#its a quick google i promise

[acediscowlng]

i have a pet headcanon that when Charles says he never finished the story of Orpheus and Eurydice, what he actually means is that he never finished 1989 punk rock film Shredder Orpheus which features, among other things: life and death skateboarding, the underworld being the literal underworld for dead people but also a corporate television channel, and a special magical Jimi Hendrix guitar

he watched it in St. Hilarion's basement on an old CRT TV where half the screen is purple and the speakers are on their last dying breath and he was only half paying attention because he and his friends were passing a joint around and he needed to study for a math exam so he catches the scene where orpheus and Eurydice reunite and thinks "huh job officially jobbed. good for them 👍👍" and completely misses the fact that they reunited because orpheus was dead and that the last ten minutes of the movie involved the logistics of how a group of punk kids ended up with his skull as a symbol of rebellion against The Man(TM)

[hauntingblue]

AAAAAAAAARRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH WE GOT ARCANEEEEEEEEEE

[sunnami]

❝time will tell.❞

[credits to the original artist of the photo!! can't seem to find their @ anywhere. title is taken from jane austen's persuasion, as was the first part.]

summary. ❝you are loved. and harry thinks there is no better description that that.❞

pairing/s. poly!mauraders + lily x reader.

word count. 9.5k.

tags. reader is referred to mum, with she/her pronouns[!], canon-typical violence [!], canon-typical deaths mentioned[!], very brief marauders as soldiers of the order[!], creepy old men being creepy[!], child abuse[!], pureblood arranged marriages, a minor character expresses wanting to die[!], Depressed and Traumatized Slytherins, the capital is important[!], themes of misogyny [!], teen boys fuck around and find out there are consequences to their actions, THERE IS ACTUALLY A LOT OF FLUFF, I PROMISE YOU, angst, children lose their baby teeth up until the age of twelve!! google said so!! not proofread we die like dobby the free elf

note. damn, i cried, you cried, we all crode. tbh, the first part was only intended as a oneshot, sdfkhdf, but when i re-read it, i thought that i could have expanded on more details,, so now here we are!! i love it more than the first part ueueue. thank you all so so so much for the kind comments :((( please please enjoy the second part to this installment!! part one

HARRY JAMES POTTER was only a few months old when you died at the hands of Voldemort — or as strangers have told him every time they ravaged his personal space and ogled at his scar. They said it was a quick death, better than what had happened to Alice and Frank Longbottom. But that was all they’ve ever said about your death. Unfortunate; caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, entirely different from the pedestal James and Lily have been put on by the wizarding society. 

At first, Harry had wondered if it was due to your blood relations, being the daughter of a renowned Death-Eater, heiress to the fortune of a pureblood House. Harry can’t even count the amount of conspiracy theories he’s read or heard to his face that it must have been you who betrayed James and Lily, and not Sirius Black. 

Even Hermione’s shared to him a theory that your death was faked to surrender your loyalty completely to Voldemort — of course, Hermione was eleven at the time, head full of books and her favorite theories, and Harry’s already forgiven her. But there’s a part of him that despises the way he’s never known the full truth about his parents, just bits of information dangled in front of him like bait for people [read: the Dursleys] to get him to do what they want, to act like the way they want. Until Remus and Sirius, you were a stranger to him, really.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

IT IS RATHER UNFORTUNATE that Madam Pince has already taken her position as the unbearable librarian at this point in time. The woman gives Harry and you a pointed look as you slam the large book onto one of the tables — to Harry’s surprise, you glare right back at her. You’re awfully flushed, however, blushing cheeks betraying the fire in your eyes; it must have been from when Remus escorted the two of you to the library; he had tried to brush your hand with his pinky, to which you had responded with a startled hiss — Remus only smiled and chuckled at you, and Harry swears he’d like to forget that entire interaction because he saw literal stars in Remus’s eyes.

Jumping back in time and potentially causing chaos? Fun. 

Meeting your parents? Definitely fun, in the strangest of ways. 

But watching them pine and fall for each other? Not so fun. 

Nonetheless, he hesitantly takes the seat across yours and watches you flip through the pages until you land on a chapter with the large, bold letters: THE CURIOUS CASE OF ELOISE MINTUMBLE — Time-Travel and Its Many Dangers. He meets your gaze with a sheepish grin, mustering a look of innocence; except the puppy dog eyes only worked when he was nine — you are not amused. 

You slide the book towards him, scarily resembling Molly Weasley when she’s miffed with the twins. “You are aware, right, that just by existing here you’ve changed the future? Your future? And, that’s not even the worst thing that could happen.” 

Harry sulks. “Yes, mum.” He prefers not to think about it, actually, it makes his head hurt. 

“Don’t call me that in public!” You whisper heatedly, looking over your shoulder to check if anyone had heard him — to your luck, the library was empty, save for a Hufflepuff that was passed out on top of his books. “The less people that know about this, the better. It’s bad enough we told Potter about you. Do you even know what you’re going to do?” 

“Considering I was thrown here against my will, no.” Harry shrugs. “And to be honest, I was just going to obliviate the people who asked too many questions.”

You reach over to smack his head, scowling.

“Ow! That hurt!” Harry rubs the sore spot as he grumbles petulantly. “This is technically child abuse, did you know that?” 

You roll your eyes. “Do you at least have a plan to get home?” 

“Of course I do,” Harry retorts with a scoff, “Her name is Hermione Granger.” 

“Hopeless.” You groan exasperatedly. “Absolutely hopeless.” 

Harry only grins in response. For a brief moment, he forgets about the present — his reality where the skies are bleak and home is where he knows the feeling of loss more than the warmth of his own parents’ embrace. He lets himself forget, and pretends he isn’t the Boy Who Lived. Just some random boy who’s pestering his mother — even if she likes to deny the inevitability of being romanced by the Marauders, (except for Wormtail because Harry would eat troll slime before he ever lets that happen.)

“Right then,” You say after your tangent — which Harry tuned out when he hears the words, be responsible. “If I’m going to help you get back home—” 

Harry’s heart drops to his stomach; as selfishly as it sounds, he didn’t want to go home just yet — not to where people just took and took from him. He’s exhausted. Still, he puts up a front of being excited to be returned to his timeline. It’s for the greater good, of course, because his existence — present or past — is always somehow a threat to the wizarding society. 

“—you need to answer this one question for me.” Your voice drops lower as you stare at him intently, lips pressed firmly. 

Harry nods slowly. “As long as it’s within reason, yeah.” 

You inhale sharply. “Do I outlive Dolores Umbridge?” 

The wince escapes Harry before he can even stop it. 

That’s all the answer you need, apparently. Your mouth hangs open in disbelief, eyes nearly bulging out of your head as you slam your hands down onto the table surface, shrieking.

“That slimy bitch!” 

Needless to say, the two of you are kicked out of the library.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1970; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

YOU ARE ELEVEN when your father introduces you to Ferguson, commonly known as Fergus, Bulstrode. He smiles at you with a leer, eyes hungrily dipping to the neckline of your dress. You grit your teeth as you hold out your hand for him to take — you almost shudder at the feel of his lips on your cheek. You eagerly take a step back away from him, hoping your father won’t notice the way you shy from Ferguson’s touch. You’re not dull, you fully understand the implications of this introduction and the way Ferguson is complaining to you about his third wife’s passing — as if you were the solution to his loneliness. Bile rises to your throat, and you shove it down with a forced laugh at your father’s jokes about Mudbloods. From across the room, Allegra Greengrass stares at you in sympathy, and you send her a glare — you do not need anyone’s pity. 

The corset your mother laced on too tight is suffocating you; this whole Yule extravaganza made for elitist purebloods is suffocating you; and yet, you smile and greet every red-lipped witch your mother introduces you to. For hours, you pretend, and you pretend. By the time the guests have left, you wonder if you have any more of yourself to give. 

You manage to convince your mother to let you slip away for the night. Without missing a beat, you rush outside and into the garden labyrinth, lest old Ferguson snatches you up for a dance and let his gaze wander elsewhere. For the first time since the sun had set, your aching feet finally find some relief. You drop onto the edge of the stone fountain as you toss your heels to the side. You begin working your fingers through your hair, ripping the glittery ribbons from your head. It’s not until you’re unclasping your necklace that you realize you are crying. Tears fall from your eyes, and they sink deep into the fabric of your dress. 

You barely hold back your sobs. Your chest heaves as you hiccup; your vision goes blurry as your fingers grow numb. There’s nothing you can do but cry. 

You’ve used up all your smiles for tonight. 

But then, the sadness turns into resentment and then turns into indignation. Harshly, you wipe the tears from your eyes as you rip a violent scream from your throat. 

You sink to the ground, perfectly polished nails digging into the soil as you gather patches of grass and tear them from the roots. You throw a handful of mud at the marble statues. You grab another fistful of mud, scream, then bash your head against the garden floor. You let out another cry, whimpering as you curl into yourself; shivering as a gust of wind brushes against your skin. Surprisingly enough, this is the most human you’ve ever felt. This is the most you have ever felt — period. 

When hiccups regress into soft sniffles, you lay on your back, watching the stars float above. As the last of your tears slide down your cheek, you lift a shaky hand to trace the constellation in the sky. It’s not a familiar one to you, but then— 

“That’s Sirius.” 

You sit upright in a snap, wiping away the wetness from your eyes as you muster a mean glare at the newcomer.

Sirius Black.

“Oh, none of that,” He tells you when you move to stand. There’s barely any emotion on his face and it irks you that you can’t figure out what he’s planning. What you don’t expect is for him to sit beside you, thereby ruining his expensively tailored suit. 

“You’ll get creases,” You scold him instinctively, nose scrunched — but your voice is hoarse; too tired to put up any pretences. “Your mother will be cross with you.” 

Sirius scoffs, laying his head on the dirt, making sure to smear his sleeves with grass stains. “Walburga can go fall in a ditch and die for all I care.”

You gasp. “That’s horrible!” 

Sirius gives you a look. “You don’t believe that.” 

You really don’t, but you don’t have the courage to admit it either. 

After a few moments of silence, Sirius asks, raising a brow, “So who was that?”

“Who was who?” You stare at him with knitted brows, toying with your fingers. You still can’t wrap your head around how weird this is — sitting with Sirius Black in the middle of your mother’s hedge maze, your once bright blue dress now sullied at the ruffles, eyes bloodshot and your hair a frizzy mess. (Sirius thinks you look cute, though; especially with your missing front tooth that peeks out every time you talk to him.) 

“Bald guy, older than Merlin himself.” Sirius makes a face. “Looks like a troll. Smells like one, too.”

A giggle flutters past your lips, and your hands fly to your mouth. You really shouldn’t be bad-mouthing your guests, but Sirius was right — Ferguson really did act like an ugly troll. You sigh, letting your arms fall to your side. “My betrothed.” 

Sirius nods in understanding. “My mother tried to set me up with my own cousin once.” 

You grimace. “Which cousin?” 

He sits on his knees to face you, and with a very solemn face, he says, “Bellatrix.”

This time, you laugh freely, throwing your head back as Sirius pouts at your amusement. “O-Oh, that’s golden.” 

“No, it’s not,” says Sirius, lips twitching as he watches you snort like a pig through your giggles. “It’s horrible. A literal nightmare. You should feel awful for me.” He pokes your stomach, and it just makes you laugh harder, eyes disappearing into your smile. “Oi. I said feel awful, not take the piss out of me.” 

“S-Sorry.” You wheeze, batting away his hand pulling at your cheek. “I just can’t imagine Bellatrix in a white wedding dress and saying her vows to you.”

“That’s disgusting.” Sirius gags. “You’re horrible, I hope you know that.” 

When you finally calm down and Sirius tickles your bare feet until you cry in surrender, the two of you lay on the grass as he points out each constellation to you. Later, he fishes a small box of sugar mice from his pocket and offers it to you, opening one for himself. “Here’s to shitty parents and the one day we get to decide our own future.” 

You bump your squeaky candy mice against his. “Cheers, Black.” 

“Will you go to Hogwarts next year?” He asks you once he’s bitten off the tail of his mice. 

You nod. 

Sirius shifts on his side, holding his pinky out to you. “We’ll be friends when school starts?”

Again, you nod, wrapping your pinky around his. “Friends.” 

The next September comes, Sirius finds a compartment and one James Potter in it. You sit with Allegra Greengrass and Endora Lestrange on the way to Hogwarts. You are sorted into Slytherin, and Sirius finds freedom and a home in Gryffindor. You play the role created just for you; you lift your nose at those beneath you, adorn yourself in custom-made silk clothing, and carry yourself with the etiquette of a pure-blooded lady. Perfect grades, perfect hair, perfect clothes, always picture perfect.

You pretend that Allegra doesn’t throw up in the evenings from the fear of getting married to a man twice her age. You pretend that you don’t notice Endora sleep-walking and begging for her mother to save her from her father. You pretend that under your blankets, in the Slytherin dungeon, you are safe. 

You pretend that it doesn’t hurt when Sirius looks at you in disappointment when you shove a Hufflepuff student to the ground for getting a higher score than you in Charms.

They call you an ice-princess behind your back, and you overhear some of the fifth-years calling you foul words as well, and no one steps in to stop them; there’s no defending a Slytherin, after all. But you are keeping your head above treacherous waters, and you suppose that is all that matters.) 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

“SO ACCORDING TO THIS, Eloise was stuck in 1402 for five days until she was retrieved to the present, which means we only have four days left to figure out a way for you to get back home.” 

Harry sinks into his chair, arms crossed over his chest. The two of you had found an empty classroom to discuss your plans away from inquisitive ears. “What’s the rush?” It’s unfair, he’d only just met you, and now he’s losing time with you. 

You sigh. “Harry, Eloise Mintumble spent five days in the past and when she came back, her body aged five centuries, and she died in St. Mungos. It’s not just about altering the whole timeline, you could actually die.” 

When you are met only with silence, you close the book, frowning. “Harry? What’s wrong?” 

Harry swallows the lump in his throat, looking out the window to avoid your gaze. “What do you know about the Mirror of Erised?” 

Your head tilts in confusion. “That it shows our heart’s deepest desire.” 

“Yeah,” says Harry, nodding. “I was eleven when I found it.” 

“Oh, Harry. . .” 

It’s almost pathetic how quickly his eyes water. “Did you know, before today, I hadn’t known at all what your voice sounded like?” 

You stay quiet, and Harry sucks in a shaky breath. 

“When I looked into the mirror, I saw my parents—all of you. There I was, in the middle. You were behind me—happy.” Harry swipes a tear from his eye. “I wanted to stay in that room, stare at that mirror forever.”

“It’s—”

“Dangerous, I know.” He laughs bitterly. “Just like finally being able to meet you all here.”

“Harry, you aren’t supposed to be here in the first place,” You say quietly, eyes drooping sadly. 

“I know that!” He exclaims desperately. “But is it so selfish to just want some time? I don’t want an illusion, I want the real thing. A real family. Why can’t I have that? Bloody Malfoy gets everything he wants, and what do I have?” 

“Your friends,” You tell him firmly. “Your friends who must be worried sick that you’re gone and must be going great lengths to bring you back.” 

“I know.” Harry wilts. He’s got Remus at home, too, who probably needs him more than ever after Sirius’s death. “I know. But can’t I just have this one thing?” 

You purse your lips for a moment, brows furrowed in thought. Then, you break the silence with: “Do you want to hear a story?”

“What?” Harry croaks, peering at you through wet lashes. 

Shrugging, you say, “Stories to remember us by. I’ve got six years worth of stories and then some. I know it’s not much, and you’ve probably heard some of these already from the others in the future, but it’s better than nothing, right?” You lean against the back of your chair, glancing at the wall clock before grinning at Harry. “We’ve got time to spare, anyway.” 

Harry manages a smile, setting down his glasses before rubbing his stinging eyes with the handkerchief you offer him. He figures this is what Remus means when you’re the gentlest creature he’s ever known — just not gentle in what the world expects you to be. 

“What do you say, Harry? I give you tidbits of the past, and you tell me if you know anything about the next Triwizard champion, so I can place my bets in advance.”  

Harry snickers. “Not a chance, mum.” 

“Worth a try.” And the smile you give him is nearly blinding. 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1977; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND what it is about Gryffindors and their hobby of invading others’ personal space. 

A year into dating and James likes to shove his head under your shirt, claiming he loves the sound of your heartbeat — but you know really what he wants to nestle his head in between. The amount of cashmere blouses he’s ruined is absurd! Sirius has a hobby of tracing runes on the plane of your stomach. Lily prefers it when you sit in front of her, just within reach where she can wrap her arms around you and rest her head on your shoulder. Remus tends to lag behind the group when he notices you walking slower due to your leg flaring up. He kisses the side of your head and promises to chase the pain away — sappy poetic that he is. And in the moments where all five of you are together, tucked under a wide alcove, you can best believe there is no escaping what they like to call, a cuddle pile. Limbs are tangled, kisses are shared, and confessions of love are whispered. 

Before them, you hadn’t really known the different ways to love and be loved. 

Onto the pressing matters at hand, you discover that the brazen show of affection extends to their parents as well. Particularly, the Potters. After a year, you finally caved into James’s requests for you to spend the holidays at their manor, since the others have already made a space for themselves there, and James had said it would be an honor for you to feel at home with his parents, too. Honestly, you spoil them too much — one look into his bright, wide eyes and you gave in. James didn’t even care that you brought two luggages for clothes alone; he lifted each bag with delight and with ease. 

(Remus had the audacity to laugh when he caught you and Sirius staring at James’s flexed muscles, mouth wide open. 

“As I have said, Remus Lupin, I do not drool!”

“Sure, dove, whatever you say.”)

But now, you really aren’t so sure of your decision. 

“Oh, she’s beautiful, Jamie!” Euphemia encases you in a bear hug the moment you step inside the manor. You’re engulfed in the scent of cinnamon and burnt sugar. You stiffen as she cradles your face in between her palms, smiling ever so fondly at you, cooing about how precious you look, much like a mother would — and how your mother never did. You wonder if this is what you’ve been missing all along — the thought stabs you right in the heart. “Please excuse the mess, dear, we haven’t had the chance to clean up yet, Monty and I are excited to try the recipe Lily owled to us the other day, you see.” 

“I-It’s okay,” You rasp, struggling to hold back the tears. 

“Oh, what a darling you are!” Euphemia smiles and ushers you further inside. “Come, come. The others are right upstairs. You must be tired from the train ride. It is so lovely to finally meet you. Make yourself at home, dear heart — James Fleamont Potter! Give your mama a kiss this instant! Don’t think introducing your girlfriend will distract me from the fact you didn’t owl me letters for two months straight!” 

James whines as he hides behind you. “Mum, I’m seventeen, stop embarrassing me.” 

Euphemia scoffs, hands snapping to her hips. “You’re going to be my baby boy forever, now come here.” 

With a shy smile, you step away to surrender James to his mother — you don’t understand which part of this is embarrassing; you wish for a mum who’d welcome you home like that, with unconditional love and kind eyes. James squawks and calls you a traitor, just before his mum attacks him with loud, exaggerated kisses to his cheek, leaving lipstick stains all over his face. You hide a laugh behind your palm, ignoring the way your heart pangs at the sight of their unrestrained smiles. Euphemia lets her son go after a few more seconds, cackling at the masterpiece she’s created on a grumbling James, who’s rubbing his skin to erase his mother’s affections. She hugs you once more before setting you off, telling you to meet Fleamont after you’ve unpacked. 

Just as you reach the foot of the stairs, you hear a girlish squeal, then the sound of rapid footfall against each wooden step. Lily greets the two of you by jumping off the last step and wrapping each arm around yours and James’s neck. “Welcome home, Jamie!” She captures his lips with her own before doing the same to you, cupping your cheek lovingly, “So happy you made it, princess! How was the ride here?” 

You were never a fan of traveling by Floo; it made you nauseous after, and left you with a pounding headache for hours. Without hesitation, the others offered to accompany you on the train, but you insisted they Floo ahead to Godric’s Hollow — it took a lot of convincing, but they finally agreed, (they’re not the only ones spoiled; they couldn’t refuse you, too.) With the exception of James, who wanted to be there when you saw his home for the first time. You nearly cried when you saw how well-loved their manor was; rose shrubs dipped in snow, Sirius’s motorcycle parked outside, a mailbox with poorly painted shapes, the fences covered in Christmas lights, and the amount of shoes by the door. From outside, you could hear the laughter and warm conversations. 

“It was fine,” You say in a daze.

Lily sees right through you — and frowns sadly. “You alright?” 

Were you? 

You catch sight of the moving photographs of James and you finally reach your breaking point. There’s a swell in your throat that you can’t seem to push down. There’s a photo of James, Lily, Remus and Sirius; James is in his Quidditch jersey, raising the Golden Snitch high up in the air, Remus is twirling Lily, his arms around her waist, and Sirius is holding up a charmed banner that says: Gryffindor Rules! Slytherin Sucks! Except For My Darling Angel Love Of My Life Most Beautiful And Gorgeous Perfect Brilliant Girlfriend! 

There are hints of life all around the manor. Remus’s textbooks and scarf are laid by the coffee table. Lily’s O.W.L. marks are framed on the wall, along with Dumbledore’s letters to James and Lily awarding them the position of Head Girl and Head Boy, as well as McGonagall’s previous letter to Remus that came with his Prefect badge years ago. There’s a spot dedicated to Peter, filled with a photograph of him awkwardly holding his Herbology test, one that he scored a hundred and twelve percent on. It’s a wall dedicated to them, you realize. 

Then, you find it. 

Right there, up above James’s spot, and beside Sirius’s display of beyond perfect Transfiguration exam marks, and a picture of him and Remus kissing each side of your face. 

It’s a space on that wall just for you. 

James follows your gaze and rubs the back of his head, ears tinged with a shade of deep pink. “Mum left a space when I first told her about you. I-It’s yours, you can put anything you want there.” 

“I can’t,” You whisper, lips quivering as your heart cracks into a million pieces. It’s too much. 

James blinks. “Can’t? It’s yours, I promise. Mum won’t mind. You can even hang your dumb Montrose Magpies poster and I won’t tear it down — Marauders’ honor. I can help you if you want. I-I’m not good as decorating as Lily, but I paid attention to your boring explanation of color theory and I know that you hate this shade of—”

“James, I can’t do this.” 

That’s all you say before you run out of the door. 

(And you’re absolutely delusional if you think James won’t follow you out that door and into the brewing snowstorm.) 

You hear James call out to you, but you opt to ignore him and clutch your winter coat tighter around your body, shivering in the blowing wind, trudging through the deep snow through your heeled boots — designer couldn’t help you now even if you tried. You sniff, the salty taste of your tears dripping to your lips, chest tightening with a foreign kind of pain, and the frost nipping at your fingers. You give up after a few minutes, falling to the ground with an anguished cry, hand clutching the front of your chest as you struggle to breathe. 

James reaches you in a matter of minutes, draping his jacket over you, barely flinching as the cold welts his bare skin. Frantically, he wipes the tears from your eyes, a pained expression on his face as he sees you cry helplessly. “Come on, dove, it’s not safe out here. Let’s go back home, yeah? I’m sorry for upsetting you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry — I’m so sorry, dove, please don’t cry, it’s killing me to s–see you like this.” Tears fall from his eyes, and he begins stuttering from the cold, but you can’t go back to the manor. “What did I do? Please tell me so I can fix it. I love you—I’m sorry.”

You bat his chest. “G–Go home, Jamie. I’ll just take the train back to the castle.” 

“What?” He shakes his head, grabbing onto your hands. “Y–You can’t. Not in this weather. You’ll get sick if you try to walk back to the station.” 

You withdraw from his hold as you back away from James, slipping into the ice-cold mask you know so well. 

James rises in an instant, reaching for you. “No, no, no, no, no. You don’t get to do that. Not now. Not with me. Please, just come home and I-I’ll fix it.” 

“Goodbye, James,” You tell him firmly, clenching your jaw as you look him straight in the eyes. 

He grimaces. “That won’t work on me, princess, and you know it. Don’t push me away—please.” 

“Go home, James!” You yell bitterly, pivoting on your heel as you march through the thick inches of snow, hearing Remus and Lily’s voice grow louder in the distance. “Just go!”

He grits his teeth, nails digging deep into the palms of his hand. “You’re a coward if you walk away from here—from us—right now!” James shouts through chattering teeth and stray tears. “And I hate cowards more than anything!” 

You don’t look back. 

(Later that night, James stares blankly at the fireplace, tossing twigs now and then. He’s all out of tears. Remus crosses his legs as he sits beside James and offers him a steaming mug of hot chocolate. 

“Don’t want one,” He mutters, words coarse from earlier, head turning away from Remus’s gift. “Just want her.” 

Remus sets the beverage on the ground before pulling James’s head down to his chest, gently wiping the tears from his eyes as he wraps the blanket around both of them. He presses a soft kiss to James’s hair. 

“I said I hated her,” James says weakly. “I don’t—I never will. I just hate that she’s out there spending Christmas all alone. She could be here—with us. I hate not knowing that she’s safe, or that she thinks I don’t love her anymore—that’s a bloody lie, Moony. I adore her. If anything, I don’t deserve her.” 

James finds out that he does have more tears left in him. “I miss her. Bring her back, Rem, please.”

“You’ll cry yourself sick, love.” Remus wipes each tear away. “Let’s go to bed, yeah? Mornings do have a way of bringing miracles to us.” Because after a night of excruciating pain under the moon’s command, he wakes up to sunlight, and there you all are — smiling down at him like he is deserving of love; and maybe Remus can’t fault you for running away.

You’d kiss him gently and tell him how proud you are of him for coming back to you. 

Remus only hopes you come back to them, too.)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

“AND THAT, dear Harry, is how I humiliated Lucius Malfoy in fifth-year.” Your eyes gleam wickedly as you rest your arms on the school desk. “If he ever bothers you in your time, just mention my name—oh, I wish I could see the look on his face when he realizes I’m haunting him from my grave. Tell him, okay?” 

Harry nods excitedly. “Definitely.”

“Got anymore stories?” He asks. 

You cackle menacingly. “Boy, do I ever. Let me tell you about the one time Beckett McLaggen took me out on a date to Madam Puddifoot’s!” 

Harry grimaces. “Do I even want to hear about this?” 

“Oh, pish-posh.” You dismiss him with a wave. “You do, this story is hilarious. Now that I look back on it, Sirius was quite cross with him for the rest of the day—how strange. I wonder why.” 

Harry stares at you in disbelief. “You’re joking.” 

“I most certainly am not, Harry Potter.” 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1974; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

AN EAR-PIERCING scream wakes you up in the middle of the night. You snatch your wand from under your pillow, heart thudding against your chest in fear — last year, the Prewett twins decided it was funny to break into the girls’ quarters at midnight; you get a month worth of detention for hitting Gideon with the Expulso curse and suspension from class for two weeks, while the twins get away with a slap on the wrist and have the time of their lives spreading rumors of you being a Death-Eater. 

Endora shoots up to her feet as well, staring at you in panic — then the girl screams again, and you realize it’s Allegra. 

You sigh in relief, lowering your wand before saying to Endora, “I-It’s alright. I’ll handle it.” 

“Are you sure?” Endora asks timidly, gnawing at her lip and wincing when Allegra wails once more. 

“Certain,” You respond, yawning. 

As Endora climbs back into her bed, you slip into Allegra’s side, holding her head to your chest, brushing your fingers through her hair and untangling the knots. Like most of the Greengrass women, she was of ethereal beauty — silky blonde hair, smooth and fair skin, deep blue eyes that enchant wizards and witches alike. But her cheeks have gone sallow from exhaustion, eyes devoid of any emotion, and her skin now sunken into her bones. 

“I don’t want to marry him—I can’t! He’s old enough to be my father!” Allegra sobs violently, desperate for anyone to hear her, but no one really ever hears their cries from the dungeon. “They said they’d wait until I graduated—they promised! I’m supposed to marry him this summer!” 

Your heart breaks for your friend — there’s nothing you can do but hold her until she’s cried every bit of her soul out. 

“I hate them,” Allegra whispers to you; she had been shedding tears for hours, trembling in your arms until morning finally came. 

“I know,” You say defeatedly. 

“I wish I was dead,” She replies lifelessly. “He can’t marry a dead bride.” 

“Don’t say that,” You beg as you hug her tight; afraid to lose her to the world that has worn her down. “Please.” 

Allegra sinks into her pillows, and you follow in suit, hesitantly laying your head beside hers. She stares at the ceiling dully. “The world is so, so cruel to us daughters sometimes. And it’ll be cruel to our daughters, and their daughters. When will it end?” 

“I don’t know,” You say honestly. 

Allegra hums, neither disappointed nor surprised, and turns away to lay on her side. “Pansy,” She mumbles.

“What?”

“If we lived in a better world and I married for love, I’d want to name my daughter Pansy — like the flower.”

(Later that day, you are given detention for beating Evan Rosier to a pulp. He makes a joke about dirty blood, and you snap — you are tired of laughing and pandering to the arrogant men in your life. This is the first time you publicly defy your parents, and it felt good — more than good, it was liberating. It’s like breathing fresh air for the first time. Then, you earn a second detention for storming up to the Gryffindor common room and punching Fabian Prewett in the face — because fourth-year boys had no business sneaking into the girls’ dorm in the middle of the night for some stupid prank — and you threaten him by pointing the tip of your wand deep into his neck, demanding they apologize to you, Allegra, and Endora. 

You get what you want, naturally — as princesses do. You decide then that you’re going to create a world where girls like Allegra don’t cry anymore.)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.) 

HARRY TWINGES WHEN he hears the end of your fourth or fifth story of the afternoon — no wonder you had been so angered by his being in your room. “I-I’m sorry—” 

“Yesterday was hardly your fault,” You interrupt him. “There’s no controlling where magic brings you, not in your case. You didn’t know, but now you know. I don’t hold it against them — anymore. Fifteen-year-old boys can be stupid, and at least they’ve learned from their mistakes. You should have seen your mother — erm, Lily — she looked like she was ready to kill them after finding out what they had done. Even Molly was cross with the twins, and you know how loyal Molly is to her family.”

Oh, Harry knows.

And Hermione knows it all too well. 

“Others call us evil, conniving and cruel, Harry,” You tell him grimly, “But I will protect my own, no matter what I have to do.”

At that moment, Harry thinks he understands why some people come to fear Slytherin. 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1978; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.) 

“LOOK, LILY-PAD, the princess is drooling again.” 

You open your eyes to glare at Sirius. “I don’t drool, idiot.” 

Lily chortles as she presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Of course you don’t, princess.”

Currently, you’re lying on a shabby loveseat that is too small to hold the three of you; it’s the only furniture in the new cottage you call home, where Potter Manor was right across the street. (Euphemia was ecstatic to have you all nearby — the lovely woman was sprite for her age, but you notice the way she stops to sit and catch her breath, Sirius and James hovering over her attentively; you’re good at pretending, so you pretend that the Potters will be around forever.) Some rooms are dusty with cobwebs, walls unfinished, with the floors creak under your feet, and there’s no other place you’d rather call home. 

You’re in between Sirius and Lily; your lips swollen from their kisses, cheeks flushed and the column of your throat graced with love marks. It’s the most beautiful set of jewelry you’ve ever worn, not even burmese rubies could compare. Lily’s hand rests under your jumper, Sirius’s thigh wedged between your own. While peace blankets the three of you, James and Remus have yet to come home from their task given by the Order. 

“You need a haircut, my love,” You mumble drowsily, pulling at one of the dark ringlets — it’s gone past his shoulders now. He captures your hand and leaves a delicate kiss on your fingertips. 

Lily buries her nose in your hair. “She’s right, Siri.” 

“I’m always right.” You pout. 

Sirius, love-sick fool that he is, smiles as he tilts your chin with his finger and ensnares you in a kiss that leaves you breathless. “Course you are — our girl’s bloody brilliant, isn’t she, Lily-pad?”

“Without a doubt.”

You roll your eyes at their antics, rolling around so that your back is pressed to Sirius’s chest — they’re not fooled, however; Lily sees the way your eyes flicker in amusement and the way your lips threaten to curve up into a smile. She traces the swell of your lips with her thumb, to the dip of your nose, and to the apples of your cheek. Sea-green eyes beam at you.

“I love you,” says Lily, committing every inch of you to her memory as she wears a melancholic smile. “I don’t know who told you that you don’t deserve to be loved, but they were wrong. You are so precious to us, dove, you don’t even know how much. This right here is real — and nothing could ever change that.” 

As it turns out, you did have more smiles to give — only the happy ones; not the fake, courteous smiles that you had given to your mother’s friends in the past. You come to intertwine your hand with Lily’s, the one that had been resting on your cheek, tenderly wiping the tears that pooled within your eyes. Your heart could burst from your chest. They had a habit of wringing every emotion out of you; of making love feel real, not just a myth from a Muggle storybook. And you find, that you didn’t mind this particular habit of theirs. In the comforts of the place you call home, where you irrefutably belong, you are free to seek their arms and fall into their love, and the best part is where you get to love them right back. 

How lucky you are. 

“Let’s get married,” You blurt out, holding your breath, feeling Sirius’s hand on your waist stiffen. 

“What?” Lily gasps breathlessly. 

You smile up at Lily. “Let’s get married. All of us. I don’t care where, o–or about the rings, let’s just get married. With the war going on, we deserve s–something good.” 

Lily sobs as she nods excitedly. “Yes. Oh my Gods—we’re getting married!” 

Sirius stares at you in wonder. “Bloody hell, dove, give a guy some warning, would you?”

You grin. “Is that a yes?” 

“It’s a yes — forever.” Sirius dives in to kiss you senseless. “Couldn’t get rid of us now even if you tried.” 

“I don’t think I’d want to, anyway.” 

Right then, the rickety door slams open, and you hear the loves of your life calling out for the three of you. Followed by the heavy thud of Dragonhide boots plunking down onto the floor

“We’re home!” James announces in the entryway. 

Lily wastes no time in shooting up from the sofa and welcoming them home with quite a unique greeting:

“We’re all getting married!” 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.) 

“That ring is an heirloom passed down to the children in our family,” You tell Harry, pointing to the band around his finger. “It’s meant to symbolize our loyalty and duty to our House. My mother said I would have earned it only when I became a wife to Ferguson Bulstrode.” You chuckle at Harry’s perturbed grimace. “No, I didn’t marry him — thankfully. After Allegra. . . I—I. . . I couldn’t bear it. If I was going to marry, it would be on my own terms, and it would be for love, nothing less. Then, if my child wanted it, I’d give them this ring. I want to leave behind a legacy that I created. When I was younger, I’d resigned to a fate that was forcefully carved by someone else’s hand.” 

You shake your head. “I want to die being remembered by those who loved me. Otherwise, I was never truly alive.” 

Harry won’t let that happen, he won’t ever let your name be forgotten. He’ll share of your kindness to his friends, of your bravery and loyalty. Hermione will love your fondness of Muggle musicals and how you stood up to Lily’s defense in a world that ostracized her for being different. He’ll remind Remus of your love for him, that he had brought you hope in times of despair. Harry is going to make sure the world knows you had been so full of life with endless love to give. You are going to be remembered in the way Voldemort never will. 

“What do the words mean?” He stares at the writing: Tempus Edax Rerum.

You smile. “Time, devourer of all things.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1978; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

“REMUS—THE MUGGLES ARE stuck in the telly again!” 

Remus snickers as he takes the vacant space beside you on the loveseat, now sewn up with care and spattered with knitted quilts and throw pillows — still too small to carry three people but hasn’t given out yet, anyway. He takes Lily’s legs over his lap, swiftly stealing a kiss from your lips. “It’s a film, dove, they’re acting.” 

You purse your lips. “They’re trapped inside, then?” 

Lily snorts into her tub of chocolate fudge ice cream. “Not quite, princess, it’s recorded. Movies are like moving photographs — but they’re an hour long with sounds.” 

“Oh.” You turn your attention back to the screen, back to the film Lily had been watching. You had to admit — the story of Sandy and Danny was an interesting one. “Lily-pad, she’s singing — again.” 

Sirius hushes you from where he was cuddling James on the other couch. “She’s supposed to sing, dove, it’s a musical.” 

“Well, yes,” You begin, and James groans into Sirius’s chest, “But they should just talk instead of singing all the time — Sandy’s got a lovely voice, though. I just don’t understand why Danny’s treating her like that! Truthfully, I don’t like any of Sandy’s new friends, other than Frenchy — she’s harmless. If I was Sandy I’d move on from Danny — but then again, that hair and those muscles, and his leather jacket! I can’t blame her.” 

Sirius glowers at you. “You like his leather jacket?” 

“His hair?” James exclaims in horror. 

Remus chuckles as he tucks you in his side, kissing your temple. “If I were you, dove, I’d be quiet and just watch the film.”

“Oh, no, no.” Sirius barely glances at the television as he pauses the film and stands up to point an accusatory finger at you. “Since when were you into leather jackets? Do you think those are cool? Since when? Jamie, should I get one? Let’s unpack this, right now. And his muscles, really?” 

Your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Play the film, Black, I want to see the end of their love story.” 

“I’m telling Euphemia on you!” 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.) 

“—and then we realized that we accidentally locked Hermione in with the troll.” Harry’s arms flail about as he shares some of his adventures with you — it had only been fair. He felt like a young boy again, entering Hogwarts for the first time as he watched you listen to him intently, gasping at tale of the vanishing glass and scolding him when he says he and Ron had decided to go searching for Hermione, and by extension, the troll. 

Your eyes grow wide. “A troll? In Hogwarts? They can’t have, not unless—”

“Someone let it in—I know!” Harry grins. “You’re not going to believe who let the troll in the castle.” 

You snap your fingers, “Malfoy, the older one. I know that lump’s got something to do with this. Can’t have been Snape or Quirrell.”

“Just you wait.” Harry’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “—and so, Professor McGonagall finds us, and can you believe it? She awards us for dumb luck! Then. . .” 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1979; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

IT HAD COME AS A surprise when you volunteered to join the Order of the Phoenix. You wanted to scoff at their shocked faces — was it so surprising that you wanted to protect your family? They let Severus Snape join their ranks, and you’re fairly certain that you’re a better fighter and survivalist than him — not the better liar, however, he can have that one. The week before, you and the others had an argument that lasted for the whole day. They did not want you in harm’s way, and you would rather die than stay at home, waiting idly for them to return, when you could be out there alongside them. 

(“It’s not some game out there!” Remus runs through his hair in frustration — he had always been so careful to never raise his voice at you, but this one time, he needed you to back down. “Every time you step into a raid, there’s a possibility of you dying, don’t you understand that? And even if you survive — you’ll have blood on your hands, and it does not wash away no matter how many times you try, trust me, we know.” 

���So what?” You throw your hands up in the air, equally aggravated. “I just stay here like some. . . some pet waiting for their owners to come home?” 

“Yes!” Lily angrily replies. “That is the whole point of us joining the Order — so you get to live another day. So we all have a chance at this new world without a war. Let us protect you!”

You grind down on your jaw. “You have got another thing coming, if you think I’m not going to fight tooth and nail for my future.” 

James slams a fist onto the kitchen counter. “There are horrors out there you can’t even imagine. I-It’s worse than we thought. It’s our every nightmare come to life.” 

You raise your chin defiantly. “Then we face it together.”)

Each day, you survive, and each day the five of you return home — scarred and bruised, but safe within the arms of one another. When you collapse and crumble, it is only for the walls of your home to witness. 

Now a month into autumn, you are on your first task without Sirius, James, Lily or even Remus. Instead, you are assigned by Dumbledore to Knockturn Alley along with Peter Pettigrew and Gideon Prewett. How strange time was, years ago you’d never associate with the proud Gryffindors, and now you had to trust them to guard your back. Everyone had to grow up quickly during war, even pranksters. 

The alley was quiet — too quiet for your liking. You had been on alert since the moment you apparated into the area, wand at your ready. The back of your neck prickled with goosebumps as you kept an ear out for any sign of movement. 

Peter shivers and you glance at him — he’s become far too skinny, constantly shrinking into himself out of fear. And while you want to comfort him, you keep your eyes up ahead. Still, there's a nagging feeling that you can’t quite make out. It’s different from all the other times you’ve been asked to search and rescue. 

“Don’t you feel like there’s something wrong?” You ask Gideon, eyes snapping to the flock of crows flying overhead. 

“Dunno, kid,” Gideon says, nudging your shoulder with pressed lips. “Everything about this is freaking me out. The place is too empty.” 

“I get what you mean,” You reply, swallowing your own nervousness. Without waiting for the rest, you speed up your pace. “I’ll scout ahead, who knows what’s been here before us. I don’t want to risk any of our lives, so let’s be careful. Gideon, ward the area while I check for any cursed objects, last time you almost got your arm cut off by a newspaper of all things. And Peter, could you. . . Peter?” 

When you turn to check behind you, it all happens so fast. 

“Avada Kedavra!” 

You scream as Gideon’s deathly pale body falls to the floor. 

“No!” 

You aren’t given a moment to rush to his side — someone digs their wand in the side of your neck, and you stiffen in their hold. It’s not until they hiss in your ear that you recognize the voice. 

“Rosier.” You spit, biting down on your lip when he presses the tip of his wand further into your flesh. 

“Stupid witch,” He taunts, eyes dilating with vengeance. “Where are your lovers now?” 

“Jealous?” You claw at his arms, chest heaving up and down. “We don’t have room for one more, sorry.”

“Shut up!” He pushes you to the ground in blind rage, and that’s all the opening you need. 

“Expulso!” 

Each curse you send his way lands on his cloaked body, sending him staggering backwards. With ease, you deflect each spell he counters with. You’re winning, he is growing tired, and perhaps that is why you let your guard down. 

“Accio wand!” 

The magic fizzles out, and the spell dies on your lips. As you swivel your head to find out who’s stolen your wand, you expect to find another Death Eater — except it’s Peter. Just Peter Pettigrew, quivering in his boots with tears and snot dripping down his face, your wand in his free hand. You furrow your brows — it doesn’t make sense. 

“Peter?” You call out. 

“Crucio!” 

The curse finds its home in your body — and it sinks deep into your flesh, grinding your bones until you slump to the ground, wriggling as you draw blood from your lips, refusing to let them hear an ounce of your pain. Blood trickles down your nose as you hear Evan Rosier dancing around you in glee. You know this curse well; the sound of your father condemning you gleefully echo in your head. You crawl over to Gideon — hand desperately reaching for his shirt. 

“Crucio!” Rosier grabs you by the hair and howls with laughter. “Scream for me again—Crucio!” 

It’s as though someone had begun to rip you in half. Your bones shift and crack with every uttered curse. The veins in your eyes have popped and through bloody vision, you see Peter cowering away from you.

“You—fucking—traitor,” You gurgle, throat welling up with blood that’s risen from your stomach. “They’ll—never—forgive you—never.” 

“Crucio! Crucio! Crucio! Come on, witch — SCREAM! Look at her go, Pettigrew, crawling like some pathetic worm.” 

You lay in your owl pool of blood, wearing a body that is marred and lacerated. But you see something in Gideon’s hand. I’m sorry, you want to tell him. I’ll get you home to Molly, you promise, please lend me your magic this once. With every last bit of your strength, just as Rosier directs another curse at you — one you know you won’t survive — you snatch the wand from Gideon’s hand and tear the last of your magic from your throat. 

“Defodio!” 

You wait with a bated breath as silence fills the alley; lucky to have remembered Professor Flitwick’s quick remark as to how the slight difference in pronouncing a charm could alter its effect. Rosier stands on shaky legs, a stream of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. You watch as he looks down to his chest, where a gaping hole now lies instead of where his ribcage and heart should be. As Gideon had done before him, Evan Rosier crashes to the ground. 

That just leaves one more problem. 

Peter scurries to your side the moment Rosier can hurt him no longer. “I-I’m sorry—I’m sorry. I had to. . . T–They killed my mum, they killed M–Mary, and t–they said I would die too if I d–didn’t do this. I’m sorry. Y–Your father was there, too. He said he would take you in, let you l–live if you joined us. W–We can live, t–there’s still a chance for us to survive.” 

Your fingers are bent at unsightly angles, the remnants of the Torture Curse still flowing through your veins, but your face contorts in anger as you let your hand curl around his neck. He sobs louder, and though your grip is weakening — you make sure he looks into your eyes, that he feels your touch.

“I’d rather—die.” You say through gritted teeth, nails drawing blood from his grimy skin. “You’ll die too—you’ll feel my blood on your skin—everywhere you go, Peter.” 

Peter shakes his head, now clumsily pushing his wand down to the center of your chest. “Y–You were the only o–one who d–didn’t laugh at me. N–Not like the others.” 

“When they find out—you’re dead, Pettigrew.” You laugh darkly as more blood exits your body through your lips. “There’s nowhere you can hide—you’re a dead man.” 

“P-Please die,” Peter cries out, each killing spell coming out as a garbled whisper. “Please die,  s–so I can live. I c–can’t fight anymore, I’m tired.” 

Your vision goes a hazy shade of white, Peter’s silhouette fading away to the familiar scenery of your cottage in Godric’s Hollow. 

Oh.

Dying is less painful than you had expected it to be. It’s like coming home after a day’s work. 

You just wanted to rest now. 

The world caves in on you, and you barely hear Peter’s next words. 

“Avada Kedavra.” 

(It’s past midnight when Peter Pettigrew arrives at Grimmauld Place, where it’s been altered to host the members of the Order, Lily sobs in relief and gathers him in her arms. 

You’ll feel my blood on your skin.

You’re a dead man. 

Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. 

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re home safe — welcome home — thank the Gods you’re alive,” Lily blabbers through her tears, checking his face for any major injuries. “Merlin, what happened? There’s too much blood on you. It’s on your shirt and your face.” 

“It’s not mine,” says Peter hoarsely. 

Sirius’s gaze darkens, arms crossed over his jacket as he leaned against the wall. “Where is she?” 

Lily nods, standing on her tiptoes to search for any sign of you. “Peter? I–Is she alright? Has something happened to her?” 

Peter stays silent for a moment too long, and he finds himself slammed against the wall behind him, Sirius snarling in his face as he seizes the front of Peter’s soiled shirt. “Where the fuck is she, Pettigrew?” 

Peter begins to weep. “I–It was an ambush. None of us saw it coming. Gideon r–ran. She was taking on two Death-Eaters at once and I–I was too far away.” 

Lily collapses to the ground with a heart-wrenching scream.

Sirius growls as he drives his fist to the wall, inches away from Peter’s face. “Where is her body?” 

“It was a disintegration spell.” With Severus Snape — brought to the Malfoy Manor to be made as an example of what happens to blood-traitors. 

James pushes Sirius out of the way and grabs a hold of Peter, knocking his head against the concrete. “It should have been you—” James snaps at Peter. “If it came down to you or her—you should have saved her!” 

“W-What?” Peter stammers, eyes wide. “She chose to save m–me.” 

James sneers at him. “You should have just died.”)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1996; CURRENTLY, IN THE PRESENT.) 

ST. JEROME’S GRAVEYARD had exactly one visitor. Remus Lupin sits in between James and Lily’s graves, a bottle of firewhiskey in his hand — four empty at his side. He must be going crazy. There’s no funeral for Sirius as there’s no body to actually bury, Harry is presumed missing after an attack in Diagon Alley, and your name stares back at him mockingly. He tries not to dwell on your passing — there have been too many holes, too many details left unsaid; and he knows just the rat who has all the answers. Unfortunately, Wormtail won’t come out of whatever hole he’s crawled into. Either him, or Severus. 

He sighs, rubbing the temples of his head to ease the growing pains. 

You are the first to be buried of the five. Like Sirius, there had been no recovered body to lay to rest, but they asked for a compromise instead. Your name is engraved under Euphemia’s in her tombstone, and Remus figures it’s the fitting place to leave you be — with your mother, welcoming you home with open arms. He hopes you’re at peace, wherever you are. (Because, honestly, at this point, he might just fucking follow you.) 

Remus takes another swig of his alcohol, laughing bitterly to himself. He glances at James’s headstone and raises his bottle to him. “Not even in death, huh?”

He downs the last of the drink, rising to his tremulous legs. Remus gathers the flower bouquets he had bought earlier this morning; lilies-of-the-valley for Lily, white carnations for Euphemia, forget-me-nots for you, and for James — Remus leaves a moving photograph of him and Sirius; it’s a snapshot taken by Lily during the wedding as James dips his head low to kiss Sirius. Remus thinks it’s a wonderful memory to remember them by. 

“Take care of them for me, Jamie.”

And that is all the goodbyes Remus has the strength for. 

end note. i think i was crying the whole time i was writing this part, LMAO. i should be able to wrap things up in the next one. important!! there is actually a scene i was hesitant to include, but i ended up writing anyway. it's the whole part where allegra greengrass breaks down, and it was difficult for me to decide because i knew the implications; that i had a strong underlying message in that part, and i don't want it to be misconstrued or anything. pls pls tell me if it comes off as offensive, i definitely don't want to hurt anyone. nevertheless, thank you again so so so much for reading!! if you spot a plot hole, no you didnt!! i hope the time-jumps weren't too confusing! again, thank you so so much for reading!!

[zeawesomebirdie]

Back on my bullshit listening to music twice my age <3

[jolalibrary]

1. butterscotch orange

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter one of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.3k chapter warnings: [see masterlist for series warnings] meet cute, flirting. fluff. flirting in person and over <redacted>. frankie being a single!dad to a son. coffee date. an: it is finally here! this little thing has rotted me from the inside out and nothing brings me more joy than a romcom. so here we go. buckle in. all hail @secretelephanttattoo for the wondrous idea and support (seriously thank you, i know you know ily, but i don't think I've been this happy writing something in so long). a thank you to @thetriumphantpanda who i forced to read this when we had our sleepover, ily.

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics [winks]

IF I CAN DO IT, ANYONE CAN DO IT. ALL YOU NEED—

It rings, echoes through your skull.

Has been doing so the whole ride over—your groan doing nothing to dilute it, even as you kill the engine of your car and are welcomed with silence.

There’s an element of regret you feel thrumming in you since discovering that perky voice, her high-pitched excitement becoming the bane of your existence. Forever replaying in your head. Regardless of whether it is actually playing. It remains on a loop in your mind—all light and sweet—grating on you from the amount you’ve had to watch it, just to get to this stage.

Realistically, you know you shouldn’t hate the voice, because it has been helpful—in that effortlessly playful way that’s kind of begun to fuck you off.

But then, you’re not even sure if any voice would fare much better. Because you just don’t feel like it’s just that easy—so possible, all simple and quick to do.

Because DIY apparently isn't that trouble-free for you. The bandaids on your palm, fingers, and forearm are proof of it.

Yet, somehow you’re outside of a hardware store.

One that Google promises will have all you need and more. Not that you know what that is.

The only thing you do know is that it at least gives you another reason to focus on something other than the mountain of boxes that never end. The ones not unpacked. In the home that’s now only slowly beginning to feel more like yours, and not the people you purchased it from.

Eyes flicking over the front of the store, the clutter of things all left outside—in judging various shades of buckets and plastic garden chairs��before your eyes land on the door to Harold’s Hardware.

There’s no breeze, but the door moves ever so slightly. Sitting, slightly ajar, as though once—a long time ago—it fit in the frame perfectly, but now remained warped and unwilling to even try. Then there’s the glass, all smeared and sitting inside (what you assume) would have been a bright-white frame that’s slightly yellowed and has been adorned in scuffs, swinging in its layered overuse.

But, at least it’s visited, you think. Shoving open the door, a bell sounds in some distant corner, ringing, it almost muffled by the voice from the video continuing to play in the space between your ears—a to-do list, a handful of items required, listing themselves on a never-ending loop, the billionth play through since you’d woken up.

It’s so much bigger inside than you banked on. Jaw-ticking to the side, eyes marvelling at the floor-to-ceiling display and the array of things all living and existing under hanging signs that appear worn and peeling.

With each second, more and more of the charm comes to you.

That there’s a radio, crackling away, a song from decades gone by playing with difficulty, as an array of scents swirl, fighting themselves for your attention. But, two stand out, fresh-cut wood and lemon disinfectant. The latter you assume kills dirt but doesn’t make the floor tiles gleam in the way they once did. Scuff marks adorning well-walked paths. But the former, you gravitate more to, wish for it to fill your nose and remain with you long after your visit.

Adjusting the strap of your bag, you glance about again, almost fidgeting your feet in your shoes, before it dawns on you. Slams into you as you flick your gaze from sign to sign—

You haven’t got a clue about where to start.

Listing the things from memory—suddenly distant and difficult to find amongst the dooming overwhelm—as your feet begin moving of their own accord. Choosing an aisle, selecting it—all eeny-meeny-miny-mo.

Because better that, than standing aimless, lost. Watched on some flickering CCTV in the back where you assume the person who works here is.

Dragging your eyes, scanning them up and down, taking in the varying types of paint brushes, different thicknesses, different intentions. Moving from single purchase to grouped, to multi-packs, and landing finally on rollers before you’re turning, heading down an entirely different aisle.

The next isn’t any less overwhelming.

If anything, it’s more, because it’s at least more of what you needed.

Screws, bolts, fixings.

Your brain assessing, attempting to assemble whether a bolt is what you need, a screw or—

“You need a hand?”

It throws you off, the voice.

Cuts through your processing, through the low replays of the video (the ones only in your head) and the cracking radio which has moved into an advert for migraines.

It’s low, a slight gravel that he rids with a clear of his throat as you look over your shoulder, eyes sweeping over the owner of the voice, eventually turning to face him.

And fuck.

He’s broad, dressed in a deep green t-shirt under a tan apron—name badge scratched over, only leaving the lingering marks of a “here to help” and the fading logo you’d seen outside.

You don’t mean to gawk, but yet you do all the same.

Practically swallowing, attempting to whir your brain into gear as you take in the rest of him. The thick loose curls atop his head, the strong nose and the round-brown eyes. His moustache, the wiry facial hair across his chin he slowly begins to scrape at, as he remains waiting for a response.

“Screws.”

“You… you need screws?”

Nodding, you will your brain to work, to function. But, he’s just so—

Lifting his chin, he runs his thumb up and down the underside of his chin, waiting, waiting, until he smiles. “Do you know the kind?”

Think. Think. Fucking think.

And then you do. Somehow able to unspool some thoughts, find sentences. Beginning to explain, in barely-there pauses and animated hand gestures about your move, and your new lease of life, and this video you found and how you felt inspired by it to the point it had led you to order wood cut to size and tools from the internet, but screws, screws and this and that are all that you’d forgotten.

And, he listens. Sliding a hand over the sleeve of his sun-scorched tee as he does. Just nodding on occasion. Thin lines appear along his forehead at certain parts of the story, but nonetheless listening.

“Show me.”

“Show… you?”

Then he smiles. Soft, it slides up in a slow, almost cautious way, but then it’s at his eyes, touching, brushing itself there and sending sparks up into the darker brown flecks.

Licking his lips, he gestures, “The video.”

You do.

A quick shuffle in your pocket, a slide to unlock your phone and then your fingers are brushing his. They’re warm, his. That you can tell.

Heat radiating from them, slowly blanketing yours as his hand and yours cradle the phone like a newborn in an announcement photo.

From there, your chest tightens, more so when you meet his eyes, finding them watching you as intently as you wish to look at him, and it makes your heart stammer, skip—a full chaos of beats following before he’s holding your phone independently.

That’s when a new crisis calls. A new thought is all set to erode your mind.

Because your phone looks tiny in his hand.

The plastic case is almost dwarfed by him as he tips his chin, watching the video, occasionally tapping at the screen to skip ahead before he nods to himself, you all but busy trying not to choke on your own drool.

“I know what you need.”

“You do?”

A foolish question, all escaping without thought or rationale.

He just smiles, in a way that seems to settle your incoming anxiousness.

“I do.”

And he does.

A tilt of his head, his back turned to you, a brief thought crossing your brain at the sight but you quickly rid, and you’re following. Listening as he explains, as he points out things with his long, thick finger, as you nod, as though nothing lives in the space between both of your ears.

It isn’t until you’re back in your car that it hits you. Do you suddenly wish as your engine ignites and your car roars to life, that you had asked for his number—or better yet, his name.

It’s been days, and you’re still wondering if some part of you’d concocted him, made him up—thrown up an illusion of a man and exaggerated how good he looked.

The more you thought about him, the more insane it got. Even hearing yourself explain it to a friend made you question if you'd been dreaming. That maybe you’d let days mould him, shaping perfection in your consciousness.

It has more weight when you walk past the older man at the till, all white hair in a slick-back style and who tips his head and looks more what you’d expect from the decor of the place.

But a part, one fighting, scrapping for a moment to exist, still believes. Hopes.

Forcing your legs to wander down aisles you don’t need, pausing at each corner, desiring to be proven wrong. Hovering, hoping—half-wondering if it was essential that to make him appear, you had to look lost and hopeless—or whether that had just been a coincidence that first time.

With each up and down, you almost give up. Hope almost gone, erasing itself with each step, all but fading.

But there, in the centre of the paint aisle, speckled in dried flecks, it clinging in varying shades—a kaleidoscope dream on his jeans and worn t-shirt—is him. The man you haven't stopped thinking about.

"It's you."

"It's me," you grin, heat flooding your cheeks, growing up into your neck.

Arm lifting, hand brushing the back of his curls not housed in a cap, as he matches your grin. "New project?"

"Something like that."

His gaze doesn't waver, doesn't lessen, not as his grin slopes into a shy smile, before he wipes his hand on his jeans, offering it out. "Realised... I never... I'm Frankie, by the way."

You hand him your name, dropping an octave as you do—all unmeaning, entirely accidental—fingers sliding past his as you shake his hand.

“I don’t… you’ve not got your apron on.”

Glancing down, you find him grinning when he looks up, “Not my day today. Here on personal business.”

“Oh is…” squinting at the paint can in his hand, “Butterscotch Orange on a hit list or something?”

His lips slide into his cheek, a tooth-filled smirk. “Should be, it’s a right bitc—pain in the ass to sell.”

Rolling your lips, you trace your tongue across your teeth as you grin. “It’s no…” eyes squinting. “Mt Rainier Grey.”

His brow arches. “That your shade of choice?”

“I like it—don’t hate the orange though. So, maybe it’s not the paint, but the seller.”

Something twinkles in his eye, lips still cocked to one side, smirk still ever-present.

And it’s a challenge to drag your eyes to look at the floor, you shift your weight. Trying, and failing, to think of an excuse, to leave before it gets weird—before you become too much and ruin this nondescript thing. But, his throat clearing stops you. It forces your chin up. Barely just able to catch it, the whisper, how it’s almost said to the can in his hand than to you.

“You… doing anything right now?”

Shaking your head slowly, you bite your cheek as you grin. “Just talking to a man holding a paint can.”

Tapping his fingers along the top, lips rolling, “You fancy getting a coffee? With me?”

You have to bite your smile, out of fear you’ll show how practically beaming you are. Mouth opening, but he adds an addition of I don’t usually do this that makes your lips curl into a smirk.

“What? Invite random customers for coffee or accost them with paint you can’t sell?”

Biting his upper lip, he shakes his head, tucking a curl behind his ear as your eyes glance over at them. How they glisten under the yellow-fluorescent light.

Letting your heart dance like leaves in the wind. “I’d love to get coffee with you, Frankie.”

It’s nice, the coffee place.

Not a far walk, a few doors down. The charm of it coaxes you in with sounds of crunching beans and strong scents of varying levels of caffeine sliding over and relaxing your shoulders from your ears.

Because suddenly you’re nervous.

A slight shake to your bones, a twitch of your fingers.

“Let me get this.”

Smiling, you find him watching you, not caring to drag his eyes away when you catch him.

“Because you never do this or because you’re hoping to persuade me to buy your unsellable paint?”

Smirking, he traces his eyes over you, “Both.”

The corner of his mouth slides back into his cheek, a dimple appearing, deepening—one you want to brush over with your thumb the longer he keeps looking at you the way he does.

All dark eyes, beedy, but sparkling.

'Who's next?' breaks the spell. Shatters the magic. It forces you both to blink, to focus on the task at hand. Both orders said, whirring and crunching sounding as you admire the place, glaze over the menu until he’s nudging you.

With your order in hand and tucked away in the corner—the large window letting in light and warmth from the sun on your back—you try not to moan at the taste of your drink once it hits your tongue.

Because it’s good. Brilliant, practically everything.

To the point you have to bite back a thank you, one that you feel would be never-ending, a constant swirl of words landing on the circular table between the two of you. Nothing napkins and good conversation could soak up.

Because good coffee is always great, but knowing where to find it in an unknown place is something else.

Distantly, you hear him say your name, chin dipped, eyes focused, realising—in a flood of embarrassment—he’s been talking to you.

“Sorry?”

“I said, I’ve not seen you in the store before…”

Swallowing, you take a steadying breath.

“You don’t have to…”

But, you do all the same. You pour open small bits of truth, words falling, tumbling half-strung together as your history rolls out in a timeline in front of you both. How you’d bought a new place, that it’s a bit run down, seen better days—a determination to prove friends wrong by doing it yourself.

Foolish, you comment with a shake of your head, I know fuck all about decorating.

And he listens—to the fact you’re alone, not even a pet; he listens even as you talk about your work, all boring, not entirely interesting. The two of you simply lost in one another, surrounded by coffee mug swirls and the sounds of sizzling food, coffee shop noises and mumbling daytime talk as you ask him about work, about his love for orange shades.

And your eyes glance down at his phone, how it’s turned over—his all undivided attention given to you—yet your eyes linger on the phone case. The one with a drawing, likely in pencil, a man in a hat on a hill, a child next to him and a sun with a smile on its face.

“I… I have a kid. Luca—shared custody,” he says, nodding, tongue peeking out between his teeth, hands leaving the table and wiping back on his jeans in slow slides up and down. “He… he made it me.”

It’s the grin that makes your heart swell.

Makes your hand cup your mug a little tighter so you don’t offer it out to him to hold, a thing which feels so natural, no thought required. Except you don’t know his last name—barely know a thing about him.

Yet, your body practically leans forward as you mirror the smile—all soft, as another piece of a missing puzzle sliding into place.

“Does he like drawing?”

Laughing, his palm slides along his jaw. “Loves it.”

“How old?”

“Five—does that… does that bother you?”

“That you’re a dad?” He nods, and you lick your lips, you make sure to hold his gaze. “Not in the slightest.”

You smile, watching him mirror you this time. It rushes out, kissing across every bit of his face—a shyness soon fluttering over him before he clears his throat.

“So, you freelance? You like being your own boss?”

“Not especially, but it does mean I can work at night.”

Nodding, he slides his hand around the white porcelain, hand practically dwarfing the mug. It makes you want to ask him to hold things, to see if IKEA pencils or children’s eating utensils look more ridiculous than your iPhone and a regular coffee mug.

“Prefer the night?”

“I prefer the quiet of it... to think. It’s why… why I began trying to do something in the day, needed to still be busy.”

“Sitting still not an option, Rainier Grey?”

Shrugging, you smile. “Says you Butterscotch and your three tins of unsellable paint in the bed of your truck.”

“You got me there.”

“I just… like to be busy, and with the new house, no partner—commitments, I thought why not try a bit of DIY.”

Nodding, he lifts his mug, and takes a sip—eyes remaining fixed on you as he does, as though it buys him time, lets him think up an opinion, an assessment. It makes your skin warm, but for all the uncomfortable reasons, the panicking ones—parts of you beginning to catastrophise that you’ve said the wrong thing.

“Open up your Instagram.”

You stare, blinking.

“Trust me.”

And you do. With another fumble, another slide of your phone screen open, and you follow his instructions as you type in the spelling he gives you. When you click the page, it’s hard not to grin, to not have your face explode into a smile so large it cuts into your cheeks.

“I don’t like to sit still either,” Frankie adds, as though the thousand photos and videos, the tutorials and follower count don’t say that on their own.

You’ve fallen down a hole—willingly.

It cracked open the moment you’d sat on your couch, drink in hand, blanket half over your body.

The moment you’d begun your scroll, you discovered you couldn’t stop. Starting with the latest and moving back, until you realise you’d rather see the story in the way it happened.

Choosing a moment, almost nine months ago, before you work your way forward to the present.

You were cautious, more careful than needed, to not like anything too late—to not give away how deep into his page you’d gone. Even if you were in awe, a little proud—your cheeks a little warm and lips turned up into your cheek—as you saw in real-time his confidence grow. The way he’d look at the camera, began experimenting with angles, all in all being smoother, more happy.

You suppose that’s why you type a comment under one picture:

Is that butterscotch orange in the flesh? 🟠

Stalking me are you?

Getting some tips from Mr DIY himself.

I know you went back some months, Rainy.

How do you know that?

Because as soon as you commented that’s what I did. You looked nice at the beach.

Now who’s the stalker, Butterscotch.

Me. Clearly. I’m being very upfront about it.

Out of interest, do you tutor at all? Give hands on help to beginner DIYers?

You genuinely asking or flirting?

Big-headed much?

I can help you with something if you need it.

I think I do.

Then I’m yours. Don’t worry, I promise to only snoop in your drawers when left alone.

Think we should get food first, show you what I’m thinking—make sure you’re up to the task.

You asking me on a date?

No. But if you keep showing off tools topless I’ll be tempted to ask you.

Knew you’d gone back further than a month.

FRANKIE’S INSTAGRAM 🌝

NEXT CHAPTER

an: you do not understand how giddy i am about this series. the chapters have flown out of me. i hope you enjoy it half as much as i'm enjoying writing it. see you soon xx

[sirfrogsworth]

Dinner with Aunt Denise & Uncle Jeff A Tale of Science Fair Photography

Ever since my parents died my aunt and uncle have done their best to fill some of the hole left in my heart. It almost feels like they adopted me in a way. They check on me. They help me clean. They helped me sort through all of my parents' belongings. And from time to time they invite me over for dinner when I'm feeling up to it.

Last week I got a new invitation. I had been feeling pretty lonely as of late so I graciously accepted. Before I left I saw my camera sitting on the table and realized I had this fancy new lens which is especially suited for taking pictures of people.

I thought to myself...

"This lens has only taken pictures of bridges at sunset."

Which is cool and everything, but I don't really want my only photos to be of bridges at sunset. I like taking pictures of other things.

I didn't have any lighting equipment handy—just a single external flash. And without a solid plan for how I was going to use it, I quickly packed said flash and headed westward. As I saw the sun lowering in the sky above the highway my big photography brain had an idea...

"I should take pictures of *people* at sunset."

I needed a reflector of some kind to bounce my flash against. I thought poster board would probably suffice so I stopped at Walmart and headed to the arts and crafts area. I found these tri-fold poster board thingies that grade school kids use to display their science fair experiments.

I got 2 for $7!

What a deal!

After I arrived I asked if my aunt & uncle minded having their photo taken. My aunt said she was fine with it but warned me that no one had ever been able to take a decent photo of her.

I'm typically not one to be braggadocious, but I replied...

"Well, that's because you've never had your photo taken by ME."

I'm not sure I should have been so cocky considering my lighting equipment is typically used to display the life cycle of earthworms, baking soda volcanos, and... potato batteries—which was the delightful and totally real project I just found on Google.

Science Fair Entry from Billy, Age 10

After a delicious feast of bratwurst, salad, and non-electrified potatoes, I convinced my aunt and uncle to sit for a sunset photoshoot. They even helped me set up my science fair project.

Science Fair Entry from Froggie, Age 42

I decided to do a quick test indoors to make sure my plan would work. Jeff volunteered for my first experiment.

Without my contraption...

With my contraption...

I think my experiment was quite promising. But would my idea hold up outside during the sunset with constantly dimming conditions?

We moved everything to the backyard. The tri-fold poster board was a bit ornery regarding its uprightness and needed to be tamed. My Uncle Jeff used a large rock, some pillows, and a step ladder to keep the makeshift reflectors in place.

I started taking test photos without the flash to figure out the background exposure.

Those pesky power lines were going to need to be zapped later in Photoshop, but I was really digging the scenery.

I dialed everything in, started taking photos, and even on the little rear camera screen I felt like they were turning out well. With the sun setting the sky looked like it was on fire. But then the batteries died in my flash and I was starting to lose that fiery sky as darkness began to creep into view.

Unfortunately, all of the potatoes were in our bellies so my aunt scrambled to find regular batteries in the house.

This photoshoot had become a complete team effort with everyone doing their part to make it a success.

Surprisingly it was my Uncle Jeff was giving me some bona fide model poses. He just naturally has some sort of... resting model face. Very masculine and authentic. And my Aunt Denise is just pure sunshine manifested as a person. So I had no problems getting nice expressions from her.

So... would you like to see the pictures?

Will I get a blue ribbon on my science fair project?

Am I building up the suspense too much?

Okay, here we go...

I suppose the only validation I really need is from the person who has never had a decent photo taken of them.

Let's see the verdict.

All of those hours and hours of photography training helped me learn the problem solving skills I needed to pull off a photoshoot with seven dollars in supplies.

Take a small light source, bounce it off something larger, and you get a big light source.

And big light sources make people look snazzy in photographs.

Easy!

Are you kidding me?

I lost to the potato kid?

What kind of rigged nonsense...

[sirenologyyy]

LOST MY HEART!

street racer!carlos sainz x fem leclerc!reader

✴ summary: where you somehow found yourself in a skimpy maroon cocktail dress watching cars race eachother in the heart of the city and where carlos sainz found himself wondering what on earth had been keeping you from him all these years?

✴ warnings: swearing, google translated french, asshole-ish carlos kinda, mentions of murder, injuries, death, & suicide, blood, police chases.

✴ author's note: so uhh I guess this is me on my first attempt at entering the f1 side of tumblr LMAO. If you see any spelling or grammatical errors, no you didn't. Was this inspired by 2 Fast 2 Furious? Yeah.

The foul stench of decade old nail polish is like a good sock to the face. You had been sitting on the windowsill as the balmy summer air wafts in and out of your quaint little studio apartment, your tailbone nestled awkwardly against the ridges of the windowsill making you shift positions every 10 seconds instead of simply choosing to continue your business on your bed where your mattress and pillows were far more forgiving than the metal windowsill. You carefully and meticulously coat each of your bare fingernails with wine red nail polish as some 70s reality show continues to play in your TV in the background; the dialogue blurring with the faint buzzing of the electric fan rotating on its axis, the only reason why you weren't melting at this very moment.

You were on the last finger, carefully spreading the polish around so as not to get it to stick on one of your cuticles until your phone started to ring, you see your phone light up in the distance and you scramble to get to it. It had been Alexandra calling, you recognise the picture of her face before you even see the name.

You couldn't help but glance up at the upper left most corner of your phone and your eyes widen a centimeter as you slide the button to accept her call. "Where are you? Are you okay?" You demand and when she didn't answer in all but the 3 seconds you gave her you leapt off the windowsill and began scurrying around your apartment, beginning to gather your things to leave the house.

Then, you hear her tinkly laugh on the other end of the call. "Would you calm down? Everything's alright here chérie, no one has died."

You halt to a stop in the middle of your apartment. "Are you aware what time it is Alex?"

"Yes, I am." She replies, hearing the giant grin through her voice along with her velveteen monegasque accent that tickled anybody's brain.

You look at your wallclock, 2:45. "So why on Earth are you still awake?"

Before she could even respond, the obnoxious sounds of cars revving their engines answered for her. You roll your eyes as you pressed the video feature waiting for her to finally accept, and when she did you were greeted by your friend grinning cheekily at you along with throngs of people whooping and cheering behind three sports cars lined up and ready to race. "Come on," Alex says, giggling blithely at your disdainful expression. "You promised to come today!"

You visibly stiff. Oh yeah, you did. A week or so ago when you made her try Filipino street food for the first time, you hastily agreed to come to one of the street races so she would try kwek-kwek dipped in spicy vinegar, you've completely forgotten about it.

"You've forgotten, haven't you?-" Alex mused, voicing your conscience.

Your brows thread. "-Of course not!" You're quick to defend as she laughs at you once more and she gives you this sort of endearing look that made you feel bad. "Fine, what if I have?" You say, giving up. You walk back to the windowsill in hopes to finish off your nails.

"Make it up to me, come to the race today. I'll even pick you up!" Says Alex.

You guffaw as you twist the nailpolish bottle closed. "That's not likely."

"I'm serious!" Alex persists as she moves away from the boisterous crowd, hearing their voices fade away more and more by the second. She sits down somewhere and places the camera in front of her face, prompting you to do the same. "Come on, Y/N/N, come today! Support Charles! You know how much it would mean to him if you came and cheered him on! You haven't been to one of his races since Jules."

Your jaw tightens, your chest begins to feel immensely heavy, and your stomach churns. Not in that particular order. "I didn't have it in me."

Alex sighs. "I'm not forcing you to come, I'm just... heavily encouraging you."

"I know, I know" you reply somewhat distantly, though barely enough for Alexandra to notice; and as she speaks to somebody else about a lychee martini presumably ordering one from the 24 hour bar beside the track, you begin to weigh your options. It would just be one race, and anyway Suzuka was 9 years ago, it wouldn't kill you if you came today.

It wasn't like you had a sleeping schedule to maintain.

"You're thinking so hard you look like you're gunna bust a vein." Alex quipped, ultimately pulling you out of your reverie and causing you to blink repeatedly.

"I'm warming up to it." You confessed, jerking your right shoulder upwards. Suddenly, a notification pops up saying Charles was calling you and your eyes widened. "Why the fuck is he calling?"

"Who is?" Alex wonders.

"I'll be right back Alex, hold on." You replied, distracted.

"30 minutes." She says, pointing at you.

You roll your eyes as you laugh through your nose. "No promises."

She blows you a kiss, you do the same before you ended the call and accepted Charles'.

It automatically sends the both of you into video and you see Charles inside a car, your mood sours even more than it already has. "Chou, come today." You hear him say with a stern look in his eyes while the edges of his mouth curl up into a grin you recognise all too well.

You scowled at him. "Alex called me, she tried winning me over too. She's a great negotiator."

He lights up at the prospect of you finally coming to one of his street races. "So you're coming?"

"If I do will you finally propose?"

"That's not fair!" He exclaimed, laughing at you.

"You whore! The amount of testosterone I had to live with in my 23 years of existence was appalling! Enzo's settled down, Arthur is seeing that girl he met in Milos, what about you?" You demand, your older brother watches you berate him with a fond smile on his face, wondering just how fast time flies.

"I'm waiting for the right moment, you can't blame me." He replies simply making you scoff.

"That's bullshit and you know it."

He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Language."

"Is Arthur there?"

He adjusts the grip on his phone. "No, that's why I want you to come."

"But you have Alex, isn't she enough?" You fought.

Charles sighed. "She's just my girlfriend Y/N not my sister, at the end of the day it's still drastically different."

You raise a quizzical brow. "Just your girlfriend? Wait til she hears this-"

"Come on chou, one race." Charles pressed, and you can feel yourself losing restraint as each second evades you. 9 years of hearing about Charles' accomplishments and failures instead of being able to witness them firsthand, tonight was the night where the incessant begging of Charles, Alex, and even your twin brother Arthur on the rare occasion would finally change all that. "juste une course." Just one race.

"One race." You found yourself saying, Charles smiles.

"I'll see you in an hour." You shook your head at him giving him a shrewd little smile. "You stink."

"Not as much as you, Chou." He replies swiftly. You flip him off, hearing the last remnants of his laugh reach your end before you grunt a quick 'bye' and finally end the call. By the time Alex arrives in your apartment, (also known as her breaking and entering because you forgot to tell her you've changed locks and hadn't given her a new key yet.) You've gotten yourself dolled up in a new maroon cocktail dress you found while thrifting a few weeks back, wearing it for the second time around. Alex did your makeup since she insisted she wanted to try a new eyeshadow hack she saw off of TikTok and you styled your hair.

As you two are about to leave, she stops you from putting on your black ballet flats and pulls you back to the vanity.

"One last thing." She says to you before she lines your lips with a crimson lip liner and then filling it in with a red lipstick you had lying around. She turns you around fixing your gold heart necklace so that the clasp would be hidden in the back. You turn back around to face yourself in the mirror, checking yourself out. "Now you're ready." Alex grinned. "That way you're less inclined to smoke because I spent a good 10 minutes on your lips!"

You snort as you throw on your deep brown leather jacket. "Let's see about that."

Within an hour the both of you are out the door, you had the radio on full blast with the pair of you screaming the lyrics to Love by Keyshia Cole. The roof of Alex's silver convertible had been down, allowing the crisp dusk air to billow through your tresses as you sped through the otherwise empty streets save for the few cars that hung back and watched as you two zoomed past them, eventually stopping at the closed off avenue where the race was located. It took Alexandra 20 minutes to parallel park (with you cheerfully taking a video of your best friend visibly struggling and in dire need of help to send to your brother.)

Once she has surmounted such a great feat you two were off to find your brother who, funnily enough, chanced upon you first.

Charles takes off his amber tinted sunglasses, donning his signature baggy jeans that flopped as he waltzed towards the pair of you. "do my eyes deceive me or is my baby sister finally at a race???"

You smirk as you entrap him in a fleeting hug. "No this is Papa, I've come to take you with me."

Charles harshly pokes your side making you recoil. "Agh Putain! " You hissed, clutching your left rib as you scowl at your older brother.

"I see you haven't outgrown your foul-mouthed tendencies." Charles mused, boxing his arms in front of his chest.

You raised a quizzical brow as Alexandra giggled loudly beside you. "You do know who I grew up with, right?"

"It's great to have you here, Chou." Charles beamed fondly at you, causing the ends of your lips to curl upwards into a smile, a sudden wave of melancholy overcoming you. "Can't believe it's been this long since you've watched me race."

"Me too." You replied, returning his smile. "I'm excited to see if you still like to shred the side of your car against the sides of the track like when you were 14."

The tip of Charles' ears turn crimson at the sound of Alex's tinkly giggles. "You're never letting me live that down are you?" You giggle loudly as you shook your head at him.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Okay, look, I'm in the lineup for the next race. If they'd known I left my car minutes before I'm set to compete I'm toast."

You rolled your eyes. "Alors dépêches toi, I'll see you later." Hurry up then.

He began to retreat towards the starting line. "Watch me win that fat stack of cash, and once I do I'll take you out for ice cream." He assured you oh so confidently in the true Leclerc fashion, pointing at your face.

"You better, or I'm cracking your head open on the asphalt like an egg." You call after him, watching as he danced his way through the crowd. "We'll see about that." You caught wind of him saying causing you and Alex to burst out into a fit of giggles, which were promptly drowned out by the arrival of two cars that had presumably been racing since before you got here. The crowd's thunderous cheering and whistling made you wince as Alex started whooping along with glee.

The drivers each exit their cars slamming their doors rather harshly. You stood silently as you watch one of them shove the other one in the chest causing him to stumble backwards and collide with his car, a Honda S2000. The cheers drastically begin to fall in a decrescendo when the crowd notices they start to get into a heated argument, from your vantage point one of the men with features so sharp it could cut diamonds seemed like he was berating his opponent that looked defensive, with his eyebrows furrowed as they exchanged sides.

One of your brother's friends, Pierre, who helped organise street races like these quickly intervened and told them to walk it off, dismissing the crowd who had just began to cheer for a fight telling them that if they were here for one they should take their business elsewhere.

"Yeesh," Alex makes a face as your eyes trail after one of the men. "There he goes again, all dark and broody."

"You know him or something?" You wonder, turning to Alex.

Alex looks at you. "He and Charles are leading in wins, his name's Carlos." She tells you, you turn your head to the direction he previously was in to find that he was gone.

Your eyebrows thread. "Sounds like you can't trust him with your drink."

Alex snorts. "With your ex-girlfriends either, once he learns you and your girlfriend have broken up he swoops right in and sleeps with her."

"That sounds a little dramatic." You say, giving him the benefit of the doubt. Alex gives you a pointed look as she places her hands atop your shoulders. "Chérie, trust me. I know you, you do not wanna get mixed up with that guy."

Your eyes widen, as you look at her almost scandalised. "What are you talking about???"

"I'm just saying!" She laughed, shrugging. "Just- be careful."

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at your friend and instead you give her a comforting smile. "Fine, I'll steer clear of him. I promise." You assure her.

As the minutes ticked on and your brother, who was seated in his custom Ferrari 360 modena had sped off into the distance with his opponents, you had covertly slipped away whilst Alex had began mingling with the other racers' girlfriends (she was too scared to leave you alone but you insisted you'd be fine.) to light one up.

Walking off to a secluded part of the track, you take out your cigarettes and lighter from the pocket within your jacket. After a series of attempts of igniting your lighter and to no avail, you grew irritated.

"Allez... allez allume. Come on you stupid little thing." You mutter, obstructed by the cigarette trapped in between your lips. Come on... come on light up.

"No use in forcing it if its that stubborn." Your eyes traverse from your lighter and towards the voice, a man's voice. Your heart so traitorously skipped a beat as you laid your eyes on him, approaching you as he takes his cigarette away from his plump lips. "Have mine." He tells you.

Clad in a shiny leather jacket, a white shirt, and deep blue jeans, he takes out his lighter from his front pocket and ignites it before your very eyes. The blistering amber flame danced as the wind dared to put it out which otherwise gave life to his eyes. In which you thought were dark fathomless pits of naught were apparently balmy and tantalising, doe-like and pleasant. "Do you mind if I join you?" He wonders.

"No not at all." You answered, lips still pinching that cigarette together. He laughed a little, making you grin out of awkwardness.

This was the same man you were warned to avoid and yet pleasant was the word that came to mind when you thought of his eyes that soon meet yours, and you didn't quite find it in yourself to pull away.

Only when you heard the familiar sizzle of your cigarette coming to life was when you take a hit and then promptly pulled it away from your lips.

You exhaled a cloud of smoke, a foul, gaseous barrier that stood in between the two of you. "Honestly I could've done it myself." You refuted, avoiding his eyes. You didn't want to fall victim to the ironclad grip of his warm gaze like you so foolishly allowed yourself to succumb to before.

He chuckles in a low baritone. "What can I say? My mother raised a gentleman." He replies in his sultry Spanish accent that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Oh pull yourself together, he's just a man.

You hummed at him, clearly amused. "A gentleman sure, but not a very good sportsman."

He grinned at you. "I take it you saw that little spat earlier, no?"

Your finally look at him once more. "Me? Everybody did. You looked like you were about to choke him until his eyeballs pop outta their sockets."

He chuckles at that, a sound that made your smile widen, even if it was just a tad. "He was being too aggressive during the lap, drove right into me from behind. Like uhh, the bumper cars." He recalls, snapping his fingers gleefully. "Almost had me flying."

"You still won though." You postulate, paying close attention to his reaction. Through the darkness you saw a light blush spread across his sun-kissed cheeks as he brought his cigarette towards his lips. "Why, are you glad I did?"

A scoff left your lips as you shook your head, the ends of your lips curlong upwards a tad to form some semblance of a smile before you stopped it from growing wider. "Don't get ahead of yourself."

This gets a chuckle out of him, glancing over at you. "My mistake I guess."

You rolled your eyes, before they carefully combed through the area to see if Alex had chanced upon you and caught you fraternising with your brother's competitor. Oh the absolute horror. "Oh poor you, I bet everytime you do donuts you're convinced it'd get all the girls to drop their panties for you."

Carlos blinked. "I wouldn't know myself," He juts his right shoulder upwards before taking yet another hit of his cigarette. "D'you wanna test that theory?" He asks you, smoke leaving his mouth and nostrils like a dragon.

"Oh you're a real treat aren't you?" You feigned a smile.

"Just about." He replied, cheekily grinning at you.

You furrow your brows at him. "Funny." You said. "Don't push your luck, connard." Jerk. You cussed as you shook your head. Finally, the sad baby cow eyes effect were wearing off, you thought. But then again, this was a street racer you were talking to. Even your brother had his questionable moments at times.

"Ahh, tough luck I guess. Usually the French love me." You hear him say as you checked the time on the dainty watch that once belonged to your Maman's wrapped around your wrist.

"Thank God I'm Monegasque then." You humored, causing him to raise an eyebrow and nod, almost piecing something together. You drop your cigarette to the ground, mercilessly crushing it up beneath your ballerina flats. "I guess I'll see you around?" You ask him politely, a light drawl hanging off your tone, but he offers you a polite smile in return.

"Can I expect you to come to another race soon?" He wondered as you slowly retreated back to where Alexandra had left you. It made you think all of a sudden.

"Don't hold your breath." You answered him.

He makes a face. "I don't have a lot of things to hope on."

You rolled your eyes playfully as you took a few slow steps backwards. "Dosen't sound like my problem." Carlos grinned at you as you pivot on your heel and walked off trying to suppress a grin, hands inside your jacket pockets as you quickly made it back to find Alexandra. Only for her to find you first.

"Where have you been?" She asks you, grabbing your shoulder and turning you around swiftly. "I was looking everywhere for you! Cha finished first you know, he's competing against the previous race winners right now. We were wondering where you ran off to!" Alexandra exclaimed.

"I was just walking around, doing some people watching. The usual." You lied casually, causing her to make a face at you.

"That dosen't explain why you smell like cigarettes again." She says, causing you to grimace inwardly. You forgot to shove some mints in your purse before leaving your apartment. Usually chucking a couple of them into your mouth would help cover your tracks, but your carelessness has bitten you in the ass once more.

"It's a street race Alex, it's bound to get a little dusty." You tell her laughing. "You dont get to talk either, you smell like you bathed in a vat of lychee martinis when you left."

She hummed, crossing her hands over her chest. "Touché"

You look back at her, sporting a victorious little grin one to which she rolled her eyes that faded oh so quickly when someone from behind you suddenly made you stumble forward, you were about to cuss them off when the infamous red and blue lights of police cars drew nearer and nearer alongside the blaring sirens.

"Holy shit." Alexandra gasped as she took a hold of your hand while everybody started bolting the other way like disturbed garden bugs once residing underneath an overturned rock.

"Jesus Christ-" You said before you began squeezing yourself into the distressed crowd. People were ramming into the pair of you from different directions as you tried to make your escape, you hear the police officers making arrests in the far off distance as you continued to fight your way through the throngs of people. Only when you finally ran off to where you had smoked a cigarette prior to the arrival of the police had you realized Alex hadn't followed you out like you so foolishly hoped she did.

The churning in your stomach only worsens when you hear more police cars arrive on the scene. "ALEX?! Jesus Christ- ALEX???" You yelled, trying to find her amidst the sea of people running for their lives, quite literally. "ALEX?!? ALEX WHERE ARE YOU?!?"

You unceremoniously jumped out of your skin when you hear a car pull up behind you causing you to gear up to try and run away, that was until the shotgun window rolled down and there was Carlos strapped in the driver's seat. "Get in!"

You were apalled. "I- I can't find my friend! I don't know where she is!" You shout back.

"Less likely of a chance you'll be able to find her when you're behind bars, come on!" The man insisted with a caring sense of urgency in his eyes.

Your frown deepened as you looked behind you, the sirens were starting to sound nearer. "Carlos I have to find her!" You say, turning back to look at him.

You saw a bulge form on his temple as his fingers flexed around the leather of his steering wheel. "I'll help you find her after the heat dies down, but please do yourself a favor and get in the car!" Carlos yelled before you open the door to the shot gun half-heartedly. You threw yourself inside and before you could even close the door he zoomed off. It felt like you had been suctioned onto the back of the seat as you were sure Carlos had floored it. You turn to look at him, only now you realize how dry your mouth felt, how your tongue felt foreign and rough like sand paper. "Thank you... for that."

"Don't mention it." He replied, dancing past the other cars that ran the speed limit as he drove the pair of you into the highway.

"You're right your ego'll inflate so much to the point it'll slow us down." You equipped, trying to ease the situation a little.

Even Carlos' hard exterior crumbles at that as you hear him chuckle. "Are you always this sweet to people who save your ass?"

"Usually, why?" You replied looking at him who shrugged, smiling ever so slightly. "Can't blame a guy for being curious."

That gets a little chuckle out of you which was promptly interjected by the sounds of sirens coming from behind you. You whip your head around to see at least 3- no, 4 police cars making their way through the traffic behind you. You turn to Carlos, mouth parted to warn him but it seems that he was a step ahead of you was the car went faster.

"They're right on us Carlos." You tell him, trying your hardest to keep your breakfast down as he deliberately ran a red light, causing a collision on the intersection, the car narrowly missing it.

"You doing okay? You don't sound like it." He asks you, taking a few seconds to look at you before they are back on the road as you force yourself to nod.

"Mm-hm, I just love the way car-chases make my knees weak."

"You sure it's the car and not me, hermosa?" He asks you mischievously. You giggled loudly at that. You're not a school-girl get it together. "Shut up, it almost sounds like you want us to get arrested."

He shrugged, smiling a shrewd smile. "Hey, it would be a killer story to relive and laugh about over some dinner sometime."

You glare at him and even in the dark you can see the distinct mischievous glint in his brown eyes. "Did you really just ask me out on a date? Now? While we're this close to being incarcerated???" You interrogate him loudly.

"If we get outta this alive and unscathed? I mean... it couldn't be the worst thing, no?"

You guffawed at his statement turning to him as he sped through yet another red light. "Yes it would, it seems like the only viable option for me now is to jump outta the car and surrender myself to the police."

He laughs boisterously at that. "Dios Mío, you're so mean!" Carlos exclaimed, sporting a boyish smile with his brows furrowed that made your heart do a somersault. "Speaking of police... I think we've lost them." He announces, switching his gaze from his riverview mirror to his sidemirror, with a victorious grin.

"Really??? Jesus Christ that was," you stopped to chuckle in disbelief, wiping the sweat of of your temples. "Exhilirating." You finish, finally landing on a word.

"Eh, same old, same old." Carlos sang dismissively, his face causing you to giggle. "When you've managed to accidentally rob a liquor store at 15 with your friends before school only for you to crash your dad's car into the river and have it blow up in flames all while avoiding being caught by the police, nothing surprises you anymore."

You snort. "How do you accidentally rob a liquor store?"

"Too long a story, I won't bother you with such details." He answers you, drawing a line with the air using his hand. "But the bottom line is that I'm never going to try and see how many bottles of cerveza fit inside my dad's military grade duffel bag."

You sucked in air through your teeth, shaking your head amusedly. "Christ, that behavior warrants you into being the favorite then, dosen't it?"

He hummed at you delightfully. "Look at that, we've only met tonight and yet it seems like I've known you forever." Carlos mused with a genuine smile on his face. "How do you do it?"

"Easy, I was the favorite growing up too." You replied. "Like calls to like after all."

"You're the oldest daughter followed by boys aren't you?"

"No, I was the one that followed boys, 3 of them. After years and years of trying Maman and Papa finally got the daughter they so desperately wished to have." You say, with a distant smile.

"Wow, I'm not good at this." Carlos replied dismally, raking a hand over his face with dread causing you to laugh at him again. "Hats off to them then, their daughter's pretty special."

"If I ever meet your parents I'd say the exact same thing." You replied.

He looks at you teasingly. "No you wouldn't."

"No, I wouldn't." You laughed, causing him to laugh too.

The night further blurred after that, to the point that even now several hours later you couldn't exactly pinpoint where you and Carlos have gone after you exited the highway, what you have done, what you have said.

Based off of the egregious headache you were nursing, a wadded up paper bag of chic-fil-a on the chair beside you, and a familiar soreness emanating through your limbs you finally pieced everything together.

Of course, the second you came home to your apartment a call from Charles lit up your phone screen. As much as you wanted to let your phone ring into oblivion, you begrudgingly answered his call.

"vous plaisantez j'espère? c'est la millionième fois que je t'appelle et pourtant tu ne réponds que maintenant à ton téléphone?" Charles practically bellowed the second your call came through. You try not to roll your eyes in front of him. are you kidding me? this is the millionth time i've called you and yet you only answer your phone now?

"laisse-moi mettre fin à l'appel alors, essayons d'atteindre cent millions." You bounced back, pausing your show to divert your full attention to your distressed brother who had probably not even slept a wink since last night... well, earlier this morning. let me end the call then, let's try and reach a hundred million.

"quel ennui tu es! je n'ai pas dormi du tout depuis que tu as décidé de disparaître après la course et de ne pas me dire, ni à Arthur, ni à Enzo, ni même à Alex où tu étais allé!" Charles reasoned loudly making you flinch at the volume of his voice, having to calibrate your own volume settings so your head dosen't explode. what a pain you are! i havent slept at all since you decided you'd disappear after the race and not tell me, or Arthur, or Enzo or even Alex where you'd gone!

"Chill the fuck out will you? I've arrived in my apartment in one piece. I haven't been taken by the police, I don't have any injuries. Je vais parfairtement bien." I'm perfectly fine. You managed, massaging your temple off camera.

"Where were you?" Charles asks you now. "And where did your necklace go? That used to be Mamans."

"I took it off, Jesus." You lied quickly. In truth, you didn't know where the hell it was, but you decided to lie to not make the conversation last any longer than it should. "And I was off with someone- I don't- Why do I have to tell you these things? I'm as old as Arthur aren't I? I don't see you grilling him when he comes home late, in fact your fucking praise him for it!" You defend, finding it in yourself to finally raise your voice at you brother. Who scratched his head in frustration.

Charles remains silent for a second before he opens his mouth. "Fine... Fine! je ne te forcerai pas." I wont force it out of you. Charles exclaimed, ultimately giving in.

You fiddle with the remote in silence before you look back at him, bristling on your spot in the couch. "For what it's worth Cha, I'm sorry I made you worry so much. That was insensitive of me."

His face softens a little when he laughs through his nose. "Whatever, whatever. Truce." He mused, trying to sound all irritated when in fact he was not, causing you to giggle. "Don't pull shit like that the next time you come to my races, putain. I can see why Maman was so eager to let you move out."

You scowled. "you're goddamn insane if you really think i'm going to another race."

"See you Chou, take care." Says Charles, sporting a grin you were relieved to see back on his face. You rolled your eyes at him endearingly. "See you soon, Cha." You then end the call.

When you were about to put your phone down to continue watching the show you had paused, you receive a text message from an unknown number. You decide to view it so you could delete it and not have it take space in your phone storage but forgot about all of that when you finally read the message.

[avaf00rd]

Fridge

Little shits pt 2

Kyra Cooney cross x teen!reader (platonic)

actually finished this shockingly quick. (Not proof read). Submitting it now and going to sleep. So it’s bad.

I had a Leah fic that was pretty good but then half didn’t save in the draft. And rewriting is the worst. I’ll try to get back into it tomorrow if I can promise.

Enjoy bbys

——————————————-

“shit.” Kyra blankly said as she made a huge dent in the mcfoord new fridge. Don’t ask how.

“How the fuck did you manage that!” You exclaimed checking out the massive mark left right in the middle of the fridge.

You and Kyra had been in Baylor against Katie and Caitlin for a few weeks now. It was hilarious to all of you. You were also all getting great content for the Arsenal new YouTube channel where different players would do vlogs of game days and other activities.

“Ok everyone Kyra just broke the fridge” you sighed running your palm over your forehead looking back into the camera

“It’s not definitely broken. We can just undo it” she said. You grabbed the camera to point it towards her raising one eyebrow.

“It’s as big as a bowling ball” you said. Kyra turned to you and the camera with a blank expression.

“I say we grab the toilet plunger.” Before quickly getting up to find it.

“If I were Katie I would rather have massive dent on my fridge then have the fridge smell like my own shit.” You sighed as u sat down on the stool. You two were truly truly fucked this time. Some of your pranks included putting pictures of drunk Caitlin all around every second cubby at the training grounds. This round it was slightly lighter by super gluing the lids to their foods in the fridge. Lame right? Kyra somehow managed to pick up a random pot and accidentally charge it straight into the fridge. You forgot about the camera as you were lost in thought thinking about how badly you fucked up this time. Brand new fridge for their brand new place. It was over.

“Ok no plunge but I did some googling. We just need an ice cube” you guys were the definition of blind leading the blind. So of course you grabbed an ice cube and placed it on the large dent 10 times its size. “Is it working” Kyra asked holding the camera towards you and the ice cube. You slowly turned your head around to face her wiht a blank expression reading no you fucking idiot.

A knock on the door made you both share a look of panic. “The pantry” Kyra pointed intending that you just run away from this problem.

“No dumb ass” you said before getting up and walking to the door. You were nearly 100% it wasn’t Caitlin and Katie as you walked the hallway before twisting the handle.

“Hey tiny” Leah said in surprise to find you here.

“Hey Leah”

“What on earth are you doing here” she questioned

“We need your help” you said hopefully. Kyra peaking around the corner to be seen with a sad smile and a nod. Leah slightly chuckled before following you down the hall. Where you stood from afar with Kyra pointing to the fridge. Leah just bursted out laughing.

“Shit you did this” she chuckled checking it out.

“Yes what do we do!” You slightly yelled. Kyra still in shock from what happened.

“Don’t worry about it. They might be mad but Katie was telling me a new fridge and oven was arriving so it doesn’t really matter-“

“This is the new fridge!” Kyra exclaimed

Leah jaw slightly fell “you’ve truly done it again children”

“Leah please answer. What do we do?” You asked desperate for help.

“We wait until they get home” she said softly before filling up a cup of water for herself and sitting at the dining room table on her phone.

You waited around 20 minutes doing nothing. Kyra on her phone, probably researching how to fix it. And you now just sitting next to Leah looking out the window. It might not seem like a big deal. But a brand new expensive fridge, with a possible non-fixable problem was defiantly a big deal to your young minds. You just had a plan in your mind. Offer to pay to fix it. If you can’t fix it. You and Kyra will go halves on a replacement. Kyra tried to rebuttal when you brought up that plan, but quickly shut up when she realised it was the only option.

This was amusing to Leah. The panic in your faces made her laugh. The whole team was just waiting for something to go terribly wrong.

“Let me get this straight you were trying to superglue all of their food? Aha! That’s good” Leah exclaimed with a goofiness in her voice. You and Kyra just sat their blankly. Kyra soon chuckling at the thought of how this whole situation is kind of funny.

A rattle of keys on the front door made your heart completely stop. “Oh hey Leah. And girls. Oh shit what did you do” Caitlin asked with a smirk on her face kind of ready to see the next prank. Just so she could then plot her next one.

“Ok ok so” you put your hands on both their chests before they could walk much further. “We were doing a light hearted prank right. Then we made a mistake. Dear Kyra here-“

“-we both made a mistake ok! We are very very sorry and we will pay for this.” Kyra said. You both stood in front of the three older girls with your hands behind your backs. Apologising like a five year old who just stole lollies.

“Huh” Katie said confused towards the girls, while Caitlin walked into the kitchen to put her bags down.

“Kyra Cooney cross!” There was a yell across the flat. A somewhat fuming Caitlin voice coming from the source. Katie quickly following to see.

“It wasn’t just me!” Kyra quickly defended in panic.

“You did this!” You said to Kyra . Then looking at the two other girls

“I’m gonna head” Leah waved before leaving behind all of you.

“I’ll pay to get it fixed. Even though I didn’t do it” you said to them. Mumbling the last part, targeted towards Kyra.

“Bet your ass you guys will” Katie said

“This is new” Caitlin said looking at the fridge

“That we both know. And we are very very very very sorry a million times” Kyra said pointing between the two of you. You just nodded next to her.

“Sleep with one eye open. Next one will be serious” Katie said smirking. Plotting her next prank.

“You two can go” Caitlin waved you and the 21 year old off. Kyra nodded quickly zooming down the halls.

“Send me your bank details!” You said before walking out. Forgetting the camera on the bench. You went to grab it before heading out again.

“Bye gooners!” You said. Before turning the camera to Kyra who was waiting for the elevator next to you. Who turned around and poking her tongue out.

[smooth-perceval]

“It’s snowing!-”

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Its snowing, Reader wants Max to come watch the snow on the sofa.

Warnings: fluff? A lot of it, Google translate.

Key: Y/N (your name)

Word count: 511

A/N: This is SUPER short, but quite cute 🙂💞

“MAX!” I ran as quick as my legs would take me, darting through the halls of our apartment.

“MAX!” Breathing heavily I barged the game rooms door open, it bouncing back off the cabinet behind and smacking back into me.

Hissing I stepped back rubbing my head, before officially emerging in. “Max.”

“Honey I’m streaming.” Eyes glued to the screen, possibly glancing up at the camera.

“Oh-” shuffling over out of shot, I gave sassy a pet, looking back at Max praying for two minutes of his time.

“Whats up?” His brows furrowed as he turned into a corner, thus being his concentration face.

“I’ll show you when you’re done-” smiling I picked sassy up leaving the room.

“Schat-” (darling-) closing the door behind me, I headed back to the lounge curling up with sassy on the sofa, jimmy soon following.

Call me cruel but I know he would be churning to know what I had to show him- maybe his heads in the gutter he is definitely thinking of the naughty things- but I what I had to show him was all kinds of nice.

Pulling the blanket off the back of the sofa I pulled it over my legs watching the view outside- it really was the most wonderful time of the year.

“Sweetie- what did you have to show me?” he was bent over the sofa cradling my head close to him, leaving a trail of wet kisses up my exposed neck.

Without a sound I nodded my head towards the large windows, my hands reaching up and brushing over his arms.

“It’s snowing!-”

A light gasp escaped his lips, one simple delicate kiss placed on top of my head,

“Isn’t it beautiful…” humming happily I sink further into the sofa, and Max being Max- he practically launched himself over cuddling up next to me.

“Shall we get the tree out?” Tutting i swatted his arm. “No that’s bad luck.”

“You and your superstitions…” rolling his eyes, he then shuffled around finding himself more comfortable laying down with his head in my lap. “Says the guy who wears the same-” pressing his finger against my lips he looked up at me smiling.

“You really talk to much you know.”

Laughing lightly, combing my fingers through his hair I soon found myself cradling his face with my hand. “Says you, there’s plenty of videos online for evidence.”

“No idea what you’re talking about.” Rolling over he looked back out the window, my hand now resting on his back, rubbing it in a soothing manner.

“Maxplaing, Max…” smiling happily more to myself, I was watching what I could see of his face, bringing my other hand up to delicately trace the sides. “You could talk for England.”

Humming in response, his hand was now resting on my knee rubbing it gently. “Good thing I’m Dutch.”

“Good thing you’re mine.” His cheeks tinted a slight red, like he had been out in the snow.

“That was so cheesy.”

“Yeah let’s never bring that up again.”

“Can’t promise it won’t be mentioned.”

[yeeterthek33per]

Kidding? (Glódís Viggósdóttir x Reader)

A/n I was inspired by recent events. Also, yes, I am still writing, I promise. Apologies that this one is a little short.

Warnings: google translated Íslenska, a little more than suggestive.

----

It seemed too easy.

Three weeks early, and the league was yours.

The title belonged to Bayern.

You knew it was much less easy than that, of course.

The time, the preparation, the training.

Every drop of blood, sweat, and tears.

But still.

It was like you blinked, and the season was coming to an end, and the silver plate in your captain's hands, glittering in the midday sun, belonged to your team.

Speaking of said captain.

You can't help the way your chest fills with pride and love at the sight of the bouncing, overjoyed, Icelandic woman.

The screams of yourself and your teammates drowned out by just the sight of her this happy and carefree.

Don't get yourself wrong.

She was as relaxed as captains could be, but it was nice seeing the weight of a whole season lift off her shoulders.

The pressure of perfection is finally released as the team clinches its second title in a row.

And your heart beats faster when she looks over to you across the bouncing huddle.

The chants of

"SUPER BAYERN SUPER BAYERN!"

Just filling you with immense pride for the woman across from you.

She approaches you as the group disperses slightly, a pep in her step and a leap into your arms as she holds your face, grin wide and bright, your hands settling under her thighs to hold her up.

"Elskan mín" (My love)

You hum, her tone soft as she presses her forehead to yours.

"Ég er svo stolt af þér." (I am so proud of you)

Her nose brushes yours as a light dusting of pink cross her face.

"You've been practising?"

"Smá" (A little)

"Guð ég elska þig." (God, I love you.)

She groans softly as she drops down from your grip, hands gripping your shoulders as she looks slightly up at you, a small peck to your cheek and she drags you over to the now forming line in front of the away section in the Bayer Leverkusen stadium.

After that, everything happens all at once.

Team photos, media duties, everyone's got a phone recording or posting, media outlets are interviewing your girlfriend and the two goal scorers for the day, swapping between camera crews seamlessly.

You're dragged into several videos and tiktoks, jumped on, beer dumped on you, occasionally receiving a smile from the strawberry blonde you call yours, in the small moments of quiet.

When you're finally settled, it's in your seat on the flight back to Munich.

Everything on the bus is chaotic, so there's no time to really process anything by the time you've been ushered onto the plane to return to Munich in time for recovery the next day.

The exhaustion is set in quick, and you're all whisked away back home once again, nearly the whole team knocking out on the flight, which surprises you given a certain someone's red bull addiction and just the overall excitement of winning the league.

The alcohol is still flowing through all of you.

The alcohol that will still be there when you arrive home and inevitably get dragged out to clubs and parties, even with the looming DFB Pokal Final.

And such happens.

You barely get time to shower and change before you've got Georgia and Sarah banging on your front door yelling at you and Glódís to hurry up.

Much to the bemusement of your captain, who'd been occupied with her back pressed to the glass wall of the shower.

All of that, to end up here, sat back, leant against a bartop, watching as Glódís dances with your teammates, the care-free air flowling freely around her.

You'd stepped away to grab another drink and a small break from the constant dancing and jumping around you'd been doing for the past twenty-four hours.

Turning back to the bar, you take a couple long swigs of your drink.

After another minute or so of just watching the passers-by in the club, you feel an arm around your shoulders, hands caressing your shoulders.

Tensing up, but then recognising the voice pressed to your ear, you're met with deep brown eyes and a very tipsy loving smile.

"Halló!"

You chuckle softly at the Nordic woman, arm wrapping around her waist as she leans on you for support.

"Hi, my love, how are you?"

Asking with an amused tone, only just feeling the buzz of the latest batch of alcohol pumping through you as it seems to have hit your girlfriend much quicker.

"I feel amazing!"

She all but shouts in your ear, and you wince slightly, even with the thumping bass in the crowded room.

"I see that!"

She hums, settling her nose into the crook of your neck for a moment, and presses a few small kisses there.

She then tugs you towards the dance floor.

"Come dance with me!"

Downing the rest of your drink, you set the glass down swiftly and let the older woman drag you off.

You watch for a moment, taking in the woman before you, moving and swaying already before you're even fully engrained into the large crowd of your dancing teammates.

She immediately pulls you in as close as possible, body pressed right to yours, hands settling on the nape of your neck, and you lean down to let your head rest on her shoulder as your body moves in time with hers.

Her fingers tangle in the loose hair at the back of your neck, nails gently scratching at your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

It continues like that before she's leaning in to kiss you, her lips smashed against yours roughly and a little sloppily.

You chuckle, slowing her down a little with hands on her cheeks, kissing her for a moment longer, though she does pout as you pull away amused.

"Slow down, baby, we've got all night."

She groans before you finally let her kiss you again.

This time, it's slower, and she relaxes into your hold, which shifts to holding her hips, pulling her into you further if possible.

It's when you prod at her lips with your tongue that she grows impatient again, your teeth taking her lower lip to nip at it lightly.

She all but drags you from the club at that, much to the amusement of your teammates as you give them loud goodbyes over the music.

----

It doesn't surprise you that she's conked out the moment you're both laying under the sheets, sweat sheened and heart racing.

Her head's buried in under your chin, resting on your chest, arm thrown over your waist, and soft puffs of air getting released into your neck.

The past two days just come whirling through you all at once.

The anticipation, the win, the celebrations, the exhaustion, the continued celebrations, the fact that you got drowned in so much beer at some point, you're pretty sure you gave someone contact innebriation.

It's all a lot to go over, and knowing you still have more to do before an even remote break becomes available for you all.

Despite the exhaustion, you can't help lying awake for another hour, just to take in everything.

To let yourself relax into your girlfriend's warm embrace.

It takes but a moment to realise just how much you love her.

How you would do this over and over again just to see that smile again and again.

Just to see her this carefree and relaxed.

Just to see her dark brown eyes light up within a moment of a single whistle.

Watch as she jumps into your arms again, holds you tight, and kisses you with fervour and pure joy.

Someone once asked you if you ever saw yourself with anyone else.

Your answer?

"Are you kidding? Hell no."

----

[storm-angel989]

Master List and Requests

Hi Everyone!

Please see the below pinned post for most of the common questions I receive <3 Know that I am ALWAYS open to PM's and Requests!

That being said, while I believe this blog is a Minors DNI type of blog, I am powerless to stop anyone from scrolling through and reading. As an author, I can only request that if you are under the age of 18, please do not interact with this blog.

The floor is always open for requests! When you send in your requests, please be sure to make them as detailed as possible. I write for pretty much everyone within the Hazbin series, though I cannot promise I will be quick about anything sent in. Creativity sparks at the most random of times! Rest assure if you send me something I don't write on, I will either direct message you or if its anonymous, I will respond to the request. No message or request will go actively ignored- that's just not who I am.

My process is simple: I receive a request, I put it in a running google doc and when inspo hits, I yank the request out of the google doc and put it into works!

Please bear in mind in Outside the Office, it is a strictly romantic relationship with Val in the story, platonic with Valentino and Vox, and platonic/family with Lucifer so I'll stick to writing those relationships as such. That being said, I encourage all the creativeness, slices of life, day to day situations, fluff and kinks.

One Final Thing:

The list of things I won't write about is minimal. As of right now, there is only one item on that list: I will not write sexually explicit content involving underage readers. While I believe this blog is a Minors DNI type of blog, I am powerless to stop anyone from scrolling through and reading. At most, I can request that you don't interact if you're over the age of 18. It's the reality of the internet. So please, out of respect for me as an author, do not request content involving things I've noted I won't write about or interact with this blog if you're under the age of 18.

The list has grown slightly. I also don't write incest- though I haven't received any of those requests, I wanted to make that distinction clear.

As always, it might take me a hot minute, but please send in those requests!

Hope to hear from y'all!

UPDATES:

I know the master list links don't work, I'm in the SLOW process of redoing them. So far I'm through OTO and Valentino, Vox and Velvette's Master Lists. If you come across a link on either of these that don't work PLEASE let me know!

Due to a link limit on a post I have updated my master list to subcategories. Please note that the Vee's will appear across fics, but I organized them based on the primary Vee requested/involved in the story.

Outside The Office Master List

Currently Posted: Chapters 1- 40

Master List Valentino

Master List Vox

Master List: Velvette

MASTER LIST: LUCIFER

HEAD CANNONS:

Valentino's Son x Angel Dust

Valentino's Daughter and Vox's Daughter

Valentino's Daughter x Valentino (Similar)

[olderthannetfic]

I know you love scivener, but do you know anything about ellipsus? It's meant to be an aternative to google docs for collaborative writing.

I heard about them when they dropped nanowrimo as a sponsor over their inclusion of AI bullshit, which seemed promising. And digging around on their homepage I saw mentions of beta reading and ao3, and apparently they're trying to promote themselves on Tumblr now.

So it really sounds like we're the target audience, which could be great, but I don't know enough to be able to tell if there's an obvious catch somewhere?

--

This is the first I've heard of them. A quick scroll through their website seems promising.

As usual, the basic questions are:

How much does this product cost to develop?

Do they have a business plan that makes sense with that cost?

This kind of software can, theoretically, be made by a few friends dicking around, not a huge programmer team all of whom have it as their primary job, so it isn't the pile of massive red flags that all attempts at social media are.

From the site:

"Today we are a small, close-knit team of seven, located across the post-capitalist landscapes of Berlin, Bologna, Buenos Aires, and Szczecin. (So much for our alliteration-based hiring strategy.) True to our mission, we're a progressive, remote-friendly company that prioritizes creativity, community, and creative exchange."

Jobs are listed as: Co-founder and CEO, Co-founder and community, Product and marketing, Design, and Engineering x3.

That seems like a reasonable breakdown and a size of team that could possibly be paid for with some non-insane business model.

The types of red flags we're looking for are

"We want to be the next instagram!"

Many idea people with nebulous skills, few programmers

Thinking you can run tumblr with three programmers

Thinking you can pay for 100 programmers with a cheapass subscription model

Programmers are random, cheap contract workers the founders don't know

Venture capital from sources that will want a big payout rather than support from people who share the goals/values of the team

Extremely overcrowded field with tons of products that do exactly this already

Unclear nature of product or a product that doesn't seem to actually have a market

etc.

What they say about money is in the FAQ:

Will Ellipsus have a paid plan? In order to grow the team and fund ongoing feature development, we will need to charge for a version of Ellipsus at some point. A paid version would be targeting users with specific needs related to advanced security, data syncing, and collaboration. But there will always be a free version of Ellipsus, and we want to be as generous as possible in what's included on that free plan (e.g., unlimited docs and drafts, for starters). It takes time to build a great freemium experience (not to mention a premium product people will happily pay for), which is why we won't roll that out in 2024. While the features that will be included in our paid plan aren't final-final, we can share that everything in the product today will be included in our free plan.

This sounds reasonable. It just remains to be seen whether they keep at it or go belly up (taking your data with them). I guess you'd have to know more about the specific people building this to decide whether they'll be reliable.

The biggest potential issues I see are it being difficult to get people to ditch google docs despite its issues, this taking off big time and the owners deciding to sell it for $$$$$$ to someone who will then ruin it, or the team just not being competent.

But since I don't know any of them, I have no idea how good they are at business.

[januaryembrs]

LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO | Steven Grant/Marc Spector x Reader [2]

description: She wakes up with a killer headache and a million questions when she realises two things: 1. the man in her room is not infact Steven Grant and 2. her body no longer belongs to her but to the God of Death. [Last Night in Soho inspired]

word count: 9.6k

trigger warnings: GORE, blood, very briefly Reader/Dove has worries of SA but absolutely none happens nor was there the intention of it happening and it is only implied, swearing, talks of infidelity (we love Layla el Faouly in this house so she will stay in the story but not as a romantic partner for Marc/Steven)

main masterlist | series masterlist

authors note: so as promised this is now an avatar!reader series. all the Ancient Egyptian facts mentioned are simply researched off google and some books I have on Egyptian mythology so someone please correct me! Also to avoid confusion Seth goes by many names eg Set/Seth/Setekh and is only really known as God of Death in the marvel comics, not in real mythology! Again, my knowledge of DID is purely researched so if anyone is upset with my phrasing or what I have written please tell me!

Please reblog and comment for your authors!

Marc cradled her wounds harshly, guilty chipping at him when he heard her whimper at the sheer force he was putting on the lacerations. 

“Konshu!” Marc hissed over his shoulder where he felt the bird poking at the Jackal’s dead body. He had arrived five minutes too late, barely just pulling the monster off her before it could set its teeth into her leg and start feasting. The dark haired man had been quick to snap its neck, throwing the carcass behind him and tend to where she twitched and writhed on the floor. 

It was bad. Her thick blood smeared all over the ceremonial armour that would somehow clean itself of the stains like it did with the blood of the others he’d killed. 

He’d had blood on his hands before, but not like this. Not an innocent woman that slipped away under his touch, the eyes he’d seen from inside the body batting up at Steven with golden innocence. 

He knew how Steven felt about her, the way his heart, well their heart, would pick up when the two of them got even the slightest bit closer. The way doubt ate away at his quiet counterpart, doubt that someone her age would find a man ten years older than her even the slightest bit attractive. She had dozens of men after her, he saw how their eyes trailed up and down her figure when she would be so much as stood minding her business and stacking shelves. 

Marc knew despite Steven never admitting to his feelings, despite the fact he’d tried helping him get over his crush by asking his other gorgeous co-worker on a date for him, he knew Steven would be devastated if anything happened to her. 

The two of them shared a friendship first and foremost. She was possibly the only person Steven had to rely on that he found comfort in, the only real friend he’d got. And she was good, Gods above Marc could see even when he was on the inside that she was good to him. When she would leave him notes to remind him to wake up on time, bring Steven little trinkets she’d found that reminded her of him. She hadn’t batted a single eyelid of judgement when she’d seen the sand around his bed, or the foot cuff. In fact she’d made a joke about his unique tastes in the bedroom and then asked if he would like to buy mugs together. 

She was pure, and kind, and good. It was Marc’s job to deliver vengeance to those worthy of it, and she was the furthest thing from it. And it was his conflict with Harrow that had gotten her into this mess in the first place. 

He couldn’t let her be taken from Steven, not like this. 

“KONSHU?” Marc called, louder this time to get the God’s attention, “Will you quit poking that thing and get over here?”

The skeletal figure paused, his staff still half way through prodding the corpse out of intrigue as he took note of the pitiful little human dying on the floor. 

“She’s a lost cause, Marc. The worm can make more friends. We have work to do,” Came Konshu’s booming voice, the figure walking towards where the blood pooled on the floor messily. 

“That is not an option, what happened to protecting ‘the travellers of the night’?” Marc seethed back, compressing the wound harder. But it was no use. He felt the liquid seeping through his clothed fingers, how it pumped out of her rapidly. His heart dropped sadly when he saw she was looking right at him, her eyes wide and wet with fear. 

“Steve-” She started. Even so close to death she was worried about him. 

Marc’s chest constricted with sadness. Steven would never get over this if she were to die like this, calling for him, clinging to his alter for dear life. It was his job to protect Steven at all costs from the tough realities of life, and watching her die would torment his alter in a way he just couldn’t allow. 

“He’s here, he’s okay. It’s gonna be okay,” Marc shushed her, eyes narrowing on the way blood dribbled out her mouth and he heard her chest rattle with a clogged airway. 

She didn’t have long left. 

“Konshu, do something!” Marc yelled, his hand cradling her neck gently, trying to tip her head up far enough that she could breathe still. “We need to do something now!” 

“There is nothing to do, Marc Spector.” Konshu said simply, yet his boned beak snapped to the plinth the two humans rested on, his concave eyes trailing up to the monument that watched over them, “Unless…”

“Unless what? Just do something, she’s going to bleed out any minute now,” Marc rushed, a hand coming to hold her head up more as she started choking on herself. 

He had seen gruesome things before, done gruesome things. But this was heart wrenching, watching the one person his alter cared for die so horrifically. Slow. Messy. Painfully.

“I cannot do anything to help the little runt,” Konshu snapped, raising his staff to the behemoth, looming figure behind the two humans clinging on to one another, “But he can,”

Marc’s head whipped to where the bird-faced demon was gesturing, the man’s near black eyes trailing up to the statue of the god watching over the three of them. “Who is that? Anubis? Ra?”

“Seth. God of Chaos, Storms and Foreign lands.” Konshu spoke of his old friend fondly. Marc’s eyes squinted in suspicion at the admiration in his voice. “Sometimes seen as the God of Death.” 

If there was anyone who loved vengeance and all things violent as much as the moon deity, it was the one who created it all. 

Spector’s heart squoze in fear at the idea of throwing her to a life of servitude like the one he had been forced into. But there was no way of healing her deep wounds in any other way than giving her up to a god that would find use in her survival. 

“God of Death?” Marc asked, “Is there no one else who would take her?” Nothing about Seth screamed out that he would be gentle to her. Konshu was bad enough, and he was merely the God of the Moon, let alone the embodiment of violence. 

“None that would accept a vessel so weak.” Konshu said darkly, kneeling down behind Marc and calling upon his dear friend in arms, “She is bleeding onto his monolith as if she’s given herself up to him as a sacrifice, he’ll like that,”

“No, wait-” Marc wasn’t sure he liked the sound of a deity so dark taking control of her, but he hadn’t the time to protest any further before his own God’s voice rattled the shards of glass laying on the floor with its volume. 

“Seth! Old friend, we have a gift for you,” Konshu bellowed, his head lowering as a sign of respect to his superior. The god killer. The brother slayer. The evil serpent of the Ennead. Konshu could only revere in the footsteps of such a god equally, perhaps moreso, hated by the higher council.

Konshu’s avatar opened his mouth to protest when a snake-like hiss rolled over his back and every hair on his body stood on end. It was like nothing he’d ever heard before, everything warm inside of Marc’s body being robbed at the very sound of it, his breath included. 

It was neither man, nor animal, nor monster. A mix between a snarl and a spit of anger from being woken from a deep slumber. 

Death overcame the room.

“Konshu,” An ancient voice came from above. For the first time in Marc’s servitude to Konshu, he was afraid to see where the sound came from. What had made such a noise. 

What Death looked like when you stared him in the face.

“It is good to see your face, shadow dweller,” The voice of Death spoke, every scratching syllable running through Spector’s body like a fear he’d never known. 

He couldn’t face the thing that caused such a feeling, and kept his head down as a result. Down to where she was. Still looking at him with such desperation, oblivious to the unholy conversation happening around her. 

The light in her eyes was dimming, the tears slithering into her hairline pitifully. She hadn’t got long left. He’d failed her. He’d fail her if Seth couldn’t get to her in time. Yet the selfish part of him didn’t want him to, wanted to keep her pure and untainted by such a cruel being. 

But this was for Steven, he thought. Keep her alive for Steven’s sake. 

“We have a body for you, dark one,” Konshu said, gesturing to the girl’s weak body that his pathetic avatar clung to fiercely.

“To see through the afterlife?” Seth questioned, the lights in the museum hall flickering as if indicating he was in every atom of the room with them. 

“To have as a vessel, Seth,” The Moon god prompted, his staff gesturing to the pool of blood the two humans sat in, Marc’s arms by now drenched in it. “See how she bleeds for you. I know you feel it as I do, the darkness in her heart, the chaos-”

“Oh,” Seth’s aged voice hummed in delight, “Oh, how her corrupted heart sings to me. You have done well, Konshu,” 

That had Marc gripping her body just that bit tighter. What had he done? The god seemed so thirsty for her blood, for her body. 

But it was too late now. Death had taken a fascination to her. Two long tendrils of pure, cold darkness emerged from the shadows and wrapped around where her weak state was slipping away from Marc’s arms. Hands that had trusted him to keep her safe fell from his bicep, falling slowly into her lap as the blackness took her. 

“Be gentle,” Came from Marc’s mouth before he could help it, not wanting to make himself known to the old god. Her body was raised into the air before the statue, her head limp as it sagged over her shoulders, heavy and lifeless. Shadows wrapped around her limbs, crawling up her nose and under her closed lids like an infection, spreading, consuming, digesting. 

“Gentle?” The hoarse voice rumbled with laughter, “She is going to be my most prized possession,” 

There was something so peaceful about the way she slept despite the trauma of the last couple days. Marc had flown the two of them back to her apartment, figuring it was a much easier way than getting on public transport with a sleeping woman in his arms. He knew it would garner too much attention, even with the way he’d wrapped her in Steven’s jacket to cover the sight of the blood from the security cameras. 

He’d laid her in her soft bed, slipping her shoes off and draping the soft duvet over her body, the whole time she’d not murmured one bit. He would have almost been concerned that Seth hadn’t healed her in time had he not seen the two gods emerging from the dark corners of her bedroom like the boogeymen they were. 

If Konshu was nerving to look at, then Seth was something straight out of a child’s nightmare. 

Unlike Konshu, he was not bones. He had the body of a goliath man, arms taught with dark muscles, and a small piece of cloth to cover his dignity. Gold chest armour rested over his shoulders and wound around his thick arms. Hair lined his arms and chest in thick mounds, and he held a staff similar enough to Marc’s own god that he could see Seth’s was much more intricate than his counterpart. It had dark hieroglyphs running down the sides, a pointed skull of a jackal atop the weapon with a gold headpiece weaving its way over the animal's forehead neatly.

But that wasn’t what scared Marc. It was the beast’s head that sent chills down his spine. His head was that of a lithe dog, like a Doberman on steroids, ears and snout thin and long as it stared down at him. A predator if ever he saw one. Seth’s eyes were black, brimming with menace and plague, his jaws lined with what seemed like hundreds of teeth sharper than any blade Marc had ever seen. 

The insidious smile plastered on the demonic jaws was what got him. As if Seth knew the fear he instilled in him. As if he saw how much he regretted listening to Konshu already. 

Seth was every awful feeling you had in your gut before something terrible happened. He was the last breath a person takes as their soul leaves their body, a cold hand of a corpse. A dark shadow in the corner of your eye. A premonition of death. He was every ounce of pain, burden and agony any being had ever felt in the thousands of years they had existed in this small corner of the universe. He was torture and misery hailing down upon the world straight from purgatory. 

And she was his now. His to ruin and vanquish as he pleased.

The two gods stood on either side of her bed, staring down at her in fascination as Marc sat on the chair at her desk, his dark eyes flicking between the monstrous creatures. 

“Do you need to watch her like that? I thought we had work to do,” He prompted, hoping to take their attention off her vulnerable body. 

“Harrow was onto something with this one, Marc Spector,” Konshu chuckled, taking a seat on the window sill to watch Seth caress her head, his hands gentle yet Marc sensed there was nothing kind about the gesture. As if on cue, her face scrunched up, still riddled with sleep, and she twisted in mental torment. His touch alone had given her a night terror, he was the king of chaos after all, “If you saw the yearning for vengeance in that girl’s heart, you’d find her fascinating too,” 

“She’s not evil, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Marc’s jaw clenched harshly as she whimpered and tried to roll away from the hand that poisoned her dreams. His eyes darkened at the sound of Seth laughing to himself at his cruel trick. 

“She’s not what you think, runt. She will do well as my avatar,” 

Marc finally set his gaze on the unholy deity, the slim, mutt like face staring down at him with inky black slits. He couldn’t hold the stare for long, the creeping feeling of unease that washed over him the moment he met Seth’s eyes was enough to knock the wind out of him.

Tugging on his collar to free some space for breath, he turned away.

“What will you make her do?” He asked quietly, sparing a quick, pitiful glance to her face that had now smoothed out in peace once more. 

“Nothing she doesn’t already want to,”

She felt the uncomfortable scratch of jeans against bed sheets before anything else. The detergent, that was almost unscented from the countless years she’d used it, was homely against her nose and she stretched out under the covers to pop the joints that had been curled into the foetal position for however many hours she’d been asleep. 

There were about ten seconds between waking up and remembering whatever the fuck happened last night where she remained in a beautiful state of blissful peace. There is a virtue in remaining ignorant, she realised. Remaining unaware. In fact, she would go on to cherish those ten seconds when her eyes took in the same plain wall that had always been next to her bed, when her head was not loud and the air was not tight in her chest. 

Ten revered seconds when things didn’t hurt. 

Yet by the eleventh second, the whole evening came flooding back to her, ripping through her synapses with the feeling of dread. 

The man in the museum that had grabbed her and Steven. The dogs, the running. The creature tackling her, its teeth, oh god, its teeth and claws, the way she’d been thrown through the glass like it was child’s play. 

Sitting bolt upright in bed, the early morning sun illuminated the room enough that she barely took note of the figure sat opposite her. Throwing the duvet off herself frantically, she scanned every inch of her body for anything that hurt, that was bleeding and needed immediate attention. 

But, as was a recurring theme in her life these days, there was nothing there. 

Not a single scratch, or scab, or scar in sight. Her shirt was ripped to shreds, dark red and spattered with something lumpy that she didn’t want to even consider what it was. That would need to be thrown away. But lifting up the torn fabric to reveal her bare stomach, there truly was nothing there that indicated what had happened was real. Were it not for the evidence on her shirt she wouldn’t even believe it had happened.

What the fuck was going on?

As if on cue, she raised her fuzzy head the slightest bit and caught the man sitting at her desk, looking straight at her with cold, brown hues. The short, dry yelp she let out had her lungs wincing, her hands raising in front of her to protect herself from any oncoming attack, before it clicked in her head that it was Steven. 

Ofcourse it was. Ofcourse, Steven had gotten her home safely last night. 

“Oh my god, Steven!” She rushed out of bed as he stood, though the dead expression hadn’t yet left his face as he stood to meet her.

Marc had barely opened his mouth to explain when he was tackled around his waist by her open arms. She was strong now, strong enough to hug him tightly and have his ribs jitter painfully, no doubt a side effect from becoming an avatar. 

The older man had just about talked Konshu and Seth into leaving him to explain to her what was happening, knowing how terrified he was when he first started hearing the God of the Moon addressing him. He knew for anyone so soft to the world, hearing voices and seeing giant creatures ordering you to do their bidding would mean a one way ticket to a hospital ward.

“Steven, I’ve been so worried about you! What on earth happened, what were those things- wait!” She pulled away quickly and checked him over for wounds himself, searching him up and down until she was satisfied he was okay. 

Marc would have laughed snidely at her concern, knowing he was more than capable of taking care of himself, had she been anyone else. But it was endearing how her first thought was for his alter’s safety. 

Now came the hard part. 

“I’m fine, everyone’s fine. How are you feeling?” He saw her gaze snap to his, brows drawing down into a frown at his accent. 

“I’m-” She paused for a moment, and he watched as her eyes took in his whole demeanour. He knew he behaved differently to Steven, even by voice alone it was clear, but she seemed to be catching every small manner that he differed from him within seconds. “I’m fine, I could have sworn-” Eyes trailed over his face again as if to confirm her suspicions. She stepped back, shaking her head and bringing her hand to her temple, walking over to her mirror to check for any bruising. “Did I hit my head?”

He could have lied then and there. Marc could have washed his hands of her and convinced her she’d just had an awful fall, that nothing that happened last night was real. But Seth was coming to collect his dues, there was no stopping that now. Marc knew it was already his fault that she was in shit’s creek waist deep, it wasn’t fair of him to just up and run like he did with everything else in his life. 

She deserved the truth. As so many people in his life deserved the truth; Layla, Steven. He had brought trouble to their doors and buried his head in the sand the moment he saw consequences. He’d ran away, denied, denied, denied until he started believing it himself in the hopes the guilt so familiar to him would let go of his chest. 

But this was different. Dove was the only thing Steven had in his odd little life, the only person who cared for him. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself knowing he wasn’t only fucking up his own life but now Steven’s too, Steven who he had always tried to protect. Nurture. Perhaps he would have left her to the wolves were she his friend. But she wasn’t. She was Steven’s girl. His dove.

“Listen, you-” Her ears pricked at the sound of his new voice again. Marc saw how her posture straightened alertly, and her eyes snapped to look at him in her peripheral vision. Not necessarily panicked, but wary. As if trying to not give away her awareness of his change. A reflex, as if she’d done this before; hidden her fight, flight or freeze response. But Marc being the skilled mercenary he was, was one step behind her, clocking her reaction immediately. “You did hit your head pretty hard last night so I think you should sit down for this, princess.” 

She turned slowly to look at him with wide eyes and he almost winced. She knew something was off, wrong. Princess? That was certainly new. Practically a million miles away from the nicknames he’d already established for her. She carefully sized him up with her cautious eyes, looking him head to toe as if to find the flaw that gave him away, the exact thing that made her feel the uncanny effect. 

Truthfully, she had been able to tell just from the way he had hugged her. The barely there hand on her sides, the way his body went ironing board stiff in her arms, the way his head was held far away from her as if she were a bad smell instead of falling into the open space her shoulder provided like Steven normally would. 

He was looking at her as if she were a wild animal on the side of the road, lame and ready to succumb to a terrible fate any second now. As if he was sorry, as if he’d been the driver knocking her down and had to be the one to see her shrivel pathetically on the pavement.  

His voice was colder than Steven’s had ever been, formal. Everything about him screamed unfamiliar in the worst way despite being the double of him. But the way his face seemed tired, not in the way Steven was always tired but like he was tired of everything around him, tense, forlorn. Sorrowful. The way he stood straighter than Steven’s usually slumped over figure, he seemed immediately bigger and broader than her friend ever had because of it. 

Whoever was looking at her was not her friend. Foe? She didn’t know, but she knew this man was not Steven Grant. 

The next thought struck her harder than the glass wall had. What if it was? What if this was Steven, and their whole friendship over the past year had been an act to get her weak and vulnerable, cowering in her bedroom like a deer at the end of a rifle barrel.

“Who are you?” She murmured quietly, as if she were afraid to approach the clear fact he was not the man she’d known for the past few months.

The stranger took a sigh, raising his hands up to calm her as if to approach a spooked animal. “Look, I can explain everything, but would you please just sit-”

“Are you twins?” She asked, taking a step away from him. Please be twins. Please let me keep Steven, the only one who was ever good to me. Marc stopped in his place, realising his presence was scaring her. She looked pitiful, the warm eyes that had seemed so relieved to see Steven were now on high alert, nothing about her shrunken body seemed relaxed. Her eyes drifted past him to the door, and Marc was quick to realise she was gauging if they were in her apartment alone. “Is Steven here?”

One single beat. 

“Yes.” She’d already caught him in his lie. He was hoping to get by on the technicality of his words, but his hesitancy to answer had her eyes snapping back to him in fear, “It’s difficult to explain. He’s here, he can’t talk right now,” 

That did nothing to reassure her. In fact, it made it sound like Marc had hurt the one person she’d hoped to get her out of this situation. The man chided himself for his cold demeanour, but he couldn’t help but wince at the onslaught of information that was to come. 

For this to make sense, he would need to tell her alot.

He saw it in her eyes. The way her body gave away her next moves, her slight, gentle step towards the door. Her chest puffed out as if she was building false confidence in herself for her next move. To run. 

It didn’t matter that he looked like Steven, that he was wearing his clothes. That was not him. Had something happened to him with the invisible dogs? Or the white figure that had haunted her dreams that had held her as she had fallen into that cold darkness? Or was she truly going so far down the rabbit hole she was losing all sense of reality?

Either way, this man was a stranger. And he was in her room. Alone. Unbothered by the blood and gore on her shirt. And he wouldn’t let her see Steven, wherever he was. 

A walking red flag.

Another single beat of silence passed between the two of them, before she bolted for the exit. 

Maybe it was his military experience, or the fact her innocent face had made it so easy for her to read. But Marc was quick to catch her by the waist, tackling her to the floor and pinning her easily. 

The scream she let out was awful. Her newfound strength and sheer terror made it a little more difficult to reach a hand over her mouth but the way she thrashed as if fighting for life clutched at Marc’s chest heavily. A free swipe of her arms, the blood and dirt still buried deep under her fingernails, came up to push his cheek, scratching deep into his skin enough to cause three red marks on his olive complexion and have him hiss in pain. 

“Please, STEVEN- Please just let me go- Don’t- STEVEN” She yelled, her legs kicking up to try fight him off. Her eyes welled up as she screamed more, her throat audibly going raw from the sheer effort. 

“Shhh. I’m not gonna hurt you, just please calm down,” Marc begged as he put his hand over her mouth. He saw the fear in her eyes that told him all he needed to know. He was a stranger to her, a stranger in her room that had pinned her to the floor. 

Of fucking course she was terrified. 

Her cries for help were only muffled by his large fingers as his eyes peered down at her in sorrow, “He’s here, I promise. Steven’s here, just please let me explain.”

Her eyes stared up at him through glassy, fat tears. The voice, that voice. The way he held her so gently despite having the strength to hold her in place. The stranger, the same stranger that held her last night was - what? Steven’s twin brother?

Marc watched the moment she recognised him, somewhat. Alteast recognising him out of the suit. It felt too reminiscent of the moment he’d watched her die. Call him selfish but he preferred when she’d held on to him in a fleeting moment of trust than the fear that she gazed at him with now. 

“I saved you and Steven last night, from those things, remember me?” Marc asked sternly. Her eyes remained wide and frightened, but she seemed to give up struggling. Her face was the picture of confusion, conflicted whether to trust a familiar stranger or keep throwing her entire weight into fighting him off. “Yeah, see? Now I’m gonna let go of you but you’re gonna need to trust me for all of five minutes. Your life is in a lot more danger than those things that attacked you, and I’m not gonna be able to help you if you don’t listen to me. You got it?”

He felt her body relax the slightest amount, before she nodded helplessly. Marc checked over her face one last time for any immediate signs of fleeing. When he found none he let go, leaning back to stand, rubbing a hand over his stinging cheek. Not bleeding, but raised and hot with impact. 

“Who are you?” She whispered, still laying on the floor in shock, her chest heaving with a nausea that had washed over her the moment he had gotten on top of her. Call it a reflex, but the idea of a man who wore her best friend’s face invoking such a power over her curdled her stomach to its very core. 

Marc looked down at her, her eyes neither trusting nor looking for a reason to run. She needed to know, he repeated to himself, were it not so important he would have left with no query. No traumatic incidents needed. 

But Death was around the corner. Sooner or later he’d appear to her, ask her for things Marc could only dread. 

He owed her an explanation at the least.

Sticking out a hand, the same hand that had stopped her squeals for help, he offered her help up off the floor. Her eyes flicked from the tawny digits to his stiff expression in caution. “I’m Marc Spector. Nice to meet you,” 

She sipped her tea silently. She liked it strong, unbearably sweet and piping hot. Sometimes she joked with Steven it was how she liked her men too. But she was in no joking manner now, and Steven wasn’t here anymore.

Well he was, and wasn’t at the same time. 

They shared a body, that’s what Marc had said. She’d read about stuff like that, seen it in movies, but funnily enough the phenomenon of two people in one body wasn’t even what had her jaw clenched in disbelief. 

Egyptian gods walked among them. Lived with them, had their own societies and laws, puppeteering random strangers to do their bidding. 

And one, perhaps the worst one she could think of, had her in his clutches. 

Of course she’d heard of Seth. She stacked around fifty of his statues a day in the back of the gift shop, his wolf-like face not nearly as friendly looking as one would hope if they’d learnt he was now their master. 

If Marc was telling the truth, then that’s essentially what Seth was to her now. A puppet master, a dictator, a tyrant pulling the strings on her every move for the inevitable future.

He was the body of everything chaotic. Nefarious. Evil. Violent. And yet she couldn’t help but sigh at the dramatic irony that she expected nothing less from an ancient god that had taken an interest in her soul. It saw in her what she knew had always grown. What that Harrow guy knew immediately, supposedly the gift of his own god, to see the disruption inside people's hearts. What Steven and now Marc were so blind to. 

Seth had seen the pollution that cursed her down to her marrow and licked his lips in glee.

“Are you okay?” Marc’s American accent met her ears. They sat in her kitchen, the small breakfast counter being the only thing holding her up as she rested her elbows on it, barely feeling the way the scalding hot tea slid past her silent lips. 

“Mhm,” She murmured, hands wrapping delicately around her clean mug. She’d given Marc Steven’s mug, mindlessly making him a tea the way Steven loved his cuppas, only to have the new man wince and spit the liquid back out. 

More of a black coffee guy, he’d said apologetically as she visually sank in realisation they were truly completely different people. 

“I know it’s a lot to process, I know I freaked out the first time I spoke to Konshu.” Marc explained, his tea going cold with his lack of interest in the drink. He watched her expression meticulously, as if trying to pick over every tiny change in her face as to any hint how she was feeling. 

She stared at the white table deep in thought. Blank and empty as the surface itself. 

“What will he want from me?” She asked quietly, meeting his eyes for the first time since he confessed he was the other half of her best friend that happened to share a headspace with him. 

Marc looked at her blankly. “I don’t know,” He answered honestly. He would love to tell her Seth would be kind and graceful, gentle as he’d put it. He’d love to take it back, dig her out of this mess in any other way than offering her as a sacrifice, a mess he’d made by listening to his own God’s orders.

Marc would love to leave her and Steven in peace to pining and mixed feelings and words unsaid, but he couldn’t. She was in the gates of Hell now, deep in the Underworld. And there was no point of return. No do over, or waking up and pretending the whole thing was a silly dream like he’d been pulling over Steven. 

This was out of his hands now. 

“He wouldn’t make me-” She paused, taking a deep breath and putting her mug onto the counter to stabilise her shaking hands, “He won’t get me to-” Kill was the word she kept silent, but Marc understood nonetheless. Seth was the god of death and violence and all things lawless. There wasn’t anything Marc could promise wouldn’t be coming her way. His expression must have been grave enough to warrant her to let out a rattled sigh, tucking her hands into her lap to pick at her dirty fingertips. “Oh,” She said simply. 

“Look, once I’ve stopped Harrow from raising Ammit, then I can worry about how to get him to release you, okay?” Marc said shortly, running a weathered hand over his tired face. 

It was odd, seeing a man look so much like the sweetest guy she’d ever met brush her off as if she were a minor inconvenience. Which she was. She knew he felt guilty for letting his god give her up to the higher being, but he seemed tired of this whole situation by now, reaching his limit on being tender with her. 

Marc didn’t have time for this. He was trying to help the poor girl, but the best way he could think to fix their problem was to clear his plate of his own agenda first. Which meant leaving as soon as he could to get the scarab somewhere hidden and Harrow off his back. 

Her eyes steeled over at his words, furrowing her brows. “Once we’ve stopped Harrow, you mean?”

“What?” Marc said with a huff, looking at his tea as if it poisoned him, wishing it were a black drip coffee she hadn’t got the money for. 

“We can stop him, right?” She asked, an edge to her tone that she’d never used on Steven. Everything reserved for him was purely saccharine sweet and gentle, loving beyond what friends should be. 

“We?” Marc bit with a scoff.

“Yes-”

“We?”

“Yes we, what, do you have a French man living in there too?” She barked, slamming the mug down with a blaze in her eye at the disdain he looked at her with, “Now look, I know it’s a little unavoidable for you and Steven, but I’m not one to have people fix my problems for me,”

“Yeah, you seemed to have it completely under control last night when you were bleeding out,” The man snapped, watching her jaw tense with an anger he’d never seen from his time watching her through Steven’s eyes. 

They glared at each other for a moment, the red welts on his cheek staring back at her as if to remind her of her new strength. She needed him. Her body felt cold, as if she were carrying a corpse around not her own limbs, her every breath tasted of smoke and rot. She felt like she had bugs crawling over her spine, the hair on her arms never laying still with the goosebumps that dotted her skin. She felt dead. Casket, buried and six feet under. Then again, she sort of was. 

“I’d like to speak to Steven, please,” She said quietly, polite despite the fact she was angry. 

“I told you, you can’t talk to him right now,” Marc replied, stepping away from the kitchen and heading towards the front door to her apartment, “Look it was nice to meet you but I have work to do. You just stay here-”

She stood up, nearly knocking the mug over as she pursued him, grabbing his arm with a jolt. 

Marc could have sworn she nearly ripped his arm out his socket with the unknown vigour she had. He made a small yelp that he choked down as she yanked him back to face her.

“You are not leaving me to deal with a God of Death alone, are you kidding me?” She seethed, unaware of how tight she was grabbing him. She was gonna leave one hell of a bruise, Marc thought, but the desperation in her voice was clear as a bell. “I don’t care if I have to stalk you myself, we both know you can stop this Harrow guy a lot faster if there’s two of us,”

“I won’t be stopping anyone if I only have one arm so would you please let go and stop mauling me, I’m trying to help you here, princess,” Marc retorted, as if to snap her out of her rage. Her eyes fell to where she was gripping him harshly, her hand alone turning the bottom half of his arm red with lack of circulation. 

Her face visibly drew back in shock, letting go of him quickly. “Sorry,” She muttered, sheepishly. 

Well, that was new. 

Marc sighed, looking down at her crestfallen expression. She was scared, he knew she was, but putting her into the line of fire was exactly the last thing he wanted to do after already watching her suffer enough for his mistakes. 

But she was persistent. And smart too, he knew she was right in saying they could figure out how to push back against Harrow a lot faster with two brains. At least if she was with him, he could keep an eye on how Seth was treating her. 

If he was being much too greedy and insidious, which is what Marc expected from him, then maybe he could ask more of the Gods to step in. Or even the God of the Dead could help them find a way to stop Ammit from being resurrected. What was the point in conjuring chaos if another god was going to end everyone who had it in them?

“Alright,” She perked up instantly, those wide eyes looking at him with elation that he was going to stop being difficult and pushing her away, “You can help, only if you promise to do exactly what I ask of you. We can’t have you going rogue, that will make my whole plan just messy, okay?”

“Aye, aye, captain,” She said smoothly, flashing him a toothy smile, “Thankyou, Marc. Really.” 

“Alright,” He nodded, reaching for the door, “Get some more sleep, I’ll call you when I need you,” 

The smile dropped from her face as fast as it had come. That phrase was not comforting in the slightest. How would she know he was honest, that he meant his word? Steven always meant his word. Steven she could trust with her life.

This man was not Steven. 

She knew it was childish, but she was quick to grab his hand again, gentle this time, not nearly as forceful as before. His empty brown eyes snapped to meet her gaze, the hair on his arms standing to attention as if he'd been electrocuted by her touch alone. 

“Promise me?” She asked, eyes wide and imploring him to understand how desperate she was, “Promise me you won’t leave me alone?” 

He took a moment to look her in the eyes, her lashes framing the pure anguish held in her sweet face, batting up at him with woeful hope. 

He could see why Steven liked her. She was the embodiment of everything good, everything that needed protecting in the world, that needed cherishing and kept safe. He felt her small hand squeeze him in need. Having someone so kind and so blatantly enchanting to look at essentially begging for his refuge awoke something primal in him, something caveman that said I would never let a hair on her head be harmed. Something not even sexual, just purely carnal that overcame his senses as he imagined it did Steven’s, that had him nodding on instinct. 

“I promise,” Marc said calmly, squeezing her hand back, before he shut the door coldly and left her flat. 

She did not in fact wait for Marc to call her. In fact, by the time she’d woken up she had two missed calls from Steven and a flurry of messages had filled her screen all from one of her four contacts in her phone. 

Steven 

Are you okay, Dove?          

Please respond A S A P

I don’t know what’s happening, they’ve said I’ve destroyed the loos 

They said I carried you out of the building but I don’t remember seeing you after we got split up

Oh god don’t be dead

That would make me a proper maniac who killed the only bloody friend I’ve ever had

Please don’t be dead

Dove please message as soon as you can I need to know you’re okay

She huffed a breath of relief. Steven was back. Anxious and worried for her life, but he was back. She had barely a few hours of sleep since she’d seen Marc leave her apartment around 5 am that morning, but by now it was well into the afternoon.

Talk about being dead asleep. No, that’s not funny, she chided her brain.

Rubbing aching hands over her eyes to remove the last remnants of exhaustion from her face, her hands floated over the keys to reply to him.

Yet she could think of no way to tell him just how she felt; as though she were both relieved and dreading the idea that she could now talk to him about everything that happened, that she wouldn’t be alone with his stern counterpart in fixing the situation she had found herself in. 

Yet the thought settled deep in her stomach. What if he ran from the very sight of her? It was obvious Seth wanted her out of interest, not just convenience. How he lusted for the cruelty and anguish in her bones. The venom that bubbled under her skin, infecting her brain and thoughts, the part of her that made her a disease, contagious to everyone around her.

Steven could take one look at the woman she truly was and wish for nothing more to do with her. Then what? The loneliness she had always known awaited her? The feeling of being left to the darkest corners of herself she knew waited for a moment of weakness to strike. Is that what she was to be subdued to? 

She couldn’t say she was surprised. But she had to see him. Even if to beg for forgiveness of the bitterness that lay inside her, get on her knees and ask him to stay for her. 

Words on a screen simply wouldn’t do. Wouldn’t redeem her enough to keep him like she wanted, if she could ever repent at all, that is. She needed to see Steven. 

“Let’s just get this over with. You sent these papers but you never signed them.” Layla sighed as she yanked the thick wad of documents out her bag. She had no idea what Marc was playing at, perhaps creating a new identity was his way of running from responsibility again. He was always good at that. 

“Did I? Uh-” Steven fumbled for his reading glasses as the vibrant woman shoved the files under his nose. 

“This is what you wanted,” The woman, Layla, the only person who could help him understand what it was this Marc guy had plunged him into, said to him with an unmistakable bite to her words. 

“Let’s have a look here,” His coffee ground eyes scrunched in confusion as he read over the papers. He brought them closer to his face as if in disbelief as to what he was reading.

“After everything, you told me that we needed to move on,” Layla seemed to have calmed slightly, bitter still but more heavy than anything as she watched him look at her in astonishment. 

‘Divorce/dissolution/judicial separation petition’ stared back at Steven, an offer to end a relationship he knew nothing about with a woman who frankly scared him. Yet he could see the pain in her dark eyes as she avoided his glance. The way she’d swallowed her pride to come after this Marc guy to get the papers signed once and for all, though by the sounds of it it was his idea completely. 

This little American man seemed to like starting fires and not waiting to find out if they burnt. If people got hurt. Which they did. 

Steven was still waiting for Dove to message him back. If Marc had hurt her in any way he swore he would hand himself over then and there, particularly after finding a bloody handgun in his storage locker listed under his name. A gun? A wife? His best friend’s body? Who knows what else this Marc was hiding?

“Divorce?” Steven asked, looking at Layla in confusion, “You- We? I don’t know- You two were married?”

“Yeah, we doing this or not?” Layla snapped, though the gloomy look on her face told Steven all he needed to know. She was hurting. She hated every second of this as much as he did. 

He flicked through the pages a few times, clearing his mind on the matter. He felt he had no right to meddle or sign away anyone else's relationship yet this woman looked at him expectantly in a way that had him curling over in near fear. He opened his mouth to ask her more about this Marc guy she was so angry with when a pounding on his door met his ears. 

“Steven,” It was her, “Steven, are you home?”

Oh, thank the heavens and every cloud in them. The tension that had grabbed him by the throat and laced it with emotion all morning melted away at the melody of her words. So eager to hear her voice, to convince himself she really was safe, he dropped the papers onto the nearest table and rushed to the sound of her knocking frantically once more. 

“Who is that?” Layla asked, annoyed that the papers she’d dragged across the globe had been discarded without a second thought. But her question fell on deaf ears as Steven swung the heavy door open. 

The two of them stared at each other for a brief moment, both of them looking equally as shocked, confused and exhausted by the events, yet still not quite believing that they were seeing each other alive again.

“Oh my god- Love-” Steven heaved as she bolted into his arms for the second time that day. Though this time he hugged her back just as strongly as she’d expected. His body soft, gentle, warm with the way he encompassed her figure with his entire being. Not like how Marc held her in the slightest. He squeezed her tight, as if letting go of her again was the last thing on his mind, his hands flat on her spine and his head burrowing into her sweet smelling collar.

God he was so relieved to feel her again. Her face was smashed into his chest, her new found strength bringing him as close to her as physically possible, hoping to everything he wasn’t going to leave her the second he knew about her new, um, condition. 

“Steven, oh my god, I thought it was you, the guy in my room- and last night! I was so worried about you- how do you feel, are you okay?” She rushed, unaware of the way she was being watched by two enraged brown eyes. 

She had been so enamoured with Steven holding her so close, she hadn’t even seen the stunning woman stood a metre away with an aghast expression.

“Dove, I was so worried, Marc said I had to give the body to him so he could help you, I-” Steven’s voice was clogged with guilty and sorrow as he drew back from her, watching her expression scrunch into concern, entirely focused on his every word, “I couldn’t help you, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, love-”

“Hey, look. I’m okay, see?” She reassured, squeezing his waist lightly, wishing to soothe away the tears building in his waterline, “Marc got to me in time. I’m okay-”

“You met him?” Steven said the same time a new voice met her ears. 

“I’m sorry, who are you?” 

Her head snapped to her left to where a woman stood, her fists clenched and full lips pursed into a sneer of disgust at her presence. She was gorgeous. Perhaps the most gorgeous woman she’d ever seen. The type of face you’d see on a billboard, effortless and striking, the kind that had even her fawning over her rare beauty. 

The woman looked all the more annoyed at her gawking expression.

Layla’s head cut to Steven’s flustered face, looking between the two women in surprise. 

“This is-”

“Is this why you wanted a divorce, Marc?” Layla barked, the two embracing each other immediately pulling apart at the accusation that came crashing down on the two of them. “Is this your girlfriend?” 

Divorce. The word echoed in her head like a stab to the chest. He was married. Steven, well Marc technically but Steven’s body was married. To the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen. It only made sense. No matter which way he was packaged, whether he was Steven or Marc, he was a god among men even without Konshu. 

And she currently looked like a mistress.

“No!” They chorused, Steven turning away from her and leaving her standing in the doorway confused. 

“No, she’s my-” Steven paused as the younger woman spoke over him in just as much panic this woman would get the wrong idea.

“We work together,” She rushed, walking towards the woman with her arms up in surrender. Of course this looked bad. Awful. The guilt of falling head over heels for someone else's husband churned in her stomach. 

“Me and her work at the museum, well worked I suppose,” Steven said, shutting the door behind her, hoping Layla didn’t start shouting like she had done a few times already. He was as tired of taking Marc’s shit as she seemed, but he supposed it was just as confusing for her to be married to someone who claimed he was someone else. 

He just hoped the woman he was enamoured with entirely didn’t get the wrong idea also. 

“I’m so sorry, I suppose I should introduce myself,” The younger woman attempted a friendly smile, which was entirely shut down by Layla glaring at her and snarling at her pleasant tone.

“You’re supposed to introduce yourself to a woman before you fuck her husband,” The woman said, leaning over the woman intimidatingly before turning to Steven’s scared mouse expression with a growl. 

“I’m not sleeping with Marc,” Dove piped up, though her chest was rattling with the furious nut-brown gaze that met her the second she opened her mouth. If looks could kill, she’d be clinging to the shreds of life that she had left all over again. She saw Steven look at her with reddening cheeks at the inference of her words, “Or Steven! I’m not sleeping with either of them,” 

Layla scoffed, looking her up and down, “What? So you’re just his young, pretty co-worker who just so happens to give them fat fucking heart eyes the minute she sees him?”

It was her turn to become flustered now. She felt the embarrassment hail down on her in waves, heat crawling over her cheeks as she stared at the woman who had managed to see her feelings for her husband within seconds. Women had sixth senses for things like that. Which wouldn’t be a bother, except Layla was married to him. Not Steven himself, but his body yes. 

This was all so complicated for the half-dead girl’s already mithered head. 

Her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, hoping to god that Steven had somehow miraculously become deaf for five seconds and he truly hadn’t heard what his alter’s wife had just said. 

“Exactly,” Layla huffed, reaching to grab her backpack and leave her husband and his mistress to their little roleplay where he was an English, ex-gift shoppist and she was his young co-worker too innocent to so much as tell him how she felt. What a joke.

“Wait, please,” The girl tried to slow her down, as she headed for the door, “Please, I can explain.”

A new knock on the door stopped Layla in her tracks. 

“Steven Grant? Can we have a word?” 

A female voice. Unfamiliar to either of them. 

“DC Fitzgerald and DC Kennedy. We’re here about the disappearance of your co-worker,” The young woman’s face scrunched up in confusion as they said her name. Her full, legal name.

Steven and Layla simultaneously turned to look at her. 

“You’re missing now?” Steven whispered, to which she shook her head. 

“I spoke to the police on the way over here. Donna gave them my number when they saw you carrying me out of the museum,” She said back in a hushed tone, “I told them I was safe, that I fainted and you took me home.” 

Layla’s eyes flicked between the two of them, her mind clicking as the voice on the other side of the door continued more forcefully, “They’re not real police officers,” She hummed quietly.

Steven and Dove looked at eachother. A look of panic passed between them as they shared the same thought; Shit. 

“Marc said Harrow had connections all over,” She whispered back, watching as Steven reached for the multitude of locks slowly, if not to stop the fake officer from battering his door then to seem as though he were co operating. 

“What are they looking for?” Layla asked, a moment of clarity snapping in Steven’s eyes as he reached into the gym bag he’d dragged from Marc’s storage locker. His hand emerged with the scarab, the same jewel he could have sworn had been plucked from his dream. Layla’s eyes widened, then narrowed at the man in question. “The scarab? What we fought side by side for? So this whole act was so you could run away with your mistress and keep it for yourself?”

“I am not-” The younger of the two started in a tone loud enough to have the officers stop their barrage on the door. Fearing they’d heard her, she huffed and started again, snatching the scarab out of Steven’s hands and turning to Layla, “I am not sleeping with your husband,” She breathed, “But the three of us are in serious trouble if they catch us with this, that’s what Marc said-”

“Yeah, I know,” Layla snapped, glaring at the woman who stared back with a now annoyed expression, “You might be new around here, but I know all about my own husband and his messes, thankyou,” 

With the final growl, Layla wrapped a surprisingly strong hand around the girl’s forearm, dragging her to the open window. 

“Woah! Woah- I know some things were said but throwing me out a window is a bit heavy, don’t you think?” She exclaimed, her feet sluggishly tripping over themselves as she followed the woman obediently. 

Layla sucked her teeth, flashing her a death stare, “I’m not going to kill you, though I’ll wring your neck if you keep talking,” She snipped, pointing onto the ledge the roof offered as a place for them to hide, “Get out, they suspect something already, we’ll see where they take him and go from there,”

Flicking Steven, one last glance, he nodded for her to listen as he called to the ‘Detectives’ that he was complying with their orders. 

Be careful, she wanted to say, please just be careful. Please don’t leave me alone.

I love you.

I spent all night worrying about you. Dreaming about you. I want you more than I wanted life again. I want you to know Seth can never have my soul no matter if I am his avatar because it’s not mine anymore, it's entirely yours. My heart that rots and withers beats for you. Not even to sustain this carcass I’m in, just for you. 

Please don’t leave me.

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t say a word less she’d risk their safety. Risk the scarab. 

So she simply nodded back, and climbed out onto the slanted tiles. 

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[xovalentinewritesxo]

Say you love me (I need it). [Miguel O'hara]

✿ - Having a crush in the spider society was seen as a distraction. The universe was supposed to be put first, so that's what you did.  Knowing that you were playing with your life and knew that this could kill you.

✿ - Miguel O'hara x Reader

✿ - Angst, With tiny fluff.

✿ - Hanahaki Disease.

✿ - Mentions of blood and vomit, bodily pain, near death experience, yelling/arguing, google translated spanish (I apologize in advance-)

A/N: Hiii~! This is my first fanfic! Miguel might be a little OOC, I wanted to make him a little more soft! My next fic however- I can’t promise you that lol!

If you want to support me: Here's My Kofi! <3

I appreciate everything and everyone who comes across my works! Enjoy!

You knew this disease had the ability and potential to kill you. You knew that very well.

You knew that eventually, it would constrict your breathing, flowers would crawl up your throat and leave you breathless before you eventually passed.

Were you going to say anything about it? Of course not. You couldn’t allow something like this disrupt your job as a spider person.

That was until you were out with Gwen and Jessica, and ended up puking up roses.

You had a mission in Earth-229, a rogue anomaly managed to make it into this universe and Alexander, the Spiderwoman of this dimension [My Spidersona ^^], was sick and couldn’t capture it.

So taking up the job, you were joined by Gwen and Jessica, and the mission was going well. The three of you managed to capture the anomaly and were preparing to bring it back to HQ when you got a surge of pain shoot through your chest.

‘No..no..no! Not now please! Anything but now!’

You were standing with Jessica as she logged the report, when you quickly left their side to curl over the side of the building you were standing on, scaring Gwen and concerning Jess.

“Y/n? Are you okay?!”

“Oh god..is it flaring up again? You haven't been around him today, though.”

That statement from Jess caused Gwen to look at her funny. “What? What is wrong with Y/n?” She asked as she rubbed your back, wincing as she listening to the sound of you throwing up, the pained yet muffled cries leaving your body.

Jessica walks over and helps Gwen raise you back up to your feet, a few rose petals stuck to your uniform, and Jessica looked over the building and sighed. Seeing full roses, some with thorns attached.

“Y/n. You need to either tell him. Or you need to get the surgery!”

“It’s not that simple Jessica! I am going to tell him!”

“When!? I am not going to sit back and watch you waste away simply because you can’t tell Miguel your feelings!”

Gwen, once again slowly raised her hand between the two arguing. “Um...Can I ask...what’s wrong, Y/n?”

You sigh and sit down on the edge of the building, placing a hand to your chest to try and ease the growing pressure that was raging in her body.

“It’s called Hanahaki Disease..”

Gwen raised an eyebrow. “I thought that was a fictional Disease? One used in stories and books..”

You give her a sad chuckle before looking over at her. “It is…in certain universes. Sadly mine it is very much a real disease.” You state as you slowly stand up. 

“Its a disease of unrequited love. One may start to cough of petals if the person they love does not love them back. It starts with Petals, then full flowers, then flowers with stems….” You take a deep breath as you could feel stems start to constrict around certain veins, your lungs being wrapped in a horrifically beautiful pattern.

Jessica can see you struggling to talk and sighs. “She’s in the late stages, stems start to appear in the victim's lungs eventually, if not surgically removed, they’ll constrict their lungs and eventually kill them.”

Gwen gasps as you lean against her, she could hear the wheezing as you struggle to breath, the quick rise and fall of your chest was concerning. You give her a pained smile as Jessica leads you through the portal and back to HQ.

“Y/n…why don’t you get them removed?...if you’re in so much pain..”

“Because. If I remove them. My feelings go too..” You quickly say as Gwen helps you sit on a bench in the cafeteria while Jessica goes to deliver the report to Miguel a job that was usually yours. But with your condition, you slowly stopped going, as even being around him for a short amount of time would cause the vines in your chest to tighten around your heart.

You then freeze for a bit a severe coughing fit coming over her as she hurled over, but instead of vomit, like Gwen had expected, it was several blood roses that hit the floor with a disgusting plop. You dry heave for a bit as a hand flew to your chest.

You could feel your head pounding, the world around you spinning, and you could feel the air being constricted from your lungs. You suddenly grip Gwen’s hand which causes the girl to jump and your eyes widened.

“G-gwen..I-i think i’m going to..” 

You didn’t get to finish the sentence before you felt your body go limp and you fell forward, barely being held up by Gwen who started to freak out.

Your vision was blurred and fading to black and the last thing you heard was Gwen yelling to whoever was passing by to help you to the medical bay.

"Oh My God! Y/n!"

"You did amazing today."

You don’t remember when your feelings for Miguel started. But you want to say it was about a year after joining the Spider Society.

It was just a normal day for you, you were chatting with Lyla as you waited for Miguel to assign you a new mission.

“Hey. Y/n.”

You raise your head to see Miguel lowering his platform so he could come over to you. You could feel  your heart rate increase as he stood across from you. 

“I just wanted to say Thank you, you’ve been a great asset to us since you’ve joined.”

That simple praise is what sent the ball rolling down the hill. Every word he said to you after that made your heart sore, you could see that when you come around that his mood brightens a bit. He would request for you to join him whenever he had a mission. 

"Please take care of yourself, that was a rough mission today,"

"Did you eat today? Please care for yourself, we don't need you passing out."

His small praises would make your heart happy. It made you feel worthy and it only solidified your growing feeling for him.

Sometimes the two of you would spend time together after missions and you knew you were falling head over heels for him.

That was until you overheard him speaking to Jessica one day.

“Why don’t you tell them Miguel?”

“Feelings will only complicate things. I can’t afford to put the universe at risk.”

Those words broke your heart. 

Put the universe at risk? Did he not trust you enough to allow you to love him? Was he afraid that something was going to happen and instead decided to push you away?

Whatever it was, it was the beginning of the end.

Your disease spreads rapidly. After one day of seeing the petals every time you went to cough. To have to leave meetings to have coughing fits and full flowers leaving your body. It was awful. The pain was relentless. You continued your duties as a spider woman, trying not to let your sickness affect you.

You even had a fainting spell in Miguel’s office, and had to beg him to let you continue working, and convince him that everything was fine when everything was in fact, not fine.

You struggled with trying to hide it from Miguel, but you managed, but you couldn't get it past Jessica. Jessica caught on and was concerned beyond belief. She would frequently check in on you, and try to convince you to say something to Miguel.

But you couldn't bring yourself to do it. You didn't want to add more stress to Miguel's daily battles already. So you kept it to yourself, and it was not well for you

“Y/n?...Y/n?..por favor dios cuide de ella*...”

You groaned as you felt IV’s hooked up into your arms, you felt a heavy weighted black over your body.

The sounds of a steady heart monitor and when you glanced over you saw an x-ray picture of your chest. Your condition was bad. You didn't release how bad you had let it get.

It showed vines wrapped around her lungs and flowers were in the smaller crevices, which prevented your body from working to it's full compacity.

You whined as your turned your head to look over to see a very stressed and looked like tear stained cheek Miguel sitting at your bedside with his eyes closed.

You reached out to touch the hand of Miguel who jumped slightly at your touch before he rose from his seat and pulled you into a hug. You froze for a bit before hugging him back, your eyes widening when you feel his body start to shake as if he was…crying.

“Miguel..Are you-”

“Shh..let me hold you..let me hold you y/n.”

You tightened your grip around him as he held onto you tight, he was holding you like you were going to vanish in an instance.

The two of you sat in silence for a good 10 minutes before he finally spoke up.

“Why?..” Is what he asked first, and you knew what he was asking.

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” HIs voice suddenly raised up and he moves to grip your shoulders. “How could you just suffer like that in silence?! ¡Respóndeme!” Miguel barked and you could feel tears welling up in your eyes.

“I..i..I’m so sorry Miguel. I..i didn’t want to be a burden to you-”

“SO YOU DECIDED THAT DYING WAS BETTER!?” 

You winced as he cut you off, you hated when he yelled but this time, it wasn’t from a place of anger..it was one of fear, concern and hurt. Miguel brought his hands up to caress both of your cheeks, he lets out a soft sigh before bringing your lips towards his. You gasped as he pulled you into a soft precious kiss, you felt like you were on cloud nine.

Miguel held your lips before pulling away slightly, and pulling you back into a hug.

“Please…do not do that ever again. I love you too much to lose you, especially like this..”

He places a kiss on your forehead as he held you, rubbing your arms, having to have a hand touching you.

You felt your heart swell and hurt, you could feel tears well up in your eyes again as you buried your head into his chest. It was a silent confirmation that the two of you made to each other.

"The doctor says you're cleared up...I'm so glad...When i saw it I thought..I thought.." He got choked up again before he sighs a bit.

"I thought you were going to die...and leave me alone again."

From that moment forward, You promised to tell him everything and he promised to be there for you.

Miguel made sure to take care of you, if you even felt a little off he made you tell him, he was scared of your disease coming back [Even when you told him it wasn’t like that]. He made sure to tell you everyday when you came into HQ that he loved you, hugging you and kissing your cheek or forehead before you left on a mission.

Miguel didn’t want to lose you. So made sure to say it every time he saw you.

“Hey, Mi Amor,..” Miguel stopped you before you headed on a mission, he pulls you into a hug before placing a kiss on your lips.

“I love you.”

You blush and let a small giggle slip past your lips before kissing him back. 

“I love you too..”

© xovalentinewritesxo 2023 <3

Please feel free to put a request in!

[smicksstuff]

welcome to the land down under. home to the poisonous snakes and many creepy crawlies. piping hot tea has been spilt, its brown liquid staining everything it touches. can yn wash the stain away or has become part of who she is ?

The Pitbox Crew Series

read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 here

Upside Down, Inside Out

(f1drivers x yngasly)

⚠️ warnings: alcohol consumption, fighting, swearing, cyber bullying.

a/n: this is a work of fiction. i do not encourage this behaviour. also i apologise for the google translate french and spanish. please ignore the typos, i will edit them soon.

meanwhile on twitter .....

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ynusername

Melbourne

liked by pierregasly, paulgasly, isahernaez and 739, 728 others.

ynusername im speechless. i have no idea what race i have just watched 😭😭😭

view 780 comments

scuderiapedrogaseoso i hope pierre is okay !!

yngaslyfans that race was a nightmare but you are still slaying in the paddock

gaslyfc can’t believe i woke up for this race !! all my guys are out 😫😭

formula1girls can we take a moment to appreciate the content provided by yn. girl gave us so many bts to cure our broken heats 💔🥺

formulauno her and danny ric !! we need more of them !!!

spicychilli i mean can we appreciate her and carlos too!!

piastrigirls miss gurl giving love to all the boys!! she and oscar is an unexpected duo. 🧡

oscarpiastri matey you need to learn how to send the photos 😐

yngasly i’ll send it now ! i promise 🤞🏼

oscarpiastri ill believe when i get it ���

mickschumacher you post all this but not you surfing 🤔

yngasly you promised not to talk about it 🥺

mickschumacher just you wait till your birthday 😁

yngasly thats a threat !!! @pierregasly micky is threatening me with the surf pics 😠

pierregasly @mickschumacher i have more embarrassing ones, i will bring them to the next race for you 😝

yngasly HEY!!!! STOPPP

mickschumacher thats awesome! cant wait!!

pierregasly what are big bros for ❤️

f1fans i like how she is ignoring the obvious! why haven’t you acknowledged the tweets yet!!!!

username7 girl you already did all the shit why are you scared to admit it ?

yngaslyfc omg i made it! You made my year! can't believe I got to meet you.

liked by yngasly and 67 others

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f1tea

liked by f1fans, username8, f1fanatics and 6,789 others

f1tea Pierre arrived in the paddock at 8.30am this morning. Melbourne walk was booming with fans having 1 last chance to get their merch signed by their favourite racers.

In non-driver news, the Gasly Princess - Yn Gasly arrived to the paddock at 9.00am alongside Joris Trouche and Charles Leclerc. As they walked through the Melbourne Walk, loud jeering and boos could be heard from the fans. Many were telling her to stay away from Formula 1 and its drivers.

Upon hearing the jeering and boos, Charles Leclerc alongside other drivers Alex Albon, George Russell and Lando Norris who were present at Melbourne Walk proceeded to try and defend their friend yn however their efforts were not enough.

Joris Trouche then took Yn tight in his grip and entered the paddock quick. Sources from inside the paddock say that Yn was in tears and Joris proceeded to walk with her to the Alpine Motorhome. Throughout the Race Day, Yn was not seen as much in the paddock.

What are your thoughts ? Does Yn deserve the backing of the drivers? Let me know in the comments

view 789 comments

f1fans She had this coming.

username8 hate to break it to you but after what she did, how could they not boo her.

username7 she is a bad influence in the paddock. she should be removed.

lordperceval Yall HAVE TO STOP !! this is cyber bullying.

chillichicas i agree! she doesn’t deserve this. yall dont have to like her but at least acknowledge she is human too

spicylovers she isnt your human punching bag

quadrantmania for petes sake. she is just a kid trying to support her big brother at races and yall are coming at her like she committed a huge crime.

landounited lando should ditch her! he doesnt need friends like her

landino and who are you to decide who lando can be friends with

pedromyman what she did was to herself. It does not affect anyone of yall. You dont like it, dont follow her. I for one do not want her to disappear from the paddock again.

vroomvroom why are the drivers even trying to defend her. im sure their teams will not support it.

estiebestie she should just leave. she is not that important anyways.

-

yngasly

liked by isahernaez, pierregasly, landonorris and 567, 903 others

yngasly i thought i would come here and address the information circulating online about me.

view 893 comments

pierregasly ❤️❤️❤️

charles_leclerc Ma petite sœur toujours ❤️ (translation: My little sister always)

lancestroll always gonna be here for you 💚

isahernaez ¡Mi mejor amigo! Estoy muy orgulloso de lo lejos que has llegado. ¡Siempre estaré aquí para ti! Te quiero. ❤️ (translation: My best friend! I am very proud of how far you have come. I will always be here for you! I love you.)

chloestroll love you baby ❤️

landonorris you can try to get rid of me but you will fail 🙃🧡

yngaslyfans i may not know you personally but im always gonna stand up for you. we all make mistakes in life. its what we do after that- the learning from it that matters the most.

paulgasly ❤️

arthur_leclerc Si heureux que tu sois de retour ! Tu m'as toujours eu ! ❤️ (translation: So happy that you're back! You will always have me!)

carlossainz55 Estoy muy feliz de llamarte mi familia ❤️ (translation: I'm very happy to call you my family)

estebanocon so proud of you 😃

alpinef1team we are proud of you Yn ! you will always have our love and support 💙💙💙

scuderiaferrari one of the strong ones ❤️

lewishamilton so proud of you kid! like i told you in the paddock “dont let the noise discourage you. they dont know who you really are!” ❤️

fernandoalo_official my kid 💚

-

pierregasly

liked by yngasly, charles_leclerc, f1, alpinef1team and 1,465,010 others

pierregasly Yn Julianna Gasly. My relationship with my baby sister is one of the most important in my life.

From all the pizza parties to celebrate karting wins and her football school team wins, to fighting over the PS3 controllers, to not talking to each other for months, we have gone through it all.

Yn has always been on my side through the thick and thin. At every race she be at the garage or along the fence cheering me on! (charles and anthoine too but thats beside the point) Good day or Bad Day she always made sure she was there for me. She even ditched playdates to travel with Maman to watch me race.

Anthoine’s Passing affected all of us differently. We handled our grieve separately. My biggest regret was pushing Yn away forgetting that she too was grieving the lost of her bestfriend. When I look back, i feel that the road she went down was partly my fault. But with an immense amount of help for her and the family, we got through it together. I hated that my sister was barely with us for those 4 months. But at that time i thought that was best. Looking back, I should have done more. But mistakes were made. Like I told Yn, “Mistakes are OKAY only if they happen once and you learn, and dont repeat it again.”

My sister made a mistake. It is something she cannot ignore. It happened. But she learned from it. We learned from it. Her past does not define who she is now. My Sister is my number 1 Supporter. She is my Person, My Best Friend, My Twin. What has been said online the past few weeks about her the jeering when she is out in public is simply unacceptable. It has to stop. Losing someone you love can make you do incredibly stupid things. But I know my sister, those 4 months was not her.

So please I am hoping that you can understand. The mistakes my sister made in the past is not who she was or is now. Please stop circulating the pictures and videos.

comments have been disabled

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taglist: @fangirlika @threedalla @sticksdoesart @ophcelia @gothicwidowsworld @nmw-am @h0e-xoxo @inthestars-underthesun @tyna-19 @champomiel @pitconfirmbutton @clcspeonies @67-angelofthelordme-67 @xcharlottemikaelsonx @fulla02 @mehrmonga

credits: all pictures are found from pinterest and instagram

a/n: thank you for reading this far !! If you have any suggestions send them to me!! I would love to hear them ◡̈

if you would like to be tagged when new parts are released, drop your usernames in the comments!! 😁

[paddymoonstruck]

DEAR READER | C.L 16 (FOUR)

Pairings: Charles Leclerc X Intern!OC

Warnings: Google translated French, degrading headline, people who don’t mind their own business

Note: There’s a reason I’m dragging the fuck out of this story. It’s gonna be worth it, I promise !!!!

❝Dear reader,

If it feels like a trap, you’re

already in one ❞

THE BRILLIANT ILLUMINATED ELEVATOR cradled through the rapidly infectious tension in Natalia’s bloodstream. The gap between her and the equally as anxious Monegasque caused the ongoing brawl in their heads to amplify. She glanced down at the carpeted flooring, casually shifting her gaze to the shuffling feet of her company.

She let her thoughts wonder somewhere else, opting to think about the disastrous path they had to conquer in order to acquire the tranquility they have at the moment. Although, her trembling hands and the intensive battering of her chest generated the thought that perhaps road raging in Charles’ Ferrari to avoid the prying eyes of the general public provided a greater deal of enjoyment than this.

“I was thinking,” Charles spoke, moistening his drought lips. “Since it’s your first time here in Netherlands, I’d like you to try authentic Dutch dishes from the restaurant the team took me to last year.”

Natalia nodded, half of her mind floating into a dreamless space. “That sound great,” She faced him, hoping to defy the rising tide of her anxiety. “I honestly didn’t know anything about Dutch culture until I did a quick research about their food.”

Charles didn’t contain his smile, finally looking at the brunette. His gaze journeyed to her luscious naturally straight chestnut locks, previously tied into a neat ponytail but was now released from the gathered style, falling graciously passed her shoulders.

He snapped back into his regular self as he reached the line of her eyes. Immediately saving himself as he followed up on her statement. “Oh? And what did you find?”

Charles despised the way she’d tuck her bottom lip in her every time she needed a second to gather her thoughts. Couldn’t she just think like a normal person?

“Apparently, there’s this food called Profferjes?” She struggled pronouncing the supposed name given to the delicacy she was referring to.

Charles’ face brightened in amusement at her confused appearance but he nevertheless, nodded, having an idea of what she was talking about.

“The mini pancakes?”

Rhapsody laved across her once perplexed expression, pointing a finger at his direction before confirming his guess.

“Yes! That one— but I think they only serve them in the morning,” She sighed, eyes lingering at Charles. A sudden concept bubbled in her mind, showing in her face as a small simper.

The judgement was also beginning to bloom on Charles’ face as he took note of the naught sparkle in Natalia’s orbs.

“Unless— you know—” She drawled her words, making the smile on the receiver of her antics widen. “Charles Leclerc were to call in—”

He disintegrated into a pile of frenzy at that. Clutching his stomach as his laughter, joined in by Natalia’s own, bounced uncontrollably against the four walls of the enclosed space.

“I’m not sure they’d do their beloved Max Verstappen’s rival a favor.” He acknowledged.

“Oh—right.” Natalia had completely forgotten that Max was Dutch. She knew Charles meant it as a joke but the harsh reality seemed to have overtaken its intended merits.

Then again, she was quick to dispel the impending depressive state. “You know, according to my research, Dutch people are very friendly even if they like speak their mind . . .”

An appreciative hum sounded at the back of Charles’ throat, thankful for her efforts of comfort and the ding of the elevator that indicated their arrival to his floor.

In an unconscious move, he reached for Natalia’s hand, grasping it gently in his. To which the latter responded by gawking at him while they both stalked through the nicely lit corridor.

Charles’ room was two doors away from the very last one, and when they arrived, he tapped in his key card, never seeming to have the intention of releasing the chilling palm that rested in his hold.

As the door opened, along with the grating creak of the door was the heightening of Natalia’s senses. The fresh scent of lavender infiltrated the previous musing scouring at her wits.

She inhaled the saving grace of her sanity, finding the soothing aroma also matched the overall aesthetic of his room.

The fuzzy brown carpet at the center of the room adorned the flooring, to which an oval glass coffee table was placed

“Sit wherever you want,” He said, freeing her hand. “Make yourself feel comfortable.”

As he started to walk away, Natalia bent down balancing her weight with her hand on the doorframe as she untied the laces of her boots.

Charles turned to her, hearing the sudden rustling. “You don’t have to take your shoes off,”

She immediately halted her actions, eyebrows wrinkled at the absurdity of all that. “There’s no way I’m stepping my shoes on a carpet,”

The crease in her eyebrows worsen at that thought of her mother. She could almost see the utter disgust on her face when she finds out Europeans don’t particularly care for what she called “unknown bacteria” spreading through their home.

She set her boots aside, plopping on the pearl colored seating. “My mom would’ve strangled you if she heard you say that,”

Her remark made Charles chuckle, shaking his head on his way to the kitchen. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Depends.” She thought, reaching for a magazine on the coffee table. “What are you having?”

Natalia heard a series of cabinet creaking followed by clinks of what she assumed was glass.

“Well, of you’re craving something sweet, I have orange juice and iced tea,” He replied, peaking his head on the doorframe.

Charles took in the sight of Natalia’s wandering eyes on his apartment, ignoring the sudden pang of nervousness creeping up on him.

The curious girl whipped her head towards his waiting figure, lips pursing with a uncaring shrug. “I’m good with that. But if you want to drink something. . . stronger, I wouldn’t judge.”

She watched the chuckle bloom out of Charles’ relaxed features, before disappearing back into the kitchen.

While he was arranging beverages, Natalia reviewed what he had observed from his apartment.

Firstly, she found it surprising that he owned a living space in this country. Him always hopping on a jet to different countries every week, defeats the purpose of buying one. It didn’t look like he used it often either.

It had one of those minimal modern designs. Like the ones she’d see whenever she was at Summit Furniture, a furniture store she frequented at in Monaco. She currently sat on a white polyester loveseat with tapered rosewood legs that angled outwards. It all seemed like they’ve just been bought yesterday. No scratches on the wooden legs nor flaws in the fabric seating. Same goes for the rest of his furniture that she had seen so far.

The television looked like it had yet to serve its purpose and the tables be marked with any stain or evidences of usage.

Her deep observation caused a barricading and tension within her sense. The unbelievable tidiness and perfection of her surroundings made her more conscious of her actions.

“Here we are!” Charles’ unforeseen appearance rattled her core, prompting her to sit up straighter. He had brought a tray of various drinks.

Natalia eyed the colorful liquids in different types of glasses. Some in one in a high ball, champagne and cocktail glass. Beside those were a bottle of Heineken and Jenever.

She bit the inside of her cheek, trapping the laughter threatening to pull through, settling for a supportive nod.

“I’m guessing this is the orange juice?” She plucked the high ball glass from the tray, a teasing smile adorning her face.

“Yes, it is,” Charles took out his phone, the unwavering nerves still present in his veins. “I know I said I’ll order for you, but here’s the menu, you might see something you like—”

She raised his hands, shaking her head. “Trust me, the only food I’m sure are gonna be are Stroopwafel and those ball shaped snack I ate at the paddock. Besides, I’m not picky with food, I’ll swallow anything you give me.”

Charles’ thumbs stopped their typing, his lips thinning at the intrusive thought in his head.

Anything, huh?

“You’re disgusting—”

“I didn’t say—”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You didn’t have to! It’s written all over your face!” Natalia growled, motioning to the idiotic smirk hanging of his face across her.

“Think what you want,” Charles chimed, resuming his attention to his device. “That’s what I’m doing anyway hmpf—”

A soft object suddenly collided at his face, laughing as he realized that Natalia had thrown a pillow at him.

He removes it from obstructing his view, glancing up at the glowering figure in front of him, now bringing her lips close to the tall glass of juice.

“Give the phone. . .” She said, extending her arm forwards for Charles to pass her the device.

He hands it to her, inclining his body towards her. “I personally love Hachee, it’s meat with mash potatoes and gravy—”

“Frog legs!”

Charles stopped talking, staring stupidly at her exclamation. A wide smile plastered on her face as she turned the phone towards him and pointed to the certain dish.

“You eat frogs?” Charles didn’t mean for it to sound condescending, but the overpowering shock at this discovery halted all sense of thinking.

“Yeah? And?” At her defensive tone, Charles quickly held his hands up, waving them at her.

“No! That’s not what I mean!” He scratched the back of his head, hoping to ward away the embarrassment of his mistake. “I-I just mean, you’re the first girl I’ve met who’s actually excited to eating frogs,”

Natalia raised an eyebrow at Charles. “That can’t be true, frogs are eaten a lot in Manaco,”

“Doesn’t mean everybody likes them,” Charles remarked, taking the bottle opener from the table before twisting it on a Heineken beer.

Natalia watched him take a sip, crossing her arms at his statement. “You mean to say— of all the Monegasque girls you’ve dated— not a single one ate frogs?”

Charles felt amusement trickling at his through as he spotted the doubt on her face. “Well, I did let them try it.” He restored. “But they either pretended to like it or just straight up told me, quite frankly that they’d rather eat dirt.”

Natalia lights up at that, bringing her hands together in an mirthful clap. “At least some were honest about it,”

Charles nodded, glancing up at her as he began to wonder wether or not he should consume more alcohol to gain the courage to ask her questions that may be deemed too personal. Threading lightly on the subject, he reached for the Daquiri, giving in to its undeniable seductive calling.

“Is it a common food in the Philippines?” He asked, eyes traveling to the curvature of her expression.

Natalia’s lips disconnected from the cold glass rim, licking away the numbness spreading through her mouth. “Not exactly all over the country, but in my province, we do eat it a lot,” A mirror of nostalgia passes by her eyes, slotting in the depths of her memories.

Charles observed as she spaced out, blankly staring at the wooden coffee table. Instead of snapping her out of her trans, he waited patiently for her to regain her train of thought.

Blinking rapidly, the fog of her brain slowly disappeared, a large intake of breath released from her lungs before she cleared her throat.

As she craned her neck back to the person she was talking to, her heart lurched at her throat at the intensity of his stare. His eyes were drowned in unbelievable intent, as if she’d disappear if he was to look away.

“Let’s play that game again,” He said, softly.

“What?”

“That game in the car. 20 questions,” He clarified, tilting his head at her, “I want to play it again.”

Dread filled her mind, mouth beginning to ache, along with the slight tremble of her voice. “Why?”

“We’re going to spend a lot of time together,” He pointed out. “I’ve know you for quite a while but I don’t know anything about you. . .”

“There’s nothing to know,” She huffed, eyebrows coming together in a pinch. “My life isn’t interesting in the slightest.”

Charles narrowed his eyes at her, careful not to overstep. “I’ll ask basic questions then,”

She scrunched her face up at him. “Like what?”

With his eyes on her, he shrugged. “How did you end up in Monaco?”

“That’s not—” She sighed, pulsing her palms into an alternating clench. Her hands came up to snatch the beer off the table, taking a large gulp of it.

This was not a good idea from the start but then again, she made no complaints about it either.

Setting the bottle down with a loud clank, she tuts at his waiting figure. “I applied for the scholarship grant, almost failed the final interview, found out I didn’t, and— lo and behold, I’m here.”

The vagueness of her answer made Charles roll his eyes. “You almost failed? Why?” He questioned.

Natalia frowned at him, wagging her finger up at his line of vision. “No—no, it’s my turn,”

Charles sighed, defeated, downing a shot of tequila as the former thought of her first question. “Who’s your favorite sibling?”

Taken aback, he smiled at her random choice of words. “I don’t have one,”

His answer was met by a judgmental glance. “Boo! Everybody has one. Come on!”

Hesitation reeled him in with the desire to end thos query immediately. So, with all the shame warped into a giant ball in his heart. Je all but murmured a name.

“Sorry, say that again?” He could practically feel the teasing smirk on her face as she neared her ear on his mouth.

His eyes fluttered close, amusement and annoyance dancing at his veins. “I said, Arthur—”

She laughed, finding his imminent torture to have soothe her pounding heart. “Don’t feel bad, it’s pretty obvious anyway,”

At that, Charles didn’t indulge in her usual provocative style. Instead, thwacking her back with another personal question.

“What do your parents to for a living?”

She coughed, the sharp taste of alcohol pricking at her throat as it violently drew back to her nose.

“Are you okay?” The concern etched visible at the lines of Charles’ face as he stood up to hand her a tissue. He sat next to her, plucking more out of the box as she attempted to stop the liquid pouring out from her nostrils.

She gratefully took the tissue from him, blowing her nose into it. She would’ve found it embarrassing as she heard the disgusting noise it made as she emptied her now stinging nose of the culprit if it weren’t for her spinning mind.

She wiped her jeans, trying to play it cool as she responded. “My parents— My mom was an accountant and my dad— he. . . used to trade oil.”

Charles peaked onto her face, wiping of the remnants of beer on her cheek. “What’s wrong with that?”

Natalia swallowed the painful block of her throat, hand coming up to where he had his on her face. “Nothing. . . I-it’s not their jobs. I just wasn’t expecting you to ask about my parents.”

“We—”

The loud ringing of a phone interrupted their conversation. Natalia felt the vibration in her bag before she realized it was hers.

This dispelled the heavy ambiance of the atmosphere, waking the occupants from their trance.

Oh shit, Natalia thought as she saw the caller’s name flash on her phone.

Nicolas Todt

As soon as she pressed the green button signifying her death, the device was gone, only to be taken by the tutting Monegasque beside her.

She immediate shuffled up, desperately trying to get the phone out of his grip. It was too late, however, as he stood up at the sound of his manager’s voice.

Deflating in defeat, Natalia hopelessly smothered her head on the soft cushion’s of the couch.

“Hello?”

“What are yo— Hello? Charles? Is that you?”

Natalia winced at the pure hostility in Nicolas’ tone. Even after figuring out that the taker of the call was indeed his well-loved client, it didn’t quell the scorching heat of his flaming outrage.

“Oui c'est moi. Quoi de neuf?” Yes, it’s me. What’s up?

In contrast to Charles’ collected attitude, Natalia could feel her insides churning slowly into a blob of mush. Her only wish was for Charles not to ruin this job for her was beggining to whither away with the his careless actions.

“Quoi de neuf?” What’s up? Nicolas echoed, his sharp scoff going through the phone’s speaker and stabbing Natalia directly in the deepest part of her chest.

“Vous n'avez pas vérifié votre téléphone?” He spat, as it were acid poured on his tongue.

At the word phone, Natalia’s head shot up from the condoling compressor of her resting place, panicking as she searched for her phone.

The cumulus fog accumulating her head, clouded the clarity of her thinking, making her forget that someone else had possessed the thing she was looking for.

Charles nodded along to the string of profanities Nicolas kept rambling through his ear, shifting her attention to the frightened girl on his couch. Her heightened vigilance evident as trembling her hands patted wildly along his furniture.

He aided her frantic movements with a soft brush of his hand on her cheek, tapping his thumb on her paled skin.

Natalia whipped her head around to face him, breathing out of sigh of relief as she followed his finger pointing to his phone.

Wasting no time, she snagged it off the table, nearly shoving it on Charles’ face when it demanded a passcode after failing the face recognition system.

Charles careened his head backwards to avoid the object barreling into his face.

Natalia waited, anxiously fiddling with the stitchings of her clothing, as the daunting atmosphere worsened every second that passed by.

She almost tore Charles’ entire arm from his body by the vast amount of force she exerted at him. Quickly tapping on Google app, her hands shook as they hovered over the keys, thoughts failing to conjure words she needed.

“Charles Leclerc girlfriend. . .” A whisper came next to her.

She gritted her teeth at the awful joke. Perhaps as knew it wasn’t an impossible headline. It dawned to her the severity of their offense as she typed his name on the search bar.

It appears that her groan of indignation was loud enough for Nicolas’ ears as Natalia heard his mocked version of it despite being on Charles’ space.

“Did you see it?” Nicolas queried, his tone unreadable.

Natalia turned the screen to Charles’ vision. And the idiot had the audacity to laugh.

Merely hacking into his balled fist, the presence of his teeth behind his lips irritated both Nicolas and Natalia.

In disgustingly big letters, the headline read:

Natalia swiped at the screen, ticking her brow in victory as the smile drained visibly off his face at what she had shown.

“Now, that’s not funny. . .”

You don’t say. . .” She gritted, padding a hand on her chest to feign shock.

Charles offered her an apologetic pat on the head of the sneering girl. The latter slapped his hand away, force firm but not enough to do any harm.

Natalia could hear the faint murmurs of Nicolas before his voice was amplified by Charles’ simple tap of the speaker phone.

“Listen, both of you,” He commended. “Gossip magazines aren’t exactly fond of what ever it is you’re doing.”

“I am so sorry—”

“You are not.” The dripping venom in his tone made Natalia flinch back, leaning away from the source of his voice as if he were to pop out of the screen. “I don’t know what you were both thinking but luckily social media loved your little rendezvous.”

Silence fell between the scolded individuals, eyes creeping up to see the other’s reaction. Like staring directly at a mirror, they alined body language that could only be read as confusion.

“So. . . That means?” Natalia trailed, leveling her vocals in light of steering clear of another possible volcanic eruption from Nicolas.

“It means. . .” Nicolas pressed, annoyance still present. “You have to continue your. . . what you call it?”

Natalia listen intently as Nicolas asked someone for the word he was searching for. “The what? Oh— yes that. . . Your situationship.”

“Ew no!” Natalia’s extreme protest was met with sheer bewilderment on Charles’ part, struggling to process the meaning of the foreign term.

“What is that? What’s a situationship?”

At his question, Natalia stirred back to him, giving him a look of disbelief. Nicolas on the other hand simply clicked his tongue, sighing brfore supplying the answer to his client.

“They’re two people who have no sense of direction regarding their relationship.” He explained, and though he cannot see the expression on Charles’ face, he knew very well what it was.

“Is that a bad thing?”

Natalia’s jaw slackened, palm slapping on his forehead. And although she knew Nicolas’ explanation of situationship was a fairly watered down version of the real deal, she didn’t have the strength to further Charles’ knowledge on the subject.

Nicolas ignored his question. “We’ll talk more about this tomorrow. I advise you to not step out of that building until daylight.”

Natalia’s eyes widened at that. “What? You want me to stay here?”

“Certainly.” He concluded.

Sensation drained completely from her body. The electric feeling of lacking blood, slowly spread in an infectious manner. With it, the chill of reality came to set in.

“I’ve already informed Toto of the situation.”

As if it wasn’t enough, after hearing that, the lavender scent of the atmosphere that was thought to have the a calming effect seemed impotent, in comparison to the vigorous hold this ghastly chain of anxiety had on her.

Of all the things she feared, the idea of disappointing Toto Wolff and Susie Wolff was an absolute nightmare. How could she face the people who gave her the opportunity of a life time if she were to do dim-witted things like this?

In the midst of her internal battle, her head stirred to the cause of her misbehavior. He just so happened to be looking at her as well.

Unlike the pointed glare she blatantly jabbed into his face, Charles offered her a worried glance that could bloom flowers on his pretty little head.

Despite her scornful demeanor, she couldn’t shake away the guilt of being in this position. She was aware that it wasn’t Charles’ fault alone but perhaps putting all the blame in him would ease her desire to simply jump on a boat and abandon everything she ever dreamed in her life.

Natalia recoiled at the sudden warmth on her arm. Look towards the source, she relaxed at the sight of Charles’ hand on her skin.

He had ended the call, sitting back down on his previous place. “How do you want to do this?”

Natalia heaved a heavy sigh, afraid that the force might collapse her lungs. “I honestly can’t think of anything else but being fired. . .”

Charles took her hand in a grip that he could only hope held the comfort he was trying to induce. “You won’t. I’m the reason you’re here. I’ll talk to them.”

“You better. . .” She huffed, shoving a strong palm at his shoulder. “I don’t think I’ll be able to look my classmates in the eye when I have to go back to University, though.”

“When do you have to go back?” He asked.

“In three days. We have to submit a report every two weeks regarding our performance.” She expounded, thinking about the sour look on her headmaster’s face at the sight of his achingly popular student walking in her office.

“Well, in that case, you can say that you helped me increase my fanbase by 2% in just three weeks.” Charles tried to provide a consolation.

Natalia hummed, lips curling as she was reminded of that information. “You make it sound like I’m a one-man team. . .” She shook her head.

She was sure that Charles’ PR team wouldn’t appreciate her taking all the credit for the improvements in the Ferrari driver’s personal accounts.

“Probably not. But most of it was your idea.”

It was intended to aid the boisterous voices crowding the little space left in her brain that wasn’t consumed by the nauseating noise of failure but alas proved to be ineffective as she abruptly stood up and took her phone from Charles’ lap.

Tapping the number she knew would cover the gaping hole of fear continuously scraping at her brain.

She watched as her phone started ringing, the name of her partner in crime flashing on the screen.

Lissie