, no idea how he just managed to peek his head into the slytherin common room when every enchantment claims it impossible.

    george stares back at you, his smile still present. it’s still soft, like he’s trying to test the waters, but you see no kindness in it now. 

   you push your chair back, very nearly stumbling over its legs in your haste to get as far from him as possible. that grin fades, his eyes narrowing as he tries reaching for your robes, but you pull away before he can get too close.

    “you nosy little shit,” you hiss, voice trembling. “you nosy, disrespectful little bastard!”

    “hey, hey, hey!” he stands, palms up in surrender. “i’m not teasing, i’m genuinely curious! you never talk about it, so-”

    “i never talk about it because it’s nobody else’s business. especially not some filthy little gryffindor who thinks he’s owed the god damn world!”

    george’s eyes widen. “that was so uncalled for. i was giving you someone to confide in!”

    you laugh, bitter and harsh. it makes george flinch. “and you think that person should be you? after everything? go to hell, george weasley.” you turn on your heel, not even bothering to gather your textbooks, or your quill - you’ll get them later. “and keep your massive nose out of things that don’t concern you!”

    and before george can say anything, you’re speeding out of the library, trying desperately to halt the tears threatening to pour down your face.

   ----    

    “i don’t understand how he found out. how could the door just stay open?”

    you keep your voice down, terrified of the other slytherins hearing what you have to say; the changing rooms are already packed, people fighting over garments and equipment, marcus already mouthing off about the lack of preparation the team had for this game due to exams.

    draco sits beside you, knees pulled to his chest. he stares out at the open space, kneading his bottom lip between his teeth in that thoughtful way he always does. his brows are furrowed, eyes narrowed.

   “it doesn’t make any sense,” he says at last. “the entrances to the common rooms have enchantments and all that stuff on them. sounds to me like he’s lying through his teeth.”

    “but then how else did he find out?”

   draco hollows out his cheeks and shakes his head. “beats me.” he turns to you then, slaps a hand against your knee. “but we can’t focus on that just yet. we have a match today.”

    you sigh, tilting your head back against the wall; your energy has long since been sucked out of you, a week straight of exams not leaving you in the best state, though the excitement of finally being back on the pitch drives you to stand and join the rest of the team.

    slytherin versus hufflepuff today; should be an easy enough win. 

    you mount your broom and get started as soon as the whistle is blown. 

   soaring through the air, your adrenaline kicks back in. for the time being, you are able to ignore the anxiety throbbing in the back of your head, focusing only on the task you have been given. a few hufflepuff’s are wiped out in as little as ten minutes into the match; the slytherin’s in the crowd are howling their excitement, jumping up and down with fists in the air. 

   you look down, meaning to wave at blaise as he jumps up and down in the stands, but it is not blaise your eyes immediately land on. 

   you spot the shock of red hair almost immediately, sitting in the stands with his eyes trained on you. you’ve seen him at these matches so many times - and why wouldn’t he be? a player on the qryffindor team, an avid quidditch player. why shouldn’t he be watching you play right now?

    despite this, his presence distracts you. 

   “y/n!” draco shrieks, before a bludger whizzes past you. goyle, the god send, just manages to knock it away before it slams into your ribs.

   you spin, gasping. goyle sends you a dark look as draco calls out, “you okay?” you give him a shaky thumbs up, take one final look at george in the stands before whizzing across the pitch, determined not to let your attention slip again.

    but he’s there. he’s there, and there’s no way you can ignore him after yesterday. that smile of his, those big brown eyes, his confusion when you lost your mind and started yelling at him. it just felt like the right thing to do, and even now - after having a bit of time to think about it - you’re still angry. what draco said was right - george was probably lying through his teeth when he-

    “y/n!”

    goyle isn’t on the ball this time.

    you spin just in time to get a bludger straight to the chest.

   it knocks the air out of you, sends your broom spiralling to the floor. your fingers - surprisingly numb - slip from the handle, and you crash into the grass, flat on your back. 

    “mother of god,” you groan, rolling onto your side as madame hooch blows the whistle for a time out.

    draco is first by your side, slipping to his knees. “are you daft?”

   “no, i’m winded.”

    “bloody hell.” he grabs your arm, rolling you onto your back. you stare at the sky, disoriented. “can you keep playing?”

   “yes.”

   “are you just saying that?”

    “probably.” with one hand curled round your middle, you push yourself up. draco helps you to your feet, hands you your broom, and before madame hooch - or madame pomfrey for that matter, who is yelling at you from the sidelines to go over for a check up - you mount your broom and kick off again.

    your entire body screams in protest the entire time, ribs burning, chest tight. it takes everything in your power not to slip into unconsciousness. black dots sneak into the edges of your vision, but you push them away and keep playing.

   you keep playing, but not necessarily well.

    you make a hit for a bludger with your bat, only for marcus to curse you out for nearly taking a swing at his head, instead. your broom spirals in all different directions, you suddenly unable to keep it under any resemblance of control. your hands tremble against the handle, eyes slipping, slipping, slipping-

    the whistle blows again. you open your eyes. you’re on the ground again.

    “someone get them to the infirmary!” madame hooch screeches. “the match will commense with the sub - where’s crabbe? crabbe!”

    “no,” you grumble. “no, i can play. i’m fine.”

   “you’ve just passed out, you idiot.”

   george’s voice startles you back to reality. your eyes snap up, meeting his just as he puts an arm beneath you and hauls you off the floor. 

    and you could protest. you want to protest, because george weasley - of all people - should not be the one carrying you to safety, but your chest aches, and all your muscles are on fire, so you don’t even move. you just flop against him, trying desperately to keep consciousness as long as possible.

   it doesn’t work out that way, though. the black dots take over your vision before you’ve even reached the infirmary, the last thing you see being george’s furrowed brows and worried scowl.

   ----

   you wake up to darkness.

    curtains drawn, a quilt tucked beneath your chin, body comfortable against a soft mattress, you’re half tempted to just roll over and go back to sleep.

   that thought is squashed when you look to your side and spot george sat by your bedside.

   he’s fast asleep, head drooped, arms folded across his chest. he looks peaceful, though his hair is mussed, like he’s trailed his fingers through it numerous times.

   you push yourself onto your elbows and glance around; you’re in the infirmary, your body feeling good as new with whatever spell madame pomfrey put on you. clearly she thought you needed the rest, as it is now pitch black outside, and the curtains around your bed have been drawn to separate you from the other patients.

    you grab your wand from the bedside table and whisper “lumos.”

    george jerks awake.

    his chair screeches against the floor, making you wince with the volume. it sounds particularly loud when you’re in a room with people fast asleep, and apparently george thinks the same way. he squints into the darkness, before his eyes pop open at the sight of you.

    “you’re awake!”

   “what are you doing here?”

    in all honesty, you don’t mean to sound so harsh. it just kind of happens, a reflex when it comes to george weasley.

   he frowns. “i came to make sure you didn’t choke on your tongue in your sleep. i know how you slytherins can get.”

    “what happened?”

   he settles back in his chair, regarding you with a tired expression, though his raised eyebrow and wild hair make him look oddly attractive beneath the pale wand light cast upon his face. “you don’t remember?”

   “i remember. . . bits and pieces.” you wince. “we lost the match, didn’t we?”

    george smiles. “it was bound to happen. hufflepuff still had a full team by the end of it, and i think diggory was using slytherin’s weakness to his advantage.”

   “but we had crabbe as a sub!” 

    “crabbe is god awful. goyle’s on thin ice. you’re the only beater on that team keeping things going.”

    you scowl, slumping back against your pillows. it’s not like you had desperately high hopes for slytherin to win, but the fact that it was you who forced the loss upon them makes you angry - and a little bit embarrassed. 

   you flick a glance at george. “is flint mad?”

    george scoffs. “who gives a shit what flint thinks?”

   “i do. he’s the teams captain.” you close your eyes, throw your head back. “he’s gonna give me such a bollocking when he next sees me.”   

    “you were a little distracted up there.” george leans forward. “what happened?”

    and then you remember.

   that moment, just before the first bludger was barrelling towards you. you’d spotted george in the crowd, that shock of red hair, and his eyes had met yours, and you just zoned out. it was uncontrollable; once it started, you couldn’t drag your mind away from it - the fact he was there, the fact he was looking right at you, the fact you kind of wanted to talk to him.    

    “it was nothing,” you grumble, awkwardly picking at the quilt covering your legs. “i just felt a little ill, that’s all; not really the day for a match, was it?”

    george scoffs. “i’ve seen you play brilliant games of quiddich in blizzards, y/n. don’t sit there and tell me a little wind put you off your game this time around, because i know it’s a lie.”

   you scowl, but make no attempt to correct him. there isn’t really any point when he’s looking at you with that grin on his face, an eyebrow raised, a silent dare for you to go against him right now.

   you look back down at the quilt. “i could have carried on playing, you know. i was fine.” 

   “you fell unconscious when i was carrying you to the hospital wing.”

    “that doesn’t mean anything. my body gave up because the adrenaline stopped, but if i’d have just carried on playing-”

   “you probably would have broken a few more ribs.” george taps your nose. “and we can’t be having that.”

   you swat his hand away, scowling. “i still hate you, you know.”

   his smile drops, and for the first time since you woke up, he actually looks upset. he stares at you, those doe-like, mischievous brown eyes forcing you to look away, because you can’t stand them for very long without getting all giddy. it annoys the hell out of you.

    slowly, he leans back, fingers clasped in front of him. “is it because of what i said about your dad?”

   you close your eyes. “i was hoping you wouldn’t bring that up.”

   “but that’s it, isn’t it?” he pushes. “you think i was out of line for asking you about it. you think i was teasing you, or something.”

    “it’s not exactly far-fetched though, is it? you’ve dedicated your entire life to taking the piss out of people from slytherin, so why should i think i was any different?” 

    “because you are different.” george grits his teeth, like the words have caused him physical pain to admit. “i wasn’t - christ, y/n, i wasn’t making fun of the fact your dad is ill. i’m not that bloody cruel.”

    “with the way you treat draco? had me fooled.”

   george’s nostrils flare, lower lip disappearing behind his teeth. “are you and draco a freaking couple or something?”

   “no.”

   “then why do you feel the need to stick up for him every two seconds?”

   “because he’s my friend, george, that’s why!”

    george rolls his eyes, like the mere idea of draco malfoy having friends is unbelievable to him. 

   “what?” you push, leaning forward to meet his eyes. “why is it so difficult for you to wrap your head around the fact i’m friends with malfoy?”

    “because you’re so much better than him.”

    he says it like it hurts, teeth gritted, eyes refusing to meet your own. he says it like the walls are crumbling and this is his last chance to admit the truth. he says it like he hopes you don’t hear him.

    you stare, unable to comprehend his words, because they don’t really make any sense to you. “no i’m not.”

    george stiffens.

   you barrel on, suddenly passionate. “no, i’m really bloody not. i got sorted into slytherin for a reason, george, just like you and all the other weasleys got sorted into gryffindor. draco and i, we think alike. we deal with problems the same way.”

    “that’s bullshit,” george scoffs, finally looking up. “you keep malfoy in check, because you know the difference between right and wrong.”

    “i keep malfoy in check because i’m not an idiot. just because i stop him from doing daft things, doesn’t mean i don’t agree with his intentions.”

   george swallows. you watch his throat bob, the emotion slipping into his stomach, forcing that mask upon his face that you saw disappear for only the briefest of moments during this confusing conversation.

   finally, after a moment, george claps his hands to his knees and stands up, not unlike how your dad rises from his arm chair on his particularly bad days. all huffs and puffs, grunts of discomfort, bones creaking from lack of movement.

    “alright then,” he says simply. “i’ll leave you to it then, shall i? you can get back to - i don’t know - plotting doomsday or something.”

    you growl. “grow up.”

   he gives you a wave, sarcastic, over-the-top just to make you mad. you don’t humour him with a response, instead just watching him leave with your arms folded over your chest, anger seeping into every inch of your freshly-healed body.

    it’s crazy how he can do that to you so easily, how he can wriggle his way into your brain, convince you he has good intentions, only to leave you feeling angrier than when he first walked in.

   ---

   you get out of the infirmary that day, having fully healed thanks to madame pomfrey’s magic. you thank her, offering to send some flowers up to her room as soon as possible. she smiles and says, “just like your father.”

    you manage to avoid flint for most of the day. him being the year above you, it’s easy to miss him in the hallways, and you certainly have no classes together. however, you were a fool to think he wouldn’t be tracking you down any time he possibly could, because as soon as you sit down at the slytherin table that evening, he is right beside you in seconds.

    you glare at your mashed potatoes, speaking through gritted teeth. “don’t wanna hear it, marcus. really, really don’t wanna hear it.”

    “and we didn’t want to lose the match, but here we are.” he shoves your tray away; your food lands on the floor. none of the other slytherins look up. “you gonna explain to me what happened?”

    “why do i need to explain anything to you?” you shoot back, before gesturing to your upturned dinner. “get up there right now and get me a new plate, or so help me god-”

   “you’ll what? sabotage another match?” 

   your eyes widen. “sabotage? i didn’t take a bludger to the chest on purpose!”

    “explain your little performance with weasley then, huh?” flint leans forward, so close you can smell the peppermint on his breath. “has he finally got in your brain, yeah? managed to turn you against us. i don’t forget that your dad was a hufflepuff. and what was your mother?”

   you scowl. “keep my parents out of this.”

   “oh yes!” he exclaims. “a gryffindor! funny how that works, isn’t it? i can imagine you have a soft spot for the enemy, growing up with one and all that.”

    fury erupts in your chest. you stand, nostrils flaring, fingers curled into fists at your sides; so easily you could draw back and punch him, flatten him on the ground of the great hall in front of everyone. so easily you could make him pay for throwing your parents into this.

    but you don’t. you’re tired. you remember your dads voice, his silent plea for you to just take things easily this year. he isn’t well enough to handle any more trouble you may bring to his doorstep.

   and so, it’s with hesitance that you step away from the slytherin table. you lean down, lower your voice to an almost deadly whisper when you say, “i’d sleep with one eye open, you little shit.”

    you turn on your heel and start towards the door, starving but you don’t care. you have to get out of there before you lose your temper even further, before you banish the sound of your dads voice and make a mistake.

   ----

    draco finds you a few hours later, because of course he does.

    he probably heard all about your little altercation, and you have no doubt in your mind that it’s made him mad. you’re protective of him, but it works both ways, and draco has proved that on multiple occassions.

    the door to the common room bursts open, revealing a brief glimpse of the lunchtime crowd finally emerging from the great hall. you look up from your textbook, squinting at the sudden onslaught of light. draco stands in the doorway, nostrils flaring, eyes firm on you.

    your lips twitch, an attempt at a smile. “hello.”

   “what did he say to you?” draco demands. “if he said anything about your dad, y/n, i swear to-”

    “calm down,” you grumble, slumping into the arm chair. “you know how flint gets; he doesn’t know when to hold his tongue.”

   “yeah, well, he’s going to fucking learn, isn’t he?”

    you look up, because he must be joking. draco might be intimidating to some, but it all comes down to a name at the end of the day; he couldn’t hurt a fly even if he tried. he certainly couldn’t go up against marcus flint.

    but the rage in his eyes leaves little to the imagination about what he wants to do. he turns on his heel before you can even stand up, fleeing the common room in search of marcus flint.

   “draco!” you stumble up, dashing after him. “draco, stop. what the hell are you even going to do?”

   “have a little chat with him.” he picks up his pace, as if afraid you’re going to stop him. you have to start jogging, pushing past fellow confused students in your haste to grab draco before he does something stupid.

    but the world is plotting against you, it seems, as draco rounds the corner and comes face-to-face with the slytherin quidditch team captain as he makes his way to his next class.

    both boys freeze, and for a moment, you think draco’s respect for the older man might just break through. for a fleeting, hopeful moment, you think draco will come to his senses and turn away before any real damage can be done.

    and then he punches flint right in the face.

   you cry out, stumbling over your own two feet in your haste to get to draco before flint - stunned and confused - can come back around. even draco seems shocked at his own actions, staring at his fingers with wide eyes, face paling.

    “idiot!” you hiss, grabbing his arm and dragging him back, but marcus is already regaining his composure, looking at draco with nostrils flared.

   you raise a hand in marcus’s direction, trying in vain to drag draco behind you. “alright lads, lets calm down, yeah? we’ve got classes to get to!”

    “get out of the way, y/n,” marcus growls.

    “don’t talk to them like that,” draco snaps, lunging forward. you try in vain to keep the smaller boy from doing any further damage, but he’s determined, and you know how draco gets when he’s determined. he fights against your grip like a snarling dog, spitting curse words in flint’s direction, half of which you don’t even pick up on.

   you’re too busy staring at marcus, silently daring him to do anything.

   because, the thing is, marcus knows you just as he knows every person on his quidditch team. you’re the beater that keeps the team upright, the only one of the three beaters he can actually trust to win them a match. you’re the one he’s studied for years as you play the game by his side, and he knows you won’t take any shit.

    but either will he. that’s the beauty of being a slytherin. you know that as well as anyone.

   and that is why you can do nothing when marcus dives forward, malfoy having just called him some awful name, and grabs the younger boy by the front of his robes. he shoves you out of the way, your shoulder crashing into a passing first year. you hastily apologise, stumbling upright, trying to get between them as draco yells and makes a fuss, and marcus keeps so calm and collected, it’s almost scary, a scene you don’t know how to handle-

    marcus is pushed backwards.

    he falls on his back. you hear his wand snap in his back pocket, quills and parchment flying left, right and centre. draco stumbles, gasping for air, pressing a hand to his throat; his eyes snap to you, but you pay him no attention as you stare at george weasley, now standing guard over the younger malfoy boy.

    he glares down at flint, fingers curled into fists at his sides. the crowd stand shocked, some of them whispering “is that fred or george?” but you pay them no attention. your heart is racing. you’re so confused.

    marcus blinks. “what the fuck?”

   “why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” george snarls. 

    “i can handle myself, weasley!” draco barks, and that snaps you out of your reverie.

    you march forward and grab draco by the ear. he cries out, but you don’t pay attention to his pleas as you drag him through the hall, yelling out, “nothing to see here people!” over your shoulder. draco kicks and whines, but you’re furious - furious that he would put himself in such danger, furious that he couldn’t even finish the job he started, because george weasley - of all people! - stepped in to save his ass.

     you push draco into the nearest empty classroom you can find. “you idiot.”

    “he deserved it!” draco exclaims, rubbing the reddened tip of his ear. “jesus christ, y/n, let me help you! why do you let people like him get away with stuff like that?”

    “i don’t!” you bark. “i don’t let them get away with it, draco, because i handle it on my own! you don’t need to protect me!”

   draco scowls, folding his arms over his chest.

   you sigh, running a hand down your face. “you’re like a little brother to me, do you understand? if you get hurt one of these days, i’ll never forgive myself. it’s better if you just let me deal with things like this.”

    “why do you get to protect me all the time but i can’t protect you?”

   “because i can protect myself.”

    “or george weasley will do it.”

    you purse your lips, glancing over your shoulder as if george himself will be stood in the doorway; part of you kind of wishes he was. 

    “i don’t know why he did that,” you mumble. “he hates your guts.”

   draco scoffs. “yes, i’m aware of that. but i think it’s pretty obvious why he decided to step in.”

   you raise a brow, a silent question. 

    “that boy hasn’t stopped gawking at you since the first quidditch match,” draco explains. “don’t pretend you haven’t noticed. and also don’t pretend like he wasn’t the reason you got so distracted during the match against hufflepuff.”

    you blink, heat clawing to your face. of course it’s true - you never denied that to yourself - but hearing draco say it out loud, like it means something, makes your stomach curl. 

    draco chuckles, still rubbing his ear. “i must say, y/n, i’m surprised by your pick, but whatever makes you happy.”

    “george is...” you falter, the acidic adjective balancing on the tip of your tongue, just enough of a lie to leave you hesitant. “george is a. . . interesting character.”

    “all the weasleys are,” draco agrees. “but not all the weasleys have caught your eye, have they?”

   ���shut up.” you fold your arms, biting your lower lip. “i don’t feel anything for george. nothing nice, anyway. he annoys me.”

    “he annoys you, does he?”

    “you know he does!”

    “i also know you’re getting very flustered right now.”

   you scowl, quickly turning away before draco can gather any more evidence of your true feelings through your appearance. “go to hell.”

    “tell me i’m wrong. tell me he wasn’t the person who distracted you during that match.”

    you open your mouth, ready to lie. you’re a slytherin. lying comes easily when it works in your favour, but you glance over your shoulder, and you spot draco’s raised brow and amused smile, and you remember that he is a slytherin himself, a slytherin who knows you better than anyone else in this damned school. he can read you like an open book, a skill he is clearly using to his advantage now.

   you grit your teeth, turning back around. “it was an accident. i just wasn’t expecting him to be there.”

    “the weasley twins never miss a game!” draco exclaims, a burst of laughter mingling with the words, like he can’t believe you’re even attempting to lie. “honestly, y/n, who do you think you’re trying to fool? the entire school saw how george reacted to you falling-”

   “how he reacted?”

    draco’s smile fades. “oh, of course.” he shakes his head. “of course, you wouldn't have seen him, probably wouldn’t have heard him, either.”

    you raise a brow, heat crawling up your face again. “what are you on about?”

    “y/n, when you fell off your broom that day, george bolted. he nearly gave colin creevey a bloody concussion, shoving his way through the stands. professor mcgonagall tried to stop him from getting on the pitch, but he wasn’t having any of it. even mcgonagall backed down when she saw his face.”

   oh.

   oh, oh, oh, that wasn’t what you were expecting to hear. not at all.

   the blood thrums through your veins, louder than it has ever been. you can’t respond, can’t even think straight, trying to remember that day and what happened during the moments before you fell head first onto the pitch.#

   but you remember nothing. you opened your eyes, and you were on the floor, and george was stood over you, calm as anything. not once did you think he may have actually went against the rules to get to you.

    “that doesn’t make any sense,” you mumble.

   draco raises a brow. “why doesn’t it?”

    “because george and i hate each other.” 

    and draco laughs. he laughs, head thrown back, loud and obnoxious. you stare at him, but you’re not even angry. you’re still in shock, overcome with a sudden need to find george and ask him about whatever draco has just tried telling you.

    because it can’t be true. george and you don’t get along. he’s the guy who hates draco, the guy who knows about your dad, the guy who does your head in more than anyone else in the world.

    he’s also the guy who carried you to the hospital wing when you were on the brink of unconsciousness.

   he’s also the guy who knows about your dad, yet hasn’t told a single soul.

    he’s also the guy who just saved draco’s ass, and maybe you’re thinking too much into it, but did he only do that because you made it so clear that draco is your friend?

    you swallow thickly, trailing your hands through your hair. “oh, draco.”

   “oh, indeed,” draco replies, still grinning. “here i was thinking you were smart.”

    “i have to talk to him.”

    “yes, well, go ahead.” draco places a hand on his forehead. “i’ll stay in here until flint calms down; i’ll be fine on my own.”

     usually, you would ask him if he’s sure. you might not even leave, instead choosing to sit with draco, sharing sweets, insulting each other’s life choices.

    but right now, you don’t stick around long enough for him to change his mind. you whirl on your heel, pure adrenaline thumping through your veins as you throw open the door and dart out into the hallway.

     george is in class. he has to be in class, because that’s where you’re supposed to be right now.

    you dash down the hallway, no longer caring about the teachers walking back and forth, all of whom are probably wondering what on earth you’re doing out of class right now. you pay them no attention, instead making a direct line for potions, where you know george is currently seated, probably bored out of his mind.

    you halt at the window of the potions classroom and peek over the top of the sill. there he is, seated at the back, chin resting on his palm as he stares at nothing in particular. at the front, snape paces back and forth, slapping a wooden ruler against the blackboard, a noise you are all too familiar with. 

    you grit your teeth, wave your hands back and forth, anything to get his attention. finally, however, it’s fred who sees you, and his eyes - identical to his brothers - immediately widen, a grin appearing on his face.

    you point to george, and fred gets the memo. he nods, gives you a thumbs up before tapping george on the shoulder and pointing in your direction. you make a come here gesture, to which george raises a brow, motioning to snape at the front of the classroom. impatiently, you tap your wrist, signalling to him that this is the one chance you’re going to get to talk to him, and you need to do it now.

    george rolls his eyes before throwing his hand in the air. 

    snape pauses his lecture. “yes, weasley?”

   “can i use the bathroom, sir?”

    “you can wait.”

    “no, sir, you don’t understand. i had one of hagrid’s fish suppers earlier, and-”

   snape slaps his ruler against the desk. “i don’t want to hear it! off you go, but be quick about it. any catching up you have to do can be done in my classroom during lunch.”

    “you’re the best, professor!” george stands and all-but runs to the door.

   as soon as he’s thrown it open, you grab the front of his robes and drag him down the hall, to a place where neither of you will be heard by the potions master.

    george stumbles after you, laughing louder than you’re comfortable with when the two of you are skipping class. you shove him into yet another empty classroom, closing the door and casting a quick spell to lock it.

    you spin, and as soon as you lay eyes on him, the speech you had planned dies in your throat.

    you just stare at him, because that honestly feels like all you can do. you’re struck by how gorgeous he is, those brown eyes you have never ignored, the messy mop of ginger hair, the chiselled cheeks and lanky body. all of it combined makes george weasley him, and it’s enchanted you quicker and more unexpectedly than you’ll ever be willing to admit.

    george raises a brow, folding his arms over his chest. “is this important, or am i risking a detention with snape for no reason?”     

   you blink, suddenly aware that you did not plan this out as well as you probably should have. what do you even want to say to him? what point do you want to get across?

   george tilts his head at your silence, leaning forward teasingly. he’s still got that smirk on his face, the one you refuse to acknowledge, because he’s only doing it to annoy you, and he looks so good whilst doing it. 

   you scowl in response. “you know flint is going to kill you next time he sees you, right?”

    surprised, george recoils. “that’s what you wanted to say to me?”

    “i’m giving you a warning. i know marcus flint really well, and he’s not going to let this slide. you should probably start thinking about leaving hogwarts next year, just to give you a better chance-”

    “y/n, for christ’s sake.”

    you deflate. your shoulders slump, the energy seeping from your body in one clean swoop. you groan, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes, as if doing so will push the stress and confusion from your brain.

    “i don’t know how to do this,” you grumble. 

    “don’t know how to do what?”

   “say thank you.” you drop your hands; george has stepped a little closer. you inhale sharply, ready to recoil, but those brown eyes of his keep you trapped.  

   he raises a brow. “you want to say thank you?”

    “i know you don’t like draco,” you mumble. “you didn’t have to stand up for him back there, but you did anyway. god only knows what would have happened to him if you hadn’t stepped in.”

    “he needs to learn to keep his mouth shut.” george shrugs. “but he’s still the year below us. flint should have handled things better.” 

     you nod, pursing your lips. it’s the gyryffindor mindset, a mindset you will never properly understand, but a mindset you grew up witnessing, because your mother always had the same one. whilst you were usually all for getting revenge, your mother always calmed you down by telling you that, sometimes, it was better to take the high road. sometimes, you needed to protect people weaker than yourself.

    “plus,” george is quick to add. “he pushed you. that was a step too far for me.”

    startled, you look up. “that was a step too far? you don’t even like me, george!”

    george’s smile slips. his brows furrow, pinching in the centre in a most adorable way. outside, students bustle back and forth, class ending; you’ll have to deal with snape, and so will george, but right now, neither of you really care. george just stares at you, and then he starts shaking his head, and then he’s laughing.

    you recoil. “what’s so funny?”

   “you really are daft,” he says. “absolutely daft in the brain.”

    “what are you talking about?”

    but he only continues to laugh, throwing his head back. he turns on his heel, hand inches from the door handle, ready to leave this conversation at that, but your eagerness to know more drives you to stop him. you grab his robes and pull him back, stumbling just enough to push him against the wall, your chest inches from his own.

    his laugh dies, breath catching in his throat as he stares down his nose at you. “not this again.”

    “what are you talking about, george?”

    he smiles. slowly, he lifts his hand and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, fingertips grazing your heated cheeks. you’re startled by the touch, half ready to pull away from him, but you stay frozen, trapped in his gaze.

    “i don’t hate you, you know,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “in fact, i think i’ve actually grown quite fond of you these past few weeks.”

   it doesn’t make sense. none of it makes sense. in your head, you replay the relationship formed between you and george, the constant bickering, the harsh words, the dire need to be as far from each other as possible - a need that was never met, because somehow, you always found yourself drawn to him, even when you convinced yourself he was the last person you wanted to see.

    you swallow thickly, trailing your hands down his robes, flattening the creases you made in the material. he watches your fingers as they graze over the collared shirt he is wearing, lingering just by his stomach before you flinch away and step back, chewing your bottom lip.

    george grins again. he’s always grinning. you don’t want him to ever stop grinning. “you alright there?”

    you nod. “fine. why wouldn’t i be fine?”

    “i don’t know, but you look a little shell shocked.”

   you scowl.

    his grin widens. “there’s that look i’m so familiar with!”

   you roll your eyes. “go to hell, george weasley.”

    ----

     last quidditch match of the season.

   slytherin versus gryffindor.

   marcus is all but foaming at the mouth.

   you and george are making faces at each other from opposite ends of the pitch.

   draco nudges your arm as madame hooch goes through the rules. you glance at him, raising a brow in silent question.

    “stay focused, please,” he whispers, nodding at george who is busy giving goyle the middle finger. “i get you two are friends now, but this match is important to us. get your head in the game.”

    you scoff. “when have i ever not had my head in the game?” 

    draco raises a brow.

    you scowl. “that was one time, alright? i’ve got it this time. them gryffindors aren’t gonna know what’s hit them.”

    and so, the game begins. 

    it’s a dirty game. blood makes an appearance a few times. one of your hands get crushed by a bludger that goyle failed to block, so your knuckles are bloody throughout the entire match.

   and then there’s george.

    he circles you, singing ‘happy birthday’ at the top of his lungs. he smacks a bludger in your direction, but you dodge it and smash it back at him; it hits off the end of his broom, sending him swirling through the air. 

     he rises again, however, and joins your side. the two of you speed the length of the pitch, shoving and grabbing at each other’s brooms, laughing the entire time.

     “just give it up, l/n!” he jeers. “look at the state of your hand! there’s no way you can win this game now!”

    “piss off, weasley!” you yell back, before slamming your bat into an oncoming bludger, sending it straight for harry potter. 

    “oh, you cheeky git!” george exclaims, whizzing after the bludger to direct it elsewhere. you laugh, whizzing as high into the air as you can possibly go before madame hooch blows her whistle and scolds you. 

    the gryffindors start to struggle. you see it in the score board, how fast slytherin are catching up to them. harry is whizzing around like a madman, searching left, right and centre for the snitch that draco is also on the prowl for. you, however, keep your eyes on the bludger, every now and then diverting your attention to the ginger boy who keeps blocking your path.

    “you think this is a kids game, y/n?” he calls, snatching at the bristles on the back of your broom, yanking you back in a way that would usually deliver a penalty, but everyone’s eyes are on draco and harry, so nobody spots the discrepancy. 

    “oh, definitely not!” you yell back. “watch out, georgie; looks like goyle’s put himself into high gear!”

    you do a loop in the air, giving george no time to even process your words before the bludger goyle whacked in his direction crashes into his back, knocking him straight off the front of his broom.

   you would be lying to claim there was not a moment of worry, a moment of genuine contemplation to follow him to the ground, make sure he’s alright. however, that moment is short lived when george gives you the finger, clambers right back on his broom and continues the game with more brutality than you’ve ever seen him possess.

   you’re panting by the end of it, sweat dripping from your brow, seeping into the thin cloth of your quidditch robes. you’ve screamed yourself hoarse, throat aching and raw, but you manage to still scream victory when the final whistle goes off and lee jordan is forced to announce slytherin’s success over the loud speakers.

     you crash to the ground, immediately joining the group hug, draco in the centre.

    “that’s my boy!” you yell, ruffling his hair. “you absolute fucking legend, draco malfoy!”

    draco scowls, shoving your hand away. “don’t know why any of you are surprised.”

    you flick his chin before pulling him back in for a hug. 

    once the team celebrations are over, however, you turn your attention to george. you’ve been doing that a lot more often these days - looking for him in a crowd, wanting to share your joy with him, even when your joy swipes his own from right under his nose.

    you spot him in an instant, because - as always - he’s already looking at you. he’s scowling this time, but that doesn’t stop you from dropping your broom and skipping over to him.

    “we won! we won! we won!” you jeer, grabbing the badge on your robe and shoving it in his face. “see that, weasley? that’s the crest of a winner! that’s the crest of the best house in this fucking school!”

    george folds his arms over his chest, staring as you jump up and down in excitement. 

    he lets you continue until you tire yourself out. you laugh tiredly, pleased to see the tiniest twitch of george’s lips as he glares down at you. 

    finally he says, “finished?”

    “oh, don’t be a sore loser!” you throw your arms over his shoulders, because you’re tired and you don’t really care about anything right now. “tell you what; i’ll celebrate with you later on.”

    george recoils, arms still folded over his chest, making your embrace slightly uncomfortable, though you refuse to let go. “why would i want to celebrate with you?”

   “listen mate, take it or leave it; i have an entire team i could be celebrating with right now.”

     george stiffens. you lift your head, leaning your chin against his chest. he glares down at you, and before you can grasp what his intentions are, he leans down and pecks you on the lips.

    just like that. no explanation, no warning. the kiss lasts no longer than two seconds before he pulls away, breaks out of your embrace and says, “go celebrate with your slytherin friends.”

    he turns, starting up the field. for a second, you just stare after him, shellshocked, but then the scene replays in your head, and you’re suddenly overcome with the need to repay him.

    you dash after him, despite the ache in your legs and the exhaustion in your bones. you grab the back of his quidditch robes, spin him around, and it’s like he expects it - he drops his broom, stretches his arms out and catches you the moment you leap into his embrace and slam your lips to his.

   and it’s so strange, but so perfect, so relieving all at the same time. he holds you tighter, one hand coming up to cup the back of your neck whilst you busy yourself with trailing your hands through his thick, messy, windswept hair. 

   behind you, you listen to draco groan out the words, “now?” but it does nothing to deter you from the moment. 

   you pull away first. “i’ve changed my mind.”

    panting, george says, “about what?”

    “you should come celebrate with me,” you reply. “i don’t want to celebrate with my slytherin friends any more.”

     george laughs. in the background, you hear draco telling the other slytherins to just head up to the common room - you won’t be there for another few hours. 

[chockfullofsecrets]

Critical Role: The Importance of Timing, Ch 1

<<chapter navigation TBA>>

(Read on AO3)

Rating: Gen

Summary: Jester sobers quickly, though, pouting insistently down at them.“Four is pret-ty bad, you guys.”

Kingsley nods seriously. Thus validated, she starts bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet. “I think we need to punish them, Fjord!”

Caleb and Essek make the mistake of overworking themselves right before the Mighty Nein are scheduled for a reunion. Lessons are learned.

Wordcount: 3.6k (yeah, this one’s going to take a while)

A/N: making some more progress on my backlog of prompts (this one happens to be both from the most recent vote and this lovely anon prompt)! cross your fingers that this is going to be my first finished chapter fic lol

---

Caleb hardly remembers it, later.

It was evening - not particularly late, but after three near-sleepless nights time stretched into its own kind of viscous liquidity. Like a soup.

He laughed to himself at the absurdity of it, too tired for more than the barest expense of breath. Essek would know better than he, of course - he turned to him, intending to share the thought, and found a sheaf of notes thrust mere inches from his face.

“Here,” Essek said brusquely. Exhaustion did not lend itself to the usual smoothness of his speech. “I think I have it, finally - if we engrave it this way, the spell will replenish itself without interrupting conversation, yes?”

“Oh.” He took the papers, looking them over blearily - his eyes widened, a brief rush of vigor returning. “Oh, this is - oh, this is good! Let me just fabricate the surface smooth again and we can try-”

There was a crash from a location beyond the lab and therefore currently unimportant. Neither of them looked up.

The interruption, then, arrived unexpectedly.

“Hel-loooo!”came a lilting Nicodranian accent from the hall. “We got here early and you didn’t answer your door so we used our super cool magic powers to come in, and we should to-tally make a hammock themed room in the mansion tonight because I think Fjord is kind of land sick - Caleb, look at me, why do you look so terrible?”

Caleb knew the consequences of ignoring that voice. He looked up.

After hours of gazing at runes, his eyes refused to fully adjust and take in the three figures in the doorway. He squinted and managed to make out a bit of blue. “Jester?”

“They look tired right out, the poor things,” a purple blob pronounced from Jester’s right. “We haven’t missed out on an adventure, have we?”

“No,” Jester said, “Essek would never go out with his hair looking like that. Right, Essek? Aren’t you, like, super embarrassed that your hair’s all floppy right now?”

Sitting shoulder to shoulder with the floppy-haired drow in question, Caleb could just barely hear him hiss in protest at the interruption. “Leave, then, if it disturbs you so.”

Caleb blinked, starting to fumble together a sentence to dull the reprimand, and suddenly the remaining green blob resolved into Fjord as he put a hand on Caleb’s forehead and crouched to look into his eyes. “All right, it’s bedtime for you two. Jes, can you get Essek?”

“Wait-” Caleb grabbed weakly for the table, for his notes at least, but he was already being swept up in Fjord’s arms and carried bodily from the room. Essek sounded much more awake - and irate, frankly - behind him, trying to explain something, but it had been far too long since he had been anywhere near horizontal - with his head pillowed against Fjord’s bicep, he was asleep before they reached the stairs.

---

Waking is a slow process.

He is not alone - there’s a weight to being tangled up in someone else, the warm scent of closeness, and even without his eidetic memory he does not think he can ever forget the stony, moon-soaked smell of having his face buried in the crook of Essek’s shoulder.

He yawns lazily. Essek must be very tired, if Caleb is awake and he is not, and he is the better cook of the two of them anyway - although of course neither of them have any comparison to Caduceus, or Yasha now that it’s been several months since her last poisoning incident. He presses a gentle kiss to Essek’s jaw and rolls out of bed to get started with breakfast.

Or tries to, at least. His top half makes it out of bed easily enough, but the rest of him does not seem inclined to follow.

Something clanks at the foot of the bed as he narrowly hauls himself up from a quick trip to the floor. He props himself up on an elbow, halfway through another yawn, and finds himself staring down a pair of manacles hooked around his ankles.

He kicks cautiously. The chain threaded through his bed posts clanks again.

Panic begins to stir low in his gut. “Essek!”

There’s a sleepy murmur next to him. He twists to find Essek blinking awake - there’s not much else he can do, with his arms shackled above his head and his legs chained below in similar fashion. The cuffs are padded at least, stuffed with what looks to be worn handkerchiefs, and they’re both fully dressed in sleep clothes - their captors don’t want to hurt them, then, not yet.

Caleb scans the room frantically. The book he has been reading is still propped open on the bedside table, the door knob Essek had pried from an Aeorian ruin after Caleb had commented on its sparkle still proudly adorns the bathroom door, Kingsley is still leaning against the window-

He grins smugly as Caleb’s gaze snaps back to him. “Oh, good, you’re both awake. Comfy watch, but it’s ever so much more boring without the-” He pulls his hands from his pockets and rocks them back and forth. “Oh, and also the fish folk trying to kill us, those are great.”

“Kingsley?” Caleb demands. Next to him, Essek makes a shocked sound as he presumably recognizes that he cannot move any of his limbs. “What is this?”

“Oh, I can’t rightly say.” Kingsley saunters over and swings himself neatly up onto the mattress, worming between him and Essek to sit cross-legged at the center of the bed. “Wasn’t my idea, at any rate-”

“Jester and Fjord were here too,” Essek interrupts. “Is this - this is a prank, is it not?”

“Hush, you,” Kingsley smirks. “All I’ve got is that I’m to ensure you don’t make your way free with any spellcasting before Fjord and Jester get back. And to that end…”

He breaks the pause with a dramatic flourish of his arms, spreading them wide before laying a palm down lightly on each of their bellies. “I’m told this should do just fine, if the two of you care to demonstrate?”

Caleb connects the dots just a moment too late to throw himself back off the edge of the bed. “Kingsley - wait - ah!”

There was a time when it would take minutes for his mind to link the intruding sensation of touch to anything but wariness. Now, the instant Kingsley’s fingers start scribbling he’s flat on his back, pushing weakly at the offending limb and doing his best not to collapse into hysterical snickering at how much it - it -

“Tickle, tickle, magic man,” Kingsley teases, pupilless eyes aflame with mischief. “No, no, don’t bother fighting it. I’ve heard tales about those ribs of yours, you know. Especially how much you love letting Jester play with them, hm?”

“N-nein, that’s not-” Caleb tries to protest, but he’s already giggling just at the thought - Fjord and Jester are here, and he’s stuck, and Kingsley won’t stop tickling him-

Kingsley’s grin grows another satisfied inch as he turns back to Essek. “And you, stubborn - oh, are you trying to cast something? Is that what that face means?”

Essek is struggling, jaw working and face scrunched as his entire body trembles in time with the claw vibrating its way into his belly. Caleb can practically see the Misty Step brewing on his tongue, just a few short words between him and freedom if only he can get them out without laughing.

Until Jester tracks him down, that is. He hasn’t - they’ve been apart, and then in Aeor, and then working on their big project for the past few weeks, and Caleb hasn’t exactly gotten around to admitting that he might like Essek to - admitting anything, really. Or telling Essek that now that Jester knows he’s ticklish and doesn’t entirely mind it, any attempt to escape will only end in more retribution.

An oversight, in retrospect.

Kingsley purrs, apparently entirely delighted with his victim’s predicament. “Oh, come on now, you can do it! It’s been a while since I’ve seen a good magic show.” Essek shakes his head frantically, lips pressed together even as his cheeks puff with repressed giggles, and Kingsley grins all the wider. “No? Let’s see how long you last when I really start pressing your buttons, then.”

On his side and snickering helplessly, Caleb cannot help but feel a little jealous as he watches Kingsley tug up Essek’s shirt and wait for his eyes to widen in terrible anticipation. “One last chance, then? Cause I think this is really going to tickle.”

Caleb wants him to succeed, really, he does - but watching Essek try as hard as he can to curl in on himself as a single fingertip starts to rub at his navel, squirming and squeezing his eyes shut and finally barking out the first two syllables of his incantation before the third succumbs to high, squeaking laughter holds its own considerable charm. “Ahahaaaa - nooo, hehe! - wh -” He laughs a little more, shoulders shaking, and barely manages to gasp out the words. “Fjord - Jester - where -”

“Couldn’t take it? Oh, you are a ticklish thing,” Kingsley tells him, laughing when Essek’s attempt at protesting collapses into a breathless snort. “You’re wondering where they are? Really, I couldn’t say. Maybe they’ll be gone for hours, and I’ll just have to keep tickling and tickling-”

He’s focused in on Essek now, taking his other hand off Caleb to wiggle it menacingly over a defenseless armpit - Essek takes one look at the new threat and screams. “Caleb!”

Kingsley’s replaced his hand with his tail squeezing around Caleb’s thigh, and it tickles so badly and unexpectedly that Caleb would like to curl up in a ball and do some screaming of his own, but with Essek pleading for his help there’s no other choice.

He pulls himself back onto his elbows and flops into Kingsley’s lap as best he can with his legs chained, reaching blindly for ticklish spots that used to belong to Mollymauk - gasping through a new wave of laughter as the spade of Kingsley’s tail starts to poke at the soft back of his knee, he crowds his fingernails against the small of Kingsley’s back and yelps in preemptive terror as Kingsley starts to laugh and reaches for him instead. “Fjord! Jester!” he shouts. “Help!”

“Gah - oh, fuck, thahat’s - haaaa-” Kingsley flails for a moment, legs kicking out as he tries to shimmy away, but in the next moment his fingers are tickling mercilessly under Caleb’s arms and Caleb can hardly breathe, let alone keep tickling him. He flails to escape, trying to wrap his arms around himself and use them to drag himself away at the same time, but really that just means that Kingsley’s hands are stuck in his armpits now and he’s going to die-

“Right, right, I’ve learned my lesson, no ganging up on our little star,” Kingsley grumbles. Caleb gasps in breathless relief as Kingsley works his hands free - he’s facedown on the mattress, but he hears Essek shout for Fjord and Jester too before dissolving into another fit of giggles. Presumably Kingsley’s putting his tail to good use somewhere.

A hand grabs his shoulder, and he’s rolled over onto his back with his legs untwisting beneath him. He blinks up into Kingsley’s gaze, eyebrows raised in apparent dudgeon. “You, on the other hand,” Kingsley growls, as if his lips weren’t curving up into a fanged smile already, “I am absolutely going to need both hands for what I’m about to do to your ribs.”

“Mist,” Caleb sputters reflexively, and then, louder, “Fjord! Jester! FJORD!”

Kingsley’s eyebrows rise even higher. “Oh, it’s sweet that you think they’re going to help you. Unless - oh, did you want more hands?”

Caleb hardly hears the approaching footsteps over his own anticipatory squeal as he watches Kingsley’s fingers start to wander back down towards his ribs. “Nein! - eheeheh, oh gods, nein-”

But then, suddenly, blessedly, the fingers ghost lightly over his ribs and settle for spidering across his tummy instead. He wheezes in relief - half of it comes out as giggles, his nerves still on high alert, but he fully intends to enjoy breathing while he can.

He flops tiredly back, eyes tracking to the doorway as Fjord and Jester stroll in. “Sorry for the wait,” Fjord says politely. “Jester and I were just finishing up lunch. Because it’s lunchtime.”

“No rush, Captain!” Kingsley practically chirps. “We’re having a wonderful time, aren’t we, boys?”

Fjord looks completely unsurprised to find the two of them in chains. Jester is practically bouncing beside him. Caleb imagines this does not bode well for them.

Essek pipes up from behind him, metal clanking as he tries to move to see around Kingsley. “Did - heh - did we oversleep? I think the shackles are a bit uncalled for-”

“Oh,” Fjord says, low and dangerous. He’s not smiling, not yet, but Caleb can see it in his eyes and that is even worse. “Don’t mind those. It would be a shame to let the two of you leave your bedroom so soon when you haven’t seen it in days and days, wouldn’t it?”

With Kingsley still tickling at his waist, Caleb can’t even begin to coax his stomach muscles to let him sit up as Fjord and Jester cross to the bed and loom over the both of them. Jester claps her hands together, looking dangerously pleased with herself. “Do you like them?” she enthuses. “We got them from a pirate raid, because someone put our other set on a fish person that jumped right back into the ocean.”

“They were getting rusted anyway - I don’t think we collected a single one of those at sea, they’re not even waterproofed.” Fjord grumbles amiably. “These, though-”

He hooks one finger delicately through the chain connecting Caleb’s ankles to the bedpost and tugs, dragging one helpless foot just close enough to scoop up in a waiting hand. “Now these are made for some real seafaring shit. Could hold a body for as long as you want, as long as they aren’t inclined to use any magic tricks.”

Caleb tries to yank his foot back. Fjord just chuckles and leans over to stare him down, his yellow eyes warm and amused. “Isn’t that right, Caleb.”

“No magic tricks,” he gasps out through another fit of giggles as Fjord rubs a warning thumb over his sole. It’s hardly a concession - between that and Kingsley, he hardly has the breath to try anything.

“Good,” Fjord says encouragingly. He puts Caleb’s foot gently down and turns to Essek. “Now you.”

Caleb turns to look at him - from what little of Essek’s body language he can read, he looks wholly confused. “You’re not going to let us go?”

Fjord crosses his arms. “Oh, I’m sure we can come to some kind of agreement. Just consider this a friendly reminder that Jester, Kingsley and I are quite capable of following any… magical exits.”

Essek visibly rallies at the mention of magic, quirking an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware you had learned how to Teleport.”

“Essek,” Caleb hisses. Fjord shushes him and stalks a single step forward, just close enough to start tickling lightly at the bottom of one purple foot.

Essek’s superior expression lasts all of a moment before his entire body starts flailing to escape the single point of contact. “Ah! No, nohoho, wahahait, I didn’t - ahaha, stop that!”

“You’re right, I can’t Teleport,” Fjord says conversationally. “Good catch, I’d kind of forgotten about that one. Jes, we’ve got some antimagic stuff on the ship, right?”

Jester interrupts herself from making increasingly dramatic faces at Essek to answer. “I think so? You know, just in case if we meet someone icky like you know who.”

“Perfect. Maybe you and Kingsley can keep Essek busy, and I’ll head back to the ship and root around for it?” He looks calmly down at Essek, kicking as frantically as he can with the few inches of leeway the shackles afford him and still completely unable to avoid Fjord’s fingers. “It’ll take a while, mind you.”

Jester perks up, dancing over and reaching for Essek’s other foot. “Yes! Kingsley, did you try his ears yet? They get all flappy and it’s really really-”

“No!” Essek rushes out, squeaking in harried protest when they still don’t stop tickling up his arches. “I - wait,” he pleads. “No! I won’t cast, I won’t!”

Fjord grins. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Alright, Kingsley, can we give them a moment?”

Kingsley removes his hands from both of them rather reluctantly. Fjord claps his shoulder in silent thanks. “Now, would either of you like to explain why we found the two of you half-dead from sleep deprivation?”

“Yeah, you guys, we were so worried!” Jester adds. “You can’t do that when we’re not around to take care of you! You guys haven’t been doing this all year, have you?”

“We’ve only met up in the last few months,” Caleb adds, wincing a little as their eyes turn to him. He sits up slowly, wincing apologetically in the direction of Essek’s wrist shackles. “But no, we have not, we are just working on this project - it is a real ficker, there are so many moving pieces - and we are nearly done, we meant to sleep last night.”

“How many days?” Fjord asks. “One? Two?”

When neither of them answer, sharing a silent look, he hovers a hand threateningly over each of their trapped feet. “Believe me, you really don’t want us to pick a number.”

“Four,” Essek says warily. “But Caleb slept for at least an hour each night, and I don’t need to-”

“Oh, four’s a lot,” Kingsley cuts in. “Did you not learn how to sleep in shifts, not being on the ocean, or do you just enjoy each other’s company that much?”

Essek turns bright red. Caleb’s pretty sure he turns even redder. Even Fjord looks a little embarrassed as Jester and Kingsley collapse into laughter.

Jester sobers quickly, though, pouting insistently down at them.“Four is pret-ty bad, you guys.”

Kingsley nods seriously. Thus validated, she starts bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet. “I think we need to punish them, Fjord!”

Caleb can easily guess what this punishment will entail. “Wait a moment,” he says hastily, “we have not even told you about this project-”

“It will be worth it,” Essek adds. “If you would just let us-”

Fjord nods thoughtfully, ignoring their protests. “What do you say, a minute for each hour they should have been sleeping?”

“No-” Caleb starts.

“So that’s sixteen for Essek, and - Caleb’s been napping on and off, sounds like, so we’ll round it down to a neat half hour for him.”

Caleb gapes fearfully. A half hour of tickling, after months and months - he can admit to himself that he missed it a little, but- “That’s too much,” he blurts. “Bitte, you’ll kill me-”

“Really, this is unnecessary,” Essek adds, surprisingly dignified for the way he’s trying helplessly to press his feet against the bed. “Just - we are well rested now, we only need a few hours more to finish the project, there is no need!”

Jester pouts. “Oh, Essek, don’t you want to hang out with us?”

Essek flounders at that, and Caleb can’t help the soft smile that slips out of him. “I would like nothing more,” he assures her, “but being chained up and - and tortured - was not quite on my mind-”

“Well then, you shouldn’t have been so dumb, Essek,” she says cheerily. “Caleb, do you want me or Fjord to tickle you?”

His mouth goes dry. Jester will be - Fjord teases, but he is gentle at least, and Jester is - Jester-

He looks over at Essek, wide-eyed and eyes flicking between all of them in some strange combination of bewilderment and anticipation, and braces himself. “Jester.”

Kingsley laughs, delighted. “Oh, he must really love you,” he tells Essek. “He’s gone and given you the better option by far.”

Essek looks at Caleb, gaze softening. “Really?”

Caleb grimaces back at him, a little embarrassed by himself. “He’s exaggerating. And besides, I am not the one laid flat out here.”

Essek frowns. “Yes, about that.”

“Caleb doesn’t like having his wrists pinned down,” Jester says easily, scrambling up onto the bed and into Caleb’s lap. “Though you should know that already if you two are boning-”

“Jester,” Caleb pleads. Kingsley starts to laugh again.

She beams at him, darting in to press a kiss to the tip of his nose. “Hi, Caleb!”

It’s impossible not to smile back. “Hallo, blueberry.”

He looks around her to see Fjord walk over and settle on Essek’s side of the bed, patting his shoulder companionably. “It’s good to see you two, really.”

Essek just sighs.

Kingsley prods at his belly, earning a hasty yelp. “He’s in a mood, it seems. You want some help with him?”

His stomach grumbles, just then, and Fjord laughs. “Why don’t you get some lunch instead,” he suggests. “We’d have brought something up, but the screaming sounded rather urgent.”

“Aye-aye, Captain,” Kingsley cocks a loose salute and swings back off the bed with one more tickle under each of their arms, snorting in amusement as Caleb and Essek both squirm and protest. “The others should be arriving soon, I’ll keep a weather eye on the door.”

“Yes, do that,” Fjord says, waiting for him to round the corner and start down the stairs. “That guy is really into sea lingo.”

“Kingsley is great,” Jester enthuses. “Don’t you guys think he looks so much prettier now that he’s all tan?”

She’s not wrong. “Ja, sure.” Caleb says. “By the way, what exactly did the two of you tell him about-” He flushes. “About my ribs?”

“Oh, you know, just some stuff!” Jester says cheerfully. “Most of it is definitely not true by now, probably, since it’s been a super long time since we’ve seen you.”

She puts both of her hands on Caleb’s shoulders and presses, sending him flat on his back and leaning over with a mischievous smile. “Good thing we have a whole half hour to catch up, huh?”

Caleb gulps.

[youareinlovees]

LA Lockdown (submission)

(um hi, hope you don't mind me submitting this to you but I got inspired to do some ~creative writing and Nat got deactivated 😭)

May 2020

It’s a beautiful day in LA. Joe sits at one end of the couch on the outdoor terrace, absorbed in his book. Taylor is sitting at the other end, looking out at the view across Beverly Hills and occasionally looking at her phone, her feet up on the seat and her legs draped across Joe’s lap. It’s an idyllic scene. Lockdown might be boring him stiff, with all his upcoming acting projects being pushed back indefinitely, but he knows that he does have it pretty good.

Joe gets distracted from his book by the sight of his phone screen lighting up with new messages in the Frosty Crew and partners group chat. Picking up his phone, he sees that Jesse has sent a link to a Reductress article entitled, ‘Have you made the Bon Appétit focaccia yet or do you live with someone you can fuck?’

He chuckles, but before he can respond, another message pops up in the chat.

Taylor: Not to brag but some of us have managed to do both

She looks across from the other end of the couch and smirks at him. In response, he taps out a message of his own.

Joe: And it was thoroughly enjoyable Joe: Orgasmic one might say Joe: I am of course referring to the baking that Taylor did yesterday

Taylor: Aw baby I didn’t know you liked it that much Taylor: We can have it again later if you like

Joe: Later? That’s an awfully long time to have to wait

Jesse: do you two know you can just text each other directly if you want to schedule sex?

Taylor slides her legs further across Joe’s lap, intentionally rubbing herself against his groin and shuffling closer to him. He grins, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her in so he can press a few light kisses to the side of her neck.

Billy: Text each other? She’s probably sitting in his lap right now.

Joe momentarily pulls away from kissing down Taylor’s jawline to add a final message of his own.

Joe: Oh shit, busted Joe: Billy you need to stop spying on us through the security cameras Joe: Anyway I’ll talk to you lot later

Taylor tugs his phone out of his hands and puts it down next to her own on the table, her eyes sparkling. ‘Now that you’ve finished telling everyone that we’re about to fuck, can we actually get on with it?’ she teases.

‘Hey,’ he says, looking straight into her hypnotizingly blue eyes, ‘I think you’ll find you’re the one who started it, actually.’

‘Excuse me, Joseph, but which one of us was too impatient to wait until later? It’s only the middle of the day. I would have been perfectly content waiting until after whatever movie you’ve picked out for us this evening.’

She’s a vision, her messy hair falling across her shoulders, dressed in an old Rolling Stones t-shirt and a comfy pair of short shorts that cling tightly to her ass. They’d played a game of tennis earlier and he certainly hadn’t been complaining about the view whenever she bent down to pick up another tennis ball. Now, he runs his hands up under her t-shirt, over her stomach and round her back.

‘Well,’ he says, pretending to be disappointed, ‘if that’s how you feel, I guess I’ll go back to my book.’

‘Don’t you dare,’ she says breathily, straddling his lap properly and grinding into him. He takes one hand out from under her shirt and pushes it into her hair instead, pulling her head firmly down towards his until their lips meet.

They kiss passionately, desperately, Taylor moaning into his mouth, breaking apart only to pull off each other’s t-shirts. She’s still moving back and forth on his lap and driving him wild. He’s almost fully hard by this point, and suddenly he stands up, taking her by surprise. She’s still wrapped around him, her long bare legs encircling his waist.

‘We’re going back to bed,’ he says firmly.

They could just have sex where they are, or on one of the many other couches downstairs - they’ve done it plenty of times before - but he has a sudden urge to show off to her a little, give her a practical demonstration of the benefits of all the working out he’s been doing during lockdown. He carries her through the house and up the stairs to their bedroom as she bites his earlobe and kisses his neck in a very distracting manner.

He lowers her onto their bed, climbing on top of her to kiss her again. ‘You’re still wearing far too many clothes,’ he murmurs into her ear. She shivers in anticipation - he knows how much his voice turns her on when it’s right in her ear like this - and lifts her arms above her head in response, allowing him to pull her sports bra off and turn his attention to her breasts, licking and sucking at her nipples. She gasps as he aggressively sucks a hickey onto her underboob, pushing her hips up against his body in an effort to seek out some much-needed friction.

‘Joe, please,’ she begs. ‘Enough with all this teasing, I need you now.’

He smirks, pressing his hips firmly down into hers, stopping her grinding motion. ‘Well, since you asked so nicely…’

He draws back to kneel on the floor at the side of the bed, pulling her hips towards him. He can practically hear her heart thudding in her chest as he hooks his long fingers under the waistband of her shorts, pulling them off in one motion along with her underwear. As he pushes her thighs apart and drapes her legs over his shoulders, he can see that she’s soaking wet. He decides to cut out the teasing, having made her wait for long enough already, gripping her hips and going straight for her clit.

The sound she makes in response is almost enough to make him come then and there, but he’s made of stronger stuff than that. As he continues, he can hear her breath catching in her throat, feel her perfect thighs tightening around his head, her body squirming under his attentions as she gets closer and closer to orgasm. Before long she’s coming, her whole body shuddering and her back arching off the bed as she moans out uncontrollably, ‘oh, Joe.’

He works her through her orgasm until eventually he looks up from between her legs to see her lying with her head thrown back, breathing heavily, hands clutching the sheets on either side of her, and a blissed-out expression on her face. She’s radiant, the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, and he feels a surge of satisfaction at being the only person allowed to bring her to this state.

‘Fuck,’ she mumbles deliriously, her cheeks flushed red. ‘That was so good, babe.’

But they’re not done yet, because he’s as desperate for her as she is for him. Pulling his sweatpants and boxers off, he climbs back onto the bed and hovers over her, repositioning them so that her head is on the pillow now. Taylor whines softly as he pushes into her, clearly still sensitive from the high she’s just had, so he starts off at a gentle pace. She feels so so good around him, and he nuzzles into her neck and groans softly into her ear. He loves feeling connected to her like this, their bodies intertwined and her hands in his hair. He lifts himself back off her slightly to look into her eyes.

‘s okay,’ she whispers to him, ‘you can go harder.’ He notices her gaze lingering slightly on his arms, which have bulked up noticeably in the last few months. He suppresses a grin. If that’s what she’s after, that’s what she’ll get.

Without any warning, he grabs her wrists and pins them above her head, thrusting into her with a newfound aggression. She moans, her mouth falling open and her eyes rolling back as she hitches her thighs up higher around his waist. She writhes in pleasure underneath him as he hits her spot, taking advantage of the new angle to penetrate her more deeply. With her hands restrained, she can only tighten herself around him and respond to every stroke by undulating her hips up into him. ‘Don’t you dare stop,’ she gasps, ‘I’m so close, Joe.’

The desperation in her voice turns him on even more. He can feel himself getting close, so close, and he quickly moves one of his hands down to her clit, repositioning the other one so that it’s still pinning down both of her wrists. ‘Are you going to come for me, Tay?’ he asks, his voice low and commanding. The combination of his fingers, his relentless thrusting, and his voice pushes her over the edge for a second time, and he feels her whole body shaking and clinging onto him as she comes hard.

The sensation of her body clenching around him is enough to make him explode as well, and he collapses on top of her, finally releasing her hands. She winds her arms around his shoulders and through his hair, which by this point is a complete mess, as he lies with his head on her chest, both of them slowly getting their breath back and letting their heart rates come back down to normal.

Joe can feel Taylor smiling against the top of his head. ‘Sorry for tearing you away from your book, babe,’ she says cheekily. ‘I’ll have to make you some more of my - how did you describe it? - orgasmic focaccia to make it up to you.’

He laughs at her silliness as they both get up to look for their clothes. ‘That’s okay, love, you’re good enough to eat on your own.’ Taylor snorts and pretends to smack him on the arm with her shorts, but she can’t resist replying, ‘In that case, maybe I can arrange a special dessert for you after dinner tonight.’

[lazyliars]

IMO, c!Beeduo conflict is incredibly necessary for the both of them to grow as people.

So, that way I see it, this fight --and it was barely a fight, it was the prelude to a fight that they'll hopefully have in the future but I'll get to that in a minute-- was not caused by the Cookie Outpost, and It was not caused by the burgers.

This is the result of the gradual build-up of secrecy and repressed emotions across a strong relationship built on genuine care and love.

That's what makes it interesting - it's not a bad relationship; on the contrary, beeduo have one of the more healthy partnerships on the server and they have demonstrated several times that they are willing to back each other up on just about anything.

But it's a relationship complicated by their traumas, and their instincts to not put those traumas on others, creating a severe lack of understanding of some pretty basic pieces of each-others puzzles.

So a proper fight needs to happen. The two of them are not willing to spill their darker, negative emotions otherwise, as demonstrated by the fact that they have been together for months, but Ranboo had no idea that Tubbo viewed L'manberg as even a positive in his life, never mind the last time he was truly happy, because Tubbo was reluctant and/or unwilling to share.

On the contrary, Ranboo, afaik, hasn't shared any of the more concerning parts of the Enderwalk with Tubbo, leaving him completely in the dark about the fact that he has reason to believe he was assisting Dream, nor about the potentially harmful experiments he's doing on himself to study it.

And both of them have reasons to hide these things, both practical and emotional, but in neither case does that negate the damage these secrets have done to their relationship.

There is a build-up of secrets between them, intentional and otherwise, that is like termites in the otherwise solid foundation of their relationship.

So from my point of view, yeah. This Burger conflict? Might just be the push they need to get angry at each other. To call out the inconsistencies in each-others stories; to address the lack of understanding they have. And I don't think it'd be a pretty sight, I don't think it can be, at least not at first.

But the lack of communication between them about some of the most important parts of themselves, was already hurting them.

Think about the fact that Ranboo didn't know how his husband got his scars, and that he was never willing to ask.

Think about the fact that Tubbo never mentioned that he's been slowly crumbling from the lingering trauma of his execution.

Think Ranboo's attempts to essentially pad the sharp edges of any potential conflict and keep Tubbo from finding out about potential threats, trying to deal with it all himself.

Think Tubbo festering in paranoia and frustration until it boiled over into threats of nuclear warfare at the first sign of trouble.

Think Ranboo not realizing that the Cookie Outpost didn't mean much to Tubbo.

Think Tubbo not realizing that the Cookie Outpost meant something to Ranboo.

Something's gotta give.

They need to address this stuff, and they've had months to do it on their own terms with very little results.

They both care about each other, but that care is blocking them from sharing the parts of themselves they've deemed ugly, for fear of putting too much on each others shoulders, or worse, driving the other away completely.

A fight could be what they need to be honest with each-other. A fight gets you angry, makes it easier to show that ugliness, that honesty. It's not pretty, it's not sweet, but sometimes you need a clean break to start healing whole again.

At the very least, they need to address the heard of elephants in the room. There's so much, so much that they don't know about each-other.

It's a pretty serious thing that Ranboo didn't know how much L'manberg meant to Tubbo. It is, as described by Tubbo himself, connected to his core values - and he felt utterly lost when it died.

And it's this assumption on Tubbo's part that Ranboo should already know, that leads to him unintentionally cutting Ranboo with; "I haven't been happy since L'manberg,"

And it's not entirely Ranboo's fault, and it's not entirely Tubbo's, it's just... sad.

They need this. They need the truth.

If a fight, or yes, even a divorce, pushed these truths to the surface, then I think that would ultimately be for the better. They care about each-other and clearly want to support and shoulder each-others burdens, but they can't when they have no idea what those burdens are.

They wont know the depths of each-other's hurt when they've been kept in the dark about each-other's most wounded parts.

They need to talk. But they haven't. So yeah, let them fight, then.

[deepend-swimmer]

Arthur's mother sigil and his love for Merlin

this is the elaboration I promised on my last merthur post (the 'arthur realised he loved merlin unconditionally on the last episode' one) if asked and since @camelotsheart asked I did it :) it's quite big but bare it with me:

As I see, Arthur associates everything that has to do with his duty as prince with Uther. Maybe because Uther loved Ygraine so much and still gave her life for an heir, he only truly ever seen Arthur as the future king, at least more than his actual son. However, Ygraine had Arthur because she wanted a son and not because she wanted a prince, or at least that's what Arthur could have seen as. He never got to actually meet her, but maybe in his eyes, the fact that she died for him and still loved him regardless showed that love didn't have to be conditioned to his duty. So, for Arthur, his mother kind of represented everything he could have been and already is outside of a prince.

And Arthur's affection to Merlin is, for most part, seen outside his duty. "I know I’m a prince, so we can’t be friends, but if I wasn’t a prince..." well excuse me sir, I've seen you be friends for at least a season, 8 episodes ago you were calling him "a true friend". Arthur, for so long, sees that his relationship with Merlin would be different if they weren't on their respective positions, but then he keeps contradicting himself on either they are friends or not (through both actions and words). Yet, when he express to Gwen the wish he sometimes has of leaving Camelot and his duty, have a little farm somewhere no one knows him, it's not surprising that he would bring Merlin, because Merlin is still a defining feature of his life had he not been a prince.

To counterpart this, Arthur's love to Gwen is tied with his position as a prince and Uther. Their relationship starts with Arthur trying to stepdown from his place as prince, he loves Guinevere in defiance to Uther, he thinks of her as his future queen, even when he tries to give up his love for her it's so that the people of Camelot don't see him as weak. The one time he considers his love for her outside of being Prince and King Arthur is when he tells Morgana he would runaway with Gwen now, to then, one day, return back to their rightful place as king and queen of Camelot. If that wasn't enough, Gwen's love for Arthur overcoming her love for Lancelot also comes from his position as prince, when he shows himself to be a more merciful royal and more in touch if his people than Uther. Even one of the ways Gwen demonstrates her devotion and love to Arthur is by taking care of Uther after Morgana's betrayal.

I think everything starts to change in The Coming of Arthur, the first time that he isn't the heir of Camelot. And throughout it all, Merlin is the one beside him, not wavering his devotion or leaving his side for once, sort of proving to Arthur what he had always thought: his and Merlin's relationship isn't conditioned by his position as prince, even if, ultimately, they are master and servant.

Then, season 4 happened. As far as I can see, Arthur realises he is in love with Merlin when he is sure he is going to lose him. It's probably one of the first times since they've met that Arthur needs to let Merlin go and for what? His duty to Camelot and his people. Merlin is literally dying and Arthur wants to take him back to Camelot himself, but he needs to stay in order to insure that no one else from his kingdom dies by the hands of the Dorocha. And even in his dying moments, Merlin begs Arthur to stay by his side. When he comes back alive, Arthur can't even say anything, he needs some full seconds to compose himself. From that point and on, Arthur openly refers to Merlin as his best/only friend. If the longing, lovingly stares weren't enough to prove that at that point Arthur already knew he loved Merlin, we have the fully scripted, filmed and edited deleted scene: Arthur gives his mother's sigil to Merlin.

I think it says a lot that it was planned for his mother's sigil to go to Merlin and the Pendragon's seal to Guinevere. Merlin getting one of the only things Arthur has of his mother, the one person he sees as proof that love for him doesn't need to be conditioned to him being the Once and Future King of Camelot, when since the very beginning of the series Merlin destiny was to fulfill Arthur's as that king. And I see it as Arthur best effort to acknowledge all that and let Merlin know that he loves him just as much as he loved her. On the other side, Gwen getting the seal shows once again how much their love, despite its true nature, is really tied with Arthur's position and he passes down that condition of reigning Camelot to Guinevere, because he knows she will fulfill it with her whole heart just as he had always seen it.

So when in the last episode, he finds out that Merlin is what his father has battled his whole life, something that Arthur had time and time again decided to keep it outlawed for the sake of Camelot and that Merlin had supported it all those times, putting Arthur's and Camelot's sake over his own, he is understandably taken back. Merlin put his duty to Arthur above everything, through years and years and all Arthur had ever wanted was to give off his own to spend his life with him. But now, he already gave the royal seal to Gwen, Arthur is no longer the sovereign to Camelot and he is there with Merlin, in a place no one knows him, and he doesn't feel the weight of Albion upon his shoulder and Merlin still loves and cares for him despite his initial rejection and he is dying. He has everything he has ever secretly wished for but with the unfortunate detail that he is dying, despite how much Merlin wants to convince himself he can save him.

It takes time for Arthur to forgive Merlin's betrayal, not because he has magic but rather because he didn't trust Arthur enough to not need to lie for all this years when Arthur trusted him far above anyone else. He ultimately forgives Merlin because he can feel himself succumbing quicker and quicker with each second and he doesn't want to die with Merlin thinking he is angry at him or worst, that he hates him. Then, Merlin goes all the way and make the plow fields speech and Arthur thinks he could break right there, the devotion overflowing Merlin's being with every word acting as a switch inside his mind: there is not one bit of Arthur that doesn't love every single bit of Merlin and nothing could ever change that.

[venusluvrr]

The Psychological Horror Manhwa “Killing Stalking” is not a Romance, but an Emotional Series Depicting the Codependent Relationship Between Two Ill Individuals

Content Warning!!: contains mentions of sexual abuse (rape) and mental illness.

Killing Stalking is an immensely twisted webcomic series, mainly popular within the Yaoi community for its boy on boy focused plotline. The story follows characters Yoon Bum (Bum), a shy, scrawny young man with a haunting past filled with abuse, and Oh Sangwoo (Sangwoo), a younger man who also has a quite damaging upbringing but masks it perfectly with his vibrant, extroverted personality. After being saved from a rape attempt during his time serving in the military, Bum develops a crush on his saviour, Sangwoo, from which an unhealthy obsession starts to arise and he eventually finds himself locating and breaking into the man’s home one day when he’s out. When he does, he discovers a terribly injured woman being held captive in his basement, and with further evidence, soon comes to the realization that his crush is actually a serial killer -- hence the name “Killing Stalking,” as Sangwoo kills and Bum stalks. For a very specific reason though, Sangwoo decides not to kill the man that had been stalking him, and instead holds him hostage in his custody. From here, the story goes into exceeding depth of the abnormal, toxic, and manipulative relationship the two form during their time spent together. By just the mere description of it, it’s a bit concerning to know that a large portion of readers still support Sangwoo and Bum’s relationship. In other words, they believe they truly loved each other and that the story was not only horror fiction but a romance as well. One could easily come to this conclusion by basing their relationship on the few parts within the novel where they showed affection towards each other -- for example when Bum allows Sangwoo to hug him to sleep when he suffered through the night, or my personal favourite, when Sangwoo buys Bum a stuffed frog keychain after finding out that he had an affinity for such creatures. But we cannot simply dismiss the underlying factors of their relationship because of some cute things they did that made our heart melt -- Sangwoo still abused Bum at his leisure which makes those moments quite meaningless in the sense of it all. What Sangwoo and Yoonbum shared can’t be classified as “love,” because even with their peculiar bond and endearing moments, the psychological damage they both endured played a bigger part in the way they perceived each other.

Many toxic relationships start out lovely and glamorous until the couple have become comfortable enough to start revealing some bad habits, but in Sangwoo and Bum’s case, they were already off to a bad start, as the reason they remained with each other was solely for reasons pertaining to their poor mental health.

At the time Sangwoo saved Bum in the military, Bum still suffered from Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) -- a disorder he inferrably developed due to the fact that he grew up being constantly physically and sexually abused by the people around him. People with this illness may easily develop an infatuation for a person who shows them even the least bit of care; It can reach the point where they begin to idolize them and see them almost as a perfect human being -- which is exactly how Bum viewed Sangwoo after he helped him to escape a rape attempt. The likely specific term for what Sangwoo was to Bum is a Favourite Person (FP). To an individual suffering from Borderline Personality Disorder, their FP is everything -- their self-worth, identity and emotional dependency all rely on this one person, making them the center of their lives. In contrast to this sincere fondness, the only reason Sangwoo kept Bum alive was because of the man’s resemblance to his late mother -- the one person in his life who he truly loved. While his father was abusive and negligent, his mother tried her best to care for her son even while her own mental stability wasn’t so great either. Even though it was implied that he was responsible for the murder of both his mother and father in high school -- getting away with it scotch-free because of how perfectly executed his plan was -- he still shared a special bond with the woman, allowing her existence follow and continue to torutue him mentally as he grew older. When he saw Yoonbum, he felt as if she had been somewhat resurrected, or at least he could pretend so by dressing him up in his mother’s clothes and making him cook and do the chores; He also played the husband role by abusing and assaulting Bum just as his father did to his mother -- mostly just out of his own nature. Sangwoo had his own issues, “mommy issues,” and he initially needed to keep Bum alive so he could fulfill his own longing desires. Knowing the man’s character though, things wouldn’t end there and instead headed down a very gruesome and frightful path.

The very reasons that the two were drawn to each other we’re even more evident the longer they lived under the same roof. While Yoonbum continued to recall the perfect image he had of Sangwoo in his head, Sangwoo continued to manipulate the man in order to satisfy his own needs. A healthy relationship cannot be based on deceit, because one person will end up victimized instead of loved.

Oh Sangwoo is a sadistic sociopath with a history of kidnapping, abusing, raping and torturing innocent people, and because of his illness, he shows feels and shows no remorse for his actions and even proceeds to kill off his victims as they pleaded in objection. What some people don’t understand is that when Sangwoo met Bum, the only reason he treated him differently was not because he thought of him as special, but because he had a personal agenda that included making Bum think that was the truth and that he was indeed the favoured victim among many. It’s no surprise with the man’s manipulative personality that he would enjoy planting a lie in Bum’s head to make him stay and continue to do as he says, and this is confirmed whenever he returned back to his old destructive habits even after showing the man acts of affection. Yes, Sangwoo spared Bum’s life, clothed him and fed him, but as their bond grew, his narcissistic attitude was still more apparent than ever.

Upon meeting Bum for the first time, Sangwoo didn’t hesitate to aggressively break his ankles to prevent his mobility, he left the man within the dark confinement of his basement for a certain period of time before letting him out only after he had gained his trust. He made him sit in a chair to wash dishes and make dinner because he could no longer stand. Sangwoo also constantly dragged Bum down with derogatory words and statements every chance he could get, this included calling him a “retard,” and referring to him as a “disgusting” and “filthy” human being. As confirmed by the author, Sangwoo is also heterosexual, which is further proved by the homophobic remarks he made towards a significantly older man who was sexually attracted to him while murdering him with Bum’s aid. This fact alone is another one that should justify a strong point that demonstrates the true hostility of their relationship -- Yoonbum never gave his consent to have sex with Sangwoo, nor did he allow it to happen because “he wanted it.” He specifically used phrases such as, “No,” “Stop,” and “It hurts,” implying that sometimes there was no mutual agreement when they had sex and Sangwoo had actually raped him several times.

People with Borderline Personality Disorder have been reported to have difficulties seeing the faults in their partner -- this explains why Bum still held on to him. He chose to stay when he had the chance to escape, and with tears rolling down his face from excruciating pain he still told Sangwoo he loved him. In a scene where Bum is left alone with the police as they investigate the suspicions they have surrounding him, he questions them saying, “Could you kiss somebody like me? Could you love somebody like me?” As he believes nobody but Sangwoo could answer yes to those two questions, convinced that Sangwoo really does have feelings for him. It’s saddening to know that the poor man had successfully been lured into a trap, and because of his mental health it would be much harder for him to realize it.

To the readers that think, “Sangwoo and Yoonbum needed each other,” -- You’re not completely wrong. They did need each other in the way that they found somewhat of a saneness from each other’s presence, each using one another to each other’s benefit. But being together at the same time built on their insanity, as the presence of Sangwoo’s mother seemed to grow even more prevalent with Bum, who resembled her, also in the picture, and Yoonbum growing so unhealthily attached to Sangwoo that he constantly feared of abandonment and turned the sociopath into the only source of his happiness. They needed each other, but not for the right reasons. They were attached to each other, but there was no love, otherwise it would reflect throughout the story. One of the most debate-worthy scenes that challenge this fact is when Sangwoo is reported by an old lady in the hospital, the one that had ended his life, that he was calling out Bum’s name throughout the night as he lay in his deathbed. Those were his final words, and Yoonbum’s final word was also Sangwoo’s name before he was very well implied to have been hit by a car while he chased an illusion of the man he “loved.” Even I almost felt that this was solid proof that even through the tough and terrible of their relationship, deep inside, the two really were in love but could not express it in the right way due to their mental health issues -- after all, what someone makes of their final moments before death is much more meaningful than most of what they've done in their life entirely. But I came to realize that the only way I could support this relationship would be if they had met in an alternate universe where they did not suffer from such dreadful childhood trauma that made them into the hurting individual they had become before meeting each other. As difficult as it is for me to picture the two with different partners, it would be best if the two had not met at all as they only fed into the severity of their conditions.

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 10 second part

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Meta)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Unclean Realm

Lan Wangji has a Louis Henry Sullivan moment on seeing the Nie family home, becoming enraptured by its overwrought monumental architecture after a lifetime of restrained good taste and single-story buildings.

He approaches the fortress with the expression of delighted wonder that he usually reserves for when he’s looking at the moon or at Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian is like, yep that’s a building, all right, but he supports Lan Wangji’s kinks.  

Meng Yao tells them about the Wen Clan directive, and has what appears to be a moment of genuine, affectionate amusement at Nie Huaisang’s reaction.

Jiang Cheng kinda blames the Lans for inventing the whole “indoctrination” thing and for encouraging his brother’s disaster bi tendencies. Wei Wuxian responds by complimenting the Lan Clan, almost like someone who met his true love got some real value out of the instruction he received there.  

(more after the cut)

One of the great ironies of this story is that Wei Wuxian sort of becomes a rogue Lan disciple because of his relationship with Lan Wangji. He relies on Lan temperament techniques, uses music as a primary cultivation method, has committed all of the Lan rules to his supposedly terrible memory and cites them on multiple occasions, and is an important mentor for the younger generation Lan disciples. Because Hanguang-Jun is just that good in bed.

Xue Yang in the background of this conversation is channeling OP’s church-enduring, school-enduring inner 10-year-old.

Nie Mingjue, Chifeng-Zun, appears, and couldn’t be more different than his brother. On first watching this episode, I saw him as a grumpy, sexy, very emotional leather daddy man who is quick to anger. Rewatching, I see someone who’s struggling with a growing illness...the resentful energy kind.

Nie Mingjue’s handling of resentful energy is very different from Wei Wuxian’s straightforward interest and acceptance. NMJ has a traditional cultivator’s view of it, regarding it as evil and as something to resist, while he is literally carrying it on his back. He’s like a secret alcoholic who is preaching temperence, and can’t find a way to be reconciled with himself.  

At this point of the story, Nie Mingjue is keeping it together, but is under a hell of a lot of stress, and Baxia’s blood thirst is already maybe a problem.

The Yunmeng bros think that Nie Huaisang’s fear of his brother is hilarious, because they don’t understand the situation. They think he’s just living in a hideously toxic family dynamic like theirs, when actually he’s in a loving, sorta healthy, if parentless, family that is being crushed under a generational curse.

Compliments for the Yunmeng Bros

I’m not the first meta poster to notice how happy Jiang Cheng is to be praised by Nie Mingjue.

He never gets this at home. Jiang Yanli praises him, but in that watery “you tried your best” way that doesn’t really stick.  Nie Mingjue’s praise really means something, because he is a fearsome warrior and stern authority figure. And this is a double compliment, because Nie Mingjue says he heard it from Lan Xichen, and agrees with it.

Let’s Make Terrible Decisions

Keep Xue Yang alive, says Wei Wuxian, and Meng Yao immediately agrees, although I’m pretty sure he would have proposed that even if WWX hadn’t.

So they do, not realizing that “kill him later” is never a good plan for someone who 1. super needs killing 2. has a whole lot of death-dealing skills.

Future clan leader Jiang Cheng notices how smart and talented Meng Yao is.  Xue Yang finds it hilarious when the trio praises Meng Yao, possibly because their evil team up is already underway.

Boss’ Bed Warmer Son of a Ho

The constant insults toward Meng Yao are about his mom, but there’s another level of leering implication, that Meng Yao seems to encourage in his conversation with the soon-to-be-murdered guard captain.

Nie Mingjue elevated him way above his expectations, and he is ridiculously pretty, which has to create rumors. In the Nightless City scenes when he’s fondling Baxia and telling Nie Mingjue’s family secrets there’s definitely a sense of intimacy that’s not just “loyal retainer.”

I feel like maybe this whole exchange is a bit of theater designed to show Xue Yang something without showing it to anyone else. Meng Yao didn’t need to have this conversation in front of his prisoner.

Let’s Do Exactly What We Said We Wouldn’t

Once the younger quartet are alone with Nie Mingjue, Wei Wuxian crosses the room away from his friends and practically into Lan Wangji’s pocket, if Lan Wangji had pockets.

He has no pockets and also has no personal bubble any more, when it comes to Wei Wuxian.

We could make a weapon out of Yin Iron, Wei Wuxian says, completely forgetting his entire conversation with Lan Yi, apparently. Lan Wangji doesn’t argue with this idea.

Nie Mingjue warns Wei Wuxian not to try it.

I stabbed a man in Qinghe just to watch him die

Nie Mingjue is like the Johnny Cash of the cultivation world, carrying the weight of his poor choices and trying to steer the young folk to the path of righteousness. But--like Johnny Cash--his bad choices have made him really fucking cool, so he isn’t very good at deterring anybody.

Meng Yao Didn’t Come Here to Make Friends

Immediately after Meng Yao’s fellow Nie clan people call him “son of a whore” again, Wei Wuxian meets him, is nice to him, addresses him by his military title, bows to him, asks why he’s away from the party, and thanks him for his service.

But Meng Yao has already decided to make friends with Xue Yang, so Wei Wuxian goes onto his list of people that he doesn’t give a crap about except if they can be useful to him.  Then Meng Yao goes to make out hatch a plot with Xue Yang.

I’ll Sleep On Your Roof

Meeting SongXiao seems to have done away with the last of Lan Wangji’s resistance to his connection with Wei Wuxian.

He hears a noise on the roof and, when realizing it’s Wei Wuxian, he smiles one of his tiny reserved smiles before heading outside.

When he sees Wei Wuxian drunkenly sprawled on the roof, limbs akimbo, wine on his chin and neck, mouth full of poetry about the open road, Lan Wangji gives him the most fond look imaginable.

Then he reluctantly leaves, with his signature “say goodbye, but only when he can’t hear you” thing.

They’ve both come a really long way since their first meeting. Wei Wuxian is openly and vocally attaching himself to Lan Wangji...but is not actually entering his space or asking for anything from him; he just wants to be near him, and wants to let him know that. “I’ll sleep on your roof tonight.”

And Lan Wangji just...loves him. Wei Wuxian is drunk, embarrassing, demonstrative, eager to make a hell weapon out of yin iron, touchy feely, and absurdly sexy. And Lan Wangji is pretty okay with all of that.

I Might Have Been Drunk

Wei Wuxian carefully avoids telling Jiang Cheng where he was last night.

Even if he did get blackout drunk, he would have woken up on Lan Wangji’s roof. And I don’t think he was as drunk as that. He just knows Jiang Cheng wouldn’t like the truth.

Wen Fucking Chao, Again

Wen Chao shows up to be annoying and boring.  This leads to a pretty good fight between Nie Mingjue and Wen Zhuliu. Note that when the chips are down, Nie Huaisang stands with his Gege without any cowering. Almost as if he had hidden reserves of bravery, and is not as helpless as he lets on.

Wen Zhuliu isn’t styled to be super hot, although he’s certainly compelling, and in Dance of the Phoenix he looks good with sensitive-guy hair wispies. I wonder what actor Feng Mingjing looks like out of character?

BRB, adding a tag to my follow list

Battle Bros

When the fighting breaks out, the Yunmeng brothers are decisive and united, with Wei Wuxian giving orders to Jiang Cheng and JC following without hesitation.

I feel like if these two could have gone through a few big battles together, instead of being separated during most of the Sunshot campaign, their whole relationship would have improved. On the battlefield, they respect, trust, and understand each other.  

The Pointy End

Nie Mingjue is holding his own against Wen Zhuliu, but he gets distracted by Meng Yao hollering “Xue Yang has escaped” and then shanking the guard captain right in front of him.

Wen Zhuliu takes advantage of the distraction to aim a very slow stab at Nie Huasang, and Meng Yao jumps in front to get stabbed on his behalf.

When the Yunmeng bros show up to help NMJ, Wen Zhuliu immeiately yanks Wen Chao back behind him and points his sword at Wei Wuxian. He absolutely sees these two as a serious threat.  Considering that eventually WWX is going to kill Wen Chao while JC kills Wen Zhuliu, this concern is not misplaced.

Wei Wuxian tells Wen Chao to stop being such a jerk, and Wen Chao menaces Wei Wuxian and gloats about the burning of cloud recesses. The burning, that is, of some part of cloud recesses that doesn’t include the library, the Jingshi, the main cultivation chamber, the rabbit warren, or Lan Qiren’s house, unless the Lan Clan is really really good at rebuilding things to very exact specifications.

In a rare moment of seeing Meng Yao’s internal thoughts, he is worried about Lan Xichen when he hears about cloud recesses.

The Yelling Part

Now we have the particularly nasty breakup between Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao. It’s...got some layers. Meng Yao is cowering on the floor, but is not apologizing.

He never apologizes throughout this encounter.

孟瑤無悔  - Meng Yao (has) no regrets

This scene is amazing and excruciating to watch, even more when you know what’s ahead.

What the Fuck is Meng Yao’s Plan

On one level this is Meng Yao, manipulative sociopath, setting up a cover story for his aiding and alliance with Xue Yang.  On another, this is Meng Yao, loving subordinate, being tossed aside by his lord because he dared to stand up for himself.

He uses the same “scout’s honor” gesture we’ve seen Wei Wuxian use to swear he’s telling the truth. Wei Wuxian is always lying when he uses this gesture.

I’m...not sure exactly what Meng Yao’s plan is, with all these chess moves? By stabbing the captain in front of NHS, he created an opportunity to plant a cover story about Xue Yang’s escape. He might be hoping that Nie Mingjue will forgive him and keep him on, while Xue Yang can stay in his back pocket to be used later.

Dry eyes? Try Visene

Or he might be intending to get kicked out, given his non-apology. In any case, Nie Mingjue is weeping during this encounter, and Meng Yao...isn’t. He is signaling distress in his voice, expression, and body language, but his eyes are dry up until the last moment, and even then they just glisten a bit. In a show where every actor is an expert at crying on cue, that’s got to be a deliberate choice.

Which isn’t to say that Meng Yao is faking being full of emotion in this scene. It’s just that the emotion isn’t necessarily sorrow.

What Does Nie Mingjue’s Head Think

Flip the view and this is about Nie Mingjue being betrayed by a subordinate, who has turned out to be a self-serving murderer. And on another level it’s Nie Mingjue being betrayed by his lover, who was just using him for advancement.

I rewatched the later episode where we get the scene as Nie Mingjue’s head perceived it, and he’s particularly brokenhearted and disillusioned from his head’s POV.  In that version there is a telling addition to the conversation.

Nie Mingjue asks about the guys who were roasting Meng Yao behind his back. He asks, if I hadn’t come, would you have murdered all of them?

Um. No, dude. Of course fucking not. That’s what a patriarchal authority does. That’s the way an angry Nie Mingjue/Baxia team might solve a problem.

Meng Yao has to use subterfuge to kill his enemies. And while he super hates being called “son of a whore” it’s absolutely not enough to make him kill someone, with the risk murder brings. Likewise, being treated well isn’t enough to make him spare someone. Nie Mingjue totally doesn’t get this, because he’s been the patriarch of this clan his entire adult life.

And Here’s the Actual Problem

There is a betrayal here, but Nie Mingjue is not simply a victim.  Whether it’s a sexual relationship or a non-sexual bond of affection, there can be nothing solid in Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao’s relationship within a feudal society, because it is fundamentally unequal. Even if they love each other deeply - which I’m not convinced either of them does - every encounter they have is tainted with power dynamics.

Meng Yao has been elevated by Nie Mingjue and quite probably taken into his bed, as well as being told many family secrets, but has not been given a new surname (like, for example, Wen Zhuliu was) or independent power. More importantly, Nie Mingjue has not used his authority to remove or punish the many people who disrespect his subordinate.  Lan Qiren would have had all of those gossipy fuckers kneeling in the snow, and Wen Ruohan would feed them to his mosh pit zombies.

Meng Yao is a murderous little snake, but he is right to be angry with Nie Mingjue about some things, and his pursuit of his own agenda is understandable.

Well, That Was a Slice

Meng Yao leaves, hurt, with a dignified bow; just as he did that one time when his dad kicked him down the Carp Tower steps.

Take note, both patriarchal authorities: that is his way of saying “I’m going to murder you one day.”

Nie Mingjue sits with his broken heart, as we realize that we’ve only spent 20 minutes with this guy and we’ve gone on an entire emotional journey with him. This episode packed in a LOT.

Soundtrack: Johnny Cash, Folsom Prison Blues

[straw-of-the-hat]

I love Kit's and Izuku's friendship. They're my BROTP. So could I bother you to write some headcanons based on their friendship and the shenanigans they get into?

Kit and Izuku shenanigans

These headcanons belong to this story!

✨ Let me just start out by saying they've definitely committed arson.

✨ Kit is the only reason Izuku had any confidence and if anything ever happens to him Izuku is probably going to shrivel up like a piece of month old broccoli and never move again.

✨Tenya is deathly afraid of leaving Kit and Izuku alone together but can't do much considering how close they live to each other. He's never considered himself religious, but by god does that boy pray everytime he sends those two off on their own.

✨Kit somehow managed to get into a fist fight at least once a week on their way home but Izuku has learned to just sit back and watch it go down rather than try and intervene.

✨They both chill at the Midoriya apartment all the time and talk about theoretical plans to overthrow the hero commission and revamp it from the inside.

✨Izuku has written "adopted by All Might" fanfiction and yes Kit knows and will forever hold it over his head. He's printed out four copies and has sent it to fifteen different emails.

✨They try to start a quirkless mafia but it's literally not working and Kit is irrationally angry because most of Japan's quirkless population is made up of old people. Old people with knee problems. As the mafia, they should be the ones causing the knee problems, not experiencing them!

✨Izuku is inspired and decides he absolutely must know how to seduce people. Kit forces Tenya into his demonstration and Izuku has like, half a notebook worth of notes.

✨He practices on Katsuki, naturally. Kit is all for it because Katsuki always comes home looking like he just got blasted in the face with a stream of ice water: shivering, flushed cheeks, wide eyes. It's fucking hilarious.

✨ They're low-key constantly insulting each other. Like all the time. And yet their self-esteem never stops growing? How can they be putting each other down and lifting each other up at he same time it doesn't make sense. Quirkless unity?

✨Kit tried—really, honest to fuck tried—to get Izuku into anything other than one of his weird shirts labeled "pants" or "flannel". He made a gargantuan effort and it just didn't work. Izuku could be a fashion icon if he just let the shirts go. He could be on the runway, and Kit is in agony.

✨They DIYed their own Tenya shirts to irritate him because what else are they supposed to do if not annoy him? They also run an Iida family Stan account on Twitter and worship Tensei like he's some sort of saint. Which I mean, he may as well be.

✨Izuku has never had alcohol so they dressed Denise up in their stolen Endeavor costume and sent him in to go illegally purchase them whatever the nomu could get his hands on. It was white claw but they made do.

✨Izuku starts a blog about Kit and Tenya's relationship and Kit knows this yet can't find a way to permanently delete it. It just pops back up and Izuku rags on them publicly for their PDA. It's brutal. The commenters are so cutthroat.

✨They stole a minivan once because Izuku used his pay to buy a rare, life-sized All Might statue off of eBay and they had no way to transport it. Where did Izuku even learn how to hotwire?

✨Denise does have a crush on the statue and they're not going to tell All Might this nor are they going to do anything about it. It's comedic relief at it's finest. Plus Inko really enjoys setting up fake dates for the statue and Denise because it makes the Nomu so impossibly happy. Who are they to get in the way of that?

✨They make a Chad shrine in every public bathroom they find and there's sort of a thing about it on Reddit that's slowly growing in size. I.E., they accidentally made Chad his own cult. They're both too afraid to tell Tenya.

✨They bully Katsuki on purpose and it's so fun. He gets so scared. Kit is already teaching Izuku how to take him down in a one on one fight without a quirk and by the time Izuku gets to UA he will be unstoppable.

✨They like to dress Luis the Chihuahua up in little outfits and post them on the Instagram he made for them. They're both way too invested in it. It's a miracle that dog isn't dead with own old and decrepit it is, honestly.

✨They have six different secret handshakes and they all mean different things.

✨Kit is GOING to give Izuku a haircut one day soon, even if he has to knock him out to get it done.

✨Why does Kit literally make Izuku livid what the fuck. Izuku used to be fine. Docile, if you will. Now he's just irritated and drenched in sarcasm that he can't stop from pouring out. Yet he also adores him. Where is the line and when did they cross it?

✨ Izuku's still too afraid to ask for ketchup at a restaurant. That's what Kit is for, Izuku supposes.

✨Izuku writes down any kink Kit alludes to ever for the sole purpose of later shaming him. Oh, and giving Tenya a heads up. Poor guy has no idea what's going on.

✨ They kill it at dance dance revolution

✨Kit is always trying to hook Izuku up with anyone hot they come across. He just knows Izuku would thrive in a relationship.

✨ He's sort of eyeing Shoto Todoroki for the role, actually. He and Izuku would be cute, right?

✨Izuku knows all of Kits passwords and sometimes breaks into his Instagram just to screenshot all the thirst messages the other boy gets and sends them to Tenya. Tenya gets so offended and Kit is left to deal with the aftermath. Absolutely hilarious.

✨Izuku knows how to disarm pretty much any type of bomb you can think of and teaches Kit all he knows. In return, Kit takes him to a casino and shows him the ways of poker

✨Kit is really good at poker and that makes people made and yes they are now running for their lives

✨Izuku always carries a pair of emergency shoes for Kit even though he knows they'll just be lost. Better safe than sorry.

✨Kit, in parallel, has a variety of fidget toys hidden on his person at any given time in case Izuku finds himself feeling anxious

✨Kit once sat on Izuku's shoulders and they wore a really longe trench coat to break into Best Jeanist's main fashion department building to steal his runway plans so they could know what they were up against

✨They outclassed him in every imaginable way

✨Izuku literally dissociates anytime Kit opens his mouth to talk about Tenya. He doesn't want to know. TMI. Time out. No.

✨Kit dared Izuku to go up to Endeavor in disguise during his patrol and pretend to ask for an autograph and instead knee him in the balls.

✨Izuku's chosen disguise was a full sonic the hedgehog costume and he did in fact knee endeavor in the crotch. And yes, it's a meme now

✨ They have an Endeavor hate chant

✨Izuku really wants to add All Might merch to the Suzuko line and Kit just thinks he's a nerd and a suck up. All might is already his teacher and now he wants designer clothes with his face on it? Too far, man. Too far.

✨They have matching jeans that they definitely didn't steal when they broke into Jeanist's fashion depot.

✨Overall they're an unstoppable and rather irritating force to be reckoned with and will stop at nothing to wreck havoc, much to Tenya's disdain.

[let-them-read-fics]

Youth With You

Pairing: Lisa x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ~ 3,113

HC Count: 31

This is a mix between headcanons and a one shot

Warnings / Misc. -- Fluff, Little Hot & Heavy, (Public) Teasing, Happy Ending

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: Hey everyone! Here’s my first writing for Lisa; I’m pretty proud of it! Feel free to let me know what you think. Happy reading, I hope you enjoy!

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Becoming a new trainee was terrifying in every sense of the word. The media, the practices, the tests -- everything. 3 months into your coaching, however, things hit an all time high: you gained the opportunity to enter the competition Youth With You, as an independent trainee. Your freedom and right to expression was important to you, so it wasn’t an accident that you were going in independently. A company would only put pressure and bans on you, restricting your creativity and keeping you from being your most authentic self.

Finding out that Lisa was a mentor only made your nerves worse; at the same time, though, you’d never been more excited for something in your whole life.

Having friends in the industry proved to be an important factor as you prepped for the show. Producers and managers gave you advice, knowing exactly what each of the teachers looked for and demanded from their groups. You worked tirelessly to ready yourself for the whirlwind that was sure to come.

When you arrive at the production building, you’re in awe; the interior is ginormous, with insanely high ceilings and huge doors. Everything is coated in various colors, all of them pristine and beautiful. The labyrinth of halls that winds throughout the building before you is quite intimidating, but you take a deep breath and remind yourself of your reasons for being here. It’s far too important to chicken out now.

The staff had tipped you off to the fact that the mentors would be there today, but they neglected to tell you when. You had surely expected them to come in after everyone got settled. Alas, you were sorely mistaken; thus, you can imagine the surprise that etched into your features upon entering the main room.

Ella and Kun were invested in their papers, flipping through the stacks and whispering to each other; Jony J was turned to his right, chatting with Lisa. Your presence was announced by the rather loud thud that echoed through the room at the closing of the door.

The bright lights nearly blinded you as you turned to face them again, dread creeping into your mind.

“Hello everyone, I’m Y/N. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” The words came out cooler that you had expected, and you patted yourself on the back for remaining so calm. You’re known for managing to hide your nerves well and remain professional, but that’s no easy task with this group of talent. Especially her.

You purposefully tried to avoid looking at her, knowing you’d blush and get majorly sidetracked. You feared you wouldn’t be able to recover from that.

“I see that you’re an independent trainee,” Kun said, a smile spreading across his lips. You swallowed at the sight, knowing the questions were about to come rolling in. “Yes, that’s correct. I prefer working alone; I only have to rely on myself.” He studies you, head tilted to the side as he considers your answer, and you nearly melt under his astute gaze. “I was the same way. It’s never easy, but the mentors and I will be right beside you during your time here.” Knowing that these 4 amazing people were here to share their experiences and guide you through your troubles made the task at hand much less daunting, and you couldn’t help but smile at the thought. Despite the intensity of the competition, you felt at ease, knowing they genuinely want the best for you.

“Ah, look at that face! So cute,” Ella coos, grinning back. You hide your face behind your hands, embarrassed beyond belief. Everyone chuckles at the sight, and you join in. With the atmosphere officially comfortable, you allow your eyes to trail over to Lisa. To your surprise, she’s already looking at you, lip between her teeth. 

“I see that you have 2 special talents listed.” Lisa starts, leaving room for you to elaborate. “Yes ma’am. While studying abroad in my youth, I learned 3 languages in addition to my native English.” The mentors look pleasantly surprised, and you continue with your other skill. “My mother is a professional chef, and we’ve always been close. She’s trained me over the years, and that’s something I’m very thankful for. During my time away from home I was fortunate enough to learn new techniques and styles from across the world.”

As you finish talking about yourself, you look to each and every one of the judges separately. You know it’s important to have a good connection with all of them, and you use this chance to do just that.

Upon locking eyes with Lisa again, your breath hitches. The light blush that rests on her cheeks, combined with the look she’s giving you, is enough to make you swoon. It’s innocent enough, the way she’s watching you; after all, she can just blame it on her role as a teacher -- she has to get a good understanding of her students. However, though, behind the innocent facade lies a much more sensual reason for her behavior. You don’t miss the way her eyes rake up your body, nor her smirk as she notices your hands mindlessly toying with the band of your shorts. You do your best to keep your attention on the others as they ask you questions about your resume, but that’s easier said than done.

Once they’ve finished with their questions, they invite you to take a seat anywhere you’d like. Despite your desire to book it next to Lisa, you don’t want to be impolite; that’s also not to say that you didn’t enjoy the company of the others -- you truly did. Clearly, though, no one can compare to Lisa.

You give them all another smile, the dimples of your cheeks on full display, and approach them one-by-one to shake their hands. They appreciate the gesture, and you’re confident that you’ve won them over that much more.

As you make your way to the seat beside Lisa, your heart beats wildly. It’s difficult, but you manage to suppress your anxiety for the time being. Letting your control slip now is definitely not an option.

In contrast to the heated look she had been giving you just moments before, Lisa now dons an adorable smile that nearly makes your heart burst. In the moment, you almost reach forward to touch her puffed out cheeks. 

You sit down beside her, and she takes a minute to look you over again. It’s baffling how she can go from so wholesome and adorable to flirty in such a short period of time. 

As the time ticks on and the mentors work through the list of contestants, the two of you continue to steal conversations and teasing glances.

Things are ramped up, however, when Lisa’s hand finds its way to your thigh, settling there for a bit. You attempt to push the intrusive thoughts from your mind, but they come flooding back the second she leans in to whisper something into your ear.

“You look gorgeous,” she tells you, warm breath fanning over your neck. Her slight accent only adds to the effect that her words have on you. All you can offer is a breathless thank you, thoughts completely jumbled at having the stunning woman do such things to you.

Before anyone can get suspicious, she backs off. The disappointment must’ve been evident, because she chuckles lightly and pats your knee in response. Thankfully no one had been paying you two any mind.

~~~ Practices ~~~

It wasn’t often that you came into the studio upset or exhausted, considering you knew you’d soon be cheered up once you saw Lisa, but she made sure to take care of you when those times came around. She could read you like a book, easily knowing when you’d had enough and needed a break. That’s not to say that she lowered her standards, though -- she was firm and demanding, but she checked on you often. She respected all of her students, but she couldn’t deny that she had a soft spot for you. You lived for her soft gaze and gentle touches on the days you needed them most.

Other days, though, you got a kick out of teasing her; playing dumb, purposefully missing steps, ignoring her instructions -- anything to pull a reaction from her. 

          ↪“Eyes forward,” she would call out, voice strong, upon catching you talking to a fellow trainee when you were meant to be practicing. Her jaw would be set, eyes menacing.

          ↪“You keep messing up. Here,” she’d declare, demonstrating the moves directly in front of you. She knew exactly what to do to get you going, and sometimes your plans backfired a bit.

          ↪Those times that you’d play dumb were by far the best, both of you secretly loving the back and forth of it all. “I’m sorry, miss. I just can’t seem to get the moves right.” You’d say, appearing innocent and sweet all the while. It was hard to contain yourself when she’d approach you from behind, pressing her body against your own. “One here,” she’d inform, placing your hand on your hip; “...and one here,” she’d finish, correcting your position once again. When the music restarted, she counted next to your ear, keeping time as her warm hands held yours, guiding you through the positions.  

And of course, the majority of the time, you were a great student for her. Her praise had a mighty effect on you, and there existed a mutual love for it. Being a strong dancer often worked in your favor.

~~~ Performances ~~~

Anytime you were set to perform, Lisa made sure to settle in and get ready to enjoy herself. The two of you had spent many weeks getting to know each other better, growing closer in the process. She found you captivating, and always loved to watch you on stage. The same can be said for you; seeing her dance was always the highlight of your day.

The two of you made sure to play things up, having a knack for getting the other riled up and squirming in their seat.

Watching her cool demeanor falter and ultimately crumble before you was one of your favorite things in the whole world. One of its only rivals was how she had to attempt to conceal it, knowing the cameras would be on her often. 

“I-I loved it. I’m very proud of you, Y/N.”

You smirked at her stutter; no one else was capable of making her blush as much as you did

~~~ Bonus: Backstage ~~~

“You all did so well. I loved that dance break in the middle of the song.” You gushed to a group of your fellow contestants, smiling at how happy they were. Over the course of the competition you had become something of a “celebrity” yourself, noticing that the other girls would always approach you for help and get giddy when you agreed. Not to mention that the mentors were always proud of your progress and dedication to the craft. The conversation continued, and you settled into a comfortable rhythm; everyone taking a turn to share their favorite part of their performance. Seeing these girls -- your friends -- so proud of themselves was a wonderful thing. Everyone worked so hard, day in and day out, to put forth their best effort in everything that they did. Celebrating each other’s wins just felt right, despite the fact that this is a competition. It always hurt to see anyone go home, considering you spent so much time getting to know each other. These were the people who were there for you when you needed it most; all of you know how hopeless it can feel, and you wanted to protect the others from that in every way possible. 

“Y/N!” The sound of someone calling your name pulls you from the conversation, and you send a quick bow and goodbye to the girls before departing. 

Your eyes travel across the crowded stage, searching for the source of the noise. You spot Lisa looking at you, hand beckoning you towards her. A familiar warmth spreads across your body at the action, and you don’t even attempt to stop the smile that takes over your features.

“Yes?” You ask sweetly, approaching her. Her hands slip into yours, fingers lacing in a sweet embrace. “I want you to come to my dressing room once everyone goes back to the dorm. You impressed me tonight, but you still have some things to learn.” As that last sentence falls from her lips, your blood runs cold. Her voice had dropped lower, and you feared what she meant by that. Had you mixed up the choreography without realizing it? Surely not. The only thing you were sure of in that moment was the way she was studying you, almost intimidatingly. Her jaw was set, eyes narrowed, and you swallowed thickly upon noticing this. “Of course. I appreciate the feedback.” She smiled, seemingly pleased with your answer.

With a swipe of her thumb across your knuckles, she was gone.

A sigh left your lips, your mind racing at all of the possible things to come.

~~~ Bonus: A Private Meeting ~~~

“You wanted to see me, Lisa?” You announce upon entering the room and shutting the door behind yourself. The two of you had long ago left the formalities behind, opting instead to be on a first name basis. It was much more intimate, and you preferred things to be that way with her. Of course, occasionally you would use her official title just to get a certain reaction out of her. Slipping it into conversation when around the other instructors always worked to get her attention and catch her off guard. It was easy to see that she enjoyed it, the innocent way it rolled off your tongue. 

You sit down in the chair opposite her, feeling the coolness of the leather press against your calves as you get situated.

“Good job tonight; you get better and better with every performance.” You thank her, both well aware of how much you enjoy her praise. Her expression turns more serious, and you take a deep breath. Here goes. “I don’t think it’s wise for you to be so close with some of the other contestants, though. Not all of them are interested in gaining your friendship for the right reasons.” With furrowed eyebrows and slightly pursed lips, you look at her. “What exactly do you mean?” Her expression turns unreadable, and you sink into your seat a little more. “Some of them may want to get into your head to throw you off your game. Despite what you want to believe, Y/N, this is still a contest.” You sigh, now a bit upset that she’s treating you like a child. “I’m aware of that, Lisa, but I can take care care of myself.” At the change in tone, the air around you shifts into something more tense. “Are you sure? Because you seem to be pretty oblivious to their actions.” She bites back, shifting her seat to get a better look at you, and crosses her arms.

When you don’t respond, she takes this as her cue to continue. “Don’t play dumb, Y/N. I see the way they look at you, so entranced. They know that acting helpless will get your attention. It’s just to distract you!” She says, exasperated, jaw set and eyes cut, just like earlier.

“Are you jealous?” You ask, a contrasting tone of accusal and uncertainty in your voice. No turning back now.

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Jealous? Of what?” Her eyes setting on you again, a cocky expression on her face.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you start, toying with her; you know exactly what to say. “Maybe at the fact that they get to be so close to me all the time, like you want to be. Or maybe that we sleep together, especially when it gets cold in the dorms.”

It’s her turn to be speechless. “I’m more observant that you act, miss.” She gulps, and you bite back a smirk. “I see how you look at me; your desire is obvious. We’ve both known it for a long time now… Why don’t you just admit it?” The teasing tone in your voice is thick, and it’s clearly getting to her. Who knew you could make her feel like this with just your words?

“Y/N…” Lisa says your name almost as a warning, knowing that you’re on the edge of crossing the line. She failed to deny your claims; after all, it would do no good. She can’t disguise her feelings for you.

A surge of confidence washes over you, and you take that as a sign to scoot closer to her. Soon, you’re mere inches away from her, your body pressed against the side of the seat as you rest your chin in the palm of your hand. Her tongue darts out of her mouth, soothing her lips.

You take her in for a moment, enjoying the sight. Her long dark hair tumbles past her shoulders in loose waves, and a blush takes residence upon her cheeks. Having her like this was something you only dreamed of in the past; seeing her so aroused because of you truly made you think back on how far the two of you have come.

To put an end to the silence, you loop two fingers underneath her chin, successfully coaxing her into meeting your gaze. Your eyes fall to her lips as you ask, “Am I wrong?” Before you can continue, her resolve fades. She leans forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. Any ounce of doubt that you had before melts away as she pulls you closer.

With inhibition and processing skills long gone, you slip from your chair and into hers, settling in her lap. One of her arms wraps around your waist to hold you steady, while her other hand tangles itself into your hair. A swift bite to your lip, paired with a flex of her warm thigh beneath you, sends a jolt through your body and earns her a low groan. She shudders against you, and that simple act works wonders in boosting your confidence.

All too quickly, a sudden noise from just outside the door startles you; reluctantly, Lisa pulls away. You nearly gasp at how dark her eyes have gotten in the heat of the moment. “I’m going to go see what that was,” she informs, gently setting you down in her seat as she stands up. Before turning to walk away, however, she plants another kiss on your lips. “Don’t even think about moving. I’m not done with you yet.”