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scarlettroubles · 3 years ago

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HPHM fanfic WIPs

I’ve actually been writing some fanfics for Eileen’s story as well as some Ryder Family lore for a while now but because of school I haven’t been able to get around to finishing any of them so I thought it would be cool to show you all some sneak peaks so enjoy!

In the Face of Fear chapter 2: of Faceless Strangers and Empty Halls

(The continuation to this fic)

She does not remember how long she has stood in this queue. Hell, she doesn't even remember what she's in line for anyway, not really. Logically she knows it's to get some important documents approved of before carting it off to the next sorry sod who was stupid enough to land themselves in this God forsaken place too. But she honestly couldn't bring herself to care. Politics, desk jobs, rules? She never cared for them really. Not even once.

She hated office work. Tulip had always found it dreadfully boring and the people who actually bothered with the crap even more so. So why did she take one?

The red head found herself racking her brain for answers as she waited oh so painstakingly for the queue to move and for her to be done with all this boring crap and lock herself in her boring little cubicle and bury her head under a shit ton of useless paperwork that, if she were lucky enough would hopefully suffocate her before this job did. But one look ahead of the line was enough for her to discern that it wouldn't be budging any time soon.

Why did she take this job? She hated the Ministry. Hated how suffocating rules and laws were. Sure, some were needed but that did not change the fact that Tulip Karasu did not like being restrained. So why the hell was she here? Working a dreadful job that was sucking the life out of her. Working for dreadful people who knew not the meaning of fun and only the meaning of responsibility, paperwork, and order and snuffing out the flame of good ol' fun chaos before it could really take spark. In a dreadful queue that was far too long to be normal with people and coworkers whose faces she always seemed to forget.

So why? Why here? She saw what this job did to people. How strict it made her parents. How high their expectations of her were and how they wouldn't accept anything less than perfect from their daughter. Despite most of the fog that clouded her tired mind she could still remember it so clearly... The promise she had made to herself so long ago. She had promised herself that she would never work here and would never be like her parents. Not if she could help it.

Did she finally resign to their wishes? Bowed like some obedient little servant and catered to their every whim? Had her fear of what she would do once she left Hogwarts finally override her logic?

Why did schools even do that? Why did the world do that? Telling students to make up their minds on what career to choose from such an early age? Tulip has seen what happened to the people that were unlucky enough to land themselves in a job that sucked the life out of them. She remembers how sometimes the most brilliant of students ended up having their spark extinguished as soon as they left school. Left to reminisce on their glory days and what could have been. The very thought of it made her tighten her hold on the documents in her hands.

Because everybody needs to know what they want to be at an early age. Everybody needs to know their place. They just have to have a place...

It was one of Tulip's greatest fears.

Ending up in a job that gave her zero satisfaction. A job that would end up isolating herself from everyone and everything because nobody wants to be friends with a traitor. A no good friend that turns on the other for their own gain. That's why Merula left-

Tulip was snapped out of her thoughts when she suddenly felt the sharp edges of the stack of documents she was carrying dig annoyingly into her side and moved to adjust them. Checking each one carefully to see if they've been ruined in any shape or form.

The last time she had presented a stack of reports that were ever so slightly crumpled and not properly organized to fit the pencil haired bastards ridiculously high standards she had been given such a withering gaze by her superior that she had felt herself visibly shrink just the tiniest bit. But the want to smack the arrogant sod and prank him mercilessly was stronger.

How she wished she could pull out a heap of dungbombs or any other joke shop product and just reign full chaos upon this hellhole.

She looked up and, to her relief the line had actually moved significantly. In fact, She was only three heads away from being in the front of the line. Huh, that was...Weird.

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Regrets of a Useless Man

(Context: A story told from Edward Ryder’s perspective and explores how he grew up mentored by his father, to becoming an Auror and meeting Julianna and to the tragedy that caused the Ryder Family to spiral down a path of grief and neglect).

Useless.

Edward remembers how often that word was hissed at him with such venom in his youth. How hard it would make him physically recoil, and if it wasn't the venom behind the words that stung, it was the pain and shock from the slap that would often follow next.

He remembers so clearly the sound of hand meeting cheek echoing so loudly within the Hunter's room of the Ryder Family Manor that day, and how the shadows in the dark room, the dancing fire in the hearth and the countless portraits of long dead ancestors were the only things to lay witness to it.

The day had started off simple enough. His father had brought him to the library for his afternoon studies on magical combat and magic theory. Edmund had forced the studies onto him when he was just 7, and Edward was now 12. Today though, Edward found it difficult to focus on reading the ink written words on the paper before him, he instead thought of the words his father said to him the day he had first started bringing him into this room every afternoon to ready him for what he claimed to the then 7-year-old, was his destiny.

"Your mother may think I'm being too harsh on you boy, but a child must learn sooner or later if he is to make his way in life. And you, Edward, my son…You will bring this family to glory. You will take back what once was mine... You will make me proud."

His father had made it his goal to have Edward become the next Head Hunter of the Hunters of Artemis. The group of bounty hunters and other unsavory individuals who were tasked in hunting down those The Ministry could not. Members were either recruited by the group's leader or were sentenced into joining it by The Ministry if they deemed the criminal guilty but useful elsewhere other than filling the empty cells up in Azkaban.

The title of headhunter used to be his father's. Back when Ryder was up against Ryder during the Wolves Rebellion. Edward remembers bits and pieces of the bloodshed. Their family's civil war had only recently ended after all. And although Edward was still young when the war was at its peak, he was there to see the ending of it.

His father had lost a duel to the death for the title of headhunter against his own uncle and just when he was about to be killed, he was saved by his younger brother, Octavius Ryder, who would later become the next headhunter and finally put an end to their Family's civil war. While Octavius was hailed a hero by his family, Edmund Ryder was left crippled and was left to depend on a cane for the rest of his life.

"Edmund's leg wasn't the only thing that was left crippled, his pride and soul got crippled too."

His uncle Octavius had once told him that. And he knew it was true. Edward had seen the photos of his father back when he was younger. Before the Wolves Rebellion and before being damned to rely on a cane for the rest of his life. Edmund Ryder was a fierce and strong man. A man whose tall stature and commanding presence left his enemies either fleeing from the sight of him or hesitating to raise their wands. Knowing the moment they did, they would probably end up dead. But now though? Now Edmund Ryder was just a bitter old man who resorted to chasing his glory days and what he thought was rightfully his through his eldest son.

It was rather pathetic of him, to be honest.

"Get your head out of whatever childish fantasy you've ludicrously conjured, boy!" His father's sharp voice cut in. Snapping Edward out from his thoughts. He met his father's heated stare and could only sheepishly duck his head in apology. Silently hoping his father would let it go, just this once. He was a child after all, he could be allowed to be one every now and then couldn't he? But in Edmund's eyes, being a child meant close to nothing. He was just another soldier to train.

Edmund looked hard and long at his eldest son before letting out a huff and stood up from his seat. grabbing for his cane, he motioned for his eldest son to follow him. Edward looked at the door and calculated in his still youthful mind if making a mad dash for the door and hiding ‘til his mother came back from whatever social gathering his father had set up for her would be worth it. He knew it would not though. The first time he tried to escape his studies and sneak off to play with his siblings it hadn't ended well for either of them.

And so, the child silently got up and dutifully followed his father out of the room and into the halls. He could feel the eyes of the animated portraits his family had kept for centuries dig into the back of his skull and Edward so very badly wanted to shrink and hide away.

"You need to be reminded of what is at stake here, Edward." His father said as the steady clank of his cane meeting the floor echoed within the Manor with every step he took forward before taking a sharp left. And with that left, Edward knew exactly where his father was taking him to.

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Expanded Ryder Lore: The Wolves Rebellion

(Sometimes, all it takes is a few words for a family to turn against one another.

When the Ryder family finds themselves being requested an audience with a man named Gellert Grindelwald, Esteban Ryder and his brother, Orion Ryder decide to entertain the man and accept his request, not knowing that by doing so, a fight for the title of head hunter would soon take place. A fight where each family member would find themselves asking if they’d rather be a dragon or they’d rather be a wolf).

The Wolves Rebellion refers to a civil war that happened within the Ryder Family during the 1920s and lasted until the 1940s. It is regarded as one of the most bloody civil wars that happened within the Ryder family and nearly led to the House’s extinction.

The fighting came about because of a speech. Not just any speech but one given by none other than Gellert Grindelwald, regarded to be one of the most feared and most powerful dark lords of his time. Grindelwald was just coming into power and was seeking out allies and followers all over the world in order to rally an army large enough for war. He had already managed to sway a majority of the influential pure-blood families in Europe to join his side, and was now looking for new allies in the British Isles.

He had the Malfoy's, the Black's, and the Parkinson's families in his palm in an instant. As the dark lord was mulling over what family to sway to his side next, one name had managed to pique his interest, The Ryder Family.

The Ryder's were a feared and well-respected family known for their ferocity in battle and for their loyalty. Grindelwald had heard stories of the Ryder's toppling down many dangerous adversaries and mighty beasts, one of them being the very beast they had as their house crest, a dragon. But that wasn't what really got the dark lords attention, no. What got it were the rumors. Rumors of the family having a unique short of magic which came in the form of instinct. Instincts so strong they knew when to block a spell from an enemy before it was even shot, instinct that helped warn them of danger before it even took place, and as a seer, an ability that granted the man the ability to see visions of the future, Grindelwald was all too eager to see if the rumors were true and to see just how useful and alike his ability was with theirs.

And so Grindelwald sent a letter to the Ryder family, requesting to have an audience with them. The Ryder's were definitely ticked off by such arrogance, but the head of the family at that time, Esteban Ryder and Head Hunter, Esteban’s younger brother, Orion Ryder, had been hearing of this man for months now and decided to entertain him and accepted his request if not to just satisfy their own curiosity about this strange wizard from Germany.

The dark lord was welcomed into the Ryder Family's home in a show of good faith however Esteban, surrounded by his hounds and seated with his wife and 4 children by his side, demanded that the man get straight to the point about what he wanted. Grindelwald obliged to the man's demand and told them. And told him they did for not even a minute later did the Ryder's find themselves entranced by the man's honeyed words.

As the man spoke of his vision and dream for a world where wizards and witches could be free and didn’t have to hide in the shadows, Esteban took a look across the room and let his eyes take in the faces of the rest of his family members, he felt a wave of unease wash over him and settle at the bottom of his heart as he saw the hunger that swam in their eyes that only grew larger with every pretty word and lie that left the dark lord’s mouth.

For when the Ryder’s fled to the British Isles following Adrian Ryder and his family’s betrayal back in the 17th century, The family of hunters suddenly found themselves being hunted. The Ministry had been informed by the new fledgling American wizarding government, MACUSA of the Ryder family’s possible involvement with scourers and of their bloody history of hunting down mercenaries and dragons, and so The Ministry did what they did best. They killed those who they feared and nearly had the entire family exterminated like rodents. It was only when the Minister of Magic realized that the Ryder’s would be more useful to him alive than dead did he decide to spare them and cease the bloodshed. The Minister had the Ryder’s and their hunters swear loyalty to The Ministry and the once proud family of dragons found themselves reduced to loyal hunting dogs.

Grindelwald knew damn well about the Ryder’s being reduced to such a sorry state and having their freedom stripped away from them so fucking easily. And cleverly used it to get them on his side. He told them, “why should you all be muzzled and treated like dogs when you are something so much mightier than that? You are dragons, and dragons do not cower in front of anyone.”

Grindelwald thanked Esteban and Orion Ryder for their time and bid them farewell, and as the dark lord left the family to contemplate on his words, he also left with them a seed. A seed of doubt and malice that would soon sprout and dig it’s vile roots within the Ryder family that would cause them to have a power struggle that would leave body after body in its wake.

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Two Lesbians and a Baby

(Context: A short story that takes place in the AU Eileen and Merula end up together during the Second Wizarding War).

“I thought you said not to get attached to the baby.”

Merula jumped in surprise from the voice behind her, causing her to jostle the baby cradled in her arms. She took a quick look down to make sure it was still sleeping and not getting ready to scream itself hoarse for having its nap interrupted and was relieved to find the little thing not making a fuss like it normally had these past few weeks of taking care of the insufferable thing.

The cursebreaker let out a sigh of relief. Glad that she didn’t have to deal with the nasty bugger before turning her attention to her wife and giving her her best withering glare. The kind that made most of her pathetic coworkers back at Gringotts cower beneath the powerful witch’s gaze. But Eileen, who had been married to Merula for 2 years and had known the Slytherin for far longer merely chuckled into her hand, completely unaffected by the threats and death glares her wife sent her at this point which was something Merula wasn't all too happy about.

“Have you gone mad Ryder? Of course I haven’t gotten attached to this pathetic, smelly little hell spawn!” Merula huffed as she straightened her posture and looked up at her dearly detested bastard of a spouse.

Eileen merely gave the shorter woman an amused look as she stared up and down at the way the Slytherin was unconsciously angling her body to better shield the baby from any potential danger. Her eyes softened as they landed onto the still sleeping bundle in her wife’s arms which only caused Merula to feel annoyance start to claw up her throat.

“If there’s anyone who’s getting attached to this thing it’s you! You’ve been acting all soft and dopey eyed these entire two weeks of caring for this brat! Honestly, the way this thing has gotten you wrapped around it’s tiny little finger is pathetic even for you, Ryder.’ Merula spat out venomously.

"Oh, and you haven't? I've seen the way you look at the little fella when you cradle him in your arms, or the way you give him one of your rare gentle smiles the few times you managed to wrangle a giggle out of him. Or how when he wakes up in the middle of the night and it's your turn to take care of him, you grumble about it but sing him back to sleep anyway. You may deny it but you secretly love caring for this little bundle of joy that you lovingly call a 'hell spawn'.

“Face it Merl, you're completely enamoured with this little guy."

#eileen ryder #edward ryder #merula snyde #tulip karasu #hphm #harry potter hogwarts mystery #hogwarts mystery mc #hogwarts mystery #the ryder family #ryder family lore #keep in mind I'm still new to writing ya'll #its only in this fandom that I finally got the nerve to well #write and actually post that writing so yeah #hope u all liked it #I made #an entire timeline for the ryder family #just to keep track of the lore and eileen's story #as well as a family tree just so I could write the wolves rebellion lore #my writing

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calumrose · 4 years ago

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Trigger [Police/Gang!AU] Chapter 7 || C.H

A//N: I feel like I haven’t updated in so long when in reality it’s only been 3 days. I’ve got so many WIPs right now, and I am so excited to post more! So keep an eye out for those! But yes, here is chapter 7 for all you lovely people! Thank you to everyone who has been reading this so far, I really appreciate it!

Word Count: 11.6k

Summary: Eloise Gray and Calum Hood, not two people you would ever think to put together. What started as a ploy for power turned into a romance, resulting in the realisation that loving your enemy may not be such a bad thing after all.

Previous Chapters: Prologue / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6

12 Days Left

The constant honking of traffic, the incoherent chatter of bystanders, and the smell of excess petrol had become comforting to Eloise over the years. It was the natural scent of the city she resided in; the smell always so unbearably strong that it practically embedded itself in the noses of the visitors the city welcomed every day. And as much as Eloise wanted to escape and explore new places, she knew it would be a smell she would miss, even if only a little.

Central Park had only ever been a place she visited with friends, typically because the likes of Paige and Jackson lived in that side of New York, it being quite literally on their doorstep, unlike the rest of them who had to travel in order to visit the well-known location.

“Fancy a trip to the zoo?” Calum’s question caused her eyes to break from the sight of the busker to her left as they entered the park. She looked in the direction of where his eyes fell, looking towards the zoo entrance in all its glory along with the crowded queue that was almost painful to think about.

“Maybe another time,” She chuckled, not really in the mood to stand in a queue for god knows how long and pay a ridiculous price just to look at animals for a few hours, “Why don’t we just find a place to sit and have a conversation like normal people?”

“Normal people?” Calum’s tone held fake surprise, “You mean to tell me that you, Eloise, want to have an actual conversation with me?”

“Shocking stuff I know, now c’mon,” She responded with the same joking attitude, nudging the back of his arm as they continued to walk through the park. It was a sight that never failed to relax her, the greenery and gentle atmosphere being enough to temporarily transport her to a state of believing she had no worries, like she had nothing to be afraid of.

The past week with Calum had been nothing like she had experienced before. It felt good to know she had a safe space other than her own apartment although she had begun to feel unsafe in her own home, fearing that an unwelcome individual would burst through her door at any given moment after discovering her little secret. But in Calum’s home, she felt like she could live, breathe, and embrace every moment that she felt her heartbeat in her chest.

Seven days felt like seven months when they would lay together in his bed, fingers interlaced as she would trace his tattoos that were painted on his brown skin. She’d ask a million questions about them, wanting to know every story behind each individual piece of art that littered his body. She had learnt the story of how the initials on each hand were for his parents, the name on his left forearm was his sister, how the thistle on his bicep was a homage to his Scottish heritage, and how the Roman numerals on his collarbone represented a year that his life changed. There were so many stories he had shared that she felt as though she wouldn’t remember them, but she found herself being able to recall every single one each time her eyes caught sight of the ink.

Late night conversations were full of questions about their pasts, asking about their childhoods and about stupid things they could recall from simpler times. Calum was a lot more open about his own memories than Eloise was, many of her own recollections being forgotten with purpose. She didn’t know if she was ready to dig them all back up just yet, and Calum respected that.

Early morning rises would be filled with the smell of coffee and fruity essences from the yoghurt Calum had added to his shopping list after learning of Eloise’s love for the strawberry flavour. He learnt of her tendencies of waking up in the unsociable hours of the morning, her body clock naturally seeming to have shifted since she started staying at his place on a more regular occasion. Before, she was lucky if she could sleep past 10am, now it was 7am. Calum often woke up and found her in the kitchen, legs crossed as she sat up on the countertop by the window, staring out into the city as the sun rose up, a bowl of yoghurt and chopped fruit in her lap as she enjoyed the peaceful silence of the morning. He never disturbed her when she was in that state, his body just standing in opening of the hallway, dark eyes on her that were filled with nothing but admiration.

He had come to learn that she was very appreciative of the small moments that she got to experience, figuring that a lot of that was due to the great deal of loss she had suffered over the years; wanting to absorb everything she felt as though she took for granted, like the sunrise; a beautiful sight that only a lucky few got a chance to see in all its glory.

An open patch of grass caught Eloise’s attention, her fingers gripping onto the fabric of the sleeve of his empathy hoodie, subtly dragging him along so she could claim the empty space before any other civilian who was found at the park.

“El, babe, slow down,” The nickname fell from Calum’s lips like butter, as if it were always supposed to. He had dropped pet names like those a few times throughout their time together, and she wondered if he truly noticed how often he let them slip. They were natural to him, feeling as though there was no other name that he knew for her other than what he felt suited her so perfectly. Eloise could swear her stomach flipped every time a simple nickname fell from his soft lips, assuring her that she wanted nothing else than to hear them a thousand times over.

“You’re the one who dragged me outside, so we’ll do things at my pace, that’s the deal,” She smirked to herself as she adjusted her jeans slightly before sitting down at the dry grass.

“Since when did I agree to that?” He raised a questioning brow, the slight upturn of his lip’s inkling on a borderline smirk. That smirk would get him in trouble one day, Eloise could sense it.

The sun beat down on the city of New York, speckles of gold seeping through the gaps in the tree branches as it painted the park with strips of yellow. It created a sight that Eloise could only wish she could see every day; the sight of Calum sat there with the sun beating down, the bright rays only bringing out how golden he truly was, as if gold met gold in the moment the sun connected with him.

Brown eyes cascaded over the park around them, Eloise’s gaze settling on a young girl who sat a few metres from them. She watched as the young blonde’s hand worked against the sketchpad in her lap, eyes flickering up to glance at the grand building that towered over the park. Eloise felt her back straighten almost inquisitively, her head tilting slightly to side as if to try and get a better view of the pad.

“What’s she drawing?” Calum asked, leaning back against his hands to keep himself up, eyes watching Eloise’s curiosity get the better of her. He had noted that she was a curious person, always watching what people were doing, always noticing people who were so submerged in their own world, especially those of the artistic mind. She seemed to have an eye for it.

Eloise watched as the pencil in her hand glided along the paper, imagining she could hear the soft strokes of graphite against the white paper as if she were sitting right next to her. She had a lot of respect for art, it always blowing her mind how someone could create something so beautiful with their own hands. She let her brown eyes look back to Calum, noticing how his eyes were sat on her own, admiring the interest she had shown in the stranger’s talent, before she responded with a smile, “I think she’s drawing the top of The Plaza, because if you look just over there,” She pointed in the direction of where the girl had been looking, “You can see the top of the hotel over the trees.”

“You seem to notice a lot of artistic people in the city for someone who doesn’t hold an artistic bone in her body,” Calum chuckled, remembering how they had discussed previously Eloise’s admiration for art but never having the ability to create any herself. He pulled his arm close to his chest in attempt to avoid her hand as it tried to smack him, his nose scrunching just a little as the smile on his face grew. “Did you ever have any hobbies when you were a teenager? Or anything that stuck and grew into a passion?”

Eloise shook her head, wrapping an arm around her right knee as it bent so she could keep it close to her chest as she responded, “I was that kid who always tried to find a hobby but gave up within a few minutes because it wasn’t as straight forward as I wanted it to be, and I also had zero patience.” Her free hand reached up to pull down the sunglasses that were resting on her head, setting them against the bridge of her nose so they shielded her eyes from the sun as the bright glare shifted direction in the sky.

“Ah, so you were one of those kids,” Calum spoke as if it all suddenly made sense, resulting in another playful smack against his arm from Eloise. She had definitely met her match when it came to teasing people, “And yet there’s still so much for me to learn,”

“About?” Eloise quirked a brow, reaching around her back to pull down the back of her shirt, the cool breeze against her spine signalling that the shirt had begun to ride up.

“You,” Calum sat upright, reaching down between his legs as he plucked a few blades of grass from the ground, eyes watching his hands before he reconnected them with Eloise’s own dark ones, “I’ve got an idea; quick-fire quiz with random questions about you, you have one pass and you’ve got to answer everything, got it?”

“Why do I feel like I’m going to regret agreeing to this stupid game?” A playful roll of her eyes were given as she shifted her body weight, turning to her left so she could face him head on, “Right, go ahead then if you must.”

Calum parted his lips slightly as he looked up in thought. He hadn’t even considered making up any questions to ask, not quite expecting her to give in that easily. Who was he kidding? She gave into almost anything he asked, he knew that, so he should have been more prepared. The hamster wheel in his brain seemed to run for a few seconds before a thought came into his head. Thank god for that.

“First question, your favourite subject in school?” He raised an eyebrow, throwing a finger in her direction as he pointed at her, awaiting her answer.

Eloise pursed her lips as she thought for a moment. Come on El, this whole point of quick-fire questions is that it’s supposed to be quick. She tapped her fingers against her thigh for a few seconds before giving an unsure answer of, “I’d probably say English even though I was awful at it, Maths was more of my strong suit but I wouldn’t say I loved it,” She threw a shrug of her shoulders at Calum, “Next question.”

“Favourite colour?”

“Easy, it’s probably red.”

“I have never seen you wear the colour red,” Calum commented, his teeth brushing against his bottom lip as he highlighted the third word, “You barely wear anything other than black or grey, babe. So, for that reason I am calling bullshit.”

“And how would you know? What if I’m wearing red underwear?” Eloise couldn’t stop teasing smirk, a coy pout playing on her lips as she saw his eyebrows raise at her remark. She knew that he was fully aware of what colour her underwear was, as he was the one who had enjoyed the task of removing it from her hands before she had the chance to get dressed this morning, before pulling her into the bathroom for a morning of strenuous activities.

She swore she could see the events of their morning playing in his mind, watching as his jaw worked while her comment echoed in his ears. She loved watching how flustered he got in moments like that; moments where a certain tone, or a sudden string of words had him silenced.

“Favourite artist?” His voice sounded raspy; he hadn’t cleared his throat before he spoke. Eloise’s tongue poked the inside of her cheek, noting how he tried to brush over what she had said, fighting the urge to poke fun at the avoidance, knowing full well that what she had said had taken its effect on him.

“Oh that’s a tough choice,” She pursed her lips, a little smug due to knowing what he focusing on right then, she swore she could hear the little voice in his head as it shouted at him to think of something else, “It’s got to be either Mayday Parade or The Maine.”

“Good choice,” He nodded, coughing into his fist as a way of attempting to rid the scratch in his throat. Calum could barely hold himself together and Eloise knew what hold she had over him.

Both knees were pulled to Eloise’s chest, her arms resting on top before she placed her chin down to settle against her forearms, brown eyes looking up at the handsome man she found herself with. She always thought about what they were, if they had a specific title for what they had going on. Did she even want to put a label on what they had? Was there a point in labelling it? It was still something she was trying to figure out; how quickly she felt so normal with Calum, how suddenly everything just seemed like it fit into place as if it had always been that way.

Calum and Eloise had talked briefly about what they were. Calum never rushed her into deciding what she wanted, assuring that he would go with what she felt comfortable with and what she felt ready for. Calum knew he wanted no one else, only having eyes for the girl who had his heart in her hands. He felt vulnerable around her, as if she could shatter his heart within seconds. And unfortunately, there was truth in that concern, as was there with Eloise’s matching one in regard to him. They both held such a strong connection that could be turned and used against them in the press of a button.

The only thing Eloise was sure of was that Calum was everything she had been looking for without even knowing it. He was all she could have wanted in someone; gentle, caring, understanding, forgiving, and so much more that she couldn’t put into words. She had admitted that to him a few mornings ago when they were lying in his bed together, limbs tangled within the sheets, her fingers combing through his hair as they stared at one another. Calum voiced his understanding over her concern for how she felt, suggesting they just say that they’re exclusive with one another, keeping it private, but known to each other that there was no one else in the picture, only the two of them who had eyes for the other.

The little pet names seemed to fall into habit rather quickly after that conversation, the next morning being the first time Calum dropped one in the moment, yawning before he leaned over and pressed a kiss to her cheek before climbing out of the entangled sheets to make his way into the bathroom to get himself ready for work. Eloise had let it slide at first, assuming it was just a slip of the tongue, but then they grew to be more regular, and she couldn’t deny that they didn’t not get her heart going.

“C’mon, let’s go,” Calum spoke up after a few minutes, “My ass is getting numb sitting here.” Eloise looked up to find him standing already, hand reached out for her to grab onto.

“We’ve been sitting for barely twenty minutes and you’re already complaining,” She scoffed, a gently chuckle being sounded as she reached up and grabbed onto his hand. She couldn’t hold back the soft grunt she let out as she let him pull her to her feet, focusing on the warmth of his hand that held onto hers. She noted how he didn’t let go, adjusting his fingers so they slipped in between her own, his hand practically enveloping hers in warmth as they moved back onto the path that led through Central Park.

Calum’s hand was so much larger than hers, she couldn’t help but notice the difference every time he held her hand, the size almost laughable. Eloise cursed at herself at the way butterflies erupted in her stomach at his touch, the smooth skin of his palm against hers being enough to make her feel like she was walking on sunshine. It was almost sickening how much she had grown to love the feeling of his skin on hers in more ways than one.

“What time’s your shift tomorrow?” Eloise spoke softly as they walked, eyes glancing down at their hands swinging gently between their bodies meanwhile their feet walked at different times, her long legs surprisingly unable to keep up with his timely long strides. For a taller girl, she could never walk quickly, not with Calum anyway.

“I start at eight tomorrow,” He responded, eyes catching the small family picnic that was going on just to their right, the corners of his mouth turning up at the thought of that possibility in his future. He had always been a family man, it only setting him up to be ready to eventually have one of his own with someone he loved, someone he could settle down and have a life with. “So, I was thinking, I’d give you a lift home tomorrow morning before I go to work if you need to grab some clean clothes and stuff, and then I could pick you up once I’m finished, take you back to my place and we could do something,”

Eloise’s eyes followed in the direction of where he had turned his head briefly, eyes falling on the young couple who sat with a child, he looked to be around four, as they laughed and smiled together. The open picnic basket was self-explanatory to Eloise, causing a cold shiver to run up her spine at the inkling of a memory she didn’t even know existed. She pulled her attention back up to Calum, hoping he didn’t notice her subtle shudder. “I was thinking I might stay at my place tonight for a change, my neighbours are gonna start being suspicious if they don’t hear me stumbling up my stairs at the crack of dawn soon,” She chuckled, squeezing his hand reassuringly, “It also means Duke can actually get some space in the bed for first time in a while, but I’ll come and see you tomorrow after your shift,”

“Duke’s gonna be upset that you’re leaving him in the house alone,” Calum pointed out, “I think he’s gotten quite fond of you sticking around during the day while I’m workin’, means he’s not on his own all day.” Eloise knew what he was doing; trying to subtly use Duke as a way of persuading – guilt tripping – her into staying at his place for another night. But Eloise knew she had to play this right, she had to go home at some point, she would have to submit herself to the clutches of the Gypsy Kings once again soon enough.

“And you can tell him that I’m very sorry but I have to,” She pouted her lips, leaning into Calum a little as they walked, “Or to make it up to him, I’ll make sure I bring a treat with me when I come back.”

“So, you’re going to bribe my dog?” He furrowed his brows down at her, glaring playfully at the brunette. Eloise puffed her cheeks briefly, eyes shifting out of Calum’s gaze as she focused on the floor for a second.

“Well, it’s the only way I can make sure that he’ll forgive me when I come back,”

“And what about me?” Calum tugged on her hand and pulled her to a stop, moving them out of the way on the path so they weren’t in anyone’s way. His eyebrows raised questioningly, a knowing smirk on his face as his spare hand found her waist, slipping beneath her jacket so he could feel the fabric of her oversized t-shirt beneath his fingers, voice barely above a gravelled whisper when he spoke, “How’re you gonna make sure that I forgive you for leaving me?”

“I’m sure a grown man like yourself can work out a few ways I can ask for your forgiveness,” She winked, giggling softly at the expression that sank onto Calum’s face, his head falling onto her shoulder as he let out a barely audible groan, although it was loud and clear in Eloise’s ears.

“I swear for the love of god,” Calum groaned out, grip tightening around Eloise’s waist as the hand that held hers awkwardly bent as he attempted to raise it. Eloise’s giggle echoed in his ears, the sound highlighting her awareness of how her words had affected him in public yet again. He was weak when it came to that girl, and it was as if she knew exactly how to play to his weakness, using it against him in a poorly timed place. “You’re cruel, and the fact that you’re not even coming back to my place tonight only proves my point,”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to amuse yourself without me,” She whispered, leaning her head so it rested against his on her shoulder, a soft smile creasing her lips as she stood like that for a minute. She wished she could pause time right there and take a picture from someone else’s point of view, to see them together. She tilted her head slightly, pressing a feather like kiss to the side of his head before she softly spoke, “Now c’mon, I’ll buy you a- Scott?”

Calum’s head shot up at her words, forehead creased as his brows furrowed, “You’ll buy me a Scott?”

Eloise didn’t even register his response, eyes looking over in the distance to where a scattering of people walked through the park. Her dark eyes spotted the familiar man in the distance, able to pick out his soft curls from anywhere as well as his particular walk.

“Wait here,” She told Calum, softly releasing his hand from hers and before she could even hear him respond she was running down the path towards the familiar body who had his back to her.

Calum stood there in place, watching as Eloise’s figure shrunk as she ran further into the distance, arms crossing against his chest as he moved along the path a little bit and found a tree to lean against. He pulled out his phone, trying to occupy himself as he waited for Eloise to come back, eyes shifting every few seconds between the screen in his hand to the pretty brunette as she attempted to catch up to her friend. He couldn’t help but feel protective, wanting to make sure she was alright at all times.

Eloise felt her chest get heavy as she ran down the path, a few eyes watching her as she ran past numerous runners; their eyes obviously judging her choice of attire for what they most likely assumed to be an afternoon run. Her eyes closed in on the familiar golden locks of her best friend, his leather jacket shining against the sun.

She reached her hand out as she caught up with him, panting lightly as she called out, “Oi Erikson, do I not even get a hello anymore?” Scott’s expression seemed almost dumbfounded when he turned around, his face relaxing when he registered her voice and saw the one and only Eloise stood behind him, hands resting on the caps of her knees as she caught her breath, bending slightly as she felt her heart hammer faintly against her chest before she could bring herself to stand upright, breath returning to normal after a few seconds passed.

“You’re seriously out of shape,” Scott scoffed, laughing at his best friend’s poor attempt at hiding her heavy breaths as she stood up. Eloise reached out and shoved his shoulder lightly, sending him a warning glare as she straightened up, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets, and stood comfortably.

“Shut up, I’m in better shape than most of that lot,” She laughed, jutting her chin out in the direction of the park, directing her comment towards the others within the gang. Both of them knew which members she was silently talking about, a joint laugh escaping them both at the inside knowledge. “What’re you doing here anyway, last time I checked Central Park is a bit far out of Brooklyn, especially for the likes of you, Scott?”

Scott chuckled at her comment, almost nervously, as he raised his shoulders in a half-shrug, “Suppose I could say the same for you, you’re a bit far out of Brooklyn yourself,” Eloise couldn’t help but notice how his eyes were shifting, as if he were searching for someone or keeping an eye out. He seemed antsy, not an unusual occurrence when it came to Scott being this far out Brooklyn. “How’ve you been anyway? How’re things comin’ along with your cop friend?”

Eloise let out a quiet sigh, shifting her weight to her other foot as she answered, “I should be asking you how you are, you’ve hardly answered your phone and you seem to be ignoring my texts. Am I too lame to talk to now?” She scoffs jokingly at him, chewing the inside of her cheek as she continues, “I’m working on him, I’ve got some information that’ll be useful for Jay to know. I’ve also set up a few decoy details for him to take back to his precinct, so give me a few more days and we’ll be ready to go,”

Scott nods, taking in the words that Eloise had practically spoon fed him. She prayed he couldn’t see through it, praying that for a man she believed to know her so well, that he couldn’t see right through the lies she had just fed to him. She knew he would take her words back to Jay, informing him of the ‘work’ she had done. Scott’s eyes travelled behind Eloise, she had noticed he had done that a few times already, wondering what he was looking at.

“Take it, that’s him?” He jutted out his chin in the direction of the park behind her, eyes finding the dark ones of Calum who kept his gaze firmly planted on Eloise’s back, “Either that’s your copper or some big creepy dude has been staring at your ass for the past five minutes, and my money is the former.”

Eloise rolled her eyes, shaking her head as she glanced behind her, brown eyes finding Calum’s. She smiled softly at him, offering him a small wave as a silent act of reassurance that she was alright. She noted how his shoulders seemed to relax a little at her action, the muscles sinking as his eyes never left her, “Yeah, that’s Calum.”

“So, you gonna let me meet the guy who you’ve been spending all of your time with or are you going to keep me in suspense?” Scott raised an eyebrow, lips parting briefly as he glanced in Calum’s direction. Eloise thanked the sun for her helping her hide her flushed cheeks, making her cheeks and nose almost rosy at the thought of Calum and Scott meeting, the thought making her feel like someone had just dropped a lead weight in her stomach. Eloise couldn’t help but feel as though she was in a catch 22; stuck between her best friend who believed she was acting one way, and Calum who knew her to be acting in the opposite.

But that didn’t stop her from nodding, feeling Scott’s arm slip around her shoulders as they began to make their way to where Calum stood. “Be nice,” Eloise warned through gritted teeth as they closed in on the tree that Calum stood under. The air felt as though it thickened with the closer that they got, Eloise’s chest tightening as she tried to fight the feeling of anxiety that she could feel bubbling up inside of her.

Calum straightened up, sliding his phone back into the pocket of his jeans and walked over and met them halfway, a friendly smile on his face as he met Eloise’s uneasy eyes, noting how uncomfortable she must have been at the thought of Calum meeting her brother by association.

Eloise forced the discomfort in her stomach down, trying to ignore it as she stood with Scott by her side, arm still around her shoulders as he looked towards Calum, a rather unimpressed look on his face. She let out a small cough, clearing her throat, as she introduced them, “Scott, this is Calum, Calum, this is my best friend Scott,” She felt as though she wanted the world to swallow her whole as she felt Scott’s grip tighten ever so slightly around her, a natural tension he had around those he didn’t know and didn’t trust.

“It’s nice to meet you, mate,” Calum sent him a gentle singular nod of his head, a warm smile on his face as he reached out his hand for Scott to shake, “El’s told me a lot about you, you sound like a very important man.”

Eloise sent him a glance, silently thanking him for trying to play it cool, for being nice towards Scott even though the reaction he was receiving from the blond was anything but. Her eyes fell to Scott, sending a subtle kick to the back of his ankle as if to silently say, ‘Just shake his hand.’

Scott sighed as he reached out his hand, grasping Calum’s in his grip as they shook, a dry laugh coming from his throat as he tried not to roll his eyes. “That’s quite a strong grip you’ve got there,” Eloise couldn’t help it as she rolled her eyes at Scott’s remark, silently praying he would drop the act and just be like the Scott she knew, that he would act like her best friend.

“Comes with the territory.” The response was quick to come from Calum, it being instant much like the forced smile on his lips. Eloise knew he would be silently making his job known to Scott, even though he wasn’t trying to rupture Scott, she couldn’t help but want to move things along, trying to cut the interaction as short as possible to spare any unnecessary tension.

It’s not like there wasn’t plenty of it already.

“I was gonna suggest to Calum that we go and grab a hot dog if you wanted to join us?” Eloise offered, head nodding towards the exit of the park, the memory of the brightly coloured food cart outside the gates making her mouth water at the thought. “It’ll be my treat.”

Scott shook his head practically as soon as Eloise let the words slip from her mouth, hand coming up and shaking alongside his head, “I can’t stay long, I’ve got somewhere to be. I just wanted to come by and say hi,”

The awkward silence is almost painful. Cursing herself, Eloise wished she never agreed to letting Scott come over. She wished she had just said something along of the lines of how she’d rather keep them separate to save questions but of course she didn’t think this through. Nice one, Eloise.

She was about to open her mouth to speak, her brain scrambling as it attempted to create a sentence for her to use in order to break the silence before Calum beat her to it.

“So, how long have you known Eloise?” Calum asked, adjusting his stance as an attempt to be perceived as more friendly, trying to cut the clear tension that clouded them, hand resting over the outline of his phone in his pocket.

Eloise didn’t need to see the shift in Scott’s eyes as they fell to her, she could feel the burn in the side of her head along with the way his arm moved, it dropping from around her and returning back to his side, hand sliding back into its home inside his pocket. Eloise wanted to curse herself, knowing she should’ve warned Calum about one thing, but of course she didn’t think. She could only hope this helped her out, that Scott took it as a sign that things were working, that she was invested in the way she needed them to believe, that she was capturing Calum’s attention like they had intended. She just hoped that it wasn’t seen for what it really was.

She needed to slow down; she knew that she was getting too far ahead of herself. Scott was smart, but he wasn’t that smart.

“Too long,” Her voice muttered, a gentle smirk playing her lips as she glanced at Scott, playfully nudging him with her hip to try and go along with the friendly interaction.

“Uh yeah, we’ve been best mates since we were kids. The both of us went through some rough stuff growing up and we’ve stuck together ever since,” Scott nodded, throwing a casual shrug of shoulders into the mix with his response, “I just can’t seem to shake her off.”

“Fuck off,” Eloise laughed, raising a knowing brow, “You’d be lost with me or dead even. I have saved your life more times than you can count.”

It was true. There was more truth in that statement than what Scott wanted to admit. Eloise had helped him out a lot throughout their time together; throughout school, starting off in the gang, and just about every other occasion where things didn’t go to plan for the blond boy.

Eloise had been the one to help him talk his way out of situations he found himself in when he thought he was clever. She had also been the one to cover for him when he would get himself into messes and need a friend to pull him out. Eloise had always been there for him over the years and he couldn’t deny that.

Scott shot her a warning glance before letting a small laugh laced with nostalgia leave him, unable to hide the truth in the statement, “I was a bit of a klutz back in the day, and this one here helped me out a lot. I guess you could say I never quite understood what public embarrassment truly meant,”

“A klutz with a big mouth and shocking taste in women,” Eloise couldn’t stop the mutter before it was too late, eyes watching as Scott scoffed at her and he amusingly jabbed her with his elbow.

“On that note, I’m gonna take my leave,” Scott excused himself, taking a step back as he attempted to extract himself from the gathering rather quickly, “It was nice to meet you, Calum. Suppose I might see you ‘round if she keeps you for longer than usual,” A dry laugh escaped him as he made the remark, eyes catching Eloise’s glaring ones.

Eloise shook her head, the nod barely noticeable as she clenched her jaw and grit her teeth, a warning glare being shot at Scott, “I was gonna ask if you wanted to come by my place tonight and we could hang out, but just for that you can fuck off,” She sighed, raising her hand as she threw a middle finger in his direction.

Scott hummed, knowing she would still want him to come by her apartment. She never didn’t want him to come over when she had offered. “I’ve got plans tonight, some business I need to take care of for work. How about tomorrow night instead? I’ll call you when I’m on my way,”

Eloise sent Scott a nod, “Sure, see you tomorrow then,”

Eventually they bid Scott a goodbye, watching as his silhouette disappeared into the distance, vanishing out of the park as it merged into the crowds that were usually thought of when it came to New York. Eloise released a relieved sigh, the departure of her best friend making her feel as though she could breathe again, feeling the tension deplete with the great distance between them that grew as he was out of sight.

She turned in place, catching Calum’s eyes watching as she seemed to relax. God, she felt horrible for making him suffer through that. Scott wasn’t usually so… not Scott. She swore he was a nice guy but this just highlighted the arrogance that she tried to ignore every day, almost if she forced herself to be blinded to it, not wanting to believe he had it in him to act like that.

“I’m really sorry about him, he’s not usually like that,” Eloise apologised, figuring she owed Calum some form of an explanation as to why she shot off earlier without a second thought, “Scott’s been giving me the silent treatment for the past few days and I didn’t know why; he was avoiding my calls and ignoring my texts and it was bugging me because we used to never go a single day without talking to one another,” She was rambling now, “So when I saw him, I guessed it was a perfect opportunity to ask him about it and then he spotted you staring, asked if he could come and say hi, then he- “

“Eloise, it’s alright,” Calum cut her off with a laugh, stopping her in the middle of a ramble that not even she knew how long it would continue for, his hands placing themselves on her shoulders, squeezing them reassuringly, “He’s your friend, you’re allowed to go and speak to him,”

“Something’s not right with him though,” She sighed, feeling rather defeated, “He’s not himself and I can’t tell what it is. It’s almost like he’s changing, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“You can’t do anything,” Calum told her, slipping a comforting arm around her shoulder as they turned and began to make their way through the park, heading towards the exit, walking the opposite direction to where Scott had departed, “It’s probably whatever Jay’s planning just getting to his head. It’s a big scheme and a lot is on the line for them,”

“Thanks for reminding me,” She rolled her eyes, sighing heavily as they walked.

The colours of the food cart soon came into sight, Eloise’s stomach practically growling at the thought of some food. The two of them made their way over to the queue, standing in line and began to wait.

“Scott’ll be meeting with some the guys tonight,” She spoke out, “That’s what he meant by ‘work’, so he’ll be filling them in on our little run-in today,”

“And that’s a good thing, right?” Calum sent a questioning look.

“I think so, it’ll make them think that their plan is working,” She nodded, silently trying to convince herself of her uncertain response, “The fact that you called me Eloise will go a long way in convincing them, it’ll make them see that I’ve ‘wormed’ my way in,” She raised her fingers to use as quotation marks at the word wormed.

The confusion is Calum’s face couldn’t be missed, the crease in his forehead and furrow of his brows only solidifying the questioning look he continued to give her, “How is me calling you by your name helping?”

Eloise sighed, knowing she would need to explain. She cleared her throat as she looked ahead of the line, making a note of the few people in front of them that were still waiting to be served.

“Back when I lost my dad, it was quite hard to hear my name. People had been calling me ‘El’ for a while since I was a kid, but my parents almost always called me Eloise, and when I didn’t have them around anymore, my name just reminded me of them and how much I was hurting,” She explained, sighing as she threw a hand in her pocket, feeling Calum’s arm drop from her shoulder as it found her free one, his fingers lightly grasping hers as an attempt to comfort her, “So I started telling people to just call me ‘El’ so it felt like I wasn’t me, so I could pretend like it didn’t happen,”

Calum just nodded, brushing her knuckles with his thumb as he listened. Every time she mentioned her parents, he couldn’t stop his heart from hurting, almost as if he was feeling her own pain when she spoke of them.

“But certain people still call me by my full name, but it became sort of public knowledge with those I associated myself with that only certain people got to call me Eloise; like Scott, Han, my friends: Paige, Roman, and the rest of that group. And now you,” She smiled up at him, squeezing his hand as they took a step forward in the queue, “So, since Scott heard you use my full name, it’s gonna intentionally take this whole thing a lot further, almost securing their perception of what it is that they think I’m doing,”

The mention of Paige and Roman reminded Eloise that she still needed to introduce Calum to them, thinking of the endless stream of text messages she had received from Paige with requests of organising a double date ever since she found out about Eloise and Calum’s mutual agreement of being ‘secretly exclusive’.

She had tried to fight with the idea of Calum meeting her friends, trying to convince herself that it was a bad idea as it just made what they had feel even more real; like it was going last and they were going to be going places after the deal was done. Eloise wasn’t sure if she could bring herself to ignore the harsh reality and let herself fall into the self-made trap of pretending that she lived in a world where she and Calum would walk away from this with no repercussions, where they would be able to live as a normal couple.

Calum was about to speak, a voice laced with a thick accent stopping him as it called out, “Next! ‘iya sweetheart, what can I get ya?”

Eloise’s eyes turned to meet the rather large man in front of them, face a little red and shining an almighty mole in the right side of his chin. He smelled like hot dogs; Eloise noted. Although she wasn’t sure if it were him or the fact that they were at a hot dog stand, but she could be sure that the smell was rather overpowering.

They gave him their orders, standing next to one another as they waited for him to prepare the carb loaded items. Calum’s hand never dropped hers, his fingers finding the spaces between hers before slipping into them, her hand fitting in his like a glove. He felt the need to always be touching her, feeling an uneasy sensation settle in his gut if he was around her and didn’t have his skin touching hers in some way. It wasn’t like Eloise minded; she embraced any physical connection she could get with Calum when she could, silently reminding herself that it most likely wasn’t going to last forever.

Hotdogs in hand, they made their way down the streets of New York, the steam from the slabs of meat in their breaded buns travelling up into the air as they walked together.

“So, you don’t mind that I call you Eloise?” Calum’s question could only just be heard over the sound of a yellow taxi honking it’s horn next to where they waited to cross the street, “I can call you El if that- “

Eloise slapped his shoulder gently, holding her finger up as she silently asked him to wait while she chewed the bite of her hotdog she had just taken. Once swallowed, she smiled at him, wiping the slaver of grease she swore she felt just below her lip with edge of her palm, before she said, “I actually prefer it when you call me Eloise, it sounds better coming from you unlike some people.”

“Good,” Calum speaks through a mouthful of hotdog, hand coming up to cover the sight of half-chewed food, “I like saying your name; it’s pretty, much like the girl it belongs to.”

Eloise couldn’t stop herself from faking a gag, laughing at Calum as she rolled her eyes, amused, “Do you have an off switch, or do you just permanently ruin moments with cheesy lines?”

Calum playfully nudged her as they turned a corner, careful not to knock her into anyone as he leaned over and pressed a quick chaste kiss to her cheek once he had freed his mouth of the remnants of his snack, “Only speaking the truth, doll,”

“Security!” Eloise jokingly calls out, “Can someone please come and remove Mr Smooth from my presence?” She’s unable to stop her laugh as Calum’s hand reaches out, attempting to nip at her sides, “Get off!” She squealed, trying to push his hand away, quickly apologising to the bystander who she accidently bumped into in her attempt to move out Calum’s reach.

Let’s just say that Calum got a friendly smack on the back of the head for that one.

They eventually discovered a bin to discard of their wrappers, tossing them away before they continued their walk back to where Calum had parked his car just a few blocks south of Central Park. The sun continued to shine down on New York, a gentle cooling breeze warranting through the city, adding a refreshing chill to contrast against the heat. They walked down the streets side by side, Calum’s arm draped over her shoulders, meanwhile Eloise’s wound its way around his waist, hips lightly brushing against one another, her small fingers gently gripping onto the fabric of his hoodie as an attempt to keep close to him, head resting on his shoulder as they walked through the city.

“You want me to drop you off at your place?” Calum asked, arm around her shoulders, fingers lightly brushing against the cool material of her jacket, “Or can I convince you to stay at my place for another night?”

Eloise shook her head, her stomach vibrating with her silent closed-mouthed laugh, “I need to go back to my place like I told you. I need time to think about what I’m gonna say to Scott tomorrow,”

“What do you mean?”

“I need to talk to him about some stuff; nothing about the plan or the shipment, nothing to do with the gang whatsoever,” She sighed as they stopped in front of Calum’s car, her arm dropping from around his waist as her back rested against the hood of the black vehicle, Calum’s arm being removed her shoulder as he moved to stand in front of her, he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and taking her hand in his for what felt like the hundredth time that day, “I want to talk to him as friends, as the best friends that we’re supposed to be. I’m worried about him because he used to talk to me about everything and I did the same with him when my life fell apart, but now it feels like we’re more strangers than best friends,”

Calum sent her a reassuring smile, squeezing her hand gently as he reached into his pocket to find his car keys, sending her an assured, “I’m sure he’ll be okay, Eloise.”

“He’s going to hate me when this is over.” Eloise couldn’t stop the tears brimming in her eyes, her throat quivering at the thought of how this was going to affect Scott; the guilt of it seeming as though it would eat her alive.

Calum shook his head, more to himself than to her, raising his hands to her face, cupping her cheeks, his thumbs gently gliding across the apples of her sweet skin as he said, “Let him. Eloise, if he’s really your best friend then he’ll realise why you’ve done this and he’ll forgive you,”

“And what if he never does?” She asked painfully, her voice sounding almost as defeated as she felt.

“Then he clearly isn’t the kind of man you want to believe he is,” Calum spoke truthfully, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, holding his lips there for a few seconds before he took a small step back, opening the car for them to get in, “C’mon, we’ll get ice cream on our way back to your place, my treat,”

“Thank you, Calum,” She smiled, wiping away the packed tears before they had a chance to fall, taking in a deep shaky breath as she attempted to pull herself together, “For everything,”

“Anything for you, Eloise,” He whispered, afraid that if he spoke any louder she would float away with the light breeze, gently reaching down and reconnecting their hands, lifting hers to his lips as he placed a soft kiss to her knuckles, “Absolutely anything.”

*****

11 Days Left

Eloise felt as though she was suffocating, the air around her thick with tension as she watched Scott from the corner of her eye. He had arrived just less than an hour ago, walking in with a pizza in his hand, claiming to be splashing the cash as an early celebration for her hard work.

Every time she looked at Scott, she was reminded of the lies she was living, the lies she was trapping him with, and the guilt was eating her alive, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell him. As much as her natural instinct would be to warn him of an upcoming ambush, she knew this time it had gone too far, and she couldn’t save him like she so desperately wanted to.

“I had a dream last night,” Eloise spoke quietly, almost sounding as if she was talking to herself, head leaning back as her eyes met with the ceiling briefly, “We were kids again, we must have been six or seven, and we were sitting in a field, just the two of us,” The corners of her mouth upturned, her teeth gently nipping on the inside of her lip, her voice continuing, “I was freaking out, panicking about what we were doing and you kept telling me to calm down, assuring me that we would be alright, you said that you’d make sure they would take care of us,”

Scott’s eyes caught Eloise’s as she looked in his direction, her back resting against the armrest of the couch, “Who were ‘they’?” Scott queried; eyebrows furrowed in question.

“I’ve got no idea,” She said with a breathy chuckle, shaking her head lightly as she reached forward to close over the empty pizza box that lay spread out on the coffee table, the cold stench of tomato and cheese making Eloise feel slightly queasy, before she added, “A monster? Or maybe someone we knew?”

“There’s plenty of monsters around this city,” Scott’s voice almost went unheard, the comment barely audible over the low volume of the TV. But fortunately for Eloise, she heard it loud and clear.

Scott’s words held a lot of truth in them; more truth than most would like to admit, the truth that fell deaf at many people’s ears. They had always been told as kids that monsters weren’t real, that they were figments of their own imaginations, a simple phase they would grow out of. But Eloise never grew out of it, her eyes finding them everywhere she turned. And now, to her own terror, she waited for her best friend to take that final form.

“Can I ask you something?” Eloise rolled her lips into her mouth, taking Scott’s hum as a response, taking a small breath before she continued, hoping he wouldn’t mind her bringing up past events, “Have you spoken to Seth recently? It’s just that you’ve been quiet the past few days, and I know what yesterday was, and I also know he usually crawls out of his hole around this time of year, so I just wanted to- “

“He’s not reached out to me if that’s what you’re wondering,” Scott pursed his lips, shaking his head slowly as he stared straight ahead at the scene playing on the TV screen. It wasn’t until earlier that day that Eloise had pieced together why Scott had been so distant lately, cursing herself for nearly forgetting what had happened all those years ago.

How could she nearly forget? She had a reminder of what happened on that day nearly four years ago permanently etched on her leg; the scar on her thigh never having properly healed, the textured skin serving as a reminder to not only her, but to Scott about what happened that day. And it was all down to a stupid idea made by him and someone he thought to be his friend.

They were 17; young, juvenile, and eager.

They all wanted to be recognised as key members of the Gypsy Kings; fed up and tired of being treated like the kids they didn’t believe themselves to be. They wanted to establish to the older men of the gang that they were ready to take their places in their society.

Eloise, Scott, Ben, Seth, and Gabriel had all piled themselves in Seth’s car one night, driving into the southside of Brooklyn, heading for Wiley’s mattress factory after hearing rumours of illegal liquor being stored in the basement. Scott and Seth had been talking to snitches across the city, pretending to be working for the higher members of the gang to retrieve information on any activity they could attempt to ransack. And boy, when they heard about the Moonshine, it was like they had just woken up on Christmas Day.

They had planned to sneak into the factory, having worked out their entry route as well as their exact strategy: fill a few bags with some bottles of the Moonshine, sell it off to clients that Ben had sniffed out with Eloise’s help, and prove themselves to those who doubted them.

But they had one flaw in their plan; they didn’t take into consideration that there would be any security. Their inexperienced minds had assumed that the factory would be empty, as if they could walk straight in and straight out with bags full of the strong liquor without any struggle. As genius as they thought their plan was, it was only proven to be the complete opposite from the minute they got inside that factory.

Their venture into the factory had gone smoothly, remaining undetected as they snuck into the basement, discovering the underground distillery along with the crates packed with bottles and jars of the spirit. They thought had hit the jackpot, obnoxiously throwing high-fives around as they crammed as much Moonshine into their bags as they could fit and still be able to carry.

Seth was smugger than any of them, claiming that he knew they’d win big with his idea to break into the factory, although they all knew it was him and Scott combined who discovered the rumours of the illegal distillery. Seth was the reason why it all went wrong, getting too ahead of himself and getting too excited, his voice was too loud in the quiet building, and no matter how many times they all told him to be quiet, he didn’t listen.

They had managed to sneak back up into the main foyer of the factory, spotting the door they had entered through, the heavy panel still open ajar so the glint of orange from the streetlamp outside could be seen in the distance. Ben had sent everyone out in front of him, his natural polite nature being what got him killed.

No – them being there is what got Ben killed.

They were nearly out of the factory, Scott’s hands just centimetres from the door before a shout broke their attention, eyes darting across the room to see a tall, thin, wrinkly man pacing towards them, gun in hand with their young bodies as targets. Ben had pushed Eloise forward, telling them to run, but it was too late for him.

Scott thrust the door open and practically threw himself out of it, feet moving out of the doorway as Seth followed hot on his tail, but Eloise had remained frozen in place as she watched Ben’s body fall to the ground as the sound of a gunshot echoed within the factory. Her eyes burned into the hole that branded itself into his back, the dark crimson colour painting his back almost unnoticeable due to the lack of light in the room.

Eloise could still make out Wiley’s eyes in the darkness, she swore she could see red in his irises as nothing, but rage and pure animalistic tendencies coursed through them. Scott had shouted for Eloise to run but she couldn’t hear him, the murderous gunshot echoing in her ears as her eyes became scarred with the sight of the body of the young boy who she had grown fond of.

She hadn’t realised she was moving until Scott grabbed her hand, almost ripping her arm out of the socket as he hauled her out of the building, a second gunshot being heard before a piercing yell from Eloise as her hand reached down for her leg as she tried to run. The pain of the piercing bullet in her thigh was nothing like she had ever felt before, it momentarily distracting her from the death she had just witnessed.

Scott had ended up carrying her back to Seth’s car, her mind not even registering Gabriel who had taken Scott’s place in the front seat as Seth started the car and raced back to their hideout, breaking every red light and stop sign that he came across in the early hours of the morning.

“What about Ben?” Her voice was quiet, throat dry as she blinked rapidly, trying to keep her eyes open although the urge to sleep was becoming too strong.

Scott had removed his belt from his jeans, tying it around her leg as an attempt to the try and stop the bleeding, using his hoodie as a gauze to keep pressure on the world, panicked and with a shake of his head, he said, “It’s too late, El. He’s gone,”

The last thing she remembered before she passed out was the heartache in Scott’s voice; at his words in regard to Ben but also to Eloise as he tried to call out to her, telling her to keep her eyes open and stay awake for him.

She woke up a while later, unsure of how long she had been out for, the tapestry pinned the ceiling above her head capturing her attention when she first opened her eyes, silently telling her who’s home she was in. Of course, she had been brought there.

“She’s awake,” A voice called out; older, yet familiar.

Brown eyes looked to her right, to which she found Han stood by her side, his eyes looking towards the doorway of the bedroom she was laying in. Faint footsteps got louder before two familiar bodies were stood in the doorway; faces etched with guilt and grief as they prepared themselves for the verbal abuse they would receive because of their actions, as if they hadn’t suffered enough.

“I agreed I wouldn’t ask what happened until she was awake,” Han’s voice spoke, arms crossing against his chest as he stood firmly, shoulders tense as he frowned at the two boys, “So, now you better start talkin’,”

Eloise’s eyes met with Scott’s golden ones, a gentle smile spreading across her face at the sight of her best friend, unable to ignore the way her heart hurt at the emotional turmoil he appeared to be in. She remembered almost instantly what had happened, the memories of the factory unfolding in her mind like a movie scene; the sight of Ben’s body collapsing and the gunshot prominent in her vision. She noted of Gabriel seemed to share a similar expression, except he looked to be more uncomfortable rather than upset. It’s not like it was his idea to go and hit that factory, Seth had pressured him into it. Speaking of Seth, where was he?

Gabriel looked as if he was about to speak, about to tell Han what had happened before Scott cut in, “It was all my idea; I thought it would be really cool if we were to try and prove ourselves to you guys by cashing in. I wanted to prove that we weren’t just kids and that we were ready for the big stuff like you guys were at our age,” Scott looked to be embarrassed, almost irritated actually as he claimed the blame for why they were in their current position, “So, we snuck into Wiley’s, tried to steal a couple of bottles of the Moonshine I heard he had been cooking up in his basement. I figured we could sell it on and bring the profits to the hideout… But all I managed to do was get two of my friends shot,”

Han’s sigh was nothing but full of disappointment, his exhale was heavy as he rubbed a hand over his face and looked at Scott, who’s eyes were planted firmly on his feet, unable to keep eye contact with anyone within the room.

It wasn’t the first time Han had been woken up at four in the morning, being asked if he can help someone who was injured. He just never expected for the victim of his next bullet extraction to be the girl who he had promised her dad he would look out for if anything were to happen.

Han’s throat worked, slowly swallowing a frustrated lump as he shook his head, pointing to Scott with an accusing finger, “Just be thankful it was only one life you lost last night. The bullet was only in her leg, and thankfully for your own sake, it didn’t hit anything critical, so she’s gonna be fine as long as it doesn’t get infected,” Han practically cursed himself at the thought of this being any worse than what it was, unsure of what he would do if it had been a wound to her chest or worse, “It’s just gonna take her a few days to be up and walking again, it’s gonna be a bitch of a recovery to get through,”

“I’ll stay with her until she’s ready to move,” Scott stepped forward, nodding his head at Han.

“She’ll be staying here until then, I’ll be keeping an eye on her and making sure it stays clean,” Han packed away the bloody rags that were on the floor, tossing them into his slow burner that sat in the corner of his living room, his eyes watching the sight of the rags beginning to catch the flames as they burned vigorously.

“That’s fine, but like I said, I’m staying with her. It’s my fault this happened, so it’s my responsibility.”

“You never left my side the entire time I was stuck at Han’s place,” She scoffed with a smile at the memory, “It doesn’t surprise me that Han stopped calling in sick for us with the school,”

And it was true, Scott never once went home the entire time that Eloise’s leg was healing. He practically lived at Han’s with her during that time. He felt guilty for what had happened, and he nominated himself to take full responsibility for the factory incident since Seth ran off the minute that he dropped them outside Han’s front door, driving off down the road to never been seen again.

They still didn’t know where he had gone or if he was even alive. Seth had chosen to run away from the gang after Ben died, walking away from any sole responsibility for the death of a teenager and the injury that left Eloise physically scarred. Scott had taken the blame for what happened because at the time he still felt like Seth was his friend, and he didn’t realise that when Seth drove away that night it would be the last time they saw or spoke to each other.

Eventually the truth had come out about how the plan to raid Wiley’s was a joint effort, but it didn’t make things any easier for Scott to cope with.

They never got a chance to bury Ben’s body, nor did his own parents have a chance to say their goodbyes. They received the news of their son’s death via the Gypsy Kings, something that Scott will never be able to erase; never forgetting the sight of his mother breaking down as she heard the news that her son wouldn’t be coming home.

Scott had decided from that day on to pay homage to Ben, wanting to show that he was being remembered by those who cared about him. So, every year on the day of Ben’s death, Scott would travel to Manhattan, to Ben’s parents’ house where he would lay a single red rose on their doorstep and walk away, paying a silent tribute to the boy who had a secret love for flowers and everything nature related; a small secret that only those close to him knew.

It was the death of Ben that sparked Scott’s ignorance when it came to people’s feelings, why he never let himself get attached to anyone new. After he experienced the pain of when Ben left him, only being accompanied by the abandonment his parents left him with – though they thought they were protecting him – once his mother got caught up in her own scandals, Scott decided to distance himself from people, allowing himself to use them for his piece of fun and nothing more.

Throughout everything, Scott and Eloise only ever had each other for long enough. They both had no real family to take care of them; both having left them although in different circumstances. It was from day Eloise had started walking again, leg slowly healing, that they decided they were in it together for the long haul. They had sworn to be brother and sister to each other until they died, always being there for one another when needed.

The memories of how they were before hurt Eloise to think about; looking back and seeing how quickly he was willing to sell himself out to protect someone who he thought was a friend, and how determined he was to sleep by her side while her leg healed, never hesitating or complaining when she woke up in the middle of the night and needed help getting to the bathroom or if she needed something as small as a drink of water.

But when she looked at Scott as she sat opposite him, his floppy curls pointed in all directions, face solemn as he stared out of the window, dark bags beneath his eyes, she couldn’t help but feel as though that something had changed. As much as she did genuinely enjoy his company; she could see their connection had a crack in it. Typical nights in where they would be clutching their stomachs in laughter or racing through the apartment as they play-fought like they were kids again were nothing but a distant memory being replaced with the latest reality of less smiles between them and added tension as Scott’s focus seemed to be elsewhere, as if he had better things to do other than spend time with the girl who had he practically grown up with.

The promise they made to each other is one she’d never be able to forget, no matter how hard she tried. It was a stupid pinkie promise they made on that day that had unintentionally become the glue between them and sadly she felt as though it was drying out and they were breaking off. It pained her to know what was silently happening between them, knowing it would only become clearer when she broke that promise, betraying one of the most important men in her life – or at least that’s what he used to be. It was painful, immensely, but she knew she had to follow through with it. It was for the sake of the city they called home, as well as his own good, and like Calum said, if he were truly her best friend then he would come to forgive her, surely not?

It was a risk she had to take. She had to break everything she had grown to know, unable to stand aside and watch as those around her destroyed themselves as well as innocent people.

“Brother and sister until we die. Bullets, friends, and relationships will never separate us. We’ll always have each other, we’ll always fight for each other, we’ll always love each other no matter what.”

---

Tag List: @steviemae @elsysoza @treatallwithkindness @oopsiedoopsie23

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wolfiefics · 4 years ago

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WIP Wednesday-Vampire Knight

I wrote on this quite sometime ago, was cruising my files and stumbled across it. Read through it, tweaked it, started writing on it again but got distracted because I’m a Gemini with the attention span of a peanut. My favorite characters in Vampire Knight are Kaien Cross and Takuma Ichijo. No idea why. Just the way it is. This is a Kaien Cross story. Massive liberties taken with creator’s world and backstories, I’m sure, but I’ve done a little bit of tweaking here and there to make it a bit more ‘canon-compliant’. The title is The Vampire Without Fangs and it’s an origin story essentially. It’s set during the series arc (sort of) but this snippet is from Kaien’s past (totally made up). It is slash with an original character, mainly because shipping him with anyone else is weird? He’s as old as some vampires so everyone’s a child to him. This is actually from mid-way in the story thus far and from Kaien’s vampire lover’s point of view.

Autumn leaves swirled through the trees as Reya watched with no little interest the sandy-haired hunter worked his way through the undergrowth with surprising agility. There was something otherworldly about this one, like a human child trying to play grown-up games. The hunter silently pulled the razor-sharp long sword from its scabbard, the metal gleaming in the dull light filtering through the tree branches.

Reya longed to tell the hunter he was wasting his time. Most of the little pack of Level E vampires were dead at Reya’s own hand, or rather fang. He’d been hungrier than usual for some reason. However, Reya had no intention of garnering the attention of the Hunter Association. The fewer people who knew of a progenitor’s existence, the better off said progenitor would be.

Also less harassed by the so-called Vampire Senate and their Kuran puppet ruler.

There was a growling hiss, fallen twigs and leaves rustled with quick movements and Reya noted that the hunter disposed of one vampire already. Sand fell to the ground.

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” whispered the hunter with no emotion.

Reya’s interest was further peaked. It was a strange thing to say. He watched the hunter kill the remaining two vampires in quick succession, repeating the same mantra as their dusty remains settled to the earth.

“You can come down, vampire, I know you’re up there,” called the hunter, turning in Reya’s direction and looking up right where he sat crouched on a tree limb.

“Impressive instincts, hunter,” approved Reya, leaping from his perch and landing expertly on his feet. He bowed formally, politely. “I am Reya and –“

“I don’t care. Fight or die or stand there and die. Either way, die.” The hunter rushed forward, sword raised and Reya nimbly dodged away. The hunter froze for half a heartbeat and then lowered his sword. “You are not one of them.”

Reya smiled. “Indeed, no. In fact, I just finished consuming my fill on them when you arrived.”

The hunter looked around with a frown. “I thought there should have been more,” he noted, as if interested despite himself.

He looked at Reya squarely and the vampire felt as if someone punched him in the gut.

The hunter was more than handsome, he was exquisite. Pain and loneliness shone from within, his brown eyes more golden than earthy and his features were fine and aristocratic in make. Sandy brown hair pulled back in a queue was tugged by the slight breeze. His long body and delicate-looking stature was misleading of his actual strength. If he’d been female, the term ‘elfin’ might have been applied to him.

The sword raised once more and Reya was brought from his reverie. “And it’s the hunters’ job to hunt vampires, not yours.”

“There was no hunt with these fools,” scoffed Reya, flicking a dismissive hand at the sandy remains scattered here and there. “I was hungry and I needed to eat. I frown on consuming the local human populace. That leaves rats or vampires. I assure you, vampires are less trouble than catching a rat. They taste better as well.”

The hunter’s confusion increased, if his furrowed brow was any indication.

Reya stepped forward, bypassing the sword point and grasped the hunter’s other wrist gently, bowing over the man’s hand in gentlemanly fashion as if he were a courtier and the hunter a fine lady. “Might I have the pleasure of your name, hunter?”

The hunter became flustered and drew away nervously. “Kaien Cross.”

Reya gave a start and then chuckled. “One of the famous Cross clan hunters! I have not met one of your bloodline in many generations.”

Cross’ features darkened. “You won’t meet another ever again,” he stated grimly. “I am the last and it will stay that way.”

There was bitterness there but something else nudged at the vampire, something that Reya couldn’t quite put his finger on. He dismissed the feeling for a moment and surveyed his wary companion. “I mean you no harm, you have my assurances.”

There was a distant roll of thunder but no clouds lined the sky.

“I see the battle has recommenced.” Cross sheathed his sword and nodded brusquely to Reya. “If you will excuse me, I have to return to my post.”

“Who are the French shelling now?” Reya asked with a frown.

“It’s mutual shelling,” the hunter told him grimly. “The Austrians aren’t giving up without a fight.” Cross looked at his vampire companion. “Do you not know where you are?” he asked incredulously.

“A mountain looks like a mountain, a river looks like a river and a sheep meadow looks like a sheep meadow,” philosophized Reya with a negligent shrug. “After thousands of years, one area looks the same as any other and the political borders of countries shift enough that it matters little.”

Cross waved a hand in the direction of continued cannon bombardment. “Austerlitz will fall soon and Empereur Napoleon will only have the British and Russians to worry about before unifying Europe under his command.”

Reya snorted derisively. “I wish the little general the best of luck. He is going to need it. Even the might of Rome failed and Julius Caesar, I assure you, was taller, prettier and more charismatic than Bonaparte shall ever dream of being.”

Cross’ honey-colored eyes narrowed in disapproval. His back stiffened and his lips thinned. Obviously he disagreed with Reya’s assessment of Napoleon’s skills and odds of success. “Vive l’Empereur,” he murmured stubbornly.

“I prefer Viva Espana but it is probably a touchy subject. Hunter Kaien Cross, until we meet again.” Reya bowed formally to his companion one more time. “And I assure you, we will meet again, I shall make certain of it.”

Cross scowled at him and shook his head. “It will be a battle to the death then.”

Reya looked amused. “Will it? I would prefer a battle of another sort but if not, that is a battle I would like to-“

There was shouting in French and German, followed by a close barrage of musket fire nearly drowning out agonized screams.

“Damn!” growled Cross and he put his sword at the ready.

“Fool, sharp as it is, it will do you little good against a musket ball,” snapped Reya and jerked Kaien to him before leaping into the air and into the highest tree top.

The hunter started to struggle but both of them stilled at German voices speaking low, muttering about the sounds of a fight they swore came from this direction. For twenty minutes, soldiers in Austrian uniforms searched the wooded area, never once looking into the treetops where two men watched them from above.

Once the Austrians moved away, both men relaxed. “That could have been unfortunate for you,” noted Reya casually, regretfully releasing the handsome armful from his grip. The hunter turned his scowling features from the ground to the vampire next to him. “What do you look like when you smile, I wonder?” The scowl increased. “I shall have to find out at a later date then.”

“You’ll be dust,” snapped Kaien, leaping from their branch perch and landing nimbly on the ground. “I must report back. Au revoir.”

Reya watched the hunter disappear toward the French lines. There was more to this hunter than met the eye.

Hunters normally stayed out of the politics and machinations of humanity and vampire alike, content only to hunt their prey as needed and stand on the sidelines. This hunter seemed to be up to his winsome neck in the French revolts and it’s following regime.

His interest peaked by the oddity of Kaien Cross, Reya decided he had nothing better to do so he followed the hunter home, so to speak.

#vampire knight #kaien cross #fanfic #wip wednesday #origin story #at least in my head it is #why kaien is the softy on vampires when he wants to be

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eluviansandevanuris · 4 years ago

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WIP Wednesday

Alright so technically I am posting this on a Thursday, but in my defence I am writing this on Wednesday...?

Sorry, I have a queue to maintain guys.

Ahem anywho, a mighty big thanks to the lovely @modernagesomniari for tagging me in this. You’re keeping me honest.

So here’s a tidbit of my hopefully upcoming chapter of The Ascent of the Lost in which Cole makes his first appearance and endeavours to find out what befell the inquisitor and we get to see the direct aftermath of the inquisitor losing her arm.

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

Cole looked for his friend, he had always been able to sense her, feel the ripple she made in the fade. A beacon bright burning, starshine in a bottle singing bright and clear light and warmth. She had been a bright presence a guiding star, she helped him be more…him.

Cole liked being more human, it was different it was good, before he had been fighting, Pulled higher in the sky higher, higher, but caught chain to the earth pulling tear in two directions it was aching awful. Cole wasn’t less than what he had been before he was, different, better.

Now though he wished he was less solid and like he had been a wisp moving unseen helping undoing changing the hurt.

There! There was his friend, but there was hurt and the star shine now burned and bleed like an inferno, he had to help the hurt.

Cole appeared soundlessly beside Amonkira, there were shimmering purple markings on her skin, but those helped the hurt, there was something deeper hurting, burning but he didn’t know what, what had happened to his friend? If he didn’t know how he could help the hurt? To help the hurt he had to know.

Cole for a moment allowed himself to become less, and more sinking into the spaces between spaces he listened to the echoes around Amonkira. Words rising and falling a maelstrom of anger and betrayal danced through the air

“-leave and tell the Qunari to trouble me no further”

“Solas”

“-the orb of Fen’Harel-my orb”

“you’re Fen’ Harel”

“I was Solas first…”

“I formed the veil and banished them forever”

“…Destroyed their World”

“I will save the Elvhen people, even if it means this world must die”

“why does this world have to die for the Elves to return?”

“it was like walking through a world of tranquil’

“we aren’t even people to you?”

“the Qunari spies in the inquisition stepped over my spies in the inquisition”

“…the anchor it’s getting worse”

“…we are almost out of time”

Then screaming

“you don’t have to destroy this world!”

“live well, while time remains”

Then the wolf was gone

And her arm it was falling apart, coming apart

The anchor it was gone but her arm gone, gone, gone

Sylaise help me, its bleeding so much, it hurts, it hurts

I have to tell them, they have to know

Moving, ragged breath, blood running like a river, the stench of iron

I’ll die and they won’t know, I have to tell them, they have to know, they have to know!

I’ll bleed out.

Body collapsing against a stone Qunari, lips blue, heat racing, nausea rising, I can’t breathe, they have to know!

I have to live, I have to stop the bleeding…

Fire flares, a scream of agony, the scent of charred meat and ash.

I have to live!

The Eluvian there…if I can just…

Then darkness and pain.

No longer starshine in bottle, the power, green and glowing rooted but torn, a moment when the starshine was blinding was more, more than what is, but it’s not that, it’s no long that. The starshine is now burning breaking the bottle eating at it.

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

Voila!

I had a bit of time writing in Coles voice but I think it worked out in the end. I’m trying to hammer the third chapter out right now, I kinda want it to be a biggun so i’m aiming for at least 5000 words. If you guys want to check out the chapters I have published heres the link.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24394777/chapters/58844560

And once again thanks @modernagesomniari :)

Dareth Shiral

#dragon age #Dragon age problems #dragon age inquisition #dai #da #fanfic #fanfiction #dragon age fanfiction #fanfic writing #writing is suffering #wip

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msjr0119 · 5 years ago

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WIP Wednesday

Thanks for the tag @annekebbphotography and @dangerouseggseagleartisan 😘😘😘

Since my hangover with Paige from the weekend I’ve been very quiet- but I have been working on a lot of things 🙌🏼

Tagging all combined tag lists- if you want to join in with the WIP Weds 🙌🏼

@annekebbphotography @burnsoslow @drakesensworld @ladyangel70 @kingliam2019 @bbrandy2002 @butindeed @bascmve01 @drakewalker04 @pedudley @captain-kingliamsqueen @duchessemersynwalker @insideamirage @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @kozabaji @texaskitten30 @ibldw-main @kimmiedoo5 @nikkis1983 @dangerouseggseagleartisan @gnatbrain @walker7519 @lodberg @cmestrella @hopefulmoonobject @addictedtodrakefanfic @angi15h @liamxs-world @rafasgirl23415 @notoriouscs @whenyourheartskipsabeat @jovialyouthmusic @nz1091 @yukinagato2012 @indiacater @seriouslybadchoices @rainbowsinthestorm @cordonianroyalty @dcbbw @qammh-blog @beardedoafdonutwagon @jared2612 @princess-geek @custaroonie @lauradowning29

*****

Too drunk to function- One shot based on mine and Paige’s antics (this is so embarrassing)

Willow- Paige 🤣

Freya- Milissa 🤢

Willow escorted Freya over to the toilets. Freya wobbled towards the queue that was lingering outside the bathroom. Swaying over the place, she felt the urge to be sick- slightly regretting all the pre drinking prior to going to Rosie’s club. Placing her hand over her mouth- she attempted to hold the sick down at least until she got into the cubicle.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah yeah I’m fine.” As Freya responded sick slipped through her fingers. The woman in front of the girls turned around looking disgusted at the two drunks.

“Just run past them and be sick in the sink.” Willow suggested- in Freya’s mind this was the best suggestion her friend could have thought off. Rushing past the women in the queue in front, Freya threw her head over the sink- sick full of a fusion of alcohol splattered everywhere. Lifting her head up- she wiped her mouth with her hand, and walked out towards Willow who couldn’t stop laughing.

******

What took you so long? (Posting tomorrow morning)

In the rush Riley lost Drake, the guards escorted them outside- organising them into groups. Riley wanted to go back inside to find her fiancé. Sneaking away, some arms went around her- feeling relieved she hoped it was Drake. Covering her mouth the man escorted her abruptly into the palace grounds.

*****

Love, Fate, Destiny (posting tomorrow)

Allowing the luke warm water to flow down her body, her thoughts remained on what her future would be. Drake had her initials tattooed on his wedding finger, he wore a fake wedding ring to prevent girls hitting on him. Could she go back to Cordonia, facing Kiara and Madeleine. Would Kiara always use the pregnancy card against Riley. When she first met Drake, he was in a relationship with her best friend- deep down she fantasied about him. When they became a couple, losing her virginity to him, the in between moments they shared made her believe in true love. When he abruptly left without a goodbye it broke her heart. Seeing him in the bar all those years later, she thought about their future again. Then she left, all because he lied to her to prevent hurt. They needed their heads banging together. It’s in the past. Look towards the future.

*****

One Temptation (hopefully posting soon)

Drake and Maxwell got ready for their afternoon with Liam. The bachelor knocked on the door, both men looked sheepish as Liam broke down crying.

“Li, what’s up?”

“I’ve lost her for good haven’t I? She slept with you Drake. I’m not annoyed, I can’t blame you. It was all my fault. I need to tell you both something.”

“Liam I’m so sorry. It just happened. I won’t go near her again.”

“I have a daughter. Myself and Madeleine have a daughter. We conceived her the night I cheated on Riley.”

“And you’re telling us this now? How did you keep that a secret?”

“Money buys you things. A nanny. Drake do you like her?”

“I... I think she’s beautiful Liam, I can’t deny that. But I won’t go near her again. I promise.”

“Hang on, she’s single -you’re single. No offence, Liam.” Maxwell couldn’t believe that he would be playing piggy in the middle.

“I’m single too. I’m risking losing my daughter. But I’m winning her back. If you want to fight for her Drake we will.”

“You’re not fighting over her! She’s not some prized possession you can fling away when you get bored Liam.” Maxwell was getting frustrated with Liam- deep down he was thrilled that Riley had come back home, but in a way he wished she had stayed away.

“Liam she was yours. I’m not getting involved in hurting anyone’s feelings.”

“So fucking her, then not willing to fight for her - you’d be hurting her.”

“It was a one night stand Liam! I doubt she even likes me more than that! If she did, you should let her go.”

“I’m not losing her again! Money buys you happiness. And I’m getting my girl back.”

******

Hold my girl

The gang looked at each other , confusion written over each of their faces. Daniel continued.

“This is Grace and Paul. They were sadly taken away from us 8years ago. Myself and Freya used to come here all the time- but especially on one date. On that date, Freya would write a diary and explain everything that they are missing... myself and Freya came here before when she left you all this afternoon...”

As Daniel continues speaking, Liam and Drake bent down and looked at the grave closely.

“Grace and Paul Johnson.” Drake turned to Liam as he said it.

“Her parents..” They both said in unison as they looked concerned, they stood back up and continued to listen to Daniel.

“... anyway, she finally came here and updated her diary. I can’t believe what all of you have been through- it’s like you’re all staring in reality tv.” Daniel jokingly said to them all. The were like Aliens - not understanding exactly what reality tv was.

Daniel pointed to the diary and read it out to them all. Afterwards he pointed over to each of the photos.

“I hope y’all don’t mind but she put some pictures of her journey with you all and wrote something about each of you. Maybe if you all read them she... she cares for you all. And trust me, she is stubborn so for her to care about so many people is amazing.”

They each picked up their picture with the note attached, they read it out loud to the other friends. Liam began..

*****

Marshgate Prison

Drake pushed his way through the crowd to Riley laying on the floor, her hands holding her stomach- her beautiful skin now painted in a red glossy liquid, her own blood.

“Someone get some help now!” Drake pleaded, the guards stood frozen explaining that help was on its way. Liam also injured due to the unexpected attack due to the riot.

“Riley you need to survive... open those beautiful eyes... please....” Cupping her cheeks, he couldn’t lose her- not now. He had found someone who understood him, someone who possibly could love him. Slowly fluttering her eyes open, he saw the tear creep out of the corner of her eye.

“D-Drake....” She barely said, using potentially her last breath to say his name.

“I’m here, I’m coming to hospital with you- whether they stop me or not. I’ll break out, just so I can be with you.”

“No.... you.... can’t.... Bartie...”

“Riley you mean so much to me as well as Bartie. Don’t you dare leave me.”

Using all the strength she had, she pulled him down- placing a longing kiss on his lips.

“Love you Walker.” The paramedics arrived, quickly rushing Riley and Liam out of the room. Drake forced the guards off him, falling to the floor- he was surrounded by tears he never thought he would ever shed.

*******

Cordonian Wags (getting posted soon!)

“Mr Rhys, you have gone through all the suspects- with Madeleine as an extra one to the scenario. It was reported that there was another two suspects who had covered their identity up- did you have anybody else visit you during those times?”

Constantine thought back to the other two visitors who had visited him last. Knowing full well that Bastien was the person who had spiked his drink. Bastien who had been loyal to him throughout all the time they had known each other. He understood his reasoning behind it- he had a duty to look after the Brooks sisters, his goddaughters. But he would never trust him again.

*****

Forgive me

“Liam, as much as I’m happy that you’re home... I need to tell you something....” Liam kissed the sensitive part of her neck, ignoring the seriousness in her tone of voice- selfishly just wanting her all to himself. He had missed her immensely- grateful that she was in his life.

“You can tell me after. Right now, I want you- all of you. I’ve missed you so much Riley.”

“Liam please!”

“Have you missed me?”

“Of course I have. But .... but.... please don’t kiss my neck and earlobe ... this is really important....”

“Go on....”

“We are all in danger. Leo was murdered- by Justin- our new press secretary.”

#wip wednesday #choices trr #riley brooks #drakewalker #maxwell beaumont #olivia nevrakis #hanalee #bertrand beaumont #liam rhys #drake x riley #liam x riley #trr au one temptation #trr au marshgate #trr hold my girl #trr au cordonian wags #trr forgive me #trr lovefatedestiny #trr whattookyousolong

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danfanciesphil · 6 years ago

Text

Some Kind Of Folliful (New Chapter)

Edgelord!Dan x ObliviousBisexual!Phil AU [CHAPTER EIGHT] (based off the 80′s classic Some Kind of Wonderful)

Synopsis: Dan has one friend, and only because he was forced into it. Phil is loud, excitable, and irritatingly happy all of the time. Phil seems to find Dan’s perpetual attitude funny, and despite Dan’s best efforts to shun him and everyone else, wants to be around him all the time. That is, until Phil starts talking about Amanda Jones. Word Count: WIP (Estimated 12-15 chapters) updates every Tuesday Rating: Explicit Warnings: Smoking, swearing, implied prostitution, broken home, class divide/classism, pining, light homophobia, sex

[Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four] [Chapter Five] [Chapter Six] [Chapter Seven]

[Ao3!]

The school parking lot is rammed with limousines and Rolls Royce’s. Dan idles the car in a queue for about ten minutes waiting for one particularly obnoxious pink limo to do a seventy-point turn in an attempt to get out of the exit again. Amanda coos over the colour of the awful car, nose pressed almost to the glass, and Phil gently teases her for being a stereotype.

She rolls her eyes and swats him in the shoulder. “Girls are allowed to like pink.”

Phil laughs and pokes her in the side, making her smile. Dan watches the fond exchange in the rearview mirror, lips pressed together. Eventually, he finds a parking space, though it’s a tight squeeze between the hundreds of cars that have shown up here tonight. He switches off the engine, blank eyes staring out of the windscreen at the building in front of him. They’re about half an hour late, so the parking lot is pretty much deserted – everyone is already inside. The back door of the car opens, and Amanda begins climbing out, complaining and laughing at once about how difficult it is to elegantly clamber out of a car in a big dress and heels. Dan’s fingertips tingle. He’s already mentally projecting to the next available smoking opportunity.

Phil leans forwards then, his chin resting on the back of Dan’s seat. “You’re gonna come in, right?”

Dan is silent for a moment. “Actually, I was thinking I might wait out here.”

“Please come in,” Phil says. “I don’t want to go to Prom without my best friend.”

Venom sears Dan’s throat, he swallows it down but it stings. “Is that what we are?”

Their eyes meet in the mirror, and Phil looks desperate, as though he’s begging Dan not to push it. Luckily for him, Amanda knocks on the glass of the back window, making a face that says ‘what’s the hold up?’.

Phil gives him one last pleading look, and Dan’s resolve breaks. Reluctantly, he sighs, and unplugs his seatbelt.

Prom is everything Dan expected, and worse. The hall is crammed with his peers, each of them decked out in a taffeta frock, or a cheap rented suit – with the exception of the Elites, of course, all of whom wear tight designer dresses, or tailored tuxedos.

The Elites have commandeered a table near the back, and are lounging around it holding plastic stem glasses of what appears to be punch, but Dan suspects is not. There’s a stage in the hall, on which a marginally terrible band is playing a mashup of chart hits, the majority of which Dan only knows because Louise forces him to have Radio One playing in the café at all hours.

There are paper chains, and a glitterball, and crêpe-papered tables holding punch bowls and bowls of crisps. It’s the kind of Prom that Dan has seen in a dozen American high school movies, which isn’t that surprising, as the Prom-planning committee’s inspiration was Pretty In Pink.

Everyone’s attention is stolen by the entrance of Phil with Amanda Jones on his arm. Hardy, over at the Elite table, glares across the room at them, sour-faced. He’s wearing a white tuxedo, as if he could get any more douchey, and seems to have brought a different Elite girl as his date, though he doesn’t appear to be paying too much attention to her.

Dan can’t imagine that Amanda would be welcomed if she tried to go over to her usual possy, but she doesn’t so much as look their direction. Phil, looking slightly uncomfortable under the scrutiny of near everyone in the room, leads Amanda through the crowd towards the punch table. Dan follows solemnly behind them; distracted as they are by the scandalous date of the century, nobody pays him any attention at all.

“This punch tastes like ass,” Dan says, wrinkling his nose.

“Yeah, they made me use Diet lemonade,” Lee says. “It’s gross.”

If Dan asked Lee why he’d chosen to volunteer at the Sixth Form Prom, doling out ladlefuls of disgusting punch to a load of teenagers that are sneaking vodka into it anyway, he’d probably say that he had nothing better to do with his Friday night, or that he came to watch everyone be ‘tragic’. In reality, he is almost definitely here to hang around Dan. In another timeline, Dan might find this annoying, but tonight he’s glad of the company.

The punch table is on the periphery of the dancefloor; in the centre, a few brave couples have already started vaguely swaying together to the cacophony of noise the band is making. One of those couples are Phil and Amanda.

Dan would have put good money on the fact that Phil cannot dance, and he’d have won the bet. Phil is tall, and clumsy, with two left feet and a tendency to not know where to place his hands. Amanda seems to find this utter incompetence on his part incredibly endearing, and keeps laughing every time Phil steps on her pointed shoes.

The moment they began, she picked up Phil’s hands and placed them straight on her hips, then slung hers around his neck, just as Dan said she would. They’re awkward, and due to their height difference the movements are far from graceful, but they’re having fun, apparently, if their laughter is anything to go by.

“Got a cold?” Lee asks, handing Dan a napkin.

Dan sniffs for the hundredth time, shrugging, and takes it from him. “Can we get out of here? Go for a smoke or something?”

“I got something even better,” Lee says with a grin.

He reaches discreetly into the pocket of his sweatpants, and exposes the tip of a flask. He tucks it away quickly before any of the patrolling teachers notice.

“You make yourself useful, I’ll give you that,” Dan says, then inclines his head, and starts to make his way over to the hall doors.

“Geez, that’s a bit full on,” Lee says, staring into Amanda’s painted face. The canvas is bigger than Dan remembers it being. “What’s he planning on doing with it?”

“He’s gonna gift it to her, apparently,” Dan replies.

He’s already taken the flask from Lee, and is sipping it quietly, perched up on a desk. Phil’s left a few paintbrushes and dried up palettes scattered about the place, but the usual vibrancy he brings to the art studio is missing. Now, the room seems bereft, dark.

“Weird,” Lee says, leaning close to peer into Amanda’s vacant brown eyes.

Dan takes another sip of what tastes vaguely like whiskey, but is probably more likely to be a mixture of a few spirits Lee swiped from his parents’ liquor cabinet in order to avoid being caught.

“I want a cigarette. Let’s sit behind here,” Dan says, walking around to the back of a big stack of blank canvases, propped against a desk. In the tight space behind them, he and Lee will be impossible to see from the door if a teacher comes snooping. Lee follows him obediently, squatting down in the small nook. Dan offers him the flask while he digs around for his pack of cigarettes, but Lee refuses.

“You look like you need it more, mate.”

Dan wants to call him out on this statement, argue and demand he explain himself, but he thinks better of it. So what if his misery is written all over his face? Lee is too up his ass to do anything with the information that Dan might be crushing on Phil, if he has indeed picked up on it. Dan puts the flask between his knees and pulls two cigarettes out of his rapidly depleting pack of Djarums.

“Here,” Dan says, not giving Lee a chance to refuse. He hands one of the cigarettes over, and pulls out a lighter. The first drag is glorious. A thick rush of nicotine sluices through Dan from head to fingertips. Lee lights his up after a moment, too, then promptly splutters, grimacing.

He puts it straight out again. “Eugh, what the fuck’s that? All perfumey.”

Dan snorts with laughter, about to explain that they’re flavoured, but right then, voices permeate the quiet air, right outside the door. Dan looks forlornly at his cigarette, which he’s only just begun. He takes another deep drag, then one more, breathing it out in a long rush just as the door opens. Then he stubs it out on the tiled floor.

“…you think you could do a better job of it?”

Dan’s heart plummets straight through his ribcage, landing on the floor with a pathetic ‘plop’. He imagines he can see it pulsating weakly on the tile beside his the ashes of his cigarette. It’s Amanda’s voice. Which means…

“Hey, maybe that’s my calling,” Phil says. “I could be the next big thing in the cover band world.”

“I do agree that you couldn’t be any worse than that lot,” Amanda agrees. “But I guess we can’t be too critical- what the… oh my God.”

Her voice falls away, leaving only the stagnant silence of this room in its wake. A few seconds pass, and then there’s the sound of her kitten heels tritting slowly across the floor. She’s approaching the canvas, on the other side of where Dan and Lee hide. The door closes, and Dan hears Phil moving cautiously further into the studio.

“It’s difficult to capture you,” Phil says; Dan can feel the nerves in his best friend’s voice. “I wanted to do something big, but there’s so much about you I didn’t manage to get right-”

“Phil,” Amanda interrupts. Her voice is choked. Dan swallows down a gulp of tobacco flavoured saliva. “I’ve never seen anything like this. You painted this? By hand?”

“Yeah,” Phil says. “For you.”

“I don’t understand,” Amanda says; yep, she’s definitely choking back tears. Desperate to escape, Dan looks around himself for a possible exit, but without Amanda and Phil seeing him, there’s no choice but to just sit here and listen. He brings his knuckles up to bite at them. “Why would you do this for me?”

“There’s more,” Phil says, and oh God, Dan had almost forgotten.

Eyes smarting, Dan hears the rustle of Phil digging around in his suit pocket. Phil steps forward, closing the gap between he and the girl of his dreams. A moment passes, and then she gasps.

“Oh my God, Phil I can’t… you shouldn’t have-”

“Just let me explain,” Phil says. Amanda stays quiet. “I know you spend every day wishing you were born differently, watching your friends glide through life with ease just because they have money. I know it makes you feel inferior to them. It shouldn’t, because you’re perfect. That’s why I wanted to paint you, to show you that to me, at least, you’re flawless.”

Dan shifts quietly. The floor is hardening beneath him, making it impossible to stay still. He catches Lee watching him, fingers covering his mouth in an attempt to stay quiet. It doesn’t matter, he wants to shout at Lee, they’d never notice us. Even if we screamed.

Dan wants to put his fingers in his ears to block it out, but Lee might ask him why later, and Dan can’t handle it. So he just grits his teeth and tells himself it won’t last forever, and that later he can deal with the pain. He remembers, belatedly, the flask laying in his lap, so unscrews the cap and pours a great deal of whatever is inside into his mouth. It tastes disgusting, but then he has another swig, and it goes down a little easier.

“I bought you these because you deserve them,” Phil tells Amanda then, and Dan knows he must be handing her the earrings. Those beautiful black pearls on silver stems. “I want you to feel like you ought to feel. I want you to feel as precious as I see you every day.”

“It’s too much,” Amanda says, weakly. “I can’t accept them.”

“Please take them,” Phil says. “I want to show you what you’re worth.”

A quiet falls, and all Dan can hear is vague rustling. Lee is staring at him now, his eyes feel like they’re boring into his skull. It might be something to do with the tear that’s just fallen down Dan’s cheek.

“How do they look?” Amanda says after a while.

To Dan’s surprise, Phil doesn’t respond straight away. Dan kind of wants to peer his head over the canvases and see for himself. Maybe they really do look hideous on her; Dan had always thought they weren’t really her usual style.

“Yeah,” Phil says then, though his voice is not at all convincing. “Really nice.”

Tip-tap go Amanda’s shoes as she closes the distance between them. Dan can’t help it, he shifts again, bum numbed by the horrible hard tile. As he moves, he realises there’s a slit between two canvases, allowing him just enough space to see through if he leans awkwardly. In the tiny gap, he watches, heart tearing itself down the middle, as Amanda’s hand rests on Phil’s chin, and she tiptoes up to press a kiss to his lips.

At this point, the tears are too insistent to try and hold back. Lee can think what he wants. Dan sips more of the flask, and sinks back to his former position, hating himself for torturing his own heart this way.

“Can you smell cherry?” Amanda asks then, and Dan freezes. He turns to Lee, wide-eyed.

Like they’re connected, Dan can feel it in his chest as the realisation floods over Phil. He hears the guilt in his silence, and aches from it. Phil will sweep his gaze over the room, will note the strange wall of canvases and know at once what they hide. He will know, of course he will know, and now he will pretend he doesn’t.

“N-no,” Phil says, just like Dan knew he would. There’s a slit in his voice, like it’s about to crack, to splinter into bits. “I can’t smell anything. Come on, let’s go back to the dance.”

“Dan,” Lee says for maybe the fifth time. “Dan, are you alright?”

The jumble of art supplies in front of Dan seems to be moving. The supplies swirl about randomly, paint brushes blending into charcoals, oil pastels bleeding into one another, creating a brown sludge.

“ ‘m fine,” Dan gets out. He tries to drain the last of the flask, but finds that it’s somehow already empty. He turns to Lee, eyes blurred from the film of moisture gathered in his ducts. “Hey,” he slurs, pushing the empty flask at him. “You’re sober, right?”

Warily, Lee nods.

Dan digs in his trouser pocket for Ricky’s car keys. “I need a favour.”

The bright lights and jarring, staticky noise coming from the ancient speakers is a lot worse now that Dan’s mind is thickened with alcohol. He pushes through seemingly hoards of people, some of whom grunt and shout things at him, indignant. These people, his classmates, seem alien to him, their faces unrecognisable, distorted and strange.

He’s trying to find the exit, but ends up at the back of the room somehow, with all the tables. Amanda and Phil are sat at one, just the two of them, sharing a glass of punch, their cheeks rosy with happiness. Amanda’s earlobes are glistening with two black pearls.

Just as a wash of bile crawls up Dan’s throat, something happens. It shatters the warping, undulating bubble of Dan’s drunken state, and everything clatters into clarity just as Hardy Jenns’ fist slams down in front of Phil, shaking the table. Phil leaps to his feet, stricken, and Hardy starts to yell.

“...showing up here with my girl on your arm! Who the fuck d’you think you are, you little shitbox, I’m gonna punch your lights out!”

Dan watches in alarm, a tiny ‘no’ slipping from his lips. He surges forwards, straight through a gaggle of girls on the periphery of the dance floor, and lunges. Hardy’s fist draws back, his teeth bared into a snarl as he pulls his weight into the incoming punch. He swings, fast, but Dan is faster. Phil falls to the floor with how hard Dan barrels into him, but it doesn’t matter, because Hardy’s fist misses him by centimetres, and connects with the bone of Dan’s right cheek instead. It makes a dull ‘thwack’, and Dan is thrown backwards by the force of it.

The alcohol numbs the pain, but it throbs unbearably even so. He straightens up, clutching his face and swearing loudly. Phil, on the floor still, has his mouth open in shock.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, not you again,” Hardy growls. There’s a slur to his voice too; Dan clearly isn’t the only one imbibing this evening. “Thought I told you to tell your boyfriend to leave my girl alone!”

Dan jabs a finger at Hardy, breathing hard through the pain. “Get away from him, Hardy.”

The corner of Hardy’s mouth curls into a nasty sneer. “Or what?”

For a moment, Dan just glares at him. He notices Phil struggling to sit up in the periphery of his vision, and is momentarily distracted. He turns, noting the terror on Phil’s face.

“Dan, just leave it,” Phil garbles, urgently. “Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

“Yeah, whore,” Hardy says, drawing Dan’s attention again. He’s still got that smug, shit-eating smirk on his face. Dan’s fist begins to curl. Oh, he’s been aching for a release, and this is all too perfectly set up to resist. “Why don’t you leave it? Go back to whatever back room you crawled out of, wait for the next John to pull down his fly for you.”

“Dan,” Phil says, from somewhere seemingly far away. “Dan, ignore him.”

Drunkenly, Dan turns to Phil for a split second. He shoots him a stupid grin, allowing the rush of white heat and anger to flood him, and then lunges forwards, his own fist connecting with Hardy’s jaw.

“Dan!” Phil calls out. The concern in his voice is blissful. It slips into Dan’s bloodstream, giving him the energy to land a second punch on Hardy’s stupid forehead. This time, it knocks him backwards, and he crashes onto the table behind him.

“Dan, stop!” Phil’s voice is shrill.

“Get the fuck off me you little cunt,” Hardy shouts, as Dan grabs him by the lapels of his idiotic white suit, slamming him down against the table he’s sprawled on, so the back of his skull thunks against it. Amanda is still sitting down, watching with wide-eyes; Dan doesn’t spare her a glance. He’s seething, livid, and Hardy’s stupid, ignorant face suddenly represents every reason why.

Dan knows he doesn’t look like he could lift a fruitfly, but he’s had to toughen up, living where he does. He’s stronger than anyone he knows his age, which people don’t expect. By the look on Hardy’s face, he’s no exception. Dan slaps Hardy sharp across the cheek, hard enough to leave a red mark come morning. They’ve gathered a crowd now, so it won’t be long until a teacher notices and comes over to break them up. So, Dan brings his face close to Hardy’s, close enough that the dickhead should be able to smell the nicotine on his breath.

“Amanda is not your girl,” Dan hisses. “She can do whatever she wants. And mercifully, that’s not you anymore.”

“Get off me!” There’s something urgent and worried in Hardy’s tone. Dan’s half on top of him now, and it seems to be making Hardy even more furious. Dan’s having to exert a lot of energy just pinning him here. “Get the fuck off me you fag fuck!”

And then, it all becomes painfully clear.

The anger recedes a little as Dan’s knee comes into contact with a rather obvious bulge. His eyebrows lift, and Hardy’s terror is palpable. Dan sends him a little ‘gotcha’ smile.

He leans forwards, feeling Hardy go limp, sensing the defeat. “Don’t think you and I will be having a problem anymore, do you?”

Hardy doesn’t respond at first, so Dan pushes his knee sharply into Hardy’s crotch, and he shakes his head quickly. “Please move,” Hardy begs. “I’ll back off, I swear. Just don’t say anything.”

“Swear to me you’ll leave him alone,” Dan says, knee still jammed up against Hardy’s erection.

“I swear, fuck.”

“And Amanda.”

“Fine, fine,” Hardy says hurriedly.

“If you tell your Dad, and get me fired,” Dan says. “I will tell everyone about what I felt here tonight.”

Hardy nods inn understanding, cheeks aflame. Dan releases him then, and wipes his hands on his shirt in disgust. Hardy doesn’t move for a minute. There’s a wide, stunned look in his eyes, as though he’s not sure of his next move. He casts a quick, frightened gaze around the room, meeting the eyes of every onlooker, and then jumps up, fleeing to the hall doors.

Bizarrely, just as Dan turns to go, it’s Amanda’s gaze that he catches. She’s staring at him wonderingly, calmly, despite having seen him beat up and threaten her ex moments ago. In her right thumb and forefinger, she twiddles one of her earrings. Dan turns from her then, nauseated, eye and cheek throbbing, and pushes back into the crowd. He can see the glowing exit sign now, and the crowds seem all too happy to part as he moves towards it. He doesn’t care about these people anymore, nor did he ever. So they’ve finally seen just what happens when somebody pisses off the scary emo kid just a little too much. Let them be scared of him. Maybe it’ll make them leave him alone.

He’s almost at the door, almost free from this horrendous night, when something catches his arm. When Dan turns to see who is stopping him, he has to stop himself from throwing more punches.

“Where are you going?” Phil asks; his eyes are red. Dan tastes blood. “You’re hurt.”

Dan licks the corner of his mouth. His lip ring is missing, and there’s blood pooled there. It must have ripped out during the fight. He wipes the blood with the back of his hand, hardly caring.

“I’m goin’ home,” Dan says, dejected. The alcohol in his system has swooped back into play, and he feels drunk again, the adrenaline of the pain and violence gone. “I’ve given Lee th’keys t’Ricky’s car. He agreed to drive you and Amanda back.”

“Don’t go,” Phil begs him. He seems desperate, and Dan cannot fathom why. “Please, just stay for a while, we can talk, I can get you some ice-”

Dan pulls free of Phil’s grip, annoyed. “If y’wanted t’talk t’me, y’could’ve this morning. Now’m tired, and drunk, and’m leaving.”

“Why did you let Hardy punch you?” Phil’s blue eyes are deep and watery. Dan could throw anchors into them, made of longing, and hurt, and misery, but they’d never reach the bottoms - they’re too deep. “Why did you push me out of the way?”

The question, to Dan, is absurd. “B’cause he was going to hurt you.”

“So?”

“So,” Dan whispers. He tastes blood again. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. You’re the only thing that matters.”

“You matter,” Phil whispers back. “You matter to me.”

Dan snorts in derision, not bothering to reply. Instead, he turns away, and pushes through the fire exit, out into the cold night beyond

The vodka in Dan’s blood is making the dense, humid air shimmer. He’s wrapped in someone’s arms, grinding on someone’s thigh. There’s a sultry, pulsating beat all around him. He thinks maybe, before, there was a finger in his mouth, a small blue pill pressed onto his tongue. Dark grey eyes are locked on his, and as they move to the music, Dan can feel warmth, sweat, hands on his hips.

He wishes he were in bed, not here, with the covers pulled over him, and a pillow to softly soak up the tears. But going home would mean facing Ricky, and perhaps getting another punch thrown at him for kicks. Dan doesn’t even have his brother’s car anymore. Facing Ricky’s wrath without it would be suicidal. The right side of his face throbs and aches. It’s bruised badly, Dan saw it in Ozone’s cracked bathroom mirror. His eye is swollen, making it hard to see.

“What’s it gonna cost me to take you home?” A rough, gravelly voice says into Dan’s ear.

It’s a little surprising Dan is able to pull anyone in the state he’s in. Damaged goods are apparently not a dealbreaker for the dudes in here. A rush of something blissful and heady threads itself through Dan’s body, making him wonder what exactly it was that he swallowed half an hour ago, compressed into that tiny pill. He welcomes the rush of pleasure even so, closing his aching eyes as he allows the drug to sweep away the pain.

He leans forwards, lips to the guy’s ear, and says: “What’ve you got?”

(Chapter Nine!)

#phan #some kind of folliful #skof #phanfic #phan au

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orangeshipper · 7 years ago

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Drabble klaxon!

Following yesterday’s anon, I revisited the little drabble AU series I’d written - totally AU - where it’s the war, Matthew isn’t the heir, Mary is nursing at the Front, and they keep on running into each other. So, here’s a new instalment! (This isn’t plotted like a WIP... just written as and when people ask... but I have got an idea for where it could go, if it continues).

As it’s been years since the last one, if you’re not already familiar with them, you’ll want to start at the beginning:

Part One ~ Part Two ~ Part Three ~ Part Four ~ Part Five

And, now you’re all caught up - here’s Part Six!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The coffee was almost unbearably strong, just the way Mary liked it and needed it, now, and she smiled at the bitter scent and lifted the mug to her lips. The mug was a bit stained, the saucer had a crack in it, and the floorboards of the small tea shop were covered by a fine layer of dust and dirt from the boots that tramped across them, day in, day out. None of that mattered to Mary, nor to anyone who came here - they were off-duty, no wounds or antiseptic in sight, and therefore it was heaven. Even if it was only for an afternoon.

Today she was by herself, and glad of it. Spending all day, every day, so surrounded by people and bustle and noise, so constant, proved terribly wearing. She did like spending her half-days off with her friends, as well… but sometimes it was just nice to be alone. She smiled to herself, thinking fondly of their staff back at Downton and understanding, now, how precious their brief time off was.

Coffee drained, she left a few coins on the counter and thanked the waitress with a smile, then wandered out into the bright afternoon sun. Walking through the village, she shaded her eyes and saw the long queues of men fresh from the front, waiting in turn for the tin baths set up for them at the start of their rest. A few noticed her, and whistled, and she waved cheerily back as she carried on her way. Perhaps it was silly - a lot of nurses didn't like the attention of the leery soldiers, and truthfully neither did she - but she was far happier to see them here, full of the joy of having survived, for now, than to see them wounded and broken back at the field hospital.

There was a fountain in the town square, quite pretty, though damaged from fighting in the early months of the war. She sat by its edge, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her cheeks without the cloying, overpowering stench that clung everywhere whilst at work. Though the town was busy, now, being one of the main stop-offs before the Front, it felt peaceful despite the bustle.

“I thought it was you…” a deep voice startled her.

“Matthew? Heavens! How funny to see you here.” She stood quickly, suddenly breathless, and smoothed down the skirt of her uniform. Her blush of surprise deepened as she realised how easily his Christian name had slipped from her lips, rather than the more formal Captain Crawley it should have been.

He laughed. “I know. They’re calling it a ‘world war’, and of all the people in the world I keep bumping into you.”

Mary smiled, rubbing her hands together. It had been such a long time since she'd seen him. It shouldn't really seem strange, as there should be no reason for her to see him again at all. But of all the soldiers she'd treated, fleeting in and out of her care… while there were a few she'd recognised, treating them more than once, none had been quite like this Matthew. More so now, the last time she'd seen him having been when he'd dropped her off at Downton, after Patrick…

“If only one believed in fate,” she said, arching her brow. “How are you?”

“Well, thank you. As well as anyone could expect to be, at least - it's very welcome to be on rest for a while.” He shifted as if nervous. “I wrote to you a while ago, you know. I didn't know if it would reach you - it wasn't my place to ask, I know, or anything to do with me - what news there was of your husband, in the end?”

She stared at him a moment, and sat down, Matthew following more slowly. Her expression carefully impassive, she said,

“He got stuck behind German lines, during some reconnaissance. Perfectly fine, but the field hospital he found himself at forgot to let anyone know. Stupid, really. So thank you, yes he's alive. As far as I know, at least!”

“That's jolly good to hear.”

There was something noble about his smile, sincere as it seemed. Mary studied him for a moment, letting the silence settle between them with an acknowledging nod. She had received his letter, eventually, but somehow didn't feel able to reply. Didn't feel able to tell him now, still… that in the uncertain days that dragged on of Patrick’s disappearance, her father had had Murray do some digging. Just in case. And had found that the nearest male relative, after Patrick… was a lawyer from Manchester, called Matthew Crawley.

What would be the point in telling him? If Patrick survived the war, it wouldn't matter anyway. Matthew himself might not survive the war, she thought, with a greater stab of regret - she told herself that was only because he was there in front of her, so earnest and real and alive.

Her family had been horrified to find out their next heir was middle class. But she looked at him now, her eyes alight with warm appraisal. He wasn't a middle class lawyer to her. She'd known him first a soldier - an officer, a decent and brave one, and terribly good looking, despite the grime in his dirty blond hair and the scars and mud that flecked his skin - truly a gentleman. She'd never class him apart from Patrick, to see them both together.

“Yes, it was something of a relief I must say!” she said brightly.

“I'm sure.” He smiled suddenly, lopsided and almost shy. “I couldn't bear the thought of you being sad.”

Mary's heart quickened at his soft words and the earnest gaze of those captivating blue eyes, fluttering in a way she was certain it shouldn't.

A warm breeze blew the dust up at their feet, voices of Matthew’s company raucously carrying down the wind, and they both turned their heads. His shoulders sank with a sigh. “I should get back to that lot. It's not really on, sneaking off like this - but I hope you don't mind me having said hello.”

How could she possibly mind, Mary thought, clasping her hands in her lap and returning his broad smile.

“I'm pleased you did! And I hope it won't be the last time.”

Matthew's eyebrows shot up, and she laughed, and quickly corrected herself. “I don't mean that I hope you'll be wounded again! Certainly not. I mean, I hope we’ll meet again like this. In peace.”

Perhaps the idea of fate wasn't so silly after all, she wondered, especially knowing now that he was family (if distant). No wonder they seemed connected, felt connected… Familiar, somehow. Right. Suddenly she felt certain that this wasn't the last time she would see him, though she couldn't explain it; she was, and felt a strange comfort in the thought. Somehow she couldn't bear the thought that she wouldn't. Her certainty seemed mirrored in his gaze, that held her fast.

“We’re on rest for a week, at least… Hopefully two,” he said, his voice low, almost cautious.

“Won't you be bored by the end of it?” Her eyes twinkled at how he laughed. “My usual Wednesday afternoon off doesn't feel much, but given two weeks I think I'd be going spare.”

He stood with a smile, taking off his cap and brushing off some flecks of mud. “I'll find something to entertain me, I'm sure.”

She rose to join him, and when he extended his hand, she took it.

“Goodbye then, Captain Crawley. Enjoy your rest!”

“Thank you.”

His hand was warm in hers, and she held on for a moment more, squinting to see him against the afternoon sun. She felt a wild urge to kiss him. Oh, she'd kissed soldiers before - well, not like that - but those seeking comfort, just swiftly on the cheek, just as she had Matthew that evening before he'd been shipped back to England. She fought down the twinge deep in her belly that taunted, that wasn't how she wanted to kiss him now… but that would be absurd, utterly mad. She liked him, yes, because he’d been kind to her in England, because he made her smile in the darkness they all lived through, and she was grateful.

She swayed forward and pressed her lips to his cheek, squeezing his fingers just once before walking past him and away. Her regulation heels tapped softly down the road back towards the hospital, as one hand lifted to shield her eyes against the sun, back towards work and wounds and the war.

How precious her afternoons off were. Next week couldn't come soon enough, she thought to herself with a smile.

#drabbles #Downton Abbey #Matthew x Mary #finally my muse is working again!!!

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mmtions · 7 years ago

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wedding: impossible (pt.2)

(pt.1)

michelle jones/peter parker - college/future fic (wip)

Against his better judgement, Peter has agreed to be MJ’s fake date to a wedding so she can usurp the bride, or something. Considering how much he’d like to be her not-fake date, he’s not really looking forward to it.

Despite all her apparent indifference to them both - and, really, most of her peers - MJ had become a close friend to Ned and himself. So much so that he freely told her his big, spider-themed secret. (She’s actually the only person he’s deliberately told, which is a milestone he’s not keen on analyzing too deeply.)

She’d reacted pretty calmly, actually, only hitting him with a medium-sized Chimamanda Ngozi Adiche novel, rather than the special edition hardcover that was also in reaching distance.

So, they survived high school together, becoming an unexpectedly tight-knit trio (with absolute no parallels to Harry Potter, shut up Ned). They even survived the entry and violent departure of Harry Osborne from the group, which caused all kinds of angst for Peter, definitely revolving around the supervillainy rather than the whole dating-MJ thing, thank you very much.

And they’d even survived college applications together. Ned and Peter had been talking about MIT since they realised it wasn’t a fictional place on spy TV shows, and Harvard should consider itself lucky to get MJ as one of its alumni. It was a happy coincidence that they all lived within a twenty-minute car ride of each other, really.

None of this, however, explains why exactly Peter is currently on a ferry to Martha’s Vineyard, trying to make conversation with MJ that isn’t horrifically awkward.

He’d picked her up from her college dorm in the car guilt-gifted to him by Mr. Stark after the whole Infinity War mess, and most of the words exchanged during the whole hour-and-a-half trip had been about which radio station to play. They’re currently sitting inside the main ferry, a booth to themselves, looking out onto the passing waves. Peter’s already wearing his suit, the plain black one he last wore to graduation, but MJ told him that she’d change on the journey. (As long as she’s not expecting him to keep driving while she strips off in the front seat next to him, he’s perfectly happy with the plan).

“Hey,” she suddenly says, apropos of nothing. “Does this remind you of that time with the Vulture and the ferry splitting in half?” Because of course she’d gone into scary-research-mode with she’d first found out his double life.

“Um,” he looks around. The smell of seawater is stronger when it’s not filtered through a fear-sweaty mask, and the view isn’t quite the same, but, “Yeah, kind of, now you mention it. Thanks for that.”

She snickers. “No problem.”

And, well, he finds himself smiling, because he can’t help himself, and because this is their status quo, her making fun of pretty much every aspect of his character, and he didn’t realise how much he missed it even in the past week.

He readjusts his tie - although maybe he could just have taken it off for the journey - and of course MJ’s eyes narrow in on the movement. “I like your suit,” she says.

“Thanks,” he says. “May said I should match the tie to your dress, but you won’t tell me anything about it, so…”

Laughing easily, she replies, “Gold medal to Aunt May for remembering prom etiquette. Anyway, I’ve brought two dresses with me, and they’re different colours.”

“I’m sure I could have packed two ties,” he counters with a perfect poker face.

“Shut it, Parker.” She leans to teasingly shove at his shoulder. “Seriously, thanks for coming. I was considering Ned, but I’ve seen him on Dance Dance Revolution, and I can’t afford to lose an eye during the macarena, you know?”

He snorts. “Sure, happy to save you from that. But who turned you down before you considered me?”

He meant it as just a joke, ready for her to roll her eyes and say a cheerleader or her current debating rival, but as soon as he says it, he realises how desperate it probably sounded. He swallows, and prepares his commentary on the weather, when she frowns, a crease between her brows like every-time he says something stupid.

“I didn’t consider anyone else,” she says, and she actually seems sincere, which, honestly, has happened maybe five times during their entire friendship.

He rolls his eyes. “I’m joking, MJ, don’t worry.”

“Peter,” she says, and she puts her hand over his where it rests between them on the bench. “Seriously. You were my first choice.”

He casts his gaze anywhere but her face. “It’s okay, I’m here, you don’t need to-”

“Peter, I needed someone charismatic, and hot, and nice, and who I trust. Your waltz skills were a big bonus, I’ll admit,” and here, she grins, disarmingly casual, as if his whole world hasn’t stuttered a little bit at so many compliments coming from her mouth. “But I wanted you to come with me.”

“Uh,” he says, eloquently.

“I’m gonna go change into my outfit,” she says, abruptly, standing and edging out of the booth. “Stay here. And try not to sink the boat this time, yeah?”

He shakes himself. “Not funny!” He yells after her retreating figure. She flips him off in response, and a mother shields her daughter’s eyes from the gesture as MJ stalks past them, duffel bag slung over her shoulder. Great.

While he waits for her to return, he nervously fixes his hair - and probably messes it up more - and considers texting Ned. Although what would he send?

(hey, has MJ been complimenting you recently? unrelated q: how’s that alien mind control detector coming along?)

He could maybe text May, but she’d get the wrong idea. Well, probably the right idea, but she’s always liked MJ, even more after the whole first semester mess that was his month-long relationship with Carlie Cooper. Even thinking her name makes the smell of burning strong in Peter’s nostrils, and he shivers. Bad mental path to go down, Parker.

He decides to just refresh Twitter, liking Pepper Potts’ (@CEOStarkPotts) tweet about fracking, and Mr. Stark’s subsequent reply about where he’d like to drill for oil, which he only likes out of courtesy because the actual mental image is bleach-drinking worthy.

He quickly finds himself then in a internet spiral, and he’s watching a Youtube restoration of a dug-up axe when there’s a cough from somewhere near. He startles, and looks up, and then thinks that maybe the ship did sink and he’s dead. Completely and utterly dead.

“It’s red,” he chokes out. At this point, it might be easier to just tattoo ‘giant dweeb’ across his forehead.

She rolls his eyes. “Cheers, Parker, consider your next opticians’ appointment postponed. Seriously, is it okay, or should I try on the other one?”

He shakes his head so fast he’s in danger of dislocating his jaw. He’s staring, definitely, but he doubts anyone would blame him. Because MJ - Michelle freakin’ “fashion is capitalism’s worst industry” Jones - is wearing this long red slinky dress that looks soft and shiny and amazing. “Nope, no,” he says. (Smooth.) “No, I think that one works. It’s, ah, you’re really - it looks good. Yeah,”

God, it’s almost the exact shade as the red on his suit. Don’t worry, Dr. Octopus, MJ is going to murder Peter Parker by just wearing spaghetti straps, you’re welcome.

She slides back into the booth, and tucks her hair - which is out of its usual ponytail and falling all around her face in all its wild glory - behind her ears. “Thanks.” Then the soft smile is quickly hidden behind a meaner grimace. “This’ll show Anna.”

“You still haven’t told me what your big problem with this girl is,” Peter points out, thankful for the distraction of conversation.

She sniffs. “It’s a long story. And I can only tell it when the sun’s down.”

He rolls his eyes. He has no idea why he likes her so much, honestly.

They follow the GPS’s directions and arrive at the hotel, a charming place with white stone and a long gravel driveway accented with pretty, flowering trees. Naturally, MJ pulls a face at it.

“This is so typical of her,” she says.

“It looks nice,” he rebukes.

They follow the signs to the car park, and Peter only takes three tries, amidst MJ’s laughter, to get it into the parking bay. They traipse to the main entrance, other guests mingling and following their path.

"Wait," Peter asks as they reach the lobby and join the queue of people for the reception desk. "We're staying here tonight?"

"Yeah," MJ replies casually. "The ceremony and reception are here, so."

"You booked the rooms?"

At this, MJ suddenly seems distracted by her fingernails. "Room. Singular. And, yeah. Least I could do for dragging you out here."

He's too afraid to ask the other question he has, which is promptly answered when they get up to their designated Room 342. It has exactly one double bed, right in the middle of the room, like it's taunting him.

"I-" he swallows. "I'll call reception, get them to send some more pillows so I can sleep on the floor."

"Don't be stupid," she dismisses, already chucking her bag onto the right side and popping the complimentary pillow mint into her mouth. "You can't help little old ladies cross the street if your back's as bad as theirs. We can share."

Right. They can share a bed. Sure.

"When does the ceremony start?" Peter asks, a little desperately as MJ sits on the bed and bobs a little, testing the springiness, which is not a turn-on, shut up.

"In half an hour, probably." She shrugs. "I'm not bothered if we turn up late though."

He narrows his eyes. "You want to turn up fashionably late to a wedding ceremony."

"I'm not saying I want to, I'm just saying I wouldn't be bothered," she counters, with a straight face, until she breaks and stands back up. "Kidding, kidding. Let's go. I think one of my cool cousins is here."

He frowns, following her out into the hallway and only just remembering to grab the keycard from the small table by the door. "How come your cousin is here? I thought you knew this girl from middle school?"

"Yeah, we went to middle school together," MJ agrees, and perhaps Peter should know not to be fooled by her casual tone by now. "But she's my aunt's daughter."

Peter stops. Like, he actually stops walking, right there on the patterned carpeting. "So, your cousin.”

She mockingly shudders. "Gross. I try to pretend we're not related."

“This is your cousin’s wedding,” he says slowly, the horrible truth dawning on him.

She stops at the elevators just in time to give him a side profile of her rolling her eyes. “Yes, if you want to be pedantic, I guess.”

He swallows. "Exactly how many of your family members are going to be down there?"

She finally halts as well, and turns to look at him, raising an eyebrow like he's the one being ridiculous. Then she twists her lips, thinking. "Hm," she says, and he waits with held breath. "Only the ones on my mom's side."

Yep. He's going to die.

He throws his arms in the air. Possibly he's being very dramatic, but come on! "MJ! Are you kidding? This would have been vital information before we got here!"

Something weird and undefinable flickers across her face. "Would you have not come if you knew?" she counters, which is really beside the point.

"Of course I would've come," he says, immediately, because it's the truth. If MJ asked him to come as his date to a wedding between a disapproving Steve Rogers and Electro, he would've turned up with his shoes shined. Regardless, he thinks he has the right to be a little thrown. "You're seriously going to introduce me to your whole family as your boyfriend? To get revenge on your cousin?”

He at least expects a little contrition from her. But instead, the elevator doors slide open with a small chime, and the corner of her lips are curling, like she’s daring him to do something. “You up for the challenge, Spider-Man?”

God help him. His head rolls back in defeat, and she slips into the elevator. He has a split-second to decide: and then he’s darting forward to slide in before the doors shut.

She looks up at his entrance, as if maybe she hadn’t been all that sure, and he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Fine, I’m in,” he says, and his smile is met by one of her own. “But you have to tell me the story behind your hatred of Anna, and I get to tell everyone you cried at the ceremony.”

She bites down on her bottom lip in that way she does whenever she wants to laugh at one of his dumb jokes but is too proud to. “Deal.”

“And,” he adds as she presses the button for the lobby, because something feels different, and he’s still sparking from the sight of her in that dress. “You have to strongly imply I’m the best you’ve had in bed.”

He’s expecting her to laugh straight in his face. But suddenly her expression is… different. Before he can work out exactly what’s going on, the elevator doors are opening again, and she’s striding away.

He takes a deep breath, and readjusts his tie one last time. Come on, Spider-Man, he thinks, and follows her.

thanks for the amazing response so far!! I think this is going to be my last update on tumblr - I’m going to finish the rest, and then probably post the full thing as a one-shot on ao3. hope you enjoyed this next part!

#spideychelle #peter x mj #peter x michelle #spiderman: homecoming #peter parker #michelle jones #spideychelle fanfiction #spider-man fanfiction #i

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ellstra · 8 years ago

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Ellstra’s Kylux fic rec Vol. 2

I decided to make another fic rec in the moments when I’m too drained of energy to do anything that requires brain activity. I couldn’t tag some people (again, tumblr is fucked) which breaks my heart. The fics are in no particular order, only organised in groups from filth to innocent T rated fics (which I honestly didn’t expect to see. Bless you guys.) Enjoy!

Rated E

Grease Lightning by @slutstiels 4k, Modern Au “I’ll fix it for free–” Hux gasps, hardly able to believe his ears. The man holds up a finger to Hux’s lips and Hux frowns, flinching back instinctively. The offending finger is pulled away and Hux reflexively licks his lips, tasting salt and copper; the man’s eyes flow the movement of his tongue before those eyes focus on his own again. “–if you let me fuck you.” “Excuse me?” Kylo is a car mechanic and Hux is a very rich man with a very expensive car that needs to be fixed immediately. Yes, this sounds like a porn intro, and it is. And a great one.

Into the Garbage Chute by @longstoryshortikilledhim 15.5k, Techienician, Modern AU Techie and Matt are Star Wars fans who meet at a convention. This is such a sweet fic, you’ll love yourself for reading it. Techie and Matt are huge adorable dorky nerds and I love them.

it’s not fashionable to love me by @thesunandoceanblue 10.5k, Modern AU Stop staring at his jeans. He knows they’re too tight on him. That’s the whole point; so people will stare at his—don’t stare at his junk. Hux is persistently bothered by an odd but attractive man during his shifts. Hux is a horrible person who cheats on his boyfriend, Phasma is the best, Kylo is hot and straight-forward. It’s set in a tea shop which is something I never considered as a setting for a fic but it works really well.

In the Flesh by @srawratskcuf 3k, High school AU Kylo is that one kid in school who gives piercings in the bathroom. Prep!Hux comes in for one on a dare and keeps coming back for more (a good mix of ‘dam these are hot’ and 'damn hes hot’) Seriously, it’s disgusting and Hux is so pretentious you’ll want to spill blueberry juice on his expensive shirt and it’s the most hilarious thing ever.

Bohemian Rhapsody by @longstoryshortikilledhim 18k, Modern AU Kylo is a street musician in Prague. Hux is touring with the prestigious First Order Orchestra. They collide. Hard. In the unlikely case you haven’t read this fic yet, drop everything you’re doing and do yourself the favour. It’s everything you might want from this AU and more, the style is gorgeous and it’s set in my country so bonus points for the advertisement.

More below the cut!

Black Powder, Black Hearts by @sundogsailor 6k, Pirate AU “I can’t,” he insisted, playing the one remaining card his panicked brain had managed to find. “It’s against regulations.” “You’re not in his Majesty’s Navy anymore,” Ren growled. “I thought that was abundantly clear.” Hux opened his eyes to find the man much nearer than he’d thought, leaned in close enough for him to pick out each of his dark lashes in the lamplight. And at that moment he knew he’d lost, both the fight against himself and the one against Kylo Ren: mutineer, pirate, and apparently, sodomite. Hux is a good navy officer who does his job, until he doesn’t and decides to save his life instead of trying to get himself killed. Turns out the pirate who captured him is truly, truly, truly perverted and wants Hux, the good man, to do the unspeakable and Hux doesn’t want to until he does and it’s all very embarrassing. Wrapped up in navy terms you’ll probably have to look up. A pleasure.

Hotline Bling by @minzimpression 37k, Modern AU Hux wants a dick pic from his recent hook-up. Unfortunately, he texts the wrong number. There’s phone sex, there are chance encounters, there’s a long distance relationship and actual feelings involved. A wholesome read. There’s also a rather good podfic of this by @asailordreamingbeyondthehorizon

Wild Honey by @longstoryshortikilledhim 9.5k, modern AU Armitage Hux was raised by his mother. He’s still an asshole. An innovative take on a coffee shop AU (the barista is Hux’s mum), Hux’s father makes an asshole-y cameo, there’s sex followed by a date, all in a very lovely package.

On The Cusp by @solohux 5k, canon-verse Hux has a fantasy about groping and public touching. Kylo finds out. It’s filthy, mentally-scarring for some of the officers of the Finalizer and very enjoyable.

Misfits by @hollyhark 20k, canon-verse, Techienician (+Kylux) Matt (short temper, disturbing fixation on Kylo Ren, snores) and Techie (night terrors, excessive jumpiness, “creepy” eyes) have both become notorious for driving their bunkmates to request a room change. General Hux is tired of processing the admin work they create. He assigns them to bunk together. They’ll either deal with it or lose their jobs. What a lovely and wholesome fic. I can’t describe it properly, but I can promise it’s worth the read. It has everything.

Coupe by @eralkfang 3k, canon-verse “I don’t have breasts,” Ren says, quickly—but too quickly, his eyes darting away as he bites his lip. No wonder Ren wears the mask, Hux thinks. His face betrays him at every turn.“Of course not,” Hux soothes, with more than a little sarcasm in his voice. “You couldn’t feed anyone with these. What you’ve got, Ren, is a nice pair of tits.” Shameless porn. Disgusting. Have I convinced you yet? Thought so.

Rated M

A Rose and its Thorn by @solohux 2.5k, canon-verse ’Hanahaki disease is an illness born from one-sided love, where the patient coughs up flowers or flower petals. The only cure is to have that love reciprocated. The infection can be removed through surgery, but the feelings disappear along with the petals.'

Hunger by @eralkfang, @reserve, @badspacebabies 9k, canon-verse Kylo Ren keeps returning from missions with gifts for Hux. Neither one of them is really sure what it means. Foodporn, really confusing relationship, slow steps towards whatever the outcome of the story is.

alors on danse by @huxes 32.5k Ballet AU Between seemingly random bestowals of their art upon the world (guerrilla dance, suggested a Toronto Sun reporter), the Knights rehearse, or don’t; or go on crime sprees, or don’t; or are a motorcycle gang, or a drug-smuggling ring, or a hacktivist group — or they aren’t.The point is, this company is less a dance troupe and more a legend, and their founder is the greatest myth of all. Hux, like many, wasn’t sure the Knights — or Kylo Ren, for that matter — even existed anymore. It had been six months or so since their last “guerrilla” performance, and the art world was beginning to lose interest in them, when Hux received the email.The subject line read, Ballet choreographer wanted — Knights of Ren. The “from” line was blank. It’s a ballet AU, so there’s awkward tension, Kylo’s childhood is fucked up, there’s a lot of pent-up feelings, Hux meets the family, the give Snoke the metaphorical finger. Bonus for the most beautiful sex scene I’ve read in a long time.

Lacuna by @solohux 14.5k, canon-verse, WIP After a bad head injury, Kylo wakes up with no memory of the last few years of his life. Including his marriage to Hux. A lovely and angsty take on memory loss. It has Emperor Hux and the sweetest idea for wedding rings. It will fuck you up and make you feel grateful.

Rated T

Cut Your Losses by @sinningsquire 5.5k, modern AU Ben has to spend the summer holiday at Luke’s farm. He hates it. After he meets a pretty ginger in a local town, he hates it even more. Or… maybe a little less? This beauty is set in my home country and it’s awesome. Hux is a little shit and Ben talks too much. Need I say more?

oh, is it love? by @42dicks 14.5k, modern AU, WIP Armitage Hux (16, scary) is a “Counselor in Training” at Camp Endor where he has spent far too many summers. His father, up until this year, was a Counselor himself and Armitage suffers under his shadow. Ben Solo (15, doesn’t want to be here) is forced to attend Camp Endor after prior efforts to get him out of his room and enjoy his summer vacation fail. Queue two socially alienated teens accepting each other’s company after a series of shared mishaps, and more making out than is probably healthy. An interesting dynamics that promises a lot more, they’re both a mess™ and the prose is lovely. Bonus points for bringing back happy memories of summer camps.

The Loveliest Letters by @space-girlfriends 2.5k, canon-verse Hux finds a letter on his desk. His secret admirer, whoever calls themselves S, is quite a…poetic fellow. A very lovely crack fic. Features everything a good crack fic should have and an extra serving of hilarity because it was posted on Valentine’s day.

#kylux #kylux fic rec #techienician #kylo ren #general hux #fic rec #I hope I haven't forgotten anything this time #ugh AO3 history is so confusing

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solivar · 8 years ago

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WIP: Ghost Stories On Route 66

aka the one where Hanzo Shimada is an expatriate student of the Fine Arts, attending college in what he assumes to be a reasonably sedate corner of the American southwest. Jesse McCree is an occasionally leather-clad NPS ranger whose duties extend somewhat further than shooing lost tourists back onto the clearly marked hiking trails. Something weird is going on in the desert south of Santa Fe and their lives unexpectedly come together in the middle of it.

The bit in which Hanzo has a frank and meaningful conversation with Tekhartha Zenyatta.

The UMN annex was four hoverbus transfers and one short stretch on the rapid pedestrian transit speedwalk which, this time at least, did not result in any form of grievous bodily harm, not even a bit of unscheduled nipple-surfing across the raked-stone-and-succulent-beds lawn at his point of exit. Given that his last trip out to the annex had resulted a) missing the exit, b) attempting to return to the exit by the expedient method of hopping over the lane separator, and c) being sent to the hospital via ambulance because having one foot going one direction and one foot going the other direction and each moving at roughly twice the average human walking speed was a recipe for tragedy, he considered this at least an unqualified success. In his own defence, the last time he traveled out to the annex was also his first, carrying Zenyatta’s forgotten lunch since he was the one who didn’t have any scheduled classes or studio time or anything resembling work that day, and had not expected what he found upon arrival. In the world of his childhood, buildings called “annexes” were either ancient, crumbling cinderblock-and-sheet-metal edifices that would probably exist until an earthquake strong enough to topple them came along or else post-Crisis modular prefabs of recycled and poorly insulated plastics meant to be replaced by more permanent construction but which never seemed to rate high enough on anyone’s priority queue to quite get there.

This annex, by way of cruel and distracting contrast, was a Pueblo Deco Revival architectural masterwork purpose designed and built as a showcase piece for the style, as well as to house the off-campus professional enrichment classrooms and offices for the chosen few among the faculty. His research, conducted while he was spending six weeks with his left leg in a full immobilization brace, suggested that being assigned space there was generally the result of a member of the faculty either dying or moving on and the survivors engaging in the sort of academic heft/staff seniority knife fights only spoken of in shellshocked whispers by TAs and adjuncts who’d had the misfortune of witnessing them first hand. That Tekhartha Zenyatta, known by all for his thoroughgoing gentleness and fundamentally mild nature, occupied a prime chunk of that real estate suggested that his publish-or-perish game was thoroughly on point or he knew where a substantial number of bodies were buried and probably both. His office was a second-floor corner, not quite as desirable as some spaces, significantly more desirable than others, gifted with more than adequate storage and sitting space as well as enormous windows in two of the four walls and a view of the city and the mountains beyond that could genuinely be described as a vista.

Zenyatta was sitting at his desk, silhouetted against said vista, when Hanzo arrived, having missed him in the classroom by a double handful of minutes, and knocked on the frame of the open door. He looked up and never was the praying mantis resemblance more acute than when the westering sun caught the shaved curve of his skull and the highlights in his hazel eyes as he blinked a slow and vaguely astonished blink at the apparition that appeared before him. Hanzo held up a thermos. “I have soup.”

Zenyatta smiled and his eyes glinted with unconcealed humor. “And this time emergency services were not involved in the delivery. Come in, my friend.”

Hanzo stepped inside and closed the door behind him. By the time he turned around, Zenyatta had retrieved two bowls from the depths of his desk and shut down the holoscreens of its internal workstation. Hanzo sat, and poured, the soup still warm enough to steam, and a for a moment the sat together in companionable silence and drank.

“Ah.” Zenyatta finally said. “Grandmother Sumiko’s miso soup recipe. Never tell your brother this, but I am of the opinion that no one in the household makes it better than you.”

“You flatter me.” Hanzo replied, but couldn’t help the smile that grew across his face. “And I would never break my brother’s heart that way, I assure you.”

A warm chuckle. “I hope you do not mind me saying it, but you also have the look about you of a man who wishes to unburden himself without having to spend the next two hours talking his excitable, wildly overprotective little brother out of shipping him back to Japan tied up in a crate marked live cargo, do not taunt.”

“You...are not even a little bit wrong about that,” Hanzo admitted, and set his bowl down. “I -- “

He opened his mouth to speak, and for a long, long, horrifyingly long moment, absolutely nothing came out. Zenyatta’s pale silver brows, always startling against his dark skin, rose questioningly as he finished drinking his soup and set the bowl aside. Hanzo closed his mouth, breathed deeply, exhaled, breathed deeply again, and found words absolutely failing to emerge from his word-making hole despite the ardent desire burning beneath is breastbone to expel the tale of every weird-ass thing that had happened to him over the last four days, unpleasant, pleasant, and enjoyment-neutral. His throat worked fruitlessly with the effort to produce them, his brain chased itself in fully coherent narrative circles, but the only thing to emerge from his throat was a thin, wheezy whine not entirely unlike the pitiful utterance of a woodwind whose reed was so hopelessly saturated with saliva it was utterly incapable of effective vibration. With a wordless moan of despair, he collapsed against Zenyatta’s desk and buried his head in his arms.

“I have the sense,” Zenyatta said, gently, “that this is not something you have done very often. Or perhaps at all. Ever.”

Hanzo found he could not raise his head from his arms and so he lifted a hand in a complex gesture he hoped Zenyatta would interpret as agreement.

“Would it, perhaps, be easier for you if I asked questions?” Again, oh so very gentle.

“...Maybe?” From the depths of his defensive stronghold, Hanzo managed to force out a response.

“Very well.” Zenyatta’s tone became, if anything, even more serene. “I understand that you intended to visit Shiprock. Was it all that you expected it to be?”

“...Yes.” He very much wished, at that moment, to wax rhapsodic at length, to utter self-condemnatory words for never having visited sooner, despite having the time to do so more than once over the years, to describe how it was impossible to fully appreciate the place in all its stark beauty without standing in the cool of its shadow, and settled for croaking into the crook of his arm, “I’ll show you the pictures when we get home.”

“Hanzo, my friend, are you comfortable with this? We can stop if -- “

“No,” Hanzo muttered, lifting his head enough to catch a glimpse of Zenyatta looking down at him, naked concern on his face. “No -- I wish to continue. Please.”

“As you wish.” Zenyatta leaned slightly closer, his hands folding together atop his desk in a fashion Hanzo was inclined to call mudra-ish. “I also understand that you intended to visit the Omnic graveyard in that area, as well. May I ask why? The two goals seem entirely divergent from one another.”

“Part of my Visual Thesis.” Hanzo admitted to the surface of Zenyatta’s desk. “A...comparison and contrast between natural forms of desolation -- the desert, particularly now that winter is approaching -- and the wreckage left behind by the collapse of modern civilization, the towns abandoned during the Crisis and never reoccupied, the scars left behind by hubris and war. I thought the graveyard, and the town closest to it, which was also called Shiprock, would make a striking example.”

“I tend to agree.” A little smile touched the corners of Zenyatta’s mouth. “I would very much enjoy seeing those photographs, I think, and to visit the your thesis exhibition next spring.”

“Iwillmakecertainmyadvisorhasyouonthelist.” He could feel all the blood evacuating his extremities and heading directly to his face and so he positioned his otherwise useless hands to hide it as much as possible. “The whole experience left me feeling...melancholy. There was -- there is -- an intrinsic sadness to the whole thing, even now, thinking of how much death and destruction could have been avoided, how much more could have been done in the aftermath, the appalling waste of it all.”

And now was the weird part. Where the emphatically Not Normal stuff began. He could feel the urge to beg Zenyatta’s forgiveness for wasting his time welling up in his throat and the even stronger urge to stand up and flee even if it meant risking death or dismemberment on a snow-slicked speedwalk taking up residence in his legs, pleading with him to retreat from what was certain to be a scene of pure humiliation. You should really spare your brother’s boyfriend the necessity of calling the hospital and having you admitted for psychiatric evaluation -- that’s the sort of thing that can put a strain on even the best relationships, a little voice that seemed to partake of rationality murmured in the back of his mind, seduction spiked with reproach because, really, what kind of asshole would do that to Zenyatta? He absolutely did not have to be forced to make that sort of judgment call and --

“And then where did you go?” Zenyatta’s voice, warm and smooth as oil, poured through the cracks in his internal monologue and caused how now-slippery thoughts to skid away like an unsteady but enthusiastic two year old on a particularly lubricious skating rink.

“Cerrillos,” Hanzo blurted out, before the voice of rationality could reassert itself. “Well -- eventually. This is where things become...strange. Very, very strange. I would humbly ask that you listen first and then, if you think me thoroughly irrational afterwards, we can discuss...options?”

Zenyatta’s hands lifted away from the table and took on a second, even more mudraish posture just below his chin. “Agreed. Though I should also tell you that, having lived and worked here for a number of years my standards for strange are quite liberal.”

“My car’s GPS began malfunctioning even before I left the vicinity of the graveyard -- I believe I was technically still within Shiprock town limits.” He retrieved the second thermos and jiggled it gently; Zenyatta brought out two tea bowls this time, and he poured for them both. A few sips and he was fortified to continue. “It refused to hold the route I indicated. I had to reset it several times and it misdirected me all over the hills until I reached what used to be Route 14, where it showed me a course back to Santa Fe from the south. The car itself was sputtering for miles and it finally died completely just after I made that turn.”

“I have heard of this sort of thing before from both students and colleagues.” Zenyatta informed him, meditatively. “Global positioning devices frankly refusing to function properly in certain regions south of the city, that is. The theories I have heard in relation to why this may be tend to extremes to say the least.”

“Oh?” Hanzo asked, somewhat more warily than he liked.

A certain mischievous sparkle came into Zenyatta’s eyes. “The most reasonable suggest some form of localized, persistent geomagnetic disturbance in the Earth’s atmosphere, though how such a thing could both exist and completely defy conventional forms of detection is a debate all by itself. Some of the others...well. Roswell is only two hundred miles away, and well within the observed radius of GPS disturbances.”

“Roswell?” Hanzo asked, blankly this time.

The mischievous sparkle was now a mischievous gleam. “Aliens, my friend. Visitors from another world. One of my students is involved in the production of a journal of amateur UFOlogy and swears with a great deal of passionate conviction that the United States government has been covering up the existence of extraterrestrial life since a vehicle not of this world crashed in Roswell in the late 1940s.”

“I...believe I read about that at some point.” Hanzo leaned back in his chair. “A crashed weather balloon?”

“A crashed nuclear test observation balloon that spawned thousands of conspiracy theories, some of them more plausible than others.” He shook his head slightly. “But I agreed to listen first. Please...continue.”

“Yes. Uhm.” And now came the Really Incredibly Strange Parts and before his rational mind could start whispering helpful advice, he pushed himself all the way up into a normal sitting position, gripped the armrests of his chair and said, “I think there were coyotes. Actual real, living coyotes. At least one. When the car died, it was almost dark -- the road I was on barely existed on the GPS and from what I could see it wasn’t traveled regularly at all. My cell had no reception, not even the emergency contact signal. I knew that waiting wasn’t really an option, so I gathered my things and began walking north along Route 14. I saw their eyes from a distance at the edge of my light and for at least a few hours, I was convinced I was going to be eaten.”

A smile curled Zenyatta’s mouth, but he mercifully said nothing.

“I reached Cerrillos -- I want to say near midnight? I lost track of time while I was walking. It was cold, I was exhausted, and at first I didn’t realize I was looking at real lights, an occupied building. The ranger’s...station, I should probably say, but it was more like just a house? I think he’s lived there a long time, is what I’m saying. He took me in and I sort of passed out on his couch and the next morning he gave me breakfast and can I just say that if you and he got into a gently soothing smile contest, I am legitimately unsure who would win? He’s just so -- “ Hanzo’s hands, he realized with dawning horror, had released their grip on the armrests through no conscious direction of his own and started talking for themselves; he hastily stuffed them under his thighs. “Anyway, the next day he took me to my car to see if anything could be done for it and there was...something...more than one something...not a coyote...lurking around it. Nearby. We heard them first -- they howled, like a pack of animals communicating with one another.” He found he could recall that hideous, unearthly sound with horripilating intensity, a shudder running the length of his body as he did so, and Zenyatta’s sympathetic listening face took on a hint of genuine alarm. “Jesse -- that’s the ranger’s name, Jesse McCree -- told me to get back into our vehicle and as we were driving away there was something else, something louder and closer and I --”

The sensation that gripped him now was less a shudder than a convulsion as, for an instant, he nearly remembered what he saw -- the outline, the contour, the texture, the stomach-churning awareness that none of those things were born of any sane world, or even the one they both now occupied, and he deeply regretted everything he’d eaten thus far that day. He clamped his jaw and his eyes shut and swallowed hard and, as he did so, a pair of warm hands cradled his face. At a vast distance, he heard Zenyatta saying his name. With an almost superhuman effort, he forced his eyes to open and ground out, “I saw it. Something unnatural. It saw me, too, and it tried -- “

“It tried to devour your soul.” Zenyatta finished it for him.

“How -- ?” Hanzo croaked, not quite certain how many possible permutations of that question he actually meant, but he knew it was more than one.

“Did I know?” The kindly smile had a slightly sad tinge to it. “I sensed the change in you when you returned home last night, but I wasn’t certain how or when to approach you about it. Your spirit has always been wounded, for as long as I have known you, but this is...more. Not so deep nor so old but more immediately serious. Your soul was severed from your flesh?”

“Yes,” Hanzo croaked again, his stomach still seriously considering rebellion and his mind now beginning to get in on the uncivilized revolution action. “How -- ?”

“The ranger saved you? He must have, he was the only one close enough to do so. How...unusual.” Zenyatta’s eyes gleamed again, almost with a light of their own, golden welling up from beneath gray and green. “And he protects you still. I can see his aegis wrapped around you like a cloak of crimson and gold, holding you while you heal, hiding you from...the thing that saw you.”

“Really?” It came out sounding horribly, pathetically needy and he tried to cringe away, but Zenyatta refused to relinquish his hold.

“Yes.” The smile that curved his lips held more than a trace of impishness; Hanzo found that bizarrely comforting. “I would like to meet this ranger of yours. Other professional craftworkers are so hard to find outside the specialized academic sphere, and those assholes would never dirty their hands with actually rescuing someone.”

“I’d like to see him again too.” It was nothing more or less than utter honesty and it fell out of his mouth before he could stop it.

“Excellent. We shall have to make a day of it.” Gently. “Can you stand? Walk?”

Hanzo tested his legs and found his knees wobbly but not so much he wouldn’t risk getting out of the chair. “I think?”

“Good, because I am not certain I could carry you.” Zenyatta leaned back, resting on the edge of his desk. “I realize this has been several sorts of shock to you, my friend. I will do what I can to help ameliorate that, and assist in your recovery however I am able.”

“He gave me a medicine. A kind of tea? It’s supposed to help.” Hanzo took a deep breath, forced his racing thoughts to slow, and then to organize themselves into at least one coherent utterance. “Professional craftworkers?”

“A term of relatively modern provenance, I must admit.” Zenyatta reached out and grasped his hand gently. “I understand that you were, in essence, studying to be part of our kindred order once.”

Hanzo swallowed with some difficulty, his own grip involuntarily tightening. “Oh.”

“Yes.” He glanced out the western window at the sunset beginning to blossom in scarlet glory over the city. “We should go home -- it’s my night to cook, after all. If it is not objectionable to you, I would like to examine the medicine you were given?”

“Of course.” Hanzo replied, numbly, feeling as he did so the ache of that older wound again, for the first time in ages. “Genji. Did he...did he tell you what…”

“No.” Zenyatta’s smile softened into something close to sorrow again. “Only that you left your path for reasons of your own. We may discuss that also, if you wish.”

“No.” It came out more curtly than he wished and he squeezed Zenyatta’s hand in apology. “No -- I...do not wish to...visit that again. Not right now.” Never, whispered that silent ache, and he pushed himself slowly to his feet. “I...would like to be home before dark, if we could.”

“Of course.”

#WIP Ghost Stories On Route 66

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dramioneasks · 8 years ago

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“Forgotten” Authors

So I just posted a list of popular Dramione authors and their most popular fics for a new ship member, and mentioned that I would make a separate post for few popular fics with authors who are not as popular. The problem with recommending fics that are popular is that when DramioneAsks recommends any fic, people go read it, and like it, and favorite/follow/review it, and then it only increases the fic’s popularity, causing us to recommend the same “Most Popular” fics over-and-over again.

So here I am adding a list of authors who may not be current in the fandom anymore, but who wrote some popular fics (that are at least 5 years old) that we love to read and share. I encourage you to check out the other fics of these authors.

Also, make sure to check out new fics regularly (we post them from our queue daily), and remember to favorite, follow and review fics as your read them, so that you can help your favorite new authors join the “popular club.” You can also help by submitting recommendations of newer fanfiction for us to share with others.

-Shirlyn

Simply Irresistable by bookworm1993 - T, 30 chapters (circa 2009) - Draco gave a cocky grin. "I am going to give you a makeover." "I'm sorry what?" "You heard me Granger, I'm going to give you a makeover that will make every man want you,and make Weasley die of regret. You will be simply irresistible."

Turncoat by elizaye - M, 101 chapters (circa 2011) - Switching sides. "I have only one condition, and I trust it won't be hard for you to meet. I want Granger."

We Learned the Sea by luckei1 - T, 37 chapters (circa 2006) - Draco Malfoy turns himself in after a very successful career as a Death Eater, then enlists Harry and Hermione to help him in a scheme to bring down the Dark Lord. DHr. A story of forgiveness.

Hermione Malfoy by superscar - M, 20 chapters (circa 2003) - At the request of Dumbledore, Hermione Granger marries Draco Malfoy.

The Nietzsche Classes by Beringae - M, 15 chapters (circa 2005) - The Ministry takes action against the remaining prejudice in the wizarding society and asks Hermione for help. “What do you want? Money? Power? Name your price, Granger. I’m not about to let pride get in my way when an Azkaban sentence is on the line.”

Parenting Class by IcyPanther - T, 38 chapters (circa 2004) - Sixth years at Hogwarts are now required to take a parenting class, what fun! Hermione, Draco, and Harry are paired up in which they'll trade off being children. Can they live through the class or will being a parent prove too hard?

Valentine Encounter by Kyra4 - M, 24 chapters (circa 2004) - Draco and Hermione are Head Boy & Girl, but do NOT share a common room and see as little of each other as possible til a fateful encounter on Valentine's night leads to a gradual, reluctant romance. Starts 7th year goes postHogwarts.

Aurelian by BittyBlueEyes - T, 43 chapters (circa 2010) - Two years after the war, a young stranger pays a visit to the burrow. His arrival alone is baffling, but the news he brings of an upcoming war turns the world upside down. Hermione's quiet, post-war life will never be the same.

Linked by Philyra912 - T, 24 chapters (circa 2005) - When a Potions assignment has a rare and disturbing side effect on Draco and Hermione, they will learn more about each other than they ever wanted to know.

The Dragon’s Bride by Rizzle - M, 61 chapters (circa 2009) - Draco & Hermione awaken in a Muggle hotel room, naked, hung-over and tattooed. They also happen to be married. Thus begin a desperate search for a solution to their sticky situation.

What the Room Requires by Alydia Rackham - T, 26 chapters (circa 2010) - Hermione is the one who finds Draco weeping in the bathroom. He flees. She chases him into the Room of Requirement, and the room forces them to face their greatest fears together in order to find the door.

In the Arms of Her Dragon by Wolf Blossom - M, WIP, 28 chapters (circa 2012) - "Why're you crying?" Draco whispered, sitting down beside Hermione in a deserted Great Hall. Looking up at him with puffy eyes, she admitted what happened earlier at the Gryffindor Tower. Without a moment's hesitation, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and said: "Come on, you're spending the night in the Slytherin dungeon. With me."

Mine by Curiositykils - M, Abandoned, 29 chapters (circa 2012) - Veela Fic set Ten Years after the War. Draco is a Veela. Hermione isn't his Healer. She's just his.

Reverse by Lady Moonglow - M, Abandoned?, 45 chapters (circa 2008) - Hermione is unexpectedly swept into a dystopian world of opposites where Dumbledore reigns as Dark Lord and Muggle technology and the Dark Arts have revolutionized Britain. A Light wizard resistance led by Tom Riddle and the Malfoys has been left to a nightmarish fate. Can Hermione, posing as her darker incarnation, help save a world more shattered than her own?

The Prank War by CrazyGirl47 - T, Abandoned, 45 chapters (circa 2004) - Now that Voldemort is dead, Harry and company are enjoying their last year of school by taking part in a timehonored Hogwarts tradition: the seventh year prank war.

Claiming Hermione by ilke - M, Abandoned, 33 chapters (circa 2008) - “This doesn’t change anything, Granger. We’re not friends.” Draco said. “I know.” Hermione sat unmoving, listening to his retreating footfalls. She felt pretty certain that, in fact, it changed everything.

Why We Fight by Zephyr Seraphim - T, WIP, 48 chapters (circa 2004) - An accident in Potions sends Draco and Hermione to the past where they meet a couple much like them.

The Pitfall by bentnotbroken - M, WIP, 31 chapters (circa 2011) - "I...I love Ron." His lips brushed against her ear as he breathed softly, "Then tell me to stop." They thought the war was over. Little did they know it was only just beginning.

Scales and a Tail by Halfling - M, Abandoned, 23 chapters (circa 2005) - The Scales is a secret Slytherin society within Hogwarts. Its male only policy must change for an upcoming event, and Draco grudgingly recruits Hermione. This choice contributes to something more important than imagined.

The Ten Labors of Draco and Hermione by evilrabidplotbunnies - T, Abandoned, 49 chapters (circa 2005) - THIS STORY IS DANGEROUS. IT HAS CAUSED NUMEROUS PEOPLE TO BE KICKED OUT OF LIBRARIES, RECEIVE STRANGE LOOKS FROM FAMILY MEMBERS, AND GO CLINICALLY INSANE. DO NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, READ THIS STORY. ESPECIALLY NOT CHAPTER 19.

#most popular dramione #tbr list

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solivar · 8 years ago

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WIP Ghost Stories On Route 66

In which Hanzo tries to spill his guts and his guts aren’t having any of it.