#magnolia shares a campus with the

[alicentrasers]

I appreciate all the ones that don't charge, but they can be hard to find

having to pay for parking at a hospital will always be fucking deranged to me. Sorry

[halfagonyandhope]

ignite the stars │ch. 18

first chapter (x); previous chapter (x)

Satine Kryze is an internationally-recognized scholar in genocide studies who recently resigned from the Department of State over her concerns regarding the agency's ethics. Ben Kenobi is a tenured professor at Georgetown University studying the use of religion to justify military conflicts. Once high school sweethearts, the two haven't spoken since parting ways for university. That is, until Satine accepts a research fellowship - at Georgetown.

---

That Friday, it’s unseasonably warm enough that Satine joins Quinlan, Asajj, and Ben outside the Intercultural Center for lunch. The quartet take advantage of the last day of Spring Break - the last day of the absence of students - and sit at the amphitheater-like seating between the Intercultural Center and the Beeck Center. This area is normally packed with students in between classes, breaking for lunch, or cramming in some last-minute studying before an exam. But today, campus is calm, and it’s quiet.

Satine leans her back against the brick wall behind her as she eats.

Quinlan clears his throat. “Buddy of mine in the Georgetown Department of Government says Malek’s office was cleaned out yesterday.”

Satine’s eyes snap up.

“Really,” says Ben.

“Good fucking riddance,” says Asajj. “And now they’re scrambling to get someone to cover his classes the rest of the semester, I presume.”

Quinlan nods. “Yep. My friend was offered a good bonus if he took over one of the classes, and it sounds like others in that department were given the same offer so that the rest of his course load is covered. He’s not coming back.”

Satine sighs. “So where is he off to next?” She looks at Asajj. “It’s his pattern, right?”

Asajj nods. “I’ll see what I can dig up.” Her expression softens. “You know there’s nothing else you can do, right? You tried involving the police. You’ve gone beyond your civic duty.”

Satine’s gaze lands on the magnolia tree next to the Intercultural Center. “I know,” she says, watching the petals flutter in the breeze. “But there’s a part of me that keeps thinking there must be something else. I submitted a report to Georgetown’s Title IX office but heard nothing back. Not that I expected to.” She runs a hand through her hair. “I guessed I’d hoped for better.”

Ben shifts so that his knee brushes hers.

“Malek’s clearly got connections if there’s someone at Title IX covering for him,” says Quinlan. “And those connections are probably pretty high up within the university’s administration.”

Asajj takes a bite of her sandwich. “Quinlan’s right. Whatever threat Malek posed, you shouldn’t assume it’s resolved itself just because he’s been sacked. He was recording your conversations?”

Satine nods.

“Then assume someone is still keeping an eye on you, particularly in the library. If I were you, I’d find a different study spot - at the very least, a different floor of that library.”

Satine feels Ben’s leg tense beside her, and she looks over at him. “What is it?”

He sets his water bottle down without having taken a sip. “Can I have the keys to your office?” he asks suddenly.

She hands him her keys without a second thought. “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head. “Indulge me in my paranoia. It’s probably nothing.”

But he takes the keys, stands, and heads inside the Intercultural Center.

Satine glances from Quinlan to Asajj, who are sharing a concerned look. “What did I just miss?” she asks.

Quinlan meets her gaze. “Kenobi thinks Malek bugged your office. He’s going to sweep it.”

Satine blinks. “Malek was only in there once - ” 

But she cuts herself off.

“He touched my desk,” she whispers in realization. “I thought he was trying to invade my space, trying to make me uncomfortable, but…”

Quinlan rises to his feet. “I’ll tell Kenobi,” he says, and follows after Ben.

Satine sets down her lunch, suddenly hungry no longer.

Asajj leans toward her. “Not to be the bearer of bad news, but if there indeed is a bug, it’s still transmitting to someone. Someone is still interested in you.”

Satine swears. “And I thought academia was toxic before it came to all of this.”

Asajj laughs dryly. “You certainly hit the dark academia jackpot.”

“Lucky me,” says Satine, reaching down to pick up a fallen twig by her ankle and fiddling with it, needing to do something with her hands.

Five minutes later, Ben and Quinlan return. Ben sits a little closer to Satine than he had been previously and hands her back her keys.

“The writing surface of your desk projects out a few inches over the front side of the desk. The bug is under there.”

“Did you remove it?”

He shakes his head. “I wanted to see what you want to do next.”

Satine considers this, still twiddling the twig. Removing and destroying the bug would tip their hand, revealing that she knows she is being surveilled in her office. But keeping the bug in place, letting it continue to transmit…that could be used to her advantage.

Satine nods. “Keep it in place,” she says firmly. “We can tell them what they want to hear.”

Quinlan grins, and he rubs his hands together, clearly gleeful. 

Asajj elbows him in the ribs. “Vos,” she hisses.

“What?” says Quinlan. “This is some good chaotic energy. I’m proud of her.”

Satine can’t help but laugh.

Ben looks at her curiously. “In that case,” he begins. “How opposed would you be if I asked Anakin to look into the bug for us? I swear he would be a war criminal in another life. He might be able to track where it’s transmitting to.”

Satine hesitates, then relents. “You know what?” she says, snapping the twig in two and tossing the pieces down. “I’m tired of waiting for the inevitable. It’s high time I knew more about what these attacks might be so I can prepare for them.” She nods. “Bring him in, and tell him everything. Hell, tell him to tell Padma, too. It’ll save time if I need to use her as an immigration lawyer.”

She looks at Quinlan and Asajj.

“I’m suddenly very eager to take you up on the offer to see more of your lovely home,” she says, and Quinlan’s grin just grows wider.

---

That evening after work, a cold front has rolled in, bringing with it threatening clouds and thunder. As they prepare to lock up their offices, Ben goes in search of Anakin to invite him along.

A few moments later, Anakin skids around the corner, his smile almost too wide for his face. “I have been waiting for an invite to this exclusive club, and no one’s been picking up on my hints,” he says, glaring at Ben, who’s several steps behind him and just rounding the corner of the hallway, coming into view. “I assume I have Satine to thank for finally inviting me along?”

“In a manner of speaking,” says Ben, his tone almost grumpy, but his eyes are amused at Anakin’s obvious excitement.

Quinlan rests a palm on Anakin’s shoulder. “Don’t let this go to your head, grasshopper. You’re still a postdoc.”

“I won’t always be,” says Anakin earnestly.

“No,” agrees Ben, and Satine has to smile at the look of pride on his face. “You won’t be.” He gestures with his head to the stairwell. “Come; the bus leaves in a few minutes.”

The quintet walk quickly to the bus stop, managing to board before the skies let loose. By some miracle, the storm still hasn’t started as they disembark and make their way to the brownstone, and Asajj ushers them all inside.

A few minutes later, Asajj pulls the curtains shut on the bay window while Ben works at the fireplace, arranging logs. Satine puts in an order for Indian delivery, and Anakin calls Padma to let her know he’ll be home later than anticipated. He hangs up and looks at Satine. “Padma wants pictures of you and Ben at the fundraiser,” he says.

“Small price to pay for borrowing a designer shawl,” Satine says. “Seems reasonable. How is she?”

Anakin drops onto the couch. “Working late with Bail. Their immigration reform bill is very ambitious.”

Satine nods. She’s kept tabs on the bill, impressed with its focus on addressing the need for South and Central American residents to leave their countries in the first place: it allocates funding for microgrants to South and Central American laborers in hopes of stabilizing those economies and preventing desperate people from turning to crime. It’s the least America can do, Satine thinks, as the Americans are almost solely responsible for destabilizing those very economies in the first place.

“How does she like her chances of getting it through this year?” Satine asks.

Anakin shrugs. “It’s an uphill battle. Your average American won’t easily be sold on spending American taxpayer dollars on people who aren’t American citizens. It doesn’t matter to Americans that they’ve been benefiting for literally centuries on the exploitation of those communities.” He sighs loudly. “Sometimes I wish I could just swap places with Padma and force everyone in the House to just agree on something - literally anything. Their endless hours of negotiation bore me to tears. But hey, that’s why she’s the politician.”

Quinlan appears from the threshold of the kitchen, arms laden with alcoholic beverages. “I feel like this conversation necessitates being slightly buzzed.”

Satine can’t argue with that, and she reaches for a cider. She looks to Ben, and he points to one of the beers, so she grabs one and twists off the cap with the hem of her blouse, setting the open bottle on the mantle of the fireplace as he begins to strike a match.

His fingers are a little shaky, she notices. A beat later, she remembers the scarring on his left arm, and she moves to stand beside him, taking the match and matchbox from his hands. “May I?” she asks, and his shoulders relax.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, turning to grab the bottle of beer and then to sit in the armchair across from the fireplace. Satine strikes the match once and lights the kindling, and then she sets the matchbox to the side, moving to sit at Ben’s feet, her back against his shins.

“I guess I’ll start from the top,” Satine says. “Anakin, Ben suggested we bring you in because apparently you have some unorthodox methods. And at this point, I think I need unorthodox.” She puts a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “But please don’t tell anyone apart from Padma what I’m about to say.”

And then she begins to speak.

She doesn’t leave the details out, not anymore. She’d tried that - before. And it hadn’t gotten her anywhere, hadn’t made either her or Ben’s predicaments more safe.

So she tells them about her meeting with the Secretary. She tells them about losing her job. She tells them about the threat Malek had made - the whole truth this time, not vague allusions. And she reiterates how Malek had followed her and Ben, how he’d bugged her office, how she wants to know who is listening to the feed now that Malek has left the university.

The one thing she omits is her and Ben’s thought experiment. That is theirs, and she will take it to her grave rather than share it.

When she finishes, Quinlan and Asajj wear twin expressions of horror; Anakin is pacing, his eyes dark. She can’t steel herself yet to turn to look at Ben, but she feels his warmth behind her, steady, constant.

There’s a rumble from outside and then an ear-splitting crack of thunder. A beat later, the sound of rain pelting against the windows commences.

“Damn, Satine,” says Quinlan. “All that and you’re actually making progress on your book, too? Are you even human?”

Satine hasn’t ever really thought of it this way, but now that he has pointed it out, she realizes her progress on her book - and her grant application - have been nothing short of extraordinary given…well, the weight of everything else she’s had on her shoulders.

She thinks back to Ben, in her office, talking to her about the keynote speech she’d been invited to give.

“Satine, that’s why they chose you,” he says quietly. “You are extraordinary.”

She leans back against his legs, starting to believe him.

---

Satine stares at herself in the harsh light of the washroom mirror.

It’s the following Friday evening, the night of the fundraising gala. She’s wearing the midnight blue gown she’d borrowed from Breha and the gold infinity-style shrug borrowed from Padma. Satine shifts the shrug slightly. It hangs loosely off her shoulders, leaving her collarbones on display, and falls down to her elbows. Before she’d put it on, she’d twisted the front half so that the fabric would gather at her breastbone before fanning out to cover her upper arms.

She sighs as she takes in her makeup. She’s not used to wearing so much, so it had taken far longer to get ready than usual. Her first try had been too intense; it had washed her out. So she’d wiped it all away and started anew. She hopes now she’s reached an acceptable compromise between that first attempt and her everyday makeup.

She feels far more confident about her hair. Knowing she’d never be able to get it to hold a curl, she’d opted for a low, loose bun. She’d used about thirty hairpins and more hairspray than she’d care to admit, but she’s satisfied.

Mostly.

The sound of the front door opening startles her, but Ben calls out “It’s me!” and she relaxes. She’d given him a key when he’d returned from Wisconsin. Was it perhaps silly given that she’d be leaving the apartment behind in two months? Perhaps.

But the light in his eyes when she’d pressed the key into his hands had been worth it.

Satine steps out of the washroom. She’s wearing flats - Breha isn’t as tall as she is, and heels would have made the dress appear slightly too short - so she knows she’ll be looking up at Ben all evening. She finds she doesn’t mind this in the slightest.

She steps into the living room.

“Stars above,” Ben murmurs, eyes trained on her.

Satine can’t help but blush as he takes her in. He’s wearing one of her favorite expressions of his: eyes reverent, the devotion evident in his gaze. When she finally manages to tear her own gaze away from his, she hears her breath hitch.

She’s seen him in a tux before, of course. But he’d been a teenager, practically a child. Now, his broad shoulders fill out the coat in ways that positively haunt her, and she has to move her hands behind her back to keep from reaching for the thin, elegant tie against his chest to pull him toward her.

His eyes sparkle, like he knows exactly what she’d been thinking.

“Extraordinary,” he says, and then he steps toward her.

Satine ducks her head. “I could say the same about you.”

He lifts her gaze up with a finger under her chin, and then he brushes his lips to the corner of her jaw so as to not smear her lipstick. Then Ben offers her his arm. “The cab is outside. Ready?”

She nods, and takes his arm.

---

Satine spends at least five minutes after they first walk into Riggs Library - after leaving her shawl at the coat check - admiring the old cast iron stacks. Ben watches her, amused, as she navigates around the larger, circular tables already lined with dinnerware and past the dance floor - where a jazz ensemble is playing a moody tune - to see the shelves up close. It’s cordoned off, of course, so she doesn’t reach out to touch any of the books, but she tosses a grin Ben’s way.

She may hate rubbing shoulders with the ultra-wealthy, but at least the setting is mesmerizing.

She moves back to Ben. “Can you take some pictures of the library?” she says. “You brought your phone, right?”

He nods, slipping his hand inside his suit jacket, and she returns to admiring the architecture, realizing belatedly that he’s aiming his phone more at her than at the bookcases.

She sends him a look, and he chuckles, slipping the phone back into his suit coat.

“Should we mingle?” he asks.

“We should,” Satine agrees. “Though I’d prefer not to,” she adds under her breath.

He seems to be of the same opinion. “It’d be much more interesting if Ventress and Quinlan were going to be here. Or Anakin.”

“Padma’s got her own fundraising to do tonight,” says Satine. “And his priority will always be her over this department.”

“I don’t blame him in the slightest for prioritizing family,” Ben says. “By the way,” he murmurs, “Anakin’s still working on the - ” 

He casts his eyes around to ensure no one is close enough to overhear them.

“ - the journal article you sent him,” Ben finishes.

Satine snickers into her hand. “Is that what we’re calling it now?” she whispers near his ear.

He takes her hand and leads her toward where most of the department is talking amongst themselves, eating hors d'oeuvres and drinking champagne off to the side of the dance floor at smaller yet taller tables meant for standing conversations.

“Dr. Kenobi,” says a deep voice suddenly, and Ben turns to find Dooku Serenno extending him a hand. Ben grips the man’s hand, and Serenno proffers his hand to Satine. “And Dr. Kryze. I trust Ben has been helping you orient to our department satisfactorily?”

Satine nods, stepping up to the table. “Of course. It’s been an easy transition; I’ve felt very welcomed.”

Serenno nods to his companion, a dark-haired white man who Satine does not recognize. “This is my good friend, Len Sifo-Dyas.” 

Satine holds the man’s gaze. Though she doesn’t recognize the face, she recognizes the name. Sifo-Dyas is known for his knack of prescient start-up companies, which he builds before demand explodes for a particular niche product or service. Once that occurs, he sells his businesses, often for unthinkable profit margins.

“Sifo, this is Satine Kryze and Ben Kenobi. The latter is my favorite student’s favorite student.”

Satine glances at Ben, whose neutral expression gives little away at the mention of his late advisor. They both shake the hand of Sifo-Dyas.

“A pleasure to meet you,” says Sifo-Dyas.

“Likewise,” says Satine.

Serenno cuts in. “If you haven’t heard of Dr. Kryze, Sifo, that will change by September. She’s giving the keynote address at the Conference on the Prevention of Genocide in Paris this fall.” He holds Satine’s gaze as he says, “If the speech goes well, we’ll have to find a way to keep her around. She could potentially be an asset to this department.”

Satine leans against Ben slightly.

Serenno has just said the words she’s been practically wishing for since she arrived on campus months ago.

So why does his statement also feel like a threat?

Satine mentally shakes herself. It must be the PTSD talking, she thinks. Calm down. Not everything is a threat.

Sifo-Dyas nods at Serenno’s words. “I’ll watch your career with great interest, then, Satine Kryze.”

But before Satine can respond, Sifo-Dyas and Serenno have slipped away to chat with - by the looks of it - another multi-millionaire.

Satine shoots Ben a look, but his expression is unreadable as he watches the men leave. 

“I can’t tell if I’m supposed to be more hopeful or less after that conversation,” she whispers.

“Both,” says Ben. “Academics are the cousins of politicians. I would take everything Serenno says with a grain of salt - or better yet, a handful of salt.” He clears his throat. “Time to get a drink,” he says, hand closing around Satine’s, and Satine falls into step with him as he makes his way to the bar.

They each grab a glass of champagne and sip at it slowly. Satine turns to him. “So, he’s your academic grandfather?”

Ben nods. Then he says, “Quigon never told me I was his favorite student. I wonder why he told Serenno that.” He pauses. “Or was Serenno just lying?”

Satine loops her arm through his. “He doesn’t have anything to gain by lying about that,” she points out. “Just take the compliment, Ben,” she adds, her tone soft. But he still looks conflicted, so Satine changes the subject. “Can you introduce me to the rest of your academic family? It’s not often everyone is in one place and there’s proper time to talk.”

Ben nods. “Let’s start with Mace and his wife KinShan,” he says, leading her forward, and Satine follows willingly.

---

They do some more mingling, but after supper both Satine and Ben recognize the draining of their social batteries, and together they move to the dance floor, where they spend the rest of the night swaying in sync to somber jazz music. Eventually, Ben spots that Satine is favoring one foot over the other, and he suggests they take their leave.

“As comfortable as you claim those flats might be, they lack sufficient arches,” he notes as they flag down their taxi.

“You just wanted an excuse to leave,” she shoots back, and he grins at her as they open the door to the cab.

“Both can be true.”

A few minutes later, the taxi pulls up to let them off at her condo, and after paying and thanking the driver, they walk up the steps to her door. Satine lets them in and closes the door behind them with a relieved sigh.

Ben turns on one lamp and leads her to sit on the ottoman in front of the couch, kneeling to take off her shoes and tossing them by the door. He massages her feet, and Satine moans softly.

He holds her gaze, pausing. Then he asks, his tone curious, “Do you trust me?”

Satine nods without having to think about it.

Ben rocks forward slightly, unbuttoning his suit jacket with one hand, his hands then coming to rest on her hips. “Breathe in deeply,” he says, and Satine tries to obey. “Better,” he says encouragingly, and his hands move lower to rest on her knees. He lets her become used to the sensation for a moment before he says, “Trust me, Satine,” and then he pushes one of her knees to the side.

She sucks in a breath.

“You okay?” asks Ben.

Satine nods tersely.

Ben’s eyes leave hers, moving to her ankles. He feathers light touches to the inside of her calf, underneath her dress, and then his hand disappears beneath the fabric to move up to her lower thigh.

As she tenses, Ben whispers, “Relax,” and she tries to, desperately. “Take another deep breath,” commands Ben, so she does.

When she releases the breath, he pushes the flowing fabric of her dress out of the way, bunching it up at her hips. Satine grips the cushion of the ottoman, her knuckles turning white.

Ben leans toward her center, turning at the last moment to rest his lips a fraction of an inch from the skin of her thigh. “Is this okay?” he asks, and at her nod, he presses a kiss, and then another, to her skin.

She shivers.

Taking this as approval, Ben’s hands continue their journey up, up, encountering her undergarment. He loops a finger underneath the fabric at her hip, eyes now on her own, and when she nods, he pulls down. She raises her hips slightly to assist him, and he slides the fabric down her thighs, past her knees, and then tosses it to the floor, simultaneously pushing the skirt of her gown further up, freeing her legs.

“Still okay?” he asks, and he’s not meeting her eyes. He’s become distracted by her heavy breathing, the way her chest is rising and falling.

“Yes,” murmurs Satine, and her voice brings him back.

Ben smiles and leans in again, pushing both her thighs apart this time so that the outsides of her knees rest against the ottoman. He begins to kiss one thigh, nipping and sucking, and he chuckles when she moans again.

“If I were to die right here, I would die a content man,” he says, and she’s immediately soaking.

Of course, he notices.

“You like when I talk to you?” he says, the words against her thigh, dangerously close to her center. “I mean, I know you said you did, but…you really like it.”

Satine lifts a hand to run her fingers through his hair. “Mmmm,” she hums in agreement.

She feels him smile, and she can’t keep herself from pulling his hair.

He switches his attention to her other thigh, dragging his teeth and biting, just enough that she suspects she’ll be marked tomorrow. “A pity I couldn’t have recorded that. What great fodder to have against you: that you enjoy when I speak.”

Satine closes her eyes. “Yes, well, that mouth of yours is proving to be particularly - ” 

His tongue meets her center, and the sound she makes is somewhere between a strangled moan and a breathy sigh. She throws a hand behind her to brace herself, to keep from falling back.

“Particularly what, darling?”

She opens her eyes to glare at him.

“Gifted,” she finishes.

He grins and dives in once more. He circles her opening with his tongue, breathing hot air to heighten her sensitivity, and his hands tighten their grip on her hips. Satine moves her hand from his hair to the back of his head, holding him to her.

He licks her clit, and she sighs.

He hums against her in response. “That sound alone - your sigh - is the most intoxicating thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Good thing you now know how to elicit it whenever you so desire.”

“Yes,” he concurs, swirling his tongue around her clit again, and this time the sounds she makes are amplified. “And it just so happens that I desire to hear it often.”

She didn’t know it was possible to be this aroused.

He works her for what feels like an eternity - or perhaps it’s only a few moments - talking to her all the while, until eventually he says, “You’re close, aren’t you?”

Her hand tightens on his hair in response.

“Can you cum for me, Satine? When I say the word?”

She shivers at the precipice, and his tongue darts out again.

“Now, darling.”

And she obeys.

She hadn’t expected to be able to, and the intensity of her climax surprises her. He continues to lap at her wetness as she rides the wave, shaking against him. As she comes down, still fluttering around his tongue, she says, “Well, since you asked so nicely.” And her fingers massage his scalp in thanks.

He grins again. “Oh, we’re not done, yet, my dear,” he says, and he pulls back slightly, his hands moving up her body. He pulls the golden shrug from her shoulders and places it gently to the side. “Lean back,” he says, and she holds his gaze. “I’ve got you.”

So she lets him lay her down, hips still on the ottoman, her back and shoulders now resting atop the seat cushion of the couch behind it.

Ben sits again between her legs, this time looping his arms underneath and around the outside of her thighs. One hand curls around her leg, and the other reaches for her chest, coming to rest against her breast.

“Dear god,” whispers Satine as he begins to palm her through the gown, and his lips find her center again.

“Still good, I assume?” he says against her, and all she can do is nod.

She’s already sensitive from her first orgasm, but he shows her no mercy as he laps at her core. When he devotes his attention entirely to her clit, she gasps, tensing. She’s incoherent now, and somehow he’s still building her up, lifting her. His hand pulls the neckline of her gown down - only a fraction of an inch, but the line of the gown had already been so low that the skin of her breast is now exposed to the cool air.

“What do you need?” he whispers, and his beard scratches against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.

The word is somewhere, floating around her, but she can’t quite seem to grasp it. She arches, trying to get closer to him, practically squirming beneath him. “I can’t - ” she pants. “I need to - ”

“Softer?” supplies Ben. “More? Less?” He watches her face with each word. “Harder?”

When her eyes flash up to meet his, she sees his face light up. 

“Harder,” he confirms, and he licks two of his fingers, bringing them to her clit and pressing.

Satine’s hand pulls his from her breast, and together they twine their fingers.

And suddenly she’s over the edge again, arching and tensing and legs shaking. He helps her ride him through it, amplifying her orgasm, extending it, with his lips on her clit.

She collapses, panting. Then she grabs a fistful of the throw blanket from the back of the couch and uses it to gently wipe Ben’s lips, his beard, and he grins. He reaches for her immediately as he stands and pulls her up. Satine turns, still breathing heavily, and shows him the zipper on her dress. He helps remove the gown, placing it softly in the armchair across the room, before grabbing the throw blanket and wrapping it around her shoulders.

“You are breathtaking,” he whispers, pushing strands of her hair away from her face.

“So are you, in a manner of speaking,” says Satine, and she grabs one of his hands so that she can place it on her chest, still rapidly rising and falling from her exertion. She’s flush against him, which does nothing to help her breathing slow. Nor does the obvious sign of his arousal. She slips a hand between them, but he stops her.

“It’s enough for me just to make you feel good,” Ben tells her. “Just to help you. Just to get to watch you.”

He pulls her hand away.

“That was another big moment for us,” he says. “I don’t want you to worry about anything else right now.”

It feels wrong to her to not continue, but Ben doesn’t seem particularly concerned.

“We have time. Later.”

So she lets him lead her up the stairs, toward bed - and rest.

[magnolia-rhodes]

– character inspiration: serena van der woodsen (gossip girl), elle woods (legally blonde), emma woodhouse (emma by jane austen), kitty scherbatsky (anna karenina), karen smith (mean girls), meg thrombey (knives out), amy march (little women), madicken (madicken by astrid lindgren), daphne (scooby doo), anneliese (barbie as the princess and the pauper), sansa stark (asoiaf), rachel green (friends), rory gilmore (gilmore girls), trina vega (victorious), phoebe borehall-blaxworth (you)

{ SABRINA CARPENTER, 19, CISWOMAN, SHE/HER } Is that MAGNOLIA ‘LOLA’ RHODES? A FRESHMAN originally from CHARLESTON, SC, they decided to come to Ogden College to study CLASSICS. They’re the SPOILED SWEET on campus, but even they could get blamed for Greer’s disappearance.

the basics.

full name: magnolia faye rhodes nickname: lola, mags, lia birthdate: 2 july 2003 birth place: charleston, sc big six: cancer sun, leo moon, sag rising, gemini venus, cancer mercury, pisces mars gender: ciswoman orentiation: bisexual

the context. 

parents: george rhodes ( managing director for a hedge fund 🤢 ) & athena rhodes ( née dowell,  stay-at-home-mum ) siblings: fox (28), aspen (26), dahlia (25), heather (23) & bluebell rhodes (22) 

lola began her existence as a happy accident. after the birth of their fifth child, george and athena rhodes had decided to throw in the proverbial towel. five kids were more than enough, thank you very much. one more and they’d have to start travelling in two different cars. and yet, for all their rationalising and self-affirming nods that served to underline five as the magic number, there it was. that bright red plus, almost staring back at them. turns out it hadn’t been that magic after all.

george and athena had met during their college days, the sort of relationship where the sparks are instant and unquestionable. and perhaps the initial zing of puppy love had faded with time, or perhaps it had grown with them, but the love remained all the same. unconditional, unwavering, undeniable. and as the family grew, so did the love. morphed and changed and made place for the rest of them. 

she grew out without a want in the world - love, opportunities, material goods, attention. the sort of doting upbringing that, while well-intended, makes monsters of teenagers. the sort of upbringing that is sorely lacking in boundaries. in learning to be challenged. the sort of environment that never teaches a child about the realities of being rejected. as a result, magnolia has managed to float through life without ever coming into contact with real conflict - loving home, straight into the popular crowd at school. which means she’s made it all the way to college with absolutely no life experience. 

the person.

+ soft-hearted, effervescent, engaging, free-spirited, magnetic - self-centred, ditzy, inconsiderate, gullible, indecisive, passive primary trope: spoiled sweet secondary tropes: it’s all about me, princess classic, sheep in sheep’s clothing, dumb blonde, nice girl, horrible judge of character,  secret-keeper, in love with love, never my fault, team mum, upper-class twit

there’s maybe something about the way she looks, or the way she carries herself, that makes you think she’s a bitch. maybe it’s the meticulously done nails, the perfectly coordinated outfits, the tendency to travel in a pack with other girls. she’s the archetypal mean girl, right down to the blonde blow-out. only, there’s one crucial component missing: she’s not that mean. and does it not make some sort of strange sense, for a child who was so fervently showered in love and affection to have an abundance to share in return?

she’s a bubbly, social thing – always in conversation with someone, always looking for ways to connect. more than anything, she’s well-intentioned. the type to offer a shoulder to cry on or a helping hand. to remember your birthday. to notice the little things. to go to extreme lengths to make you feel seen. 

having lived a somewhat socially sheltered existence, there is a quite noticeable disconnect with the way she relates to others. it’s not intentional, but she has a habit of putting her foot in it without noticing. saying the wrong thing, not considering the implications her actions may have on others. and because the idea that she means well is so deeply encoded in the way she sees herself, she has a genuinely hard time recognising when she’s in the wrong. 

on top of that, she’s incredibly conflict averse. meaning she may pay lip service to whoever she’s speaking to, just to stay on their good side. without really noticing that that’s what she’s doing. 

[atlantaartisticweddings]

Atlanta Wedding Photographers capture Beautiful Day at Historic Wedding Venue

This week’s Atlanta wedding photography blog is Jessie and Matt.  They had been planning their wedding for over a year.  Jessie and Matt are great planners and so the big day went smoothly.

The wedding venue is Wild Flower 301 in Greensboro, Georgia.  The historic venue was built on property purchased by the University of Georgia in 1803 in the hopes of making it a UGA campus, however the towns folk had other ideas and the property was sold to a mill owner who built the southern mansion that is there today.  The 5,000 sq. foot estate sits on 2 acres of English style gardens offering on-site accommodations, alongside an additional 7,000 sq. foot wedding venue includes bourbon gardens, first look platform, a private 2 story Newlywed’s Cottage, and Magnolia Terrace. This makes for an ideal backdrop for wedding photos.

I arrived early to survey the property since I had never been there before.  The wedding planner was there and gave me a brief tour of the Wild Flower Estate.  

Tara, the second photographer, arrived and started working with the ladies. They were getting their makeup done by Bombshell Creations upstairs in the main house.   I started on the detail shots of the flowers from Best Life Designs, the in house florist at Wild Flower.  Also at the same time the Dj from Dj Connection was setting up for the ceremony and reception.

Once Jessie was ready I got Matt and got him ready for the first look in the garden on the right of the house.  I oriented him so he would be facing away from the front entrance.  Matt anxiously stood there while Jessie came to meet him for the first time in her wedding dress. She lightly tapped him on the shoulder and turned around.  He was in awe of his beautiful bride.  They then shared letters that they had written each other for the wedding day.  Once they composed themselves we started on the other photos.  

We did a few posed photos with individuals and family.  One of the photos the couple shared with me had a bottle of champagne in it so I brought a bottle of champagne for a fun group photo.  I took the group to the ceremony area and gave the bottle to Matt then told everyone to line up behind him.  He opened the bottle of champagne and shook it, spraying the champagne at the camera.  It was a joyous start to a wonderful day.

When we finished the bridal party went inside the mansion and the guests started to arrive.  They entered through the side garden entrance by the road.  They were greeted with a polaroid camera to take photos with and some cool drinks to take with them to the ceremony area.  Once everyone was in place the bridal party lined up and entered.  Then Jessie’s father escorted her down to Matt who was already on the stage next to Jessie’s brother who performed the ceremony.  It was very sweet with vows written by the couple. Within a few minutes they were pronounced husband and wife.

Everyone went to the reception hall, located in front of the mansion.  Inside there was Melissa Munger a wedding artist who paints your wedding the day that it happens.  Everyone strolled around her canvas and was impressed with the work of art that captured the couple.

While the guests were in the reception area the bride and groom went to the Bourbon Garden.  In the garden Jessie and Matt buried a bottle of bourbon a year before when they visited the venue.  Burying a bottle of bourbon at your wedding location is a southern tradition that is supposed to bring you good luck and great weather on your wedding day.  I must say that they could not have had better weather on the day of their wedding.  They recovered the bottle of bourbon and took a toast to celebrate.

The reception was unique just like the couple.  They had doughnuts and baklava for the dessert table.  For their first dance Jessie changed to a fun spring outfit with custom bridal Air Jordans.  Friends and family celebrated their love by dancing and toasting to the newlyweds.  It was a beautiful ending to a beautiful day.

Thanks for checking out this Atlanta wedding photographers blog! I hope you enjoyed the read and found it interesting! Make sure you keep coming back to our blog to see what the Atlanta wedding photographers at Atlanta Artistic Weddings get up to! If you’d like to contact me go to the contact page and drop me a line at https://www.atlantaartisticweddings.com/contact-atlanta-wedding-photographer. I would love to hear from you!

Thanks again!

Source: https://www.atlantaartisticweddings.com/

Source: https://www.atlantaartisticweddings.com/

[kiyoomeii]

strawberry shortcake / f!reader x l lawliet / wc: 1.5k

lake scene, knee deep in the stars / this simple season is all ours, yeah / “simple season” by hippo campus

a/n: for the past four days i’ve only been thinking about soft!l lawliet and how much i want to lay in his lap someone pls pay my bail from simp jail  also! ayy first one shot ig??

cw: the use of the word ‘shit’ three times, kissing, very self indulgent, no editing just grammarly lol

Today will be one of the few times you two have gone out together since L is meticulous about keeping his identity private, and you’re grateful for the change of scenery. Instead of being cooped up in his hotel of the week, you’re out wandering a botanical garden in Tokyo. Of course, Watari made all the arrangements for the park to be conveniently closed to the public that day, but still, it’s the thought that counts.

In your left hand is a wicker basket filled with food, and your right pinky looped around L’s left pinky. As you walk through the garden, the fresh smell of flowers fills your noses and the sunshine filters through the cumulus clouds, causing droplets of sweat to collect on your back.

With anyone else, such extended periods of silence would be uncomfortable, but with L, it feels like home.

You feel a tug of resistance on your pinky and turn back to see L engrossed in a flowering tree. “What’s that?” You join him in inspecting the tree, clutching his dangling arm tight to yours and resting your head on his hunched shoulders.

“It’s a Magnolia Stellata, or Star Magnolia. I’m surprised they’re still in bloom right now.” L makes no effort to explain himself, instead opting to put a finger to his lip.

“Because…?” With your head still on his shoulder, you look up at him expectantly. He often makes statements like that without explaining himself since he assumes that everyone else knows what he’s talking about. It used to bother you when you first met, but you’ve learned that it’s just because his mind is moving a hundred miles a minute. Now, you just ask him to elaborate, and it surprisingly doesn’t bother him. When other people ask him questions that he thinks are blatantly obvious, he grows annoyed but masks it in his voice by scrunching the toes of his left foot. But with you, he never does that. Instead, he’s patient and kind. You can see it in his eyes.

“Because they are particularly susceptible to frost damage and we had a handful of very cold days this March,” he answers coolly. Where he stores this knowledge about flowers native to Tokyo despite him being from England, you will never know, but you’re thankful for the information regardless.

“Oh, I see. Thank you," you sigh. Together, you stand marveling at the light pink flowers and feeling the breeze on your backs, which causes L’s hair to sweep over your face. He quickly brushes it away for you with his free hand.

“And don’t worry, y/n, it’s not wilting; the petals are just wavy like that.” He gently tugs his arm away from you to signal that he’d like to move on, and once you release him, he takes your hand in his and leads you through the garden.

It has taken L a while to become comfortable with you enough to initiate contact first, but you’re glad that he can now. When you first began dating, things were uncomfortably stiff. You have the habit of word vomiting any time there’s too long of a pause, and L has a habit of withdrawing into his thoughts, so the first few months of dating was just a lot of you oversharing and him just listening.

You didn’t actually think he was paying attention until one day you mentioned how as a child you carried around a stuffed animal, which you affectionately named Ollie the Otter, and lost it on holiday in the US with your family. Within just three days, he bought you the exact same version of your beloved childhood stuffie. You had long since grown out of your stuffed animal phase but were touched nonetheless that he put in the effort to find you the toy, proving that he cares about you in his own way.

Ollie Jr. now sits on L's bed, always tucked under his comforter as if it’s sleeping. Sometimes, though, when L is up late at night doing work, he will wedge the otter between his knees that are pulled up to his chest and rest his chin on it so that he can smell the traces of your perfume on it. He would never admit to it, but you’ve silently watched him work many times before to know that it wasn’t just a one-time occasion.

“Would you like to stop here, y/n?” L gestures to a patch of manicured grass under the shade of a cherry blossom tree.

“Sure. Will you help me lay out the blanket?” You untangle your fingers from him to open the picnic basket you have been carrying. Truthfully, you were relieved that he wanted to stop because the basket had become increasingly heavier throughout your walk. L nods and waits for you to give him an edge of the beige checkered linen blanket so that you can place it down on the grass. As soon as it’s laid out, L splays himself out on it and watches you unpack the food.

His mouth is nearly frothing at the sweets that you place at the edge of the blanket. “I know, I brought your favorite: strawberry shortcake,” you pause to look back at him with his mouth slightly agape. “But you gotta wait until everything’s ready.” Suddenly aware of himself,  L obediently closes his mouth.

At last, you sit across from L with a plate for you to share. L’s eyes grow wide as he reaches for a piece of cake until you swat it away. “Hey,” you coo in a sing-songy voice, “not so fast….” You take the fork out of his hand and cut off a small piece of cake as you feel L’s jet black eyes intensely study your movements. Silently, you lift the fork up towards L’s mouth. “Open,” you say sweetly, waiting for him to comply, which he does quickly. With a smile, you gently feed the cake to L and watch as he closes his eyes in bliss.

One part of L is telling him to be alarmed at the obvious loss of control he’s experiencing, but the other is telling him to relax and allow you to take control of the situation. As he quickly calculates the outcomes of each choice, he realizes that you’ll probably get your way anyway and that it’s no use to object. “’S it good, L?” He opens his eyes to see you watching him intently and nods. “Good, I’m glad. Now gimme a bite, will you?” A sly smile spreads across your face as you pass the other fork to him and wait for him to give you a piece.

The two of you pass some time taking bites of cake, feeding each other strawberries, and talking about random things—from the way L doesn’t like the way the grass pokes his skin to how you’re excited to finally be done with university in a few weeks. Finally, you lie down beside him and situate your head on his chest while his lean fingers languidly massage your scalp. Your breathing quickly syncs together and your chests rise and fall like waves lapping the shore.

“I’m glad we got to go out today. Thank you, y/n.” L picks up your hand resting on your belly and gives it a quick kiss. L had been working on a particularly difficult case for the past few months, which had just wrapped up, so the two of you hadn’t been able to see each other much lately.

“You’re welcome,” you rolled over onto your stomach to face L. “And thank you too. I know how hard it is for you to go into public, but I’m glad to know that you’d do it for me.” You watch as a quick smile paints L’s face, and at that moment, you feel your heart bursting with affection towards him.

“Of course I would, y/n, and I’d do it again, too.” His normally ivory-colored face flushed with color, causing him to turn away from you out of embarrassment.

“L?” He senses you staring at him and slowly meets your gaze again.

“Yes?” His onyx eyes catch yours.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” he replies, not skipping a beat. You smile as you pepper a few kisses on his jawline towards his lips and when finally your lips meet, he presses into you more firmly than you expected. His technique is a little sloppy, but you know he’s trying. When he’s like this, trying to show you his affection instead of explaining it, he’s like a puppy who wants your attention, and who are you to refuse?

“L, I—" you say in between passionate kisses, “love you.” He immediately pulls away from you to study your facial expression. Oh shit oh shit oh shit maybe this wasn’t a good time I shouldn’t have—

“I love you, too.” He responds quickly, pulling you into another series of needy kisses.

With the whole park empty, you don’t have to hide your affection for each other, and oh, how you wish it could be like this all the time.

[eryiss]

Summary: Moving into college can be difficult, but for the newest occupants of The Raijinshuu Building, it's a particular struggle. After all, a disenchanted musician taking an engineering degree, a wannabe influencer at college for the aesthetic, a pretentious academic who secludes himself in his room, and a party boy looking for a good time aren't an obvious group of friends. Not without a nudge, anyway.

Notes: Hey All. This is an idea I've had for a while, where I write a few interconnected one-shots set in the same AU. Most of the one shots will be set around the holidays, but this is intended to set it up. The next one-shot in this series will be posted on Halloween, so I hope you all look forward to it.

Links: FFN, Ao3, Masterpost

The Day It Began

Morning

Laxus allowed his backpack to fall to the floor, and sighed.

The room was as small as they had been over the past two years. A single bed that would barely support him, a tiny wardrobe that looked as old as the crappy building it was housed in, and a desk that looked like it would tumble over with the smallest of pressure. A crappy dorm room for a crappy college, but Laxus didn't care. This was his final year, and he just had to get through it and he could be done.

His suitcase was resting beside the wardrobe, but he didn't pay it any mind; he could unpack it later. Makarov was in the communal kitchen, putting away his plates, mugs and everything else he'd packed that Laxus would ignore in favour of takeout. He took the moment of peace to look around, shoulders slumping.

As annoying as it was, he felt maudlin.

Magnolia University was hardly a reputable place, ranking solidly in the middle of the league tables with nothing of note other than it's sports teams. It was a completely average place to end up, and Laxus was a completely average man.

Maybe he felt like this because he had always been told he would do great things. He'd been an intelligent kid, both creatively and academically, and there had even been talk about him maybe trying out for a sports scholarship. That was all before his father's breakdown, and subsequent imprisonment. That had sent Laxus on a downward spiral of self destruction, where his grades plummeted, his passions died, and his prospects fell off a cliff. Suddenly the Ivy League colleges had dropped his ass like he never existed, and all he had left was the average college of average people.

So, he wasn't happy to be back. Sure, he had more independence while on campus. Living in a small apartment in New York with your grandfather wasn't ideal, not for a twenty-one year old man wanting to get out into life, but at least when he was home he had someone to talk to. Someone to bitch with and watch crappy TV with.

If he looked, maybe he could find someone like that at college. But two years had gone by already, and it hadn't happened yet, so he wasn't holding out hope.

"One year," He whispered to himself, a promise that this would end.

He'd start living in one year. He'd have his degree, have the qualifications, and he'd find work. He'd move out of his grandfather's little apartment into a space of his own, start to earn his way through life, and this would be a distant memory. Of course, even in his fantasy, he was swapping one cramped and underfurnished box to live in with another. And yes, the life of a mechanical engineer was hardly one of excitement or luxury, but it would still be something. Men his age had to move on with their lives, so that's what he was going to do. College was just a stepping stone to that.

If nothing else, he could console himself with the fact he wasn't a first year still. They were all either idiots who thought they would storm through college and were about to be humbled to hell and back, or scared idiots who didn't know how to wash their sheets or cook a meal.

They were also the people he shared a dorm with.

Idiots that they were, Magnolia University expected students to find their own accommodation by the third year. They didn't take into account that Magnolia was an expensive city, and not everyone had friends in their classes they wanted to live with. Laxus had to endure the humiliation of going to their Student Services, explaining that he had no place to live, and being told he was going to have to stay in The Raijinshuu Building with three other first years. Whoop-de-fucking-do!

The Raijinshuu Building was the crappiest dorm building Magnolia University owned. It was overlooked, pushed to the side and seemed to crumble at the slightest thing. But it was cheap, and Laxus needed somewhere to live, so he would deal with it.

"You can sit there grumbling all day," Makarov commented as he walked into Laxus' room again. "It won't make the room any better."

"You got the kitchen set up?" Laxus asked, ignoring Makarov's question and not looking up at him.

"I have," Makarov said, standing in the doorway awkwardly. Laxus still wasn't going to look at him, because the old man was either going to piss him off or be overly emotional and teary. When it was clear Laxus wasn't going to respond, Makarov spoke again. "You know, almost every problem you're complaining about is something you have the power to fix if you put in the effort, don't you?"

Ah. He was going to piss Laxus off. Better than crying, but only barely.

"Really?" Laxus drolled, looking at the floor still. "You wanna tell me how I can make a crappy old building seem like a good place to live?"

"Well you can drop the attitude for one," Makarov scolded, as if Laxus were ten years old. Maybe not having the old bastard living with him would be a good thing. "And you can only make this place better. Put up some posters, get some decorations, buy a scented candle if you have to. It's better than sitting here thinking how angry you are that college isn't what you wanted it to be."

"Sure, some posters and a candle are really gonna-" Laxus cut himself off. He had looked up, and saw something resting against the wall beside Makarov. His guitar. "The hell is that doing here?"

"I didn't want it cluttering the hallway," Makarov lied, shrugging.

"I told you not to bring it," Laxus snapped.

"And I told you you're being ridiculous," Makaroc grunted back. "It's an acoustic guitar and you're a college student. You belong together."

"Fucks sake," Laxus growled. "I fucking said I ain't gonna play it, so why the hell did you bring it?"

The guitar was one of the few things that Laxus hadn't dropped during his rebellious phase. Sure, he'd slightly spiralled into only playing metal and emo songs - which with an acoustic guitar wasn't exactly easy - but the instrument had always been with him. In his first year of college he had taken it with him, hoping to expand his skills and maybe find some like minded people who he could play with. He had played it once, and the guy in the room below him had slammed his hand against the wall and told him to 'knock it the hell off' because 'nobody wants to hear your shitty songs'. That was enough for Laxus, and he hadn't played it since.

Makarov knew all of this, and yet he'd still brought the fucking instrument with him. He'd somehow hidden it in the truck they'd used to drive there, so he clearly knew that the only way he could get it there was through an ambush. Laxus wanted to punch the old fucker for doing it; even looking at the thing reminded him of how shitty a year he had ahead of him.

"They're not the same people," Makarov said in a voice so parental and sinceer that Laxus rolled his eyes. "They won't react the same way. You might even like them."

Laxus scoffed.

"I met one of your roommates in the kitchen, actually. Nice boy, odd hair but I suppose that's the fashion these days," Makarov chuckled, and Laxus wanted to be alone. "Give them a chance, they might surprise you."

Again, Laxus scoffed. That wasn't going to happen.

---

Midday

Evergreen was going to finish this if it killed her.

This was her chance. The next three years of her life were the opportunity to make someone of herself, to finally do what she had wanted to do for years. Her career, her life, and her true-self were all starting today, and this was the first step. And maybe setting up fairy lights around her bed was an unconventional way to change your life and start anew, but Evergreen was an unconventional girl.

Maybe she hadn't come to college for the right reasons. Maybe putting off getting a 'real' job wasn't a good reason to go into debt, but Evergreen knew that she needed time to get where she wanted. Working in some store or in a cubicle in an office would stifle her, and she needed to flourish.

What kind of influencer worked in an office? No kind!

She knew that she could make a success of this; she knew it! It wasn't a pipe dream, because she was already finding success. Her Instagram had over one-hundred-thousand followers, her YouTube channel made her a steady stream of spare cash, and she'd recently been approached by a new athletics wear company who wanted to sponsor her to wear their clothes. This was realistic, possible, and she could do it.

She'd gone to college mainly for the aesthetic, she wasn't shy about admitting that, but she had picked a course that could lead to a career that was more realistic. A college level degree in hair and beauty styling would get her work if she needed it, and it would also help her lean into the beauty guru side of her online persona.

But that wasn't her focus now. She needed to take things step by step.

The building she had been placed in for her first year wasn't the most luxurious, as she had hoped. It didn't lend itself into the Pinterest Millennial Starbucks and Macbooks motif she had wanted, but it had its charms buried deep down. Some soft lighting, maybe some scatter cushions, and the right bedding would make her room homely and darling. Maybe that was better for her brand; minimalism didn't work well with her fairy theme.

For now, the fairy lights would have to do.

She pulled her phone out, picked the right angle and took a selfie. She touched it up a little - mainly to get better lighting, she wasn't going to be one of those women who warped her figure in Photoshop - and then uploaded it to her socials. It took less than a minute for her to get a few like notifications, and it made her smile.

Leaning back on her bed, she allowed herself to relax. She'd been there for three days, and this was the first time she'd taken a break. So far, she'd been balancing the obligations of her college life while keeping her feeds active and her growing fanbase happy. It was a full time job and she was still trying to find the balance between her two obligations.

Never let it be said she wanted to be an influencer because she thought it was an easy life.

As her eyes closed, she heard muffled voices on the other side of the wall. The bedroom next to hers had been empty since she had gotten there, but she had been assured that it would be taken eventually. By the deepness of the voices, the final member of their dorm was also a man. Maybe she should be sad that there were no other girls to live with, but she wasn't. Girls always acted weird around her; she could only guess that they were jealous of her.

She hadn't spent much time with the two other occupants of the rooms, and had only really taken note of their hair.

The green haired man - Freed, she vaguely remembered - was going to be in one of her videos if she had to drag him kicking and screaming. Hair that long and that silky needed to be experimented upon, and a handsome face would be good for the video's thumbnail.

Bickslow, the ridiculously tall and ridiculously weird man who had greeted her with a grin so wide it was off-putting, was an enigma to Evergreen. He seemed harmless enough, if a bit eccentric, but you never could tell. She did know she wanted to completely redo his hair because, frankly, what on earth was the man thinking? Had he lost a bet?

What would the other man look like? Handsome, hopefully. That would be useful.

She had to scold herself for that, the three men she was living with were people, not props for her to use. She did have a habit of getting a little tunnel visioned when it came to something she was passionate about, it was something she could admit to. She would have to introduce herself to the man before the day ended. Now that she had gotten her room to a good state and her socials didn't need to be tended to, she had the time to socialise.

Looking up at the ceiling of her room, where glow in the dark stars had been plastered and lightly glowed, she smiled to herself. This was going to be her year. She was sure of it.

---

Afternoon

Freed pushed open the door to his dorm room building, body tense.

As he walked to the elevator, half-filled coffee cup in hand, he wondered if he should have allowed for such a break. He had scheduled for a maximum of fifteen minutes to get the coffee, which had sounded reasonable given that the coffee shop was on campus and he had a relatively simple order. What he hadn't expected was for the coffee-shop to be as far away from The Raijinshuu building as possible, and for it to be filled with new students and their parents, as it was apparently another moving-in day.

What should have been a quick fifteen minute break had suddenly turned to a fifty minute blotch in his schedule. One that he couldn't afford to take. One that he wished he hadn't indulged in, as he waited for the elevator to reach the ground floor.

The damned thing was ridiculously slow. Everything in this building was crap.

Two days prior his course lecturer for his major had sent out a class-wide email containing the titles of the recommended reading. There had been eight books in total - though the lecturer stated she knew that nobody could read them all in such a short amount of time and that they should focus on the books of particular interest - and Freed had originally intended to try to read three of them. The email, unfortunately, had also been sent to his father's address, and Freed had received a message from the man stating in no uncertain terms that he was going to read them all.

As such, the week before his classes were set to begin, the majority of his time would be spent reading. He could read a book a day, on average, but he couldn't do much of anything else. His father probably wouldn't check that Freed had read everything, but he wouldn't dismiss the possibility of his father reading one of the books at random to quiz Freed on it. Therefore, he needed to read them all.

Though part of him found the whole thing ridiculous. What could his father do? Yell at him over the phone?

The elevator eventually reached his floor, and Freed unlocked the door to his dormroom's kitchen. He walked down the small corridor and halted slightly when he saw an unfamiliar man standing there. Tall, broad shouldered and muscular to the point of ridiculousness (though undeniably pulling it off) and with shockingly blonde hair; the man was stunning. He also must have heard Freed's approach, as he turned around from the door he was locking and looked at Freed with a polite smile.

"Hey," He greeted, voice low and grumbling. "I'm Laxus, just moved in."

"Freed," Freed introduced, smiling with equal politeness. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Yeah, you too," The man, Laxus, agreed.

There was a moment of awkward silence, which Freed would have broken if it weren't for the fact Laxus was partially blocking the door. Their rooms were directly opposite one another, and Laxus was large enough to fill the narrow corridor with his body without trying. Thankfully, Laxus spoke before the silence had stretched out too long.

"You mind me asking where you got that?" Laxus said, nodding towards the coffee cup in Freed's hand. "Need something to drink, haven't gone grocery shopping yet so might as well get something good. Is it close?"

"About twenty minutes away, if you walk," Freed said, trying not to huff at the distance. "It's on campus still, and signposted well enough so you'll be able to find it. Though I should warn you that it was rather busy, so you may wish to find somewhere else."

"Nah, I don't mind the wait, and the walk'll get me used to the place," Laxus shrugged, and rolled his shoulders back in a motion that highlighted his body in a rather tempting way. "Besides, I've not got anything to do, so this'll pass the time."

Freed wished he could feel the same.

But he said nothing, and instead stepped back to allow Laxus to pass him without bumping into one another. Laxus did so, and Freed walked to his dorm room door to unlock it. As he pushed his key in the lock, he saw Laxus turn from the corner of his eye. He looked at the blonde and quirked up an eyebrow in a silent question. Laxus either didn't notice or just refused to take note, because he grinned a little at Freed and spoke again.

"It was nice meetin' ya, Freed," The words were perhaps a little forced. Like he was unused to saying it. "Maybe I'll see you around some time?"

"I suppose that's likely," Freed agreed. They were sharing a kitchen, it was impossible they'd miss one another. "It was nice meeting you too."

Freed then unlocked his door as Laxus walked away. Once in his room, Freed placed his half-drunk, barely warm coffee on the desk and reached for the book. He was taking a film-course, much to his parent's disapproval, and this particular book was about the visual iconography of classic film; not the most interesting aspect of the filmmaking process. But he needed to read it because if his father did find out that he hadn't, then there would no doubt be some kind of tirade prepared for him.

Perhaps the reason his father had become so militant about his course was because he didn't approve of it. If Freed was going to get a degree in the arts - his father had scoffed every time he said it - then he would have to get top of the class and work hard so that he would be the best at something most businessmen might consider to be disreputable.

It was all ridiculous, as far as Freed was concerned, but he could hardly change his father's mind now.

As he began reading again, he reached for his coffee cup and took the occasional sip. He wondered if this was what his college life would consist of, and if that would be all too bad. Though he was resentful of the fact his father, who lived on the other side of the country, managed to dictate him so completely, he didn't dislike reading. And if the work from his classes did start to take over his life, then that wouldn't be too bad. He liked filmmaking in all aspects, and he was willing to put the work in.

And, the people who he was sharing his accommodation with were all nice enough. Evergreen was an odd woman, but pleasant in her self-assurance. Bickslow was a manic and aggressively friendly man, but certainly kind enough. Laxus, though he didn't know him, seemed unobjectionable. Handsome, too.

Anything was better than living with his parents, and this all seemed nice enough. He could handle this. It would be good.

---

Evening

Bickslow was all in when it came to college.

He was a party-boy, unashamedly so, and he was going to live his best life in college if it killed him. He was going to ace his classes, go to every party he could, and make friendships that would last for the rest of his life. He was going to throw himself full throttle into the college experience, and let nothing pass him by. The next three years were going to be the best of his life, and he wouldn't let anything stop that.

Admittedly, that was a working plan. He didn't entirely know how to get that life. He had considered pledging for a frat, but the hazing wasn't streaking across campus or anything fun like he had wanted. Instead, when he'd looked up the frat, he'd found a list of complaints against members. Not something he wanted to get involved in.

But that wouldn't stop him. He'd find other parties. And tonight he was going to have his first.

Yes, it wasn't going to be anything spectacular. There were no kegs involved, no hunky guys being oiled up, and no random fireballs exploding like in the movies. But it was going to be fun. Now his three roommates were all moved in, Bickslow had insisted they all spend the night in the kitchen. He'd ordered pizzas, set up his games systems on the communal TV, brought a few six packs and had gathered enough snacks to fill them up until Thanksgiving. It was going to be a small, but kickass party.

The hardest part had been getting his dorm-mates out of their rooms. Evergreen was the easiest, as the promise of allowing her to do a male contouring tutorial with him had been enough of a bribe. He had no idea what that meant, but apparently it would make him look hot, so who was he to complain.

Laxus, the new guy, was next. He seemed a little guarded at first, and for a moment Bickslow had thought that maybe he might not be able to get the guy involved. It was then that he saw the acoustic guitar resting against Laxus' wardrobe, and he had insisted that Laxus play for them at some point. Laxus hadn't seemed comfortable with that, but when Bickslow insisted he could do a duet with his bongos, Laxus had actually laughed and said he had nothing else to do, so why not?

Freed had been the last person, and the hardest to get involved. The man had been the first person to move into the building, and had been locked away in his room all the time. Bickslow knew it had been a long shot in asking him, and if he was so reclusive he didn't want to be involved Bickslow wasn't going to push it. But Freed's only objection was that he needed to finish the final chapters of one of the books on his recommended reading list. Bickslow might have told a little lie then, claiming that he'd read the book as well and he'd be able to tell Freed everything he needed to know tomorrow, if he wanted. Freed had looked conflicted for a moment, before steeling himself and agreeing that he would join.

So now, they were all sitting on the two sofas in the kitchen, playing a game of Mario Kart where whoever placed lowest had to take a shot of vodka.

They had played five races. Bickslow had come last in four.

But that was exactly what he wanted. Because now all of his new friends - and they were friends, even if they didn't all know it yet - were getting loose, laughing at his drunken state (that he was exaggerating for their entertainment) while fully having fun with the game. It was great.

"You really suck at this," Laxus commented, leaning back in his chair. He, apparently, was something of a master at the game, and had come first every race. He was looking at Bickslow, who had just been knocked off the track by Freed. "It's like you wanna drink."

"I paid for it, might as well," Bickslow shrugged, before cursing as he slipped on a banana peel. Evergreen's exclamation suggested it might have been hers. "Son of a bitch."

"You've nobody to blame but yourself," Evergreen said, as she drove past the finish line coming fifth.

Only Bickslow and Freed, who was as bad as him despite having only had one drink, were left. If Bickslow were being honest, he may have been letting Freed beat him before the alcohol had taken effect; Freed didn't know how to drift his car, when to accelerate, or what the item boxes did, so clearly he hadn't played the game before. It would kind of be a dick move to drag the guy out of his room, get him to play a game he didn't know then plow him with vodka for losing. Now, four shots down, he was still on equal footing with the man.

Bickslow, who was sitting on the same sofa as Freed, found himself grinning when one of his red shells hit Freed's car. Freed, despite looking all prim-and-proper on the surface, knew how to curse like a motherfucker, even if he was doing it under his breath. Bickslow had never been called a 'dick-wanking faccist.'

Freed, after an accident with a computer driven Princess Peach, came dead last and accepted his shot with grace. Bickslow decided that, given how Freed was so bad at the game when sober, that it would be a slippery slope to alcohol poisoning if they kept this up. He switched the game to one of the Jackbox collections that he'd brought a few months ago, and insisted that they start eating the pizza that he'd ordered.

He also noticed that, as Freed walked to the table, Laxus took a long and self indulgent look at Freed's ass. When he noticed Bickslow's grinning face, he paused.

"Same," Was all Bickslow said; Freed did have a sweet looking ass. They all did. They were a hot-ass foursome.

That seemed to amuse Laxus, as he raised a can of beer in salute. It was nice to see how the guarded version of Laxus was quickly slipping away, even if it was just to share an inside joke with a drunk guy while checking out a cute guy who sucked at Mario Kart. Bickslow couldn't help but feel a little proud of himself for getting them all to do this. It felt like they very easily could have been four people who never spoke to each other and spent all their time locked away in their rooms.

"Hey," Bickslow said, a little drunkenly as he shot himself up. "Ever, you're a social media star, ain't ya?"

"Star is a little preemptive-" Evergreen began, but Bickslow cut her off.

"You wanna take a picture of the four of us to put on your stuff," He offered, grinning. "Gotta show those fans that you're living with three certified studs."

"Certified studs?" Freed chuckled, a little drunkenly.

"Hell yeah we are," Bickslow claimed. "Come on, it'll be fun."

"It would be good for them to see who I'm living with," Evergreen mused, shrugging and looking at Laxus and Freed.

"Might as well," Laxus shrugged.

"I don't have any objections," Freed agreed.

A moment later, they were all standing, with Bickslow's arm wrapped around them all. Evergreen pressed the button mid movement, so it was slightly blurred. But they were all smiling, laughing, and it made Bickslow's heart warm. This was going to be a kickass year!

[rosethornewrites]

T and G rated fics I read this weekend!

This is all The Untamed/MDZS fics.

So I learned last week that I can only add 100 links. And I read over 100 fics 😬 so now this is gonna be two posts. Additionally, I’ll likely start posting these daily from now on. It just gets to be a lot.

Finished:

Tumblr Fics:

BEETOBER 2021 DAY 2 - EARRING, by @bloody-bee-tea

Rated T:

find a home in him, by makebelieveanything and nerdzeword

“Come on a-Cheng, let’s go,” she prodded, gently ushering him out the door as she handed off jackets to both boys.

“Why the fuck is he always doing stupid shit and making us run after him for?” Jiang Cheng complained as he shrugged into his jacket, Lan Wangji donning his own in silence.

“Wangji?” Yanli prodded gently. “Are you alright?”

“... what if we never find him?”

“We will,” Yanli said confidently.

or Modern AU where Wei Wuxian runs away from his foster home when he turns 18, and it doesn't end the way he planned.

My Brother's Keeper - Purple Years (The first stage of grief), by ArchiveWriter

Set after WWX plunges from the cliff after the battle at Nightless City. The ramblings of Jiang Cheng's mind in the first stage of grief, flicking back and forth between the past and then.

thank you, drunk me, by carmiemaybe (glazedlilies)

Or where Lan Zhan is confused at Wei Ying's behaviour after the previous, drunken night's events.

This Grave Will Not Be Mine, by Rana Eros (ranalore)

The Burial Mounds' claim to Wei Wuxian has been superceded.

Qinghe Jue, by Merinnan

Nie Mingjue promised to protect his brother. He wasn't going to let qi deviating and dying at Jinlintai stop him from keeping that promise.

With What Proof, by Preludian_Staves

"I know he did it!"

"What proof do you have?"

Meeting the Family, by sami (part of a series)

Wei Wuxian has a secret.

I’ll stick to my single-log bridge till it’s dark, by autumncolour

Can’t anyone give me a nice, favorable road to walk on?

Lan Wangji leaves the Burial Mounds. Wei Wuxian gets drunk. The night in Yiling is clear and dark, and full of thick, half-understood longing.

Love Me on the Sunlit Grass, by Eliza (second in a series)

Zizhen will always be there when Jin Ling calls in a panic about his uncle.

the mutability of survival, by tunnelOFdawn

All the ways Lan Zhan, Wei Ying, and Jiang Cheng could have died in canon.

i'll keep walking, by justdoityoufucker

Wen Qing died.

This, she knows; from the painful lick of flames to the unavoidable choking that came with the smoke to the wickedly satisfied grin on Jin Guangshan’s face before she closed her eyes the last time. She hoped, those last few moments, that it would be the end. Wei Wuxian would be free, and the last remnants of their family would be safe. She hoped that Wen Ning wouldn’t feel any pain, when the time came for him to follow her.

-

Or, the one where Wen Qing ends up in the past and fixes the future.

Rated G:

天涯之外 / beyond the world's end, by yuer (vintageblueskies)

"Wei Ying," Lan Wangji says, his voice cracks open in a way Wei Wuxian has never heard before. He crosses over to where Wei Wuxian is still sitting; Wei Wuxian starts to scramble up, but Lan Wangji just shakes his head, gets to his knees next to him. And isn't that something? The untouchable Hanguang-jun on his knees in the Burial Mounds, dirtying his pristine robes to sit next to Wei Wuxian.

-

or, lan wangji returns to the burial mounds

Song of My Heart, Mate of My Soul, by SakuraKage

The Gusu Lan are said to have an innate connection with music. The Gusu Lan are also said to love deeply – with their whole soul – so deeply that they seem to only be able to fall in love once.

Lan Wangji knows these rumours. He also knows the truth, or close to it, as it has been handed down through the generations. Their connection to music runs far deeper than the other sects could dream. Every Lan heart contains a song, a musical piece that encapsulates the very fiber of their being, and it only comes to life under a specific set of circumstances. The parameters to unlock your heartsong are highly disputed, but the generally accepted condition to fill is … to meet your soulmate.

see your face, hear my voice in the dark, by arypls

Wei Wuxian is having trouble falling asleep but Lan Wangji is there with gentle words and soothing touches to show his husband he's no longer alone.

If I knew what safety looked like, by askanis

Beautiful, brave Wei Ying is waiting for Lan Zhan to tell her she cannot be all of who she is. She will listen, if Lan Zhan says this. If Lan Zhan even looks uncomfortable, Wei Ying will take this back and never mention it again. Will pretend that this is not her truth, perhaps until she believes it herself.

And Lan Zhan will never get to fully see Wei Ying for who Wei Ying is.

underneath the magnolias, by krizzlesandblues

Summer in Cloud Recesses means iced fruits sent by merchants, more practical trainings for juniors, with some of them catching up on their lessons.

But for the youngest members of GusuLan Sect, summer means classes under the big magnolia tree.

Word Up, Talk the Talk, by Larryissocute

It wouldn’t have been a problem (it really wouldn’t) if they weren’t best friends. Wei Wuxian doesn’t know what good deeds he did in his past life to be blessed with Lan Wangji as a friend nor does he know what evil things he did to be cursed with being only a friend to Lan Wangji.

Or the one where Wei Wuxian kisses Lan Wangji and then runs away.

Hai Shi — Sleeping Hours, by Saint Er (wwxsays_er)

It's right before bedtime, when a drunk Wei Wuxian shows up on Lan Wangji's door, and suddenly, this has now become Lan Wangji's problem.

In the Silence, by XianleDianxia

With his husband and son on a night hunt, Wei Wuxian is left to his own thoughts. His temperament is not as calm as Lan Wangji would like it to be.

intervention (how to convince your very gay brother that he, is in fact, gay), by okok29

"You guys hold hands all the time around campus and he takes you out to brunch every Saturday. He even brings you roses," Jiang Cheng emphasizes.

"Yeah, as bros do!" Wei Ying says cheerfully.

jiang cheng tries to forcibly drag wei ying out of the closet.

No Regrets, by Sarehz

Lan Zhan gives his forehead ribbon to Wei Wuxian as a sign of his love.

Look Down to Reminisce About My Hometown, by Nadat (one-shot series)

A collection of short stories following a Promptember list; will add tags and alter the rating as appropriate. It will be mostly live action show canon but I may borrow here and there from the book if something strikes me.

jin ling's uncles and aunts, by saheeli

jin zixuan invites all of jin ling's uncles and aunts to his birthday party. there are more than he even thought possible.

Helianthus, by tinykira

"Say, Lan Zhan. Do you know that when people die, they become plants?"

~

The Jingshi, which was formerly called as The Gentian House, is now also full of sunflowers.

Magical Marriage Ribbons, by starandrea

But consider this: the Lan forehead ribbons are magical, and the mountain knows it. (It takes Wei Ying less than a day after Lan Yi’s cave to realize more than just her wards consider him family.)

Or: If you’re accidentally betrothed to your classmate in a mostly legitimate life or death situation, how long can you wait to tell him before he finds out by accident?

their mothers sons, by silversshadow

In one world Jiang Fengmian gave Wei Ying more attention than he did either of his own children. In this world he can barely look at the child.

A series of short looks into a different timeline.

You blow me away, by silverclaw

Lan Zhan’s neighbour is playing a song that has been stuck in his head for ages. The neighbour just so happens to be the singer of said song and he’s supposedly laying low.

Echo Of My Heart, by ColdBloodedReptile

A short insight of Lan Wangji's thoughts during Dafan Mountain, CQL version.

And the scene in Jingshi before Wei Wuxian wakes ft Lan Sizhui.

A new score, by Lhaewiel

Wei Wuxian does not know this new score. It is evening, Gusu looks like a painting during this time of the year, with snow slowly falling down and covering the court outside.

Parallel Lines, by Sarehz

Wei Ying: Lan Zhan is going to break up with me!

Nie Huaisang: No, he's not. But please tell me in great detail why you think that.

Jiang Cheng: [Unfortunately sharing an apartment with Nie Huaisang and therefore has no choice but to listen] Please leave me out of this.

Why Wei Ying Shouldn’t Matchmake, by PrinceJakeFireCake

Lan Wangji is NOT jealous of Jiang Cheng. He’s just trying to figure out why Wei Ying likes him so much. Wei Ying thinks it’s great that Lan Zhan has a crush on his brother. (Hint: he does not)

to home, by Guinny (4 chapters)

'My Wei Ying,

It seems that we are winning the war. Wait for me. I will come home. I will come home to you. We will spend the rest of our lives in peace. Far from all of this. In a place that is quiet and there's only us.

Yours,

Lan Zhan.’

if you love him, never let go, by cloud_wanderer

three times lan wangji let go, and the one time he swore to never do it again

Hard to forget, by Lucky_Moonly

“Aiya sorry for interrupting what must be a very interesting read,” a boy who seemed to be a first year as well, cheekily exclaimed, before he smiled widely at Lan Wangji and he stepped inside the compartment. “But did you perchance see my pet axolotl? He’s black and he’s missing one of his front legs!”

in sickness & in flames, by talesfromthecryptid (2 chapters)

the one in which lan wangji has a cold and wei wuxian fusses over him and falls even more in love with him, something he didn't even know was possible but oh, it really is.

learning and the dead, by northofallmusic (tofsla)

In a small house of his own, after everything, Wen Ning works with his hands.

Unpredictable, by canis_m

If Lan Wangji had said a few more things while drunk in Qinghe.

Waited For Precious Moments Such As This, by Preludian_Staves

He would not trade these precious moments away for anything in the world.

Unfinished:

Rated T:

No Regrets, by AluraRose

Lan Wangji took a deep breath, centered himself, and swallowed his pride.

“I apologize.” He bowed low to Jiang Wanyin and held it. “I wish only to help your brother. I humbly request access, and give my word that I will touch nothing and speak to no one of what I see.”

“I can’t just let you in there!”

“Even to save Wei Ying?”

And suddenly the wind seemed to go out of the sails of Jiang Wanyin’s anger. “I can’t” he repeated more quietly.

In order to save Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji must first convince Jiang Wanyin to trust him.

Your Name On My Chest, by Director_XuanWu

Lan Wangji is the president, at the beginning of his second year on his first term.

Wei Wuxian, his ex fiancé, was dishonorably discharged from the military because of a well hidden scandal.

They meet again after 13 years. Lan Wangji will drop everything for him. Wei Wuxian will sacrifice himself for him again. What does it take to finally be together? Too many goodbyes, too many heartaches. Yet they conquer all.

Whatever it takes, by Moonlit_dewdrops

Jiang Cheng and Wei WuXian are sent back to the past. This time, they can save everyone they love. They can make the right choices. They can learn to trust one another. However, everything comes with a price.

underneath your skin, by tardigradeschool

Wei Wuxian falls into the Burial Mounds. His body walks out.

White Flames in a Red Sky, by ZipZapZop

Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to run away in the middle of a snowstorm.

OR

Wei Wuxian needs help, but he can’t understand that for the life of him.

and so it goes, by doyeorem (pomellogranate)

"While a person is dead in one particular moment, they are still alive and well in all of the other moments of their life, because all of time exists at once."

-

In which Hanguang-jun is at Qiongqi Path, and instead of Jin Zixuan's death, he witnesses Wei Ying throw himself in the way of a punch from the Ghost General, and three swords - one of which is Bichen.

The Burial Mounds is enraged and offended, and many suffer for it.

Purgatory Divinity, by sinfulempire

"Your third and final mission is to rewrite history, Wei Wuxian."

In which Wei Wuxian, the son of the Heavenly Demon Empress, Cangse Sanren and the Celestial, Wei Changze has to rewrite history in order to prove himself worthy of the throne, however, this was a mission that he did not sign himself up for.

[WARNING!! WARNING!! System error, system erro-]

"What-"

Upon accepting the mission, Wei Wuxian found himself back in the past. He had returned to his 6 year old body accompanied by the system at the dingy streets of Yiling- far before Jiang Fengmian had found him and took him in.

Wei Wuxian was alone and surrounded by numerous hound dogs.

Rated G:

Coil Tightly, by Thunderstruck (Blueyed_Impala)

When Wei Wuxian stumbles across a shady pet store in the back alley of his new town he ends up leaving with a companion for life, and more than he bargained for.

Forced apologies, by Io_Palladium

Jiang Cheng confronts Lan Zhan after Wei Yings punishment and it changes everything.

[heckyeahitsnick]

Her Soul is Like Magnolia

Written By: @heckyeahitsnick​

Pairing: Harry Styles/OC

Word Count: 20,979

Warnings: Some explicit/foul language

Summary: 

Magnolia “Mags” Rahman believes in hard science, has a tendency to stick her foot in her mouth, and is a lover of all things horror and Halloween. Harry Styles likes to toe the line between fact and fiction, strangers and friends, and normal and paranormal.  

Harry Styles has a ghost problem.

Mags has a Harry Styles problem.

An au where seeing is believing and everyone is trying their best to treat each other with kindness.

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

Day 1: October 24th, a week from Halloween

“You’re stepping on my foot.”

Mags broke herself out of her stupor, visibly shaking her head. She stared at the person the voice belonged to, trying to orient herself and gather her bearings, and saw that it was her coworker, Liam. “Oh,” she murmured apologetically, “Sorry.” She was so exhausted at work, counting down the minutes until her shift was over at the campus bookstore so she could go home and curl up with Pumpkin, the adorable black cat she adopted only a month ago when it was love at first sight. Grad school was a vicious beast that she had yet learned how to slay. She probably hadn’t slept in the last 48 hours, busy with school, work, and occasionally binging B-rated horror movies on Netflix with Pumpkin. In her drowsy state, she couldn’t be held responsible for her actions, like accidentally charging the last customer the wrong price, shelfing the Twilight series under the Biography section, and stepping on her coworker’s foot. She was just so tired.

“Okay? Thanks for apologizing? But you literally haven’t moved. You’re still stepping on my foot!” He pointed at her white sneakers atop his (knock-off) Timberlands.

She gave him a playful glare and replied, “You’re so high-maintenance,” before shifting away from him.

“Okay, well, I just came to tell you I’m headed home a little early,” he paused to eye her with vague concern, “Are you sure you’re okay to close up?”

She snorted, “Does my answer even matter? It’s not like you’re gonna offer to close up for me.”

He grinned good-naturedly, “Yeah you’re right. Makes me feel like less of a dick though.” Putting on his coat and gathering his backpack, he quickly headed for the door as if the devil was chasing him, ignoring the peace sign Mags threw at his retreating figure. Probably eager to go home and chug some beer, or like start a fire, or whatever it was that boys like to do. Mags wouldn’t know. She couldn’t possibly even attempt to understand the male psyche.

Like for example, Mags looked at the only customer in the bookstore, frantically pacing through the aisles and muttering incomprehensibly to himself. His curly hair was tussled and frayed, not in the intentional bedhead way that some people, like her ex-boyfriend, styled it in an attempt to look good but actually coming off as a douche, but in a way that indicated he’s probably been constantly running his hand through it. Probably exam stress, she mused, considering the boy’s current state. He was tall too, she observed, but that was overshadowed by his hunched shoulders, head facing down, and of course the frantic pacing.

“Dude. Are you okay?” Mags called out in a voice slightly louder than usual.

No answer, as if he didn’t even hear her. She realized she should probably be a bit more cautious. The customer honestly was acting very strange. He could probably be planning to rob the bookstore. She was the only employee left, her slight build and big brown eyes (which her friends called doe-eyed but Mags herself considered to look more like a fish) weren’t enough to intimidate anyone. She laughed softly to herself. Like anyone would rob this bookstore. College students never paid with cash and Mags probably had negative three dollars to her name and an even lower will to live. If someone held her at gunpoint asking her to hand over her wallet, she’d probably wouldn’t be able to stop herself from bursting into laughter. Besides, he looked like a college student himself. An English major, she guessed, considering his pretentious wool coat and heeled boots. She did a double take. Glittery, heeled boots apparently. She would know, she’s dated her fair share of them.

You’re being so foolish, Maggie-Girl, she scolded herself with the affectionate nickname she gave herself and that no one (read: especially Niall, her roommate’s, Marisol’s, boyfriend) was ever allowed to address her as.

The draft Liam let in earlier caused her to shudder. Wrapping her yellow cardigan tightly across her chest, she longingly gazed out the window. The weather was the perfect crispy fall weather, with orange leaves littering the sidewalks and she sighed, wistfully thinking about the brisk air sure to greet her as she biked home. If only the boy would leave, she could be on her way!

She glanced at her watch and decided, screw her self-preservation. She stepped out from behind the check-out counter and headed towards the boy. He barely noticed her, continuing to drag his fingers frantically through the spines of the books on the shelf. Mags just now realized they were standing under the horror section of the store. Weird.

“Hey, um, dude. Are you okay?” She asked with a voice that she hoped sounded professional and confident but probably came across as a mix of “wow-I-don’t-get-paid-enough for this” and “maybe I don’t wanna die?”

Her presence seems to finally break him out of whatever trance he was in. He looked up at her, taking Mags aback. He’s kind of cute, she thought, if she ignored the bluish-purple bags under his green eyes and his pink lips twisted into a frown. Potentially a robber, possibly a murderer who likes to creep out female employees in bookstore by having a near breakdown in the horror section, sure, but at least he was nice to look at.

“What?”

Mags gave him an ironic smile in return. “Ah, you speak! Thank god. I was beginning to think your only talents were to burn a hole through the carpet.”

His brows furrowed in confusion, “What?” he repeated in frustration.

Maybe I gave him more credit than he deserved she thought to herself. Out loud, she said, “Look. Technically, we’re closing in 5 minutes. You looked like you needed help. What’re you looking for? Maybe then we can both get out of here.”

His eyes darted nervously to the side. “A book,” is his brilliant reply.

“Yeah? I figured?” She said, stretching out her word because at this point, who cared if the boy could tell she thought he was ridiculous. This was definitely a strange scenario and she wondered if her own sleep-deprivation caused her to dream up this handsome boy with vague answers and possibly three functioning braincells. She briefly had a thought that this was like a reverse You situation, where he was the Joe to her Beck, but she quickly stopped her overactive imagination “Any book in particular?”

“Yeah, um,” the boy quickly straightened up and looked her in the eyes, as if he finally came to the realization that he was coming off a little odd, “I’m looking for a horror book. Obviously. But like, something non-fiction? Like about, y’know. Ghosts.“

“Ghosts?” She cautiously prodded, “but non-fiction? Like…paranormal accounts?”

“Yes! Like, I dunno, spooky shit. Stuff, sorry. Paranormal stuff about like haunted houses,” His eyes brightened, and his word tumbled out faster with a tinge of hope. “Hey! You wouldn’t happen to have a How-To book about how to cleanse a house that’s haunted?”

Mags tried. She really did try. Not the fake trying like when she tries to make it to her 8 am class every Tuesday morning and ‘accidentally’ snoozes her alarm. Not even the fake trying she does when Marisol makes her do sit-ups at the gym for their weekly (read: monthly) workout and she taps out after 5. But even trying her hardest meant she could not stop the laughter that escaped her mouth.

“Haha, I’m sorry, what?” She laughed, her face in disbelief and amusement, clutching her stomach, “You want what? What is this? Did you end up watching too many episodes of Buzzfeed Unsolved ‘cuz honestly, I’m not sure you got the right bone structure to be Shane. You’re funny though, I’ll give you that!”

The laughter and words began to trail off because the boy, his face completely changed. The hopeful, pleading gleam that was in his eyes suddenly hardened in anger. Mags quickly tried to reign herself in, registering that he was not amused, and she’d accidentally offended him.

“I –“ She began, ready to start apologizing because she realized she completely read the room wrong.  “Forget it!” He cut her off, quickly stuffing the book he had in his hands back into the bookshelf.

“Whatever.” He peered at her nametag disdainfully, “Don’t offer to help if you don’t intend to, Magnolia,” spewing her name out like it was poison in his mouth.

“Wait! I’m sor – “

“Forget it. Sorry I asked!” He exclaimed, abruptly walking past her, his shoulders jostling hers and she whipped around to try and apologize once more.

But he left just as quickly as Liam did. Like the devil was chasing him.

Mags turned around and pulled out the book he had in his hands (and totally shelfed in the wrong place), trailing her fingers across the blue leather bound and golden imprinted letters. “Exorcism: Encounters with the Paranormal and Occult,” she muttered to herself, and then looked up at the door that the boy had exited from. “Nonfiction.”

She slumped against the bookshelf, mentally kicking herself. Why don’t you ever think before you speak?! She berated herself morosely. Had she taken a second to assess the situation, she would’ve registered his worried eyes and another emotion that she couldn’t quite place. Could it have been…fear? She eyed the book in her hand. What could that boy possibly be afraid of?

Her phone dinged with a text message. She pulled it out of her pocket and immediately groaned reading the message from Marisol.

Pumpkin just shat (shitted? shatted?) on the living room carpet J  Can’t wait ‘till ur home.

If Mags was an English major, she’d probably see an irony in this. Or like a metaphor, because she shat all over that boy’s concerns and like the shit was representative of like…. being a dick? But she wasn’t an English major. Obviously.

The only thing her soon-to-be-chemist brain could come up with was: well, fuck, isn’t karma a bitch.

_______________________________________________________________________

Day 3: October 26th - 5 days until Halloween

“Be honest with me. Am I gonna die?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Niall!” Mags exclaimed, shifting her backpack onto her other shoulder, “For the last time! I. Don’t. Know.”

“But look closely!” He pestered, shoving his arm into her face, whining. “Tell me this rash doesn’t look bad. It’s red! And like, rashy! And it itches, Mags, it itches so bad! I think it’s infected!”

She backed away from him and shoved the offending arm away, quickly muttering an apology to the guy in a suit and tie behind her, before facing Niall again with widened eyes (well, wider than usually because Fish Eyes, remember?). “Seriously, Niall, I really can’t deal with you before I’ve had my morning tea.”

“But I – “

She cut him off. “And rashes can’t be infected! Now can we puh-lease talk about something else? Anything else. I’ll literally discuss your sex life with Marisol right now if it means we can stop talking about your nasty-ass rash!” This time, she ignored the glare from the man in the business suit; she can’t be blamed for his eavesdropping.

While Niall, in typical Niall fashion (taking everything literally), began to recount a tale about his midnight rendezvous with Marisol, Mags let her mind wander. She impatiently tapped her foot against the floor, sparing another glance at her watch, while also giving her own mental nod of approval at the store’s festive decorations (fake spider webs and caution tapes that adorned the doors and counter). For a chain that had a slew of ridiculous redundant names for their drinks (she will always bemoan the fact that people don’t realize that a chai tea is literally translated to tea tea), they sure knew how to get into the Halloween spirit. The line at Starbucks was long she noted, and with four people ahead of them, she and Niall would be late for their lecture if things didn’t speed up. Mags just knew she should’ve made her own cup of chai this morning, but it never tasted the same as when her mom made it, and all it would do is make her more homesick.

Niall briefly interrupted her train of thought with a quick interjection, “Yo, Maggie are you listening to me,” to which she responded with a quick lie, “Yes!” followed by a “And don’t call me that!” with a soft jab to his ribs.

The gears in her mind shifted, wandering to the boy from the bookstore last night. She couldn’t stop thinking about him last night on her bike ride home, during her stern lecture with Pumpkin about the importance of using the litter box, all the way until she finally went to bed. What was he so scared of? She pondered while also still scolding herself for handling the situation absolutely in the worst way. Though she didn’t mean to, she doesn’t ever intend to come across as so rude and aggressive. She just had a knack for blurting out the wrong thing that made it hard for people to see that she actually had a heart of gold.

Well, maybe not gold, she thought. That was giving herself too much credit. To be sure, she interrupted Niall’s ramblings with a quick interjection, “Hey quick question. Would you say I have a heart of gold or like…a heart of bronze?”

He was used to her antics; his blue eyes didn’t even hesitate before meeting hers. “Are we using an Olympic scale? Like gold would be first place and like the kindest person ever?” Acknowledging her nod, he held his fingers to his chin, making the universal thinking face as he mulled over her question.

She barely heard his answer (“Maybe a happy medium, like a silver heart? You suck at first impressions but once ya get to know ya, you’re super sweet,” the blonde mused in the background) because something, or more like someone, caught her eye. She watched him walk past her, exiting the Starbucks. Her eyes locked in on a pair of glittery boots and trailed up a pair of black jeans, a burgundy hoodie, and finally, green eyes that looked even more sleep-deprived than last night if that was possible, until she stopped at the black beanie that did little to contain the escaping brown curls.

It was the boy! The boy from last night!

“It’s him!” She shouted to Niall, dragging him by the arm so she could catch the boy before he left, ignoring Niall’s cries (“Wait, we were next in line!”)

“Hey!” Mags shouted, ignoring the grimace of the man in the suit, as she chased after the boy with a disgruntled Niall slowly trailing behind. She followed the boy outside, desperate to get his attention. “Ghost boy!” she shouted, somewhat hysterically, “Wait!”

Finally, he turned around, just registering that the crazy girl running on the sidewalk was trying to get his attention. His eyes widened in surprised and then narrowed with recognition, as he frowned.

“I - What did you just call me?” He said, his voice huskier than Mags recalled.

“Um, I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name last night. I needed to get your attention! I needed to apologize.” Her eyes took in his appearance. He looked even more haggard than yesterday. His face seemed sunken in and his skin dull. He was still really handsome, if her heartrate was any indicator, but he looked worse for wear.

“Look,” she continued, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to like, laugh at you or anything. Let me make it up to you! I can probably help you find the book you’re looking for! My conscious is like, really annoying, and I couldn’t sleep last night ‘cuz I felt so bad and I looked up a shit ton of books about hauntings. Nonfiction ones! For whatever mysterious reason you need them for.”

His brows furrowed and his frown deepened, “What?” He shook his head from side to side, as if to shake away his confusion, “Look s’all good. It’s fine. I’ll figure it out on my own,” He turned as if to walk away before adding as an afterthought, “You curse a lot, y’know?”

Before she could even respond, she was interrupted again (which was probably a good thing because her knee-jerk response was to say “No shit sherlock”) by Niall coming to a stop beside her.

“Mags, what the actual fuck? We were next in line!” He bent over slightly, resting his hands against his knees as he paused to catch his breath from the strenuous five steps he took from the Starbucks door to where she and the boy were standing. He looked up and nodded, “What’s up, Harry?”

“Hey Niall,” the boy, Harry, said as he eyed the pair of them cautiously, like he didn’t want anyone to think he could be associated with them. “I’ll catch you later.”

“Wait, Harry!” Magnolia cried out, making immediate use of his name, “Seriously, tell me what’s wrong! I can help!” But her cries fell to deaf ears as she watched Harry walk off, his shoulders in his seemingly perpetual slump, one hand jammed into his pocket and the other holding his coffee cup as he crossed the street.

“So,” Niall began, “Couple of things to unpack here. We don’t have coffee, I’m a little more out of shape that I thought I was, and we’re definitely late for class so I suggest we should just skip it and grab some food.” He finally straightened up and looked at Mags, as if was an afterthought, “Wait. How d’you know Harry? Did you sleep with him?”

_______________________________________________________________________

Day 4: October 27th, 4 days until Halloween

On days like this, Mags truly does take a second to appreciate the finer things in life. The fall foliage that lined the paved pebble pathways on the university’s campus only contributed to the magical spell of October. As maple leaves fluttered downwind and the cool wind blew against her skin, she embraced the enchanting atmosphere of the autumnal weather, taking in the beauty as college students hurried past her, a colorful, warm blend of red scarves, brown coats, olive sweaters, and all. The breeze that blew through her dark hair didn’t even bother her, when usually she’d be grumpy considering how long it takes her to tame the thick, wavy locks into an acceptable amount of frizz. Despite having an o-chem midterm waiting for her, she slowed her pace to truly enjoy the bliss she was in. Mags paused on the cobblestone to close her eyes and breathe in the cold air, a small smile slowly forming on her face. Nothing could ruin the feeling of contentment that she was feeling right now and –

“What’re you doin’?”

A deep baritone disrupted her. She stands corrected. Maybe she could be bothered. She took a longer second to herself, keeping her eyes closed and steadying her breathing before planning to huffily face whomever (whoever? Whomstever? Times like this really made Mags rejoice at the fact she wasn’t an English major) decided to ruin her moment of peace.

The same voice let out a chuckle. “Hey, are you planning to open your eyes anytime soon?”

It took her a second, but Mags recognized that voice. Ghost Boy! Harry! She whipped around towards the voice, her hair following along and sharply striking her face and shoulders as she settled her brown eyes on Harry. She was so happy to see him, even if he did ruin the coming-of-age, dramatic introspective Bollywood moment she was having to herself. Magnolia gazed at him, taking the surprisingly peaceful silence between them to truly assess him. His green eyes peered back at her, glistening from the cold breeze, pronounced by the dark purple bags that seemed to have worsened overnight. His cheekbones jutted out just below, and lower, his pink lips settled in an expression she couldn’t quite decipher, but she’d guess wistful if she had to. He seemed to be in better spirits, dressed in a chunky caramel cable-knit sweater. Maybe it was how cozily he was dressed or perhaps it was the softness enhanced by his sleepy demeanor, but Mags was hit by a sudden wave of endearment for him. For a boy she hardly knew! She shook off the weird feelings that washed over her and broke the silence.

“Harry!” She quickly recalled all their past encounters and decided to approach this conversation with a little less well-meaning aggression and exuberance. “Harry,” she calmly tried again, “I’m so glad you’re here. I really, really need you to listen to me. I am really and truly sorry I laughed at you the other day.” He opened his mouth to respond, but Mags bulldozed on, not wanting to lose her chance. “I – look, I have knack for saying the wrong thing but I promise that I really want to help you with –“ She paused as she realized she never knew what exactly seemed to be plaguing him, but persevered nevertheless, “with whatever it is that’s bugging you. I pinky promise I can help - somehow!”

He broke into an amused smile, one that Mags couldn’t help notice was a very nice smile at that. “Pinky promise, huh?” He prodded, “That’s pretty serious for someone who quite literally just met me and doesn’t even know what my problem is.”

“Well, whatever it is, just tell me! I won’t laugh!” Mags pleaded.

“Do you promise not to laugh?”

“I promise!” She said solemnly, her face somber, nodding with earnestness.

“Do you,” he paused, inhaling a deep breath, as Mags leaned in closer to listen, breath baited, eyes unwavering, “do you pinky promise?”

“Oh!” She swatted at him with a free hand as she realized he was teasing her, as he stepped away laughing.

“Sorry,” he smiled, not looking the least bit apologetic, “Couldn’t help m’self.”

They shared a small moment, each looking at the other with their own, soft smiles before

Harry suddenly straightened up, his smile vanishing just as Mags began to welcome the sight. His tone sobered, “I did wanna say m’sorry for being kinda a dick to you. I’m dealing with…something right now and I really didn’t mean to take it out on you, Magnolia.”

“Mags,” she instinctively corrected, “Magnolia is reserved for customers that I don’t insult.”

“Mags,” he repeated wryly, “I like that. Well anyways, just happen to pass you and wanted to say that.” He gestured to the papers she had forgotten were clutched in her hands, “Anyways, looks like you’ve got a test on…” He trailed off, squinting at her neat penmanship of carefully copied formulas and calculations, “rocket science or quantum physics or whatever those horrible numbers mean. Just looking at it is giving me a headache. I’m sure you’ll do well though.  G’luck!” He said, turning to leave.

“No wait!” She was not going to lose another chance. Truly, she did feel awful about how she treated Harry, but also, she didn’t want him to go for reasons she couldn’t quite explain. She liked his presence and didn’t want the conversation to end just yet. “Will you seriously tell me what’s wrong? Please?”

He considered her, his guarded eyes boring into hers for what felt like eternity, not even breaking contact when a boy with rounded hipster coke-bottle glasses and a plaid coat bumped against her shoulder without so much as an apology (friggin’ English majors she briefly lamented).

“Yeah, okay,” he conceded, running his hands roughly through his brown curls, “You think I’m crazy anyways and it’s not like my life can get any weirder.” He pursed his lips as he formulated his thoughts. Mags tried to be patient, resisting the urge to check her watch because she did actually care about her grades and she did have a midterm to get to after all and Niall was such a push-over he wouldn’t be able to save her a seat for much longer, but she had to hear what he had to say. Just as she was going to (gently, she swears) prompt Harry, he broke his contemplative silence.

“Um. Okay so basically,” he stalled, scratching at his hairline before spewing out in anxious, bullet-fast speech, “I um, pretty-sure-I-accidentally-summoned-like-a-demon-or-ghost-or-some-evil-otherwordly-spirit-in-my-house-and-now-I’m-being-haunted.

Brown eyes blinked in his directions. To her credit, Mags remained composed despite her thoughts that ranged from what the actual fuck, this boy is psychotic to my minority ass is not equipped for this situation to aww he looks kinda cute when he’s nervous.

“Yes,” in reality is how she responded, trying to maintain neutral as she organized her thoughts, her voice robotic, “I understand.”

“Yeah, see, I knew this was a mistake. I didn’t really expect you to believe me,” his hopeful expression fading to disappointment, belying his words.

“No! Okay, yeah I don’t believe you,” she confessed, “but,” brandishing her speech with wild gestures, “I can help you prove that your house isn’t haunted! That’ll like give both you and I peace of mind! Not right now, because I really do have to go kick some o-chem ass but like, later tonight? Take my number, text me your address, and we can like ghostbust the fuck out of your non-haunted home!”

There was a brief moment of hesitation before Harry nodded in agreement, albeit reluctantly but hey, she’d take it, Mags quickly gushed out her cellphone number as Harry’s thumb clumsily attempting to enter each digit and keep up.

Mags raced away, peeking at her watch and sparing a parting glance at Harry and calling out, “I’m serious Harry, if I don’t get a text, I will haunt you myself! And I am way more annoying than a ghost!” He smiled fondly in response, “I don’t doubt that. I swear I’ll text you,”

“Promise?” she shouted, as she retreated further away from him to her awaiting exam.

“Pinky promise.”

_______________________________________________________________________

Same day, later that evening

Mags leans against the bay window in the living room, watching the rain drops splatter against the window. A cup of chai in one hand, a worn murder-mystery novel in the other, with Pumpkin curled up against her feet hidden under thick socks, she truly felt content. Marisol had thrown a quilt over Mags legs earlier as the former left for work. Mags was so immersed in the book’s plot she barely gave the other girl an appreciative smile but she was sure Marisol knew.

She was pretty sure she aced her midterm exam earlier that day (and Niall was fairly confident that he didn’t fail so it was a win-win for all) and she was able to make some progress with Harry. The curly haired boy, whom she met for the first time a mere three days ago, seemed to consume a lot of her free time and thoughts.

He was just so curious, and skittish, and he genuinely did seem scared of something. Mags was a firm believer in science, statistics, hard, factual data. Give her an equation to solve or a statistical analysis to decipher over an essay any day. Even if she wasn’t a believer, she knew better than to laugh at others, even if her actions didn’t always reflect that. She had never believed in Santa Claus, being Muslim and all, but she’d been the one to comfort Kevin Vo in the first grade when the classroom bully had tried to convince others that Santa was fictitious. Likewise, even though she didn’t truly know Harry, she did believe that something was scaring him, and she was determined to figure out what it was. But one thing was sure, she positively knew it was not a ghost.

Her phone rang out with a small chime, alerting her of a text message.

Hey, It’s Harry. Harry Styles.

Before she could respond, her phone dinged again.

Or as you like to call me, Ghost Boy.

harry!! im so glad u txted!!!

I keep my promises. Are you sure you want to come to my house that is DEFINITELY haunted?

yes i do wanna come to ur house that is definitely NOTT(!!) haunted. send me ur addy.

Once receiving his address, Mags began to root through her closet for a warmer coat and umbrella. She grabbed her keys, gave Pumpkin an affectionate kiss on her furry little forehead, and gave herself one last look at the mirror. She almost found herself reapplying her mascara and running a brush through her hair, but she fought the urge. This is what she always looks like, and she wasn’t sure why she cared so much about her appearance for this friendly little demonic (but not really) excursion she was about to partake in. Certainly, she’s looked worse before. Liam has seem her adorned in her older brother’s shapeless, oversized sweaters as she hastily arrived seconds before her shift and Niall had seen her when she hadn’t showered in days, bra forgotten, her clothes stained, and remnants of last night’s dinner on her face (although, granted it had been Finals week).

As her blonde companion came to mind, as an afterthought, she shot one more text to Harry; just as a precaution because as attractive as he was, she didn’t know him that well yet. Though she doubted his heart was anything but sincere and good, she had to be safe.

also im bringin niall. the more the merrier rite?? (((:

Niall and Mags stood side by side on the property, their sneakers and boots respectively crunching the orange leaves that littered the lawn, as they gazed up. The house was huge, intricate, a stark contrast against the cloudy gray sky, and beautiful. Hauntingly so. If she believed in ghosts, Mags could envision how one would think this particular house was haunted. The brown and orange wood that made the exterior seemed to indicate that this house could creak when it wasn’t supposed to, the broken shutters revealing that the house holds secrets from its past, the surrounding black iron gates emitting a foreboding sense of doom.

But, she knew how to deal with facts. And the facts were that this house was old as shit and old houses liked to creak. She was sure that Harry probably just had an overactive imagination, which she was here to quell.

“Holy hell, you’re tellin’ me that Harry lives here? In this friggin’ place?” Niall let out a low appreciative whistle, “I’m definitely gonna have to convince him to host a house party here.”

She snorted in response, “Right? He couldn’t have lived in shitty student housing like the rest of us?”

They made their way to the porch, carefully side-stepping planks of rotting wood and loose nails. As Niall knocked, Mags sent a quick text to Harry alerting him of their presence. She’d filled Niall in when she picked him up for this adventure, letting him know that Harry was scared that this house was haunted and that they, soon to be scientists, were going to prove that it was all just hodgepodge. Blasphemous.  A figment of his imagination. And of course, Niall was game, as he always was, his laidback and flexible personality among the many traits that Mags loved about the Irishman. The door creaked open, groaning under the movement of shifting wood, as Harry greeted them with an appreciative smile.

“Hey. Come in. Thanks for doing this, honestly,” he ushered them inside, into the house, “though I’m not sure how smart this idea is, or why you’d be more equipped to tell if this house is haunted more than me, considering one of ya have literally drank yourself into a drunken stupor and became convinced that Big Bird was a part of a larger conspiracy theory.”

“Falsifications!” Niall boasted, while Mags yelled in her defense, “Hey that was literally ONE time!”

Both Harry and Niall shot her a concerned look. “Right,” she realized, “You were referring to Niall because we just met and how could you possibly know that about me? Haha. Moooving on.”

Niall and Harry amicably bickered in the background and Mags wandered off to take in her surroundings. She had every intention of taking off her heavy coat as she surveyed the house, taking in the wood floors, antique furniture, mosaic windows, and high ceilings, but there was a chill in the air, despite the burning fire crackling in fireplace. She turned to question Harry about the temperature, and his eyes were already on her, watching her take everything in with an unidentifiable emotion. Recovering from his unexpected gaze, she questioned, “Why’s it so cold in here? Trying to save money on bills?”

Harry seemed validated by her question, “See! So you notice that too! No matter how much I crank the thermostat or feed wood to the fireplace, it is always chilly in here.”

Niall nodded sagely, “Ah yes. A very common indicator that a house is haunted,” which caused Harry to nod enthusiastically in agreement in having found his kindred spirit and Mags to shoot Niall a look of annoyance.

“Or,” she interjected, “It could mean literally anything else. Climate change can be linked to more severe, harsher winters and this has certainly been a record-breaking cold October.” This, in turn, prompted Niall and Harry to shoot each other a look, as if to fondly say they found her adorable. Huffing slightly, she continued, “Okay, Harry, let’s get down to business. What else is making you think you’re haunted? Tell me everything.”

Harry nodded, “It’s a long story. Let’s get settled on the couch, I’ll grab us some drinks. This is going to be an interesting evening.”

Wine in hand (and a beer for Niall), bodies settled, and fire crackling, the trio sat on the rug and couch, eyes on Harry. He cleared his throat, an odd hush falling over them as he began his tale, “Well, let’s start from the beginning. The reason I even can afford to live in this house is because Bertha, the old widow who owns the place. She used to live here and took a liking to me, so she charges me cheap rent after her granddaughter took her to another state to live with her.”

“Gilf,” Niall responded nodding, as Mags inquired, “Wait, how did you even know Bertha?”

“We played Bingo together,” Harry clarified, which raised more questions, but he didn’t elaborate, “Anyways, I lived here for about a month, no problems other than the usually leaky faucets and the sorts. But one evening,” he broke off, lowering his head to focus on the arms of his sweater stretched over his palm, his fingers twiddling anxiously.

He looks so sad and worried. Mags instinctively reached out and placed a comforting hand on his knee, the warmth of his skin felt through his jeans, causing Harry to look up as she smiled in reassurance.

“Right,” he persisted, “Well, one evening, about a week ago, my friend Louis and I were having drinks and watching horror movies, as a little farewell celebration because he was going to study abroad the next day. Getting into the Halloween spirit y’know? We were drunk and shootin’ the piss, and Louis suggested we hold a séance as he had a Ouija board in his car.”

“He just happened to have a Ouija board in his car?” Mags questioned in disbelief.

“He’s odd like that,” Harry explained, coinciding with Niall’s comment “Yeah, that checks out. Sounds like Louis!” Once again, reminding Mags that Niall was such a social person, and of course he somehow knew this Louis character.

“So we were just being stupid, lighting candles and asking the Ouija board silly questions and really just goofing off,” the sound of the rain grew louder, the droplets slapping against the wooden house and glass windows, prompting Harry to raise his voice to be heard, “And off Louis went to Brazil the next day to study abroad. And over the next few days, things kept happening.”

“Things?” Mags encouraged.

“Things like…I would hear sounds in the night. The wood creaks like someone is walking through the house and I hear strange sounds like scratching on the walls. The lights randomly flicker,” He takes in a shuddering breath, his hands absentmindedly pulling at a loose thread form his sweater in apprehension, “and I dunno, a painting literally fell off the wall in the dead of the night. That is not normal! Sometimes, there’s a weird smell in here, like rotten eggs, and it doesn’t go away no matter how hard I clean or how much air freshener I buy. It is always so cold in here and I haven’t been able to sleep in days, because I feel like something is just…watching me. If I can sleep, it’s only for a little because I’ll have nightmares, or I find myself waking up in the middle of the night.” Harry’s voice gets louder and louder, becoming more agitated and fearful as he recounts, “I can’t take it anymore, but I’m stuck here until the next semester but I’m not sure how much longer I can last.”

A quietness overtakes them, as everyone processes the story. Once again, Harry breaks the silence, “I dunno what we did that night, but I think. I think we definitely woke something.”

Mags stared at him, her heart feeling for him and she so desperately wished she could just give him the answers. Her brain was in overdrive, considering what could be source causing all the strangeness. Sleep deprivation can cause a lot of symptoms, her mind raced, delirium, hallucinations, your cognitive functions skewed because of being loopy. Because she believed, that while he may believe everything he said to be genuine, there were other plausible explanations. Ones that didn’t include the paranormal.

“Well, we’re here for ya mate,” Niall promised as Mags murmured in agreement. “We ain’t leaving ya alone tonight and we’ll be here to hear anything strange.”

Harry exhaled in obvious relief, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. “Thanks mate,” he said, as Niall cheered and went off to grab himself another beer, leaving the pair alone, “And thank you, Mags. I just, can’t explain it, but I feel better just having you here.” Mags looked at him, the fire dancing in the reflection of his eyes. His words were sincere and made her feel warm despite the chill, alighting her nerves. “Of course,” was all she could muster in response, her voice thick with emotion.

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

Day 5: October 28th, 3 days until Halloween

The rest of last night had passed in a similar fashion. They watched a B-rated cult classic on the Sy-Fy channel, played a rousing game of scrabble in which Niall of all people emerged victorious (the winning word with triple points: craic), and just swapping stories about their lives. It was fun, and Harry had looked the most relaxed that she had ever seen him. But when they woke in the morning, the mood was somber. Niall and Mags hadn’t heard a single peep the entire night, sleeping peacefully until morning, leaving Harry to fret over two options: the fear that he had gone crazy or that they wouldn’t believe him.

Mags was quick to dissipate both fears, assuring him that she would go home, shower, pack herself a bag, and come back again after work. If anything, she knew just having someone there with him helped Harry sleep better than he had in days, and although Niall wouldn’t be able to make it as he had a date night planned with Marisol, Mags wanted to be there for Harry. Harry was kind, Mags discerned, the way he had draped a blanket over her snoring figure last night and had given Niall his extra pillow. And the way she felt when he looked at her? She couldn’t describe. It was unlike any feeling that not even her past boyfriends made her feel, and it was simply small touches and gazes. She felt like a Victorian woman in the early ages, having to fan herself at the slightest contact, becoming undone and exhilarated when Harry had reached to embrace her in a hug earlier that day, his sweater rising to revealing his tanned, taut stomach and a peek of tattoos.

She drifted through work in a haze. She barely could recall any of the customers and she wouldn’t be able to you what she and Liam chatted about throughout her shift. She would get off in the evening, since she was closing again, and Harry insisted on coming to pick her up so they could walk back together to his home. Pumpkin lazily stalked through the aisles of the store, darting between the shelves and under tables as Mags watched in amusement. Mags wanted to bring Pumpkin along for their sleepover, and Harry thought it was a great idea because in his words, “A black cat would totally be able to sense if something was off.” Her bosses were never in the store and she knew Liam didn’t mind Pumpkin’s presence, if the fact that he had spent the latter half of the day cooing at her pink nose and soft paws, giving her belly rubs and half his lunch to share was any indicator.

Though she knew she was being silly, she mused as she kneeled on the worn carpet and shelved a stack of books, she couldn’t help feeling the anticipation and nervousness that usually precedes a date. But it wasn’t a date. She was just feeling this way because Niall wouldn’t be there and it would be just her and Harry in that big old house, alone together. If she was being honest, she would admit that she did wish it was a date. She found herself drawn to Harry, his caring personality and really taken by his dimples and all. His husky, low voice stirred something deep in her stomach, and when she heard the baritone in his throaty voice, coated with sleepiness earlier in the morning? She felt flush and wonderstruck, all at once.

But it wasn’t a date. Facing facts is what she did best. It was just two people on their way to becoming friends, working to prove that his house was not being inhabited by any spirits, that’s all. Completely platonic, normal stuff.

When it was 8 minutes to closing, Mags began to make sure that everything was put away so she could leave on time considering there probably wouldn’t be any last-minute customers, noting that Pumpkin was now currently snoozing near the cash register. She was deep in thought, dusting a particularly dusty shelf, secretly becoming more and more excited at the thought of spending more time with Harry.

“Boo!”

“Holy shit!” Mags’ heart jumped out of her chest, as she whirled around in fear, only to be met with a laughing Harry, one hand outstretched and grasping the bookshelf, the other across his stomach as he doubled over in laughter.

“You’re an idiot!” She declared, without malice, shoving her shoulders against his. “Absolutely awful.”

“Y’know, for a girl who says she isn’t afraid of ghosts, you sure are quite jumpy.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m a girl, Harry. I have real things to fear. Like creepy men that come in here to harass me!”

His eyes flashed with amusement as he leaned against the shelf. “If you want me to leave, just say the word.”

Mags just smiled to herself in response, choosing to ignore his comment. “I’m almost finished up here and then I’ll be ready to go.”

“Y’know,” said Harry, his tone become dramatic and teasing, “This is where we first met. When you first accosted me here, in this very aisle – “

“I did NOT accost you! You have to admit you were acting so suspicious!” Mags exclaimed indignantly. She straightened out one of the books and wondered aloud, “But it’s a bit crazy innit? That we just came into each other’s lives a mere four days ago?”

“Crazy,” Harry agreed, his sudden low and husky tone causing Mags to look up at him. “Feels like I’ve known you forever.” His eyes caught her with an unrecognizable expression, and Mags stared back, unable to look away. It’s like she was in a trance. Harry takes a step towards her, closing the small gap between them, standing so close that she could feel the warmth exuding from his chest, could see the freckles that dotted his green eyes, could practically hear his heart beating in his chest. Now was it just her or was his heart beating very, very fast?

Another second passes between them and Harry brings up his hand, placing it affectionally against her cheek, as Mags impulsively nuzzles against his palm. He leans in, closing the virtually non-existence gap between, his eyes focused on her lips, and all she could think was Is he going to – Is this really happening?

“Please tell me you guys are still open!” An unfamiliar voice shouts, as a male college student races in, eyes frantic and voice desperate.

Harry and Mags spring apart, their bodies separating as they turned to face the newcomer.

“I’ve got a paper due tonight on a book that I haven’t read. Please tell me you’re open and that you have Shakespeare!”

“Y-yes,” Mags answered, her voice a little shaky as she avoids looking at Harry, “Technically, we’re still open for another 2 minutes. You said Shakespeare? Which one?”

The boy looks around, scanning the books in the aisle before answering, “William, I think.”

She lets out a huge sigh before finally looking at Harry. “I’m just gonna help this last customer and then we can lock up and head out.” “I’ll be waiting.”

She guides the customer to the classic literature section; On the outside, she was explaining how prolific of an author Shakespeare was but internally, she was still thinking about her interaction with Harry. They were already becoming so close. When people get close, Mags discovered from her 23 years on Earth, they find the things they like and appreciate about you. But it’s a double-edge sword. That kind of intimacy also reveals the unpleasant things, it gives the other an opportunity to see the all the little things that makes a person real. Real was messy and not always pleasant. What if Harry saw all the little things that made Mags real – her tendency to ramble, her need to always have opinions about everything that she often loudly expressed, her struggle to be emotionally vulnerable with others – and decided that she’s easier to admire from afar. It was always a fear of hers, one of those doubts deep within her heart that she’d never expressed, never spoken into existence, but that still dwelled profoundly within; the fear that the more you got to know her, the harder she’d become to love.

In the middle of asking the customer probing questions, and finally being able to deduce he was looking for Othello, she turned to look at Harry who was across the shop. Just like countless times before, she found that his eyes were already on her.

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

“Okay,” Mags twisted the key into the lock and pulled the door of the bookstore before turning to face Harry, “We are good to go.”

It took Mags seemingly forever to get the last customer checked out and out of the store. She and Harry seemed to have an unspoken agreement to not speak of whatever it was that almost happened between them.

Harry lifted the cat carrier up into his arms as Pumpkin let out an adorable little mewl, begging for attention. Harry stuck his finger between the bars, laughing as Pumpkin’s pink tongue darted out to lick his finger. “Well, how about this? We go drop Pumpkin off at my house and let her get settled. And then how about you and I go grab some dinner. There’s a diner nearby and I’m sure you’re famished,” Harry suggested, all the while playing with Pumpkin and not meeting her eye.

On the outside, Mags was cool, calm, and collected and she offhandedly remarked, “Sure” in agreement. But on the inside, she was a whirlwind of emotions. Dinner? Like a date? I’m not ready for this. I mean, I know I was just wishing this was a date but maybe I should have wished that I’d have the foresight to have changed into a top that didn’t have a coffee stain on it or to have applied some gloss before coming to work today. She felt so unprepared.

But then Harry’s looked at her when she responded affirmatively, his eyes shining happily and a broad grin overtook his face, and suddenly, she didn’t quite feel so panicked. It was as if he was nervous that she’d shoot his idea down. Anew with confidence, she stated, “Lead the way.”

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

The diner that Harry had chosen was very kitschy, decorated in a way that heavy handedly embraced the retro 80’s vibe, with neon signs and polyester covers on the booths. The diner even got into the Halloween spirit, as evident by the fake bats that were hung all around the place, and the jack-o-lantern tablecloths covering each tabletop. Harry and Mags were seated across from each other, staring at the menu, as a male artist’s voice crooned from the juke box, singing about holding hands.

“So,” Mags began as she finished assessing the menu, “My options are either a hamburger or a cheeseburger. How ever will I decide?”

Harry laughed at her reaction to the limited food options. “What can I say? Don’t need really need too many options when everything tastes amazing.” Ordering a cheeseburger and coke for herself, Harry followed suit, and Mags inquired, “You come here often?” “Yeah,” Harry admitted, his fingers interlocked and resting atop the table, “I just really like the vibes. It’s also a 24-hour diner and I’ve been coming here more often within the past week, since I’ve been having trouble sleeping.”

Right. Harry’s haunting problem. She’d almost completely forgotten, but she wasn’t really to blame. Was she really supposed to stay focused when she and Harry had walked to the diner, their arms intertwined, chatting about anything and everything? When he sat only a few feet across from her, trying to catch her eye but also nervously looking away?

“Hopefully, you can finally start getting some rest soon enough. Maybe we’ll finally be able to put this whole ghost business to rest tonight,” she suggested optimistically.

He gave her a sad smile in return. “Hopefully,” he said, his voice betraying the fact that he didn’t really believe that to be true.  

Her heart ached for him once more, so she decided to change the subject. “What song is this anyway? I kinda like it. It’s cute and – what?”

Harry regarded her strangely. “What’d ya mean who is this? It’s the Beatles.”

“Like the bug?” she joked, before quickly admitting, “I’m kidding, I know of the Beatles. I just don’t usually listen to this kind of music, now don’t go and have a heart attack,” she explained as Harry eyes had initially widened at her statement.

“So, what kind of music do you usually listen to?”

“I’m definitely a top 40’s kind of girl,” Mags responded, shifting in her seat. She thanked the waitress, who adorned a festive witch’s hat, as she set down their cokes and began to work on unwrapping her straw, planning to blow the wrapper at an unsuspecting Harry’s face.

“Top 40’s? What’s that?”

“Y’know,” she responded, “Like, the top 40 songs that are most popular on the charts. The songs that are always playing on the radio.” Harry held his hand against his chest, as if he couldn’t fathom anything worse. “You are so pretentious!” She laughed, “Those songs are popular for a reason!”

Harry laughed too, making sure to let Mags know that he was really just teasing her, no malice behind his mockery. “And just when I thought there was absolutely nothing wrong with you, you go ahead and admit to that.”

Mags couldn’t help her own smile from creeping across her face. “I’m far from perfect Harry.”

There’s a look of affection that seems to flash in Harry’s eyes and Mags flushes, not really sure how to deal with it. “Yeah?” he responds, looking down to swirl the condensation pooling at the bottom of his glass of coke, “Could’ve fooled me.”

The rest of their dinner passed by in a similar fashion. Comfortable jokes, casual conversations, and longing looks passing between them. It was the first time that Mags had ever seen Harry look truly happy. She decided it was a good look on him, and right then and there, she made a silent vow to herself that she would do everything in her power to keep that happiness. Even if it meant she’d have to face the devil himself.

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

Although Harry’s house was cold, it was still much warmer than the bitter icy wind howling outside. Entering his home, Mags immediately took off her shoes and coat, with Harry following suit. She looked to him to see where she should place her coat, and when he removed his dark peacoat and tossed it over an armchair, so did she. He was wearing a cranberry colored crew neck sweater, and he wore it well, leading Mags to ponder if his closets were just an endless supply of comfy clothes, each cozier than the last. Not wanting to be caught eyeing him, she shuffled into the living room, pausing to scratch Pumpkin under her chin, just like she liked it, and to drop her duffle bag onto the floor.

“There a bathroom just down the hall, if you’d like to change into your pajamas there,” Harry offered. He scratched the back of his neck, “I’m just gonna, um, go in my room and change into mine to give you some privacy. I’ll meet you back out here and maybe we can watch a movie or something?”

“Sure,” she replied, somewhat amused. In the bathroom, she changed into her pajamas, which consisted of an old Maroon 5 shirt she had from years ago and a pair of soft fleece pajamas. When packing earlier that day, she had briefly considered wearing something a bit more flattering, but she realized it was futile because she liked to be comfortable when she slept, let alone the fact she didn’t actually own any proper sleepover, her pajama wardrobe made of oversized promotional t-shirts unsuitable for public wear. She washed her face and turned to face her reflection in the mirror. She gazed at her big, brown eyes, droplets of water tinting the tips of her lashes. Her warm tawny brown skin seemed dull and washed out under the harsh fluorescent bathroom lighting. Her dark hair was due for a haircut, and in its windswept state, wasn’t doing her any favors. She swept back her hair into a high ponytail, the stubborn baby hairs quickly reclaiming their rightful spot by framing her face.

Mags was never one of those girls that couldn’t acknowledge that she was pretty (not that girls who struggled with their beauty were less than, everyone had their own struggles. Mags was a large supporter of girls and wouldn’t speak ill of her sisters). She found that she did quite well with the male population, garnering attention when she so desired, and sometimes unwanted attention as well (looking at you, creepy Walmart man that had the audacity to comment on her big boobs just because she wasn’t wearing a bra). But then men she usually gave the time of day weren’t men of substance. Usually, she sought them out for something physical sans the intimacy. But something about Harry had her feeling self-conscious, unnerved. Raw. It was like he was appreciating her outer beauty but also truly seeing her, erratic enthusiasm and all. And even more baffling? He seemed to like what he saw.

Mags broke out of her reverie and found Harry lounging on the couch, remoted aimed at the tv as he flipped through channels. He looked up and automatically offered her one of his signature smiles, “You look lovely,” he commented nonchalantly.

“Thanks,” she responded reservedly. She joined him, careful to sit on the other end of the couch and looked around. “Where’s Pumpkin?”

“I put her on my bed,” Harry confessed, “Figured it’d be more comfortable than the hardwood floor.” “You’re gonna spoil her,” Mags snickered, “She’s used to sleeping atop the rusty radiator in my apartment.”

Harry and Mags quickly decided they should watch a movie, both wanting to stay in each other’s presence for a little while longer but struggling to find the words to express as such. Picking a movie, however, was a more difficult challenge as Harry felt that he’d had enough horror in his life to last a lifetime and couldn’t bear to suffer through another horror film, prompting Mags to put on “To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before,” partially because she wanted to annoy Harry and partially because she just thought the move was really cute, okay? The joke was on her, because apparently Harry loved romance films and was really into the movie.

As entertaining as the movie was, both found their eyes wandering from the screen, looking at each other and quickly glancing away. Mags was very hyperaware of Harry’s presence on the couch, aware of his every movement. It was like her body was in tune with his. Meanwhile, Harry couldn’t help himself. He automatically gravitated to her, like he was seeking out warmth that only she could give. Mid-movie, they found themselves to be sitting side by side, practically no space between them. If Harry wanted to, he could reach out and enclose her hand with his.

And he wants to. And so he does.

And she doesn’t pull away.

They don’t speak, just hold hands, the only source of light illuminating from the television. Neither saying a word in fear of breaking the moment. Harry finds that for the first time in a while, he feels safe. Safe and happy. He hopes she feels the same way. 

Needing to hear her voice, to get some reassurance, Harry breaks the silence once again, his eyes never leaving the scene playing out on the television. “I don’t get this part. Why is Lara Jean so scared to be with Peter? She’s so hesitant when he obviously cares for her and she does too.”

“I think it makes sense. It’s pretty accurate,” Mags responds, shrugging slightly. “Yeah? Why’s that?” “Because,” Mags bites her cheek in contemplation, “Love is scary, y’know? And letting yourself fall for someone? That’s…well, it’s terrifying.” “Not if it’s the right person,” Harry said with all the sincerity of an honest man, before quickly adding as an afterthought, “And obviously, Peter is the right person for Lara-Jean.” “Right, for Lara-Jean,” Mags agreed a little too quickly, “But it’s still scary nonetheless. Some guys aren’t all that great. It’s hard. To trust someone else, to trust them with your vulnerability, to let them know every part of you, and trust them not to hurt you.”

Harry broke the spell. He no longer referred to the characters and implicated himself. “Y’know I would never intentionally do anything to hurt you, right? I…I care about you. You do know that, don’t you?”

As she peers up at him through her lashes and meets his widened eyes, she becomes mindful of how close they had leaned towards each other. She fidgets under his intense gaze, his green eyes piercing through her own. She feels the warmth of his hand on her thigh as he inches closer until his forehead rests against her. A loose stray curl tickles her cheek and his lips just barely brush against hers. She hesitates for only a moment before deepening the kiss, pressing her lips against his forcefully. He pulls away, his pupils blown and the smallest of smiles playing on his lips, and his eyes scan her face for reassurance. Whatever he’s looking for, he must find because he rushes to close the gap and his soft lips captures hers again. She responds eagerly and her hand cups the nape of his neck. His tongue lightly sweeps across her bottom lips before slipping into her mouth, making her hum in approval.

He gently pushes her back until she’s lying on the couch. He breaks the kiss for only a moment to pull off his t-shirt and toss it carelessly across the room before swinging his legs over her until he’s practically straddling her. One hand flies to his head, pulling at his curls as the other rakes it’s fingernails into his shoulder. She angles her head back and lets out a sharp intake of breath as he leaves a trail of wet kisses down her neck. She feels the hand resting on her lower back slide up and swiftly unclasp her bra. His hands explore her body until he’s palming her breast, grazing her nipple and rolling it between his fingers, making her gasp. Harry always thought of himself as an ass man, but now, in this moment, he has a newfound appreciation for breasts. Her tongue darts between his lips hungrily and he pulls his body closer to hers, grinding steadily. She can feel her whole body on fire, the tingling sensation spreading to the pit of her stomach. Her hands immediately go for the band of his pants, but she breaks away suddenly, and he outwardly moans at the loss of contact.

“What – What is it? Are we moving too fast?” Harry questions, panting rapidly.

Mags places a hand against his chest, as Harry allows her to push him upright and she follows suit, both now sitting up.

He would never forgive himself if he had pushed her and scared her away. “We can slow down. I didn’t mean to –“ “No, shhhhh,” Mags harshly shushed him. “Don’t you hear that?” And suddenly, they’re still, unmoving like stone. The house just as quiet as the two, the only sound filling the air is their own ragged breathing stabilizing. In the silence, just as suddenly, another loud creaking resounded against the wooden interior.

“Okay,” Harry said anxiously, his eyes wandering upwards from where the sound was seemingly coming from, “I heard that.” “Do you think it’s Pumpkin?”

“I’m gonna go with no, considering Pumpkin’s right there by the fireplace.” And sure enough, Mags turned to see her kitten had at some point, bounded into the room and found comfort beside the warm flames.

Then an even more frightening sound could be heard. Mags would describe it as heavy, a hefty thumping sound that was very different from something that could be explained away, like the light scurrying of a rat.

Harry would describe it as footsteps.

It was irrational. Mags couldn’t explain it. She didn’t know what making that sound, but she did know that the sound was frightening her. She couldn’t rationally chalk it up to the characteristic creaking of an old house or wood settling, the thumps were too loud, too sporadic. Logically, she knew she should use the flashlight on her phone and go straight to the sound source. But the fact of the matter is, she’s scared. 

Just when she began to steady her racing heart rate and begin to think she could work up the nerve to go investigate the sound, a sudden crash came from the other side of the room, causing her to yelp in surprise and clutch Harry’s arm in fear. One of the picture frames that Harry had hung on the wall fell on to the ground, the glass shattered from the impact. It just fell. Nothing to cause it, as if the material had literally leaped from the wall to its untimely death. “Fat load of good you are,” Mags glared at Pumpkin who, unbeknownst to the danger, was playing with a discarded bottle cap.

Harry put in quick work to shrug his sweater over his shoulders, and then taking care to ensure that Mags wasn’t too frightened. “Well, at least now you believe me?”

“Believe you?” Mags asked in disbelief, facing him “I more than believe you. I think, I think we should get outta here. Let’s just go stay at my place.” She frantically stood up, brushing her stray hairs from her face, trying to clear her mind so she could form rational thoughts. Harry stood up just as suddenly, standing next to her, holding her elbow and shoulder, pulling her towards him in a comforting hug. 

“We need to come up with a game plan,” she said, her breath slightly muffled as she nuzzles her face against his sweater clad chest. “I think it’s best if we just spend the night at my apartment. And tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” Harry questioned encouragingly. 

“We’re going to do whatever it takes. A cleansing. Research. Anything to un-haunt this house, because this shit? It’s scary.”

They both spared one last glance upwards, to where the sound was coming from, an array of emotions filling the room; frightened (Mags, because ghosts can’t exist, they just can’t. It transcends the rules of physical science!), agitated (Harry because how could he be so dense as to put Mags in danger, though he figures that once she sets her mind to something, there’s no stopping her), and confused (Pumpkin, wondering why the humans were looking up when she was right here, as she softly mewls from the lack of attention).

_______________________________________________________________________

Day 6, October 29th, 1 day until Halloween.

The sun filtered in through the linen curtains, illuminating the white sheets beside her, warming her skin and giving her a bronze glow. Mags slowly peeled her eyes open, immediately noticing Harry’s absence. His side of the bed was empty, and Mags wasn’t sure how to feel. Was it really just a few hours ago that her world was shook by the presence of ghosts? If science wasn’t solid, then what else was there to rely on?

Once they got to her place, they were both too strung-out and tired to do anything. They shuffled under the covers and slept in her small bed, sleeping together in the most innocent way possible. The only touching was the hand holding that occurred under the bed, which although much less risqué than what happened last night had it not been for the potential ghost encounter, the thought of which still made Mags warm and blush. Stretching out her limbs and gathering her relentless hair into a manageable bun, she created an itinerary for herself. Bathroom first. Find Harry, second. Figure out what happened last night, third. Although she wasn’t so sure about the last one. Did she want to figure out the ominous sound they heard or figure out exactly what happened between her and Harry last night? All she knew was, it was way too early for this.

Once emerging from the bathroom, she tuned into the sounds of pots and pans clanging in the kitchen, immediately deducing Harry’s whereabouts. She knew it couldn’t possibly be Marisol, because she’d never be up this early, and she knew she had spent the night at Niall’s place.

His back was facing her, his shoulders moving as he poured batter into a frying pan, Pumpkin nuzzling against his ankles. Mags didn’t even know they owned a frying pan. Marisol and Mags mainly lived off of frozen dinners, take-outs, and Niall’s generous discounts at the café where he occasionally moonlights as a waiter.

“G’morning,” she croaked, alerting Harry to her presence. She cleared her throat and tried again, “Mornin’, Harry. What’s all this?” “I’m making pancakes,” He turned, greeting her drowsy appearance, his voice thickened with lack of use, guttural and raw. “Ran out to the convenience store this morning and grabbed some ingredients. Figured we could both use a hearty breakfast.”

Mags hummed in appreciation, rubbing a sweater-clad fist over her dreary eyes, sleepily offering help which Harry firmly denied and directed her to sit at the small kitchen table. “Are the pancakes chocolate chip?” “Is there any other way?” Harry responds, smiling warmly at her sleepy antics. He sets a plate of scrambled eggs and chocolate chip pancakes in front of her, placing a bottle of syrup within her reach without her having to ask.

Mags suddenly felt out her element. She wasn’t used to this kind of treatment with any guy she had ever been with, and she technically hadn’t even been with Harry. Was she meant to kiss him in appreciation? He was so tender in everything he did, always putting her needs and comfort first. The situation was foreign to her, so domestic and comfortable that it made her feel uncomfortable. “Um, thank you – It all looks delicious,” she finally managed to stammer out.

Harry carried his own plate of food in one hand, his other opening the fridge to grab a carton of orange juice. Witnessing how comfortable he seemed to be in her small apartment made her unnerved, but it was also exciting. Thrilling.

As he sat across from her, their eyes met once again. “I figure,” Harry began, “I mean, I think that we should probably talk about what happened last night. Don’t you?”

“Yes,” Mags agreed, nervously wringing her fingers, “Good idea. It…scared me. Um, I didn’t like it.”

Harry’s face blanched for a moment before he smoothed his features into an expressionless façade. “You didn’t?”

“Of course, I didn’t, it was just so…I don’t know how to put it. It all happened so fast, one thing after the other. It’s a lot to process.

Harry nodded slowly, gently, as if Mags was fragile and he was handling the situation delicately, although she couldn’t figure why. “It is a lot. And it was a bit fast. Maybe we need to just slow down and figure out what it meant?” He suggested nervously.

Mags eyed him in confusion, his apprehensive demeanor puzzling her, as she continued speaking. “It was just so unexpected. I didn’t think that was going to happen when I went to your place last night. It was so awful.” Harry’s brows furrowed together, looking wounded, as he murmured, “I mean, well me neither but I don’t think it was necessarily a bad th-“ “What do you mean you weren’t expecting it?” Mags probed, pausing to chew her scrambled eggs, “it certainly seems like you were positive that it would happen.”

Harry’s face, despite his efforts, flashed with hurt. “Well, I mean, I hoped it would happen but of course I wasn’t expecting anything. I just –” Abandoning his food, he rubbed his hands over his curls, then dropped them to rest against his knees, palms up as if pleading, “Look, I really, really like you and obviously it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way but I really thought - ”

“Who says I don’t feel the same way?” Mags questioned in confusion, wondering if perhaps Harry, as cute as he was, might’ve been a few screws short. Guess people truly can’t have it all.  

Meanwhile, Harry’s own face contorted in confusion, his voice borderline hysterical. “What do you mean who says, you says! I mean, you just said that you didn’t like what happened last night.”

“Right,” Mags nodded empathetically, “The noise we heard really scared me and I think it’s quite normal to not like the fact you have an actual fucking ghost in your house.”

A beat passed. Then another.

“Did you think I was talking about, whatever happened between us?” Mags clarified, gesturing at their bodies. When Harry offered a sheepish look in response, Mags smiled with fondness, putting her fork down on her plate. “You’re silly. Let me be clear. Ghosts? Bad. Harry and Mags? Good. I’m not sure exactly what happened between us last night, but I like you. I think it should happen again, minus the paranormal encounter. Not just the, erm, the touching part. The diner part. The talking part too. We can table that for now and come back to it when we aren’t in fear of lurking ghosts. We can figure that part out together.” The relief that washed over Harry couldn’t have been more evident. “Oh thank god, I’m so happy to hear you say that,” and when Harry was happy, Mags couldn’t help but think that the sun was trapped within him, warmth, comfort, and blinding brightness and all. “And um, what about the other thing? The ghost thing?” Mags beamed at him, at the 6-foot boy that towers in her small apartment but looks over at all five feet of her with concern and care, before replying, “We can figure that part out together too. I have a game plan.”

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

After the tenderness and confusion of their morning breakfast, Harry and Mags got dressed for the day, each renewed with a determination to solve this ghost problem of theirs once and for all. It wasn’t just Harry’s problem anymore. Harry’s safety and happiness were now Mags’ priority as well. Cleaning up and getting dressed took a little longer than usual, as they spared moments to steal glances and accidental touches. By the time they made it out of her apartment, the sun was brilliantly shining in the sky, for once the skies clear of any clouds, and it was noon.

Mags truly did have an anti-ghost plan. And she intended to put it to use before tomorrow. It was as she explained to Harry, that tomorrow was Halloween, and everyone knows that on All Hallows Eve, the world between the paranormal and normal collided. Her extensive repertoire of horror movies led her to confidently assert that the if the dead were to roam the earth, then Halloween would be the best night to so do. She figured that now since science and everything she’s ever known has changed; she might as well rely on literature to guide them through this ordeal.

“So, first on our agenda is to seek out a priest,” Harry commented, eyes squinting at the sun, hand firmly holding hers. “Which church should we go to?” “Askin’ the wrong person here,” Mags chuckled while gesturing to herself, “Nearest mosque, I could help ya with. But church?” “Right,” he said, blushing despite her obvious joking tone, “Well, I guess we’ll have to trust google?”

Finding the church was easy enough. Getting the minister to believe that they weren’t pulling a prank was a little trickier. After much clarification and pleading, they left the church armed with some information.

“I dunno about you, but this bottle of holy water has me feeling a bit indestructible,” Harry joked, wagging the holy water tauntingly. Mags owns hands clutched the pewter candlestick holders and candles the church had generously donated to them. Though they had initially hoped for the church to interfere with their dilemma, the resources and tips they provided would just have to do. “Although,” Harry said, raising his eyebrows, “I must say, I’m surprised.” “Why? ‘Cuz I thought of such a brilliant plan?” “No. I’m shocked that you were able to last that entire trip to the church without swearing even once.” Mags opened her mouth, feigning offence, before shoving him. “So, what’s next?” Harry questions, after composing his laughter, “A psychic?”

“A medium,” Mags corrected.

“Oh, I didn’t know there was a difference,” Harry admitted good-naturedly.

“Me neither,” Mags confessed, but google sure did.

As they followed the GPS directions to the location of where the medium was located, Harry had another question. “How’d you pick this medium? Does she specialize in ghosts and exorcisms?” “Hmm?” She said, looking up, “Oh no, she just had the best Yelp rating.” She scrolls through her phone, thumbing through the device before presenting it to Harry. “And, she’s got a Halloween special going on right now. 50% off for her services. Pretty crafty of me, huh?”

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

The medium, a woman named Clair LeMadeline, had looked relatively normal. Her red hair curled into define ringlets and her eyes were a piercing blue. She was wearing a simple pea blouse and black slacks. The only thing that was even considerably odd about her appearance was her green eyeshadow, bold and unnaturally glittery. She was a stark contrast from what Mags was expecting, which was a woman, possibly raven haired, with a crystal ball in a dark room with thick purple drapes.

Even more so, she had hoped the woman would be able to help them out a bit more. For someone who claimed to have a unique ability to hover between two worlds and a connection with spirits without a physical body, she wasn’t really helpful.

Mags recalled the only bit of information that was slightly useful. Clair had taken Harry’s hands into her own, hoping to get a ‘read’ on his aura.

“Ah yes,” she had said, her sharp nails outlining the lines on Harry’s palm, “I’m sensing something here. I see that recently in your life, you’ve come upon some suffering.”

“Yes!” Harry fervently nodded, with Mags reservedly watching from his side.

“Your future,” Clair continued melodramatically, her eyes tightly shut as she focused, “it’s blurry. Unclear. I see, red liquid. Lots and lots of red. It’s staining your shirt, dripping onto your shoes, there’s so much red.”

Harry’s face pales, dread overcoming him, as he frantically tightens his hold on the medium’s own hands. “Is it blood?”

“Hard to say, but my best guess is that it is indeed blood. Yes, I can see that. And, you’ve suffered a great loss. I also see here that you’re a widower.”

“Erm, no,” Harry confessed, pulling his hands back slightly, “I’ve never even been married. Way off base.”

The medium had looked slightly put out with that comment, “Well, I never. Surely you must’ve been married. With those dimples and a body like that, you’ve probably had your fair share of wives. You don’t have to lie to impress your little girly over here,” she harrumphed, gesturing towards Mags.

“Okaaay,” Mags announced, offering the medium a tight polite smile, “I think we’re done here.”

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

“That was a waste of time,” Harry groaned. “She was obviously a scam artist. Also, I’m pretty sure she was hitting on me.” He glanced at his watch and groaned even more audibly, “And we’re running out of daylight. Halloween is tomorrow. What are we gonna do?”

“That woman certainly was…a lot of things,” Mags said, carefully choosing her words, “But she was surprisingly helpful.” Harry brows furrowed, his face distorting in disbelief. “Think about what she called you,” Mags explained, answering his unasked question. “She said that you were a widower.” “And you believed her?” He explained, “Mags, I’ve never – “ Huffing slightly, she interrupted his speech, “Okay, no. Obviously, I’m not an idiot. But that just got me thinking. Didn’t you say Bertha was a widow? Do you know anything about her husband? Maybe we can look into his death. Maybe his spirit was awoken by the Ouija board and it’s restless for some reason and unless we help him with his unfinished business, he can’t pass over to the other side.” “You’re a genius,” Harry commented, which prompted Mags to thank him and inform him with sincerity that it was all because she watched a lot of Buzzfeed Unsolved. “I don’t know much about her husband, but I know how we can find out more.”

And that’s how Harry and Mags found themselves standing on the steps outside the town’s public library. Harry’s idea was brilliant, Mags had to admit. The town newspaper always printed the obituaries for residents that passed. Older editions of the newspaper could be accessed using the microfiche. Even more promising was that if Bertha’s late husband had passed under unusual circumstances, the paper was sure to have done a story over it. But even with a great idea put into action, and their hopes and spirits renewed, Mags couldn’t help the nauseous pit growing in her stomach.

As they embarked up the steps, Harry looked over at Mags in concern. “You okay there? You look a little green.”

“Hmm?” She feigned ignorance, “No, I’m fine.” Harry opened the door, ushering her inside before stepping into the heated building. “Must’ve been something I ate.” “My pancakes have you feeling nauseous?” Harry exclaimed in concern.

Oops. Right, Mags had forgotten that the only thing she’d eaten today was Harry’s cooking. This was why she hated lying – she was bad at it.

“Hush, Harry,” is the route she decided to go with, “We’re in a library. We don’t wanna disturb the other patrons.” She gestured to the room, mentally groaning when she saw that the library was jam-packed with three other people, a young girl and her mother were fiddling on the computers, and an old man that was sleeping on one of the armchairs. Or, at least Mags hoped he was sleeping. One would think the library would be more popular on a Friday night.

Harry shot her another concerning look but chose to drop the matter, for now. In fear of being shushed again, he gestured to the circulation help desk, indicating that they should ask one of the library assistants where they could find the catalogued newspapers. As they approached the desk, Mags legs felt like they were heavy lead as she dragged them across the carpeted floor. She just needed an excuse to slip away for five minutes and then this upcoming crisis could be averted.

She stopped in her tracks, spinning around to face Harry. “I, um, need to go to the bathroom. It’s an emergency. Not that you asked,” She nervously chuckled. “Anyways,” she pushed Harry’s back towards the help desk, “Why don’t you ask where we can find the newspapers while I’m gone and I’ll just meet you there and – ” “Magnolia?” The voice came from behind her, just as smoky and honeyed as she remembered.

She froze in her tracks. This cannot be happening. I’m a good person she thought, I fast during Ramadan. I try to be nice to others. I’m fairly sure that I pay all my taxes. Why is this happening to me? Would it be too late for her to make a run for it? She could just tell Harry it was an emergency and then meet him back at his house once he acquired the information.

Just as she began to inch towards the exit, the voice called out again. “Magnolia, that is you! I thought it was. I’d recognize you anywhere. ” Ignoring Harry’s look of confusion, she turned around reluctantly. She looked at the other boy, his dark hair perfectly styled atop his head, not a strand out of place. His cheekbones sharp and proudly protruding, his lips slightly turned into a familiar smile. Unlike her, his brown skin didn’t seem to have a problem with dulling under florescent lights, as he was golden and glowing. One tatted arm reached out to embrace her in a hug, pulling her softly against his chest, before pulling back to get a look at her. “You look good,” he professed, looking at her intently form head to toe, “Beautiful like always.” From her peripheral, she could see that Harry certainly didn’t like that, if his body language was any indicator as he crossed his arms and shifted his stance to stand closers to Mags.

“Zayn,” she greeted, trying to modulate her voice and stifle her feelings of panic. “Didn’t expect to see you here.” “At the library?” Zayn questioned, “Where I work?”

“Must’ve slipped my mind,” She nervously answered. Just as she was going to grab Harry’s arm and steer them away from the upcoming train wreck, Harry himself piped up. “I’m sorry. Mags hasn’t introduced us. Who are you?”

Zayn looked at Harry, as if he just registered that Mags wasn’t alone. “This is Zayn,” Mags answered quickly, “He’s my –”

“I’m Magnolia’s ex-boyfriend,” Zayn interrupted, reaching over to shake Harry’s hand, muscles tightening, jaw clenched, “She and I used to date.”

“He knows what ex means,” Mags hissed.

“Oh really?” Harry responded, his face unreadable, “Funny. Mags actually hasn’t even mentioned you.” His emphasis on her preferred nickname was evident to both Zayn and Mags, because Harry was as subtle as horse. “I’m Harry.”

Mags, despite the train wreck happening before her very eyes, was relieved that Harry introduced himself. She didn’t know what title she would’ve given him. She didn’t even know what they were. They were in some weird limbo until this ghost mess was past them. What would she have said? Harry piping up saved her from the verbal onslaught that would’ve been sure to follow. Hi, yes Zayn, my ex-boyfriend who broke my heart, this is Harry, a boy that I almost slept with and really want to sleep with but haven’t yet because I was cock-blocked by a ghost. Anyways, can you point us to the non-fiction section?

“Um,” Mags spoke, breaking the palpable tension, “While we have you here Zayn, we could actually use your help with some questions.”

Ignoring Harry’s disgruntled expression and Zayn’s self-satisfied smirk, she continued on. “Aren’t you doing your senior thesis on like witchcraft or something of that nature?”

“It’s on magical realism and occult fiction,” He clarified, before giving her a sly smile, warmer and more comfortable than his smirk, looking more like the Zayn she knew. “Y’know, all that haram and Jinn stories that used to bother the hell out of ya.”

Despite not wanting to, she couldn’t help but smile in return. “Right,” she warmed at the mention of their insider, “Well, we could use your help. For your research, did you come across anything about how to perform an exorcism on a house that’s possessed by a ghost?”

Zayn, to his credit, didn’t bat an eye at her odd question. He was used to Mags’ antics. “Yeah, from what I’ve read, the best bet is to light some sage. Ask the ghosts what they want and try to get them what they need, and they’ll leave.” He paused as if he truly registered what he just asked her, and then eyed Harry suspiciously. “But I know you. You don’t believe in that kinda stuff.”

“It’s nothing,” Mags lied, wanting to end this conversation, like, five minutes ago. “Can you tell us where the newspaper archives are? Ones from like 10 years ago?”

Heading towards the corner of the library that Zayn pointed them to, Harry and Mags walked in silence. Unable to take it anymore, Mags spoke up. “So, that was Zayn. My ex-boyfriend. But you already know that.”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” Harry assured her. And it seemed like he truly meant that sentiment, his voice unwavering and genuine He didn’t seem the slightest bit accusatory, no hint of sarcasm lining his tone, which was so unlike what she was used to when she was dating Zayn. Not that she was dating Harry, but she and Zayn had a knack for being able to get under each other’s skin. Had the roles been reversed, Zayn wouldn’t have let that interaction go, hounding Mags for more answers to impossible questions until they’d inevitably get into another one of their infamous fights. Zayn was an English major, through and through, envious and passionate. He felt deeply as an artist and fought just as dramatically too.

It was the fact that Harry was nothing like Zayn that encouraged her to share. “No, I want to explain,” She insisted, as they carried a stack of newspapers to a table, ready to dive into their town’s obituaries. “Zayn and I, well, he and I dated for a good while. It was one of those things where, when it was good, it was really good, y’know? But when it was bad? It was awful.”

Harry encouragingly nodded, his green eyes looking to her in sincerity, letting her tell the story at her own pace. “Well,” Mags exhaled, “It was serious. One of the most serious relationships I’ve ever had. But it didn’t work out. Obviously. We were just too different. We both retreated when we were hurt and angry instead of talking things out. And it wasn’t just his fault, it was both of ours. It wasn’t anything dramatic or serious. We just broke up because we never really tried our best, never gave our best effort to fix our problems.” She recalled the months after the end of their relationship, Mags tried her best to hold it together, but it really did wound her. “The break-up still sucked though,” she admitted. She may act collected and composed, but when she does let someone into her heart, it’s different. If it wasn’t for Niall and Marisol, she wasn’t sure if she’d have gotten through it.

Harry placed his hand atop of hers, taking care to look into her eyes. “He’s the guy that broke your heart, isn’t he? The reason that you’re scared to be vulnerable with someone.”

Mags kept her gaze on the stack of newspaper, unable to meet his eyes, wordlessly nodding in affirmation.

“Well, thank you for sharing that with me,” Harry said earnestly, reaching over to put a finger under Mags chin, turning her face so they were looking at each other. “Thanks for being vulnerable with me.” Mags raised her gaze, smiling at the kindness of the boy who sat across from her, unsure how to respond.

She needn’t worry though because she didn’t have to reply. “Anyways,” he continued, “We have a ghost to get rid of. Let’s get to looking through this decade’s worth of obituaries.”

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

As they started to head back to the house, Mags was a ball of nerves, filled with anticipation. The trip to the library had been a success. Mags was able to find Bertha’s late husband, Tom’s, obituary. It simply stated that he passed due to a head contusion, with no information on how it occurred. News must’ve been slow that week because Harry then found the real treasure: an investigative article that revealed more information about Tom’s death. They discovered that Tom and Bertha had gotten into an argument, over something silly as she had to remind him multiple times to check the circuit breaker in the basement. Tom had begrudgingly gone to do so when one the wires in the breakers shocked him with a small current of electricity. The electrical shock didn’t kill him, but it did surprise him enough so that he stepped back, falling over and hitting his head on the edge of his workbench. The death was quick and painless, the article assured readers, but Mags still felt awful while reading it. Poor Tom, she thought, and poor Bertha. Even more so, it was a bit unsettling to Harry that a death had occurred in the house in which he was currently living.

As they had prepared to leave the library earlier, armed with knowledge and a secure plan to conduct their exorcism, Zayn had caught up with them, giving Mags a bottle of sage that he had lying around in his office that he acquired during his thesis research.

Now, she and Harry trekked back to the house, loaded with goodies that would hopefully guarantee an end to the paranormal activities; bottle of holy water, pewter candlesticks, and a bottle of sage, not to mention everything that they learned throughout the day. As she mentally recounted the day’s hectic and odd events, she voiced her thoughts. “Wasn’t that medium funny? The things she so-called predicted about you were so wild.” Mags laughed, brandishing her speech with air quotes.

“Heh, yeah,” Harry said, uncharacteristically without elaboration. There was a small pause, and then, “Actually, she wasn’t all wrong.” “How’s that?” Mags inquired, wondering how much longer their walk would take. She was so ready to deal with the ghost. Especially now since she knew it was Tom and he probably didn’t mean them any harm.

“I actually, uh, well you know how she said I suffered a great loss?” Harry reached over to rub the back of his neck before continuing, “Well. She wasn’t wrong about that. My uh, my dad passed away. Not too long ago really.” “Harry,” Mags said, concern and sympathy and sadness all intertwined in her voice, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. We don’t have to talk about it.”

“We don’t,” Harry agreed, but then he looked at her. And if Mags had to guess, the look in his eyes showed that he felt comfortable with her. Safe. “But I want to. My dad was an okay guy, not the best husband but a good father. He passed quickly – cancer, but not painlessly. It was tough for my sister and mom. Tough for me too.” He cleared his throat, sneaking a peek at Mags before looking down at his feet. “I just, I wanted you to know that about me. I like sharing things with you. You’re easy to talk to.”

Usually, Mags was quick to stick her foot in her mouth. Her special talent of saying the wrong thing reared its ugly head when it was most unwanted and in the most awkward situations. But surprisingly, that didn’t happen this time. Mags took one look at how exposed and open Harry was, how he shared his sorrow and confided in her, and she knew exactly what she wanted to say. “He must’ve been a great father,” Mags noted, “To have helped raise someone as wonderful like you.”

They shared a smile. A small one that meant that whatever this was, whatever was happening between them, it was going to be big. The shared smile revealed that there were wonders and adventures yet to come between them. But it would all have to wait until after tonight, when they would finally leave Harry with a ghost-free home.

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

When Harry unlocked the door to his house, they didn’t waste time in removing their shoes or coats and got straight to work. Harry began to burn the sage and Mags set the candle around the room, lighting the wicks and igniting flames. They worked in silence, the magnitude of what’s to come weighing heavily on their shoulders. When finished with their respective duties, they met back at the center.

Harry’s grip on the bottle of holy water tightened. “You don’t have to do this, y’know? I won’t hold it against you.” He was offering her an out, not wanting to put her in any unnecessary danger.

Mags rolled her eyes, before reaching over to grasp his free hand. “I’m not that easy to get rid of. I’m not going anywhere.”

Just then, the awful thudding and heavy footsteps could be heard from above. It was loud, the steps so heavy that it caused bits of wood shavings to fall from the ceiling. It was now or never.

“Hello?” Mags called out, her voice trembling at the unknown. “Is that you Tom? I mean Mr – “ “Bleakman,” Harry helpfully supplied.

Mags gulped, “Mr. Bleakman. If that’s you, can you give us a sign?”

Was it her imagination, or had the room suddenly gotten colder? The inside of the house seemed to be even more freezing that the harsh winds outside. It was chilling. Goosebumps began to dot her arms and an uneasy feeling settling around her.  She held her coat closer to her exposed neck, her grip tightening in Harry’s intertwined hand.

“Mr. Bleakman?” Now it was Harry giving it a go. “If you can hear me, I just want you to know. I’m Harry. Your wife, Bertha, rented this house to me. She’s a real sweet woman.” “They play Bingo together,” Mags offered.

“We did. We played a lot of Bingo together and – “ “Which isn’t a euphemism by the way!” Mags exclaimed, before mouthing an apology to Harry when he shot her an exasperated look.

“Right. Well, Mr. Bleakman. Tom. I was hoping that you could stop haunting this house. The thing with the Ouija board the other day? It wasn’t very cool of me and I won’t do it again.” The thudding didn’t stop. The cold air didn’t seem to warm. In fact, things began to worsen. Mags and Harry looked around just as the lights began to flicker, casting an ominous lighting around the room. Just as suddenly, the lights went out all together and everything was dead silent. In the dim lighting, with the candles their only source of light, Mags eyes struggled to adjust. A chill ran down her spine, causing her to tremble. She clumsily reached out for Harry, having let go of his hand earlier, and then let out an audible sigh of relief when his hand found hers instead, squeezing it once as reassurance.

The thumping sound stopped. The only sound that could be heard was their shallow breathing that seemed deafening in an otherwise silent room. They waited, breath baited, for something to happen. It couldn’t be that easy Mags thought. There’s no way.

And though she didn’t want to be, she was right. No sooner has she mentally expressed that sentiment that there was a loud smashing sound that came from the right of her, followed by a loud bang of something crashing to the ground. She screamed, backing up into Harry, who immediately pulled her behind him, trying to shield her from whatever danger that lurked. Before they could even question what caused that smashing sound, a sudden gust of cold air could be felt, causing Mags to shudder and simultaneously, and all the flames in the candles went out. They were trapped in pitch darkness.

The front door slammed open, and the pair whirled around to look at the entrance. A hooded figure could be seen, face hidden, a blunt object in his hand.

This time, both Mags and Harry screamed bloody murder.

The figure screamed back.

A voice thick with an Irish accent resounded in the room. “Why’re ya screaming?! It’s just me!”

“Niall?” Mags questioned desperately, while Harry shouted, “What’s wrong with you? You don’t just bust into someone’s home like that!” The latter’s voice sounding suspiciously scared in a falsetto.

As if this was a playwright and not reality, the lights flickered back on, almost on cue. The lights revealed that it was indeed Niall, as he pulled down the hood from his jacket and stepped into the room. The large object in his hand was just a scroll of paper, rolled up into a tight cylindrical shape.

Mags took long strides to cross the room and stand before Niall before not so lightly pounding him on the arm repeatedly. “What is the matter with you?” “Ouch!” The Irishman exclaimed, wincing and rubbing him tender arm. “I’m here because I’ve found the answer to Harry’s problem.” He was met with unimpressed stares. “Yikes, tough crowd. Look, why don’t you guys take a seat?”

Mags and Harry shared a look, and then walked over to the couch, sitting close to each other, practically on the same cushion, not wanting to be apart after what they’d just witnessed. Once settled, all eyes were on Niall, who physically claimed the center of the room.

“I have found the solution to this haunting,” Niall began. Mags noticed that he was using the same rambunctious, haughty voice he employed when he had to present a subject in class over something that he hadn’t done the reading on, but she ignored calling him out as he actually had piqued her interest. Could he truly have the answer to stop all this madness?

Harry hunched over and ran his palms across his face, and Mags instinctively reached out to rub his shoulders comfortingly. “Oooh! When’d this happen?” Niall asked excitedly, pointing at them.

Mags eyes just flashed in irritation.

“Right!” Niall exclaimed, as if he suddenly remembered he was in the middle of something important. “The solution.”

He began to pace the length of the living room rug, his hands tied behind his back, the rain droplets from his jacket dripping onto the floor. “I’ve been thinking long and hard about everything that Harry had said about this house. All the things that spooked him. I didn’t know what to make of it, so I did some digging of my own.”

He bent over and unfolded the roll of paper, and Mags and Harry reached out to hold opposite edges to keep it straightened.

“Erm, what exactly are we looking at here?” Harry questioned, his head cocked to the side trying to make sense of the white lines and measurements adorning the navy-blue page.

“I went to the town hall and asked for a copy of this house’s floorplan. You mentioned it was old, Harry, something in Bertha’s family for a while so I figured they would have it. If you look closely, right about here,” he pointed to a section on the paper of what Mags deduced was the living room that they were currently in, “that’s the room we are in right now. And if you follow the measurements of the floorboards, you’ll see that they don’t quite align.”

From Harry’s squinted eyes, it was clear he hadn’t caught on yet. But Mags had. The paper showed the square footage, measurements, and scales; Numbers! She was back in familiar territory! She excitedly traced the area that Niall pointed out. “Oh my gosh,” she whispered, “This bitch is built crooked.”

“What?” Harry exclaimed, exasperated at being out of the loop. “What is this even showing me?” Niall seemed gleeful at Mag’s realization, validating his findings. “The house, while structurally sound, was built crooked. The plot of land it’s on is uneven. The left dipping lower than the right. Which is why sometimes,” Niall threw his arm out to point at the right wall, splattering Mags and Harry’s faces with more water droplets that flew off his sleeve, “the painting from that wall falls off periodically.” They all looked to where he pointed. The sound Mags and Harry had heard moments ago, the loud banging in the darkness, had been a picture frame that fell off the wall. That’s all it was. Mags felt just the tiniest bit of air fill back into her lungs in relief.

“B-but,” Harry nodded his head side to side in apparent puzzlement, “But how does that explain the lights? We – “He nodded his head at Mags, “We found out that Tom, Bertha’s husband, had died while messing with the breaker in the basement. The flickering lights has to be his ghost.” Niall only patted Harry’s head in response. “Oh, you silly lad! If only that were true. In actuality, Bertha forgot to tell you that in the winter months, the house needs a scheduled appointment with the town’s electrician. The house is old, the wiring is faulty, and it needs a nice tweak now and then in the cold weather.”

Niall stood up once again with a flourish, one finger raised and poised in the air, “And how would I know that? Fret not Harry,” to which Harry deeply exhaled in frustration. “I looked up Bertha, found her granddaughter on Instagram. She’s a fittie by the way, has a boyfriend though. Real shame.” A swift kick to his shins from Mags got him to stop his harmless flirting and get back on track. “Right, so I reached out to her. She relayed that information to me. She also pointed out something else that she thought we’d ought to know.”

He treads to the other side of the room, to the wall that has four large windowpanes covered by thick, velvet drapes. Grabbing the curtain from one corner, he peels it back, loudly exclaiming “Ta-daa!”, his hands outstretched as if he was presenting something fascinating to them, a magician in front of an audience.

Eyes blinked back at him. “There’s nothing even there!” Harry exasperatedly noted.

“What?” Niall did a double take, and then chuckled to himself. “Oops, wrong window.” He repeated his same dramatic motions, this time uncovering a window with a large, crack on it. On the corner, was a missing shard of glass. “Bertha had been meaning to get this fixed. The neighbor’s kid accidentally threw a baseball through the window. She got really forgetful towards the end, according to her granddaughter, which is why she whisked her away.”

Mags nodded excitedly, “That’s what’s been causing the drafts.” She turned to Harry, eyes glowing with relief, “That’s why it always so damn cold in here. Your thermostat can’t compete with that.”

“Hopefully the flickering lights will offset how high your electivity bill is going to be,” Niall joked.

Harry seemed unconvinced. “What about that smell then, huh? It smells something dreadful in the kitchen and I’ve cleaned the place spic and span.”

Mags turned to Niall in wonder, looking at him in a whole new light, as if he was an all knowing being that held all the answers.

“Follow me,” Niall said, leading the trio into the kitchen while continuing his monologue. “I called up our dear friend Louis. Hard guy to keep track of, that lad, with the time zones and all. I told him about the smell, and wouldn’t you know it? Our friend remembered the fact that when he was here, he had drunkenly tried to make himself scrambled eggs for breakfast when you,” he pointed accusingly at Harry, “were passed out on the couch. What he actually did was drop an egg on the ground. In his drunken state, he simply just kicked the egg yolk under the fridge, like ice, and promised to clean it later.”

Niall leaned against the fridge, arms crossed dramatically. “As we know, no follow-through that one. He forgot to clean his mess. So that smell you smelt? The scent of rotten eggs? It actually was a rotten egg. Disgusting but true.”

“I –” Harry couldn’t believe it. Gently pushing Niall away from the fridge, he knelt down on one knee, sinking onto the cool tile. Sliding his phone out of his front pocket, he turned on his flashlight app and shined in under the fridge. Niall and Mags also leaned in to get a closer look. Audible gasps could be heard from all three of them. There, under the dusty and sticky tile bottom of the fridge, wedged between a dust ball and an expired coupon, was a broken, rotten egg.

Mags pinched her nose, unable to take the scent anymore. “Niall, you’re an absolute genius,” she complimented nasally.

Before Niall could bask in his glory for long, Harry interrupted once again. “You’ve explained the lights. The painting falling off. The cold. The smell. But,” his eyes bleary and red, his arms flailing in frustration “what about the sounds coming from the ceiling? The footsteps?”

He turned around and looked at Mags frantically for support. “Mags heard it too! The night that she stayed over and we – um, she just heard it too!” while Mags nodded feverishly in the background.

Niall looked away, breaking eye contact. “That’s the only part I can’t explain,” the blonde confessed, scratching his scalp. “But the blueprints show this house has an attic. Let’s all go search up there together.”

Emboldened by Niall’s other explanations, everyone geared up for their excursion, which really meant that everyone had their phones in hand, flashlights shining. Once again, Niall lead the way, stopping in the middle of the hallway. It was no wonder Harry had never noticed it before. There, on the ceiling, was a subtle outline of an attic door and a very small chain dangling. It was so high up that Niall and Harry took turns hopping and trying to reach the latch, while Mags didn’t even try, watching the boys struggle because she know her attempts would be futile. Eventually Harry was able to grab ahold of the chain and pull the attic door open, as the wooden steps fell along with it. Harry looked back at Mags, feeling a surge of affection for this girl that was willing to risk everything for him, and then looked at Niall, the friend who jumped through hoops to help a friend. Inspired by the love and support around him, Harry took the lead, climbing up the steps as Niall and Mags respectively followed.

“Please don’t be a creepy man that’s been hoarding and hiding in Harry’s attic for shelter,” Mags whispered, climbing the last steps “Because I WILL die of shock, and that’s a promise.”

Niall and Harry helped her up, and she stood upright. They each flashed their lights at different corners of the attic, trying to find something amiss among the dusty boxes of forgotten belongings and storage.

“Wait,” Harry whispered, pointing in the opposite corner. “Look over there. Something’s glowing.”

And sure enough, Mags saw it too. Something was glowing and moving. Two little round balls of light.

“I think,” Harry began, taking a step closer to the source when all Mags wanted to do was drag him back to safety, “Oh wow, it is.” “Is what?” Niall exclaimed, unable to handle the suspense.

“It’s a family of possums!” Harry cried in relief, “It’s just a mama possum and her babies. It’s not a ghost!”

“Awww,” Niall cooed.

The release that everyone felt was almost palpable, the relief tangible. There was no ghost after all! No otherworldly being! All of this was caused by a forgetful old woman, a drunk friend, and a family of critters.

Mags could almost cry tears of joy. Science was valid. Her whole wasn’t flipped upside down. Numbers were important, her beliefs restored. Rationale could explain everything unusual that had occurred within the confines of this house. Without being too dramatic, she could firmly declare that once again, her life had meaning.

She took a few minutes to herself to truly appreciate that there was no haunting before finally speaking up. “I hate to ruin the moment,” Mags said as Harry and Niall admired the critters, “but mama possums are very territorial and will attack if she feels threatened.” When neither Harry nor Niall made any intentions to move, she added, “And possums are at high risk to carry strains of rabies.”

“And that’s our cue!” Harry quipped, as Niall vehemently added, “Yup!”

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

Day 7: October 31st, Halloween!!!

Mags beamed with content, relaxing every muscle in her body as she laid on the bookshop’s couch, her head resting on Harry’s warm thigh, his face partially obscured by a book, reading snippets from the murder-mystery novel she had started but never got to finish given how hectic the past few days had been. His other free hand was draped across her shoulder and chest, and Mags divided her attention, taking turns to hold his hand and running her fingers across his forearm, despite Harry’s constant claim that it tickled.

It was Halloween, the day that she had first anticipated because she loved all things horror and it was her favorite holiday, and then the day that she had started to dread when she believed that Harry’s house was being haunted by a ghost. Now, she was back to loving her favorite holiday again, the world was ruled by science, and everything felt right. And it truly did. Ever since last night, when Niall was able to demystify all of the strange occurrences, Mags felt lighter than she had ever before. She let out an exhale as she relaxed into her position, nuzzling closer to Harry as his low voice rumbled, reading aloud to her, and embraced the pleasant sound.

She was so comfortable, so relaxed, she felt could fall asleep right here and now. A little nap was well-deserved at this point, she decided as she closed her eyes contently, considering the hell she’d been through this past week.

“Do not fall asleep,” a voice demanded.

She inhaled deeply in frustration, peeling one eye open to see Liam passing by. He eyed her, irritated, though Mags knew he wasn’t truly annoyed. “You’re still on the clock, y’know?” Liam said, “Just checking in to make sure you’re all set to close up.” He paused to nod at Harry in greeting, because apparently it was really a small world and Mags had found out that Liam and Harry actually knew each from freshman year history class.

Mags sat up, running her fingers through her hair in a futile attempt to tame it. “I don’t understand why you always ask me that when you never offer to actually help close up.”

Liam laughed in response. “I’m nothing if not consistent.” He reached over to give Harry one of those boy handshakes that would always elude Mags. Why couldn’t boys just say goodbye normally? “Anyways, I’ll see you at Harry’s place tonight. I’ve got a wicked costume planned,” he concluded as a farewell.

It wasn’t hard for Niall to convince Harry that he should host a Halloween party at his house, to celebrate the fact that he wasn’t haunted, but also because it was a great excuse to bring everyone together and get drunk. Mags, always eager to wear costumes, agreed with his sentiments and thus, they were hosting a last-minute Halloween party with no invitations spared.

Mags twisted her body to face Harry, his eyes already on her. “I probably should get up and start to close up.” She straightens herself up, ready to check inventory and cash out the register. “Before another student comes rushing in last minute again. Or God forbid, an English major,” she jokes.

“Um,” Harry treaded cautiously, “You know I’m an English major, right?” “You’re a what?” Mags eyes widen in shock. “Nope. No way.” She shakes her head vigorously. “Absolutely not.”

Harry smirks in amusement. “Unfortunately, yes. Sorry to break it to you, hon.”

Mags froze, flabbergasted. She guessed she really did have a type. Karma really was a bitch. “I’m so glad you decided to reveal your major after the fact,” she joked, “Or else it might’ve been a deal breaker.”

“Oh!” She exclaimed, changing the subject, “Don’t forget! I’ll need to rush home and put on my costume before meeting you at the house.” “Ooh,” Harry resounded in excitement, “Can you pretty please bring Pumpkin with you? I haven’t seen her all day.” She rolled her eyes in response. “I’m beginning to think you’re only dating me for my cat,” she joked amicably.

And that is what they were doing. Dating. As soon as all the ghost nonsense was put to rest, she and Harry finally had the opportunity to address everything that happened between them. Though their coming together was unconventional, the feelings were real and strong, and they decided to give their relationship a try. Mags felt good about it. They way Harry made her feel made her think they were in it for the long haul and she was excited about their future holds.

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

Adjusting her halo that fell askew when she threw her head back to take a shot, Mags looked around the kitchen in happiness, the kind that fills your heart when you’re in a party, surrounded by close friends and loved ones, loud music thumping from a distance and filled with good vibes. Alcohol definitely plays a part too.

Suddenly, two tattooed arms reached out to envelop her, careful to avoid smushing her wings. She leaned her weight against Harry’s chest, allowing him to support her, as she turned her face slightly towards him. He lowered his head to her ears, his breath tickling her skin and making her blood rush. “You look so good,” Harry murmured, “I’ve got half a mind to call the cops on my own party so they can kick everyone out. Want you all to myself.”

Despite rolling her eyes, Mags couldn’t help the pleased smile that snaked across her face. “Easy there, I’m spending the night anyway.” She turned around so that her wings were no longer a barrier between them, wrapping her arms around Harry from the front, her face against his chest, as he placed his head affectionally atop hers, the wisps on her Halo tickling his cheeks.

Mags had chosen an angel as her last-minute Halloween costume, mainly because it was an easy outfit, but also because the white contrasted well with her golden-brown skin and this particular outfit did wonders for her boobs. A fact that didn’t go unnoticed by Harry, if the look he gave her when she first made her entrance was any indication. On the other hand, Harry had chosen to dress as a devil. Or at least, a very lackluster devil. He had a red sweater on earlier, but the warmth from the house crowded with bodies caused him to abandon that hours ago, and he was left with a white t-shirt, dark jeans, and a pair of devil horns hastily placed atop his mass of curly hair. It was mysterious the way the world worked. Just a week ago, she imagined that on Halloween she would be at home, watching the Scream movie series with Niall, Marisol, and Pumpkin, with a bag of Halloween candy to pass out to trick or treaters. And now, she was celebrating her favorite holiday with her friends and her boyfriend with a fun party.

As the Monster Mash played deafeningly in the background, and they were jostled from people entering and exiting the kitchen to get punch, they swayed to their own silent music, content to be lost in their world for just a moment.

A moment that was interrupted by Niall. “Seriously Harry? You were supposed to grab Mags so we could play charades!” To which Harry muttered an insincere apology. Niall turned to Mags, “It’s a Halloween version of charades. I know how competitive you get. You and Harry can be on the same team. It’ll be a true test of your love!” He declared, his speech slow and slurred.

Mags was game. “Oh, we are so gonna win!” She declared, already leaning into her competitive streak.

“Great!” Niall declared enthusiastically, his arms sloppily flailing in excitement. Unfortunately for him, and for Harry, Niall had forgotten about the cup he was holding and just emptied its entire content onto Harry. His white shirt was completely stained with red punch.

Niall avoided Harry’s harsh glare as Mags slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. “Oops! I’ll just let ya take care of that before our game,” he announced, adjusting his fake leprechaun beard before hurriedly making his exit.

“Great,” Harry groaned, dabbing his shirt with a paper towel in vain, “I have to go change my shirt.” Unexpectedly, Mags was hit with a sudden realization. “Oh my gosh!” She exclaimed in a tone of wonder. “You’re completely covered in red liquid.”

It took Harry a moment, but then his eyes flashed with recognition. “That crazy old psychic was right!”

Mags laughed at the absurdity of it all. “I wonder,” she began, rubbing her chin thoughtfully, “If she was right about two things so far, I’m starting to suspect that she was right to warn me. I’ll bet you are a widower! How do I know I’m not dating a married man?” She teased.

Harry just looked at her fondly in response, at the crazy girl that he called his girlfriend.

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

Buzz! The electronic buzzer resounded, indicating that Mags and Harry’s turn was over. She threw her arm up in frustration. “Seriously Harry? The word was Leatherface! It’s the killer in Texas Chainsaw Massacre!” “How was I supposed to get that?” He howled with laughter.

“I was pointing at Zayn’s leather jacket!” She explained, pointing at the boy dressed as a Greaser, “And I was miming a chainsaw!”

“A chainsaw?” Harry questioned, as Niall guffawed, “I thought you were chopping vegetables!”

Mags sat back next to Harry, arms crossed, and lips pouted in pretending to sulk. “It’s okay baby,” he comforted her, “We’ll get them next round.”

“You promise?” She teased.

His pinky reached out to capture hers. “Pinky promise.”

Mags had chosen a seat next to Marisol and Niall, her main competition in this game. She had squeezed Liam’s shoulder as she passed to get to her seat and shot Zayn a smile in greeting, noticing other familiar faces in the room. It seems that the people that she was the closest with had chosen to join the game.

Niall observed Mags and Harry tangled within one another, as she sat close to Harry, her back to his chest, his arm slung around her shoulders as they waited for their next turn. “You guys are so cute. We should go on a double-date!” He exclaimed, the alcohol causing his enthusiasm to increase ten-fold, “Marisol,” he called, turning to his girlfriend, “Let’s all get brunch tomorrow morning!” Marisol shared a knowing look with Mags, to say Gosh my boyfriend is so cute but such an adorable handful when he’s drunk. “Sweetie,” she began understandingly, as if she was speaking to a toddler, “Y’know I have church in the morning. The church on 3rd street holds their sermons really early on Sunday mornings.”

“Oh, the one with Pastor Mike?” Mags questioned, “He’s super nice!” Marisol looked over at her roommate in concern. “Why do you know that?” She questioned in exasperated confusion, the synthetic hair from her blue Coraline wig slipping over her eyes as she narrowed them at Harry suspiciously, who was busy playing with the ends of Mags hair, the long strands skirting against the small of her back. Marisol lowering her voice in a drunken whisper that wasn’t actually that quiet, “Is he trying to convert you?”

Harry looked offended at the accusation and Mags bubbled over in laughter, unable to explain to Marisol. She didn’t even know what’d she say. Yes, I know Pastor Mike is really kind because he helped Harry and I with an exorcism.

As Marisol and Niall got distracted because it was their turn, Mags turned to admire the mantle above the fireplace. When rooting through the basement for Halloween decorations, she and Harry had found a beautiful picture of Bertha and Tom. They felt it was appropriate to have it up, as a reminder of the love that once filled this house, instead of the horror they previously feared. “I guess I’ll have to go out and buy another frame,” Harry commented, following Mags eyes to see what got her attention. “Why’s that?” Mags asked curiously.

“For a picture of us, of course!” Mags shoved his arm playfully. “Harry, we’ve literally been officially dating for one day, why are you like this?” In turn, he dropped all pretenses of joking, carefully looking into her eyes. “When you know, you know,” he explained, his words firm and laced with adoration. He reached out to tuck a strand of her dark hair behind her ears, his actions tender and careful, his gaze unwavering. This time, Mags didn’t have to guess what expression was on his face, wasn’t confused about the look in his eye. As he ducked forward, dipping down to touch his nose against hers, she recognizes the emotion that all the signs point to: love.

Just as Harry’s lips are about to make contact with hers, Liam speaks up boisterously, gathering the attention of everyone in the room. “After this,” he boldly proclaims, his once carefully applied zombie makeup now smudged and his speech imprecise due to the effects of the punch, “we should all get into the true Halloween spirit by playing the ultimate spooky game.”

His proclamation is meet with cheerful jeers of encouragement and questions about what the game was.

“Great!” He all but shouts in enthusiasm, “I’ll just go and find us a Ouijia board.”

Time stood still. Everything seemed to move in slow-motion.

Completely in sync, their motions fluid and graceful, contradicting the amount of alcohol consumed between the three of them, Niall, Harry, and Mags jumped up from the couch in harmony, bellowing a resounding chorus of “NO!”

The End. (or isss iiiiiit?)

(Just kidding, it is.)

[chilling-seavey]

Penelope Magnolia Seavey was born on July 30th, 2020 at 9:48am, after a bit of a scary labour process as she was four and a half weeks early. Her twenty-year-old mother had gone into early labour due to way too much emotional stress that ended up affecting the pregnancy. Even still, Penelope was born healthy at 5lbs 8oz and 18 inches long with soft brown hair and bright blue eyes and didn’t need to spend time in the NICU at all which was a blessing for her young mother who already had her hands full with a toddler. Clementine was the baby that changed Florence’s life, but Penelope was the baby that set her life on the right track.

Florence didn’t expect to have another baby before she had settled down but life had different plans for her and she found herself pregnant with Penelope without knowing who the father was. She never hated herself more in her life than during that pregnancy, having only wanted to be a teenager for a little bit and ended up with yet another baby and had to string along two (actually three) really great guys and eventually having to break the lifechanging news to one of them. That’s all covered in Anything But Mine, however…

By now you know that it came to rise that Daniel was the father which caused a major strain on his and Florence’s friendship at first. Despite being present for the birth, for the first month and a half of Penelope’s life, Daniel stayed as far away from Florence and the girls as possible because of his own personal fears and worries, not to mention his girlfriend at the time getting in the way a bit. By the time Florence and Daniel made up and his girlfriend was out of the picture, he was starting to worry that he lost any and all hope of having a relationship with the baby as “those first few months are crucial for bonding with a newborn and now she will never love me-“. But Penelope fell just in love with Daniel as Clementine had.

Penelope had plenty of nicknames; Penny, Pen, Nelly (which she’s not too crazy about, says it sounds like she’s pushing sixty), but Nell was most common which was coined by her eighteen-month-older sister as a toddler. To Daniel, she was bug. No one knows where it came from, not even Daniel himself, but it just slipped out one day when she was tiny and he was cooing down at her on her playmat and it stuck. She was the smallest of her family too, so it worked well.

Penelope was a handful as a baby and it truly felt like she never stopped crying. Daniel was the only one who could get her to sleep reasonably easily but even he had a devil of a time sometimes to get her to quiet down. As she grew into a toddler, she always wanted to be within arms reach of at least one of her parents, especially around strangers, and every time she was uncomfortable she held up her little arms to Daniel with tears in her blue eyes and made little grabby hands at him until he picked her up. Florence soon noticed that Penelope got overwhelmed so easily by sensory overload to the point that she would throw fits. If her bed sheets weren’t pulled tight and there was a wrinkle that touched her foot she would scream until the bed was stripped and remade completely, tags had to be cut off all new clothes because the feeling of them on her neck or on her back would push her over the edge, and any busy or overlapping sounds (like the tv on and dinner being made and someone talking at the same time) would cause her to absolutely lose it. Yet, at the same time, she fell into these silent spells where she wouldn’t speak as if she didn’t know how, simply watching everyone around her in perfect peaceful silence. Daniel and Florence spent the first five years of Penelope’s life wondering what the hell was wrong with their sweet and terribly shy daughter to cause her to scream and cry as much as she did.

Penelope was six when Florence and Daniel took her to the doctor to figure out what was going on. She was pushed to a child psychologist who did a few tests and diagnosed her with mild-autism, explaining her sensory sensitivities, her silent spells, her difficulty with change, and the fact that she was constantly clinging onto her stuffed giraffe and took it everywhere with her. The silent spells were her trying to soak everything in as it took her extra effort and time to behave like anyone else would. The doctor assured the young parents that they were doing just fine and to continue how they were, keeping an extra eye out on their second daughter and simply taking extra time as she worked to express herself. As she grew up and learned and matured, Penelope was much better at expressing herself and the fits lessened as she found her coping mechanisms for when she was feeling overwhelmed. Daniel read up on everything online and in the library to try and help his daughter all he could, sharing all he learned with Florence at the end of the day and he often read chapters to her by the bedside light before bed.

Penelope loved her parents the exact same, but Daniel had always been her safe haven. Despite their bit of a rocky start, there was no doubt that Penelope adored her father and she would go to him with anything. Well, him or her Uncle Christian who – besides Daniel – was her favourite man to ever walk the earth. From the moment Penelope was introduced to the Seavey’s, Christian fell so in love with her and their little relationship only grew from there. When she was tiny, she couldn’t pronounce ‘Christian’ so she started calling him Chi-Chi and it just stuck as their little nickname; three-year-old Penelope even proposed to him and they had a little wedding in the living room. Clementine was Penelope’s confidant, her go-to for advice, and any secrets she had were shared with her socially aware older sister. Penelope’s lack of social-que understanding made her often feel like her witty and fiery older sister hated her and they often had many arguments-turned-conversations where Clementine had apologised for being so brash with her. Lucy and Penelope had a much more chill relationship and being the two creative souls of the family, often spent time away from everyone working together on projects. Penelope loved being the middle child as she was able to be a younger and an older sister.

Art was Penelope’s escape. She found her muse in painting mainly, being able to express her emotions on the canvas that she couldn’t express in person, and high school brought her a free open studio every Wednesday night to simply have a quiet corner of the school where she could paint whatever she wanted. Aside from art, she tried to be as well rounded as her older sister, but she was not cut out of sports. She played soccer as a child but as she grew up and team sports became more competitive, she was unable to make any team for any sport; she just wasn’t coordinated enough although the poor girl tried her absolute hardest. She was the most ‘girly’ of her sisters and hated getting messy (unless it was paint). She liked travelling but would definitely rather stay in a hotel than being caught dead camping; the family tried that once…it was not an enjoyable experience. Her favourite times were spent by the firepit in Vancouver with Christian, cups of hot cocoa, a good book, and perfect silence.

Penelope didn’t know what she wanted to do with her life until her eleventh grade art teacher sat her down and told her all about possible careers in art and helped her get started at a part time job at the Art Gallery where she helped out with kids’ art classes. By university, Penelope applied and was accepted into Queen’s for an Art History degree thanks to her bursting portfolio, being able to learn right on the same campus as her older sister. Little did she know, she would be balancing her studies and trying to keep her sister afloat during that first year at school.

Penelope is a dreamer, very humble and sincere. She would rather stay quiet than hurt someone with the truth. Generally, Penelope was more of an observer, liking to learn through observation rather than getting in with the action, her brain always working to learn about those around her to help her blend more naturally into society. This being said, she was always introverted and tired out easily after socializing, especially since her subconscious was constantly projecting her actions to pass as ‘neurotypical’ so it took extra effort to socialize. Daniel and Florence tried desperately to teach her that she didn’t have to hide who she was, but Penelope kept her little fidgets to herself and always pushed herself to act like ‘anyone else’ to keep from standing out. Penelope feared standing out. She always carried an extra pair of earbuds in her purse or her backpack in case her first set broke as music was how she could shut out the world when it all got a bit overwhelming – Daniel and Florence each got plenty of panicked phone calls from the school bathroom when Penelope lost her headphones and needed another pair, or when she was younger, calls from her teacher when she forgot her favourite stuffed giraffe at home and couldn’t function without it. It was tiring but it was reality and Daniel and Florence would never dream of allowing Penelope to see how exhausting it sometimes was.

Penelope was a perfect mix of both her parents but her dark hair and light blue eyes came right from Daniel and sometimes glancing at her felt like you were looking at Daniel for .4 seconds. Her smile was neither her mother’s nor her father’s, but it definitely was proof that she was a Seavey; mirroring her Uncle Christian’s dimpled grin almost exactly. It was a bit of a family joke that Penelope was actually Christian’s. Florence didn’t find the joke funny.

Penelope was a late bloomer when it came to boys…she never really even talked to boys until high school and didn’t even let dating so much as cross her mind until she was almost in senior year. Even then, she was almost too shy to go through with anything and avoided getting into a relationship in fear of somehow messing it up in whatever way. It was no surprise that she was completely startled when she returned to work at the art gallery between her second and third year of university and this same guy kept coming in to talk to her. There was only so many times a person would want to pay to look at the art of Warhol before it got a bit repetitive and Anthony finally approached Penelope in her little name tag and braids to offer a friendly discussion about the art. Art was always the way to her heart so she came home that night with a sweet blush on her cheeks and a shy little smile and a new phone number in her pocket. It was a such a classic Penelope move that her first real boyfriend would be her only.

For those of you interested in astrology, Penelope is a Leo Sun, Sagittarius Moon, and Virgo Rising.

She loves to say she is from both Toronto and Vancouver as they are both totally different worlds and both are home to people who mean the most to her; nothing is more important to Penelope than family. Her favourite colour is pink, she loves to attend live theatre and can’t stand horror movies, she loves receiving flowers as little gifts, and her favourite meal is her grandmother’s fettuccini alfredo or literally anything Christian makes, especially steak. She has a bit of a posh flare when it comes to her taste.

Penelope’s songs are:

Penelope by Andrew McMahon In the Wilderness

Magnolia by Eric Clapton (feat. John Mayer)

Face Claims:

Baby Penelope’s face-claim (ABM1 Era) is from @/mrsjessicaroberts on Instagram. These photos are not mine, all credit belongs to her

Teenage Penelope’s face-claim (ABM2 Era) is 2019 Nessa Barrett (@/nessabarrett on Instagram). These photos are not mine, all credit belongs to her

[theflowergirl]

Lan WangJi couldn't stop watching Wei Ying sleep, it was the only moment he looked peaceful. Please and thank you

Lan Wangji couldn’t stop watching Wei Ying sleep — it was the only moment he looked peaceful. There was no unstoppable impulse to fill every silence, to go on tangents he didn’t really think too deep about, from the matching clothes the girls in his class wore to martial arts films his brother liked, just to keep a conversation going. There were no skittering steps taking him from one group to the next, all voices calling his name, demanding his sunlight attention. There was never an idle moment for Wei Ying, for even when he was thinking, his face pulled at every line of expression, his lips curling, brows furrowing as he lost himself to his calculations and formulas. Moving, always moving, running on caffeine and sheer excitement for life, until his last drop of energy ran out.

 Usually, in the middle of the day.

 He wasn’t one of Wei Ying’s most conversationalist friends — perhaps being deserving of the title simply from the period of time of their acquaintance —, which might explain why he always fell asleep when they were together. On a bench, when they were supposed to be eating. After one of their shared classes, Lan Wangji’s body hiding his sleeping hunch from their lecturer. Under the elder magnolia tree, with flowers falling in Wei Ying’s hair, the shadows of the rustling leaves drawing patterns on his cheek. Every time, Lan Wangji would put away his book, his notes, his sandwich, and he’d watch him. He wasn’t proud of it, feeling intrusive and improper, but the rising and falling of Wei Ying’s form was calming like a sweet song. The minutes stretched long then, time a relative thing, and there was only them, the low whistle of his exhales, and no tomorrow in sight. While he slept, Wei Ying didn’t have to show off to anyone or prove anything, and Lan Wangji could pretend he’d always be there, by his side, to watch over his things, pat his hair into place, and wake him up when the time was right. While he slept, so trusting of him, Lan Wangji could daydream he was allowed this on purpose.

 He wanted to cry, or scream, or kiss him. Instead, he leaned the iced coffee can against Wei Ying’s cheek until he jolted awake.

 “Ah, Lan Zhan!” He whined, eyes tiny and crinkled with sleep. “So cold!”

 “Your back,” Lan Wangji supplied. When that only got him an empty stare, he added, “You’re going to hurt your back if you sleep hunched over for too long.”

 Wei Ying’s expression shifted in a second from sleepy to mischievous.

 “Oh? How about this then?”

 He should have been used to Wei Ying’s brazen attitude and touchy-feely nature, yet, when he plopped down on the campus bench and laid his head on his lap, Lan Wangji couldn’t hide his surprise. It made Wei Ying laugh.

 “This is better, right? I know you don’t have any classes in the afternoon, so indulge me a little.”

 To the desperation of his loudly beating heart, Wei Ying turned to face his body, a hand curling around the fabric of his cardigan.

 “Just a little, Lan Zhan.”

 He sounded small. Not with sleep, but with a little more. Barely breathing, Lan Wangji could only acquiesce, his hand falling naturally to rest against Wei Ying’s hair. Unlike all the other times, this touch wasn’t stolen, but welcomed with a smile he liked to think he only saw when they were together.

 He didn’t think Wei Ying slept again on that sunny afternoon, just like he couldn’t pretend to focus on his schoolwork at all. But Wei Ying’s hand was warm against the fabric of his clothes and his eyelids fluttered when he shyly threaded his fingers through his hair, and the air smelled like hope in his lungs.

 He started looking forward to tomorrow.

send me an ask with the first sentence of a fanfic and i’ll write the next five the rest

[petri808]

Mocha Latte Dream

So happy I managed to get one done in time lol.  @diabl0o  thank you for the idea!

@nalu-fluff-week Prompt: Cafe

“I am not!”  

“You are too!” Gray quips and crosses his arms, “I can’t see any girl giving such a goofy idiot like you the time of day.”

“Tch, big words for a guy who can’t get to first base with Juvia.”  Natsu picks up his cup of coffee to take a sip.  

“Whatever, at least I have someone who likes me.”

Natsu lifts the coffee cup to his lips before retorting, but quickly realizing it was empty.  “Dang,” the cup drops back to the table, “I need a refill.  Be right back.”  

“Wait!” Erza’s hands fly up to stop the young man from standing up, but it was too late.

As Natsu jumps from his seat and quickly turns, he doesn’t notice another patron about to walk past and bumps right into her, spilling the blonde’s cup of iced mocha down her skirt. The whole table goes silent for several tense seconds as both Natsu and the woman freeze in place.  Natsu’s male friends, Gray and Gajeel snicker quietly while the females, Erza and Levy shake their heads.    

“See… idiot,” Gray mumbles.

“OMG!” the blonde shrieks, dropping her backpack into the seat previously occupied by Natsu.  She lifts the fabric of her skirt to inspect the damage and realizes only about a quarter of the cup had spilled onto it, most ending up on the floor.  But that was still an issue.  “You clumsy!” She catches herself before swearing.  “Ugh!  Pay attention to where you’re going!”

“I-I’m so sorry!!” Natsu panics, his face heating up into a flush.  He waves his hands excitedly in front of him, “I’ll go ask for a rag and order you a brand-new cup of coffee.”    

She jabs her finger into his chest, "you bet your clumsy hands that you're buying me a new one Pinky.  Don’t worry about the rag, I’ll just go wash up in the restroom,” she huffs and stomps away.

“Wait’a go Pinky,” Gajeel sneers, “could you be any smoother about picking up chicks?”

“Shut up!” Natsu levels a glare at the older guy, “and it’s salmon,” he pouts, “not pink…” mumbling as he walks back to the cashier.  

Of all the ways to embarrass himself, really, bumping and spilling coffee all over a pretty girl. “Smooth move…” he groans.  Someone just end his torture please.  His friends were right, maybe he really will be single for the rest of his life.  As the line slowly moves forward, Natsu keeps an eye out for Blondie.  ‘I bet she’s gonna tell her friends later about it. Word will spread about how a goofy boy with pink hair spilled coffee all over her skirt at the FT Cafe.’  His shoulders slump with a heavy sigh, ‘At least she didn’t slap me.’

He places his order for two drinks and moves to the side to wait.  Damn cashier had even sneered at him and pointed out another employee with a mop and bucket cleaning up the mess he’d made.  Talk about even more embarrassing.  Natsu swore he could feel the stares against his back or snickers from other customers. ‘Tch, whatever.  They act like people don’t have accidents sometimes.’

Meanwhile Blondie had made her way back to the table.  He could see the dark, damp spot on her blue skirt like a beacon calling attention to the whole disaster.  ‘It’s just coffee,’Natsu reminds himself, certain that it wouldn’t leave a lasting stain. ‘Fuck it, if it does, I’ll just buy her a new skirt.’ She appeared in good spirits despite what had happened, chatting casually with his friends as if she’d known them forever.  Laughing with them… the woman has such a bright pretty smile….  What was he thinking!  This isn’t the time to have such thoughts!  He turns away quickly, refocusing on waiting for their order.  They were a good group, and it was nice to see her relaxed around them.

“Here you go.”  Natsu places the new drink on the table in front of Blondie.  

She stops mid-sentence of her conversation with Levy, looking up, to thank him.  “Oh, I can move,” she starts to grab her bag, “this was your seat.”

“No, no,” Natsu waves his hands excitedly, “don’t worry, really, I’ll just grab another one,” looking around for an extra chair, “please stay and chat if you’re enjoying it.”

“I am, actually,” she looks back to the group with a smirk, “they’ve been really nice, telling me all about you.”

Natsu glares at the two other males, knowing they were the most likely culprits, “I’m sure they are,” he seethes through a gritted smile.  “Be right back, I’m gonna find a chair.”  The place was fairly busy, but he manages to find an unused one and brings it back to the group, settling in between Lucy and Gray.  

“So, what’d I miss,” Natsu fidgets with the cup in his hands.

“Well Lucy here was just telling us how she’s thinking of coming to this college in the fall,” Gray explains as he leans back, purposely bumping his shoulder against Natsu’s.  

“Yeah,” she blushes lightly, “they have a good creative writing program here, but I wasn’t sure how housing would work so I came to see the campus for myself and talk to an advisor.”

‘So, Blondie’s name is Lucy…’ Natsu’s smiles at the new piece of information.  “Are you gonna be a Freshman?” He asks her.

“Mmhmm,” she nods, sipping at her drink.  “Erza said I could probably get into their Sorority and that’ll take care of housing.”

He sits up straight.  “That would be so awesome!” Natsu utters a little too excitedly, earning a weird look from not just Lucy, but everyone on the table. “I mean,” he pipes back down, “their sorority and our frat are linked, that’s how we all know each other so you’ll fit right in.”

Lucy’s eyebrow raises, “That means I’ll run into you too I presume?”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“It might be for my clothing.”

At that moment you could have heard a pin drop as everyone else’s jaws at the table drop.  Gray and Gajeel wanted to high-five the blonde for getting a crack in, but they all were just waiting to see Natsu’s follow up. The boy rarely ever backed down from a game of jest, even against other girls.  He and Grays bicker contests could go on for hours.  

But instead of getting all fired up, Natsu deflates completely in his chair.  “I didn’t mean to spill your drink,” he pouts, “I’ll even buy you a new skirt if that’ll make you feel better.”

Levy and Erza turn to each other sharing a knowing look, the boy was smitten!  But Gray and Gajeel chuckle.  Gray’s known Natsu since High school, and this was the first time, well first girl he’s ever been so cheeky with.    

It wasn’t the reaction Lucy had expected.  Natsu’s friends had described a high energy, lovable goof ball, who was quick with worded jabs, loving any challenge that presents itself.  She really wasn’t that upset over the coffee debacle and had planned on just teasing the boy as a bit of payback.  The boy was goofy alright, but his pout and genuine despondency over possibly upsetting her, made him quite endearing.  All the guys she’s known till now would have cared less about something this minor.

Lucy relaxes, “that’s not necessary Natsu, I was just teasing.  You seem like a nice enough guy, so running into you again on campus wouldn’t be so bad.”

That perks Natsu right back up again.  He beams with an ear to ear grin, “Really!  Yeah, and of course if you’d like a tour of the campus or anything, I can help you navigate!  It’s a pretty big place and it’s easy to get lost when you’re not familiar with it.”

Her cheeks burn from seeing such an adorable reaction.  This pink-haired boy sure made it too easy to find him charming, and she couldn’t disagree that he was a bit attractive.  “I’d like that actually.  I’ve never been away from home on my own before, but you guys are making it so inviting.”

“Well Natsu here,” Gray slaps him on the back, “is gonna be a Junior so he’s familiar with the campus, and what he don’t know I’m sure one of us can help ya.”

“I’ll probably have classes in the same buildings as you,” Levy chimes in, “cause most of the linguistic courses are there.”

“And I volunteer with Freshman orientation,” adds Erza, “so I’ll make sure you get what you need.”  

“Oh my, you guys are so sweet!”  Lucy’s eyes crinkle in a smile.  She sits up straight, “alright!  I’ve made up my mind, I’m definitely coming here!”

The group chats for another hour or so, regaling Lucy with stories about Magnolia U, the town, and about their little group.  She in turn tells them a little more about herself, her hometown of Crocus, and family’s business.  By the time she needed to go to catch the last train home, she truly felt like a part of their group.  She makes sure to get all of their contact information so they can stay in touch through summer break.  

It was almost sad to say goodbye.  Who’d have guessed an innocent little accident would have led to a wonderful afternoon.  Guess she really had to forgive Natsu now for being clumsy.  “Again, thank you, because I was on the fence about moving here, but now I’m so glad I met you guys.”  

“That’s great to hear, Lucy,” Erza speaks for them all.  “And if you have any other questions registering just contact me, I’ll make sure it’s taken care of.”

Lucy stands up, shouldering her backpack with a smile, “I will.  Have a nice summer everyone!”  She waves and starts off towards the exit.

Just as she makes it out of the glass doors, a man calls to her.  She turns around to wait.  “Did I forget something Natsu?”

“Oh, no,” he breathes out, catching his breath from dashing out after her.  “I—I, had a question…”

“Yes?” she looks at him inquisitively.  

He runs his hand nervously through his hair, “d-do you think over the summer I could see you or something? You know, c-cause I’d like to get to know you better.”

Lucy blinks, surprised that he was asking her that.  She grins, “Natsu Dragneel, are you asking me out on a date?”

“Maybe…” he grins, feeling the weight and heat of the question boring down on him.  “I mean it could just be like a casual, you know, to hang out and stuff.”

She chuckles, “I’d like that.”  Giving him a quick peck on the cheek.  “I gotta run, but text me or something, kay?”  

“Okay!”

“Bye, Natsu!” Lucy waves and jogs away.

He places his hand over his cheek where she’d kissed.  It felt so much warmer than the rest of his face, and no doubt flushed a nice bright shade of red.  Fall couldn’t get here soon enough…

[lovehugsandcandy]

Four Words, One Reply (Colt x MC)

A/N: I haven’t written anything recently because my muse was GONE after prom on Friday. Muse said that she needed a break because she got everything she wanted. Back now, for better or worse. Here’s a bit of fluff, a bit of wish fulfillment for me and PLEASE let this offering of fluff atone for the angst I posted earlier.

Pairing: Colt x MC, ROD

Length: 1556 words

Rating: PG-13 (Swearing, probably, because I swear a lot.)

Summary: Ellie graduates from Langston.

Tags:  @deimosensblog @alegria1580  @choicesarehard @thefarrari @client-327 @moonlit-girl-wonder @going-down-downtown@soniadotalves@jolietmaraud @hazah @flowerpowell@poeticscolt @powdesiree1986

Ellie dreaded the day that the letters stopped coming. The worst of it was the terror, deep in her soul, that she would never know. Would he stop writing when he fell out of love? When he was sentenced to jail? Worse?

Her roommate thought it was romantic. "No one writes letters anymore, Ellie. It's sweet." Little did she know that it was likely a necessity, a way to avoid being tracked. Electronic communication could be dangerous and she was certain she didn't even have Colt’s current phone number. All she had were the letters.

They came unexpectedly, with no rhythm. Some months, she would get a letter a week, with varying return addresses, some with stamped return envelopes, to varying cities, so she could write back if she wanted. She always did.

Some months, there were no letters. The worst was four months, spanning the summer and start of fall semester of junior year. Ellie was in a panic, barely able to sleep until, finally, a thin envelope in her mailbox, no details, no explanation, only an "I love you, Ellie." She cried, sobs in the middle of the campus center, oblivious to the stares around her.

Sometimes they came with money, always cash. Never a ton, but enough to make her worried about what he was doing. Always earmarked for something, $400 for new school books, $100 for her "first legal drink at Flanagan's and a cab back home." At first, she sent it back; she didn't want his money (she wanted him) and felt bad taking it. He would return it to her, quickly, with a gentle admonishment that it was his way of feeling connected, a way of being there with her in spirit. She took it more often than not now but, when the nights were long and the nightmares were strong and the terror wouldn’t subside, she would send his money back, knowing it was the fastest way to get letter in return, to know that he was still ok. And, though it made her uneasy, she did let him buy her first legal drink.

She knew, with their last conversation in LA, that she was signing herself up for a bit of loneliness. He told her that he needed time, he couldn’t be in LA, he needed to get away. She understood, she got it. She knew the memories this place had for him. She asked him to come with her; wasn’t Boston far enough away? She still remembered his sad eyes, the last kiss. He told her he would wait for her, but he didn’t expect anything, said he didn’t know when he would see her next, but he would, one day. She didn’t know if he was trying to outrun his grief or hide from it, but she prayed he succeeded.

And now this, a month before her graduation, a cryptic note, barely a letter, on the back of a photograph. She could recognize the image, the Bean (he was in Chicago?) and pored over the picture, looking for a hint of him. She couldn't find Colt, no smirk, no leather jacket but, in the corner of the reflecting mirror, warped in the curve of the monument, she finally spied what he wanted her to see. A sleek bright pink European import, looking amazingly like her car back in LA. And on the back, four words and a return envelope, addressed to PO Box in Pittsburgh. She read those words, over and over and over again, in class, in bed, memorizing Colt’s scrawl as if it would bring him back to her, in the flesh. Finally, three days later, she printed a picture of herself, a selfie in front of the magnolias blooming by the library, her fiercest look on her face, graduation cap in her hand. She wrote one word, on the back, and sent it, kissing the envelope as if it would make it travel faster.

In the meantime, she finished classes, hung out with friends, and went on with her life, trying to live enough for both of them.

~~~~~

It was ungodly hot for Boston in May and Detective Wheeler shifted in the shitty folding chairs the university had rented for graduation. He was nothing but grateful to be here and so happy for his ambitious daughter, graduating Summa Cum Laude from her dream school. He was just so proud and had told her as much at breakfast this morning, with her and her roommate and some friends, all celebrating their achievements and simultaneously scared of what was ahead. He was just ecstatic that they all made it this far, intact and whole, willing to take nothing for granted.

He remembered being terrified, after the months senior year when she was lost to him, terrified she was gone, terrified he had failed her, his wife, himself. He still remembered the relief when he opened the door that morning and she was there, two kids in tow, asking for help from a horror they never should have been involved in. Who would have thought the crew he was supposed to be hunting was more Lost Boys than Mafia? And who would have thought they would have been influential in bringing down an actual, organized crime unit in the LAPD?

After, his prodigal daughter had returned, and then gone to school, and things had generally returned to normal. She studied hard, came back for breaks, and confided in him, every detail of college. The all-night studying sessions, the boys who seemingly had their eye on her, even a few snippets about the parties she attended. There was only one thing she didn’t share with him, one thing too personal, too close for her to divulge to her old man. He saw the letters, sometimes, and ached to read them, but he trusted her. Giving her this space was important to him, a way of redeeming himself for watching too closely for years. She had earned her freedom.

And that freedom brought him here, to graduation, from one of the best universities on the East Coast, sitting in the heat and fiddling with a program. Riya would have come but her graduation was the same day so he was here, alone, bringing best wishes from LA.

Well, almost alone. A shadow fell over him, a soft clearing of a throat and, when he looked up, he dropped the leaflet, turning back to watch it sway to the ground.

“Is this seat taken?”

He stood, eye to eye with the boy, no, the man, next to him. He hadn’t seen him in four years and stared; his shoulders had broadened, visible in the short-sleeved dress shirt, eyes still intense, jawline and cheekbones seemingly sharper with age. The last time he had seen Colt Kaneko, he was broken, mourning a father he barely knew and a life he never would live. Now, he seemed more at ease, as if time didn’t erase all wounds, but made them easier to deal with. He still looked like he would never truly relax but that he was, for now, at peace.

Colt extended his hand and he shook it, then gestured to the chair. “Sit down.” He picked up the brochure, watching Colt settle in, putting a bouquet of flowers under his chair. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

A small smile. “Yeah, Ellie doesn’t know either. I don’t know if she’s going to hit me or hug me.”

Wheeler grinned; he knew his daughter better than that. “My money’s on neither.”

~~~~~~

Ellie couldn’t stop laughing and smiling and celebrating. She felt alive. After the ceremony, she desperately ripped off her gown, sweltering in the heat. She couldn’t stop handing out hugs, to professors, friends, her roommate. The crowd was crushing, families and loved ones, all fighting to get to the graduates; she couldn’t find her dad. She knew he was here, somewhere, but the mass of people made it hard to see six feet in front of her.

Finally, it was like the crowds parted and there he was. She dashed, sprinting towards him, laughing and wrapping him up in a hug. They were flying back to LA in a few days, once things calmed down and she was packed, but she wanted to see him now, in the midst of one of the biggest celebrations of her life. She pulled back, looking at the joy in his face and laughed. 

“Love you dad!”

He kissed her cheek. “Congratulations. I am so proud of you.”

She went to smile at him again when she saw something, someone, over his shoulder and froze with a gasp. He dad smiled and stepped aside and there, alive and whole and in the flesh, Colt stood, clutching a bouquet and looking painfully out of place. She stared at him, time stopping, the crowd a dull roar around her as they stared at each other.

She took a step, then another, and was soon running, leaping into his arms, her lips finding his, the flowers falling as he clung to her, desperately. It was all she could do to hold on as he kissed her like he was drowning, four years of missing each other communicated through touch.

Finally, he pulled back, stars in his eyes as he looked at her. “I love you, Ellie.”

“Always.”

[theserpentlife]

Chapter 1: The Fall

hey loves, so here’s the first chapter of my riverdale rewrite based on this storyline and character synopsis i did awhile back. this is my first time writing fiction like ever and it was really fun and i hope you guys enjoy it and let me know what you guys. send me nice messages pls.

Recommended Song to accompany read; Always forever - The Cults

As the raging summer takes its last humid breath, trees morph from tones of lush greens into assorted hues of red and gold. Brightly tinted maple leaves fall from the trees like confetti, a triumphant declaration of the beginning of the crisp and cool autumn. The season of fall had come to Riverdale, a small town nestled inconspicuously on the northern border. The season of autumn held great significance for the townspeople. It marked the beginning of the new school year for the town’s youth. A change of hands between the elder of the teens who would be leaving town for their college lives and the younger bright-eyed ones on the cusps of their new lives as high school students.

Fall was also the prime harvesting season for the town’s number one export - it’s rich tapestry of sickly sweet maple syrup. An abundance of sticky gold bled bountifully out of the trunks of the tall maple trees that surrounded the town. Steeped in decades of tradition and history, the Blossom Maple Farms, founded by the descendants of the Blossom Family, was truly the bedrock of the town’s economy.

In the winter of 1998, under the celestial glow of the full moon, the next in line to the empire would be born. An heiress. Cheryl Blossom had skin as pale as snow and hair as red as flames. As soon as she had left the confines of her mother's womb she had already committed a grave sin - being born a daughter to parents who had prayed ceaselessly for a son. Imagine the wrath that rained on her after Penelope was told she could no longer bear any other children. Cheryl Blossom’s very existence marked the end of the Blossom bloodline.

__________

Archie Andrews threw his freshly pressed light blue shirt over his broad shoulders and slowly worked his way up the buttons. As soon as he reached the very last one on the top, a bizarre scene unfolded in the reflection of his bathroom mirror. He saw that his hands were replaced with much paler ones, nails long and exquisitely polished in a deep red color. The air around him had suddenly gone cold. He was paralyzed by the sight before him and yet he could not look away. It was as if the cool wind had frozen him in place too. A sickeningly sweet aroma swarmed around him and his eyes darted anxiously as if trying to trace its source before fixating on his reflection once more. The mysterious hand was now gone and so was the smell. Archie swallowed hard at the lump that had gathered in his throat. It was probably just his imagination playing tricks on him, he reasoned. After all, he spent most of the night before tossing and turning in bed.

He takes a handful of his watered-down hair wax and slathers it generously onto his saffron hued locks. As expected the wax doesn’t take well to his hair. "Damn it." He grunts in annoyance before slathering another dollop, this time running his hands through his hair with increasingly aggressive strokes. His rage interrupted by a sudden weight pressing down on his right shoulder. His fear-ridden body jumps in response to the unwelcomed stimuli. “Woah Arch, I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you heard me come in.” It was Betty Cooper. “You okay?” Betty's brows were furrowed softly in concern. Archie's usual warm and rosy complexion was drained of all its color. She ran her hands across the length of his back in soft and soothing strokes. Her touch did wonders in soothing him. “Y-yeah I’m good.” "You sure?" "Yeah, Bets." this time Archie manages to conjure up a soft smile. Betty mirrors her childhood sweetheart melting into a soft smile herself. Her eyes trail the entire length of Archie’s body before fixating on his hazel brown eyes. “You look handsome.” she cooed. Archie couldn’t help but break into a light chuckle before averting his gaze away from her crystal blue eyes. Archie always had a habit of looking away or biting his lips whenever he felt sheepish and Betty loved that about him.

She brushed back the loose strands of hair that had fallen on his forehead and adjusted his navy blue varsity jacket, making sure to dust off any loose traces of lint. He instinctively stepped forward, eliminating the distance between them wanting nothing more but to take in the familiar aroma of her rose-scented perfume and the slight traces of her magnolia shampoo. He lifted his hands to embrace her face, thumbs softly stroking the pink of her cheeks. “I don’t know what I would do without you, Betty Cooper.”

______________

It’s twenty minutes before the start of the first period and the schoolyard is teeming with cliques of excited teens all engrossed in exchanging stories about how they had spent their summer. Right across the street, a sleek black BMW pulls into the street. Its tinted windows rolled down to reveal a raven-haired teen peering discreetly at the scene before her.  

“Andre, my dear, you can stop the car here.”

“But Miss-”

“It’s okay Andre, I prefer to walk.”.

Veronica Lodge had a plan. After her family's not-so-graceful fall from high society in New York, Veronica wanted nothing more than to detach herself from the shame of her past life. Opting instead to forge a new one for herself. She looked down to inspect her outfit one last time. A simple black dress, sinched fashionably at the waist with a thin violet belt. Her hands found its way to her collarbone and lingered on her bare skin where her prized pearl necklace used to lay.

"No need to pick me up later. I'll see you at the Pembrooke." Andre nodded, pausing thoughtfully for a second before flashing a warm smile at Veronica's reflection in the front view mirror. "Have a nice day at school, miss." she heard Andre say before closing the car door behind her. Nice day. I sure hope so she thought. Veronica wasn't expecting much from her new life in Riverdale, after all, she wasn't planning on staying for long. She figured it was best if she kept a low profile and made a graceful exit when it came time for her family to return to their lives in New York. No attachments, no drama. The lesser her classmates knew about her the better.

Inscribed in gold on the school’s brick facade read “Riverdale High”. Here goes nothing. As soon as she pushed open the rust-tinted front doors, she found herself right in the middle of it all. Students gathered in front of their lockers, chatting with friends and getting their books in order. All eyes were drawn to her immediately. You see in a small town like Riverdale, everybody knew everybody. They all shared the same street, grew up in the same schools. It was an understatement to say that she stood out like a sore thumb. She eased into a slight smile hoping it would soften her image, but her attempts were received with snickers and ridicule instead. There was no time for pleasantries anyway, the first period was coming up and she hadn't found her locker yet. “431.431.431” she repeated as her eyes scanned the row of deep blue lockers on either side of the hallway. “Veronica Lodge?” She froze in her tracks as if struck by a freeze gun. No way. Was it someone she knew? Perhaps someone from New York? This couldn't be happening. Her cover already blown and all before the first period?

She turned slowly on her heels to meet her fate and to her surprise and great relief it was a new face, someone she hadn't met before. Standing before her was an all-too-enthusiastic, blonde ponytail donning Betty Cooper. “I’m Betty Cooper, I’m on the welcoming committee. I’m supposed to give you a tour of the school? You know get you oriented on our programs and clubs and where the restrooms are...”. Her cheerful demeanor and upbeat voice threw Veronica off. I guess she wasn't used to the warm hospitality. An ambiguously awkward period of silence passed between the two before Betty let out a nervous laugh, embarrassment coloring her cheeks a bright pink. “Right Betty, nice to meet you". Veronica extended her hand for a handshake and Betty gladly returned the gesture.  

“So, have you found your locker yet?”.

“No, actually, I’ve been walking in circles for the past five minutes. Do you know where 431 is?" Betty nodded and mouthed an Ah-hah before leading Veronica further down the hall. “431, here we are.”. Veronica entered the code for the lock and viola her life at Riverdale High had officially begun.

________

“So here we have the girls’ locker room, that's the gym hall over there, and the cafeteria is just down the hall to the left.”. The all-inclusive Riverdale High campus tour was in full swing, led by Riverdale's golden girl no less. Veronica nodded nonchalantly, a polite gesture in acknowledgment of Betty's forthcoming reception. Veronica, however, took little effort to remember the details of the tour seeing as her time at Riverdale High would be brief.  

“Oh, and this is the Blue & Gold-" Veronica's ear perked at the noticeable boost in enthusiasm in Betty's tone. You'd think the blonde couldn't get any peppier than this. "You’ll find me here most of the time, I’m the Chief Editor here.”. The pair stepped into the dimly-lit space, a small classroom haphazardly converted into a publishing center for the school's paper. Tall dusty shelves lined the corners of the room with volumes of worn and aged books displayed sparsely on its bones. Their workstations buried in tall stacks of paper, several empty coffee mugs, and typewriters. Talk about old-fashioned. Who knew moving to a small town meant going back in time. “You know we’re always looking for writers so if-” “No thanks, I’m not much of a writer myself,” Veronica interjects, ‘But...I love what you’ve done with the place,” she rejoined, feeling her initial rejection of Betty's offer was rather crass for the good-hearted blonde.

Seated at the very corner of the space was Jughead Jones. A pair of gold-rimmed glasses perched precariously on the edge of his sharp nose. He sips his black coffee with one hand while the other dances frantically over the keyboard of his MacBook. Paying absolutely no heed to the presence of the two. “Jughead, this is Veronica Lodge she’s-” “New girl I know.” he interrupts, not even bothering to pry his gaze from his laptop to meet theirs. “This is Jughead, he’s one of the best writers in this school. His pieces are phenomenal.”.

“Well, I guess I should start reading the school paper then.” Veronica thought she should offer a light compliment, perhaps as a way to break the ice. She reached out her freshly manicured hand to shake his but was met with an unfazed Jughead still blissfully engrossed in his writing. She retrieved her hand, ego sorely bruised by the boy's crude demeanor. It took everything in her not to roll her eyes and return his hostility with a snarky remark. But she was new Veronica and new Veronica was not going to make an enemy out of her classmate on the very first day of Sophmore year.

Just as Betty was about to usher Veronica out, they hear Jughead read the summary of his latest piece aloud. A seemingly innocent behavior laced with malice of course. A deliberate attempt to rattle the cage. You see Jughead Jones was a bit of a sadist, getting a kick out of ticking people off every once in a while. He reclined into his seat, fingers interlocked behind his head as he began the narration of his latest piece. “Dark and mysterious family moves into town on the very same night Riverdale's scarlet heiress Cheryl Blossom goes missing - an awful coincidence perhaps?” “Jug!” a wide-eyed Betty scolds.

“Excuse me?” Veronica glared in disbelief. “Oh, it’s just a piece I’m working on about the disappearance of Cheryl Blossom.” Jughead gets up from his seat to come face to face with a fuming Veronica. His cold blue eyes peering straight through her dark ones. She couldn't help but scoff at Jughead's ridiculous attempt at yellow journalism.

“So let me get this straight, you think I body-snatched some girl I don’t even know, just so I could take her place in some local high school in the middle of nowhere?” Jug shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s just a working theory.”. Unbelievable! The guy practically knew her for all of five minutes and already he’s pegging her for a kidnapper. “Come on Veronica, let's go.” Betty ushered Veronica out of the room before looking back once more to shoot Jug a disapproving look.

“Betty, I have a question.”

"Yup?" the blonde hummed, eyes glued to the pages of her baby blue leather notebook. She ran her index finger down the rows of her handwritten agenda making sure she had covered all the bases of Veronica's orientation tour. "Who the hell is Cheryl Blossom?”. Betty blinked up at Veronica, her organized thoughts completely disarrayed. She wasn't prepared for this. Cheryl Blossom's disappearing act of the summer was not on the agenda for today and frankly, she didn't know how to describe Cheryl, well not with decent adjectives at least. "Well, she umm... she's-". Betty fumbled over her words before giving up completely seeing as Veronica herself was absorbed in the sight before them. A locker plastered with personal messages and flowers with a row of lit candles lined up neatly at its foot. A bright red banner hung from the ceiling just above it reading "Come home, Cheryl.".

_____________________________________

ok so should i continue with a chapter 2 or lets can this mess - what do ya’ll think? sound off in the comments.

[kainablue]

LECTURE ME - Moonstruck (part 1)

[Chain Reaction]  [Distracted]  [A Quick Smoke]  [Into the Wild]  [Heavy Rain (part 1)]  [Heavy Rain (part 2)]

-

Here is the first part of a wlw lemon story with our two thirsty students Filipa and Danielle. Proceed with caution - very slippery 😉 Enjoy 🍷

Filipa

My room is at the end of a long hallway. There are only two small, round windows and four lights illuminating six bedroom doors. One window is installed at the top of the stairs. Even when you climb all the way up, you still have to lift your chin high towards the ceiling to see through it. That submissive action reminds me of church and how pious people (or tourists) stare at stained glass behind an altar. Aside from overseeing your ascension (physical, not spiritual), this round window reveals you the sky. That is, it would, if it hadn't been filthy from years of neglect and bird excrement.

As I pass next to five doors, my every step tortures the old floorboards and they squeal under my heel. The previous tenants of Saint Hildegard’s wing found a pathway of newer wooden slats that are strong enough to withstand the rule-breaking  students sneaking around. There is even a secret map drawn under every sink in all six bathrooms.

Magnolia is the name of the first room, the delicate name carved in a wooden plaque, barely visible. Celandine is the name of the second one. The third wooden plaque is gone, replaced with a metal one - Marigold is the name engraved so we call the three girls living there the Golden Maris. Fourth door’s name is Begonia, the fifth Hyacinth and the sixth door leading to my room is Iris.

I look through the second round window at the end of the hall. A crack splits its lower half, slicing the campus like an earthquake rupture. This high up I can see beyond the campus grounds and observe the woods and mountains surrounding the Academy. Not at this time of the night, though. The world I’m seeing right now is black and white horror scenery below abysmal sky powdered with stars.

As long as I attend the Academy, I’ll live in this attic intended for the poorest female students whose parents couldn’t afford to book a room in a newer wing. But I love it. I love this smell of dust, wood and feathered mattresses. I love the ethereal touch of dead Studentinnen still sentimentally roaming this hallway. Their hands and cheeks are always dirtied with ink.

Even the locks are old and paired with heavy skeleton keys with drafty keyholes. I’ve spent a significant amount of time peeking inside other rooms feeling a lot like Alice catching a glimpse of Wonderland. Let’s just say that Golden Maris aren’t so golden after the sun sets.

I unlock the door and enter. It is fairly dark, which is not unusual, but never this much. There are only three candles lit around Dani’s bed and my roommate is sitting surrounded by her tarot cards. I do not share her interest, but I respect it.

“Sorry for interrupting. Should I come back later?”

Her head snaps up. “No, no. It’s not important.”

Her long wavy hair is pulled into a ponytail. I’m amazed how lovely she looks in a plain short sleeve t-shirt and a pair of cotton shorts. She looks good in anything, really. Even though our stuffy attic room is warm, her shins are covered with pink leg warmers. Dani does that purely for the aesthetics. She stretches her back, lifting her arms high up, and revealing her soft tummy like a cute kitty cat.

“You are late again,” she says, “It’s almost midnight.”

I let my heavy bag fall to the floor with a low thump. My shoulder is killing me. “You know I have to.”

“I know,” she sighs. Dani stands up and gets close to me. “Would you like a shower?"

"Oh? I smell that bad?"

"No," she giggles. She places herself behind me and hugs me tightly around my chest, placing a kiss on my cheek. "I meant to say: would you like a shower with me?"

She doesn't wait for an answer; her hands are already unbuttoning my blouse. As soon as there is an opening, her fingers slide underneath my clothes, aiming straight for my breast. My skin is getting warmer as her lips press moist marks onto it. The gentle touch of her hand is making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, sending a delightful chill down my spine.

Dani’s fingertips find my nipple and they brush against it, as if playing harp strings made of nerves. An electric jolt passes from my nipple to my pussy. I have to press her hand against my chest and stop her movements, because that kind of fondle is too much to bear at this point. With her other hand, she moves my hair away so that she could bite my neck with more ease. She’s not really gentle - her love will leave marks - but I allow her to savor my skin.

“Filipa,” she whispers, “Let’s take a shower together.”

“Did Aoife move already?”

“Yes. We are alone.” She steps in front of me and removes my blouse completely. She bites her rosy lower lip. “Let me undress you.”

I am tired but… how could I refuse? How could I say no to those hungry eyes, to that sweet face, to that warm, soft body? How could I say no to fucking her until she screams my name and melts into a shivering, mindless doll? Just imagining Dani exhausted and spent makes me overwhelmingly horny.

I nod and a grin, charming and ominous at the same time, lights her face. She gets to her knees and takes off my skirt and socks first, planting pecks of adoration along my thighs and shins. She helps me take off my camisole top and, finally, careful as if she’s performing surgery, removes my panties. Dani crawls closer to me, places her hands on my hips and kisses the center of my lust.

My temperature soars as the pleasure spreads throughout my entire body, pulse by pulse. Every time her lips touch my tissue, I open up more and more, and soon my arousal juices are dripping down my thighs. Dani sticks her tongue out and glides it along my slit - very slowly. Tip of Dani’s tongue touches my clit and she takes it into her mouth. She purrs. Red flashes before my eyes.

“Ah!” It feels so good! I grab her hair and press her firmly against my heat. Dani happily hums as she laps every drop she finds.

“So thirsty,” I coo as I stroke her hair. “We both are.” If possible, I prefer to finish last. And I always like to spice things up.

“Come here,” I say as I take her hand and pull her to her feet.

She looks at me, her eyes lit from excitement, a wide grin splitting her face.

I take her to the bed that used to belong to our third roommate. And to all those third roommates that used to live here before running away.

“Here?” Dani seems surprised. “Why here?”

“Why not? Look at the moon. We will see each other in pure natural light.”

The bed is located next to a wall opposite from a roof window. Anyone who ever slept there, hated it. “It is uncomfortable and I can’t fall asleep for a very long time,” was the most common complaint. During the day, the sun rays never even brush the mattress. But for some reason the full moon illuminates the entire bed all night long. After just one night, every girl would demand a transfer to another room. Yesterday was the first day of full moon, and Aoife already moved out.

“They say it’s cursed”, Dani doesn’t sound worried. In fact, she seems even more aroused. My darling roomie likes to play with the occult and doesn’t falter when presented with a challenge.

She sits on the cursed bed, eyeing my naked figure eagerly.

I lean toward her and whisper: “If we commit sin on a cursed bed, during a full moon, exactly at midnight, just imagine how impressed the Devil will be when we finally meet him.”

Do you enjoy my content? Then help me fuel my creativity with a cup of delicious coffee! ☕

[killed-by-calum]

redemption (pt. 1)

summary: calum hood, heir to frat royalty, is suddenly challenged by a woman for the first time in his college years. will he be able to grow up enough to impress her? or will his party boy ways keep them from ever truly being together? 

pairing: college!au calum hood x oc character

warnings: cigarettes, lighter, the such

a/n: AHH! first fic on this account. major shout out to my sweet queens for the encouraging words on posting this!! also dont smoke cigaretttes!!

SERIES MASTERLIST

forgetting his lighter was the cherry on the sundae for this shitty day for calum. as the shoo-in for the next fraternity president, everyone was watching to see how the campus’ renowned party prince would take the title of king. As much as it wasn't visible, he was feeling the mounting pressure. so to relieve said tension, he had walked to the main quad to smoke but in his haste had forgotten his prized red lighter. with a sigh and resignation to return to the craze of the frat house, calum turned on his heel and took a step away from the calm of the grassy courtyard. until he heard a voice call out to him.

“need a light?” he spun around so quickly his head was dizzy. sitting at the foot of one of the magnolia trees was a girl, smoking a cigarette of her own. calum may not have seen her, but she had obviously seen him and picked up on his lack of fire to quell his nicotine craving. bodding with a chuckle, he approached the girl and was struck that he didn’t recognize her. the college didn’t have a huge student population and calum definitely wouldn’t have forgotten a face like hers. But she was unknown to him.

without another word shared between the pair, she held out an open palm with the lighter in question. despite trying to not seem too desperate, calum snatched it from her and quickly lit his cigarette to take a long drag. he tipped his head back to exhale the smoke before he turned back to the girl and returned her lighter. She stood up to retrieve it and slid it into her back pocket.

“i’m calum.” he offered his name in lieu of a greeting, unsure that the girl would know him since he didn’t know her.

without turning to face him, she responded. “i know.”

he was taken aback for a second and in the time that he struggled to think of a witty comeback, she had picked up her backpack and turned to leave herself.

“wait, how do you know who i am?” lame, but it was the best he could come up with before she had completely disappeared. finally, she turned to face him.

“why do you care?” and with that, she turned again and left a dumbstruck calum at the foot of the magnolia tree. he was shocked, mainly because a girl hadn’t treated him that coldly since, well, since he couldn’t remember. the day he set foot on this campus, every girl he’d met had fallen to his feet. calum had forgotten how much rejection could sting. especially coming from such a beautiful girl. but he wasn’t one to give up a chase, and she had just made it all the more interesting. he stomped out his cigarette and began the walk back to his frat house with renewed energy. someone had to know her name and it was just a matter of time before he got it.

[eryiss]

Ship: Freed x Laxus

Rating: Teen

Prompt: Late Nights, Early Mornings.

Summary: Long distant relationships are difficult, made worse when it's between two men in different colleges. But Freed and Laxus will make it worse, and if secret phone calls late in the night are what's needed then that's what they'll do.

Notes: This was day three for my admissions to Fraxus Week. It's hosted by @fuckyeahfraxus, who you should check out for more Fraxus content.

Links: Event Masterlist ||| Archive of Our Own, Fanfiction

Four Ways to See the Dawn

Year: 1982

Location: Washington DC, USA

"Hey."

"Hey."

Laxus murmured the word, quietly fiddling with the cord to the phone as he glanced at the sleeping man in the other bed. The stranger seemed to be sleeping soundly, snoring without a care in the world, and so Laxus felt pretty confident that he had privacy. So long as he didn't make too much noise, he could speak without being overheard.

Good, this was going to work.

It wasn't ideal. It was nearing two AM, and Laxus had found himself fighting sleep as he'd waited for his roommate to pass out. The guy was apparently something of a party animal, and he was fully taking advantage of the many frat parties, drinking nights and mixers that filled the first weeks of college. Laxus had avoided them all – they were all too loud and rowdy for him – but he understood the appeal. He couldn't be angry that the man was so unpredictable; Bickslow would hardly know that he was stopping Laxus from his phone call with Freed, after all.

Freed didn't have the same problem. His college, which was half way across the country, didn't have roommates to worry about. He'd promised that he'd be waiting by the phone for him whenever he was ready to call, and he'd answered the moment Laxus had rung.

"You sound tired," Laxus teased. "Didn't wake ya, did I?"

"No, but it was close," Freed chuckled, and the sound was incredible. "I missed hearing your voice."

"Me too."

They'd promised themselves that, for the first two weeks, they wouldn't talk. College was a big thing, and they couldn't fuck it up, so decided they need to fully submerge themselves in college culture instead of becoming shut-ins who only spoke to one another. It was the right thing to do, they both knew it, but Laxus had been missing Freed's presence every day, and no amount of taster classes, tours around campus, and bottles of tequila would remove that.

Freed had always been there. They'd grown up on the same street, played on the same sports teams, and attended the same house parties. Jokes had been made that they were attached at the hip, and that they might as well be inseparable with how much time they spent together.

Laxus had to smirk at those jokes. If only they knew.

It had happened quite randomly, really. Laxus had broken his leg in the last year of high school, and he'd had to sit out on the final game in their baseball tournament. Freed had ended up hitting the home run that won their team the game, and had been rightly commended. Laxus had stumbled into the locker room on his crutches when everyone was left so he could congratulate the man in private. Freed had clearly noticed that Laxus was more melancholy that joyful, and forced Laxus to admit it felt shitty to miss the final game of his high-school career, even if they did win.

Freed had waited for a moment, thinking of what to say. Then, with his thigh resting against Laxus' non-broken leg, he quietly whispered 'I won it for you, you know. Not for the team.' The words were packed with years' worth of friendship and passion, and they were forever imprinted on Laxus' mind.

He'd kissed the man without thinking. Freed had kissed him back.

What followed was a summer of making out, going to the romantic spots around Magnolia under the pretence they were still just friends, and, on the last night before they left for college, they'd slept together for the first time. It had all been incredible.

But the summer had to end, and they could hardly keep going as they had. Magnolia was small, and their friendship was known well enough there for nobody to question how much time they were spending together. Now they lived in different states, a long and expensive train ride away from each other. The making out and the dates and the sex would have to stop, because it didn't make senses for it to continue. All they had left was quiet phone calls late at night where nobody could overhear them talking.

It wasn't perfect, but it was enough for now.

"You, erm, you done many classes yet?" Laxus asked, cringing at the awful question.

"No, they start on Monday," Freed answered, and shifted slightly. Laxus idly wondered if he were in his bed or not. Freed looked good in bed, curled up in a dressing gown with a book. If Laxus was there, he'd content himself by running his hand through his hair. "You?"

"A few taster things, just tryin' to find out what I wanna major in, y'know," Laxus all but scuffed his feet. He hadn't expected this to be this awkward. "Guess you don't have that problem."

"No," Freed agreed. He was training to by a surgeon, Laxus was at college mainly because he didn't know what else to do with his life. "How's your roommate?"

"He's good. A little weird but seems harmless," Laxus glanced at the sleeping man, who was stretched over his bed and drooling. "Seems to be out at parties most nights, so maybe I'll be able to call ya earlier in the night. Not force ya to stay up so late."

"It's worth it," Freed said without missing a beat. "I've missed you, Laxus."

"I missed you too," Laxus whispered.

Neither man spoke for a moment, and Laxus wished he knew what to say. He wished he had a ridiculous story of his fun, interesting college life that he could use to break that layer of awkwardness and entertain Freed with. But he'd done nothing; college was much less interesting than he had been led to believe. He couldn't think of a thing to say, and the electric humming of the phone was getting on his nerves.

Freed must have felt the same way, as Laxus could hear him fidgeting across the phone. Laxus wished he could just pull the man into his arms, as he often had in their quiet nights alone over the summer. But he couldn't. For months, he couldn't.

"It's gonna get easier, ain't it?" Laxus asked. "Doin' this?"

"It will," Freed said, and he sounded sure. "It'll take some time, but it will."

"Fuckin' better," Laxus mumbled more to himself than to Freed.

"It will," Freed repeated. "And thanksgiving is only a few months away, and we'll be able to see each other then."

"Guess so," Laxus nodded, trying to feel encouraged. "You still doing thanksgiving with me and Gramps?"

"If he'll still have me."

"He will," Laxus replied immediately, and then forced a smile onto his face. "And I promise it'll be more successful than last year."

"More successful? Is that possible?" Freed asked sarcastically, and Laxus chuckled.

"You saying that me and Gramps getting into a screaming match, the turkey ending up in the cat's litter tray, the two of us getting covered in cranberry sauce, and the neighbours making a noise complaint wasn't successful?" Laxus scoffed, smiling as he remembered the night the previous year.

He also remembered how, just before Freed drove back to his own home, he'd confessed that it was one of the most enjoyable thanksgiving's he'd had.

"You seem to not realise that, with long hair, pureed cranberries really have a lot of space to hide in," Freed chuckled. "A problem you don't seem to face."

"I'll aim for your face this year then," Laxus grinned.

"That's all I ask," Freed was grinning too, Laxus could hear it in his voice.

The situation wasn't immediately remedied, but they found themselves talking about the ridiculous shared moments they'd endured in Magnolia, and Laxus felt the awkwardness seeping away minute by minute. It was nowhere near as good as driving to the mountains, lying on his car's roof with Freed curled against him, but damn if it wasn't the best couple of hours he'd spent since arriving in Washington.

He didn't remember falling asleep, but he did remember waking up sometime later in the morning. The phone was clutched against his chest, the line dead, and the sunlight was fluttering under the curtains. He smiled privately, and closed his eyes, phone in hand.

---

"Freed, you okay? It's four in the mornin'?

"Hey. You're awake. Hi."

Laxus forced his eyes open, groggy and sleep deprived. He blinked a few times, sitting up. The ringing of the phone he'd just answered seemed to still be blaring in his mind, and the overly loud, inelegant words that his boyfriend had just near yelled into his ears made Laxus wince. It was nearly four thirty in the morning. Why the hell was Freed awake?

"Course I'm awake, phone's fucking loud," He complained, sitting up and leaning against the wall. "Why're you awake?"

"Ever and Mirajane," Freed said, as if that answered anything. Laxus waited a moment before he realised that was all Freed felt he needed to say.

"What about them?"

"I told them that it was my birthday tomorrow – or, well, it's today now, isn't it. But it was tomorrow when I told them. Well, technically it was yesterday when I told them, but in the context of me telling them about my birthday, my birthday was tomorrow, which is now today," Freed spewed the mess of words out, and Laxus could hear him frowning. "They said I needed to go out drinking. They wanted to take me out for my first legal drink."

"Yer turning nineteen, not twenty-one," Laxus deadpanned, though smirked.

"Oh yes, so I am," Freed was frowning. "I broke the law many times tonight then."

"Sounds like it," Laxus chuckled. "You only just gettin' in? It's pretty late. Or early, I guess."

"No, we left the club at about one. We've been in the dorms for a few hours, Cana knows someone who can get us beer cheap, so we kept going. Someone made me brownies, but I wasn't allowed to eat them because apparently they had pot in them, so Mirajane slapped the guy and said she'd report him to campus security because we only found out when Jet and Droy started talking about the walls having a face," Freed laughed heartily, and Laxus smiled, imagining the man's expression as he did so. "Why do people always put weed into brownies? It's so overdone. Why do you never hear of a pot carrot cake or banana loaf?"

"Brownies are easy to make, I guess," Laxus grinned.

This was uncharted territory for Laxus. Freed wasn't exactly a total rule follower, but his parents were strict and so alcohol was something he'd never risked. Laxus had always wondered what a drunk Freed would be like. Apparently, he rambled and was happy. It was a nice side of him to hear.

"You think brownies are harder than a banana cake? You know nothing about baking," Freed laughed at him, and Laxus smirked. "Do I have time to bake a pot filled gateau, do you think? It might make mother's book club interesting at last."

"Don't spike your ma with drugs Freed," Laxus instructed, and Freed laughed.

"Yes, it sounds bad put like that," Freed agreed. He was quiet for a moment, and Laxus heard the sound of something hitting the floor. Perhaps one of his boots, given the clunk. Laxus had become something of an expert at figuring out what Freed was doing by the sounds he made. "It'd serve them right. Rather see you than them."

"Come on Freed," Laxus sighed. "They're your parents, they wanna see you."

"Well they didn't on parents' weekend, or at thanksgiving, so why now?" Freed huffed, fabric shifting now. He was probably getting into bed. "They're taking me to dinner, and I saw the place. It's got five stars, Laxus. That means it'll be stifled and pretentious. They won't know what to say to me, so we'll just eat in silence and we'll all want it to end because we know we don't have anything in common and they're only coming because it'll look bad if they don't," Laxus wished he could deny the claim, but he knew Freed's parents and that was probably true. "Would've rather gotten the train to Washington so I could see you."

"Shouldn't I be coming to yours?" Laxus asked, trying to change the subject to something less maudlin. "It's your birthday."

"You saw my campus when you drove us home," Freed dismissed, and Laxus supposed he had. They'd driven back to Magnolia together for some time alone, as Laxus passed Freed's college on the drive back. "It's my turn to see your place. Your classrooms, your student lounge," He paused, and was clearly smirking when he spoke again. "Your bed."

"My bed, huh?" Laxus smirked. "What were you gonna-"

Laxus would have continued, but an airborne pillow slammed into his face. It took his sleep-lagged brain a moment to understand what had happened, and he slowly looked towards his glaring, very much awake roommate. He probably should have realised that the phone would have woken them both up, not just Laxus.

They looked at each other for a moment, Bickslow unblinking. Laxus wanted to speak, but no words came, and Bickslow was the one to fill the silence.

"Look, you know I'm cool with you two being together. Probably been to more of the marches than either of you two, so be as gay as you wanna be," Bickslow's voice was croaky and hoarse. "But don't phone fuck when I'm in the room. It's just bad manners."

"We weren't gonna-" Laxus cut himself off. He couldn't be sure of his words, so instead he said a guilty, "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Bickslow shrugged. "Just give me my pillow back and we'll call it even."

Laxus did as he was told, and Bickslow took it, hooked it around his head so it covered his ears, and turned to lie facing the wall. It was as close to privacy they could get in the small room without either of them leaving, and Laxus appreciated the action. When he spoke again, his voice was more of a gentle whisper.

"You should probably get to sleep," He instructed, and grinned when he heard a yawn overpowering his words. "Make sure you drink water before you crash, okay? And don't bother with yer classes, you'll either still be drunk or too hungover to take anything in."

"Yes, I suppose I will be," Freed agreed. "I'll call you once my parents leave."

"Okay," Laxus nodded. "Happy birthday, baby."

"Thank you," Freed said softly. "Goodnight. Love you."

"Love you too."

Laxus hung up the phone, curled himself back under his covers and closed his eyes. Just as he was about to sleep, he heard the grinning words of his roommate as he said, 'you two are so damn cute.' Laxus' retort of 'fuck you' was only slightly less threatening because of the smile he couldn't shake, and the yawn he couldn't hold back.

---

"Don't talk, I need to say something."

"Laxus? What's wrong?"

Laxus was jittery. He'd been jittery all day. He'd had nervous energy throughout the night, and it kept waking him up and he did whatever he could to get to sleep but nothing had worked, and he'd found himself stressed, awake and jittery. He couldn't stop moving. Couldn't stop bouncing his leg or taping his fingers or flexing his arms because he needed to do something with this energy, but he didn't know what.

At six AM, after a night of awful, interrupted sleep, he'd decided enough was enough. He'd changed into running gear, pulled out his Walkman and stormed from his dorm room. He'd ran for however long, and yet the jitteriness didn't go. If anything, it made things worse.

Calling Freed had been a last resort.

He hadn't returned to campus yet, instead finding a phone booth to climb into. It had started to rain as he'd run, and he was dripping wet as he rang Freed's number. The cold and the wet were the last things on his mind. He just needed to get on the call with Freed, just needed to hear that thing's would be okay and that he was making a big deal out of nothing. Freed was a smart guy, and he wouldn't bullshit Laxus about important things. No; Freed would make things okay.

"Dad's court case was moved forward," Laxus spluttered before he could stop himself.

It was supposed to be in the autumn. It was supposed to be months away. That would give Laxus time to prepare himself, to know what he was going to say. To get out of his own head so that he could focus on taking the bastard to jail. It was not supposed to be next damn week!

Laxus was a character witness. In the trial itself, he wasn't all that important, but he knew that the media would love to know what he thought about his father. Ivan was a well-known businessman, and his scandal had been national news. He'd made many enemies over his years working, and people were relishing in his downfall. Everyone wanted to hear how not only was Ivan a bad businessman, but a bad father too. Laxus wasn't ready for the attention, he wasn't ready for anything.

Freed took a moment to think before he replied.

"Where are you?" He asked. "Are you in your dorm? I can hear the rain."

"Erm, no," Laxus shook his head, looking around. "I'm near a park. Not sure where."

"Right," Freed murmured. "What do you need me to do?"

"I need," Laxus faltered.

He needed to be told that everything was okay. That the court case would just be a single day in his life, and he could get past it and move on. He needed to hear Freed saying that he would get past this, and that his life would return to normal. He needed to see Freed's warm smile, the one he seemed to show only to Laxus. He needed…

"It's nothing. Sorry if I woke you."

"Go back to your dorm, I'll be there as soon as I can."

"What?"

"The trains start running early. I can probably be at yours by ten," Freed mused aloud. "I want you to go back and try to sleep. You mentioned that Bickslow has hypnosis tapes he uses to sleep, borrow one."

"Freed, you don't need to come here," Laxus tried to argue, though he didn't want to. "You don't have the money."

"I'll find it," Freed dismissed. "The next train leaves at seven, I believe. I'll be on it."

"Freed."

"Laxus."

Anyone who thought that Laxus was the more stubborn one out of the two of them clearly didn't know Freed.

"You really don't need to come," Laxus whispered, the rain pounding on the small box he sheltered in. "I'll be fine."

"You deserve to be better than fine, Laxus," Freed whispered back.

Silence hung on the line, and at that moment Laxus' world only persisted of the small phonebooth, the rain clattering down on it, and the man on the other end of the phone. He closed his eyes, clenched them shut, and tried to focus on the soft sound of Freed's breathing. Freed was coming. He was coming to make things better. As much as Laxus wanted to protest more, because Freed couldn't afford it and he was going to miss his classes, he just wanted his boyfriend in his arms. He just wanted him there.

"Are you sure?" He asked in a shaking sob.

"Of course," Freed assured him. "Go back to your room and sleep, I'll be there soon."

Laxus did indeed return to his room. He showered off the rainwater, ignored Bickslow's questions as to what happened, and curled up into bed. The white noise tape that Bickslow gave him cleared his mind, and as he assured himself that the clump of blanket he was clinging to would soon be replaced with Freed, he felt everything become just a little more manageable.

---

Sun hit Laxus' face, a gentle warmth that woke him up. He smiled as it happened.

A roadside motel was hardly the most comfortable place to wake up, but Laxus couldn't think of anywhere better to be at that time. No amount of bitter coffee, cramped showers, awful breakfasts, and itchy sheets would stop that. Not when he was waking up with Freed in his arms.

It was Freed's graduation day, the final nail in the coffin of their shared college experiences. Once today had finished, there would be no more dorm rooms, no more phone calls, no more long distance. They just needed to get through the ceremony, and they would be free to spend as much time as they wanted together, without the looming dread of being split apart by the oncoming semester that had previously seemed ever present.

It was over. They were done with college and free to love each other fully and wholly.

They'd found an apartment they could afford. They'd gotten an odd look when their realter had seen two men wanting to live in a cramped, one bedroom apartment, but they didn't care. Three years split apart was over, and they felt they deserved their own place no matter what other people thought about it. They'd more than paid their dues in being apart; they were owed time, and a home, together.

It worked out well. Freed's career meant he needed to continue studying, and he'd found placement in a hospital on a partial scholarship in New York. Laxus, over his time in college, had decided sports journalism was where his passion lay, and he'd been shortlisted for multiple internships in the city. It was all perfect.

Speaking of perfect, Freed made a small mewling sound as he woke.

"Mornin'," Laxus smiled.

"Morning," Freed croaked. He leant up and pressed his lips against Laxus', resting against his body. "You're awake early."

"Excited to see you get yer degree," Laxus shrugged.

"Excited to see me leaving the dorms, more like," Freed chuckled, resting his head against Laxus' chest.

"Can you blame me?" Laxus asked as he ran a hand down Freed's side and kissed his crown.

"Not at all," Freed hummed, contentedly.

Laxus hummed, watching as the new morning sun filled the room. Flashes of a future where this would be his every morning, where Freed would always fall asleep in his arms and wake up beside him. Freed would be his, and he would be Freed's, as they were always supposed to be.

Their love story was quiet, made up of fleeting moments and late-night phone calls. Not the stuff of fairy tales, but, for them, perfect.