#line up sir your number is even behind your descendant

[rooigseix]

My original intention is to make a whole long series of episodes of why the Primo family filler of KHR anime suck, and it would be actually an easy effort because almost every single episodes got something wrong, but I am too lazy to screenshot so yeah just put here the top reason why this filler itches me so much: Giotto's word when confronting Daemon after the Mist trial.

(Why do I even use the word "confront" this guy basically turns a blind eyes to his ex-guardian kidnapping his descendants' friends and trapping those kids, why do I even use the word "confront"?)

To put it bluntly, I have no problem with Giotto and Daemon making up after more than a decade of being apart. At the same time, I also have no problem with Giotto missing Daemon or being nostalgic about their friendship and thus forgiving Daemon stabbing him in the back. (And at the other end of the stick, there is nothing wrong with the Will-Daemon moving on and reconciling with Giotto while theoretically the ghost-Daemon is currently causing chaos and sufferings for the Simon Tenth out there) In short, there's no problem with the two of them being friend, at all.

And yet the scriptwriters have to choose the worst wordphrase possible for Giotto to express his feeling. In the 7,749 possible ways for the blond Primo to try to reconcile with his friend, he must choose the way of speaking to plummet this scene straight into the abyss regarding the total plot of KHR.

No, Giotto could have said directly "I want you to return to our family", or even more directly, "I miss you" to Daemon. But he has to say it like this. He has to say that his feelings towards Daemon have not changed after what Daemon did.

Which mean, in regard of the total plot of KHR, in regard of the Inheritance arc in the manga, that means Daemon almost killed Cozart and Cozart's entire family by using Giotto's name to lure Cozart to death. His betrayal almost kills Cozart and Giotto in here vocally states out that his feelings towards Daemon doesn't change.

"I still consider you as a friend even when another friend of mine almost died because of you being angry at me and my ideal." Yes, that's how this scene plays out to me. Even more ironically if we take the context of Giotto and Daemon mentioning about eternal friendship right before this sentence, because it would mean in the name of eternal friendship with Daemon Giotto is willing to be okay with Daemon messing with the Simon, and forgives Daemon for dragging Cozart and Cozart's family into a Vongola-personal-conflict between Giotto and Daemon.

May I ask, in the name of eternal friendship with Daemon, where is any value of friendship with Cozart presented, as Giotto says that there is nothing change in his feeling even when Cozart almost dies? And I am not even taking the fact that the Simon, now, is still suffered due to Daemon because perhaps Giotto doesn't know about it.

Until there is a reasonable answer for the "Cozart almost dying with the Simon doesn't make Giotto change his feeling or viewing towards his subordinate who committed that sin, yet he still makes Cozart's blood into the family heirloom to represent the family sin" statement, this scene in filler eliminates the chance of Simon arc being aired. If we follow the flow of the anime, Giotto right before the Inheritance arc indirectly dimisses the whole tragedy regarding the Simon and the arc after he is shown to be in deep friendship with that same founder of the Simon. Hypocrisy or two-faced, the card is being brought to the table here.

[gardenwons]

LET ME IN, PLEASE🥛

SYNOPSIS As the new doorman for the shabby apartment complex, you learn quickly to recognize imposters until eventually a cunning doppelganger entered the building—also making its way in you.

PAIRINGS: doppelganger!jungwon x doorman!reader

WARNINGS: smut with plot, dom!jungwon, making out, unprotected sex, breeding kink, praising, blood, lowkey mean won(?)

A/N: loosely based on "that's not my neighbor," was vv in love w/ the milkman pls he's a sweet boy and it was supposed to be seung but jw my love it is!

5 minutes till the end of shift.

And in the past few hours of your shift, the scene at the checkpoint remained tense yet controlled. Behind the desk, you tapped away as you await the next individual on the list. Hours had been spent meticulously weighing each resident’s reasons and paperwork, a task heavy on your shoulders each time.

You were startled by the sudden creak of the door, which swung open to reveal a tired-looking man. His eyes betrayed his exhaustion, yet he managed a weary smile as he approached the window. "Hello, here’s my ID," he said, placing it on the counter with an air of casualness, his gaze drifting away as he stifled a yawn. His hair, tousled beneath a hat that hinted at his profession.

You inspect his ID with a mix of weariness and curiosity. He seems new? you wonder to yourself, but quickly push the thought aside. "Entry request, please?" you ask, meeting his already fixed stare with a gentle smile as he hands over the necessary paperwork. "Ah, yes... forgot about it, sorry" he mutters apologetically. You accept the documents, scanning them carefully before glancing over to your left. "You’re not on today’s list?" you observe, noting a slight raise of his eyebrows as he shakes his head. "I'm supposed to be there? Probably an error" he mutters, his response prompting a hint of suspicion in your gaze.

Cautiously, you check his phone number and attempt to dial it. "I'm sorry, sir, but you must be on the list to be let–" Before you can finish, he interrupts, addressing you by name. "___?...right?" he questions, his lips forming a tight line as he pleads, "I'm really tired today. If you could just be a sweetheart and–" Suddenly, the phone rings, and you hastily pick it up, your heart skipping a beat as you hear the voice on the other end. "Hello? Jungwon speaking–" The realization hits you– how can the man in front of you look undetectable? His eyes lock onto yours as he blurts out, "Fuck." It's clear he knows he's been caught.

Shaking uncontrollably, you were on the verge of dialling the emergency number when he suddenly slammed his fist against the window, causing you to let out a scream. "Don’t make this hard for me now, angel" he said, his tone surprisingly gentle despite his earlier aggressive action. The encounter with this doppelganger was unlike anything you had experienced before – simultaneously strange and alluring, perhaps due to the handsome facade he wore, and god did he wear it well.

"Let me in or..." he trailed off, a glimmer of malice and lust flickering in his eyes as his lips curled into a smirk. "-I’ll let myself in." Despite the magnetic pull you felt towards him, and the undeniable surge of attraction coursing through your body, you pressed the emergency button. Watching as the metal wall descended, separating you from him. Jungwon's curses echoed loudly from behind the barrier as you continued to dial the D.D.D.

"You have contacted the D.D.D. A group of agents has been sent to your building" the automated voice informed, bringing a momentary sense of relief as you awaited assistance. But his next words shattered that peace. "You know I could kill them all and still get through to you, hm?" he taunted over the metal barriers, causing your heart to race even faster. "Or maybe that’s what you wanted?” Jungwon sighed, clenching your thighs together as you heard him chuckle. “Sweet girls like you shouldn’t play games like this" he scolded with a tsk, following with “It does however, make me want to devour you more”

Huddled in your seat, you listened as the agents rushed in, screams filling the air for what felt like an eternity. For what seemed like so many agonizing minutes later, silence fell upon the room. Trembling, you called out, receiving no response. With caution, you deactivated the emergency button, watching as the metal wall retracted, revealing a gruesome scene before you. Jungwon stood amidst the lifeless bodies of the yellow-suited agents, his back heaving with exhaustion. Blood covered his face and hands, dripping onto the ground.

Unable to find your voice, you watched in horror and awe as Jungwon approached your window, his eyes softened, ruby painted hands clasped together in a pleading gesture as he begged, "Please, I... I didn't mean to. I just wanted to go in." His lips formed a pout, his eyes glossy, yet his face was streaked with blood. Hat nowhere to be found, his hair was ruffled, with some strands sticking to his blood-stained face, "I know i messed up, just let me make it up to you inside" he continued pleading, his lips curving into a genuine smile as he sensed your resolve wavering. Despite the firmness in your stance, his appearance – bloodied, hair tousled, voice filled with desperation stirred something within you, whether you had a clear head you knew the heat was getting to you down there. He gestured toward the green button, the one that would unlock the door, his gaze unwavering as he directly addressed you. "Press that for me, please?" he instructed, as if your better judgment didn't matter. And at that moment, it didn't. 

You found yourself slowly reaching for the unlock button, his presence casting a mesmerizing spell over you. "Ah, that’s my girl" Jungwon praised, his words sending a rush of heat to your cheeks. Yet, beneath his seemingly genuine appreciation, there lurked a sinister undertone, evident in the chuckle that escaped him as the doors clicked open.

Without hesitation, he winked at you and slipped inside, leaving you feeling breathless and foolish. "What have I done?" you muttered to yourself, but before you could fully grasp the weight of your actions, the door to the office swung open behind you. Turning, you found yourself face to face with the bloodied man once again, his eyes fixated on you like a predator sizing up its prey. A chill ran down your spine as he licked the stain of blood from his lips. "Can’t just leave without giving my girl a reward, can I?" he teased, his voice dripping with a dark promise.

As you instinctively reached for the nearest makeshift weapon, Jungwon's eyes rolled with a playful smirk. "Aren’t you adorable? If I wanted you dead, I would've done so earlier" he teased. Jungwon’s words hung heavy in the air as he advanced towards you, his expression softening into that same endearing pout.

"You've done so well for me, angel" he cooed, his arms enveloping yours, causing your heart to race as his scent enveloped you—metallic from the dried blood and musky, intoxicating in its allure. Leaning in, his hair falling gently over his eyes, he fixed his gaze on you, seeming to see right through you, transparent in your vulnerability.

"I could be yours, please let me in" he whispered, his lips brushing against yours, waiting for your consent.

Without hesitation, you pressed your lips to his, feeling him sigh contentedly against you. His hand slid to the back of your head, tangling in your hair as he gently pulled you closer. His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a warm path in their wake. Gripping your hair, he tugged on it, drawing a moan from your lips.

His lips continued their journey down your neck, each kiss growing more intense as his grip tightened on your hair, drawing you closer to him. Jungwon’s breath was hot against your skin, his mouth teasing the sensitive spots just below your ear, sending shivers down your spine. He adored the way your body reacted to him, the subtle arch of your back, the soft gasp that escaped your lips, it all fueled his desire. His other hand slipped down your side, fingers grazing over your curves, leaving a trail of fire in their graze.

As his lips found their way back to yours, his kiss became more demanding, his tongue slipping past your lips in a heated dance with yours. The taste of him so metallic, dark, and utterly intoxicating—clouded your senses, making it impossible to think clearly, to think logically. His hands were everywhere, exploring your body with a possessiveness that made your knees weak. Jungwon pushed you against the wall, his body pressed firmly against yours, the heat between you both intense. His hand slipped beneath your shirt, fingers brushing over your bare skin, sending waves of pleasure through you.

Jungwon broke the kiss, panting slightly as he gazed down at you with a mix of adoration and hunger in his eyes. "You feel so good, sweet angel" he murmured, his voice thick with lust as his hand slid lower, teasing the waistband of your pants. He gave you a wicked smile before slipping his hand beneath the fabric, finding your most sensitive spot with ease. His fingers moved with expert precision, thrusting in your walls, drawing out moans from you as he leaned in to kiss you again, swallowing every sound you made. The world outside ceased to exist as you lost yourself in his touch, the innocent people already forgotten as the intensity of your connection left you breathless and wanting more.

Jungwon's fingers moved with a skilled rhythm, each stroke sending jolts of pleasure through your body. His lips trailed along your jawline, nipping gently at your skin as he worked you closer to the edge. You could feel the tension building within you, your breathe coming in shallow gasps as his touch became more insistent, more demanding. He seemed to sense the exact moment when you were about to tip over the edge, pulling back slightly just to tease you, watching with dark, lustful eyes as you writhed in his arms, desperate for release.

A loud smack echoed through the room as his hand connected with your ass, his eyes glaring down at you. "Patience, angel" he whispered, his voice low and husky, filled with a dark amusement. He relished in your need, the way your body responded so eagerly to his touch. Maybe this was just as delicious as eating flesh. His thumb brushed over your clit, sending a shockwave of pleasure through you, making your knees buckle as he held you up against the wall. "I want to see you fall apart for me" he growled, his voice thick with desire as he pressed his lips against yours again, the kiss deep and consuming.

With a final, skilled flick of his fingers, he sent you spiraling into a powerful climax, your body shaking against his as you moaned his name. Jungwon watched with a satisfied smirk as you came undone in his arms, his hand never stopping its movements, drawing out every last bit of pleasure from your trembling body. When you finally came down from your high, he gently removed his hand, bringing it up to his lips as he licked his fingers clean, eyes locked onto yours with a possessive intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

With a sudden, forceful grip, Jungwon spun you around, pressing your chest against the cold metal desk. His breath was hot against your neck as he yanked your skirt up, not wasting a moment before tearing away the thin fabric covering your core. "You're mine, aren't you?" he growled, his voice rough and filled with a dark hunger. You barely had time to respond before he thrust into you with no warning, filling you completely, the sharp pain mixing with pleasure as your body adjusted to his size.

"Fuck, you take me so well" he groaned, his hips snapping against you with a brutal pace, the sound of skin against skin filling the room. Each thrust was hard, merciless, and deep, driving you forward on the desk. His hand found your hair again, yanking your head back as he leaned down, his teeth grazing your ear. "You're going to take every drop of me, let me fill you up until you're dripping with me."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, the rough edge to his voice only heightening the intensity of the moment. Jungwon’s pace was relentless, every thrust pushing you closer to the edge. His grip on your hair tightened, pulling you back further as he forced you to arch, the angle driving him even deeper. "Good angel" he praised, though his tone carried a mocking edge, a smirk can be heard through it. "You love this, don't you? Being fucked like this, knowing I could fill you up right now” You could only moan in response, the overwhelming sensations rendering you speechless. The slickness of your arousal mixed with the occasional streak of blood from where his nails had dug into your skin, a reminder of the rawness of the situation. Jungwon’s other hand moved to grip your hip, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pounded into you intensely. "Say it" he commanded, his voice low and commanding. "Tell me you want it. Tell me you want to be filled, bred by me."

Your body was trembling, barely able to hold on as you gasped out the words he wanted to hear. "I want it" you managed to choke out between moans. "I want you to fill me up please" the coherent you would have pushed him away, clearly realizing this wasn’t even the real Jungwon.

A satisfied growl rumbled from his chest as he picked up the pace, slamming into you with enough force to make you see stars. "That’s right, angel" he groaned, his grip tightening as he drove you both towards the edge. "Take all of me. You’re going to be so full of me, there won't be any doubt who you belong to."

With a final deep thrust, he buried himself inside you, his body tensing as he released into you. The warmth of his seed filling you sent you over the edge, your body shaking around him as you climaxed, your cries of pleasure bouncing in the room. Even as the waves of pleasure washed over you, Jungwon stayed inside, his hands still gripping you possessively.

Breathless and spent, he leaned over you, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck, his voice soft but firm. "I knew you would taste so sweet" he murmured, leaning in to kiss you once more, his lips lingering on yours as he whispered, "And now... you're mine, angel." He stepped back, his eyes filled with dark satisfaction, the taste of you still on his lips as he gave you one last, lingering look before turning to leave. You watched him go, your body still trembling, cum dripping down you legs as your mind swirled with a mixture of fear, confusion, and disturbing attraction. The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving you alone with the echoes of your own rapid breathing and the scent of him still clinging to your skin.

You slumped against the wall, trying to make sense of what had just happened, the reality of it slowly sinking in. You knew you should feel horrified, disgusted even, but all you could think about was the way he had made you feel, the dark, consuming passion that had ignited between you two. It terrified you, but at the same time, you couldn't deny the magnetic pull you felt towards him, a pull that had led you to do the unthinkable. As you slowly gathered yourself, your heart still racing, one thought lingered in your mind: this was far from over.

taglist:

@slvrnm @moonpri @jaheydane @mintdsunoo @yawnzzhoon

@ilovejungwonandhaechan

@sacrificeatmeup @beomluvrr

@uwudaizy @geraldsmochi

@ilovecats923 @millieinyourarea

@missoxy @txtbeomi

@moonchus @nyxtwixx

@enhypenlovre @jwonistic

@denleave1088 @seongiewon

[yoonia]

Last Line Tag

Tagged by @lo1k-diamonds | thank you so much, love! And I know that I was tagged by a few others before while I was offline or on break so I guess here it is lol

Rules: Share the last line you wrote and tag the same number of people as the words in the line.

I have a few WIPs opened which I've been working on back and forth today, so I'll share from each one. Maybe I should share a bunch of snippets/longer lines instead while I'm at it to make up for my absence lately:

From Bedroom Hymns [myg]

“There you are, little dove.”  You briefly close your eyes, relishing on the shudder that his deep voice brings. This isn’t an imagination, you muse to yourself as you open your eyes to see Yoongi walking across the bridge. The white mist formed by the flowing water beneath him breaks away with each step that he makes.   “You’re late.” Too many long days, three different trips late. “I almost believed that I wouldn’t be so lucky to see you today before I leave.”

From Ever A Never After [ksj; jjk]

You suck a deep breath, and Seokjin has no idea why the sound you make pierces straight deeply into his chest. Then you make it worse when you speak with an innocent, helpless voice of yours, “Anyway, you are right, Sir. I don’t have anything with me. I left all my gold coins back home, since I thought I wouldn’t be needing it today with the ceremony and all.”  Again, dread fills his chest. “Gold coins,” he groans under his breath with a grimace. He closes his eyes, trying to find that sense of calmness deep inside him once again before it slips away. “All right. Breathe.” 

From Hot Mess [kth]

“Thank you for your concern,” he says, “though I’d much prefer to discuss them with you. Preferably in private, where we can be thorough.”  Somehow, his request unpleasantly tickles your brain, and the sour mood you felt returns. But you hide it with a forced smile and an overly sweet voice when you speak to him again. “I wish I could. Unfortunately, I’m going to need to do some minor adjustments with our setup today and I would like to get things ready before we can start taking photos.”  “I see. That’s a shame,” he mutters with feigned remorse. “Then I guess I’ll have to wait until later to see you.” 

From Chance Encounter [DPR Ian]

“What are you doing to me?”  “Returning the favour,” he says, giving you a quick kiss on the lips before turning away. “You’ve been driving me crazy lately, so it’s time to make you feel how I’ve been feeling.” His words fade into a deep grunt as his lips descend, pressing against your chin before he starts kissing down the column of your throat. 

From Blood Moon Rising [pjm]

“You—”  Pulling himself up from the crashing waves, Hyun positions himself behind a pointy rock to hide as he shifts back to his human form. Only partly, however, as only his long legs appear to replace the fishtail, leaving the twin rows of his sharp fins still visible on his skin, blending into the skin of his thighs.  Lowering one knee on the ground, Hyun remains behind the rock to conceal his nudity. A brief moment passes before he slowly lifts his head. His eyes are glowing in silver as he returns Lani’s soft gaze, the gill slits appearing on the sides of his neck and lower ribcage are pumping with every breath that he takes as he slowly adjusts being on land. His hands, still in the form of a pair of talons, rest over his bent knee as he formally greets the Vampire before him.  “My name is Hyun, the son of Hirae, the former head priest of Siren’s Den,” he introduces himself with a deep voice, soft snarls coming out with each word. His sharp dagger-like teeth peek through the seams of his lips as he speaks. “I was sent here by Lord Jimin to retrieve you, Lady Lani.” 

From Alpha's Inferno [knj]

A mate bond is maddening simply by being present. This bond, awakened after a long period of time, has continued to grow stronger, binding their souls together before they even have any chance to fight against it.  “Why are you fighting it, Alpha?” the pretty vampire asks him, and Namjoon can already feel his resolve dwindling at the sound of her voice. He makes no move as Lani steps closer, her movement graceful and slick. Like a predator, yet enticing and captivating at the same time that he cannot look away. “Is it because I’m one with the enemy?”

(from the two last snippets, I think it becomes obvious why I keep saying I needed to write these two together lol)

Tagging some friends: @beomcoups @shadowkoo @caelesjjk @taegularities @bangtans-momma and whoever wants to do this. tag me so I can see what you're working on :')

[sunder-soul]

𝖜𝖍𝖎𝖙𝖊 𝖉𝖔𝖛𝖊

❶·❷·❸·❹·❺·❻

Chapter Two: He’s very, very beautiful. Black hair in tidy waves, dark, hooded eyes lined with sooty lashes, full lips, angled jaw, and all his fine features illuminated by the glow from the pub behind you. If you’d met him anywhere else you might have blushed, but here, now, you have to resist the urge to arch a brow. Wordcount: 2.3k Content warning: language, allusions to bigotry.

Story Tags: @crazytwentythrees

Permanent Tags: @jujugentle @weirdowithnobeardo @pearlstiare @fromthehellmouth @whoevenfrickenknows @moatsnow @voidmalfoy @lucys-brain @sunles @arana-alpha @tallyovie @expectoscamander @nothinghcppens @itsjustfics @mikariell95 @suicide-sweetheart636 @toasterking

McCollin slams the Records Room logbook down on your desk and you nearly jump out of your skin. “I told you to drop it,” he says coolly.

Your initials are scribbled on the page half a dozen times over the past two weeks. You look up at him wide-eyed. “I…”

“You were only supposed to watch that stupid trial once,” he interrupts, eyes hard.

“Look, I’ve found stuff, McCollin! Merope Gaunt? She ran away with Tom Riddle, for Christs’ sake, they got married and everything! That’s why Morfin was talking about her in his trial!”

He falters, brow furrowing. “How did you find out that –”

“I’ve been doing some work on the case – off hours,” you add hastily at his expression, “and look, I know you said it was pretty cut and dry, but in that whole trial no one actually asks him why he did it –”

McCollin laughs a little unkindly. “No one asked him why he did it? Do you hear yourself? Didn’t you just say his sister married a Muggle?”

“Yeah but she died ages ago,” you say desperately, leaning forward.

“Why does that matter?”

“Morfin was released from Azkaban in ’28 and came home to find his sister gone. He lived right around the corner from those Muggles, McCollin, so why did he wait fifteen years to kill them?”

McCollin gives you a deeply sceptical look. “Your problem is that he didn’t kill them sooner?”

“My problem is there’s no reason that he didn’t kill them sooner!” you correct. “If he’s really such a nutcase, why did it take him that long to get revenge on the Riddles?”

“Maybe he didn’t know who she’d run off with until then,” he shrugs.

“Then how did he suddenly find out in ‘43?”

McCollin sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Look, kiddo, I’m gonna do you a favour. I’ll let all this slide if you drop this thing now and stop letting it distract you.”

You gape at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

“But I’ve found –!”

“I don’t care what you’ve found, I need you to do your job,” McCollin snaps, waving at your desk. “So some pure-blood nutter murdered some Muggles because his sister ran off with one of ‘em, what in Merlin’s name is so hard to understand about that?”

“She had a kid with him!” you hiss.

He hesitates again. “You found a birth certificate?”

“No, but she died in a Muggle orphanage and was buried in the pauper’s yard, what do you think happened?”

McCollin, for the first time, looks somewhat doubtful. “Case never mentioned a kid…” he says slowly.

Hope sparks in your chest. “And where was Tom Riddle whilst his wife died in childbirth, huh? Where did the kid end up? Did Morfin know about them? Did Riddle even know?”

McCollin exhales a very fatigued sigh. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you.”

“No,” you say immediately.

“If you figure this out, will you get back to your actual job?”

“Yes.”

“You promise?”

You’re on the edge of your seat. “I promise.”

He grits his teeth. “Merlin… fine. What do you need?”

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

You hate Azkaban. The place is dark and cold and dripping wet, the dementors never stay quite far enough away, and the screams and sobs of the prisoners within the black stone stick in your heart for weeks afterwards.

“In and out,” McCollin mutters, pulling off his hat and casting the dementor beside you an aspersing look. “Five minutes, kiddo, and then we’re gone.”

You nod quickly and step down the long, dark corridor, peering at the parchment in your hand and checking it against the cell numbers scratched into the stone on either wall. You find him around the corner. Cell 75191.

You lift your lit wand, squinting into the darkness. “Morfin…?”

There’s the faint clinking of chains and then a skin-crawling hiss that makes your heart clench in fear, followed by a rasping, phlegmy cackle.

“Morfin Gaunt?” you try again, catching sight of movement in the corner of the cell, a figure hunched there.

He only hisses again.

“I don’t speak Parseltongue, Mr Gaunt,” you say with a forced calm, “I’m here to talk about the Riddles.”

Morfin spits at the ground. “Riddles,” he growls. “Fucking Riddles, fucking filthy Muggle Riddles in their filthy stinking house, got what was coming didn’t they? Got what they deserved in the end –”

“You knew about Merope and Tom Riddle, didn’t you, Mr Gaunt?” you interrupt, hands shaking in the aching cold. You bury your non-wand hand in your pocket in vain – the chill of the prison is all-permeating.

“Filthy Riddle… filthy scumsucker…”

“Why did you kill the Riddles in 1943?”

He barks a hideous laugh. “Muggle scum they were, had it coming, saw the light leave their eyes at the end of a wand like was intended, not my sister, not my family –”

“Why did you wait, Mr Gaunt?”

There’s silence. Your heart thrums nervously.

“You got home in 1928 but you didn’t kill the Riddles until 1943… Why didn’t you kill them sooner?” you press carefully.

Morfin doesn’t reply for a moment, and then – “Muggle scum,” he mutters a little dolefully.

“Yes but what changed?” you say, patience fraying a bit. “What changed in 1943? Did something happen?”

“Scourge of the earth… got to get rid of ‘em all, that Grindelwald fellow had the right idea, get rid of ‘em –”

There’s a sound like a heavy door closing in the distance and you’re suddenly very aware that you don’t have a lot of time left. “Did you know about Merope’s child?” you ask pressingly.

Morfin descends into a coughing fit and spits what sounds like a hefty wad of mucus onto the floor of his cell. “Knew it,” he says darkly, “I knew it, that slut…”

“You knew?”

“Looked just like him, didn’t he?” he snarls.

“Who?” you say at once.

“He looked just like that nasty, filthy, disgusting Muggle… Well, they’re all dead now.” He laughs nastily again. “Rotting in the ground where they belong, Muggle scum…”

You can hear McCollin calling for you but your head is spinning. He waited… he waited fifteen years…

If Merope’s son had been born at the end of ’26, he would have been sixteen in July of ’43.

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

“I know why he waited,” you breathe to McCollin the second you’re back in the safety of the Ministry.

“Why?”

“I know why he waited to kill the Riddles – Merope’s son came to find him – maybe he was looking for his family, he probably grew up in that orphanage – he really did only find out about her kid in ’43 and it made him snap and –”

“Slow down,” McCollin frowns, hand on your shoulder. “What are you saying?”

“You have to get me access to Morfin’s memory of that day,” you say intensely.

His face and his hand fall in unison. “You said that if I got you in to see Morfin, you’d let it go,” he says sharply.

“I know but Jesus McCollin! Shouldn’t we find her son?”

“This is getting out of hand,” he mutters, turning and walking off across the huge entrance hall.

“Please,” you say, following him. “Please! I –”

“No,” he says flatly.

“But –!”

“What, you want to watch murders now?”

“McCollin, just listen –”

“I’m serious, drop it,” he drawls, stepping into an elevator and turning to point at you. “I don’t wanna hear you say the name Riddle again.”

The elevator dings, the door slides shut on McCollin’s serious face, and you sigh in frustration.

“Riddle?”

Your head lifts in surprise. The voice had come from beside you, a very formally-dressed old man with curated grey hair, gold glasses, and a haughty expression. “Yes, sir…?” you ask slowly.

“Ah yes, a real shame, all that,” the man sighs, looking up at the elevators expectantly.

You blink. You recognise the man from around the Ministry, but you can’t think of a single conceivable reason why a senior member of the International Confederation of Wizards knows the name of a Muggle murdered eight years ago. “…Yes, it was.”

“Such a waste,” he shakes his head sagely. “He could have gone far.”

You don’t know what to say. “You’re… you’re talking about Tom Riddle, sir…?”

“Yes, of course,” the man titters, “Slughorn recommended him to me personally – assured me he’d go far. A real talent, he said.”

Something is definitely not right, but the man’s elevator dings and he steps inside at once, expensive robes swirling as he turns. “To end up in Knockturn Alley of all places,” he sighs, “and to think... the boy could have been Minister for Magic one day.”

The doors shut before your gobsmacked face.

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

“So let me get this straight,” Mori says lowly, setting down another drink for you. “You think the kid’s here? In Knockturn Alley?”

“I think so,” you murmur as Mori takes your empty glass away. “Either that or some poor schmuck with the exact same name as a murdered Muggle is walking around completely unrelated to all this shit.”

“Have you found anything on the kid?”

You nod blankly. “Looked up the name and found a ton of stuff straight away – star pupil at Hogwarts, won a ton of awards, Prefect, Head-boy –”

“Sounds like a square,” Mori snorts.

“He fell off the map a bit after school,” you frown, leaning forward on your forearms. “Found an address from a few years back but doesn’t seem up-to-date. The guy definitely mentioned Knockturn Alley though, so –”

“If you told me a name, I’ll probably know him.”

You shoot him a nervous look. “I dunno, Mori, I’m really pissing McCollin off with this already. If he finds out I’m leaking names –”

“Well I’ll tell you this for free, no one down this way’ll take kindly to someone in Ministry robes poking their nose around,” he says darkly.

You sigh and take a sip from your drink. “I know.”

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

You leave just past midnight, giving Mori a wave as you grab your cloak and head for the door, already reaching for your wand to Apparate as you push it open –

You walk straight into someone. “Oh,” you exclaim, stepping back. “I'm so sorry.”

“Not at all.”

You look up at the voice in surprise, smooth and pleasant and velvety. The face behind it is even better; he’s very, very beautiful. Black hair in tidy waves, dark, hooded eyes lined with sooty lashes, full lips, angled jaw, and all his fine features illuminated by the glow from the pub behind you as he pushes the door wide and holds it for you, stepping aside with a polite twist to his lips to let you out first.

If you’d met him anywhere else you might have blushed, but here, now, you have to resist the urge to arch a brow. He’s not exactly what you’d normally expect from customers of Moribund’s.

“Thank you,” you say evenly, stepping past him and rather theatrically hoping he’s not some sort of pretty-faced creature that would strike when your back’s turned –

“You’re from the Ministry?”

You hesitate. His question was perfectly curious and well-warranted – the purple robes you were still wearing were also not what one might normally expect from customers of Moribund’s. “I am,” you say quietly, pulling out your wand.

“Are you here on business or for pleasure?” he smiles a little. It makes him even more beautiful. It makes you more suspicious.

“A bit of both,” you say truthfully, thinking of your conversation with Mori.

“Rather strange for someone of your profession to patron a place like this,” says the young man, head tilting a fraction.

You hesitate for a moment, but if he intends on giving you trouble, it feels like a good idea to establish that you have people looking out for you around here. “I’m friends with the barman.”

“In which case it's odd I’ve not seen you more, then,” he says very smoothly, the little twist to his lips returning, “since I’m something of a regular.”

But you’ve had quite enough. “You’re letting the warmth out,” you say politely, inclining your head at the door he’s still holding open as you lift your wand. “Enjoy your drinks.”

“Would you care to join me?”

You hesitate, eyes flicking back to the young man. His head is still tilted slightly as he watches you, and suddenly you can’t tell if the curl to his lips is more attractive or unnerving.

“I’d very much like the company,” he smiles, white, straight teeth, too handsome, too gorgeous.

Alarm bells are going off in your head. Too smarmy. He knows he’s beautiful, that much was certain, and something about him is giving you the creeps in a way that feels strangely familiar. Like you’ve met him before. “No,” you say clearly, “but thanks for the invitation.”

“Ah, I should have known that someone like you would already be spoken for,” he says with a knowing nod, charming and good-natured.

“No,” you frown. You can’t tell what’s rubbing you the wrong way about him, but there’s something.

His brow lifts slightly, like your response surprised him. “Not a fan of the drink, then?”

You snort a light laugh. “No, I am.”

There’s a beat of silence. “An early morning, perhaps?” the young man says just as lightly – though there’s a very faint edge to his expression that you clock at once. He can’t figure out why you’ve rejected him. What an arrogant asshole…

You sigh a bit shortly, liking him less by the second. “Goodnight,” you say pointedly, trying to lift your wand again but –

“Have I offended you somehow, madam?” he asks, sounding slightly amused. “If I have it wasn’t my intention to do so.”

You shoot him a look that is unapologetically annoyed. “You haven’t offended me, you’ve disrespected me,” you say curtly.

His eyes sparkle, his lips curl even more. “By asking you to join me for a drink?”

“By refusing to take my answer graciously,” you retort smoothly, “I said no. I don’t appreciate being cajoled.”

Some of the humour dissipates from his face, and you seize the opportunity to escape.

“Goodnight.”

And you lift your wand in a swift motion and vanish before he can interrupt again.

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

❶·❷·❸·❹·❺·❻

Reply/message me to get added to the tag list! 💖

[old-congratzams]

endeavor x fem reader with a Kitty Cheshire quirk (neko with ability to teleport) plot: reader super low Grade villain that love to start trouble and teleport away but endeavor catches her she can’t teleport away and endeavor teaches her a lesson nsfw 😺

aaa, i hope this is good! i feel like it’s a lil bit rushed but maybe it’s just my self criticism kicking in asdhaskfhsf thanks so much for requestingggg

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐰. 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐢

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: mentions of blood, size difference, smutty smut, blowjob, cum eating, cat girl idk how to tag this one hadhsdhf

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓. I can’t control what you guys choose to read or not but I’d be way more comfortable if minors stayed away from my works. <3

Enji was annoyed. Doing rounds on a night market was always so monotonous because the presence of the number one hero quickly scared the villains and criminals away. But during that night in particular, things escalated quickly and Enji rushed towards the commotion.

"Endeavor, you're here! Do something!"

Chasing a delinquent that stole fish from a nearby stand was nowhere near the number one's ideal job. However, people gathering around and expecting him to do something so simple like going after a low criminal added enough fuel to his irritation and shook his ego.

"Watch this."

He followed the scent of raw fish down the streets and the trail ended in a dark alley. Enji thought he'd seen someone with cat ears and tail but didn't find anyone there, it was like they'd just disappeared right under his nose. And speaking of nose, the scent was back and it was-- behind him!

Enji was quick to grab the criminal by the arm — the first thing his gloved hand could reach. The criminal let out a squeal while in mid-air, a pair of strong hands holding her own behind her back.

"I see. A teleportation quirk, huh?"

Her cat ears twitched by the sound of his deep, dangerous voice. She tried to struggle her way out, free from the arms of the pro hero.

"There's no use, you won't be able to--"

She frenetically fluttered her tail, squirming as anxiety build up in her tummy. It was unfair that a low criminal as her would be caught by the number one himself.

"Tch."

The wiggling tail seemed to annoy Enji even further. Holding the tiny arms in one hand, the other reached for the tail in a firm grasp. The action caused the criminal to inhale deeply and freeze.

Tears gathered on the corner of her dolly eyes and red flushed her cheeks. The hero was oblivious to the fact her tail was very sensitive and any form of rough touch would send waves of warmth to her womb.

"L-Let me go..." Her voice sounded meek and bearing distress. "I'll pay for it-- I promise!!"

The grip on her tail tightened, the incoherent actions increasing Enji's suspicions. "What do you think you’re doing?!"

She gasped when Enji tugged on her tail by accident, instinctively rolling her hips and searching for friction while low moans left her mouth.

The sinful sounds put the hero in alert, his hand securing her arms now reaching for her mouth and his voice now low and threatening. "Do you want people to hear?"

The criminal shook her head even though her mind was clouded with sexual needs. Her nipples were hard as pebbles as seen from her vest.

"S-sir, it's that you're t-touching my tail..."

"Tch. I can't risk you running away."

She breathed heavily, pressed against his chest and her tail still on his hand. A sudden wave of pleasure hit the cat girl, sending shivers all over her body and a loud moan escaping her lips.

Enji pressed the girl against the wall, holding her by her face and squeezing her cheeks. "Are you insane?!? I told you to keep quiet--"

The look of pure lust, gaze lost in heaven and drool dripping from her chin made Enji realize what she meant before. It was impossible for him, a healthy man, to not go hard knowing that he caused that, even if accidentally.

Her tail fluttered, exposing the euphoria she was feeling. Although very embarassed by the situation and quite ashamed, the hero weighted his course of action.

"I'll give you what you want and then you'll turn yourself in," Enji proposed, grabbing the tail and putting it over the line of his cock, stroking both over his hero suit.

The way her eyes rolled to the back of the head and her sharp teeth drew blood from her lips encouraged Enji to continue taking advantage of the criminal. He licked her lips clean from the blood and then pushed his tongue into her small mouth, the size difference adding fuel to the fire.

"Lick it." He pressed the tip of her tail against her lips, to which she complied. "Now touch yourself with it while you suck me off."

She did everything she was told. The wetness from her previous orgasm coated her tail and both her tail and clit were very sensitive to any touch, which sent electrical shocks through her body every time she fluttered it against her small hardened bud.

While she moaned, Enji freed his cock from the suit, pushing it into her mouth. "Watch out for the teeth."

His cock was too big for her mouth so she had to open big and wide to accommodate it. Enji slowly fucked her mouth, not allowing any further than the tip to pass her lips. Her tongue worked hard around it, fluttering against the vein underneath his cock and giving it special attention.

"You probably like milk..." Enji pondered. "If you're a good girl until the end I might reward you with it."

By that suggestion, she licked and sucked eagerly. The tip of her tail fluttered faster on her clit, both sensitive from the filthy pleasure Enji was putting her through. Her tiny hands switched from massaging the base of his cock to toying with his sack.

A disappointed cry left the girl's mouth once Enji pulled his cock out of it. Precum glistened the tip and the girl probably had drunk loads of it. Enji's cock felt sensitive and was ready to shoot cum all over her face but he had other plans for her. It felt decades since he last fucked and the filthy, embarassing situation didn't help at all.

"On your hands and knees, girl."

Her legs were shaking from the heavy stimulus, the ending of her tail covered in her own wetness, but she promptly obeyed the command.

His hand grabbed the tail forcefully, getting it out of his way. The roughness he handled the tail caused the girl's pussy to tighten and dampen the suit even more. Weren't for the piece of clothing, she would be dripping on the alley like she had just wetted herself.

Enji gave each her butt cheeks a light slap, making them jiggle with the impact. He pushed aside the sopping fabric, sighing by the view of her dripping cunt and resisting the urge to plunge in one finger. Instead, he lined up his fat cock against her entrance, responding with a guttural moan by the feeling of her warm velvety pussy sucking him in.

Needless to say, his cock stretched her with ease, the wetness aiding the intrusion. She felt so full while his cock pressed just the right spots, she felt like bursting, she felt--

Enji thrusted in one rapid motion, burying his cock deep into her as soon as he felt her convulsing around him, groaning at how tight she are. He lost control the minute he felt her coming around him, even though he was only halfway through.

Tears gathered at the corner of her eyes and she spilled all over the hero. Thankfully, his suit was impermeable but the concrete underneath their knees was not.

A hand grabbed her hair while the other remained at the base of her tail, holding her in place while he thrusted into the girl. She couldn't discern if she was so high in ecstasy that his violent thrusts didn't hurt her at all or if Enji was taking such a good care of her that it's not even supposed to hurt. Either way, she knew for sure she'd be sore in the morning — in jail, perhaps.

But she didn't want to think about it while being fucked by the number one himself. His girth and length were massive, and opened her whole. The way he thrusted into her got more erratic and she could feel he was holding back.

“N-no, don't... don't hold back--!!" she pleaded, tail fluttering in agitation and her body ready to be ruined.

He let go of her hair and fisted her tail, giving it a harsh tug. Her hips were pulled back in the mean time, the new angle allowing the tip of his cock to line up perfectly with her cervix and she screamed from the sudden burn.

Enji was close to his limit, his voice cracking from pleasure and the threats that left his lips seemed empty. "If... If you keep screaming, I'll have to shut-- shut you up."

She was drenching, losing any focus she regained after coming while Enji played with her tail, but her body reached its limits and started descending from the previous high.

"E-Endeavor-san, I don't think I can come anymore..." she murmured.

He groaned, taking his cock out of her abused hole. It felt heavy, the cum ready to burst any minute. "Come 'ere, open your mouth."

His hand stroked his cock a couple times before he gushed cum all over her tongue. She let some of it spill on the ground, not able to gulp it all down. Enji looked just as wasted as the girl in front of him.

He breathed heavily as if he just won a fight, having used all of his power to win. The criminal waited patiently for him to say anything after the haze dissipated.

"You... You were a very good kitten," he praised after adjusting his suit. "But you still owe the owner some apologies after stealing from him."

She agreed, obediently following Enji from the dark alley back to the food stands. Once there, she bowed apologetically to the owner while Enji kept his arms crossed in front of his chest, trying to look the usual but his eyes betraying the fatigue and indifference towards the present moment.

After everything was settled, Enji ended up paying for the damage she had caused. He grabbed the cat girl by the neck and guided her through the streets, only one thing in his mind.

"Disobedient girls like you should have someone to discipline them. How about that, hm?"

Something in her guts was telling her that she was stuck with the number one for some time — not that she was complaining, though.

[five-rivers]

Goals

Hey!  @puns-are-great-and-so-is-danny!  Here is your gift fic!  It got a little out of hand, and it doesn’t have a super solid ending, but I hope you like it.  :)  

.

.

.

Dear Albus,

I hope this letter finds you well.  I know these are trying and troubling times, both here and in Britain, and part of me hesitates to ask this of you for exactly that reason. But, as ever, circumstances leave us with few viable options.

News of what happened to Amity Park this Spring has spread far and wide at this point, so I won’t waste your time repeating what you already know.  What is not common knowledge, however, is that after the dust settled, the Aurors assigned to the case encountered several irregularities, not the least of which was a disturbingly high number of completely untrained young witches and wizards.  

Once news of them gets out, I have no doubt the official line will be that they simply fell through the cracks, that, unfortunately, our spells for finding young magically-gifted persons are imperfect, that the nature of Amity Park obscured them from view.  This, I fear, is a lie.  

I have no proof, but I believe they were deliberately removed from MACUSA files on account of their heritage.  Albus, they are descended from Scourers.  

Perhaps that should be obvious, perhaps you had already guessed, considering the so-called reasoning behind the attack on Amity Park, the ideals those murderers professed, but I want to make myself and my own reasoning clear.  Though it shames me deeply to say it, those children will not be safe at Ilvermorny, nor, I believe, will they be at any other school on this continent.  For all the time that has passed, the Barebones Incident and its repercussions are too fresh in the minds of the people.  

There are seven of them.  Well, seven that are of concern to me.  The others have found or are seeking alternate arrangements.  They have been staying at the school, for the time being.  My colleagues and I have been attempting to give them a good grounding in magical basics. They would not come to you without foundations.

Albus, I am begging you, accept these students into Hogwarts.  I know this is a poor time.  I have heard rumors, horrible, horrible rumors, about what is happening in Britain, about what happened at Hogwarts last year, but I fear for these children’s future, for their spirits, should they be forced into a place where they will be hated simply because of who their ancestors were.  

I know that even in Hogwarts they would be unable to escape that, but it would be less.  Britain does not have the same history with Scourers that we do.  More, for some of them, they would not be forced to walk in the same halls as the kin of their parents’ murderers.

I will understand if you refuse, but I am relying on your compassion.  

Eagerly awaiting your reply,

Agilbert Fontaine

Headmaster of the Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore looked down at the letter from his old friend and colleague and sighed, his heart heavy. Agilbert was not a member of the Order of the Phoenix.  Albus knew more about the situation in Amity Park than Agilbert assumed and likely was aware of things that Agilbert himself was not.  

For example, while the bulk of the group that had devastated and decimated Amity Park were indeed Magical Separatists and those looking for generations-late revenge on Scourers, their core leadership included American Death Eaters.  

He was also aware of the children Agilbert had mentioned.  Most of the truly astonishing number of magically inclined children and adults in Amity Park had chosen to find private tutors, go through correspondence or summer courses, or attend one of several small schools in North America that had quickly shuffled to make accommodations for them, on the condition that they hide their origins.  

The seven mentioned…  Well.  They didn’t really have those options.  Either their names were too infamous, or they had no one to stay with while they puzzled through correspondence courses.  Or both.

And the names.  Even here, some of them were well known.

Albus could understand why Agilbert had asked for his help.

But was it responsible to drag these children here while Voldemort was lurking in the shadows, building up his power base once again? To offer them safety he could not give?

For those students already attending Hogwarts, it was one thing, they were already involved, simply by virtue of where they were born and where they lived.  But those seven, in America, they would be—

Well.  Not safe, perhaps, not with their parents killed and their home ravaged by hostile magic. But… farther away from the direct line of fire.  

But would they be?  Beyond simply spreading fear and hate, was there another reason for the attack on Amity Park?

Albus heaved another sigh.  

At times he enjoyed making decisions like this.  Enjoyed power, knowledge, experience, those things people tended to mistake for wisdom, even though he had made more mistakes than anyone else he knew, and all the privileges and responsibilities that came with it, all the control over other peoples’ lives.  This was a failing, a flaw, he knew, and time and time again it had come back to bite him.  Karmic vengeance for being an old man who kept too many secrets.  

But times like these…  In times like these, he despised the choices he was forced to make.  

“What troubles you, Albus?  I can hear you sighing from the other room.”

Albus did not flinch or startle at the ghost’s approach and gently chiding tone.  He looked up and smiled thinly at his former and present colleague.  It seemed Cuthbert was having a good day.  It was a pity so few students saw him at his best, and regarded his lessons as utterly boring, but Albus could never find the heart to replace him.  Nor, sadly, the budget.  Damn the board of directors.

In answer, Albus turned the letter to face him.  Cuthbert Binns was not a member of the Order, either, but he, like every other member of the Hogwarts staff, had been informed of what had transpired at the end of the Tri-Wizard Tournament.  He would understand Albus’s dilemma.  

“Amity Park?” murmured Cuthbert, tapping the second paragraph.  “That sounds… familiar.  That—” Cuthbert broke off.  

If Albus had not spent significant portions of his life surrounded by ghosts, he would not have caught the subtle change in Cuthbert’s silvery complexion.  

“Perhaps you heard about the tragedy that happened there recently.”  Which would be a first, even alive, Cuthbert had never really cared about anything that happened more recently than a hundred years ago, but not impossible.

“Tragedy?  No.” Cuthbert shook his head.  “Amity Park it’s—It is…”  He trailed off, looking down at the letter, disturbed.  “Albus, I have known you for many years.  You have been here for many years, with all us ghosts, and…  You know there are things the dead do not speak of to the living.”

Albus did know.  “Are you saying Amity Park is related to one of those things?”  Could this be another attempt on Voldemort’s part to defeat death? His suspicion regarding horcruxes was bad enough, what that could mean for Harry…  But if that man had yet another way to stave off death…

Cuthbert dithered, and Albus wished fiercely that he could trust him enough to tell him about the Order, about Voldemort’s plans, to impress upon him how important this was, how vital that Albus know.  

But he couldn’t.  It would just take one bad day, and one misplaced question from a student related to someone unfortunate, and everything would come tumbling down.  

No.  Albus could not push him.  

“I—I must go,” said Cuthbert, halfway through the wall. “I have to look into something. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He was not.

.

Albus had still not made a decision on Agilbert’s letter the next night.  He had consulted Minerva, Severus, and the other teachers who were also in the Order on the matter, and had distracted himself with other, arguably more important, matters.  

(The eyes on Number Four Privet Drive, the movements in and out of the Malfoy residence, the horribly dangerous games Severus was playing, the master schedule for the next school year, the still-empty Defense Against the Dark Arts post, extra protections on Hogwarts’ boundaries, how to keep the Order safe…)

But he shouldn’t put something like this off for much longer.

It would be much easier to deny Agilbert’s request.  As tragic as the seven students’ circumstances were, they weren’t his responsibility, and he had so many.  

Would you feel the same if the attackers had been Gellert’s people?

They’re children.  Like your students.  Like Adri—

Albus closed his eyes and forced the tiny and vicious voice away, out of his mind.

“Sir Nicholas wants to speak to you,” said one of the portraits.  

Surprised, Albus turned his head to face the image of his predecessor.  “Of course. Could you tell him he can come in?”

A few minutes later, the Gryffindor ghost floated through the wall.  “Hello, Albus,” he said, the outlines of his figure crisper than they usually were, and continued before Albus could greet him, “I am sorry to interrupt you like this, but is it true?  Seven students from Amity Park?”

“Cuthbert told you?”

“He told all of us,” said Sir Nicholas, shrugging in a way that made his head roll unsettlingly.  “You should accept them.”

Albus raised his eyebrows.  

“There is a certain element of risk involved,” the ghost’s voice was careful, “but if they come to Hogwarts, there is a possibility that you may gain a powerful ally, and that…”  Here, Sir Nicholas hesitated.  “Certain ancient wrongs might be righted.”

“I suppose it is that second the ghosts are interested in?” asked Albus, both curious and, despite himself, amused.  

Sir Nicholas gave him a gentle smile.  “Do not imagine that we are careless of your struggles, Albus, but many of us were long dead before you were born.  We care, but… sometimes the picture in front of our eyes is not the same as the one before yours.”

That was reasonable.  

However.

“Can you give me any more detail?” asked Albus, hopefully.

“I’m afraid not,” said the ghost, drifting backwards.

.

The next letter from Agilbert was much thicker and contained the records of seven new Hogwarts students.  

.

The wand turning in his fingers was made of pear wood.  Not that Danny could tell, just by looking, but the wandmaker, who had accompanied her wares to Ilvermorny, had been very talkative, even when Danny had… not.  

Pear wood, cut from a tree that had grown up through a chain-link fence on the wandmaker’s property.  She had meant to cut it out, she said, but by the time she had gotten around to doing so, there had been bowtruckles in it, and she wasn’t about to cut down a good wand wood tree.

Danny still wasn’t entirely sure what bowtruckles were to be honest.  

The wood of the wand was normal.  The core, apparently, was not.  It was hair from a magical creature, which most wand cores were, but the wandmaker had cheerfully admitted to having no idea what the hair was from. It had shown up in her workshop one day, in a little box, black and white, in neat little bundles.  

Danny had suspicions about where it had come from.  

Suspicions that had been exacerbated by the fact that both Sam and Tucker had been ‘chosen’ by wands with the same core.  

Anyway, Danny had liked the wandmaker, even if he thought she was a bit weird, for using components that just showed up out of nowhere in her work.  

(She reminded him a bit of Mom.)

Danny wasn’t sure why he was thinking of her.  It had been months since then.  But he was feeling lonely, even though his friends were just in the next room, and Jazz was here, and maybe she was the closest he would let his mind get to…

To…

“If you keep doing that,” said Jazz, “you’re going to put your eye out.”  

Danny glanced over at her.  There was an east-facing window behind her, and the sun was shining through her shoulder, lighting her up like stained glass.  

“If they catch you in color, they’re going to have questions.”

Jazz rolled her golden eyes, but the color drained out of her, leaving her ‘properly’ silver and gray.  “If they actually listened, instead of dismissing everything weird in Amity as untrained magic acting up, then they wouldn’t need to have questions.”

“Yeah, but they didn’t, and I don’t think they’re going to. So, considering what we have to do…”

“We need all our advantages.  You don’t have to tell me again,” said Jazz.  She pulled a face.  “Well, you did, actually, I guess.  I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” muttered Danny.  “You only died a couple months ago.  It takes time to recalibrate.”

“Mm,” said Jazz, sticking her head through the windowpanes and looking down.  She pulled back.  “Your escort’s coming up.”

“Oh?  Yeah?”

“Or at least someone.  It’s hard to tell who, what with the hats and all…”

It was time to go, then.  Danny gathered his things and joined the others in the common area.

.

Hours later, as the sun was setting, nine Americans stepped out of a fireplace in the Ministry of Magic.  Seven were students.  One was a very haggard chaperon.  The last was a ghost whom aurors and representatives from the Department of Spectral Affairs hadn’t quite been able to dissuade from haunting her brother.  

Such was life.  Such was death.  

“Alright, kids,” said the chaperon, chivying them towards a central area.  “We just have to go through customs, and then we can find a place to relax until the representatives from Hogwarts get here.”

“I thought we already went through customs,” protested Dash.

“Yeah,” said Paulina.  “The American side.  To make sure we weren’t smuggling anything out.  Now we have to go through the British side, to make sure we aren’t smuggling anything in.”

“Smuggling isn’t really the main issue,” said the chaperon, “but, yes.  MACUSA knows you aren’t in the states anymore, and we have to make sure the Ministry over here knows you are, so you can comply with their laws and such.  Oh, and so you can get the Trace, but that isn’t important.”

“The Trace?” asked Sam, doubling her word count for the day. Ever since the attack, she had been rather taciturn.  

“It’s how they keep track of underage magic over here,” explained the chaperon.  “MACUSA phased it out a few years ago.  It isn’t very reliable, and besides, recent studies show that magical persons of any age can use magic accidentally, and there’s no good way to tell if there is a magical adult nearby, so…”  She gave herself a little shake.  “But it’s the law here, and it doesn’t matter.  You’ll be at Hogwarts the whole time, anyway.”

“You mean they’ll be tracking us?” asked Danny, trying to keep the alarm from his voice.  That could be… problematic.  Considering what he was really here for, and all.  

“Not you in particular,” said the chaperon, snagging Tucker by the back of his shirt before he could make a detour to investigate a guarded cart of ominously sparking electronics.  She pulled him back.  “It’s my understanding that every child with the trace on them shows up as a dot on a map, and the dot changes color if magic is performed near them.  Some of the more sophisticated versions can determine what kind of magic, but, well… it isn’t like they ever know which dot belongs to which person, so unless you’re living with all no-maj family members—They call them muggles, here, I think—in a particular house, it is very difficult for them to determine who did what.  I’d tell you more, but this isn’t my area of expertise.  Perhaps the customs agents will know more?  You should ask when we go through…”

Danny began to tune her out.  He caught Sam’s eye, then Tucker’s, and they all nodded at each other a little bit.  Not that they had a plan or anything, but sometimes it helped to know that other people also found a situation to be sucky.  

Where would the Minister of Magic be in all this mess, anyway? Danny let his eyes rove over the hall. There was no guarantee that he was even here today, and Danny wasn’t to the point where he wanted to reveal himself. He had been given lots of instructions, but one of them had been to keep himself safe.  Clockwork had even said it was a priority.  

Best to stick to letters, for now.  Even if none of them had been answered, yet.

They reached the long, winding line that was customs, had their luggage gone through yet again.  Tucker lost another PDA, and Danny had to wonder how many more he had hidden.  The American side of customs had done a pretty good job of finding them.  Sam got taken aside for questioning, because some of her goth paraphernalia had a passing resemblance to ‘Dark’ objects.  Star had to explain her medications.  Valerie set off some sort of magical metal detector, and the customs agents started arguing about what had caused it.  No one had found out about her suit yet.

Meanwhile, Danny was sent to another table, to fill out forms for Jazz.  Again. Because, for reasons Danny didn’t fully understand, even with everything Clockwork and the other Ancients told him, wizards thought they could control and regulate what ghosts did and where they went.  

Danny did not particularly care for wizards, as a group. The paperwork—The stupid, pointless paperwork, because Jazz was going to do what she wanted and no one would stop her, he’d make sure of it—made him angry.  A lot of things made him angry, lately, when they didn’t just make him depressed or sullen.  

“Breathe, Danny,” said Jazz, leaning down, next to his ear. “The language in this is stupid, but I don’t mind being called names.  We both know they’re wrong, and what they think isn’t important anyway, yeah?”

“Yeah,” said Danny, forcing his muscles to relax.  He finished the paperwork.  

They passed through the last customs barrier together, and soon found themselves in a large atrium with a large, extremely gaudy, gold fountain in the center.  

Now, Danny had to admit, he had only the briefest of encounters with house elves and goblins, and none at all with centaurs, but he couldn’t imagine that the look of adoration on their faces was at all accurate. At least not for the species as a whole.

He tried to imagine the statue with a ghost in it, with a half-ghost in it, and he just—

Yeah.  No.

Wizards.  

Or, at least, these wizards.  Whatever.  

They found a bench off to one side, to wait for the Hogwarts representatives.  Danny had to wonder how they’d find them.  Would they hold signs?  Seemed probable.  Everything in the ‘wizarding world’ seemed to be stuck fifty years back in time, if not more.

Or, maybe, the chaperon knew who they were meeting and would wave at them.  Like she was doing now.  

Okay, so, Danny had to check himself to make sure he wasn’t coming up with random prejudices.  Ancients.  If his first encounter with the supernatural had been those people in cloaks showing up out of thin air and starting to kill people, he’d probably never be able to pull himself out of that mindset.  

Not all wizards were terrible.  Like the wandmaker.  She was okay.

He took the time to assess the two witches who had come to pick them up.  They were opposites of each other, at least in appearance.  One was tall, thin, and severe, almost sharp.  The other was short and round and sort of soft around the edges.  The only areas in which they demonstrated similarity were their age and apparent gender.

“Alright, kids.  This is Professor McGonagall,” she gestured to the taller woman, “and this is Professor Sprout.  They’re the heads of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, respectively.  Minerva, Pomona, these are Dash Baxter, Daniel Fenton, Tucker Foley, Valerie Grey, Samantha Manson, Paulina Sanchez, and Star Thunder.”

“And Jazz,” said Danny, annoyed that his sister had, once again, been left out.

“Hey,” said Jazz.  “Nice to meet you.”

Professor McGonagall nodded.  “We will be taking you to Diagon Alley to pick up school supplies for the year before we go to Hogwarts.”

“Yeah,” said Star, eyes tracking a flock of apparently animate paper airplanes, “we know.”

McGonagall raised an eyebrow but otherwise didn’t comment. “Do you want to come with us, Cerise?”

“No, I have a few other things to do on this side of the Atlantic.  That’s why they sent me.  Have a good time in Diagon Alley, kids, it’s a historic place!”

.

Danny had to wonder about goblins.  Did they just… really like banks, or were they forbidden from holding jobs elsewhere?  Or effectively forbidden by prejudice?  Because, thus far, he had only seen goblins when changing currency.  ‘No-maj’ money to the denominations used by American wizards, and now from that to the infinitely more confusing British ‘galleons.’

It would probably be rude to ask.  

Maybe he could find a book…

But were these people self-aware enough to write about stuff like that?  He shook his head.  Prejudice, prejudice…  He barely knew anything about any of these people, he shouldn’t jump to conclusions prematurely.  

Not that he didn’t already know several unsavory things about their system of governance, thanks to the Ancients.  And their not-so-little terrorist problem.  And the fact that they thought erasing people’s memories with a spell that could cause long-term brain damage was A-Okay.

Yeah.  But that didn’t mean all of them were bad.  Just that their government sucked.  Which was true for almost all governments, so it didn’t mean anything.

McGonagall and Sprout were very efficient as they went through the shops, giving the impression that they had done this, or something like this, many times before.  They did not allow detours, despite the many, many distracting things on display on the street and in the windows.  Professor Sprout, however, kept up a running commentary on what things were, so it wasn’t too frustrating.  

About halfway through the shopping trip, they stopped at the place that sold uniforms.  Sprout stayed with them, while McGonagall left to go get other supplies.  It was an experience.  Other than his jumpsuit, Danny had never had any clothing fitted specifically for him before.  

The fitting made him… nervous.  

The tape measures and needles flew close to his skin.  The seamstress who had been assigned to him also kept touching him, which was part of her job, and it wasn’t invasive or anything, but still.  Also, there were a lot of other teens, and even some preteen kids, in the store, getting their uniforms, and they were all staring.

What they were staring at wasn’t the same from person to person, Paulina and Jazz seemed to be the biggest targets for whatever reason, but it was still staring.  The parents waiting with their kids were staring as well, and Danny started to fidget. Which meant that he got stabbed by the needle a few times.  Which wasn’t fun.  

But eventually that was over, and they were on their way to Hogwarts.  

.

Considering that Agilbert had tried to compress years’ worth of magical education into the space of a few months for these students, the results were remarkable.  True, with one notable exception, none of them were on a fifth-year level in Transfiguration, but Minerva didn’t feel the need to put them all in first-year or remedial classes, either.  

She could only hope they did as well in their assessments in other subjects.  They would have a hard enough time figuring out schedules for these seven, without having to account for them bouncing across year levels.  

She picked up the written assessment from the one student she would be accepting into fifth-year Transfiguration.  His penmanship was shaky, none of them had quite mastered writing with quills, and his grasp of the theory behind the spells was incomplete, but it was better than some.  She tried not to roll her eyes as she thought of Crabbe and Goyle.  

As a teacher, she should be above that.  Alas.  

Mr. Fenton did have some insights in his essay questions that were truly extraordinary for a person who didn’t even know magic existed at the beginning of the year.  Perhaps they had another Hermione on their hands, although he didn’t give off the same air as she did.  Or he had spent the summer focusing only on Transfiguration.  Or Mr. Fenton had a singular talent in Transfiguration. Regardless, gifted and motivated students were always a pleasure to teach.  

Minerva gathered her papers and left to meet Filius, who had tested the students before her.  She was tempted to go look in on them now and see how the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was handling her first teaching experience but suppressed the urge.  She would see them, and, sadly, Delores Umbridge, at lunch in only an hour.

Which was why she was so surprised to find the children in a hall so far away from Delores’ room.  

Then she reminded herself that, appearances aside, these were not fifth-year students.  They had no experience navigating the castle.  

“Are you lost?” she asked.

The students exchanged glances.  “Uh, sort of?” said Miss Sanchez, twirling a curl of hair around her fingers.  “We weren’t sure if we should try to find Mr. Snape, or if we should go to the lunch hall.”

“Professor Snape,” corrected Minerva, mildly.  “Did you already finish Professor Umbridge’s assessment?”

“She didn’t give us an assessment,” said Miss Manson, angrily.  

Minerva’s eyebrows went up.  “Excuse me?”

“Yeah,” said Mr. Fenton.  “She basically said that she was doing the same curriculum for everyone, so she didn’t need to.  So, we were wondering if we should move on to, um, potions?  Potions.  Or if we should go to lunch, or just hang out, or what.”  

“Professor Snape is unlikely to be expecting you at this point,” said Minerva, feeling a headache growing behind her eyes.  What was Delores thinking?  The same curriculum for all years?  For eleven-year-olds and eighteen-year-olds?  There would be riots.  Or at least hexes.  “I can take you to the Great Hall.”

“Thanks, Ms. McGonagall,” said Mr. Foley.  And what was that he was hiding in his robes?  How many cursed muggle machines had he smuggled in?

Minerva sighed.  Honestly, it was probably harmless, though she possibly should speak to Charity about it.  “Professor McGonagall.”

“Sorry,” said Mr. Fenton.  “It’s just… hard to adjust.”  He rubbed the back of his neck.  

“I suppose it is,” she said.  “This way, children.”

.

Jazz floated through a wall, carefully avoiding the paintings.  Their inhabitants weren’t quite ghosts, from what she and Danny could tell, but they also weren’t not ghosts.  

It hadn’t taken her long last night to find the actual wizarding ghosts.  They’d been expecting her, in more ways than one.  But they had been weird.  Empty. They didn’t have any ectoplasm in them, and the intensity that was a part of every other ghost Jazz had ever met, Danny included, was absent.  

Clockwork and the Lady had warned them about that, before sending Danny, and by extension Jazz, Sam, and Tucker, off on his mission. Jazz just hadn’t quite believed it.  

Wizarding ghosts weren’t made of passion, need, want, duty, or even stubbornness.  They were made of fear.  Fear, by itself, didn’t hold ectoplasm well, especially not fear of death.  Wizarding ghosts might as well be mere imprints for all the power they had.

From the beginning, Jazz had been less than enthusiastic about pretending to be one of them.  Now, she was even less so.

It wasn’t their fault, though.  At least, it wasn’t entirely their fault.  None of the ghosts here were around back when the Ancients and the wizards of the day came together and put their names to the Tenebris Carta, and they were trying to make amends.  It sounded like they hoped the old treaty could be renegotiated, or that they hoped Danny and Jazz could get them an exception.  

Jazz didn’t hate them.  Didn’t dislike them or anything, and Danny would probably try to help them, so long as they didn’t turn evil or anything.  That was just the kind of person Danny was.  

She just needed more time to… adjust to them.  And the paintings.  Because wow.  

“Ah, Miss Fenton!”  

Jazz twisted herself over, mid-air.  “You can call me Jazz, if you want, Sir Nicholas.”

The silvery ghost smiled.  “If you insist.  We’re going down to the Great Hall, to introduce ourselves to your companions over lunch.  I was wondering if you would like to join us.”

“Sure,” said Jazz, descending to float by the other ghost. “But who do you mean by ‘we?’”

“All the castle ghosts,” said Sir Nicholas, “and possibly Peeves, though he won’t be invited.”

“Peeves?”

“The poltergeist.  He isn’t really a ghost.  At least…  he’s not a ghost like us.”

“Mhm,” said Jazz.  “Should I look forward to meeting him, or should I be very afraid?”

“Ah, neither, I suppose?  He tends to play pranks, but he never does anything terribly dangerous, and he couldn’t hurt you if he tried.”

“Well,” said Jazz, “as long as he doesn’t mess with my brother, we’ll probably get along just fine.”  She flexed her hands to disperse the pale green flames that had started to creep up her fingers.  “If he does, I’ll tear him apart.”

“Speaking of your brother, do you have any guesses as to which house he will be joining?”

“I wasn’t under the impression it was a choice,” said Jazz.

“It isn’t, exactly.  Students are sorted into the houses with, well, I don’t want to spoil the surprise, but houses are selected based on a student’s personality, aptitudes, and values.  Normally, if they came in as first-years, they would be sorted on the first, but given the circumstances, they’ll be sorted tonight.  I’m rather hoping to have a few new students for my house.”

Jazz grinned, detecting a note of competition.  “And what does your house look for?  Gryffindor, right?”

“Bravery,” said Sir Nicholas, proudly.  “Considering your brother’s accomplishments, I’m looking forward to seeing him join.”

“He is the bravest person I know,” said Jazz.  

.

Several dozen ghosts phasing through the walls didn’t just set off Danny’s fight-or-flight response.  Sam readied her wrist-lasers, while Tucker grabbed Danny’s wrist and started hunting for a place to hide Danny so his transformation wouldn’t be noticeable.  Dash and Star took cover under one of the tables.  Paulina pulled out her wand.  Valerie materialized a hand blaster.  

It wasn’t entirely clear what weapon went off first, but it didn’t really matter.  The end result was chaos.

“Oops,” said Jazz.  

.

“I am so, so, sorry,” said Jazz, hovering over Danny. Literally.  

“It’s fine,” said Danny.  “Really.”

“No, it isn’t.  I should have realized how everyone would react.  I should have told them to stop it, or something.”

“They were already on their way through the walls when you got there, weren’t you?” asked Tucker, swinging his legs back and forth as he sat on the end of the hospital bed.  

No one had been seriously injured, but a few tables had been exploded before the teachers had calmed everyone down and confiscated the ‘bizarre muggle weapons.’  On the other hand, everyone had a number of inconvenient scrapes and bruises that Madam Pomfrey insisted on taking a look at.

“Still,” said Jazz.  “I know all of you have PTSD from repeated ghost attacks and those people, I should have known what that would look like to you.”

“Er,” said Dash.  “It really is fine.”

“Yeah,” grunted Valerie, which was surprising.  

Outside of ‘Team Phantom,’ none of the others interacted with Jazz very much.  They didn’t seem to know how.  Valerie, however, outright avoided Jazz most of the time.  

Which, well.  Danny wasn’t about to call her behavior reasonable, but it was definitely in-character. This seemed like a good sign, though.

“Yes, dear,” agreed Madam Pomfrey.  “It isn’t your fault.  We adults should have said something before things got out of hand like that.”  She waved her wand back and forth over Star’s prominent black eye, and the bruise just… vanished.  Like Star had never been hurt.  

Danny inhaled slowly.  It wasn’t the first time he had seen magical healing—The aurors who had arrived a few hours after the attack on Amity Park had done a great deal—but if there was anything of magic that Danny wanted to learn, it was that.  And anything protective.  

“Is there a class for that?” he asked.  

“For what?”

“Healing.”

“Yes, it’s an elective,” said Madam Pomfrey.  “Though it does have a few required courses. Perhaps you will be able to take it next year?”

Danny swallowed down envy and nodded.  “Yeah, I guess we aren’t going to have time for electives, for the most part.”

“You may be surprised.  Now, I think you’re all set, unless you’re hiding something from me?”

The students shook their heads.  

“Good.  I believe Professor Snape is expecting you?”

.

“Did that seem… weirdly easy to you?” asked Sam.  

Danny thought about it for a second.  “Not the ‘what does this plant or animal part do’ questions,” he said, finally, “but the practical part of it?  Yeah.  It was just… cooking.  Really fiddly cooking, but still cooking.”

“Speaking of,” said Tucker, “how did you get by the parts where you had to use animal body parts.”

“Oh, I didn’t,” said Sam.  “I just skipped those.  I’m pretty sure I failed, judging by the look on Professor Snape’s face.  My end result was pretty nasty-looking.  It smelled bad, too.”

“You’re the reason we were stuck in an unventilated basement breathing in burnt hair fumes?” asked Paulina.

“Yeah.  I mean, it didn’t smell like burnt hair to me, but probably.”

Paulina sighed.  “I have to hand it to you, girl, you stand by your convictions.”

“I don’t think it’s unventilated,” said Star, contemplatively. “I wasn’t really paying attention, but there was definitely movement in all the, uh, vapors, or whatever. Professor Snape totally needs a better teacher face, though.  Like, does he just have the one expression, or what?”

“No, no,” said Sam.  “The look he gave me when I turned in my disaster was way more pronounced.”

“Still needs more than disdain and mega-disdain,” said Tucker. “Even Lancer had a wider range.”

“Come on, guys,” said Danny, “he can’t be much more than, what, thirty?  He has time to develop more emotions.”

“Yeah,” said Valerie, flatly.  “Give it a couple more years, and maybe he’ll nail down hyper-disdain.”

This surprised a snicker out of everyone.  Almost everyone.

“Uh, guys?” said Dash.  “I think I might have been the one who made it smell like burnt hair.  What was it supposed to smell like?”

“I’m so glad I don’t need to breathe,” said Jazz.  

“Oh my gosh, Jazz, that’s way too soon.”

.

“What do you think?” asked the hat.  

The hat.  

Danny could understand the paintings.  He could almost understand how the paintings worked, even.  They had the shapes of people who had once lived, their image, their likeness, and had by virtue of magic snagged a piece of their soul as they left this world.

But a hat.  Who would try to give a hat sentience?  And how?  Was the thing possessed by an extraordinarily unfortunate ghost?

“Um,” said Danny, shaking off the shock.  “I liked it!”

“Sorry,” said Star, “I’m just a little surprised.   Are you really a… a hat?”

“Yes, I am the Sorting Hat!  It is my job to divine which of our four houses each of you should belong to.  Weren’t you listening?”

“We were,” assured Star, “it’s just…”

“You’re a hat,” finished Tucker.  “Did you used to be a wizard or something?”

“Goodness, no, I was Godric Gryffindor’s hat!  He enchanted me.”

“So, are you like a computer program?” continued Tucker. “Are you an AI?”

“No Skynet,” muttered Sam.  

“Why do you guys keep thinking I’m going to make Skynet?”

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat.  The other teachers were all present, except for the headmaster and Professor Umbridge.  Their absences had not been explained.  

“When you hear your name,” said McGonagall, “please come up and put the Sorting Hat on.  It also usually helps if you sit down on the stool.  Once the hat has determined your house, take it off, and put it down for the next person to use.”

Alright.  That sounded easy enough.  Danny wasn’t quite sure why such a big production was being made of this.  A few comments from the teachers and the ghosts—not that Danny had talked to them very much, this was the first full day they’d been at the school—suggested there was some kind of rivalry between the houses, but it couldn’t be that bad.  It was school.  

Except Casper High had its nasty cliques, too, and he could just imagine how school-sanctioned cliques would work out. Especially if they were backed up by centuries of history and a magic personality test.  

Fun.  

Not.

He hoped he, Sam, and Tucker would all be in the same house. And that Dash wouldn’t revert to being a bully as soon as other students were added to the mix.  And that…  Oh, he hoped a lot of things, but he would be thankful if the ‘school’ part of this whole ordeal was as easy and drama-free as possible.

After all, he had other things to worry about.

“Baxter, Dash,” said McGonagall, evenly.  

“Good luck, man,” said Tucker, holding up his thumbs. Everyone mirrored him.  

Dash looked very strange, sitting on that small stool, but he wasn’t on it for more than a second before the hat shouted, “GRYFFINDOR!”

The hat was very loud.  Dash returned to the bench with a confused expression on his face.

“Fenton, Daniel.”

Danny stood up slowly.  He had expected something more like a conversation.  Was this a mind reading hat?  Was the ‘take a peek inside your head’ bit literal?  

Ugh, this was going to be a pain.  Good thing he had a lot of practice in compartmentalizing.  

“Ah, a burgeoning occlumens!” said the hat in its warm voice. “How unusual.”

“I have no idea what that means,” said Danny, mildly.  

“Oh, I’m sure your teachers will explain it to you.  I won’t take the pleasure from them.”  

The voice was, Danny decided, more than half in his head, which was…  Unsettling. Voices in his head usually either meant mind control, some jerk with telepathy, or someone trying to overshadow him. He didn’t like this.  He really didn’t like this.  

“No need to be so nervous,” said the hat.  “I keep everything strictly confidential.”

“Forgive me if I’m not reassured,” said Danny.  

“Hmf.  In any case, you have traits that would do you well in any of the houses.  Perhaps not Ravenclaw, though.  As clever as you are, you are behind academically.  You need a more nurturing environment, I imagine. As for the others… You are brave. You love your friends.  You’d do anything for them?”

“Yeah,” said Danny.  

“And there’s… something else you need to do?”

Danny was silent.  

“I can’t see it very clearly, but it is an important task?”

Danny shrugged.  

“A goal.”

“Sure.”

“I think, then, the choice is between the badger and the snake,” said the hat.  “But I believe the decisive phrase here is ‘do anything.’  Therefore, you will be SLYTHERIN!”

Wow.  Even bracing himself, that had been loud.

Danny stood up and carefully deposited the hat back on the stool.  He noticed on his way back to the bench that more than one teacher looked flabbergasted, and several spectating ghosts looked disappointed.  Almost crushed.  He resisted the urge to roll his eyes.  Yes, he was a celebrity among the undead, no he couldn’t be in two houses at once. They should have prepared themselves.

Not to mention that, as important as education was, it was somewhat secondary to his true goals here.  Which the ghosts partially knew about.  

“Foley, Tucker.”

.

“I can’t believe it,” said Filius later that evening when all the teachers (sans Umbridge) gathered for a drink.  

“I did say you would find the results surprising,” said Sybill, smugly.  

“Two muggle-born American transfer students in Slytherin,” said Filius, wonderingly.  “I didn’t expect to get any of them for Ravenclaw, but Slytherin?”

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t denigrate my house, Filius,” said Severus.  

The diminutive teacher waved his hand.  “Oh, that’s not my intention.  But you have to admit, it seems like a strange choice.”

“They aren’t really muggle-born, though, are they?” asked Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank, opting for tea instead of wine.  “I’m not sure about the Sanchezes, but the Fentons were quite prominent, back in the day, weren’t they?  At least, one of their ancestors wrote the first English book on new world magical creatures.”

“Muggle-borns and half-bloods are chosen for Slytherin all the time,” said Severus, annoyance clearly increasing.  “Not, perhaps, as often as for the other houses, but it does happen regularly.  You don’t have to be so shocked.”

“It’s nothing against Slytherin,” assured Pomona.  “We were just expecting them to get split between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor.  American stereotypes in play, I suppose.”

“Mm,” said Septima, who was doodling equations on the back of her wrist.  “On my end, my thought process was more that they wouldn’t do well trying to play catchup in Ravenclaw, and they wouldn’t have the ambition and drive to hold their own in Slytherin.  The Sorting Hat disagreed.”

“Evidently,” said Severus.  He didn’t look especially pleased, but then he never did.  

“Better you than me,” said Filius, after a few minutes.  “I can’t imagine it will be easy integrating them.”

Minerva, who had three of the students, laughed, “You aren’t getting out of it that easy, Filius.  They still have charms.  How did they do, by the way?  We never really got around to discussing it.”

“None of them were brilliant,” said Filius.  “But they have promise.  I was wondering what you all thought about doing an accelerated class for some of them, to get them to a higher year-level.”

.

Being on the Hogwarts Express without Ron at his side felt wrong.  Sure, he wasn’t entirely alone, Ginny was with him, and Hegwig, but it felt different. He felt exposed.  

Although, that might have had something to do with all the people staring and pointing at him.  

The Daily Prophet had spent most of the summer convincing everyone he was a lying show-off.  The only things that had really competed with the ‘Harry Potter is delusional’ articles were the ‘haha, America is going to hell in a handbasket, aren’t we glad we aren’t them?’ articles.  

(Harry wouldn’t have even cast a glance at the second, except that he and the others had overheard some of the Order members mention Death Eaters had been behind the attack on the muggle town.  Even so, reading them made him feel grimy.)

They had to go all the way to the end of the train to get away from the unfriendly eyes, and that’s where they found Neville.  

“Hi, Harry,” he said, out of breath.  “Hi, Ginny…  Everywhere’s full… I can’t find a seat…”

Ginny squeezed past him to look at the compartments behind him.  “What are you talking about?  There’s room in this one, there’s only Loony Lovegood in here—”

“I don’t want to disturb her—”

“Don’t be silly, she’s alright.”  She slid the door open and pulled her trunk in.  “Hi, Luna.  Is it okay if we take these seats?”

It took a couple minutes to get situated in the compartment, during which time Harry tried not to stare at Luna Lovegood very much.  The blonde girl was surrounded by an aura of almost impenetrable oddness.  

“Have a good summer, Luna?” asked Ginny.  

Luna opened her mouth to answer, then closed it, frowning. “No, actually.  My father had some friends in Amity Park.  The town in America, you know.”  She turned her head slightly.  “You’re Harry Potter.”

“I know I am,” said Harry.  

The four of them then proceeded to have a fairly enjoyable conversation, right up until Neville’s mimbulus mimbletonia sprayed them all with rancid sap and Cho Chang opened the compartment door.  

Cho Chang who he had a crush on.

Yeah.

Harry had a strong desire to curl up and die.  

Ron and Hermione did not turn up for over an hour, by which time the food trolley had come and gone, and most of the bounty acquired from it had been eaten.  

“Oh, you have food.  Brilliant,” said Ron, taking a Chocolate frog from Harry and throwing himself into the seat next to him.  “You won’t believe what happened.”

“Malfoy’s Slytherin prefect?” asked Harry.  The fear had been buzzing in the back of his head ever since Ron and Hermione had gotten their badges.  

“Well, yeah,” said Ron.  

“And that complete cow Pansy Parkinson,” said Hermione.  

“But that’s not the real surprise,” said Ron, oddly dismissive. “You remember all those articles in the Prophet?  Not the ones about you.  About that town, in America?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, some of kids who survived were wizards.”

“And witches,” added Hermione.  She pulled Crookshanks into her lap.  

“Well, apparently their ministry didn’t think they’d be safe over there, so they sent them here.  Seven of ‘em.”

“What?  They think it’s safe here?” In Hogwarts, maybe it was, except Harry had been snatched away even with all eyes on him, in the middle of a heavily attended competition.  “With Voldemort on the loose?”

Everyone flinched.  

“Well, that isn’t exactly being publicized,” said Hermione. “Not—Not in the right way.  Besides, none of them knew about magic before this summer.  They’re all our age, though.  It must have been a shock.  Especially after losing their families like that.”  She shuddered.  “We’ve been asked to help them acclimate.  That’s why the meeting ran so long.”  

“Are they in Gryffindor, then?” asked Luna.  

“They’re sort of spread out,” said Hermione.  “They’re in all the houses but Ravenclaw.”

“And I’m still not sure how they got put into Slytherin if they’re muggleborn,” said Ron, who had tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling.  “It doesn’t make sense,” he complained.

“Merlin was muggleborn,” said Luna.  “He was a Slytherin.  I’m sure there were others.”

Ron pulled a face.  

(Harry thought about Voldemort—About Tom Riddle and his muggle father.)

“Anyway,” said Hermione.  “We have three of them.  Hufflepuff and Slytherin each have two.”

First Death Eaters in America, and now Slytherins from there?  Harry shook himself internally.  No, it probably didn’t mean anything.  

“We probably won’t see much of them,” said Ron.  “They’re taking mostly remedial classes.  First and second year stuff.”

“Say,” said Luna, “do you know who the prefects are for the other houses?”

“Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil for Ravenclaw,” said Hermione.  

“And Ernie Macmillian and Hannah Abbot for Hufflepuff,” added Ron.  “You know, other than helping keep track of the younger kids and patrolling corridors every so often, there’s not really much we’re supposed to do as prefects.  From how Percy talked about it, I always sort of thought there’d be more.”  Then he grinned.  “We can give punishments out if people are misbehaving.  I can’t wait to get Crabbe and Goyle for something…”

Predictably, this set off Hermione.

.

“There’s nothing else about the Americans?” asked Draco, frowning. “I’m not sure how we’re expected to ‘help them acclimate’ with so little information.”

The Head Girl rolled her eyes.  “You’re expected to talk to them,” she said.  “Considering that they’re real human beings and all. They’ve been through a lot, apparently, and I can appreciate them not wanting to have it spread around.”

Unspoken was the ‘do you?’ at the end of her sentence.  Draco let his lip curl.  People from other houses were always so eager to think the worst of Slytherin when all they were trying to be was logical.  

“I’ll do that, then,” said Draco, stepping out of the prefects’ carriage.  He needed to find Crabbe and Goyle.  Annoying. As much as he was their leader, and he watched them, they were also there to watch him and—

(Draco chose not to think of the people who had arrived at Malfoy Manor over the Summer, of the things he’d seen.)

(When he was quite young, he’d read a book about muggle Germany during the time of Grindelwald, and how Grindelwald had subtly influenced things in that country.  He’d always been struck by the use of informants, of how everyone had been convinced to watch one another and report those who stepped out of line.  He found he could appreciate it even more now that he was inside a similar trap.)

But the Americans.  It was so odd.  They couldn’t have any lineage to speak of.  Not if they were living like muggles in some backwater town.  

… some backwater town the Dark Lord had seen fit to destroy.

… ‘Fenton’ sounded vaguely familiar.  

… Perhaps ‘Sanchez’ was from a Spanish pureblood line.

Draco would have to do research.  He was good at that.  But whatever he found, he’d have to keep an eye on the Americans.  

If nothing else, it would be good to have friends overseas.

.

“We’ll be in different dorms after this,” said Danny, vaguely depressed.  “Different classes, too, most of the time.”

“We can still see each other during the day,” said Sam.  “I think the only meal that’s segregated by house is dinner, anyway.  We should be able to hang out at all the other times.”

Danny sighed.  He had yet to have much success in his missions.  

He’d felt something wrong on the seventh floor, but he hadn’t been able to pinpoint it.  He’d found a giant inaccessible dungeon full of snake statues, a snake skeleton, and a number of other somewhat questionable things underneath the school. There had been an echo of something there, but whatever it was had been long gone by the time Danny got there. He also had the faint sense of a ghost—a real ghost—beginning to form there, and he hoped he hadn’t messed it up by spreading his ectoplasm around.  

On the second front, he hadn’t heard anything from any of the leaders of the wizarding world.  Unless he counted a reply from a secretary who thought he was disturbed.  

But there was one bright spot.  They’d met the Headmaster yesterday, and Danny was certain the man’s wand was one of the two subjects of his third quest.  Which was hilarious.  Out of everything, he’d thought the Hallows would be the hardest to find.  

Not that he could just take it.  Not now.  Not yet. Not with everything else still so uncertain and Clockwork’s quiet assurance that he would find most of what he needed to at Hogwarts.  

(Clockwork and the Lady had made a deal with him, bound in old magic and ghost law.  Three tasks. Three nearly impossible quests, but at the end of them, the one who had destroyed half of his world, who had harmed his people, would be gone, and in the meantime Amity Park would be protected. Danny knew he had gotten the better half of the deal, with Clockwork practically on his side.  Even with the… other requirements.  Still, he couldn’t help but feel discouraged.)

So, he’d stay, and wait, and keep a careful eye on the Headmaster, and try to find the thing on the seventh floor, and figure out what spells worked on ghosts and if he could circumvent them, and figure out how to intercept at least one magical head of state, and, and, and…

Ugh.  

“If we aren’t too busy,” said Danny.  

“You know we’re here to help,” said Tucker, prodding Danny’s side.  “And even if the rest of them don’t know about, you know, I think they’d be willing to help, too.”

“Within reason,” said Sam.  

It was true.  Surviving near-death experiences together tended to make people—well.  Not necessarily friends, but something more than mere acquaintances.  Allies, at the very least.

(Especially if a lot of other people had died at the same time, and the survivors were holding on to the relationships they still had with all their strength.)

“I know,” said Danny.  He bit his lip.  “There’s something on the seventh floor, I think.  Need more time to figure out what, though.”

“We’ll keep an eye out,” promised Sam.  

“And an ear, too,” said Tucker, tapping his.  “I’m sure there’ll be lots of rumors and legends in a place like this.”

“Me too.  Jazz has been interrogating the paintings, you know.”  He frowned.  “They’re so weird.”

“Everything about this is weird,” said Sam.  “Can’t believe we thought ghosts were the whole extent of the supernatural.  It seems so dumb, now.”

“Not really,” said Danny.  “I mean, ghosts were all that we saw, and they didn’t really mention anything else.”  He sighed. “Guess we should get ready for the feast or whatever?”

“Yeah,” said Sam, standing.  “Good luck meeting your classmates.  Housemates?  How are we even supposed to say that?”

“I don’t know,” said Danny.  He sighed.  “At least we each have at least one person from Casper with us.”

“That’s true,” said Tucker.  “Can’t say I feel like I have much in common with Star, though. Other than,” he gestured, vaguely, “all the Amity Park stuff.”

Sam raised an eyebrow.  “And you think I have a lot in common with Dash?”

“You have a lot in common with Valerie,” offered Tucker.

Sam shrugged.  “We do both fight ghosts.”

Tucker’s grin turned slightly wicked.  “And have a crush on the same guy.”

“Take a walk off a

Danny let himself smile.  It had been a while since the three of them had gotten some good banter in. It was hard to verbally spar when you were depressed.  

.

Sitting next to Paulina at an otherwise empty table felt strange.  But it would feel even stranger to sit not next to Paulina at the very large empty table.  Danny let his eyes drift over to the other three house tables.  It seemed that the others were of the same opinion, sitting together in little, painfully awkward clusters.  

All the close friend groups had been pulled apart, after all.

“Danny,” said Paulina.  Her voice wavered at the end.

“Yeah?”

“The wizard kids will have cliques.”

“I mean, yeah, they’re still human, right?”  And even ghosts formed groups.  

Paulina nodded and clenched her jaw.  “We’re going to get into one,” she said, firmly.  “We’ll have to find the best one, and fast, otherwise we’ll wind up at the bottom of the pecking order.  You know how much that sucks.”

“Yeah,” said Danny, his eyebrows raised.  He was a little surprised to be included.  

“The wizards we’ve met so far are pretty weird.  You know how to deal with weird.”

“Uh,” said Danny.  “Is this a strategy thing?  Isn’t it a bit too late for that?”

“It’s never too late to salvage social standing, and we haven’t even started,” said Paulina.  “Anyway, you’re the backup plan, in case they’re aliens who don’t fall for my charm.”  She put a hand to her heart and fluttered her eyelashes.

“Should we even use charm like that here?  I mean, since it’s a class, now.”

“Hmf.  I’m good at that, too.”  She examined her fingernails.  “We’ll probably attract a bunch of people, just because we’re here and visible and new.  We just need to make sure that people stay interested in us.”

“I’m not sure I want attention, Paulina.”

“Then pay attention and follow my lead.  If you’re in the right clique, you can fade into the background.  Like Star. No one notices the stuff she gets up to. They’re all too focused on yours truly. As they should be.”

This was true, actually.  People didn’t really pay any attention to Star, except in her person as Paulina’s satellite.  Even Danny, before becoming Phantom and gaining a new perspective on life and the people in it, hadn’t.  

“Besides,” continued Paulina, “now that we, well.” She didn’t quite blush.  “You guys don’t suck as much as I thought you did.”

“Uh, thanks.  You, too?”

Wow.  That was quite possibly the worst response he could have had.  

Paulina sighed heavily.  

However, she was distracted from whatever she might have said to him by the first of the Hogwarts students coming in.  Paulina turned her attention away, her eyes flicking from one set of green and silver highlights to the next.  Whenever a student looked their way she smiled and waved, pouring on the charm.  

Danny didn’t know how she did it.  Social engineering was never going to be his strong point.

(Perhaps he could set Paulina and Star on the Minister of Magic’s trail.  They might have more luck.)

Before he could follow the train of thought, they were surrounded.  In a simply physical sense.  There was no malice and very little aggression from the students that sat near them, more than one of whom had prefects badges.  Still, Danny did have to fight down a knee-jerk reaction.  He saw Paulina shift uncomfortably as well, and he gave her robe what he hoped was a steadying tug.  

She returned it with a tight smile.  

There wasn’t much time to talk before Professor McGonagall stood up with the hat and started calling names.  Everyone went very quiet during the sorting, except for the cheer that rose with the hat’s every shout.  

Then there was food.  A lot of food.  Most of it was recognizable, but some of it was sort of weird.  Many things were pumpkin flavored.  There was even something Danny was fairly certain was pumpkin juice.

He didn’t know how to feel about that.

Paulina took the time to engage in social engineering. Danny took the time to watch.  They were both watched back, of course, but Paulina naturally drew more attention.  

However, there was one boy who kept staring at Danny. He was about their age and had pale blonde hair.  Really pale blonde hair.  

(Danny had thought Star and Dash were blonde.)

“You’re Daniel Fenton, correct?” asked the boy.  

“Um.  Yes. And you are?”

“Draco Malfoy.  I’m the fifth-year prefect.”

“Oh, Draco like the constellation?”

Draco blinked.  “Yes.”

“Did your parents like astronomy a lot, then?”

“Astrology,” corrected Draco.  “Astronomy is what muggles do.”

Danny carefully forced down the white-hot rage he felt at that statement.  Yeah, he had more than a normal admiration for astronomy, and, therefore, a more intense than normal reaction to astronomy and astrology being confused, but magic was real, apparently, so maybe astrology wasn’t useless.  Right.  Yeah.  And they were both about stars, planets, and space. Nothing to get mad at.

“It’s been a tradition in my mother’s family for generations,” Draco was saying, “although we occasionally make some allowances for other traditions.  My mother’s name is Narcissa, for example.  Is there anything similar in your family?”

“Dad’s side does ‘J’ names for the first born.  Jazz got stuck with that.”

The boy’s eyebrows went up.  “You have a sister?  She isn’t magical?”

“Magical enough to haunt me,” said Danny.  

“Pardon?”

“She died.  She’s around here somewhere, though.”  He gestured vaguely.  “Didn’t want to be around big crowds.  I think she said she was going to hang out with Myrtle?”

“Myrtle?  Do you mean Moaning Myrtle?  Who haunts the bathrooms?”

This time, the reaction Danny suppressed was a cringe, the emotion embarrassment on behalf of the young witch ghost.  “She just introduced herself as Myrtle.  Well, Myrtle Warren, but…  Yeah.  It’s kind of rude to describe someone as moaning, isn’t it?”

The boy puffed up, slightly, clearly offended.  

Oh, dear.  

.

The Americans were… interesting, Harry thought.  

Ron and Hermione had sat near them as part of their ‘prefect duties,’ with Harry and therefore Ginny and Neville following after.  

Well.  That may have had more to do with curiosity than anything else.  

They introduced themselves by their first names only. Dash, Valerie, and Sam.  Dash was… well.  Harry had encountered people like him both before and after coming to Hogwarts.  For example, McClaggen.  Harry hadn’t ever interacted much with McClaggen, even if they were in the same house, but Dash definitely gave off the same feeling.  Meanwhile, Valerie just sort of glared at everyone, resisting all attempts at conversation while tearing at her food with extreme aggression.  Sam had managed to engage Hermione and Katie Bell in a conversation about dark magic that was getting Hermione progressively more flustered.  

Harry couldn’t tell if it was because of the misconceptions Sam had about magic in general, or because Sam seemed to think some kinds of dark magic should be legal.  

He was starting to get a very bad feeling about these Americans.

.

“Hey,” whispered Tucker, while the students around them were distracted by something a rather round ghost was saying.  

“What?” whispered Star.

“Is it just me, or is everyone here sort of depressed? Like, I can understand us being depressed, but…”

“No, no it’s not just you.  Wasn’t there something about a student death?  Some kind of freak accident.”

“Oh,” said the student sitting across from them.  “You heard about Cedric.”

.

Danny wondered if he could get to the Minister of Magic through Dolores Umbridge.  He hadn’t gotten a good read on her during their very brief encounters the previous week, but now...  She gave off the impression of having some kind of political power.  His understanding was that the headmaster had a lot of influence among the wizards and witches of this country, so for her to be interrupting him like that…

Or maybe he was like Danny and weak against social awkwardness.

Also, her speech seemed to have a deeper meaning he couldn’t decode.  He didn’t understand wizarding culture or their political climate enough, despite his research.

Eh.  He’d have to get a better grasp of her personality and position.  Hopefully, that wouldn’t be too hard.  He did have a class with her.  

.

“The events of last spring have left a mark on the whole school,” said Severus Snape into the muffled quiet of the Slytherin common room, his voice just barely more emotive than during the placement test he had given the Casper High students, “and no doubt on many of your home lives as well. I want you to know that if you have any… concerns… regarding the behaviors of fellow students or… more sensitive topics, you can come to me.”

The man blinked slowly at them.  

“That is all,” he said, finally, and with an overly dramatic swish of his cloak he departed.  

The room quickly filled with light chatter, students breaking off into little cliques, some of them slipping away down shadowy corridors.

Paulina tugged him towards one of those groups.  

“Hi, Pansy,” she said, giving the girl a little wave, “hi, Draco.  We were wondering if you guys could show us around?  We were told our stuff would be moved here, but…”  She trailed off, shrugging elegantly.  

Danny tried to echo the movement.  

He most likely did not succeed.

(It wasn’t like he could tell.  His superpowers did not include seeing himself from the outside—Or maybe they did.  There could be a spell for that, he supposed.)

He had to admit, as the prefects made a (just slightly supercilious) show of presenting the Slytherin dormitories to them, that he rather liked the space.  It was surprisingly well-ventilated and warm, but there was still a general air of closeness, of security of bone-deep chill that spoke so well to his ghost half.  

Of course, a lot of that would probably evaporate once Danny tried to sleep in a room with half a dozen strangers, but, well, he’d deal with that when he got there.

.

Magic was great and all, but Tucker would trade it all away in a second if only to get his PDA to work properly.  

In the tent formed by his bedsheet and his body, Tucker hissed and rapped on the staticky screen, hoping an impact adjustment would do… something.  He didn’t know what.  The last three hadn’t done anything.  

The way the metal casing was heating up under his hand was disturbing.  Quickly, he thumbed the power button.  He didn’t have a lot of these left, and he wanted to be able to use them to communicate with Danny and Sam.  He missed their late-night Doom sessions.  

(Along with everything else about his life in Amity Park. He at least had the power to make talking to his friends possible.  The rest? Not so much.)

He groaned into his pillow.  He’d been working on this off and on all week.  Another night wouldn’t matter in the long run.  

Maybe one of his classes would help him understand what he was doing wrong.

.

Sam had sort of enjoyed needling Hermione (the girl reminded her a lot of Jazz), even if she knew she shouldn’t, but the nasty fight between some of the fifth year boys in the common room had really ruined the mood. Hermione’s friend, Harry, was apparently some sort of celebrity.  Like, in the same way Phantom had been a celebrity following Walker’s invasion.  

So.  Not really a great thing for him.  

Ugh.  Sympathy. Feelings.  She sighed and stared up at the red and gold ceiling.  If the color scheme didn’t do her in…

.

Danny met Jazz in the air over the school.  

“I didn’t see you much today,” he said, twisting hands that he is keeping carefully transparent.

“Yeah,” said Jazz.  “I’m just…  I’m still adjusting.  I think you’ll like Myrtle, by the way.  She’s lonely, but fun.  I think there might actually be a bit of ectoplasm in her, believe it or not.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.  She can flood the toilets, apparently.  Although… I’m not sure if she meant the toilets themselves, or just the room in general.”  She frowned. “Because she said something about sinks…”  She shook her head.  “Not important.  Want to hear what she told me about the secret underground room and the giant snake skeleton?  Not to mention all the other ridiculous stuff that’s happened here.  If this is ‘safer,’ I don’t want to know what the rest of the wizarding world is like.”

“Like what happened in Amity, I guess,” said Danny. “But!  Yes.  Please tell me what you found out.”

.

Breakfast was nice.  Especially when Sam, Danny, and Tucker compared schedules and realized that they had more classes together than they expected.  Not with all three of them at once, but even just two of them together was better than nothing.  

Yes, they got a lot of strange looks, especially when Jazz joined them.  Evidently, eating breakfast with people from other houses just wasn’t done.  Which was stupid, in Sam’s opinion.  Actually, the whole house system felt increasingly stupid to Sam.  She just didn’t understand the point.  Was it for sports?

It was probably for sports.  Sports were the root of all evil.  Just look at Dash.  He hadn’t had any sports for a whole Summer, and now he was acting like an actual decent human being.  

Okay.  That reasoning was suspect.  Sam would have to come back to this when she was more awake.  Early mornings were the worst.  

Anyway.  She had an acceptable breakfast with her friends and the people she’d grown to tolerate, then she set out to find History.  

Which is how she overheard the conversation between Hermione and her friends.  

“What’s S.P.E.W.?” she asked.

Hermione’s two friends glared at Sam.  Probably for the sin of eating with people from another house. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“Well,” said Hermione, just slightly hesitant.  “It’s the Society for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare…”

(Sam found a new cause to get incandescently angry about. Wizard society sucked.)

.

Harry was surprised to see five of the Americans, the three Gryffindors and the two Slytherins, standing by the door to Defense Against the Dark Arts, quietly talking to each other.  

“What’re they doing, then?” asked Ron, scowling. “Consorting with the enemy?”

“Honestly, Ron,” said Hermione, rolling her eyes.  “They aren’t the enemy.  And they’re from the same place.  It must be difficult, being so far away from home.”

Ron grunted and shrugged.  “What d’you think Umbridge’ll be like, anyway?” he asked, changing the subject.  

They filed into the classroom, the remainder of the class, including the Slytherins, their green looking horribly out of place amongst all the red trim, following shortly after.  No one knew what Umbridge would be like, regarding punishment, so they didn’t want to immediately get on her bad side.  

“Well,” she said, in a sickly-sweet tone, “good afternoon!”

There was a mumbled response.  

Umbridge said “Tut, tut.”  She actually said tut tut.  Out loud.  “That won’t do, now, will it?  I should like you, please, to reply ‘Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.’  One more time, please.  Good afternoon, class!”

“Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge,” said the class, in something approaching unison and the least enthusiastic tone Harry had heard since Ron had tried to convince Hermione to help him with his Divination homework last year.

“There, now,” said Professor Umbridge.  “That wasn’t too difficult, was it?  Wands away and quills out, please.”

Many of the students exchanged gloomy or exasperated looks. Lessons without wands tended to be uninteresting, with very few exceptions.  

(Instead of quills, the Americans produced pencils and pens from their bookbags.)

Umbridge opened her handbag and pulled out her own wand, which was as stubby as she was, and tapped the blackboard.  Words appeared on the board at once:  Defense Against the Dark Arts, A Return to Basic Principles.

Harry couldn’t quite repress a groan.  Luckily, he wasn’t the only one.  

“Well now, your teaching in this subject had been rather disrupted, hasn’t it?” stated Professor Umbridge.  She turned to face the class, her eyes briefly lingering on Harry, and then the Americans.  “Or completely nonexistent.  The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your O.W.L. year.

“You will be pleased to know, however,” she continued, still acting like she was talking to kindergarteners, “that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centered, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year.”

Each word Umbridge spoke made Harry’s heart drop farther. How could Dumbledore let this woman teach them?  This year?  When knowing how to fight dark magic was more important than ever?

Umbridge rapped the board again, and new words appeared. Course aims:  1. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic. 2. Learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can legally be used.  3. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.  

Oh.  This year was going to be bad.  As for the day, it got worse when Umbridge assigned a reading from what had to be the dullest book Harry had ever read.  Including that one time—No.  Focus.

He massaged his temples and wondered if he needed to get a new prescription for his glasses.  The words on the page refused to stay sharp.  

Harry looked up when the Americans started to whisper among themselves and caught sight of one of the most shocking things he had ever witnessed: Hermione not reading.  

Soon, everyone was staring either at Hermione or the Americans, who had left off whispering after some pointed glaring from Umbridge but had replaced the whispers with passionate gesturing at something in the back of the book.  Those, too, died down after a while, in favor of looking at Hermione.  

Eventually, Umbridge could no longer ignore the situation.  

“Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?”

“Not about the chapter, no.”

“Well, we’re reading just now.”  Umbridge smiled.  It wasn’t pleasant.  “If you have other queries, we can deal with them at the end of class.”

“I’ve got a query about your course aims,” said Hermione, undeterred.  

“And your name is—?”

“Hermione Granger.”

“Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully.”  

“Well, I don’t.  There’s nothing written up there about using defensive spells.”

“There’s nothing in the book about using spells, either!” said the Slytherin boy, waving his copy angrily.  “There aren’t even any of the, um.”  He paused and looked at Sam for a second.  

“Incantations,” said Sam.  “I mean, that’s what I’d call them?  I don’t know the official term.”

Umbridge inhaled through her teeth.  

“Using defensive spells?” she asked, voice pitched unnaturally high.  “Why, I can’t imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss—”

“And what about outside of the classroom?” interrupted the Slytherin boy.  

“Like, this is supposed to teach us how to not die, right?” asked the girl next to him, examining her fingernails.  

“You have to practice self-defense to actually get good at it,” agreed Valerie, crossing her arms.  “What’s the point of this class if we’re not going to actually learn how to do stuff?”

“Yes,” agreed Hermione, “surely the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?”

“Students,” gritted Umbridge, “will raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class.”

At once, a dozen hands went up.

“Miss Granger?” Umbridge asked, voice dangerous.  

“Isn’t the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts to practice defensive spells?”

“Miss Granger,” said Umbridge.  “As you are not a Ministry-trained educational expert, you are not qualified to decide what the ‘whole point’ of this, or any, class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have—”

“I really doubt that,” interjected Ron.  

Umbridge took another deep breath.  “You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way—”

“What’s the use of that?” demanded Harry, loudly.  “If we’re going to be attacked, it won’t be in a—”

“Hand, Mr. Potter!”

Predictably, Umbridge turned her back on him as soon as he thrust his fist into the air.  Instead, she called on Dean Thomas.  

(The part of Harry’s brain that wasn’t vibrating in frustration noted that the Americans were passing notes between each other.)

“Well, it’s like Harry said, isn’t it?” he asked, once she had gotten done with interrogating him about his name.  “If we’re going to be attacked, it won’t be risk-free—”

“Do you expect to be attacked in class?”

Harry was very tempted to say yes, considering that three of his four previous DADA teachers had wound up attacking him.  

… Did Professor Lupin’s werewolf form having a go at him bring the count up to four?

Umbridge talked over Dean.  “I do not wish to criticize the way things have been run in this school,” she said, with the air of someone who was about to do just that, “but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed—not to mention,” she gave a nasty little laugh, “extremely dangerous half-breeds.”

The Slytherin boy stood up, chair scraping across the floor. Sam, next to him, had gone pale. Her fingers were wrapped tightly around her wand.  

“Sit down, Mr.-?”

“I’m leaving,” said the boy, not deigning to give Umbridge his name.  He picked up his bag.  “Maybe I can sit in on an actually useful lesson.  I mean, if I can figure out how to make a pineapple tap dance, I can get it to fly into someone’s face.  At least that’s something.”

“Sit down,” repeated Umbridge.  “I do not know what your classmates have told you, but you, all of you,” she said to the class, “have been frightened into believe that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every other day—”

“We haven’t been frightened into believing anything!” exclaimed Dash, also rising from his seat.  “Our entire city was attacked!  We need—"

“Which was a tragedy.  One that is unlikely to be repeated!  Now, sit down.”

The other Americans stood up.  

“We heard about Cedric Diggory, you know,” said the Slytherin girl, coldly.  “And a lot of the people who attacked us were never caught.”

“We also know about the giant murder snake that apparently lived here,” said the boy.  

“I, for one, can’t believe that wizards are less likely to be murders than any other human,” said Valerie.  “If normal people need to take self-defense classes, I don’t see why we shouldn’t be able to.”

“The government preventing people from learning how to defend themselves is historically a bad sign,” said Sam.  “Of course, slavery is also a bad sign, and you all have been ignoring that for God only knows how long.  There are actual slaves in this school.”

“Wait,” said the Slytherin boy, horrified.  “Are you serious?  Is that what you were talking about before?  Oh my God—"

“Children!” exclaimed Umbridge.  “Your hands are not up.”  

The looks Umbridge got after that outburst were filled with incredulity, not

Parvati Patil raised her hand.  

“Yes?” asked Umbridge.

Harry was beginning to wonder if she was looking for punishment.  

“Isn’t there supposed to be a practical bit in our Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.?”

“As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there’s no reason you shouldn’t be able to—”

The room exploded into a flurry of objections, spurred on by the Americans.  

“Who exactly do you think is going to attack you?” shouted Umbridge over the ruckus.  

“I don’t know!” shouted Harry back, even though part of him knew this was a bad idea.  “How about Lord Voldemort?”

Silence.  

“Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter?”

“Points?” whispered Dash.  No one else spoke.  

The Slytherin boy was looking at Harry with something like hunger in his eyes.  

“Now, let me make a few quite plain.  You have been told that a certain Dark wizard had returned from the dead—”

“He wasn’t dead,” said Harry, “but yeah, he’s returned!”

“Do not make matters worse for yourself, Mr. Potter!” exclaimed Umbridge shrilly.  “As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again. This is a lie.”

“It is NOT a lie!  I saw him! I fought him!”

Glee spread across Umbridge’s toad-like face. “Detention, Mr. Potter.  Tomorrow evening.  Five—  What do you think you’re doing?”

“Um,” said the Slytherin boy, who like the rest of the Americans was halfway to the door.  “Leaving. Like we said?”  He hadn’t stopped walking.

“You will do no such thing!  All five of you will be joining Mr. Potter for detention.”

“Pass.”  His eyes flicked towards Harry again.

“Excuse me?”

“We have better things to do than humor someone who’s refusing to do their job,” said Sam.  

The classroom doors slammed shut right in front of the Slytherin boy’s nose, and he took half a step back.  

“Tomorrow evening, at five o’clock, all six of you will join me for detention in my office.  Now.  The rumors of that Dark wizard’s return are lies.  The Ministry guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard.  If you are still worried, if someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, come see me outside of class hours, I would like to hear about it.  I am here to help.  I am your friend.  Now, kindly, continue your reading.  Page five, ‘Basics for Beginners.’”

The Americans slunk back to their seats but pulled a variety of colorful transfiguration textbooks from their bags instead of Defensive Magical Theory.

With an air of triumph, Umbridge sat down behind her desk.

Harry stood up.  

“Harry, no!” whispered Hermione, tugging at his sleeve.

Harry ignored her.  (Which was, in all honesty, a stupid move.  Ignoring Hermione rarely had positive consequences.)

(In his defense, the preceding several minutes had been… stressful.)

“So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?”

“Cedric Diggory’s death was a tragic accid—”

“Just like Amity Park, huh?”

“A tragic accident,” continued Umbridge, voice full of ice.  

“It was murder.”  Harry was shaking.  He felt like he was under a spotlight, and he wanted to be anywhere but here, talking about this.  “Voldemort killed him, and you know it.”

For a second, Harry thought Umbridge would start screaming, but instead her lips curled up into a parody of a smile.  “Come here, Mr. Potter, dear.”

As Harry walked forward, Umbridge started scribbling on a small, pink, piece of paper, angled so that Harry couldn’t see what she was writing.  Something moved out of the corner of his eye, and Harry flinched.  

The…  What were they even doing?  Why were they sitting like that?

“Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear,” said Umbridge, holding out a roll of pink paper.  

Harry took it from her without a word, turned on his heel, threw open the door, and—

Was almost trampled by the Americans all escaping the room at once.  

Dash grabbed him by the upper arm, and soon all six of them were running down the hallway.  It took several seconds for Umbridge to start shrieking, and, by that point, the Slytherin boy had pulled them all into a secret passage that someone who hadn’t been at Hogwarts for even a month shouldn’t know about.  

“Wow,” said Sam.  “You work fast, Danny.”

“Thanks,” said Danny, giving her a thumbs up.  “Got to thank the Bloody Baron, though.”  He paused.  “Still can’t believe that’s his actual name…”

“Sorry about dragging you with us, by the way,” said the Slytherin girl.  “I’m Paulina. This is Danny.  You already know these three, I think?”

“Er,” said Harry, not at all sure how to deal with this situation.  Part of him just wanted to shout.  He was still vibrating with suppressed rage.  

“I didn’t really catch your name in all that, though,” she continued, gesturing behind them.  

“It’s Harry.  Potter.”

It was… interesting, how his name didn’t spark any recognition in them.  At least not at first.  Then Danny stiffened and—

“The poltergeist is coming this way,” he said, mildly.  

“You can tell?” asked Paulina.

“I could always tell.  Why do you think I was always in the bathroom when ghosts were around?”

Valerie scowled, and shot a truly venomous glare at her watch.

“Do you think we can convince him to bug Umbridge?” asked Sam.

Danny shot a look of surprise at her.  Then he smiled.  “Maybe,” he said.  He turned back to Harry.  “It was nice meeting you.  I hope we can talk again sometime.  It sounds like you’ve been through a lot, and, well…”  He shrugged.

Harry suddenly remembered that the Americans were here, for the most part, because their families were dead.

“But you should probably track down Professor McGonagall sooner than later.  I’d bet that Umbridge put a timer on that.  If that’s possible.  Is that possible?”

“I don’t know,” said Harry, suddenly a hundred times more anxious about the paper clenched in his hand.  

“Gosh, imagine if Lancer could do that,” said Dash.

“I’d take Lancer any day,” said Danny.  “He actually tried to teach stuff.  Anyway, I’m going to go head off Peeves.  You might want to go around.  I hear he can be kind of a jerk?”

“Right,” said Harry, walking further down the secret passage, because he had been here for a proper length of time and had learned about it properly.  

… Although he supposed that asking the ghosts was a proper way to go about learning the secret passages.  

No, he had to focus on how to explain getting kicked out of class to Professor McGonagall, not on the weirdest interaction with Slytherins he’d had to date.

[silkylious]

Of Cold Soba and Rose-gold Vows (Todoroki Shoto x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: Todoroki Shoto x reader Warnings: ANGST, mature themes, suggestive content, fluff A/N: ughhh its finally here, honestly this took way too long to finish because im a lazy cunt but here it is finally! Hope you enjoy!

Also feel free to request stuff!

Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

The footfalls of heeled shoes propagated throughout his office, each echoing step flooding his chest with dread and accelerating the previously calm rhythm of his heartbeat. Three consecutive knocks sounded before her sickly-sweet voice followed suit. “I have more paperwork for you, sir,”

Despite the lump accumulating in his throat, he managed to croak out a response, ushering his secretary into his office. The door clicked open, closing shut after she stepped in. He didn’t dare lift his eyes from the sheets of paper lining his desk, grasping on what little self-control was left in his morale. A hefty stack of paper was slammed right in his field of vision, causing him to snap his head up, ready to berate his assistant on her lack of professionalism. The lecture he was prepared to give her was shoved to the back burner in his mind once he made eye contact with her figure. Shit. A dress shirt way too tight around her bust, the first couple buttons left open and a body-hugging pencil skirt, accentuating her already exaggerated curves. Fuck. He winced at the audible gulp he couldn’t help but take, hoping she didn’t notice his frazzled reaction. His fleeting attention was brought back to her face, mentally cursing himself when he caught sight of her smug visage. She definitely noticed.

She took his silence as compliance, deciding it was finally time after so many failed trials to raise the stakes a bit more. Her self-satisfied attitude only augmented as she made her way around her boss’s workbench, stalking the way his shoulders tensed and the formation of sweat beads on his temples. With the pen now long forgotten, his hands clenched into fists atop his desk, two contradicting thoughts wreaking havoc through his conscious. He felt her feminine stature press into his back, her dainty fingers hugging his broad shoulders, compressing the taut muscle. All hell broke loose in the corners of his mind, his vision blurring at the peripherals. He could almost hear his subconscious screaming at him to push her away, to do something! But right now, he could only focus on the soft touch encasing his shoulders, the short breaths enchanting his ears.

“You seem a little tense, sir,”

Todoroki was well aware of the flirtatious lilt in her words, well aware of how wrong this was, but he couldn’t help but silently indulge in the prohibited intimacy. His resolve was rapidly cracking, her heinous antics doing a number on him. He’d resisted so many times before (her little game of cat and mouse lasting way longer than he should’ve allowed) but something about this moment propelled him to the edge of caving in. Just as he was about to pluck the thinning thread holding his restraint together and finally fall victim to her adulterated wishes, his phone rang, snapping him out of his indecent trance, giving him an exit out of this situation and he damn near bolted out of it. He wasn’t a religious guy, yet he still internally thanked whatever higher being was looking down at him right now.

He took the cue handed to him by the heavens gladly, his scarred hand darting out to clutch his cellular device. Urging his frisky secretary out with the excuse of taking this phone call, he watched as a sour expression overtook her features. She clearly wasn’t pleased about this, making it a point to stomp her way out, slamming the door behind her retreating figure. With her presence far away from his personal space, he let out a breath he’d been holding for way too long, taking a moment to steady his pulse. Mismatched eyes tiredly descending onto the device that had saved him, sliding his finger across the screen to accept the incoming call.

“Pro-hero: Shoto, we need your backup right now,”

The villain he was called in to capture had caused a ruckus in the city’s mall, one thing lead to another and devastating damage had been dealt to the city square. The villain was arrested with the help of the many Pro-heroes on sight, Shoto doing most of the dirty work with little to no harm inflicted to the surrounding area. Not many civilians were injured and there were no fatalities, the rest was smooth sailing from there (aside from a little squabble with a certain explosive hero claiming he had stolen the last blow, which Shoto honestly couldn’t give less of a fuck about). He couldn’t wait to take a shower, clock in and call it a day. 

The hero carved his way through his agency, muscle memory dragging him to his office while taking off various support items during the short walk. He paused in his steps when a dire thought crossed his mind. Would she still be here? It wouldn’t be the first time she’d tried to get some alone time with him by staying well past her work hours. And if she was here, what would he do? He wouldn’t know how to respond after what happened earlier that afternoon. Whatever fucked up odds were in his favor for the second time that day as he didn’t hear a single noise in the agency, save for a lone janitor mopping the floor. Relief brought him back down to earth and away from his anxious thoughts. He briskly made his way into a stall, thoroughly enjoying the cold water enveloping his skin.

While under the showerhead, his thoughts ran amuck. That afternoon had been a close call, he despised himself because he knew that had his phone stayed silent, he would have indulged in the disgusting fantasies she’d created. A concoction of guilt and self-deprecation settled deep in his gut, he knew he had to stop these risky incidents, it wasn’t right. But every time he found himself ready to pull the plug and repent, she lured him back in like a sailor to a siren’s song. These sordid happenings had to come to an end, he knew that like the back of his hand, he just didn’t know how to stop luxuriating in the bittersweet taste of this forbidden fruit. He briefly contemplated firing her, frankly her skills weren’t even all that awe inducing, he could easily find a less problematic, more efficient replacement for her. But the wicked part of his being quickly squashed that option, even though he was fully aware that it was the correct option, the right thing to do.

The half and half Pro shut off the faucet, cutting his train of thought short in the process, and stepped out of the stall into the locker room. What was supposed to be a nice quelling of his worries had only spiked his self-hatred up a couple notches. Diligently drying off his candy cane hued strands, he could only hope that his mind would ease up with time.

By the time he’d made it to his surprisingly humble apartment, he’d relaxed enough to not look like he had a stick shoved up his rectum. All his tranquility was defenestrated the second he heard the voice that had been causing him so much inner turmoil the past few weeks.

“Welcome home, Shoto.”

The words that would typically soothe him, now caused him immeasurable pain. The guilt he’d been able to muffle, now ringing louder than any alarm ever could in his brain. Oh, how badly he wanted to tug you by the waist, desperately hold you against his larger frame. Yet Shoto couldn’t bring himself to do that, hell he couldn’t even meet your eyes, too afraid that he’ll taint your being with his grimy hands. The shame welling up was eating him alive, that vile scene playing on repeat before his heterochromatic irises as he tried to match your stare, a singular thought plaguing him. You don’t deserve this; he doesn’t deserve you.

He hadn’t been expecting you to be at home as you usually be snoring peacefully in bed right now. The uneven timing between both your careers had made it near impossible to spend time together, but you’ve coped with it throughout your relationship.  

“Sho, you okay?” He was pummeled back to reality when he heard your concerned voice, lord knows he didn’t deserve your sympathy. He managed a small smile and a kiss to your forehead.

“‘M’ fine, just tired. Long day at work.” Was his simple response, leaving out all the details that would surely bar him from sleep that night. You hummed lightly, enjoying the sensation of his puckered lips on your forehead, which had become quite scarce lately.

“I made dinner, your favorite. You want some?” The hopeful glint in your stare amplified the hurt in his chest. How could he do this to you? Shoto didn’t take long to decline, ignominy brutally killing his appetite. He resigned to bed with you in tow, he could practically sense the disappointment radiating off you, but he wouldn’t be able to bear looking at your face a moment longer.

This has been the formulaic dynamic of your relationship recently; he’d leave early, hurl himself at work in hopes of avoiding any interaction with the two causes of conflict in his life then arrive late into the night, either to find you cocooned with all the blankets in bed or on the rare occasion that you were awake, he’d forgo dinner and b-line it for the bed. The distance between you made you perturbed. Sure, you saw the amazing work he does daily on the news (and you were the proudest and loudest of his fans, supporting him from day one unconditionally), but that didn’t mean he had to marginalize your existence for the sake of his hero career. Besides, this only became a problem recently, you tried to brainstorm any shifts or events that could have birthed this unreasonable drift between the two of you, but you came up with nothing, unaware that what had caused the drift wasn’t an event, rather a person.

All sleep eluded him that night, sleepless and cloaked in despair. His mind going back to its chaotic state. He didn’t know why he was enabling his secretary’s inappropriate behavior, maybe due to the lack of intimacy between you two? No, he couldn’t lie to himself, he was painfully aware that he was the one to cause the shortage of affection in your relationship. Todoroki didn’t understand why he wouldn’t just stop her like any good-natured, faithful boyfriend would. No matter how hard he berated himself, he could never find the will to stop wallowing in her passion, the passion of a woman that wasn’t you. God, how pathetic he was. He, at the very least, prided himself in being able to reject her advances up until now, but he knew that was the bare minimum of what he should do, but what he didn’t know was much scarier in contrast. He didn’t know how long he’d be able to turn her down. He watched the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest, which eventually lulled his mind into a turbulent slumber.

Todoroki woke up at the ass crack of dawn the next morning, as per usual, yawning while he went through the motions of his morning routine. Now fully dressed and presentable, he paused beside your side of the bed. His cold knuckles brushed over your face, smoothing some of your follicles away to get a better look at your expression. Even in your sleep, you leaned into his touch, longingly seeking out his comforting, cool caresses with a soft, dopey smile. His heart stuttered violently, both with mirthful adoration and overwhelming penitence. With that, he abruptly halted the loving contact and headed towards his agency.

His day had been going pleasantly for the most part, a fairly easy patrol with some small-fry villains here and there, and barely any run ins with his dreaded secretary. All was looking well, he could finish paperwork and surprise you with an early visit, you’d absolutely love that! At least, that was the plan until she came barging into his office. His eyes expanding as he took in her disheveled figure. Her top buttons all undone, giving him an ample view of her cleavage, she had ditched the thigh-high stockings deciding to go bare-legged, her pencil skirt skin-tight around her curves and he could have sworn it was hitched up a bit. She wasn’t messing around this time. He prayed, begged for a way out like what had happened last time, yet he could somehow tell that wasn’t going to happen. Fate had already dealt its cards, giving him chance after chance, and now he was all out of chances, all out of luck. He gulped in preparation of what would come, for better or worse.

Meanwhile, you were sat at home, with a laptop in your clutches. After typing out a few overly formal and redundant emails, you stretched your arms above your head, hearing a satisfying pop. Unlocking your phone, your eyes scanned the number displayed on the lock screen. 5:32 PM. Shoto had informed you that he would be arriving early, the mere thought bringing a smile to your face. Your attention diverted from the numbers on your device to the background picture, a picture of you and Shoto on the beach, your lips caressing his cheek as he held onto the phone, a serene smile lighting up his expression. You missed those days, you knew you had to have a talk with him about the direction of your relationship, you just didn’t know when. You’d rarely see him throughout the day. And when you did, he was either too exhausted to function or already knocked out in bed. Your faith was firmly planted in him, it really was, yet you couldn’t help but speculate why his absence was more frequent these days. Shaking those thoughts away, you head to the kitchen to start preparing dinner.

Shoto eyed her with a mixture of anticipation and fear, the way her hips swayed purposefully, her petite fingers curling around the lock and clicking it shut. She stalked her way over to his desk, leaning over it and bringing herself face-to-face with the object of her desires. Her pride was wounded way too many times to count, each rejection only increasing her sense of entitlement. She knew that her boss wasn’t single, he had a goddamn picture of you on his desk, yet that didn’t hinder her in the slightest. In fact, she took it as a challenge, at first it was fun to get a reaction out of him but his consistent refusal to her advances was getting tiring. She was treading on thin ice, one small slip up and she’d be engulfed in icy waters, but she confided in the fact that he hadn’t fired her yet (for whatever goddamn reason). Her stern expression met his own stoic one, a façade he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep holding up much longer.

“You left me hanging last time, sir. Let’s continue where we left off, shall we?”

She slid behind him, noiseless as a cat, taking the position she had been in the day before, this time with no interruptions. And there were no objections coming from him, which surprised both of them. She’d been expecting even a little bit of resistance on his part, yet there was none. Her abhorrent hands snaked their way down his built pectorals, relishing in his lack of defiance, whispering to him all the foul fantasies she’d dreamed of, and he didn’t say no.

“See, sir, once you let go, it’ll feel a lot better,”

As her fingers danced across his abdomen marveling at his muscles, she shifted a bit so she can stand beside him, watch all the resilience drain from his face as he gave in to her sick pleasures. God, he wanted to stop her, to shove her away, to do something, anything! But despite his subconscious crying out for him to take action, his body didn’t budge an inch. He felt sick to his stomach, he was enjoying this. He reviled himself over and over again in his head, yet he couldn’t deny her sensuous touches. He was already planning to penance for his sinful consent, never in his life did he think he’d ever be a perpetrator of infidelity, yet here he was letting a woman who wasn’t his lover touch him in ways he’d pledged were for only for your hands to execute.

His muteness was getting her drunk on the control she had over him -over the number three Pro-hero, she couldn’t help but test the waters and push her luck. Her digits scraped a path from his rock-hard abs to his inner thigh, kneading the muscle in her hands, inching closer and closer to the point of no return, the point where he’d officially be classified as an undignified cheater. His head snapped up, the haggard shouts of his subconscious finally proving fruitful in their effort to make him move. His eyes searched her grinning face, shit-eating and riddled with malice, and in a flash his mind compared her power-drunk smirk to your soft smile that he had the pleasure of witnessing that morning. All of a sudden, the frayed old thread holding his restraint together was restored to its original state, resewing and stitching itself back together to form a robust lasso that would hold his heart and spirit tightly, only yielding to your will and wind. She wasn’t you; she’d never be you or even come close. That small revelation prompted him to grip her wrist, which had been itching towards his semi-hard member. With newfound resolve, his voice as stern as he could muster, he made a demand- no, an order.

“Get out.”

“Wha- But-”

“Out. Now.”

His austere words left no room for discussion or complaints, her previously smug smile vanishing, replaced with pure fear at his staunch appearance. The tables were completely flipped, he had finally regained control over his traitorous body. She quickly heaved up, trying to fix her debauched state frantically before she booked it out of the room. With her villainous aura gone, the IcyHot Pro-hero dramatically sighed out, slumping in his office chair as he recounted the events of the past thirty minutes. He loathed himself for letting that continue on longer than it should have.

Before Todoroki can drown in his sea of self-loathing, his cell phone buzzed, indicating a notification. Opening the device, his breath hitched once he saw who had texted him.

Babe ❤️❤️: Sho r u still coming home early tonight? ps love ya Sent 6:13

Given the events that had just transpired in his office, his heart was racing. Mostly out of left-over adrenaline, but a part of him was happy he could still call himself loyal to you by minimum measures. Todoroki’d been so close to tipping over, he promised himself that he wouldn’t repeat his past mistakes. with the ache to see you blooming in him, he shot you a short text confirming that he’d be home in a bit and took a brisk shower to scrub off any lingering sensations from his sleazy assistant, both figuratively and literally.

When Todoroki arrived home only to be greeted by your patient smile, he couldn’t help the exasperated look overtaking his features. He truly didn’t deserve you, but he’d be a fool to let you go. Before you found the chance to even address him, he pulled you into a bone-crushing hug, savoring the aroma of your shampoo. He abruptly let you go to get a hold of your cheeks, gingerly patting them with his thumbs as he reminded himself over and over again that your were his and most importantly, that he was yours and only yours. Mental exhaustion crept up on him, the aftermath of his ongoing misdeeds finally catching up to him. Shoto could barely handle the fact that he had been so close to giving you up for some office skank, rubbing at his temples to ease the oncoming headache. You didn’t comment on his odd demeanor, opting to give him a serving of his favorite dish instead. With his head down, eyes focused on the coffee table in front of him, Shoto didn’t notice you leaving and returning with a tray in hand. His grey-blue hue flickered between the bowl of cold soba and the small glass of sake that were pushed into his line of vision then up to your playful grin. So pure, so loving. Nothing like the one he saw mere minutes prior in his agency.

“Eat up, I won’t be taking no for an answer this time!” Were your endearingly light-hearted words, that cheeky smile never fading. Shoto cemented this moment in his mind forever, ridiculing his past self for the umptieth time that day. How could he even bestow his stare on another creature when you were right by his side? Regret, repentance and unhinged love inundated him. He uttered out three simple words.

“I love you.”

You’d heard those same words come from his mouth dozens of times before, yet somehow this time felt special. You could tell the words carried more weight than they typically did, though you couldn’t pinpoint what kind of baggage they were upholding. Without even realizing it, tears had begun to trickle down your face, all your doubts and worries extinguished in an instant. Oh, how you longed to hear those words in recent days, they shook your entire world to its very core. He loves you; he still loves you.

Honestly, he hadn’t been expecting that reaction from you, but he understood the implications behind it, and it only added to the overbearing guilt weighing on him. Had you been so starved for his affection that those simple words made you cry? Shoto shot up from his seat, he made up his mind.

The cold soba was abandoned that night, he’d grabbed you by the waist and pulled you with him to the bedroom where he indulged in the throes of passion with you, worshipping you and locking every sound, every expression and every word you made forever in his heart which you mercilessly tugged at using the lasso holding it hostage. Despite the less than pure nature of your acts, Shoto considered this his confessional, where you were the priest, ridding him from all his past sins and engulfing him in your warm light.

When you were both tuckered out, he pulled you into his bare chest, petting over your head and silently planned the coming day. Promising that he’d be better for you.

The next morning you were dejected to wake up in an empty bed, but you wouldn’t let that shake you up. Shoto was clearly trying to reignite the spark between you two, and you were going to put in the effort too. While making your morning beverage before heading to work, a neon sticky-note caught your eye. You plucked it from its place on the fridge. In neat handwriting, it read:

Hey love, Sorry for leaving early again, was called in for an emergency I’ll try to clear the rest of my schedule to come home early today Love you

~S

The sweet words served to strengthen your faith in him. He was trying, and you would be sure to show that you appreciated his determination.

After dealing with the emergency, Shoto patrolled around the city, helping out here and there when needed. When he returned to his agency, his steps carried a steadfast feel to them, he knew what he was going to do next, and he was going to make it quick.

“Sir, you called?”

The duel haired hero didn’t even spare a glance at his secretary, finding the monotonous emails on his screen far more interesting. He encouraged her to sit down in the chair parallel to his bureau. She wordlessly took his offer and sat down, her heart beating a mile a minute. They both knew where this is going.

“You’re fired. Pack up your supplies and leave as soon as possible. And please leave your desk at pristine condition.”

She shouldn’t have been surprised really, if anything this was an expected outcome from her unprofessionalism, she didn’t dare voice her disapproval though, even she wasn’t dumb enough to poke the grizzly bear. Just as silently as she had entered, she left without making a fuss. Irrepressible relief calmed the Pro-hero’s senses, he’d done the right thing. And he would continue to walk the right path for you. He was able to clear the rest of his schedule, noting mirthfully that he still had time before he’d head back home. He settled for making a couple detours before coming home to your adoring gaze.

“I’m back.” Shoto called out blissfully, he missed the feeling of having an embrace to call his home. When he didn’t receive an answer he got a wee bit skittish, though his worries were subdued when he noticed your sleeping figure huddled up on the couch, a bowl of half-eaten popcorn on the table and a shitty romcom playing on the TV.

He crouched so he could properly take in your pacific visage. He vowed to himself that from then on out, he’d better himself in every aspect to truly be worthy of being yours. And he was going to forevermore eternalize that vow with the rose-gold band residing in his pocket.

[chandelier-s-notebook]

Hey look it’s chap 2! They won’t all come out today I promise.

(Also the other characters tagged appear later in this chapter after the :readmore: this isn’t cross tagged for publicity purposes)

Let me know if you wanna get tagged when I post new chapters in “These Streets Are Made For Walking”. @sleepysnails.

Ao3 Link

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After school, Dream, George, and Sapnap tossed their bags into Techno’s trunk. Technically, he and Dream did have PowerPoint projects to complete, but it was a solo project and he already finished it at lunch.

Snagging the shotgun seat, Sapnap cheered, “To the mall!”

Techno grimaced. At least Sapnap was excited.

Actually, there was one good thing that came from them: friendship. Techno had met Dream at one of these mall fights while they went to different middle schools, then they ended up at the same high school and started to drag Dream’s other friends to them. Techno didn’t mind George and Sapnap, they were just more Dream’s friends than his.

Techno drove them out of the city, and they cruised down the highway for twenty minutes before pulling off to the exit towards the abandoned mall.

“I’ve never understood why this shit happens right after school,” George said.

Dream answered him, “It’s because the cops think this stuff happens at night. They don’t think to look for this stuff during the day.”

“Plus, there’s a lot more of the other stuff going on, so they’re busy.”

“Why do you know that, Sapnap?”

“Reasons.”

Techno rolled his eyes at the trio, and pulled the first aid kit and his backpack out of the trunk. “I’m gonna stay in the car today.” He handed the box to George. “Math homework due tomorrow,” he explained.

“Ah man. That’s too bad,” Dream said, stretching out his arms. “More practice for me.”

“Maybe you’ll even beat me next time,” Techno joked.

Dream wheezed, and Sapnap had to push him away towards the building.

Techno got back in his car, cranked the radio, and blasted the AC, shutting the windows tight. Throwing the bag into the seat next to him, Techno pulled out his binder, and opened it to a fresh piece of graph paper. Study time lasted all of forty minutes before the sirens rang out.

“Snitch,” he muttered to himself. He slumped down in his seat, and pulled out his phone. He debated who to text before deciding that George was least likely to be busy at any given moment.

Techno Got snitched Cops in lot

George Fuck Dream says leave Drop our stuff at Bad’s Drop Tubbo with Punz

Techno Roger

A squad of four cars descended on the parking lot. Most of the officers stormed the mall, but three stayed behind. Two began making their rounds around the parking lot, but--of course--the other was left behind to secure the entrance. It was standard procedure, so Techno wasn’t very surprised to see this happening.

Techno made the decision to continue doing his homework rather than try to get away. He tossed his phone on the passenger seat and turned the radio off.

He was calm. He was cool. He was doing his math homework. He was rolling down the window when prompted by a tap on the glass.

“Captain Craft,” the officer stated.

“Pleasure,” Techno responded.

“License and registration.”

Techno grabbed his wallet from his backpack and gave Captain Craft his license. He leaned over to the glove box to grab his car’s registration. “Afternoon Sir,” he muttered, handing over his paperwork.

“Techno Blade? Unique name.”

Techno snorted at the officer’s attempt at small talk. “Was born with it, I'm afraid.”

“That’s cool.” He handed Techno back his paperwork. “What are you doing here?”

Techno gestured to the paper in his lap. “Homework. Got a calculus test next week.”

“Smart kid.” Captain Craft was writing things down in his notebook. “Do you know why the police were called to this location?”

“No Sir.”

“What brings you here?”

“A quiet space to work, the foster home gets really loud. Normally this place is empty.”

“Normally it is,” Captain Craft agreed. “So you don’t know anything about a potential drug deal?”

The surprise on Techno’s face was genuine. Yeah this was an illegal ring, but drug deals? Really? “No Sir. I’m just doing my homework.”

“You promise?”

“Yeah,” Techno said, not playing the officer’s game.

Captain Craft leaned back to look at the backseat.

Techno had never been more thankful that Dream, Sapnap, and George liked throwing their stuff in the trunk for more leg room in the backseat.

Captain Craft patted the car. “Well. I feel comfortable letting you go free kid. Clearly you have nothing to do with this.”

“No Sir.”

“Techno Blade was it?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Do you have a number we could potentially call if need be?”

Now, Techno would have loved to give the officer his home number--giving the police a direct line of contact with his cell didn’t sound good--but that was a horrible idea. One of the other kids would pick up the phone, and they’d talk. Or the Foster Bitch would pick up, and she’d just cuss out the poor person who called. “Yeah. Let me get you my cell number.”

Captain Craft scribed the number down in his notebook. He flipped the page and ripped off the next page. “Doctor’s note to get you out of the parking lot.”

Techno snorted as he grabbed the paper. “Thanks.”

Techno shifted the car into reserve and pulled out of his parking spot. He drove towards the checkpoint and didn’t roll up the window until the officer standing guard approved his departure.

Techno arrived at Sapnap and Bad’s house. He pulled into the parking spot in the apartment’s garage that Bad paid for, so Sapnap’s friends could leave their cars when they came over. He grunted in annoyance at the weight of the three backpacks; there also wasn’t a convenient way to carry three backpacks. He rode the elevator up to the first floor and buzzed Bad’s apartments.

“Who’s there?” Bad’s voice crackles through the intercom.

“Techno, I’m here for delivery and pickup.”

Bad laughed.. “Hi Techno, they’re in the middle of something so it’ll be a little while.” The buzzer sounds and Techno steps into the room, taking the elevator to Bad’s floor, which was unreasonably high. How was Sapnap supposed to climb through the window late at night at this height?

Although Techno was required to have someone buzz him in, he conveniently had his own key for the door, and could use that. Techno couldn’t be bothered to remember which room was Sapnap’s, but he knew where the guest room was, so he tossed all their stuff in there.

“Hi Bad. Have any snacks?” Techno asked, entering the kitchen. Mario Kart sounds floated over from the living room. “It’s time to go home!” Techno called out to the kids.

“Why?” Tommy yelled back.

“Because. Also Tubbo, Dream said that I’m dropping you off with Purpled at Punz’s place.”

“Oh.” Techno could hear the way Tubbo’s face fell. “He got into something again?”

Techno took the plate of sandwiches from Bad and brought them out to the boys. He gave Tubbo a tight smile. “Apparently, but he’ll be fine.”

Once the boys finished their game--Ranboo won--they all bid Bad adieu and head back for Techno’s car. The boys and their backpacks file in. Tommy sat up front; Tubbo situated himself on the middle hump, and Purpled and Ranboo arranged their legs accordingly.

He let the boys karaoke on the way to Punz’s place. They were very loud, but it helps that he didn’t have to worry about where he was going, as he is far more familiar with these streets than he would have liked to be.

Techno pulls into the driveway. “Get out.”

“Thanks for the drive Blade!” Tubbo said, following Purpled out of the backseat.

“Good luck!” Ranboo yelled after them, stretching his legs into the newfound space he had at his disposal.

“Stay safe!” Tommy shouted, only half joking. “Let’s get out of here.”

Techno pulled out of the area once Tubbo and Purpled had made it into the house. He then drove them out of the slums to the richer areas of the city where Ranboo lived. He parked the car in Ranboo’s cul de sac.

“This is my stop,” Ranboo said lowly.

“This is your stop.” After a few minutes of silence Techno spoke again. “You gonna get out?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Ranboo opened the door. “Thanks for the ride!” He pushed it shut once outside and walked up the lawn to his manor.

Tommy waved goodbye to his friend then turned to look straight ahead. “Let’s go back now.”

“Are you still mad at me for hanging out with Dream?”

Tommy didn’t respond.

Techno pressed on the gas and brought the car back to the main road. “I’m allowed to have friends, kid. I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

“Then stop. Stop defending yourself. You don’t need my approval.”

“When did you get older than me?”

“When you started hanging out with kids who get put in the newspaper for petty crimes!”

“I’ve been hanging out with Dream since long before you even got here.”

“And? People change. Little Dream isn't big Dream!”

“I know who my friends are,” Techno bit.

“I hope you do. Because Tubbo is having a sleepover with Purpled which means Dream isn’t home. And you were there. So what happened?”

All of Techno’s pent up energy left his body, and he fell into a steely expression. “Nothing.”

“Something happened! Why isn’t Dream home?”

Techno turned on the radio.

“Tell me bitch boy!”

“Do you want to eat tonight?” Techno shouted back at him, turning to face him directly now that they were stopped at a red light.

Tommy’s eyes were wide. He had one hand on his seat belt buckle and one on the door handle. He was as pressed away from Techno as he could get in the car. He was holding his breath and his body was tense. “Please,” he whimpered.

Techno tensed up as well. He had gone too far. He knew he had gone too far. That wasn’t cool playing on Tommy’s fears like that. “Tommy--”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll shut up. Please. I know it’s your stash. Please.”

“Tommy.” The light turned green. “We’ve been over this. My stash is your stash.”

Tommy mutely shook his head, refusing to reply.

Internally sighing, Techno tapped his finger on the side of the steering wheel, his brain working hard. He should have known not to say that with Tommy, but of course he had to mess up again.

The car behind them honked its horn loudly, jerking Techno out of his thoughts. He lifted his foot from the brake, and placed it down on the gas, accelerating forwards, and allowing the long line of traffic behind him to go.

Tommy still hadn't spoken, but was shaking slightly, and it wasn't because he was cold.

“My stash is your stash,” Techno reiterated, if only to fill the silence.

“No it’s not,” Tommy said in a small voice. “You keep saying it is, but it’s not.”

“Then steal from my stash to make your own stash. You’ve done that before.”

“Not from people I need to like me.”

Techno stopped looking at Tommy in hopes he would calm down slightly. “I do like you,” he reassured. “If I didn’t I wouldn’t be trying to convince you that we share a stash.”

Tommy fiddled with the radio stations and made a noncommittal sound of what Techno pretended was agreement.

Techno and Tommy spent the rest of the ride home in silence, Techno glancing at Tommy out of the corner of his eye the whole time.

When they arrived home, Techno put the car in park, and undid his seatbelt, but made no move to get out of the car. Twisting his neck, he looked Tommy in the eyes.

Techno knew what Tommy needed to hear, even if he hated having to need to say it. “You can eat tonight. Grab whatever you want from my stash.”

“Really?” Tommy asked more hopefully than Techno was comfortable with.

“Yeah.”

Tommy then bolted out of the car, as if to make sure he did the thing while he had permission before it was taken away abruptly.

Which Techno would never do. Techno was feeling like shit playing on Tommy’s insecurities to get him to shut up. That wasn’t cool and he knew that. Techno slowly pulled himself out of the car. He grabbed his backpack, and the one Tommy had left in his haste.

Walking slowly to the house, Techno gave Tommy some time to settle in before entering their shared space. Yes he generally wished that Tommy was quieter after 10pm, but tonight it would be for the wrong reasons.

At least Tommy didn’t seem to think Techno was about to hit him.

[angryschnauzer]

Superior Specimen - Chapter 2

Summary: One night when you are following the Archaeology tag on instagram you stumbled across a fun looking dig… and an even more interesting Paleontologist who soon follows you back. Over the following weeks you start chatting and a friendship soon grows.

Relationship: AU Henry Cavill x Female Reader (No race or body shape mentioned)

Chapter 1, 

Warnings: Slow Burn, NSFW, 18+, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex

I do not operate a tag list, but please follow @angryschnauzerwrites​ and put that blog onto notifications, as you will then be notified whenever i post something new.

I don’t have a masterlist, but all my works are on AO3, link here. Usually i post oneshots to Tumblr and AO3, and multichapters exclusively to AO3, but as this is my first henry story and its going to be a short series, i’ll post to both places.

Superior Specimen – Chapter 2

 You were thankful you were on the late shift the next day, you’d taken matters into your own hands again whilst in bed the night before, using your fingers and toys to make yourself cum again and again, each time images of Henry clouding your mind. Your stomach muscles ached from the amount of times you’d abused them with powerful orgasms, but it gave you a pleasant reminder as you trotted up the steps to the staff entrance of the museum.

 With your personal belongings secured in your locker, your name badge and security pass clipped to the chest of your blouse, you made your way through the building until you reached the main atrium… and stopped.

 To your surprise the place was packed, not just with visitors, but with staff setting out velvet ropes and areas to control the crowds. Squeezing past a large group of excited school kids and their teachers you finally made it to the desk, raising an eyebrow at your co-worker;

 “What’s going on?”

 “It’s that presentation today… you know, the new dig that found the new species of Theropod. They’re announcing the plans for the new installation in a few weeks, got most of the archaeologists that were on the Russian expedition here today too”

 “Oh… I had forgotten that was today” you were surprised at yourself for forgetting, it had after all been on the staff agenda for a couple of weeks. Your co-worker handed you a printout of the days schedule, and glancing down it you saw a few points for the preparation that hadn’t yet been crossed off; “Do they still need the handouts in the presentation space?”

 “Oh yeah… someone’ll need to run them up in a few minutes”

 “I’ll take them”

 “Great” your co-worker turned and smiled at more visitors that were heading towards the desk whilst you bent down and checked through the boxes of various leaflets and handouts that were stored under the desk, only hearing her as she spoke to whoever had arrived;

 “Dr Cavill, so good to see you back again”

 “Oh, you know, it’s good to be back in these old hallways, feels like home”

 You froze, you recognised that voice. Your co-worker tapped you on your shoulder;

 “Hey, get up here, I need to introduce you!” she said excitedly.

 Taking a deep breath you stood and turned, straightening your blouse as you watched Henry look at you and the realisation hit of who you were, he however managed to hide it well, just a faint blush dusting across his face as he held out a large hand to you;

 “It’s a pleasure to meet you”

 Taking it you tried not to smirk - or giggle, laugh, or cry - as you shook his hand, unable to get over how huge it was and how it practically swamped your own average sized one;

 “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you Sir”

 Noticing how he seemed to suck one cheek in, as if biting it from the inside, he nodded to the box you had previously lifted onto the desk;

 “Everything sorted for the presentation?”

“Just need to get the handouts into the displays on the 3rd floor”

 “Here, let me carry that for you”

 As the pair of you walked up the main staircase beside each other, the crowds seem to part like a sea as Henry headed towards them, the heavy box of paper tucked under one arm as he carried it with ease. Once you reached the third floor he made straight for the presentation area, unclipping the velvet rope with his free hand and letting you pass, before hooking it back again behind the pair of you.

 In the quiet vestibule of the upper floor you could see where large screens hung from the ceiling, projectors in the roof rolling a series of slideshows of the dig and the finds, and plans for the new exhibition. He slid the box onto the table before turning, his hands on your hips as he pushed you against the wall, hidden from view. Without a word his lips were on yours and you were opening willingly as his tongue pushed against them, tasting you. His grip on your hips was gentle yet firm, and as he slid his hands up your torso his thumbs pressed against the underside of your breasts through your clothing, and yet the heat from them almost seared your skin. Your senses were bombarded by him, by his touch, by the feel of his hard body against you, by the rich warm tones of his aftershave.The arousal in you was already building, and as you involuntarily clenched your stomach muscles you let out a whimper causing Henry to pull away;

 “Are you ok? Was that too much too soon?”

 Resting a hand on the back of his neck you smiled at him;

 “No, not too much… but you’re turning me on and my stomach hurts from making myself come so many times last night thinking of you…”

 “Oh… well how about…”

 Suddenly he spun you 180º, his arms wrapping around your body before he splayed his huge hands out over your stomach, the heat of his palms soothing your aching muscles like a walking heat pad, holding you tight to his body as his lips brushed against your ear;

 “Can’t have you hurting Princess”

 “Hmmn, no we can’t”

 He pressed a series of light kisses to your earlobe and the side of your neck and you found yourself grinding your ass back against the growing bulge that was pressing against you. Clearing your throat your voice was quiet as you spoke;

 “You didn’t say you were attached to the Museum”

 “I’m sorry...” he slowly turned you until you were facing him; “I should have said from the start, I’m on the board of directors… it was wrong, but there you were, so damn beautiful, unbelievably smart… your comments on the digs feed helped with so many identifications, and then you get a job at the same museum…”

 “I guess it’s something we should probably talk about more, but I’m going to need to be getting back to my job soon, Sir”

 Henry let out a low growl at the use of 'Sir', pulling you flush with his body;

 “I’ll look forward to you calling me Sir outside of work soon”

 “Promises promises…”

 You grinned and kissed him again, before pulling away and glancing down, smirking when you saw the impressive swelling at the front of the khaki trousers;

 “You might need to calm down before the press sees you, Sir”

 He lightly swatted your ass, his handspan covering an entire buttcheek;

 “You get back to the desk, I’ll sort the handouts… call you later?”

 Nodding you grinned and turned the corner, ducking under the velvet rope and smiling to yourself as you returned to your duties.

 -

 The day had flown by and even on the late shift the Museum was busy right up to closing time, the front doors closed to stop any more visitors from entering, and you made an announcement over the public address system in multiple languages that any remaining visitors would need to leave within the following 30 minutes. Setting the handset back onto the cradle you sighed and sat down in the chair, your co-worker smiling at you;

 “A few of us are going for drinks after work, fancy coming?”

 With a smile you nodded;

 “Sounds good”

 At that moment you looked up and saw Henry descending the large staircase, surrounded by a group of VIP’s that had attended the presentation. They paused in the foyer under the Blue Whale skeleton that hung from the ceiling, whilst Henry approached your desk with a smile;

 “Afternoon Ladies, would you be able to arrange a cab for our group of VIP's? They have a booking for dinner”

 With a smile you nodded and dialled for the corporate booking line of Addison Lee, arranging for two 8-seater mini-buses to collect from the side street of the Museum. As you went through the details on the phone Henry made small talk with your colleague;

 “I hope the presentation didn’t make you lovely ladies too busy today?”

 “Not at all Dr Cavill, we had a huge number of people sign up for the newsletter release”

 He nodded;

 “We’ll arrange for a few of bottles of champers for your team today”

 She grinned and nodded to you;

 “Oh, we’re more Gin girl’s Dr Cavill, we’re hitting Soho tonight”

 He let out a low laugh as you hung up, sliding the requisition approval form across the desk;

 “If you could just sign the expense approval form, Sir”

 Signing the form, you watched as his hands moved slowly and surely, before handing the pen back to you;

 “Don’t get into too much trouble then Ladies”

 “Only a little bit…” you grinned.

 -

 Your evening had been fun. In the deep summer London heat the group of you had eaten outside a small street-food place before heading to a lively bar, and three double gin & tonic’s later you were standing on the patio as the sun started to set over the noisy city. Finishing your drink you announced you were heading home, one of your co-workers agreeing as you were both on shift tomorrow - although the late one - and said your goodbyes to everyone else.

 As you wove your way through the busy nightlife of Soho, you saw the taxi rank ahead and escorted your co-worker there, hailing her a cab as she giggled in her drunken state. Giving the driver her address as she crawled into the back seat, she insisted she would message you once home, and you were relieved you’d managed to snag a female cab driver for her. Turning and waving her off you smiled when you looked down the taxi rank and saw Henry surrounded by a group of somewhat inebriated VIP’s, trying to organise them but having little success. Seeing you he gave you puppy dog eyes and mouthed ‘help’, and you approached with a grin on your face;

 “Dr Cavill, was a lovely surprise Sir… you seem to be having a spot of trouble though…”

 The group surrounding him started to recognise you, having signed most of them in for their visit to the Museum earlier, and were greeted by a chorus of drunken hello’s. Henry called out over the top of the drunken rabble;

 “I’m trying to get them into cabs, but the cabs will only drop off at one place”

 “Leave it with me” you winked at him before whistling loudly with two fingers to get the crowd’s attention; “Where is everyone staying?”

 Through everyone talking at the same time you gathered that most were at The Dorchester, whilst some had opted for the Hilton at Marble Arch. You quickly started to herd the VIP’s into black cabs, speaking to the drivers and getting them to arrange with the valets at each hotel to have the fares billed to the VIP’s rooms.

 When the last cab pulled away Henry stood beside you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders;

 “That was amazing, you did in 5 minutes what I’d spent half an hour trying to do”

 Turning you realised you face was inches from his, and the kiss that followed was natural and tender, his hand straying to your hip where he pulled you flush with his body. 

 When you finally broke apart you both had huge grins plastered across your faces, his voice deep and rough;

 “Let me buy you a drink”

 “Just one… I’ve had a few already and actually have to work tomorrow”

 “Just the one” he promised, slipping his huge hand around yours, and you walked hand in hand to a nearby bar.

Chapter 3 >>>

[woahitslucyylu]

Loser.

GIF is not mine. Credit to OG creator. 

Notes/Thoughts/Requests for Prayer: I am slow on requests. I started work + my daughter's birthday is this week. I am outlining them over the next few days. My husband, bless his damn heart, helped me come up with this idea. Enjoy, frands! 

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The kitchen clock mocked you with each passing minute - its tick echoing through your silent house. Ten minutes. Ten minutes before your belly would fill with butterflies at the rumble of a Harley pulling into your driveway. Angel had asked you to visit the fall festival almost a week ago, and with each passing day, your excitement bubbled just a little bit more. 

Eight minutes. 

Your supple leather boots slid easily over your dark denim jeans. You dressed with the crisp, cool air in mind and sweetly smiled at the thought of bright fair lights and funnel cakes to share with Angel. He had sauntered his way into your family’s leather shop - seeking new rockers and colors for prospects and soon-to-be members. He stayed thirty minutes longer than he should have and walked out with his patches, your number, and a plan to take to Santo Padre’s Annual Fall Festival. 

Five minutes. 

You gazed at your reflection in the hall mirror - sliding lipstick over your lips, pouting to stay just inside your natural line. A crisp lip color brought confidence to your face - promising to fake it until you made it, because Angel left you more than weak in the knees. 

Three minutes. 

The rumble was distinct and clear in the silent neighborhood. You swore you were quiet enough to hear his heavy steps on the porch - the rampant knocks catching your breath as you studied yourself for a final time. 

You felt Angel’s eyes on you as you walked in front of him, stopping beside his pristine bike - “Here, querida. Safety first,” Angel held a solid black helmet in his hand. “If you say so.” You grabbed the helmet - your fingers brushing his and you fought the urge to hold his hand. 

Angel slid onto the leather seat - steadying the bike as you slid behind him. Your hands instinctively wrapping around his muscular waist - his body heat warming you as you leaned into him. 

“You ready, mami? His voice was loud over throttle as the bike roared to life and he maneuvered effortlessly through the streets. 

It felt so intimate to be so close so soon - your body pressed to his, your chin resting on his shoulder as he weaved through traffic. The cool night enveloping you as the horizon lit up with the festival lights. 

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“Angel, I told you I could pay for myself.” You quipped as the ticket attendant wrapped a fluorescent green bracelet on your wrist. 

“I am sure you could do a lot of things, but do I want you to? Is the question.” Angel’s hand rested on the small of your back, softly directing you through the crowded entrance. Your cheeks burned at his words as you offered a smile in response. 

“So, where to first?” Angel scanned the booths and rides - his large hand wrapping around yours, intertwining your fingers. Your thoughts were jumbled as his thumb rubbed the top of your hand softly - a tiny gesture melting your resolve. 

“Um, the airplane?” You pointed towards the direction of The Cliffhanger, “It’s my favorite.” You leaned in - pointing the glittering lights and rising plastic planes - zipping their riders through the air, soaring above the fair. 

“All right, let’s do it.” 

You choose a green plane - Angel’s favorite color - and climbed onto the molded plastic, your hands sliding over the metal bar to hold onto. Angel’s muscular frame slid beside you - a groan escaping his lips as he wiggled into the tight space. 

“Can you fit?” You teased as Angel adjusted his wide shoulders within the metal bar. All he could do was laugh as the mechanical arms began to spin - their plastic plane rising higher with each rotation. 

Giggles escaped your lips as you watched the fair fly by as you soared through the air. The cool air invigorated you - your hand reaching for Angel’s as the ride spun. He cheesily grinned as he eagerly grabbed your hand, holding tight as the ride descended - the short flight over. 

As the operator unlatched the metal bar, Angel’s struggle to slide out of the harness left you doubled over - relishing in his plight of the metal cage. “Oh, my suffering is funny? I’m wounded.” He sassed as he smoothed his hair back, adjusting his flannel and cut as he pushed you towards the exit. 

His hand found yours again as you stepped through the gate - looking for the next path to wander down. You squeezed his hand in excitement - your eyes falling on the row of games. 

“Let’s make a bet, sir. The winner gets to pay for food.” You wore a sly smile as you pulled him to the dart game. 

“Oh, mami, you’re going down.” His tongue slid across his lips and you froze - your hand still in his as your eyes watched him unabashedly. You couldn’t have pulled your gaze away even if you tried - he hypnotized you. 

“All right, you get 10 chances. Hit 3 and get a prize. Hit 6 and get a bigger prize. Ready to play?” The attendant slid worn darts over the counter. 

“Querida, you can order two funnel cakes. I won’t care how much it costs.” Angel wore a smug smirk - easily popping the first balloon. 

“That’s funny - I was going to tell you the same thing.” Your exaggerated shrug was a nice period to your first pop. 

Each dart was met with a twin - leaving the last dart as the final decision maker. Angel eyed you as he effortlessly popped a yellow balloon - turning to face you as you aimed. 

“Mami, I have another bet.” Angel stood - hands crossed in front of him. 

“If you miss, I get to kiss you good night.” 

You tossed the dart, watching it fall the ground - his words ringing in your ear. 

[cryoglaze]

I Can’t Be Alone With All That’s On My Mind

Happy Holidays @by-nina​ ! I was your Secret Santa for @fmasecretsanta2020​! I really hope you enjoy it and have a lovely new year!

Rating: General

Categories: F/M, Gen

Relationships: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang, Rebecca Catalina & Riza Hawkeye, Riza Hawkeye & Team Mustang, Maes Hughes & Roy Mustang, Roy Mustang & Team Mustang, Black Hayate & Riza Hawkeye

Additional Tags: hurt/comfort, light angst, fluff, pre-canon, POV multiple

Word Count: 8,169

Summary: When Black Hayate manages to get himself lost one morning, Colonel Mustang wastes no time in organising an effort to help Lieutenant Hawkeye track down her missing dog. Riza herself is attempting to appear calm and collected as usual, but as time goes on and the Shiba Inu still hasn't been found, keeping a handle on her emotions begins to prove difficult - and it's not just the Lieutenant's emotions that are becoming tricky to navigate.

Timeline Notes: Set when the members of the Mustang Unit are situated in East City headquarters, prior to the anime/manga introduction but after Ed has been recruited.

Read on AO3 here

It's no secret that Riza Hawkeye is basically the reason the Mustang Unit is still functioning.

Not to say that they're not capable of taking care of themselves - they are all grown men, even Fuery, baby-faced that he might be - but she is the one that pushes them to get paperwork done on time, keeps them from getting too rowdy or distracted, and keeps their Colonel in line.

So, when the Lieutenant is notably absent from her desk one morning without prior notice, there’s a clear sense of unease among the men. They go for half an hour purposefully not looking at her desk or the door before Jean takes it upon himself to break the silence.

“So do we start placing bets on why she’s not here?”

“She filed for time off months ago and the Colonel forgot about it,” Breda replies instantaneously, not looking up from the report he’s reading.

“Nope,” Jean responds, leaning back in his chair. “She would’ve anticipated that and reminded him one week before, and yesterday just in case he’d forgotten again.”

That earns him a glare from Mustang, but the Colonel doesn’t say anything, which Jean takes to mean he’s right.

“Do you think she’s alright?” Fuery asks. “I mean, the Lieutenant wouldn’t just not show up to work without saying anything.”

“It is unusual behaviour from her,” Falman adds. “Lieutenant Hawkeye is the most organised out of any of us.”

“She’s fine,” Mustang interjects, before Jean can start listing the possible reasons she’s late. “Any moment now, she’ll either walk through that door or she’ll call to explain her absence. There’s no point debating it.”

The words are spoken with confidence, but the way the Colonel’s gaze lingers on Hawkeye’s desk and he doesn’t move back into his own office suggests otherwise. Jean exchanges a look with Breda, and then they continue with their work.

Another half an hour passes before the phone inside Mustang’s office rings, at which the Colonel looks pointedly at them all as if to say ‘see?’ before going to answer it, finally leaving his spot of hovering in the door frame between their shared office and his own personal one. Jean waits a few seconds in the silence after Mustang answers the phone; it’s either Hawkeye, just as he predicted, or-

“Not now, Hughes.”

As Jean predicted, the phone is slammed down almost instantly.

“Careful with the phone, Sir,” he offers helpfully - in the Lieutenant’s absence, he might as well cover for her.

“Don’t get smart with me, Havoc,” is his only response, before the phone rings again.

“Hughes, I swear - oh. Yes, put her through.”

Paperwork forgotten, Jean and the rest of Team Mustang listen in to the following audible half of the conversation.

“Lieutenant. Are you alright? The men were getting worried about you… I see. No, no, it’s alright. I’ll see you in a few hours, then. Good luck.”

Mustang opens his mouth to say something else, then looks back at his subordinates - who aren’t even pretending not to listen, Jean included - as if debating whether or not to say what he wants in front of them. Making up his mind, he says one last thing before putting the phone down.

“I’m glad you’re alright, Lieutenant.”

Once the phone is on its hook, the Colonel turns to the four men eagerly awaiting an answer and offers them a smirk.

“The Lieutenant is fine. She’ll be with us in a few hours.”

“What happened?” Jean asks - because Riza Hawkeye being late is still a noteworthy occurrence that requires an explanation. Mustang sighs.

“Her dog went missing sometime in the early morning. He can’t have gone far, so as soon as she finds him and gets him back home safely she’ll be resuming her duties.”

“Black Hayate?” Fuery rises from his desk, concern in his voice and written on his features. “Shouldn’t we help the Lieutenant go look for him? He could be hurt, or lost!”

“If we go out and help her look, we’ll get Lieutenant Hawkeye back with us in no time,” Breda offers, which the Colonel appears to consider briefly before shaking his head.

“You’re all to resume your duties as usual in the Lieutenant’s absence,” he announces. “Skilled as she is, we can all survive without her for a number of hours.”

“I hope you’ll be able to get through all of that before she comes back then,” Havoc responds, nodding to the visible stack of paperwork piled on the Colonel’s desk. 

Havoc watches the Colonel briefly have a mental battle with himself as he weighs up his options, and evidently, his chronic procrastination wins out overall because he moves to grab his coat.

“I suppose it will boost morale. A team bonding exercise, if you will.”

***

The Colonel splits the group to look in different areas of East City, with Breda staying behind at HQ in case the Lieutenant calls (as they all agreed that him joining the Hayate Hunt would be a tremendously bad idea), Falman and Fuery taking the southern half of the city, and Havoc accompanying Mustang as they search through the northern half.

“Fuery and Falman will be covering several parks that the Lieutenant takes Hayate to during walks,” Mustang says, “but there’s a few other spots they frequent that we can try first.”

“You have Hawkeye’s dog walking route memorised, Sir?” Jean questions, allowing a hint of teasing to enter his voice. The only answer he’s graced with is a glare before the Colonel resolutely doesn’t look at him for a few minutes as they walk through the city. 

They search for roughly about half an hour - ducking into several alleyways that Jean would rather not be in, thank you very much, but Mustang reminds him that he’s not the only one with paperwork waiting for him on his desk, so he quits complaining - before Jean notices a familiar blonde a little farther down the street from them.

“Is that the Lieutenant?” He asks, drawing the Colonel’s attention.

“So it is,” Mustang responds, before purposefully stepping in her direction, leaving Jean to catch up.

“Lieutenant.”

The woman in question turns her head in Mustang’s direction, her eyes giving away surprised for just a moment before assuming her usual neutral expression - though there is a worried crease between her eyebrows that usually only appears by the 5th stack of paperwork in a day.

“Colonel. What are you doing here?”

“Assisting in the search for a missing officer,” Mustang grins.

“And procrastinating,” Jean chimes in cheerfully, to which Mustang elbows him in the ribs and Hawkeye levels him with a look.

“Thank you for the thought, but you have work to be doing,” Hawkeye says, eyes turning away from the Colonel. “I’m sure I’ll find him soon.”

It’s at this point that Jean realises this is the most dishevelled he’s seen the Lieutenant - meaning, of course, that she still looks professional and put-together to the untrained eye, but he can spy her hair is close to falling out of its usual barrette, and there are hints of dark shadows under her eyes that wouldn’t typically be there. 

“I’m sure you’ll find him sooner with people to help cover more ground,” Mustang insists. “I’ve already got Fuery and Falman on the case, too.”

Hawkeye sighs. “Sir-”

“When did Hayate go missing?” The Colonel asks.

“At around half six this morning,” the Lieutenant answers. “I always take him on a walk before I leave for work, but his leash must have unclipped, or - something. He’s a good boy, and he can’t have gone far, so please leave this to me and return to your duties, Colonel.”

“Your hair is loose,” is all Mustang remarks in response, and that gets him a glare. 

“Well, where have you checked already?” Jean intervenes as Hawkeye opens her mouth to speak again. “As you said, he can’t have gone far, so if we work from where you’ve already searched and head outwards…”

“Funnily enough, I’d thought of that myself,” Hawkeye answers tersely, eyes scanning the pavement opposite from the side of the road the three of them are standing on. “And I’m perfectly capable of -” A convenient - or inconvenient - gust of wind chooses then to cut the Lieutenant off, and the barrette keeping her hair in place completely gives up, leaving her hair to tumble down her shoulders. She hisses something - probably a curse - under her breath and reaches to redo it, but the Colonel already has the clip in one hand, gathering Hawkeye’s hair together with the other.

A faint but noticeable blush colours the Lieutenant’s cheeks, and Jean suddenly feels like he’s watching something personal. 

“I wasn’t aware you were an aspiring hairdresser, Sir,” he quips - if just to break the awkward silence that’s descended between them. Mustang chuckles, eyes focused.

“I grew up with sisters; I know how to do hair.”

True to his word, the Colonel fixes up the Lieutenant's hair with what looks like practised ease - in fact, Jean ponders, it just might be. Hawkeye steps away as soon as he's done.

"... Thank you, Sir," she says, the light red on her cheeks still not fading.

"You're welcome, Lieutenant," Mustang replies, and while the smirk on his face is the typical one he wears whenever he's flirting (or boasting), there's a warmth in his eyes that Jean's only ever seen directed at one woman. The Lieutenant turns to face him, and for a brief moment their eyes meet and they appear to get stuck there, smiling at each other. It's the most ridiculously romantic thing Jean's ever seen, and he can't stand it. He clears his throat, and both Hawkeye and Mustang jolt back to themselves. 

"Well, I suppose since you're here now you might as well help me look," Hawkeye concedes.

"We'll find him in no time," the Colonel assures.

 ***

They did not, in fact, find Hayate in no time.

Riza prides herself on being level-headed and in control of her emotions while chaos surrounds her; she’s well aware that she has a reputation around East City Command for being cold and relatively distant, which she’s not too fussed about. The people that know her well enough know that she has more of an emotional range than she might outwardly show, and that’s good enough for her.

A downside of that, though, is when the Colonel keeps giving her concerned glances throughout the morning when she’s perfectly content to appear collected as usual throughout this whole ordeal, despite becoming increasingly anxious as the day progresses.

Around midday she, Havoc and Roy end up reuniting with Falman and Fuery, the latter looking about as outwardly distressed as Riza feels.

“No luck at your end either, then?” Roy asks, and Fuery shakes his head forlornly.

“We checked all the parks I usually walk him through, and the ones on this side of the city that you take him to as well, Lieutenant,” he says, nodding to her, “but we haven’t found any sign of him so far.”

“We’ll find him,” Havoc says resolutely. “As Hawkeye said earlier, he can’t have gone far. He’s in this city somewhere .”

Riza looks to the Second Lieutenant to reply affirmatively but is momentarily taken aback by the same look of concern that Roy’s had the entire morning in his eyes too. 

In fact, when she looks fleetingly to Falman and Fuery, they’ve got the exact same expression.

It takes her off guard briefly; she was aware that the unit were some of the few who saw through the cool exterior she displays, but she didn’t think she was so transparent that they would all be looking at her like that. 

There’s an echoing of the feeling she’d gotten when she was assigned to her first unit in Ishval; she’d been the only woman in her unit, and the men amongst her had all looked at her like she was about to break at any minute. She knows this scenario isn’t the same - the men in this squad respect her and don’t treat her like glass - but the familiarity of being looked at like she’s something fragile makes something twist within her.

“It’s gone twelve; you should be returning to work.” 

The Colonel looks at her with something like surprise; why, she’s not too sure. 

“I thought we already agreed we could cover more ground with -”

“You can’t be absent from your desk all day, and I happen to know that you have at least three documents that need signing by the end of today and another seven by tomorrow,” she interrupts. “It’s really best that you return.”

Roy looks at her with confliction for a few seconds, then seems to find something in Riza’s eyes that makes him give in. 

“Alright,” he sighs. “Myself, Havoc and Falman will return to command, on the condition Fuery stays to help look. He’s the one who’ll know best after you where to find Hayate, after all.”

“Yes, Sir,” she and Fuery both chorus, and with that, the group makes to separate. She’s just about to start discussing the ground already covered with the Sergeant when a call from behind distracts her.

“Good luck, Lieutenant! We’ll have him back in no time!”

She and Fuery both turn to see Havoc, evidently the one who spoke, offering a thumbs up. The Colonel grabs his arm to make him continue walking, and Riza observes the interaction with a faint smile before focusing on the task at hand.

“Right,” Fuery says, pulling out a folded up map of the city from his pocket. “I’ve marked down everywhere Falman and I covered, so if you add where you checked with the Colonel and Havoc, we can go from there.”

After establishing the already visited spots on the map, and any places that Hayate might be more likely to return to so would be worth a double check, Riza and Fuery head in separate directions. Riza finds herself straying from parks and paths that she frequents on her morning and evening walks to slightly less conventional places, like the area surrounding the apartment complex she knows the owner of a particular labrador that Hayate likes lives in, or, more humiliatingly, the bin shed behind her local butcher’s, which is of course where a familiar voice calls out to her.

“Riza Hawkeye, I never thought you’d be one to be rifling through the bins,” the voice says, and Riza rolls her eyes before turning to face one Rebecca Catalina.

“Speak for yourself,” she returns. “I think I remember that one night during our second year of the Academy-”

“Not the same,” Rebecca counters, before she can finish. “Now, come on, out of the bin shed. I can’t believe my hunch was right.”

“What are you even doing here?” Riza asks.

“Looking for Hayate,” Rebecca answers. “And I have permission from Grumman to be assisting you - before you start protesting like you did with the Colonel.”

Of course.

Of course Roy went straight to Grumman - her grandfather, of all people, knowing he’d allow it - rather than leaving her to her own devices. It’s so typically him - his way of caring, making sure there’s someone with her even when she’s protested otherwise because he knows she’s bothered more than she wants to let on - in a way that makes her face burn and her teeth grit at the same time.

“Get that look off your face,” Rebecca remarks. “It’s a good thing I showed up when I did, otherwise I’d probably find you in the bin.”

Riza glares wordlessly, because while the notion was silly, it had crossed her mind.

A smooth hand slips into hers, and Rebecca gives Riza an encouraging smile.

“Come on,” she says, giving Riza’s hand a tug. “Let’s keep searching together before you lose it and start searching more bin sheds.” “I don’t know why you’re treating the idea so incredulously; it’s a reasonable place for a dog to be,” Riza mutters, letting herself be pulled along all the same.

As they search together, Riza realises why Roy had sent Rebecca to help rather than coming back himself (aside from the tower of paperwork she knows is on his desk); her brunette friend has the same bouncy energy as always surrounding her, as opposed to the Colonel’s looks of worry sent her way every five minutes. There’s no nervous silence between them, as Rebecca fills it with chatter about everything and nothing.

Also, Rebecca can shout louder than any of them.

“HAYATE!” she calls, startling several pigeons and a few people on the street opposite, as the sun begins to set below the skyline. Usually, Riza would care about the looks of judgement they garner from passers-by, but at this point she’s far beyond that - in fact, she fires back a couple of her own glares in return. Maybe it’s a little unnecessary, but now that the sun is beginning to set - being winter, it gets dark early, around the time she’d be leaving work on a normal day - she’s growing antsier about the whole situation. 

She almost doesn’t notice when they run into Fuery again.

“Still no luck for you?” Rebecca asks, which is what draws her attention. Fuery shakes his head, before seemingly noticing something.

“Are you alright, Lieutenant Catalina?”

Riza snaps to examine her friend at that; she’s fidgeting and glancing at her watch, and Riza remembers with a pang of guilt something that Rebecca hadn’t mentioned at all this afternoon, but during her lunch break last week.

“You have a date,” she realises.

Rebecca bites her lip. “They can wait.”

“No, go.”

“Seriously, Riza-”

“If you like the man, then go .”

Rebecca looks between Riza, to Fuery, to her watch, then back to Riza again.

“I’m sorry,” she says, grabbing Riza into a hug. “You’ll find him, I know you will. You’re the Hawk’s Eye!”

“That I am,” Riza responds, adding a smile she hopes is reassuring. Judging by Rebecca’s pained look, it wasn’t that effective. “Now go!”

“Fine!”

Trying to ignore the even more present worry in his eyes, Riza turns to Fuery.

“Shall we go over the map again?”

***

It’s hours after dark when Riza notices that Fuery is starting to shiver next to her. She hadn’t noticed that it had gotten cold.

“You should go home,” she advises, only to get a resolute head shake in turn. 

“Not until we find him,” the younger man replies, and Riza wants to accept his help, but she can’t let him stay out here in the cold all night when she was the one who lost her own dog in the first place.

A thought crosses her mind then, and another load of guilt adds itself to the writhing feeling of anxiety in her gut. 

“I’m sorry,” she blurts out. Fuery whips his head to look at her so fast it’s almost comical, with a look of such blatant confusion it warms and breaks Riza’s heart all at once.

“What for?”

“You were the one who found Black Hayate in the first place,” she explains. “I should have taken better care of him.”

“Don’t be silly,” Fuery admonishes. “Pets can get lost all the time. It doesn’t mean you’re a bad owner.”

“But if I’d been -”

“There’s no point in thinking things like that. All we can do is try and find him as soon as possible.”

Riza takes a breath, then smiles at Fuery. “Thank you, Kain,” she says, and he returns the smile. “Now go home.”

“Only if you do,” is his response this time, taking her aback.

“I can’t-”

“There’s only so much searching you can do in the dark,” he says. “If you search all night, then you’ll be too tired come morning to search for him effectively when there’s light on your side.”

She knows he’s right.

She knows he’s right, and yet it feels like a betrayal to give up now. 

“You can work on missing dog posters at home,” Fuery assures her. “And you can ask around your neighbours, too - see if they can keep a lookout for you.”

Riza nods, looking up at the stars and blinking rapidly because she will not cry in front of the youngest member of their unit.

“I can walk you home,” Fuery offers.

They walk together, allowing silence to fall between them again until they reach Riza’s apartment complex. 

“We’ll find him, Lieutenant,” Fuery says with the certainty of a promise, and Riza smiles at him again. 

“Of course,” she says. “Thank you, Sergeant.”

With that, they part ways, and Riza feels her heart sink further with every step up she takes in the stairwell towards her apartment before it plummets as she shuts the door and sits slumped against it.

Riza allows herself five minutes to sit there before getting to work with Fuery’s suggestions; she busies herself by making posters with ‘MISSING DOG’ blazoned across the top in bold letters before knocking on her neighbours’ doors and asking them to look out for Hayate if they can. That kills time for another couple of hours, at which point she realises she hasn’t actually eaten all day, so she makes herself something quick for dinner -

-And reaches for the dog food out of habit.

It takes her a moment to realise what she’s doing; she’s so used to this routine that she doesn’t notice until she’s facing Hayate’s food bowl and then freezes.

The quiet and emptiness of her apartment is suddenly so much more evident than before, and Riza feels it with a pang in her chest, sharp and painful. Black Hayate - her BraHa - is out there, probably cold and alone and scared, too, and the thought makes her eyes begin to prick with tears.

The phone rings.

Riza stares at it blankly for a second before moving to pick it up, blinking the yet unshed tears away before she answers.

“Hello?”

“Lieutenant,” a familiar voice responds, and of course - who else would it be?

“Colonel,” she says, “what is it?”

Hope flashes through her for a moment, and she asks before she loses it. “Do you have any news about Hayate?”

Roy winces on the other end of the line, and the hope dies before he even speaks. “Sorry, I haven’t heard anything,” he says apologetically. “I was just calling because, ah, well…”

She waits.

“I thought you might be lonely,” the Colonel says. “In the apartment, by yourself. So I thought… I’d call.”

He sounds embarrassed, like he’d had the idea and dialled her number on a whim before properly thinking it through - which, knowing him, was likely exactly the case. The thought makes her smile before she thinks of something else.

“Do you get lonely?”

“Sorry?”

“In an apartment by yourself,” Riza echoes his earlier words.

There’s a pause.

“Sometimes,” Roy admits, and the pang in Riza’s chest from earlier returns, though not as forceful as before. There’s another pause, filled with something raw that neither of them dares touch upon.

“Maybe you should get a dog, Sir,” she quips, letting the moment pass.

“I don’t think I’m a dog person.”

“You said you loved dogs, if I remember correctly.”

“And then I was deemed an unfit owner.”

“A cat, then.”

Just like that, they’re back on course to familiar banter.

“You might be on the right track there, Lieutenant. It would have to get on with Hayate, though…”

Riza blinks in surprise, and the pause leaves them off course once more.

Roy clears his throat. “Because we work together so often, of course. And - um - pet-sitting reasons. For favours. Favours that friends do for each other.”

“Right. Yes.”

The silence that follows is awkward this time.

“Anyway, uh - as I was saying, I just wanted to call to check in. So if you’re… okay…?”

“Yes. I am.” The lie is easy.

“You’re sure?”

This time she hesitates.

“We’ll find him,” Roy assures her.

“So everyone keeps telling me,” she replies shortly, then regrets it. He’s only tried to help her all day, after all. “Sorry. I’m just… worried.”

“It’s alright, I understand.”

The conversation lulls again, but this silence isn't uncomfortable. It's the kind of quiet that reminds Riza of their younger days when she and Roy would sit together while she focused on homework and Roy studied alchemy. There'd be evenings when they hardly spoke at all to each other, with just the wind and rain beating against the window making the only sound in the room. 

It's always been the case, Riza thinks, that they've always used more than words to talk to each other.

"Ah, I shouldn't keep you up late," the Colonel says, drawing Riza's attention to the clock above her on the wall. The hands read five to one. "Get a good night's sleep."

"You too, Colonel," she replies. "Good night."

Riza puts the phone down, and the apartment is empty of sound once more.

***

 The next morning Riza wakes up before sunrise and is out of the door by half-past five in the morning. She spends the next few hours searching for Hayate - retracing her steps from yesterday, checking anywhere she might have missed and taping her ‘missing dog’ posters to lampposts as she goes.

By 9 AM, she’s well into her search, but also has the nagging thought in the back of her mind of the five particular documents still sitting on her desk that need signing. While this situation is far farther up her list of priorities than work - she’d shoot the Fuhrer himself if he tried to get between her and her dog, probably - Riza supposes she can likely get to headquarters and deal with anything urgent and only lose half an hour.

When she enters the office, however, she’s greeted with the sight of a large chalkboard at one end of the room, a map of East City stuck to it, and Colonel Mustang marking off areas of said map with a marker - all the areas she, Rebecca and Fuery had covered yesterday.

“Havoc?”

“I checked through the south-west sector, mainly; the footpaths from Wayfield Way up through to Foxtail Street. One of my exes had a dog and she always took him there, so figured it was worth a try.”

“Good work,” Roy nods, adding a series of crosses to the map. “So if we add the areas I checked, and those checked by Falman - down to precise coordinates, I’ll give you a bonus for that - then we’ve got…”

“I’ve got a few more to add too, Sir,” Breda chimes in.

“But you’re terrified of dogs,” Riza says, drawing the attention of the men in the room. The Colonel straightens.

“Lieutenant,” he says, “We weren’t expecting you today.”

“I have some urgent paperwork I need to complete, then I’ll be on my way, if that’s alright.”

“Oh, any of your outstanding paperwork has been taken care of.”

Riza blinks.

“By who?”

Roy glances aside for a moment before returning her gaze. “By… me?”

Riza stares.

Colonel Roy Mustang, infamous procrastinator, the man that once decided to wash the windows of his office rather than start the paperwork he had due that afternoon, completed not only his own work (she sneaked a glance at his desk when she came in, and there was no tell-tale tower of paper) but her own too.

Roy’s cheeks start to turn red, and Riza realises she’s been staring and not saying anything. All that leaves her mouth when she opens it to speak, though, is a faint “Oh.”

“I had Officer Falman check over them this morning, too, so you don’t need to worry about -”

“I wasn’t-”

“Oh, well-”

The sharp tone of the phone ringing cuts into the conversation, and Riza is beyond relieved.

“I’ll - uh - I’ll get that now. Lieutenant, as you’re here, you can add any points to the map you’ve visited this morning, and then we’ll review.”

The Colonel hurries to his office and shuts the door, leaving Riza to wonder what on earth it is about such a simple act of completing paperwork that’s making her heart beat so fast.

 ***

Roy shuts the door to his office and answers the phone without really focusing on it, wondering why such a simple act of completing paperwork made the Lieutenant look at him like that. 

“Colonel Mustang speaking.”

“Roy!”

He doesn’t know who else he expected.

“Now is really not the time, Hughes.”

“You didn’t let me talk yesterday either,” Hughes whines, and Roy sighs.

“Lieutenant Hawkeye’s dog has gone missing,” he says, to hurry the conversation. At this point, he should start adding ‘able to cut short and/or derail a conversation with Maes Hughes’ to his list of applicable skills.

“Black Hayate?!” Hughes exclaims, “has he been missing since I last called? I’ll keep an eye out.”

“You live in Central.”

“And? Hayate’s a smart boy. Don’t doubt his ability to board a train.”

Usually, he'd slam the phone down, but a little voice in the back of his head - a familiar, Lieutenant-like voice - reminds him that if he breaks it one of these days he’ll probably have to pay for it, so he places it onto the receiver, disconnecting the call.

  Now he thinks about it, it’s probably a good thing that it was Hawkeye that took in Hayate and not anyone else in the unit - because Roy doesn’t think he’d be able to slip his entire unit conducting a search and rescue mission for a dog past Grumman if it wasn’t his granddaughter’s dog in particular. 

Especially as by the afternoon it’s beginning to look like the search may head into its third day.

Roy keeps a careful eye on the Lieutenant throughout the day - in the morning it seems like the night’s rest has refreshed her focus, but as the day progresses and he splits the team out further he can see the things he’s come to know as signs of anxiety in her; her hands keep fleeting from adjusting her hair to curling at her sides as if she’s itching to have a gun in her hands. Briefly, he considers taking her hand in his, but dismisses it quickly.

“Quit looking at me like that,” she hisses curtly, somewhen around the time when the sky starts to dim.

“Like what?”

“I’m fine.”

“Really? I wouldn’t be.” 

The Lieutenant regards him for a moment, the two of them walking side by side. “And if our places were reversed, you’d likely be acting as if you were perfectly fine, too.”

… Okay, well, she’s right there. But-

“So you admit it’s an act?”

That gets him one of the Lieutenant’s Looks - always with a capital L, in his mind - and he takes his cue to stop talking.

“Quit harassing the Lieutenant,” comes Havoc’s voice from behind them. “Still nothing?”

“Nothing,” Roy answers.

“It’s starting to get dark,” Havoc remarks, glancing upwards. “Should we-”

“I’m not going home,” Hawkeye interjects. “I did so last night, and I encourage you to do so now, but I’m not stopping until Hayate’s found.”

He can tell from the steel edge to her voice - and the slight shake in her shoulders - that she means it, and Roy’s not about to try and talk her down given the situation.

Still, he can always keep her company all the same.

“Go home, Havoc,” he instructs.

“Uh - are you sure?”

“I’ll keep on looking with the Lieutenant,” he reassures. “You head home, and I’ll let you know if we find anything.”

The Second Lieutenant leaves as dismissed, offering a “Hang in there, Hawkeye,” before he goes. That leaves Roy and Lieutenant Hawkeye together, with Roy bringing out the map once more.

“So, if I mark off the paths we’ve covered in the past hour or so… we can check the park near Commercial Heights again, or the western courtyard. Then if we don’t get any luck there, there’s that patch of forest near Langham Willows Road…” 

His eyes drift away from the map to find the Lieutenant’s watching him. “What is it?”

“Thank you,” Hawkeye murmurs.

Roy smiles. “Anytime, Lieutenant.”

They walk together, periodically calling for Hayate and searching any place they can think of. Roy cracks jokes here and there - knowing that his adjutant will see straight through them, but making the effort all the same to see if he can get her to relax. Eventually, they end up heading in the direction Roy aimed for.

He can tell the moment Hawkeye notices; she stops short and her face closes off.

“You’re leading me back to my apartment.”

There’s no point denying it. “Yes, I am.”

“I told you I wasn’t stopping.”

“And now I’m telling you that you need to rest.”

“No.” 

Over the years, Roy has grown familiar with all kinds of expression in Riza Hawkeye’s voice; he knows her cool and calm tone that she wears from day to day, the defeated hoarseness he remembers from some of their darkest days, the short irritation when they’ve been buried under week-old paperwork for days on end. 

Right now, her voice is cold but slipping into something hot and painful underneath, like ice cracking beneath a flame. 

As one would when navigating thin ice, Roy really should tread carefully.

Instead, he pushes.

“I’ll make it an order if I have to.”

The Lieutenant’s brown eyes burn into his own before they dull painfully into a resignation that makes Roy’s chest ache. He steps forward - 

And the Lieutenant steps back.

“Don’t!”

The volume of her voice makes him freeze; the Lieutenant herself looks surprised, too.

A light switches on in a window of the apartment block near them, and they both watch it carefully. Roy’s still focused on it when the Lieutenant’s voice pulls his gaze away.

“Sorry, Sir. You’re right, I should -” she coughs. “I should go home.”

The ice is even thinner now. 

“Lieutenant…” 

He trails off. He didn’t even know what he was going to say when he started.

“Let me walk you home.”

Apparently that’s what he was going to say.

Hawkeye nods, and they walk in solemn silence back to her apartment building. Once she enters through the lobby doorway, she doesn’t pause to bid him goodbye; rather, she leaves the door open for him to follow through. 

Roy pauses halfway through the entryway, unsure. It’s not as if it’s the first time he’s been to her apartment, but he feels weirdly off-kilter here. It reminds him vaguely of the first time the Lieutenant had allowed him into her bedroom to study together when they were young, and he’s stood carefully distant from any object without touching anything until she’d told him to sit down and get to work already.

He follows the Lieutenant up to her apartment door, where she turns back to face him. Both of them seem to fail to find any words for a few seconds.

“Tea?”

Roy short circuits for a second, staring dumbfoundedly at the woman in the doorway in front of him. While yes, he's been to her apartment before, it's never at this hour, and he's not sure whether he's reading too much into this interaction-

"You should make up your mind either way and move out of my doorway. Before the neighbours start to talk, ideally."

That startles him into moving through the threshold - and after a good look at his Lieutenant in decent light, he moves towards the kettle in the kitchen.

“You sit down; I’ll make it.”

Instead of arguing otherwise, the Lieutenant simply sits at her kitchen table as Roy goes about making tea for both of them. He’s partly distracted while he lets it steep when the Lieutenant speaks again.

“What if I never see him again?”

Roy turns. The Lieutenant’s eyes are fixed on the dog food bowl.

“If he’s dead? Or we just… never find him? What then?”

Setting the tea down in front of her, Roy takes the kitchen chair next to the Lieutenant.

“Don’t worry yourself with that now,” he says. “For now, just drink your tea, then go to sleep.”

The Lieutenant dutifully sips her tea, before smiling wistfully.

“Did I ever tell you about the time Hayate tried to dodge hail in a storm despite the door inside being about 10 feet away?”

Roy grins. “No, but I’ll definitely hear this one.”

He listens to the Lieutenant’s story - and a couple more - while they finish their tea, then stands up and extends his hand to hers once they’re done.

“Tea over, now sleep,” he says, and Hawkeye rolls her eyes.

“I am capable of putting myself to bed, you know,” she insists. “Sorry for keeping you - you should get home yourself.”

She shows him to the door, and just before he leaves, Roy stops. The Lieutenant’s eyebrows raise in question, and Roy hesitates before pressing a light kiss to her forehead.

“I promise,” he says lowly, “I promise you that we’ll bring him back home safe.”

Hawkeye nods, and with that, they part.

After leaving the apartment building, Roy takes out the map and resumes searching. It’s late and dark, so it’s hard to see, but he made a promise and he intends on seeing it through.

Several false hopes and two hours later, and after realising that he’s too tired to search effectively, Roy heads back towards his own apartment. 

He almost misses the glint that catches the light near his shoe.

Bending down, he makes out the shape of a dog collar to the right of the sidewalk, close to the road. He picks it up to examine - and, as he suspected, the glint that caught his eye was the tag on the collar with Black Hayate’s details inscribed. 

That’s not all, though - with a sinking feeling, Roy walks closer to the nearest lamppost to get a good look at the collar, and notices the dark red of blood.

Oh, no, he thinks. Please, no.

***

He’s outside her door the next morning, about to knock when she opens it - before standing back in surprise.

“Colonel? What are you doing here?”

Roy takes a breath before holding out the collar. “I found this on my way home last night,” he explains.

The Lieutenant takes the collar - clean of blood, because he’s not about to give Hawkeye a blood-covered collar belonging to her missing dog - from his hand gingerly, fingers brushing over the tag. “Where did you find it?” she asks.

“On the sidewalk, near my apartment.” 

In between examining the collar, the Lieutenant looks up and evidently notices something in Roy’s face that gives away his unease.

“... There’s something else,” she realises. 

He really doesn’t want to do this to her.

“There was blood on the collar when I found it,” Roy says carefully, watching the Lieutenant’s face to judge her reaction.

Her expression doesn’t change, but her face pales considerably.

“It could mean nothing,” he rushes to amend. “A small cut, something inconsequential.”

“Of course,” Hawkeye says, and the layer of ice in her tone is back.

“Lieutenant-”

“Thank you for returning this to me, Colonel. Are you continuing to headquarters after this?”

“I am, yes. Maybe you should come with me. We can regroup with the others and concentrate the search around the area where I found the collar.”

The Lieutenant appears to consider this briefly before nodding shortly. Without any further conversation, she shuts the front door behind her and starts walking.

When they enter the office at HQ, Havoc and Breda are already present, despite it being an hour earlier than any of the team would be there on any other day. 

“Morning,” Havoc greets, already making his way over to the map covered in marker pen. “I’ve marked off my and Breda’s locations from yesterday already. New day, new dawn, we’ll have Hayate back to his owner in no time.”

Breda, however, is eyeing the collar in Hawkeye’s hand. “Is that what I think it is?” 

After a glance towards the Lieutenant, Roy explains the situation himself. There’s a beat of silence after he finishes speaking before Havoc is practically tripping over himself to reassure Hawkeye, with Breda following suit. Roy leaves them to it, adding his own marks to the map from his search last night and circling the area surrounding the street he found the collar on. Falman enters not too long afterwards, and after they explain (again), they start to plan with their updated information. However, as time goes on, Roy notices the Lieutenant beginning to fiddle nervously with the collar.

Before he can ask, she voices her concerns.

"We shouldn't tell Fuery about the blood," she says suddenly, cutting the current conversation short.

"Are you sure…?" Falman asks hesitantly. Hawkeye nods. 

"All sorts of conclusions can be drawn from something like that," she states. "It would only worry him, and-"

The Lieutenant inhales, about to continue, but the breath catches in her throat. As she coughs to clear it, Roy notices her hands gripping the collar so hard her knuckles have turned white, and he realises that the ice is about to crack - and that the following few minutes aren't going to be anything that Hawkeye wants to be witnessed.

"Lieutenant," he says gently, "my office?"

She nods and ducks in, and he follows.

After shutting the door, he turns to the blonde, who has her face turned away from him. 

"I'm alright," she says quietly, after a moment. "I just needed a minute."

Roy studies her for a moment; although he can't see her face, he can see the Lieutenant's shoulders shake and guesses that she's repressing tears. 

Before he can say anything, he hears an "Oh, hey, Chief!" Through the door, and feels the urge to slam his head into a wall. He really doesn't want to deal with Fullmetal today.

"I'll be one minute," he assures the Lieutenant, then opens the door and steps out, letting the door close behind him.

"Hey, Bastard," Fullmetal says cheerfully. "Is the Lieutenant here?"

"She's busy," he replies flatly. "What do you need to see her for?"

"Well," Ed starts, and then Fuery enters the office, beaming ear to ear, closely followed by Alphonse.

Alphonse, who is holding a very familiar Shiba Inu in his arms.

Edward and Alphonse Elric suddenly become two of Roy's favourite people in this world. 

"I owe you about ten favours," he breathes, which he'll regret later, but right now he couldn't care less. 

He opens the door back to poke his head into the office and beams at the Lieutenant.

"Someone's here to see you," he grins, before opening the door wider to allow Ed, Al and Hayate into view.

Hayate jumps from Al's arms and bounds across the room to his master, who greets him with matching excitement, gathering up the Shiba Inu into her arms.

"Hayate!" The Lieutenant holds him tightly to her, before giving him a series of kisses atop his head. "Where have you been? Oh, BraHa, don't you ever run off like that again, I was so worried …"

She turns to the brothers then, eyes suspiciously red-rimmed. "Where did you find him?"

"Around the bins in the hotel near the station," Ed says. "We didn't even know he was missing."

"If Rebecca ever tells me I'm wrong again I'll remind her of this," Hawkeye mutters under her breath.

"Oh, he had a little scratch!" Al advises, "I think he might have gotten it trying to get through a fence or something like that. It doesn't look too bad, though!" 

Hawkeye smiles gratefully at the boys, while Hayate licks at her face gleefully. "Thank you, Edward, Alphonse." 

"A-Ah, it was no problem!"

"Yeah, anytime, Lieutenant!" 

The Lieutenant buries her face into Hayate's fur, trying (and failing) to disguise a sniffle. The look of panic that crosses Ed's face is quite something.

"Uh - a-are you -"

"The Lieutenant will be just fine," Roy interrupts, ushering the brothers out of the room. "We'll be with you in a few minutes. I'm sure the rest of the team can keep you entertained by catching you up on the past couple of days."

Once the door is shut once more, Roy approaches the Lieutenant. 

"Are you okay?" He asks softly, receiving a nod in return.

"I'm fine, really," Hawkeye says, somewhat muffled by Shiba Inu. "I'm not quite sure why I'm - all -"

"It's been a long few days," Roy says. "Don't be ashamed to cry." 

"I'm not crying," Hawkeye protests; at which moment Hayate decides he wants to be free from her arms and jumps down to run under Roy's desk, leaving her with no face shield. The Lieutenant attempts to hide her face within her elbow instead, but Roy catches her arm before she can. There are tear tracks on her cheeks and fresh tears welling in her eyes, but she's still attempting to contain them.

The ice doesn't have to crack. Not if it can thaw slowly first.

"Riza," he says. "It's-"

Before he can finish, Riza wraps her arms around his waist and buries her face into his shoulder. Roy completely seizes up for a moment, wondering what on earth to do or say and where does he put his hands?  before reminding himself that he's not seventeen anymore, quit blushing, and places his arms lightly around her. They remain like that for a few minutes, quiet except for the occasional sniff from the blonde head resting on his shoulder, until he opens his mouth to speak and is cut off.

"Don't," Riza says. "You'll ruin the moment." 

"Well, now the moment is over," Roy replies jauntily, "And it wasn't even me who broke it."

"Better I do it than you. You'd make some stupid remark about having damsels in distress crying in your arms."

Roy gasps. "I would never ."

"Everyone in the room next door can vouch for the fact that you would ."

"If you'd like to invite them in to watch us hug, then, by all means, be my guest."

"Nothing wrong with a hug between friends, Colonel."

"Right. Yes. Of course."

Friends.

Because they can't be anything more than that. No matter their history, or the way they're holding each other right now, or the longing, aching want that Roy has for more - there's too much at stake for them to risk anything more. That, and the notion of the two of them finding happiness in each other, after all they've done…

It's not something they can entertain. Not now, and maybe not ever. But a hug between friends… he'll settle for that. 

Or, he would, if Black Hayate didn't decide that he needed attention and needed it now, leaping up between them. Riza laughs - possibly the most beautiful sound Roy's ever heard - and scoops Hayate up into her arms again while Roy gives him head pets, and they dote after the runaway dog until he gets bored of them and seeks out the rest of the team for company.

 ***

Later on in the evening, as Roy is sitting alone in his apartment and starting to consider if getting a cat would be a good idea after all - maybe he could take in the next stray that Alphonse picks up - his phone rings.

"Hello?"

"Colonel," a familiar voice sounds through the phone. "Sorry for bothering you at this hour."

"That's alright, Lieutenant. Is everything alright? How's Hayate?"

"He's fine," Riza answers, "We're both okay. I just… wanted to call. And to thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me for anything,” Roy says. 

“I noticed, by the way.”

“Noticed what?”

“You marked off more areas on the map this morning than the part of the city that we covered last night,” Riza remarks. “You didn’t need to do that. So thank you.”

Of course she noticed - it would be stupid of him to think she wouldn’t, she is ‘The Hawk’s Eye’, after all - but that’s not why. Riza knows he’d stay out to look for Hayate for the same reason Roy knows how to do her hair, or how she likes her tea. They’ve been together long enough.

“You’re welcome, Lieutenant.”

The conversation moves on to other things then - old rumours recirculating around command, the last dramatic breakup between Havoc and another now-ex-girlfriend, stories from Roy’s sisters. They can only talk for so long, and the conversation comes to a natural end, but before he can hang up the phone a thought strikes Roy.

“Thank you,” he says suddenly, an echo of Riza’s words from earlier.

There’s a confused pause. “What are you thanking me for?”

“For calling,” he answers simply. “That’s all.”

There’s a tiny huff of amusement from Riza’s end of the line. “Anytime, Colonel.”

“Oh, anytime ?”

“Anytime before midnight .”

Even after he hangs up the phone, Roy notices the cold loneliness of the empty apartment around him doesn’t sink in as deeply. 

So, he thinks, between strictly platonic hugs, late nights with tea, and phone calls… yeah, he’ll settle for that fine.

That, and maybe a cat - so long as it doesn’t get lost.

[four-loose-screws]

FE8 Novelization Translation - Chapter 1, Section 1

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———————————

I call this a “section” because it is not a separate part of the chapter in the book, but divided from the rest of the chapter by a scene break.

———————————

Chapter 1 - The Day That Decided Her Fate

In a land far, far away, a noise like thunder echoed through the air.

When Eirika was little, every time she heard a rumble of thunder that shook the skies, it would scare her, and she would cling to her twin big brother, Ephraim, and cry.

He would act tough, puffing up his chest and laughing at his sister's cowardice, but his hands were actually shaking, too. Still, squeezing them made her feel safe. And though his hands were as small and dainty as her's, squeezing them also gave her strength.

But now, she didn't have Ephraim's hands to hold. Eirika did not have those kind hands that would encourage her no matter what.

The ominous noise she heard coming closer and closer was not thunder. It was much, much worse. Something brutal and without mercy was trying to invade the castle.

The door to the throne room slammed open. A messenger, with both his cheeks and clothing covered in specks of blood, rushed in, then collapsed on one knee in front of the king. 

“Your Majesty, the enemy army has finally broken down the castle gate, and our army has suffered many casualties!” His voice squeaked out of his throat as if someone was strangling him.

Until just a short time ago, every time a messenger came, the chief vassals’ faces would stiffen up, and they would lean in as they listened to the report. 

But this time, not one of them even tried to move. They looked as if they had lost all sense of feeling, and were completely expressionless.

The king nodded and looked around at every one of them. None of them met his gaze...

Except for one person.

The king’s eyes stopped on the youngest of all the vassals lined up in front of him, General Seth. A splash of bright color appeared upon his face, tainted with dark despair, for the first time. Though he could not quite call it hope, it provided him a shred of relief to know that there was still someone left with the will to fight.

"So we're already at our limit? Then tell all units to stop resisting. Our army will surrender to Grado."

"Father…!" Eirika shouted before she even realized it. 

The messenger bit his lip and hung his head in regret. When he ran out of the throne room, he was so hesitant that he dragged his feet as if he was injured.

Eirika rushed over and pleaded with her father, "We can't surrender… please reconsider! Brother is still fighting on the front line!"

"The castle has fallen, Eirika. If we continued to resist any longer, it would only increase the number of sacrifices. And we would not lose just soldiers. The enemy might set the castle town on fire."

"But…!"

"The people's lives are much more important than a castle."

It was just like King Fado, loved and respected by the people, to say that.

Eirika knew that her father was making the right decision. But in her heart, she could not give in without any resistance.

If the Grado soldiers invaded the castle and captured both the king and his daughter… just thinking about the violence they would both be subjected to made her legs weak. It was unlikely either of them would be safe once in custody.

"Seth, I entrust Eirika to you. Flee to Frelia." The king called over to the young general, who was standing guard behind Eirika.

She realized what her father was planning, and gasped and whirled around.

Seth seemed to have had a feeling that he would be given such an order. He nodded, face as calm as always, and replied, "Yes Sir!"

The color drained from Eirika’s face, and she hugged her father. “You’re telling me to flee…? Then what will you do, Father?”

"I must stay here. It will be my final duty as king."

"No…!"

"Eirika, you're wearing your bracelet, yes?"

'My bracelet? Why is he asking about my bracelet at a time like this?' Eirika thought, but she simply nodded and showed him her wrist. The tone of his voice made it clear that he would not allow her to talk back right now.

He nodded approvingly, then told Seth, "Hurry and tell King Hayden of Frelia what has happened. He will help you."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Father, if you're going to be left behind, then I will stay here, too!"

"Go, Seth!"

"Forgive me," the general said, then grabbed Eirika by the arm.

"No! Let me go! Father, I…!" She tried to break free of Seth's grasp, but did not have the strength to do so. He picked her up in his arms and tore her away from her father.

The king looked at his daughter with eyes full of pride, and smiled. 

All of Eirika's strength drained from her body. She felt her father's resolve, already unshakable, so hard that it hurt.

'Survive. Live, and rebuild Renias with Ephraim.' The look in his eyes told her. 

If Eirika died here, Renais might fall forever. Its beautiful lands would be trampled by Grado’s soldiers, who would murder every last one of the citizens… With Ephraim's whereabouts unknown, Renais' future rested entirely on her shoulders.

The princess looked at her father with tears in her eyes, then turned her back to him. 'Please stay safe…' She whispered that prayer inside of her heart.

ー

Seth took Eirika to the stables behind the castle.

While the main gate had already been knocked down by the enemy army, the rear of the castle had many secret escape paths. If they slipped out from one of them, they would be able to make it to the main road that would take them to Frelia.

The stable hand, who was always supposed to be there tending to the horses, was nowhere to be seen. With the chaos at the castle having already reached its peak, those who’d sensed the danger had run far away.

However, one young man was there. Out of all the horses tethered to the stable, he chose the most handsome of the white horses, and spoke gently to him as he prepared a saddle.

The boy looked nervous as he whirled around at the sound of oncoming footsteps, but he sighed and relaxed when he saw their faces and confirmed who they were.

He was the youngest member of the knights, Franz. While still childish and thin in physical appearance, he was polite and passionate about learning how to fight, earning him much affection from his superiors.

"Sir Seth, are we finally going to deploy!?" He shouted excitedly. "I prepared the horses. Let's go! I will fight with you!"

"Franz, the castle has fallen.” Seth said, then opened the fence that the stable and horses were behind. The horses snorted loudly and shook their manes, probably sensing the tension in the air.

Franz stared at Seth, face frozen in complete shock. It appeared that because he was out caring for the horses on his own, the messenger’s words had not reached him.

"What did you say…? The castle has…? So that means we surrendered?"

That is correct."

His cheeks flushed bright red, and he shouted, almost snapping at Seth, "No! The Renais Army can still fight! The cavalry unit still has plenty of soldiers…!"

"I'm going to take Lady Eirika and escape. Franz, you hurry ahead of us to Frelia."

The order was delivered so quickly that Franz couldn’t keep up with the chaos inside of his head. His eyes twitched and his mouth moved as if he wanted to say something, but he couldn’t.

“The enemy is not likely to chase after a single knight. Tell the king that Lady Eirika is on her way to Frelia, and request for immediate aid.”

"Huh…? But… I…"

"Time is of the essence. Go!"

"Y-Yes Sir!" Franz bowed clumsily. He could not ask any of the questions on his mind, partially because they were whirling around inside of his head so quickly, and partially because, though he was a new recruit, he was already proud to be a soldier.

He ran inside of the stable and guided his horse outside. This horse was slightly smaller than the one he’d prepared for Seth, but was a young and energetic steed.

Franz climbed atop his mount, then said bravely, “I shall be off now! Sir Seth, may the fortunes of war be with you!"

"You too, Franz!" The general's words were brief, but he seemed very happy. 

Franz’s face lit up as he settled into the saddle. One could say that he already looked like a full-fledged knight. The light sound of his small horse’s hooves galloping off into the night echoed through the air.

"We should go too, Lady Eirika."

"Yes, we should…"

Seth climbed atop the horse first, then extended a hand towards Eirika. 

She took it and lifted herself up.

But the moment the horse jumped out of the stables, they heard an ominous noise. They knew what it was, even before they looked up. 

It was the sound of gigantic wings slicing through the air.

The wings blocked the sunlight and darkened their field of vision. Eirika was startled and looked up, though she was afraid of what she might see.

Higher up than even the castle's spire were three shadows. Leading the pack was a creature with bony wings.

Before she could even blink, the three shadows descended towards them. The word "wyvern" came into her mind, but she could not bring herself to utter it. The beast's name felt sinister, like that of a monster of old.

Wyverns were ferocious beasts that flew through the sky on study wings and attacked their enemies with sharp claws and fangs. They were hardly ever seen in Renais, but she'd heard that many were used in military training in Grado and Frelia. They had violent personalities, and were difficult to ride, but were utilized as mounts because of their sturdiness and agility.

Following along behind the wyvern were two dragons, another creature used in military training and as mounts.

"Seth…" Eirika instinctively clung to the general's back.

Seth seemed to be lost about whether he should outrun them now, or stay and fight.

However, he didn’t have even a moment to hesitate. The speed difference between a horse and a beast that could fly was too overwhelmingly great. Even if they tried to make a break for it, they would only become prey for the beasts’ sharp claws.

"Please get down, Lady Eirika. I will hold them back here."

Eirika nodded and quickly dismounted the horse.

She was only slightly worried, knowing very well just how strong Seth was. Whether facing a wyvern or a dragon, she believed that there was no way he could be weaker than any opponent.

The wyvern landed, and before the beast even had time to adjust its posture, his rider jumped off.

The man was clad in the Grado Army's armor, and appeared to be of a very high rank, as he looked much more imposing compared to the other dragon knights landing after him.

"My, my, my… This is some fine prey. I seem to have won the lottery." The man looked at Eirika with a satisfied smile.

She glared at him, but felt a chill run down her spine.

He was a very creepy man that fit the appearance of a military leader well enough, but had sunken eyes that made his expressions look inhuman. It was difficult to tell whether he was young or old. His skin was pale white, so much so that he looked unhealthy at first glance, but upon closer inspection, one could see that he was rather muscular. He was an enemy they could not underestimate.

"I will be your opponent." Seth turned his horse’s head to the side and unsheathed a steel sword in the blink of an eye. The white horse trembled before the wyvern, but Seth was calm.

The creepy man glanced at Seth out of the corner of his eye, looking bored.

"A man? I have no use for a man. Oh well. At least struggle and make this at least a little fun for me…"

Before the man had even finished speaking, Seth's horse kicked the ground, and he swung his sword.

The average person probably wouldn't be able to avoid the attack, and would sustain a serious injury. But the man dodged it, then climbed back atop his wyvern.

The dragon knights behind him panicked and started to raise their lances, but the man stopped them with a mocking tone, "Don't lay a hand on him. He's my prey."

Then, he grabbed a sparkling golden lance.

Eirika was shivering, and frozen where she stood.

As strange as he was, it was clear just by the way he held his weapon that he was an exceptional fighter. Eirika’s experience in learning swordsmanship from her brother made her sure of that.

There was supposed to be no way Seth could lose. He was an outstanding soldier and the pride of the Renais Army. She truly believed that, but still could not stop her legs from shaking.

"I am Valter, the Moonstone, one of Grado's Six Generals. Not that you have any need to remember that. Your life will end here."

Even when provoked, Seth remained calm. He swung his sword with carefully calculated precision.

The wyvern flapped its wings and took off, then Valter thrust his lance at a sharp angle downwards.

The height difference was the only thing keeping Seth at a disadvantage. If the wyvern flew up into the sky, his sword couldn't reach it. 

And there was no chance that he could get away. After several exchanges, Valter stabbed Seth’s side.

Seth’s posture atop his horse crumbled, but only for a moment, and he managed to hang on. However, his chiseled face squinted in pain for the first time.

"Seth!" Eirika briefly forgot the danger they were in, and tried to run to him.

Seth glared at her.

As a soldier, he may have wanted to fight until he exhausted all of his power, but his duty now was not to kill the enemy. Even if it meant turning his back on his foe, he had to protect the princess until the very end. He would fulfill his king's final request.

Seth did not falter. He dodged the lance pursuing him and quickly maneuvered his horse to change directions, then picked up Eirika and carried her under his arm.

She clung to him as hard as she could so that she would not fall. To think that even someone like Seth could suffer an injury in a moment of weakness… 

'War is… people fighting and hurting each other.' The princess truly realized that for the first time.

Seth had no need to use his whip. The white horse finally broke free of the spell of fear binding him in place, followed its instincts, and ran as fast as he could to get far, far away from the enemy that was too dangerous for them.

Valter did not pursue them. When Seth grabbed Eirika and turned around, he simply saw them off and swung his lance in amusement.

Though she did not get a good view of the expression on his face in that moment, Eirika was able to imagine it. On his pale, inhuman face was surely the thin smile of one person looking down on another.

Valter, the Moonstone… Eirika etched that name into her mind.

ー

"Let's go after them, Lord Valter!" One of the dragon knights yelled out suddenly.

However, Valter turned away, having already lost interest in his prey. "Leave them."

"But that was the princess! If we capture her, His Majesty is sure to give us a huge reward…!"

"What of it, you servant!? And that’s Her Highness to you.”

The dragon knights looked at each other, then peered over Valter, who still had his back turned towards them. They felt entirely creeped out.

He may have been their superior officer, but the dragon knights did not trust this general. Even when he was joking around, his eyes never laughed, and he had a cold heart that was difficult to figure out. 

That was what even those around him thought of him.

This meant that his subordinates did not trust him, nor did they respect him. They only obeyed him out of fear. Even the slightest thing would incur his displeasure, and there were rumors that he had slaughtered soldiers where they stood, which were not entirely exaggerations.

"Run, run away… flee to the ends of the earth, and struggle all the way there.”

Through his sing-song voice, one could see a glimpse into his true nature.

To this man, the war occurring between the countries of Magvell was of no importance. What he wanted to enjoy was the hunt. The more he hurt his prey, the more it desperately tried to run away, the more pleasure he felt. That his target was a beautiful princess made it all the better.

The horse she was riding had already disappeared. 

Low clouds were starting to form in the west, the direction she and her knight were headed in.

[certifiedceraunophile]

KLAROLINE FALL BINGO PREVIEW.

@eliliyah @klarolinefallbingo

Prompt: Dias De Muertos

Honestly the relevancy of the prompt comes far to late in the story but it’s there, kinda. But hey it’s there.

MASQUERADES

(CinemaAU)

Sometimes all she needed was to take a breather. A single moment. One pause.

Breathe in.

To collect her thoughts and emotions. To steady her bearings.

To state in a repetitive loop all the reasons why punching one Niklaus Mikaelson in the balls would be a marginally bad idea.

And breathe out.

Forgive her, but The man was infuriating. Okay?

And unashamedly so. Not a whit of genuine compunction behind that facade of ‘Inescapable Charisma and Unadulterated Allure.’

Definitely not her words.

Nope. No sir.

These were the words of a certain Greta Martin, editor-in-chief for the first October issue of People Magazine.

With one Mega-frustrating arrogant blonde blue-eyed dimpled asshat demon going by the name Klaus slapped to the front of said issue.

And Nope if anyone asks,

No, she did not literally just shred -In a shredding machine no less, because efficiency, thank you very much- the first copy of the magazine she bought, after reading the beginning eight lines on his exclusive, recounting what a ‘delightfully satisfying and marvellous experience the entire three months of shooting turned out to be.’

Ok one Black-hole sized pause right there please.

Thank you.

A single beat.

And....

The Absolute Fuck?!

She’s sorry. Marvellous experience?

Excuse her, but say what?

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Beg pardon but What?

Excuse her.

But Marvellous experience, as in, aggressive quotation marks scratching the air “Marvellous experience” is NOT how she remembers it.

The slap in the face obvious discrepancy to both their stories is definitely not blind to her.

He called 84 re-takes that lasted four whole hours for one eight minute long single-shot single-angle scene, Marvellous.

He called having ice-cold Whiteclaw thrown square on his face by a Absolutely-done-with-wild-gust-of-agitated-Blonde-Fury on the eighth day of set, Marvellous.

He called having two separate make-up artists downright quit after being unable to touch up her makeup every thirteen seconds because she ran her hand down her face in unbridled aggravation every time her eyes landed on him, Marvellous.

He called the same experience where, she had to literally rush out of a set, under the ruse of a bathroom break, Twice in the course of three months, so that she can peacefully go through the motions of a rage-fueled emotional meltdown, complete with angry frustrated tears and a relentlessly colourful diatribe, cursing every man in her life who bore even a sliver of resemblance to the stormy-blue-eyed spawn of satan that was her co-actor, Marvellous.

God. How the hell did he possibly think he could get away with this,

How did he think he was going to smooth over the transparent inconsistencies between her interviews and his, without raising at least a few confused questions from bloodthirsty intuitive fans and the Press in general.

Given how her talk-show interviews and magazine exclusives gave the steady image, that

1. Klaus Mikaelson is a dick and a half, with an overgrown ego so ginormous that even the entirety of Tinseltown is ‘plainly restricting of his nonpareil talent in histrionic execution.’

2. Klaus Mikaelson is an arrogant narcissistic asshole that Hast pronounc'd upon his brethren yond this day f'rth that gent shalt with ev'ry smidgen of purpose in his life striveth to be the Unrivalled Bane of Caroline Forbes’ Existence.

3. The process of Creating the undeniable tour de force Masterpiece that was ‘100 years of solitude.’ The newest Christopher Nolan Direction and Production in theatres right now, that already has definite Academy Awards Nomination in the talks, was anything but Marvellous. She admits, It was so so gratifying and made her heart full with a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction, that left her giddy with such lighthearted contentment for days, after the phenomenal response it garnered post-premiering, Yes. But that does not capsulate how frustratingly tiresome and emotionally debilitating the entire creation process was. Hell it was downright painful at times.

4. Would she voluntarily take another movie with Klaus Mikaelson as a Co-star alongside her? You can get back to her when the sun starts to rise from the west and the answer would still be a definitive NO.

Now of course she wasn’t this brazen with her claims she knows how to be cute and classy and concise.

But she definitely did not mitigate the truth of her statement, she’s had enough training with her PR department to know what to say and how to say it but she’s sure that nobody had been able to overlook her less than companionable remarks about Klaus.

For example

The Stephen Colbert Show:

Stephen: “So Caroline tell us about the process, the Making of it, how everything fell into place like tiny puzzle pieces to reveal at last this grand, Grand Picture.”

“The process? Well the process was certainly not...pretty...but after every time we finished a scene, however small or inconsequential it may have seemed to the plot, there was this immense sense of ‘there-Done it. And done it well.’ ”

Jimmy Kimmel Live:

“Klaus Mikaelson, well my Co-star is um....eccentric at best.....”

Jimmy: “and at worst?”

“Well..... I guess” -hellish, heinously intolerable, a cruel mean bastard- “....Unyielding...?”

The Ellen Show:

“Well Klaus was a..... demanding partner and it took Herculean efforts to meet his exacting standards, but I can understand how that paid off so well on screen. The end result when I saw it for the first time, it damn well paid off.”

Ellen: “so he is absolved of his admittedly ‘uphill’ personality then?”

She laughs awkwardly,

“Ye-ah....No.”

followed by more laughter dissolving the painstaking grimace she’s trying to tamper down.

Oh and the worst.

The Late Late show with James Cordon:

During the ‘Fill Your Guts or Spill Your Guts’ segment

James: “So....I’m going to give you, let’s see, Ah there, the Bird Saliva.”

Caroline: “James!.... Damn it, you are so not making it into my good books, and....God. That’s just disconcerting I mean, How do they even, I don’t know... collect it?”

James: “Well there’s a whole process of harvesting it from the salivary glands and—“

Caroline: “Never mind! Nope. No need for the details, please, James, a lady’s delicate sensibilities are at stake. And unless the question is ‘what is your social security number?’ I’m not drinking this poison.”

James: “Now Caroline you wound me, I can assure you everything on this table is edible albeit being marginally unpalatable—���

Caroline: “Marginally?!”

James: “You should try the Cow’s tongue. It’s delectable.” Followed by a sagely nod.

Caroline: “Now I’m just intensely bothered. You’ve definitely lost all claim for a spot in my good books.”

James: “Ah well, speaking of staying in your good graces, here’s a question that will have you downing that Saliva in seconds.”

Caroline: “Hit me.”

James: “Well then, ‘Name Any one CO-star with whom you have worked with in the past that you would never volunteer to work with again.’”

Pause.

And the audience descended.

“Like I said, speaking about staying in your good books.”

Amidst the raucous screams, whistles and laughter, it didn’t even bother Caroline, the clarity and speed with which the name

‘Klaus Mikaelson’ flashed in the front of her mind, like a large Neon LED sign from a typical Vegas Nightlife scene.

It took her a total of three seconds to know that she was going to answer with his name because, well just look at that drink in front of her,

Sure if you bend over real low and squint in the right light it may look like a harmless Daiquiri, but a Daiquiri it was not.

No. This was Bird Freaking Saliva,

Come on, you can’t possibly ask her to put that in her goddamn mouth.

Like NO.

Just no.

So sue her for protecting her taste buds that are yet to experience many more exotic flavours and textures of food from all around the world.

But then again she can’t possibly outright just say “Oh that’s easy, Klaus Mikaelson.”

That’s exactly the kinda PR trouble she wants to stay above and definitely didn’t need to be wrung out dry by her Spitfire Mistress-of-Hell Publicist Katherine Pierce for.

(Who also alternates as her BFF, occasionally, mind you.)

So she puts on a good show, dropped her head in her hands, gave a healthy long groan, looked up and gave James her best wounded Puppy Dog eyes, to which he was clearly not immune to, judging by how he looked a touch chagrined, but the game was just as much as beyond his hands as it were hers,

She looked to the audience “You guys are so mean, it’s not even funny.”

And grumbled a bit more till everyone was laughing and pitching forward and back on their seat amused by the poor Blonde’s Dilemma.

So she looked up to the heavens as if to ask for some unknown deity for deliverance and guidance, and poised herself to drink,

Only to put the glass back down in the last second in a begrudgingly weak show of caving in, and blurted out reluctantly,

(She’s a glorious actor, she’s aware.)

“You know what, Nope. He’s just gotta deal with it, okay?.”

Deep breath

Or was it the audience taking a deep breath and holding it in,

“ItsKlausMikaelson,PleaseDontKillMe.”

Pause again.

And the auditorium transcended.

Well,

she handled that, pretty well, if she does say so herself you know.

Apparently Kat Disagrees.

Apparently She Blew It.

She blew it so hard she could’ve knocked down the third little pig’s brick house.

Ironic since she always envisioned Klaus as the Big Bad Wolf who huffs and puffs and just generally blows.

Apparently her little admission was a PR disaster.

And Kat was furious.

The two minute edited clip that encompassed the question, the reluctant grumbling and finally the confession was apparently now a viral video on all social networking platforms.

They were trending on twitter under the hashtag

#KlarolineUnrequitedLoveIsABitch.

But her admission to being generally averted on taking up Klaus as a colleague again was apparently only one half of the video,

The other half....

Well the other other half was Klaus with his personal confession.

God, it wasn’t even a confession,

it was a—a Mockery, yes that’s it, a Mockery,

Of Her, no less

Basically Here’s the run down of the second insidious half of the video,

Klaus sitting in front of Graham Norton, in all their British glory, going live on The Graham Norton Show,

when asked about Caroline Forbes, his “partner” on scene has the audacity to let out this evil little amused huff and say:

“Caroline?” Another amused huff. “Well Caroline, Christ, where do I start? She’s an absolutely glorious presence on set. Her energy....it’s infectious, She hits you like a blonde hurricane of sunshine and snark and you’re just left staring up at the sun thinking, ‘you need to catch up mate, if you want to be half as bright and burning as her.’”

And Caroline thinks maybe this is the feeling of your brain imploding within the confines of the skull.

TBC

[snowdice]

Road Trips and Missing Persons (Part 15)

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Patton & Virgil, Virgil & Deceit, Logan & Patton, Emile & Remy, Roman & Remus & Janus

Characters: Patton, Virgil, Deceit, Remus, Roman, Logan, Emile, Remy

Summary: Patton was just getting groceries. The next thing he knew, there was a knife at his throat and he was an unwilling uber driver. Virgil’s on the run after the murder of his dad, and it’s not just his paranoia that’s telling him he’s being chased down. He has to get somewhere safe, somewhere he can trust, and all he has is a couple of stories from his dad and a name: “Green Bellow Foods and Dispensary.”

Notes: Secret Agents AU, knives, carjacking, kidnapping, murder mentioned, guns mentioned, pepper spray, blood mentioned, drugs mentioned, explosions, car crashes (more to be added)

This is a fic I’ve been writing on study breaks that you have probably all already seen at this point. I’ve affectionately named it the Goblin Brain Fic because it’s helping my brain actually get motivated for studying. I’ve slightly edited it for wording and grammar, but not for content from my previous posts. Feel free to send in asks to direct it because I’m not 100% sure where this is going and you can help decide if you feel so inclined! You can see the process I went through to build this at this link.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 My Master Post

The next two hours were the most frustrating ones of Logan’s life. It seemed like the entire universe, or perhaps more accurately his entire family, was doing its best to make his life and job as stressful as possible.

He’d stepped away from his desk for less than one minute to make sure Darlene and Fredrick’s coms were set up to his specifications. He had them outfitted with what he would usually give to undercover agents. It was a constant feed of audio from their side and Logan could talk to them with a click of a button. It was on an entirely different frequency than anyone else used and, barring damage to the actual equipment itself, it should never go offline.

When he got back to his desk and checked his phone, he had a missed call and a text message from Patton. Of course. Of course, in the 30 seconds he is away from his desk, someone finally calls him back. He opened the text message. His first thought was, ‘Patton, you are lactose intolerant. Why are you buying so much cheese?!’ His second thought was that the string of emojis was unintelligible. What about a baby and a knife?! If he’d just bought cheese, why did he need to go get a burger, fries, and ice cream, and on that count, why more dairy?

He tried to call Patton back, but as he was beginning to expect at this point, there was no answer. Frustrated, he slammed his finger down on the end call button. ‘I have no idea what that means’ he texted him back. He set his phone back down on his desk after making absolutely sure his ringer was at full volume.

“Be sure to track all traffic updates in their path,” Logan said. The other people in the base snapped to attention, their fingers going to work at their keyboards. Then, he pushed the button on his desk. “Fredrick?” he asked.

“We just got on I-26,” Fredrick replied instantly.

“Good,” Logan replied. He sat down in his chair to rub at his eyes and grabbed his phone once more. He shot off texts to different people in a pattern he was getting very used to at this point. Then, he went back to look at Patton’s message once again. “Why must you always use these infernal things?” he asked the text from his brother. He looked over his shoulder and saw Clara looking up. “Clara,” he said. She flinched at his tone.

“Yes?” she asked hesitantly.

“Are you literate in the emoji text message language?” he asked.

“Um…yes?” she said.

He stood and placed his phone in front of her. “Can you make sense of this message from Patton?” he asked.

“Er,” she said, looking at it with a perplexed expression on her face. “I’m getting… he bought a lot of cheese. Then he kidnapped… or got kidnapped by a baby? He got fast food and then did other things… then got gas and coffee. Um, he says everything’s cool and he loves you.”

“He got kidnapped by a baby?” Logan asked skeptically.

She gave him a helpless shrug. “That’s what he said. He got in his car at the grocery store, but there was a baby with a knife and the baby made him drive.”

“Well, thank you for trying,” Logan said. He took his phone back from her and wandered back over to his desk.

“Okay,” Darlene was saying over the coms. “But why do you even need chair covers for your apartment?”

“To prevent damage and stains,” Fredrick said back.

“You bought them for $20 at a yard sale. They’re already stained.”

“Even more of a reason to make a seat cover for them! It’ll make them cuter, and since I’m sewing them, I can personalize! See look, here’s the pattern I’m using.”

“Fred, I’m driving.”

They continued to chat idly about Fredrick’s latest sewing project. Logan was just content to have an open line of communication with his agents.

They eventually moved on from arguing the merit of chair covers and went on to discussing the pattern and color options. Well, Fredrick at least was discussing it. Darlene had descended into noncommittal hums, ‘yep’s and ‘I can’t look at that because I’m driving’s.

“Do you like this flower design or this flower design better?” Fredrick was asking.

“The first one,” was the answer.

“You didn’t even look!”

“Boss, there’s been an accident on I-26,” Emerson informed him from his desk.

“Where?” Logan asked.

“Around exit 52. The actual accident was only on the east side, but it was a truckload of cows, so it’ll likely affect Fred and Lena’s path.”

“Alright,” Logan said. “Find me the quickest alternative route.” Emerson nodded and turned back to his computer. Logan pushed the talk button. “There is an accident ahead of you,” he informed Fredrick and Darlene. “We will be giving you an alternate route. Stand by.”

“Yes, boss,” Darlene replied.

“Have them take exit 65 and get on Highway 236,” Emerson instructed.

Logan nodded and pressed down the button again. “You’ll want to get off on exit 65,” he told them. “You’ll take 236 until you’re past the accident.”

“Got it,” Darlene replied.

“We just passed mile marker 61 a few seconds ago, so we’ll be there soon,” Fredrick offered.

Darlene and Fredrick exited the interstate without any problems. It was a few minutes later that, with the obnoxious sound of a saxophone, the song titled ‘We Are the Number One Bad Guys’ (which was reportedly a mash-up of a song from a children’s show and a pop song) started blaring from his phone. Usually he’d be annoyed by hearing that sound as Patton and Remus had set it behind his back and he couldn’t figure out how to change it. Today, however, the sound was a relief. He grabbed his phone to look at the text message from Remus.

‘I’m not his keeper’ is what the text said in response to Logan’s many messages asking him if he knew where his brother was.

Logan stared at his phone for a least a whole minute.

“What’s wrong boss?” Clara finally hesitantly asked.

“I,” Logan said calmly. “Love. My. Children.”

“…Uh huh?”

Logan typed back a message he was certain at this point would not get a response, and then he hit the talk button on his desk. “So, Fredrick,” he said. “Tell me more about these chair covers. You mentioned flowers?”

“Uh…” Fredrick’s voice said. “Yes?”

Logan glanced up at the other agents in the room who were all staring intently at the designs in their desks. “Have you considered paisley?”

Logan focused on listening to Fredrick and Darlene’s conversation while the rest of the office focused on not looking at him unless it was to update him on the traffic for Fredrick and Darlene for the next 15 minutes.

“Whoa!” Darlene suddenly said, and Logan could hear the sound of braking through the sensitive listening devices

“What?” Logan pushed the button to ask.

“There were a couple of cars in our lane…” Fredric said.

“Was that a gun shot?” Logan asked when there was a loud pop on the other end.

“Uh… give us a minute boss,” Darlene requested.

He could hear the engines turn after a moment, likely as they accelerated again.

“What’s going on?” Logan asked.

“We’re, in a car chase now, apparently,” Fredrick replied, voice strained.

“Why?” Logan asked.

“I recognized the first car!” Darlene said.

“What do you mean you recognize the car?” Logan asked.

“I… shit!” Darlene said. Logan could hear the sound of tires squealing. A few seconds later there was a huge crash followed by a couple of incredibly loud splashes.

“What’s going on?” Logan asked.

There was cursing on the other end of the line in response and the sound of two doors slamming shut and then running.

“Darlene! Fredrick! What is going on?!”

There were a few more seconds where he could hear the sound of breathing and then the sound cut out halfway through the sound of a splash.

“Fredrick?” Logan said. “Darlene?” He took his finger off the button. “Please tell me we didn’t just lose the signal,” he said to the room at large.

There was silence.

“Please, someone tell me we didn’t just lose the signal to the high-tech spy gear I put on both of my agents.”

After a pause, Emerson finally spoke. “It’s… it’s not waterproof sir.”

“I see,” Logan said, his tone serene. “It isn’t waterproof.” He looked down at his hands settled on the top of his desk next to his useless talk button and the phone that no one seemed to be willing to call or text with anything useful. He turned his hands over, grabbed the bottom of the desk, and flipped the whole thing over. His computer smashed on the ground and the normally well-organized pens and papers scattered across the floor. “Well, why the hell isn’t it waterproof?!”

No one dared to answer his question, and Logan pinched the bridge of his nose, surveying his broken computer and overturned desk for a few minutes.

Eventually, he straightened. “I need to borrow someone’s desk,” he said. Three people scrambled to their feet, but he held up a hand. “I’ll use Darlene’s,” They all scrambled back to their desks, “and send someone after those two!” He strode over to Darlene’s desk and sat at her computer. He pulled up every local news outlet he could find. They needed to find a new starting place, because he honestly didn’t know where to go from here.

He spent an hour trying to piece together what exactly was happening out there with news articles, police scanners, and other information channels. There was an explosion an hour and a half earlier in the city where this all started, and he worried that had something to do with the lack of communication as it was on the road from Nelsen’s base to the city. However, that still left almost 2 hours before that of silence from Roman and Janus unaccounted for. There were also two separate break-ins to the security office of the grocery store down the street from Remington Gates home which Logan imagined somehow was connected, but he couldn’t figure out how. And what did the cows have to do with it? Anything? Everything? What was going on? There was no news about whatever had happened with Fredrick and Darlene and the other team of agents he sent after them were still 20 minutes out from their last known location.

“Uh, boss?” a tentative voice said. Logan looked up at Clara who was standing at the edge of the desk. She flinched at the expression on his face when he looked up.

“Unless a member of my family or Virgil Gates has arrived at this base, I don’t want to hear about it,” he snapped.

“Well…” she replied, “actually…”

Want to read more? Click below!

Part 16

[iamkhange]

Why is Israel a developed country, and why are we still developing?

I am not a very good writer or author. But one day, I sat down to write my thoughts,

Think about it, some irrelevant ideas and questions are starting to get very annoying these days, like:

· Why is Israel a developed country, and why are we growing?

· Why does he have so many resources that he is selling the world and we are just borrowing?

· Are they still a chosen nation, and our share is limited to the "promise of intercession"?

When I started drowning in these and many other questions, I resorted to Google, proving to be very strong.

Many things between the Jewish nation and the Muslims

Like meet

Both are Abrahamic religions

Believe in one God

To worship him

To be cleansed

make ablution

To do charity

Slaughtering and eating animals

Don't eat pork

Circumcision

Believing that jinn are God's creation

Considering Satan disobedient

The act of considering the people of Lot a sin

Don't recognize a relationship without marriage

On the coming of the Messiah before the resurrection

Believing in the reckoning on the Day of Resurrection

Thinking in the same way of being resurrected after death (being made back from the tail bone)

Witt: The practical methods of all these ordinary things are different; for example, they call Allah by another name, the practise of ablution and prayer is different, their Messiah is different, etc.

Now the surprise increased from here that despite so many similarities and similarities, how did they move forward? While here (God forbid), religion has become a chain of feet, the children graduating from our madrassas are seldom integrated into the outside world, and in the modern lifestyle, they are barely visible, any skill anyway. It is not part of our education system that the child is still "reading" (why it is inappropriate for us to teach skills while learning).

We have included religion only in everyday life till the azan at birth and the funeral prayer at death. The rest of it has been left in the niche. The two are not conceived at the same time. Yes, some schools or madrassas are now promoting religious and scientific education together, but on the one hand, their number is like salt in flour; on the other hand, their fees are out of the commoner's pocket. And if the money came in the bag and then the education system of London, Europe and America would look fine, then very few children are getting an education from these modern madrassas.

After madrassas, school and college education is also in an awful condition in our country. An example of our education system is termite infested wood. We memorize it. But the same child cannot write 5 to 10 lines on any subject other than these.

Curriculum and the practical world are two different things; there is no match between them; education is so expensive that if one leaves with a degree, he is worried about "recovering his investment" first.

And after all, the sad thing is that 44.5% of children go to high school; 55 out of every 100 children do not go to school.

Beloved God, the Prophet (peace be upon him), prioritized the gathering of knowledge and education over the meeting of remembrance and supplication that I was sent as a teacher (Ibn Majah).

And more than 25 million children in Pakistan do not go to school ... (These are pre-Corona statistics)

In Israel, schooling is free and compulsory, as well as skills and practical business training, paid for by the school/government, and the dropout is skilled. Yes, and also business, he also bears and collects the cost of his further education. Thus, the country's economy is also strengthened, and the expenditure incurred on the child's teaching also starts coming back.

There was no oil in the house at the Prophet's death, but three swords of personal use were hanging on the wall.

On the occasion of the trench warfare, the Muslims dug a fifteen-mile long trench in fifteen days with stones tied to their stomachs and defended Medina on an empty stomach.

Referring to both incidents, Israel's defense minister bought heavy weapons from the United States in the 1973 Arab-Israeli war, saying that even if it provided the nation with only one loaf of bread for 20 years, the world would see only a winner after the war. Not empty stomach

In 1973, we lost Bengal, and Israel increased some of its territories.

There is no water in Israel, they make seawater usable, grow crops from it, drink it, and now they have become so skilled that they are selling the world, even purified water, to purify it. Plants, crops grown on them, animals raised on them and their milk/meat,

Despite being the most extensive canal system, it is sometimes time to import wheat and sugar (which are among our significant crops) despite being primarily an agricultural country.

The Hour will not come until the Muslims fight the Jews and kill them until the Jews hide behind a rock or a tree.

“O Muslims! This Jew is behind me. Come and kill him, except for the tree of Gharqad, because he is one of the trees of the Jews” (Sahih Muslim).

Despite being the world's technology hub, Israel has grown the most trees in the last 50 years. While the number of trees in the rest of the world is declining, Israel is the only country growing.

He (the Antichrist) will come to the babe Lud in Palestine. Jesus (PBUH) will have descended, and here they will kill him ... Hadith

Today, Israel has a military airport in Lud and has excellent security.

So, sir, the thing is that religion is not a chain of feet, nor does a large population hold anyone back. On the contrary, the most vital factor that hinders progress is mental retardation, the thought of not moving forward.

If our prime minister said that women's clothes cause mischief, he would also give some ugly justification for the crimes committed against older women, boys, girls, dead (dead bodies). But in our country, Islam starts with a woman's clothes and ends with four marriages of a man. There is no rule of training or justice, no control of the self and no control over the eyes. There is no question of passing any verse of knowledge, of discovery,

Well, this is a collective matter, which we all blame the government and its policies and acquit our political party and ourselves, but our role as individuals is no more negligible.

We never try to pick up a loser, but we call him so bad that he loses confidence in his return. To get a chance to hit a woman,

Mobile has become very popular; about 30 million people in Pakistan currently use smartphones, but sadly, the top trends in search are cricket series, cricketers, political scandals, controversial and bold actors, education, health. We have nothing to do with research and knowledge. Thanks to Corona, the only "Google classroom" in terms of education is still in trend in 2020.

The epidemic is also considered a "business season" in our country, and things are expected at 4 to 6 times higher prices, oxygen cylinders are missing from the market, and a simple mask is available at 20 to 25.

Of course, not everyone is like that; many people are doing perfect things, retail shops deliver rations to needy homes, schools give free education to poor children, etc.

But all this is not enough. It is like salt in the flour. For development, we all have to move forward, so whatever you are, whatever your status, think of collective benefits, your neighbor, partner, house. Help, employee, friend, brother, make encouragement a motto in every relationship, encourage them to move forward, ignore their mistakes and shortcomings, guide them according to their talent,

We are a very talented nation, and the world is buying our talent ... Via the same mobile, laptop and computer,

Anyone around you has any talent, provide information to sell on the net, guide them on how they can make money by selling this skill, don't limit the intake to yourself, because stagnant water, no matter how good and abundant it is, rots, it becomes impure, so keep sharing, knowledge, conveniences, sweet words, whatever is available to you,

Believe in everything you can get money need a little research, information, so do not use your mobile phone to wait for the magic by writing five in the comments it is a great power you can use it; ideally, you can earn money from it, you can strengthen your family, your nation ...

Rise and do your part to move beyond Israel and developed countries like this so that our next generation can breathe in a developed Pakistan, do your part to make this country safe because

ہیں ہے ناامید اقبال اپنی کشت ویراں سے

ذرا نم ہو تو یہ مٹی بڑی زرخیز ہے ساقی

Pray for progress

[attackonmyself]

Every Step You Take--TW Victor Oneshot

Originally inspired by the Day 20 Kinktober Prompt: dubcon. Turned into noncon but not kinky.

TW: Explicit description of nonconsensual sex. Character being drugged. Nothing violent, but tread with caution.

Tonight was the night. The night he would have her, once and for all.

He knew everything about her. Her morning routine. The stores she visited to buy her lemon scented shampoo. Her scheduled hours of work, and how often she stayed in the office late into the night, working tirelessly to advance her career. He had eyes on her every second of the day; he knew every move she made the moment she made it. And she had no idea he was watching.

He looked in the mirror in front of him, combing a rogue tuft of hair. Everything had to be perfect, everything would be perfect--

The chandelier, glittering above him in the low light of the room.

He gritted his teeth, looking down at his shaking hand. Now was not the time to be nervous. One wrong move, and all his hard work would be for nothing.

He moved to the closet, picking out a tie to complement the three piece suit he had made just for this occasion. He ran his fingers over the various patterns, giving each a cursory glance until it hit the one he was looking for--

The synthetic taste of fabric softener as he swallowed.

He shook his head, deciding maybe not that one after all. Better to stick with a patternless one. He wouldn’t want to give the wrong impression, after all, and even the smallest details mattered tonight.

He slipped into the suit, fastening buttons, zippers, and the like. A black belt would match best, he determined, and fastened it quickly--

The clinking of his belt buckle below his line of sight.

“Snap out of it,” he commanded. Tonight was about her, not him. Being out of the spotlight was a key part of the plan. He was simply a guest, blending in with all of the other investors and interested parties. He could not stand out in any way. She shouldn’t notice him until the precise second he planned for her to.

He left the bedroom, and calmly descended the stairs to the garage. A click of a button, and the car door opened automatically. He got in, the door shutting behind him. Time to put things in motion for the main event.

The streets moved past in a blur, and soon he arrived at his destination. Goldman was already waiting for him, anxiously looking up from his watch as he trailed behind his boss. “Sir, what took you so long? You were almost late!”

“None of your business,” Victor replied coolly, signing in at the registration kiosk. They entered the building, where many of Loveland’s high society were mingling.

“A drink, sir?” Asked one of the waitstaff, circling around the venue.

An offered drink, manicured nails encircling the base of the glass.

“No, thank you,” he replied, waving her away. Being in full control of his faculties tonight would make the experience even sweeter, and despite his high tolerance, he didn’t want to leave anything to chance.

He scanned the room, looking for an inconspicuous spot in which he could mingle while the guests waited for the presentation to begin. A few acquaintances were nestled in a corner, so he joined them and engaged in idle chatter about golfing trips, the new mayor, and business ventures.

Finally, the lights dimmed off and on, and everyone made their way to the auditorium. He, of course, had chosen a box seat; centrally located, with a soon to be perfect view of her.

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He had waited for this moment for such a long time, and now his waiting would finally be over. Anticipation overtook any residual nervousness, excitement coursing through his veins. He’d finally caught her. She was at his mercy, and he could not wait to see the look on her face when she realized what was about to happen.

The audience applauded as she entered the room. She accepted the recognition with a nod and a wave, then made her way towards the podium. The sound of her heels hitting the stage echoed through the auditorium, and she deftly grabbed the microphone.

“Welcome, everyone!”

She flashed the audience a wide, familiar smile, and that was all it took for the memories to fully pull him under, into the past.

It was a business event, back when he was young and naïve. He was well on his way to becoming the successful powerhouse who now ruled the markets, but still green enough to not recognize that her attention was not of the business kind. He could feel her eyes on him from across the room, but had ignored her in favor of familiar associates. He could no longer avoid her, however, when she came right up to him and offered him a drink. He accepted it, and they exchanged pleasantries, her intense and observant stare present even while face to face making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. She was a powerful connection to have, so he pushed down any uneasiness and continued idle chatter until he suddenly started to feel weak and dizzy. He excused himself into a side room, and was splashing his face with water when he saw her slip into the room in the mirror, locking the door behind her.

“What are you doing?” He asked sluggishly.

In the blink of an eye, she approached him, pushed him back onto the couch, and ripped off his tie. He tried to fight back, but whatever was in the drink she gave him left him completely powerless in her hands, too weak and confused to shove her away.

She smiled widely as she shoved his tie into his mouth. “Just relax, and try to enjoy yourself. You’re mine now.”

A chill ran down his spine at her words. This couldn’t be real. It had to be some sort of prank.

Straddling him roughly, her hands expertly shed his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. She leaned over him, putting her hands on his shoulders, looking him directly in the eye. “Don’t get any ideas about making a scene, ok? No one would believe you. And besides, you have your reputation to think about.” She sat back up, and he heard the soft thud of her skirt hitting the floor. “No one would take you seriously if you made this a big deal. Or tried to, anyways.”

Reality started to kick in. This was happening. A sudden surge of nausea hit him as she began to grind her hips against his. There had to be some way he could get himself out of this. He tried to look around for anything he could use, but he couldn’t muster the energy to turn his head, so the only thing he could see was the chandelier, glittering above him in the low light of the room.

A jolt of pain made him jump slightly; she nipped at his collarbone before tracing the vein in his neck with her lips. He swallowed around the fabric in his mouth, the bitter taste of fabric softener lingering for days after. Her moist breath at his pulse point made him shudder in repulsion. She ran her hands up and down his torso, making him tense up wherever she touched him. He tried to summon up the strength to push her to the ground and gain the advantage, waiting for the right moment to act.

“You’re going to try to give me trouble, aren’t you,” she said, as if reading his mind. “We can’t have that, so just in case…” He heard the rustling of fabric, then felt her lift his arms and bind his wrists together with what felt like the sleeves of his jacket.  

As he struggled to make his muscles move against the fabric, he heard the clink of his belt buckle from beneath his line of sight. It was too late; there was nothing he could do to stop this from happening. As her hands slipped beneath the band of his pants, he could feel his body begin to shut down, mind freezing up and paralysis overtaking his limbs. As her hands wrapped around him and his body betrayed him, his only thought was how he was going to make her pay for this.

She let out a blissful sigh as she slid down to the base, and he flinched internally as she caressed his cheek. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” she said as she began her assault.

He was determined to stay alert and aware; excruciating as it was, he needed to internalize every painful moment to fuel his desire for revenge. He looked her dead in the eyes, trying to convey through a withering look what he could not through his words: he would not let her get away with this. He would make her curse the day she met him if it was the last thing he ever--

“Sir!” A harsh whisper pulled him back into the present. “Sir, are you alright? You look rather sick. Should we leave?” Goldman’s worried expression faded back into view.  

He shook his head, schooling his expression back into a stoic front. He could not control the rapid beating of his heart, however; convinced the danger was still present. He closed his eyes and pressed the tips of his fingers into his palms. “No. I’m fine. This is an important presentation, one I cannot miss.” Goldman sat back into his seat with a final concerned glance. Victor refocused his attention on her, waiting for his plan to play out.

“And with that, let’s look at the data.” She pressed a button on the remote in her hand, and the slides switched.

The lights shut off with a click and the projector went black. Victor sat up in his seat; the moment had finally come. Lines of code flashed across the screen and hushed whispers circled throughout the auditorium as an automated voice began to speak.

Good evening, ladies and gentleman. I know I am quite an unexpected guest, but believe me when I say I am a necessary one. The woman standing before you is not who you believe her to be. She is a liar, and a menace to society.  And I, Key, am here to bring you proof.

Shock spread across the auditorium. Victor looked at the stage, where she was frantically trying to regain control over the presentation. It was futile; she was now at his mercy.

While many medical trials successfully distort their data and get away with it, few minds are clever enough to be able to hack the system and change the numbers completely, especially over a period of close to ten years. But that’s exactly what she has done. It’s hard to trace when done correctly, but there are ways to tell. I took the liberty of personally checking all of her studies for the top selling drugs she has created over the past decade, and every single one had their clinical trial results tampered with. I won’t bore you with the technical details, but you can see for yourself on the live site link displayed on the screen exactly what she did and how she did it.

The projector clicked back on, and began displaying a muted live walkthrough on how to tamper with data at that level, a url displayed at the top. Security was beginning to move towards the stage.

But that’s not the worst crime. No, that would be her deleted side effects data. Not only did she tamper with her results, making her trials more successful than they were in reality, she also hid the data displaying the grossly negative side effects her drugs caused in the early stages of testing. She fixed this by adding painkillers and sedatives to the drugs to stave off some of them--which, by the way, went unreported--but that was only after the death of some of the initial trial subjects, marked down as sudden heart failure or stroke.

The hacker’s voice became lost in the pandemonium erupting in the room. Security had made it to the stage, and had her on her knees, arms behind her back. One of the guards pulled her hanging head up, and Victor managed to lock eyes with her for a split second. Her dull eyes widened in recognition, a hint of fury creeping into them. He let a satisfied smirk play across his lips. While some skeptics wouldn’t believe Key’s words until they had been fact checked by the proper authorities, everything would come back verified, just as the mysterious vigilante had said. Her reputation was ruined; everything she had worked hard for discredited. She would be known as a disgrace in the community. Despite the exposure being credited to Key, the two of them knew who was really behind it all. He had outsmarted her at her own game.

He left the auditorium with the rest of the perplexed guests, his performance not over until he was alone. Goldman bid him a good night at the door to the venue, and he returned to his car, the door closing with a satisfying click. As he sat there, stunned with how thoroughly according to plan everything had gone, a laugh of relief broke through. He had finally won. There would be no more awaking from a flashback induced nightmare and trembling from the knowledge that she was still out there and could get to him again at any moment. He would no longer have to be looking over his shoulder at every fundraiser. He was free. As he turned the key in the ignition, he continued laughing.  He hadn’t felt this relaxed in the five years he spent planning for this night. He felt like he could do anything, having accomplished this so perfectly.

As he stepped through the door of his apartment, he decided it was time to celebrate. He poured himself a glass of brandy, and reclined on the couch looking out at the picturesque skyline. He took a full sip--

The bitter taste of the drug infused champagne.

He spat it out, the brown liquid staining the white couch. He watched it seep into the surrounding fabric, heart racing.

“I’m fine, I’m merely imagining things,” he reassured himself. He prepared the drink himself, from an unopened bottle. There was literally no reason to worry.

He stared at the glass for another long minute, before deciding that perhaps it was too late for a drink tonight. He had work in the morning, and it was already past the typical time he went to bed. He was tired; he needed sleep after the exciting events of the evening. He went through his bedtime routine, and fell asleep soon after his head hit the pillow.

In his dream that night, she was on top of him once more, this time strangling him for what he had done.