#might do some art like this again some time coming up (its my summer holiday soon tee hee)

[art--harridan]

[Image description: A traditional drawing of Laura Palmer from Twin Peaks. She's in her red room outfit, screaming widely. It scrunches her face and she squints slightly with colourless eyes. Her body is hunched over and her arms spread outwards. A dark, heavy pencil is used for the lineart and shading. Bold colours surround and entomb her. Red and pink gravitates towards the background and her face, which is flushed with fury. Her lips are particularly bold. Meanwhile, her dress is purely stark black and bright blue. Her hair is kept mostly white. The background is a mess of red, purple, blue and black. The colours fade and blur together, scratchy in some areas, similarly to the central drawing of Laura.]

[infinitcnexus]

redemptioninchaos:

Colette didn’t take offense to the question, as evidenced in her expression as well as Shrike’s impathy. Nonetheless, her ears drooped slightly. “Six years ago. I left for college that summer. My dad joked, ‘Don’t you come back without bringing me a degree or some grandbabies!’ I asked him, ‘What about holidays?’ He said, ‘You’re telling me you won’t get your bachelor’s before Radvent?’ As for my mom, well, it was hard for her to say anything without crying. She told me she loved me, and playing off what my dad said, she said, ‘The only thing a man can’t do is bear children. Which means there’s nothing you can’t do, Colette.’ Then, soon after that, well…you pretty much know the rest. Other Self showed up, and my college career came to an end. That was the last time I spoke with them.

“And now that we’re famous, I have no idea what either of them think. Sure, knowing that your daughter’s an assassin wouldn’t sit right with any ‘normal’ parents, but I think one of the things that kept me from going off the deep end was considering what they’d think. I’ve killed before, and obviously I’ll do it again, but only when there’s an immediate danger for me, or when I know that doing so would keep good people like my mom and dad safe.”

“I can get behind that,” Shrike replied. Even though he smiled and nodded at Colette, half of his mind was somewhere else. What she said brought back a memory of a bygone time, the kind that emerges to the forefront of his mind every now and then in flashes.

-   -   -   -   -

He recalled seeing a well-built if somewhat out-of-shape wolverine wardenfolk wearing an eyepatch over the left side of his face. He was covered from head to toe in bruises, sniffling and groveling before the then-Harbinger-in-training. It was Gerard, though Shrike knew him personally as the guy who tried to “have some fun” with him alongside his buddies after they caught the imp - a street urchin a few years ago - stealing from them. Thinking about it, Shrike still dreaded about what could have happened had Graves not intervened in time. 

He and Graves had split up to get some errands done on that particular day, and he was in charge of buying some takeout for dinner. Gerard had bumped into him on the streets, muttering a hasty apology before going on his way. The delivery felt off, and it took the imp a few seconds later to realize that his wallet was missing. In an instant, he gave chase to the fleeing wardenfolk, following him into an alley where one of his chums nearly cracked open his skull with a baseball bat. 

Gerard and his gang outnumbered him 4-to-1, but he wasn’t the scrawny, untrained kid running on adrenaline and half-honed instincts like he used to be. They were part-time troublemakers with no formal martial arts training - a weakness he exploited to its fullest extent with quick, disciplined footwork and well-aimed blows, many of which targeted weak spots under the belt. Magick wasn’t necessary.

As soon as he realized he had screwed up tremendously, Gerard hurled an excuse in his direction, claiming that he had no choice but to rob the imp to save his brother’s life. Shrike didn’t know the wolverine well enough to know whether or not he had a sibling, but he didn’t buy it. The wardenfolk was surprisingly receptive to his warning as he returned the wallet, promising profusely to never bother him again. 

Shrike had the nagging feeling something wasn’t right as he turned his back on Gerard, but with hindsight, he knew the bastard had no plan on keeping his word. He looked over his shoulder just in time to stop the wardenfolk from breaking a glass bottle over his head. After catching his arm, the imp swiftly tripped him and was more than eager to give him a piece of his mind, straddling Gerard’s waist and throwing punch after punch at his face with wide-eyed, reckless abandon.

He might have reduced his cranium to mush if Graves hadn’t appeared and pulled him away. He was livid, wondering why in Hell the old demon stopped him from giving Gerard his overdue just dessert. With carefully tempered strength, Graves pinned him against a wall and lectured him. He could remember only half of his words, but one particular sentence stood out to him.

“Not everybody deserves a second chance,” he said. “But does that alone give you the right to decide who lives or dies?” 

By the time he finished, Gerard was more-or-less out cold, though Shrike suspected the wolverine was unconscious for far longer than that. When he left with Graves, it was the last time he saw the wardenfolk and his friends. Had he been telling the truth all along and he had brushed it off based on preconceived bias? He had no way to confirm or disprove it anymore.

-   -   -   -   -

But he had enough reminiscing about what could have been. Maybe Lin had the same sentiment as him too.

“How far are we from Joe’s place now?” Shrike asked. 

Juju on that Beatdown

At 6 a.m. the next morning, Shrike would have gotten a phone call from Lot. Even if the demon put his cell on silent or do not disturb, Lot had found a way to bypass all of that, the ringtone playing loud enough to wake Shrike up from even the deepest of sleeps.

@infinitcnexus

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Not by the Moon | 08

Genre: Smut, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, Drama, Tragedy, Werewolf AU, Supernatural AU, Bookshop AU

Pairing: Bookshop keeper!/Werewolf!JB x Reader

Warnings: Mild swearing, eating disorder (personal experience, don’t be a bloody twat), heavy(?) angst, Werewolf!Jaebeom trying to be a normal boyfriend

Summary: Every story has a purpose or goal it is dedicated to, their authors at times going to great lengths to see the project they once started to completion. Nevertheless, the things the writers swore on to see their latest art piece to completion are static.

Unchanging.

None of them swore by the Moon nor Love because they can solely genuinely swear on all that changes like themselves.

And yet, a wolf in love foolishly swore by the moon.

That is when Time truly started ticking.

Author’s Note: This chapter is from Y/N’s POV.

I am seeing a trend starting to develop where every chapter turns into a behemoth that makes me not want to edit it at all. Nevertheless, I pulled through on this one despite being in the middle of a 32-hour work week and being absolutely exhausted.

Summer holidays, you said? I only see extra shifts and little me-time nor writing time and inspiration. That said, though, be prepared for some heavy worldbuilding because the plot thickens.

Also, and this has been edited in the previous chapter, a new special someone makes his debut in this chapter. Is this also a hint about whose story is next?

Who knows?

I don’t know.

Previous Chapter / Next chapter

Masterlist

“Jaebeom? Jay!” I nudge the big man’s shoulder to signal for him to step aside so I can turn the stove off before the burned pancake catches fire. “That’s the third one in a row.”

“I’m sorry,” he mutters quietly. “I- I have a... I can’t focus.”

“Is it because of this morning?” If so, then that makes two of us. However, I tried to forget as best I could by working with timed productivity sprints instead of writing the article on Bruges in one go. It worked fairly well until lunch time came around.

That’s when I, too, couldn’t escape the claw mark.

The image of it flashes before my eyes once more, joining my thoughts with his if his blank look is anything to go by.

How did it get there? What did you do?

“Yeah. Morning. I... I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, brows furrowed. “I’m sorry, this should be a nice evening. A cozy night in. You deserve my attention, for me to,” his breath tapers as he finishes the sentence, “be here.”

The quiver in his lips makes the roof of my mouth dry up and my mind empty save for gut-stirring concern, unable to think of a proper response. Nevertheless, I look for words to say what seems best. Like I did this morning when I went to get his medication. “How about I take it from here and bake the pancakes? You already made the batter and I can’t let you do all the work.”

“I like cooking for you.”

“I know you do, but it’s fine. Really,” I gesture at the couch by the living room window, which provides a glimpse of the small balcony, “sit down. I’ll call you once dinner’s ready.”

“Y/N,” he reaches out for my hand yet only dares to hold my fingertips, “I’m sorry I can’t be more.”

The crack in his voice breaks my heart. But its the vulnerability written across his normally stoic face which tears me apart at the seams. Whatever he means, it’s nothing to do with this morning. Rather, it’s about him as a person, the wonderful man he is. 

Throat blocked by something I can’t swallow, I scan his attitude for any hint about what he truly means. “What’re you on about?”

Let’s just forget about it for a little while and be a normal couple. I promise I won’t run away despite what happened.

Unfortunately, Jaebeom dismisses the question to make a point I wish he didn’t. “We both know what’s ahead. But, sometimes it’s as if you’re avoiding the inevitable.”

I let out a deep sigh, caught red-handed. “I’m not, because I know or, rather, can guess where this is going. I just don’t know how to respond at times. And I don’t want you to feel bad so I try to keep the mood high as best I can. To, well, keep us both happy.”

“Is your avoidance of food also part of that?” he asks, carefully formulating the question while keeping a close eye on any change in my demeanour.

“Yes.”

“I hate it when you don’t eat.”

“I know, but if you knew the reasons behind it, you’d understand why it’s difficult for me. Although, I want you to know that I’m trying to keep my promise to you and eat when you tell me to.” I cup his cheek, lovingly swiping my thumb to and fro over the tanned skin. “It’s really hard to escape your determination. You’re very insistent on things.”

“Too much?” Eyes dim and glistening with withheld tears, he nuzzles my palm.

“Sometimes.” I kiss the tip of his nose and smile, a sign of happiness that’s only half a lie. “It doesn’t make me love you any less. Now, let me be a proper girlfriend and cook for you.”

Regardless of the wonderful sight of Jaebeom wearing an apron and being absorbed in his element in the kitchen, it’s equally as wonderful to have something to eat tonight. Secretly, I would rather have made a healthier and less calorie-rich dish, but we both need a bit of a reprieve from last night. Thus, for the sake of us both, I’ve decided to let go of my rules for a little while.

To enjoy something sweet.

As wholesome as the sight of the wolf man seated on the couch, knees pulled up with round gold-rimmed glasses balancing on the bridge of his nose as he reads the novel he apparently borrowed from my bookshelves. I should write a little note on the title page and give it to him as a present so he’ll have one of my books like I have his.

They’ll be on his shelves for as long as we’re here.

Be there even after he’s gone.

Then they will return to me yet still be his.

He will still be with me.

The pages filled with his love.

It’s everything that will be left of him.

His legacy.

His remains.

The thought leaving me filled with bittersweet affection, I cut the fruit to put on top of the pancakes while gradually using up all the batter. Were it not for the move to the cottage at the end of the month, I could easily be content here if he’d ask me to move in. Wherever we are, evenings like these might become a common occurrence, a splendid reward at the end of a long day at the office.

They could turn any place into our home.

The long road of the lone wolf would finally come to an end.

Because as long as he’s there, I’m home.

“Mind your head.” Despite the warning, Jaebeom nevertheless puts a hand on my head while he opens the cupboard above to grab two plates.

“I was just about to say dinner’s ready.” I let out a breathless laugh, hardly hiding the sobs at the thought of one day having to live without his touch. “Talk about timing.”

For a second, a curious expression treks across his face. It passes by too fast to properly describe it, but it seemed to be triggered by the meaningless remark about his return to the kitchen.

When a dangerously short and sharp breath escapes me, he swallows it with a kiss. Perhaps it’s the sorrow of knowing a storm lies on the horizon that makes me delusional, but a soft whine rises in his throat each time he kisses a stray tear away as he peppers my face in small pecks. 

Satisfied he has taken the sadness more or less away, the corners of his mouth curl into a lop-sided smile as if nothing happened. Notwithstanding, it isn’t hard to figure the blissful ignorance is merely feigned. “Right. Timing.”

Our gazes lock and neither of us says a word until he perks up and motions for me to step back. “Fork and knife.”

Discombobulated by the shared confusion, I indeed set a step backwards so he can open the drawer. In the meanwhile, as Jay sets the dinnerware down, I put the final pancake on the stack and set it down in the middle of the table. 

Chest puffed out, I clap my hands. “Dig in.”

Like yesterday, Jaebeom insists on doing the dishes while I settle down for the night. However, whereas I gladly did before, I now do with an uneasy mind. Arms wrapped around my knees, my thoughts run down a familiar dark path.

I ate too much. Maybe I should go home and do a workout. Then again, I really don’t want to even though I have to.

“Y/N?” The faint though surprising mention of my name breaks the imaginary stones weighing down my shoulders. I snap my head to the side, almost headbutting the wolf man who has appeared at my side. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Lips pulled into a wistful smile, I scratch him under the chin in hopes of distracting him to the degree he won’t be able to ask further questions. “I’m tired, that's all.”

Unfortunately, Jaebeom is like a guardian who somehow notices a lot despite his absent-minded demeanour. Henceforth, the topic is all but abandoned. 

Without warning, and as effortless as if he were picking up a book, he lifts me up from the couch to hold me in his arms. Instinctively, I clutch his loose black shirt to have a grip of something in case I fall. It’s an ungrounded fear since his arms are sturdy, but it’s comforting nonetheless to have something to hold on to.

My haphazard action elicits a low chuckle that makes my heart skip a beat, although it almost thumps out of my chest again as he rests his forehead against mine. “Let’s go to bed.”

“It’s only eight o’clock,” I sputter, chest tight and no breath sufficient enough to lift the sensation. “Besides, I- I don’t have any fresh change of clothes or toiletries or a pyjama.”

Did he turn the central heating up?

“Doesn’t matter. Can borrow. You. No, that’s not right. You… you can. You can borrow clothes from me. Also, I think I have a spare toothbrush somewhere around here.”

“Jay,’’ As best I can, I try to keep my tone steady though the words come out too fast and uneven regardless, ‘’I think I should go home.” 

If I don’t and I won’t get in some more exercise, I’ll gain weight and slowly go back to how I was.

And I’ll lose him.

Back to square one.

Loveless.

Despite the effort, I can’t prevent the crack in my voice as I weakly tug at his shirt. ‘’Let me go.’’

“No.’’ The gentle kindness has malformed into rough sternness, translated in a sound similar to a growl. ‘’You need to calm down.”

“I am calm!” I retort, more ferocious and sharper than intended though the equal harshness might help to drive the point home.

For a split second, he snarls and bares his teeth. Simultaneously, a flicker of a second personality passes across his mismatched eyes.

The calm ocean warps into a watery grave with high waves on a stormy night.

The hazelnut cracks to set that which it contains free.

His lashes abruptly flutter shut, as he lets out a pained gasp. Beneath my fingertips, his chest caves as if an imaginary fist has dealt him a blow in the guts.

And in mine as well.

Rippling flesh.

There’s… there’s no… Jay, what is happening to you?

I hold on tighter to the fabric, hyperventilating while trying to refrain from bursting out in tears.

There has to be something I can do! But what? What do I do? How can I make this stop?

How do I get you back?

Withal, shivering lips parted to beg for guidance, are interrupted by a shake of the head hanging low. Slowly, Jaebeom looks up, a light layer of sweat on his skin. Our gazes lock, but whereas the wolf man’s was filled with savage chaos, it’s now returned to the stern tranquility it held before the attack. Nonetheless, an uncomprehending whimper betrays the fact that whatever happened wasn’t experienced consciously.

The rage was beyond him.

Outside him.

Another’s.

Still breathless, he scoffs, the sound gruff and overtly disagreeing. “Let’s watch the moon and stars.”

There is no chance to ask any questions about the swift changes in demeanour since he promptly moves to the hallway and up the stairs towards his bedroom. The bedframe of the two-person bed also functions as a bookshelf which takes up the entire right wall, the shelves stacked with second-hand paperbacks in various conditions. An empty picture frame is placed on his side of the bed, a pair of glasses next to it.

Jaebeom puts me down on the navy wool blanket on the edge of the bed and leans in to steal a kiss, which is easy to do considering I’m too shaken to offer any protest. Nor do I feel the comfort of his lips. “Take your clothes off. I’ll go find you pyjamas.”

A tad reluctant, mind occupied by guilt and terror, I start to undress as he rummages through the wardrobe on the other end of the room.

Left only in my underwear, I sit down on the edge of the bed. Although he’s seen me naked once, I still wrap my arms around myself to hide my body. A shield to protect a fragile ego housed in equally as vulnerable body flesh.

Afraid of what might happen when those ripples grow out of control.

Terrified of who he will become.

Of who he is.

“Don’t.” Jaebeom turns around with a black hoodie and grey sweatpants in his hands, eyebrows drawn together. He closes the drawer, throws the clothes on the bed, kneels, and firmly yet gently grabs my wrists to break the walls I put up. And I let him. “Don’t hide from me.”

Not understanding where the shame originates from, he grows still as he scrutinizes my face for clues. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Instead of giving an answer, I change into the makeshift pyjamas. The hoodie is oversized yet comfortably baggy while the sweatpants hang disconcertingly low on my hips. Fortunately, any skin it reveals is covered up by the top.

Continuing to avoid his gaze without saying a word, I crawl under the sheets. Face turned to the window, I pull up the blanket he drapes over me and bury my nose in it.

A wild forest and cologne with a musty hint of pages.

It’s undeniably him.

I don’t know what else to do or say. So, I let the silence speak for itself.

A language he is fluent in too despite his oftentimes loud demeanour.

The mattress dips under his weight when he lies down and rearranges the sheets to cover us both. An arm wrapped around my waist and legs tangled, Jaebeom pulls me flush against him, his chest warm against my back.

A sob rises in my throat when I feel his lips place a kiss on my crown with a sigh of contentment.

I don’t deserve this.

Us.

Him.

The fear of losing him to whatever is happening inside.

Then again, Life isn’t fair. It deals everyone the same awful hand and leaves it up to the player to make the best of it.

I guess we’re both dealt a crappier hand than others. That, or we play them wrong.

Can we win at all?

“Talk to me.” As loving and happy as the casual intimacy of the embrace is, as forgetful it could make me if only I’d manage to fall asleep, Jaebeom’s oddly sweet cooing keeps me awake.

Staring at the moon.

A woman as fickle as me.

And infinitely more beautiful.

Funny how I, too, am jealous of a celestial body.

In love with the heavens. 

He continues when he notices I won’t be the one to break the silence, his intonation laced by a whiny undertone like a dog wanting something yet being denied what it wants. “You know what I’m dealing with. But...” he digs his fingers deeper into my hips, the grip iron-like without being painful, “I hope this is okay to ask, but what is it with you and food?”

The encouraging squeeze in my side almost has me bursting out in tears again. There has to be a price to pay somewhere in the shadows, the overwhelming sensation of being genuinely loved and protected must turn out to be as two-sided as the silver goddess in the sky. After all, Life is bittersweet.

“It’s only fair I tell you.” Especially after how open he’s been. Besides, there’s no opportunity to avoid the topic since we’d arrive at it sooner or later. And he deserves to know. In fact, I don’t want him to forget my brokenness the moment I tell him about it.

We both want each other to remember our own missing pieces.

So I sigh, turn over and bald my hands into fists to rest against the warm skin of his bare chest. As I speak up, I try to keep my voice as steady as possible. “I used to be quite a fat kid, to the degree the GP advised my parents to put me on a diet. Queue high school and social pressure which led me to perhaps work out more than is healthy and left me bordering on the edge of anorexia. There are still foods I won’t eat and days I’ll worry about my calorie intake, especially on the days I don’t work out.”

I can’t help the mirthless chuckle which turns into a rueful smile. “It’s the good old cliché. Just another soul broken for the shallow enjoyment and acceptance of others.” 

Lips pulled into a stern line, the wolf man remains silent. Notwithstanding, his eyes speak volumes when I dare to look up at him, the ocean and hazelwood alight with a watery sheen. Perhaps it’s the comfort of his nearness or the familiarity of those one of a kind eyes, but he inspires a confession which I never thought I’d make. “Nevertheless, I’m getting better and it’s partially thanks to you.”

Morgan spamming me with ‘Have you eaten?’ texts and Bam making sure I finish my plate whenever we go out for food either here or abroad help a lot too. Nonetheless, it’s mostly the bookish wolf who makes me want to try.

And be a little better than before.

“What do they feel like, those days?”

“The bad ones?” Jaebeom nods. “They’re ridden with guilt and self-loathing.”

He leans in, leaving only a few centimetres of distance between our faces. His breath is warm on my skin as he bumps his nose against mine. “You’re feeling that way now.”

“I am.”

“Don’t.”

“I can’t.”

“You’re still you. Beautiful as always. And I’ll love you regardless of how you look. I like your mind, which is as weird as mine. The way you hold my hand, as if you’re afraid I’ll walk away. How you unconsciously squeeze it when you need my protection more. How you feel in my arms, soft and warm as a bunny.” He hooks his finger under my chin and tilts it upward to run his tongue over my lips and nose. “Love you. A lot.”

“I love you too.” I turn my head to nuzzle his palm, my face perfectly fitting into it.

Please, no ripples. Let us have this moment. I don’t want to be afraid anymore. Let me have him, just him as he is. At least tonight.

The secure affection of the touch transforms into something else when he glides the back of his hand over my cheek and folds his fingers over my throat. Testing the waters, eyes boring into mine to stop at the slightest sign of discomfort, he slowly closes off my access to air.

It’s funny how the body and mind react to certain situations. Whereas I normally would flinch and run in the direction of safety, there is no urge to run. In fact, the tingling in my chest travels down to rekindle a familiar heat between my thighs while my adrenaline-infused system aches for the wolfish lover. Henceforth, instead of jumping up from the bed, I spread my legs so Jaebeom can comfortably nestle between them.

“Let me prove it. Let me mate you.” The calloused fingertip journeying across the collarbone to the crook of the neck sends a pleasant shiver down the spine. Another electric shock follows at the coarse prickly sensation of his moustache rubbing against my skin as his soft lips kisses and nips at it. “It will only sting a bit, I promise. Please, the mark will look pretty.”

“No biting, Jay.” Reminded of our agreement this morning and the movement beneath his skin when his emotions seem to get the better of him, I pull him against my chest. Before he can protest I scratch his jaw exactly in the way he likes it, thus subduing his great ability to argue. “Not today.”

“It’s not... hm, k- keep go- What do- Bit higher. There. Like, hm, mhm, there. But... what normal-’’ Arms wrapped around my waist again and letting out a content hum, dark lashes flutter shut. For a moment, it seems he’s fallen asleep. However, his drowsy murmurs, while growing incomprehensible, still haven’t finished. “It’s not what couples do.”

“You’re learning,” I giggle, amused by the remark which sounds like a student recalling a piece of knowledge during a test and repeating it for himself.

Without understanding the knowledge completely. “What do they do?”

Staring at the ceiling, I run my fingers through his long dark manes as I try to come up with ideas about what we can do next. “Well, you’ve already given me your clothes. We could try jewelry next, maybe a promise ring. It’s an old-fashioned idea, but people who are promised to each other wear matching rings. 

‘’What mean? Promised?’’

I say nothing of the faulty grammar of his question. After all, speaking becomes harder once exhaustion overtakes the body and mind. I have yet to find a sleeper being able to form comprehensible sentences. ‘’They’re sort of similar to engagement rings, but without the immediate implication of getting married soon.”

“Let’s get en- enga- enge-’’ Jaebeom lets out a groan, frustrated by his lack of speech. Nevertheless, it doesn’t perturb him enough to completely give up on the effort to properly pronounce the word he’s struggling with. “En. Gage. Ment. Engagement rings instead.”

I let out a breathless chuckle, amused both by his determination and the absurd proposal. “It’s definitely too early for that.”

“It’s not!” He barks, shooting up with a pinched expression on his face.   

Scratching him like before, I manage to calm him down enough to make him lie down on my chest again. Nonetheless, his discontent shines through in the gruff scoff he lets out. “It is.”

“What if...” Prompted by the idea in his mind, Jay scrambles upright to face me once more. Lips parted, the feral sharpness in his mismatched eyes is replaced by a twinkle of barely contained excitement. However, the enthusiasm dims with a shake of the head and a low self-deprecating chuckle that ignites my curiosity. At the same time, it also tugs at the strings of my heart. “No, it’s wrong of me to ask.”

“What is?”

What were you about to say? Don’t keep it to yourself. Tell me!

“Never mind.” He lies down again, nuzzling my breasts as he snuggles up into me.

Then, he slips his hand under mine to lift and compare it to his. “Cute paw.”

Fine. Keep your secrets, you big burly bastard.

“Go to sleep.” I push him off of me, earning myself a disappointed noise which resembles a yelp. “On the other side of the bed, please and thank you.”

In the days that follow, the movement like water set astir under his skin continues to haunt my mind. In fact, it does to the extent that even the keys beneath my fingers seem to flow rather than be pushed down, causing me to flinch for the third time in a row. 

For the past hour I’ve been trying to type out the notes on an interview with a chocolatier in Bruges and compose them into a coherent article. An otherwise simple task my mind won’t allow me to complete despite the attempts to remember the good moments we had recently. The video calls right before bed, the cuddle session a few days ago when we gazed at the moon, his enthusiastic texts about and photos of new recipes Jaebeom tried. None of it prevents the likely imagined terrible from destroying our happiness.

I’m going insane. He’s a normal person. Somewhat. I was jet-lagged and therefore not thinking clearly.

That’s why I thought I felt his skin move. I was delusional.

Drunk on him.

A buzz pulls me out of my reverie, the screen of my phone lighting up with a message.

Morgan: Starving! Found a new café thanks to a friend.

Y/N: Let me guess. I have no choice but to come along.

Morgan: There wasn’t a choice to begin with :)

Y/N: Of course not. What am I talking about, eh? See you in five.

Chuckling at the woman’s classic brashness, I shake my head, pack my belongings and head to the elevators.

Outside, regardless of the November chill, it’s pleasant. The sun shines brightly and the wind blows the little bundles of fallen leaves at the roots of the birch trees lining the street into motion, scattering them over the neatly swept pavement.

Winter is around the corner. God, I hate the cold. Hopefully, there won’t be snow any time soon.

I sit down on the bench under one of the birch trees, its branches already bare. 

Autumn is truly ending now. Shame. I haven’t even had a pumpkin spice latte and cinnamon roll yet. Maybe I should ask Jay out and find a nice coffee shop where we can get them. After all, if he’s there, we can share the pastry. He’ll be happy and I won’t have to eat the whole thing. A win-win situation.

Enjoying watching the people pass by, each stranger essentially a book with a unique story that is yet not entirely different from someone else’s. Withal, the world feels colder without him, the missing part embodied in the unoccupied spot next to mine.

A delighted sigh on the right makes me snap my head around, alarmed at the notion someone has appeared out of the blue on the empty seat. 

A woman clad in a white suit and matching fur-lined coat with pale skin and brown hair glowing copper in direct light stares contentedly up at the clouds. She’s in her very early twenties, although the freckles dusting her cheekbones and rosy cheeks might simply make her look younger than she is.

For a moment, taken aback and speechless, I cannot help but blatantly gape at the otherworldly stranger.

Wow, she’s like a goddess.

A stone sinks to the bottom of my stomach as a dark thought intrudes my mind. My throat dried up, I twist my wrists, the muscles stiff beneath my fingers.

Would Jaebeom like her? If he saw her on the street, would he... would he stop and stare? Prefer her over me or even try and give it a shot by introducing himself?

“It’s a bit chillier than I’d like, but at least it’s better than rain or snow.” The woman turns to face me, her features soft. “I hope spring will come again soon, though.”

I don’t get the chance to respond because a familiar voice calls out. Not that I would be able to form a proper reply otherwise. “You’re here already?”

“I happened to be nearby,” the stranger turns away to answer as Morgan comes to a halt in front of us, a puzzled expression on her face.

“I texted you fifteen minutes ago and you said you had to clean up. I thought you’d join us later.”

“The birth and after birth went faster than I thought so here I am.”

“I’m sorry, but what is going on?” More than a little lost, I look from one to the other in hopes of being given an explanation. “I didn’t know we’d head out with the three of us.”

“Right, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Brigid.” The dark-haired woman holds out her pale hand in greeting. “I work at the hospital as an obstetrician.”

“I’m Y/N,’’ I reply, shaking her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Lass,” wonder turned to a darker version of itself yet not saying anything, Morgan shifts her attention to me, “you look famished. Come on, let’s go.”

Offering a few muttered words of agreement, I get up and sheepishly tag along with the other women. As we walk out the street and round a corner, following the signs leading to the artist district nearby the university, I’m occasionally tempted to join the conversation. However, as soon as a short silence falls, I don’t chip in, unsure how to contribute to the small talk they seem to deliberately keep up in order to avoid a topic neither is keen to discuss. Thus I walk in urban loneliness, my train of thought displaced on my face as I let the ghosts of Jaebeom’s skin freely haunt my mind.

Right before the descent into the darkness of the rabbit hole, strong long fingers wrap around my wrist and hold it in an iron grip. The slightly painful squeeze interrupts my reverie.

Jaebeom?

I snap my head to the side to find Morgan standing there, leaning in a bit and her voice low. “We’re here.”

I don’t know how I’ve managed to ignore the bustle of students looking for a free spot on one of the terraces and loud conversations accompanied by the rustle of the paper bags hailing from the shops owned by self-employed artists. It’s also miraculous that I haven’t bumped into anyone by accident.

“Oh,” is all I say, looking at the café we’ve stopped in front of.

Wolf’s is spelled out in a modern font on the sign outside and above the door. A big window provides visitors with a view of the plaza. The interior is simple yet cosy, the white furniture warmed up by oak accents and the bare walls decorated with various art pieces, centered around wolves and various flowers. By the looks of it, they were all made by a single artist who likes to experiment with style every now and then. A few plants are dotted around the place as well to add a hint of free nature to the underlying strangely forest-like aesthetic.

A tall broad-shouldered man with short curly chocolate brown hair partially covering up the scar running over his left eye, strong dark eyebrows and a big koala-like nose stands behind the counter. Both of his arms and hands are decorated with various intricately designed tattoos. Whereas Jay is muscled yet lean, the tanned barista looks like a man who knows how to fight yet is a warrior in a society without combat.

As soon as we walk in, his lifts his head and turns to us. Playful lights illuminate the milky white of his left and raven dark of his right eye. A meadow of snow, its glimmer reflecting off of the smooth feathers of a wise bird. “Hi, welcome. Brigid, long time no see.”

Nobody seems to notice it, but his female colleague, a short woman with long flowy caramel brown hair tied into a ponytail who has her back turned to us and is busy extracting a shot, cringes at the merry mention of the woman’s name. Slowly, she steals a glance at us, hazel eyes sharpening when they fall on the woman in white. Nevertheless, she remains silent and quickly returns her attention to preparing someone’s coffee.

Looks like I’m not the only one envying her.

It is wrong to hate a woman for her beauty. Nonetheless, although it’s shameful, part of me refuses to associate with Morgan’s acquaintance out of a toxic mixture of spite and jealousy.

Such is the female nightmare.  

“So this is what you’ve been up to,” Brigid muses, nodding appreciatively while inspecting the coffee shop. “You’ve got a nice thing going on here, Rome.”

“Please don’t call me that anymore. It’s Christian now. Chris or Ian for short.’’ Muscled arms crossed, he grimaces and shakes his head while looking down. Notwithstanding, the stern attitude melts into casual friendliness as a bright smile forms on his lips. ‘’But I do, don’t I? However, it’s not just me running the place. I’ve had some help.”

He turns around and motions for his colleague to come over. For a second she doesn’t move, darting glances to each of us like an alarmed cat checking for danger. Notwithstanding, though clearly tense, she warily approaches and halts at the man’s side.

Her eyes nearly pop out of her head when Christian places a hand on her shoulder. “In fact, Gráinne here still helps me out every day. She’s basically the second owner.”

“I- I’m not,” she sputters in a soft Ulster accent, fumbling with her fingers and her cheeks flushed, “I just work here some days.”

“You’re a bit more than a colleague,” her co-worker remarks, shoulders lowered and his tone holding more affection than would be the case when talking to a friend. A warm glow seems to form around him, ignited by the fondness he harbours for her.

Funny, Jaebeom wears that same expression when he’s with me.  

“I’m not.” Gráinne stiffens, each word dripping with venom as she steps away, grabs a serving tray and puts the order she was preparing before being called over on it. “Get back to work.”

Lips parted, Ian watches her as she moves past us as fast and agile like a hunting cat without any further acknowledgement of our presence. I hadn’t noticed before, but beneath her apron, she is dressed in clothes reminiscent of the Victorian era. “I know she can be harsh and isn’t easy to get along with, but I’ve never seen her act like this.”

“Och, let it pass. She has every right to be pissed with you since you put her on the spot like that,” Morgan jokes though nobody goes along with it.

She likes him yet doesn’t see it’s mutual. Should I say something? Then again, this is their business, not mine. Furthermore, why would they believe me, a stranger?

So I remain silent.

And leave this to blossom however it is meant to in Fate’s hands.

The icy glare Gráinne gives Brigid behind her back sends a chill down my spine. Evidently, she is a woman not cross paths with once angered. Withal, as the fair beauty looks over her shoulder, the other woman restores her professional composure. 

“You okay?” Christian asks as he watches her retreat into the kitchen, done serving for now.

“I’m fine,” she says thickly, the next breath hitching in her throat. Her focus shifts to the moon-shaped amethyst pendant around his neck. The ghost of a rueful smile forms on her lips, but it fades as fast as it appeared. “It’s not like I’m having a vision or something. Help them.”

She waves her hand dismissively when he doesn’t move, lips parted to say something yet at a loss for words. Notwithstanding, although I can’t see his expression clearly, it’s evident her feigned nonchalance is hurting him. “Go on.”

He clears his throat and forces himself into a rigid posture, frowning as he shifts his attention back to us. Finger hovering over the tablet functioning as a till, he stares at the display with an empty and distant gaze, which is as dull as the tears threatening to roll down his cheeks. “What can I get you?”

We place our order and settle down at the table by the window, neither of us offering a word of solace or dedicated to his colleague’s behaviour. 

After a while, Christian comes up to us to serve the food and beverages. As he puts the plates with our sandwiches down, he and Brigid exchange looks like siblings telepathically conversing. Whatever it is they mentally discussed, it only leaves the barista a slight bit less worried though the grave expression plaguing him remains as he returns to the counter.

An expression which must be similar to mine since it prompts Morgan to speak up regardless of having her teeth sunk into sourdough bread, looking equally as somber. “What’s on your mind, lass?”

“Nothing.” I shake my head and stir my cappuccino with the vintage silver spoon next to the porcelain cup, smiling at my own silly assumptions of what happened now four days ago. “Everything’s fine.”

“Except it’s not.” The raven-haired woman cocks an eyebrow, far from willing to dismiss my worries. “Now tell me. Or, well, us.”

“It’s something to do with your lover, isn’t it?” Brigid remarks, head tilted to the side as she assesses me while sipping at her Irish Breakfast Tea. Her features soften when she notices she has hit a sensitive snare, evidently meaning no harm.

I pull back in my seat as I take a sip of my coffee, flustered and cursing myself for being an open book. There is no way out of this conversation since the current company is like-minded in their refusal to simply let the topic pass before it has been discussed.

I swallow, put the cup on the dish again and clear my throat. Fumbling with the spoon and eyes cast on the cappuccino’s silky milk foam, I tell them of what I think happened. The story sounds strange to my own ears, like a terrible fairy tale told by a chaotic storyteller who can’t tell it in a manner that makes sense regardless of how he manipulates the plot.

Afraid of their reaction, unable to fathom the slightest bit of sympathy and empathy, I look from one to the other. Fortunately, my silence can be excused by drinking the remainder of the coffee although it’s futile since the thirst has nothing to do with bodily needs.

“Sounds familiar.” The woman in white scrunches her nose in disgust as she glares at Morgan.

“He was different,” Morgan sneers through gritted teeth, jaw clenched.

“In essence, he was similar to her lover.’’ Brigid points at me though she remains focused on my best friend, her voice dripping with venom. ‘’Or should I say, is similar?”

“Since when does it matter what he is?” Thin lips painted plum purple curl into a mirthless smile, onyx locks shaking in discontent. “How hypocritical you’ve become. Forgetful of the past.”

“A past worth forgetting. It’s never too late to change your political opinions, Morgan.”

Great, now I’m the one to open Pandora’s box. I should have kept my mouth shut, changed the topic.

Desperate for help yet knowing he cannot do anything, I look for Christian among the other customers. Expression stern and standing as rigid as a statue, he watches our table from behind the counter. It appears he, too, feels the sense of danger increasing as the conversation carries on. Notwithstanding, as becomes clear from the apologetic shake of the head when our eyes meet, he also knows his hands are tied at the moment.

We are on the same boat, waiting to see how the situation will develop.

Playthings of Chance and Fate.

“We’re not here to talk politics,’’ the woman in question answers, covering her mouth with her hands while chewing on a bite of goat cheese and pomegranate seeds, ‘’but to have lunch like civilized and amiable women. To help our friend.”

“You’re right,” Brigid concludes. Nonchalantly, she pierces a piece of egg in her salmon salad and puts its on the bread provided with it, a bread called St Michael’s Bannock according to the menu. Then, she points her fork at me. “But the best thing you can do is leave him while you still can.”

“L- Leave?” Utterly confused, I look at the woman calmly eating her lunch. “Why would I do that?”

Who is she? What’s more, who is she to tell me to leave Jaebeom after what I told her? He needs help and support, regardless of what may or may not be there beneath his skin.

Unless she is on to something I am not and judging by the current circumstances, I won’t get an answer even if I dare to ask. Henceforth, if only not to snap, I clear my throat and swallow the vile words dancing on the tip of my tongue. 

“Morgan can tell you why. All I can say is that it’s better to avoid men like your lover in the first place.” She coughs and takes a sip of tea to wash down the salad leaf stuck in her throat while the woman with hair as black as night chuckles darkly. Luckily, it is only loud enough for me to hear and Brigid is too busy preventing herself from choking.  

“Sétan-, I- I mean Seán was the one to leave me, not the other way around. And we mutually agreed to part ways in favour of our own well-being.”

“Sure you did. Totally didn’t resort to throwing plates and other pieces of furniture because he rejected you.”

Morgan growls something under her breath, glaring at the woman seated next to me. However, Brigid doesn’t seem to notice the reaction she has provoked or is indifferent to it. “Or washed clothes at the ford where he so ‘happened’ to pass by. Funny how he died soon after.”

Ford? There are quite a few in Ireland, so where and most importantly, when was this? Then again, what are these two on about? Washing clothes in a ford, people dying, politics, lovers to leave. They’re like arguing voices from ancient times.

Moreover, there is the question of Seán’s life. Is he alive or dead? One moment she speaks of him as if he’s still here, but then why would Brigid remark he’s dead?

“You shut your whoremouth, traitor!” With a loud bang, Morgan slams her fists on the table. She stands up with an expression that makes me cower in fear despite not being the target of her wrath.

Behind the counter, Christian slowly comes into motion, carefully moving with the likely intent to inconspicuously circle our table and jump in if necessary. He flinches as Gráinne places a hand on his arm, holding him hard enough for her knuckles to turn white when he tries to escape from her grip in order to prevent the worst from happening. Notwithstanding, whatever the plan was, it goes to waste since he decides to listen to what his colleague tells him. Sighing deeply, he stands down although he continues to observe us.

Gráinne follows his gaze, which seems to be directed at the brown-haired woman in white, her personal target of envy. Her wolfishly fierce expression falters, growing as bleak as the ash of a great bonfire.

This time he doesn’t see how she comes apart at the seams.

Brigid calmly finishes her tea, daps her mouth on the napkin and stands up too. “Get over your crush. There’s no future for you with him. As for you, Y/N,” eyes oddly alight with motherly affection, she turns her attention to me, “and as a piece of advice from a friend, end this relationship while you still can. There’s only heartbreak ahead.”

“Thank you, but,” a wistful smile forms on my lips regardless of the urge to give into the savage nagging inside, “I can’t leave him because I made a promise to stay.”

“I see. Perhaps you’ll prove me wrong and the flowers will bloom in spring.”

And with those final cryptic words, she leaves the café after waving at the tattooed barista.

Or so Brigid intends, but her way is cut off by his colleague. 

While clumsily taking off her apron she storms outside, clenching it hard and shivering as if she’s on the brink of tears.

“Gráinne? Gráinne!” Christian runs after his colleague, pale and eyes wide with worry as he comes to a halt in the doorway. “Where are you going? Gráinne!”

Brigid places a hand on his shoulder, giving it a consoling squeeze. After giving him an encouraging slap on the back she sets off, leaving the man standing there like a defeated soldier.

“Poor lass,” Morgan whispers as she watches the female barista pass the window. Something in her tone hints at a level of familiarity between the two.

“You know her?” I ask, frowning.

“I don’t think she remembers me.” She glances at Chris, who has retreated behind the counter. He has his head bowed, smooth black locks hiding his face from the customers. Trembling fingers entwined to conceal his distress as best as possible, he resembles a man of religion fervently praying for forgiveness. “And neither does he. I saw him and his close friend, Finn, once in the woods. No, it was his brother, Jor… was it? When he came to the island. Was that… who was that?’’

A mist clouds her ocean blue eyes, lost in thoughts far removed from this world and time. ‘’He was there. As for Gráinne, we met… somewhere. There was smoke, a burning body. It was- It was at… where? Fuck, I can’t recall. I think it was at his fu-’’ she abruptly cuts herself short to correct herself with a strange undertone in her voice, “not long after I... saw them.”

‘’Morgan, are you alright? You’re looking awfully pale.’’ 

Instead of breaking free from the spell that has taken hold of her, the reverie only seems to deepen. Rocking side to side, she clutches her arms to her chest. Her skin, although naturally pale, grows sickly like a walking corpse.

‘’I- I’m supposed to remember. I’m one of the few that do. No, he and I are the only ones left that do. I can’t forget. If I do, everyone will. I can’t… I can’t!’’

‘’Morgan!’’ I stand up from my seat to rush to her side. Rubbing her arms, I try with all my might to bring her back to reality from the depths of deliria. ‘’It’s all right, Morgan, nobody is going to forget. Please listen to me and follow my voice, use it as a guide back to me from wherever it is you are. Please, come back to me.’’

‘’May I?’’ Christian has appeared with a glass of water, which he sets on the table before crouching down at the woman’s side as well.

Gently he grabs one of her hands and holds it, talking in a voice that is surprisingly steady and soothing in spite of what happened mere moments ago. It’s rougher and more gruff, making it hard to distinguish one word from another if you are not well-acquainted with the speaker.

In fact, it belongs to a completely different person. ‘’Morgan, as long as there are people who remember, there is nothing to fear. The past has taught us that what might seem like the end isn’t necessarily truly the end. We are still here. We remember because you do and you remember because we do. You’re safe and sound. Instead, return and help me make her remember.’’

‘’Why, of everyone, did you have to fall for her?’’ Gaze blinded by her mind, Morgan reaches out to tenderly run her fingers through the barista’s hair. ‘’What makes her special?’’ 

‘’She understands.’’ A similar fog veils the misty white and dark eyes, Chris or, rather, the stranger pulled into the same realm of consciousness as my friend. ‘’She broke the chains that bound me and doesn’t allow me to slip into the shadows of what I once was.’’

‘’You’re all the same, aren’t you?’’

‘’It’s rare to find understanding and acceptance in a world naturally turned against you. So, please help me. Help me find her.’’ His voice breaks, the begging words coming out  high-pitched like a whining wolf. ‘’Help me find my reason to stay in this world and not forget nor be forgotten.’’ 

The veil lifts, the spell broken with the whimpered plea. 

Christian falls back, but manages to catch himself before his head hits the tiles. Refusing every helping hand from the customers hurrying over, he scrambles to his feet. Fortunately, he accepts the chair I offer him when his dangerous swaying almost causes him to hit his head against the wall.

‘’Are you okay?’’

‘’Yeah, I’m only dizzy.’’ The hiss he lets out flows over into a sound akin to a growl. ‘’And a splitting headache.’’

Morgan has a better return to reality, completely fine aside from a dazed mind. ‘’What happened?’’

‘’You tell me.’’ I search her face for clues, a sliver of the knowledge she is lying. However, I find none.

She is telling the truth.

‘’I… I don’t know. It’s the first time.’’ She clears her throat, brow furrowed. As if having heard a noise, she snaps her head to the side. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. Drink your tea, eat a sandwich and go home early from work.”

She hands the glass of water to Christian. ‘’And you, you drink this and stay seated for at least five more minutes until the dizziness has faded. Are you nauseous?’’

‘’No. Although,’’ he dry heaves, ‘’never mind.’’

‘’Make it ten. You look as pale as a banshee.’’

‘’Speak for yourself.’’

‘’You’d make a pretty one, though,’’ Morgan muses when she returns her attention to me. ‘’Beauty makes suffering leading to death easier.’’

Apparently, her return to reality has left her as mad as a hatter so perhaps it wasn’t as good as I initially thought.

“Why on earth would you say that? Besides, what kind of comparison is that, us and a banshee?”

“One based on truth. Now,” she shoves the remainder of her goat cheese and pomegranate sandwich to me, “eat, rest up and get cracking again. We’ll be in touch and visit the new café I found yesterday later, alright?”

“Hey, not so fast. Where are you headed off to?’’

She can’t be serious. There is no way she is unaffected by what happened. 

“Attagirl,’’ Morgan says as if I promised to heed her words, ignoring what I actually said. ‘’By the way, ignore what Brigid said and stay with your man. It’s plain to see how he makes you feel.”

“It is?”

“You’re glowing and you come alive when you speak of him. It reminds me of how I was with Seán.” She starts as if awakened from a dream, but tries to hide her awkwardness behind a sheepish smile. “Well, then, take care.”

“You too.’’ The two simple words, otherwise casual, are now carefully chosen in order to not to trigger another ‘attack’.

My gut tight and skin prickling thanks to her inhuman behaviour, I watch the raven-haired woman leave. I hold my wrist, my pulse too rapid to be healthy beneath my thumb.

Like I am at death’s door.

The next morning, there’s an article in the newspaper. A man’s been found dead at the edge of the bogs near town. The cause of his demise is unknown, but there are witness accounts who said they heard a high screech late the night before. In the days that follow, their names show up one by one in funerary advertisements.

A week later, none of the witnesses are alive. Moreover, nobody has heard the screeching since, though everyone remembers the description of the sound.

It was like the howl of a banshee.

[mmvalentine]

The Bargain Pt 5 | Feysand

Modern AU. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6

Rhys hadn't seen Feyre in a year.

He knew that, because his social media sent him a reminder that he had posted a photo of her finished tattoo a year ago, and he had not heard from her since.

Not that she had any obligation to contact him, of course. In fact, this was why he made the six month rule with his clients- he knew how easy it was to become attached to someone who you have been vulnerable around. And he didn't want to influence anyone like that, particularly not Feyre, who seemed to be having a tough enough time as it was. So although he thought about her often, after she left the shop that last time, for the most part he tried to let her fade into a pleasant memory, and not to dwell too much on whether she was okay out in the world.

But Rhys knew he'd never forget Feyre, because after she was gone he had actually started to paint again. Had locked the door of the studio behind her, arrived back at his apartment and stayed up all night with his crusty old oil set. Paper had never been particularly interesting to him, so he had painted his coffee table. Swirls and eddies of colour like Feyre had drawn on his arm in the gaps between his black line tattoos.

Over the next few weeks, Rhys' plain and understated flat became a frenzy of line and pattern and colour. He started posting photos on his instagram and to his great surprise, they garnered more attention than some of his better performing tattoo posts. He was even commissioned to paint shop fronts and feature walls in restaurants.

By the end of the year, Rhys was still in the studio most of the time but spent a week out of every month painting murals around the country, like he had always wanted to do. So no, he would not be forgetting Feyre, ever.

In May, Rhys got a contract in Berlin. It was one that he was slightly apprehensive about, since apparently it was a team effort and he didn't have much experience collaborating. He didn't love the idea that several people who had never met would be trying to create something cohesive in a short amount of time. On the other hand, it was an all-expenses paid trip and he was about due for a holiday.

Rhys landed in Berlin early in the morning, and had a couple of hours to kill before his meeting. He spent some time wandering around the strangely grey, concrete world, and found these amazing rainbow bursts popping up unexpectedly on street corners and in alleyways. Rhys found he rather liked it.

When eventually he walked through the tall glass doors of the building he'd been directed to, Rhys wondered about the team he'd be working with. There were a number of very well respected German street artists, and if he had to collaborate, he hoped it would be someone who he might recognise.

He was utterly unprepared to walk into the room and see Feyre sitting at the table, deep in conversation with a man with dark skin and white hair.

"Ah, here he is. Feyre, this is Rhys," the man said, while Rhys stood with one hand still on the door handle and gaped.

Shock registered on Feyre's face, but then it settled into an easy, broad daylight grin.

"Thank you Tarquin, we've actually met." Feyre's fingers trailed over her tattoo as she spoke, not taking her eyes from Rhys'. "Remember me?" she asked, with a little tilt of her head.

"I, uh, yeah of course I do," Rhys said. "I wasn't expecting to see you here." "Nor I you," she said.

"Rhys, good to meet you in person," Tarquin said, extending a hand. "I know we've only spoken on the phone before now, and I'm so glad you could come over for this project."

Rhys shook the contractor's hand, and settled into the chair that was pulled out for him. He nodded and smiled at Tarquin, but then found his gaze snapping back to Feyre like a magnet. A rose petal blush stole over her cheeks.

"I am so excited to finally have the two of you here," Tarquin said. His voice was slightly accented, and very warm. "As you know from the brief, my company has just settled its headquarters here in Berlin and we want a summer themed mural."

"I'm sorry," Rhys interrupted. "It's just the two of us?" Tarquin nodded. "Originally I wanted a whole team of artists, but then we redid the budget and it was decided we'd just hire two." "I'm curious, you have so many wonderful artists here in Berlin, why did you fly us out from New York?"

"Actually," Feyre said. "I live in Berlin now." Rhys blinked. "Oh," was all he could think to say.

Tarquin prattled on for another forty minutes about his company, the 'feel' they were going for, their target audience and so on. When Tarquin had first approached Rhys, Rhys was genuinely interested in his work but now that Feyre was here sitting opposite him, he couldn't take in a damn word. Couldn't even remember what he already knew about the business, just sat there wondering what had happened in the year since he had last seen Feyre.

How was she? Was she still with that whatshisname boyfriend? Had she been tattooed by anyone else this year?

Finally Tarquin stopped talking and told them he'd take them on a tour of the building, show them the mural site, and then let them settled in. He stepped out to take a phone call, and left them with a mood board he had collated for the painting. Then Rhys was left alone with Feyre.

And for the life of him didn't know what to say to her.

He just sat there, swallowed, and tried to stop staring at her. She noticed, and blushed.

"What are you looking at?" Feyre said, looking down self-consciously. A curl fell over her face. "I'm sorry," Rhys said. "I just didn't expect to see you." "Me neither," Feyre told him. "I mean, I moved cities, I moved continents and yet here you are."

Rhys nodded. "Here I am." He cleared his throat. "So ah, when did you guys move over?" "Just a few months ago," Feyre said. "And it's just me. I broke up with Tamlin." She shifted in her seat. "You were right. It got worse, and then better." "Oh, good," Rhys said. "I mean- not good, I'm sorry to hear that."

Feyre laughed. "No," she said. "It is good. And I'm really enjoying living here. I can't believe you're here." "I thought I'd never see you again," Rhys said. Feyre's eyes flickered. "You thought about seeing me?" she asked.

Now it was Rhys' turn to colour. "I... I just wondered if you might get in contact later in the year. You know, let me know how your tattoo's healing and all. Is it alright?"

"It's great," Feyre said, holding out her arm for Rhys to inspect. "I know I said I might call, but I just couldn't," she confessed. "As the months went on I got so embarrassed."

Rhys cocked his head. "Why?" he asked. "Because I had such a crush on you!" Feyre said. "And I bet every girl you tattoo falls in love with you, I didn't want to be one of them." She laughed, and looked away. Rhys just stared at her.

"You... had a crush...?" he started to ask, but then Tarquin breezed back into the room.

"Sorry folks!" he said. "Important call, but terribly rude of me. Now. Let's get on with that tour huh?"

And then he ushered them out of the room, and didn't leave them until they were all saying goodbye and Feyre was heading toward home in one direction and Rhys was going to his hotel in the other.

No matter. They had all week to get reacquainted.

****

Thank you so much to everyone who has been commenting, I've been astounded by the love you guys have been giving this story and I appreciate you all very dearly!! I thought it would be a little niche one, I wrote it because I like art and tattoos, and I really didn't think it would do this well. Would love to know what's working for you, so I can keep bringing it to you :)

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @inejsarrow @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose @darling-archeron @rapunzel1523 @fairchildjace

[benscursedkid]

ignore the fact that this is two? three months late?? virtual school kicked my ass but what else is new. luckily, I’m on summer break now so I should be more active soon. I’m sorry again for the outrageous delay and I hope you enjoy. thank you for requesting!! 💙

Jae taps his foot on the cold stone floor, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. Even though he’d put the effort into doing his hair, his anxiety left both his hands running through it and now it looks just as messy and disheveled as always. His nose scrunches irritably at the realization, but he shakes his head and tries to rid himself of the thought. His arms cross and he goes to check a watch that is not there. He frowns at his mistake.

The sun has already set dutifully over the horizon, disappearing behind the mountains of the highlands, out of sight. A midnight blue paints the sky now, stars winking and shining. But instead of the grim darkness that usually accompanies the nights at Hogwarts, the prefects took it upon themselves to line the hallways with red and pink lanterns in the spirit of the lovers’ holiday.

The warm, gentle pink light conflicts slightly with the barest hint of green lamplight coming from the dungeons where Jae is currently posted outside of.

He goes to check the watch again. Cringes at his repeated idiocy. He clutches Rayann’s gift tighter.

Ever since his little mistletoe stunt during Christmas, Rayann has been unexpectedly (though not unfortunately) more...attentive. They no longer share detention everyday, but somehow she always seems to make the time for him—meeting him in all sorts of places, even places he shouldn’t be. Madam Pince, particularly, is not very impressed by his sudden frequency in the library.

“Jae?”

The voice is even and measured, yet surprisingly...delicate. The sound brings both a smile to his face and a new flare of nerves up his spine.

“Rayann,” Jae grins impishly as he always does, but his smile is slightly more lop-sided and his shoulders far more tense. “I’m glad you could make it.”

Rayann offers him an unimpressed look, though it’s not as dry as he’s seen it many times before. “Well, I...did say I had something for you. I merely regret we couldn’t have met up sooner.”

Suddenly bashful, Jae scratches the back of his neck with a youthful blush. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. Business was booming today, I barely had time to breathe to be honest with you.”

The Slytherin frowns at this but says nothing else.

Jae eyes her hands clasped behind her back and he grins once again. “Ladies first or is that too traditional?”

Rayann snorts. “It’s fine.”

She hesitates for a moment, taking a deep breath once before her hands are held out in front of her. From her fist hangs a small, simple red gift bag, though it appears she did add a golden ribbon for good measure.

Jae leans back to set his own gift bag behind him, making sure it is still obscured from her sight. Gently, he takes the bag from her hands, the straps dangling precariously off his fingertips. Doing his best to fight off the instinct to peek, Jae’s hand meets a smooth surface and his fingers wrap around it and pull it out of the bag.

It’s...a book?

“I—” Rayann clears her throat, a blush of her own settling on her cheeks. For a moment, Jae is struck with just how fitting the sight looks underneath the hazy pink glow of the lanterns.

“You always get detention for speaking out of term,” she clarifies as though Jae did not already know this. Half the time he does it on purpose just to get reactions out of his more peevish professors. “You...seem to have a lot to say and I...don’t mind listening.”

His head tilts in slight bemusement still. “And this book is for...?”

“It’s a two way book. It’s connected to another one that I carry around myself,” She explains, a hand reaching up to tuck some stray strands of hair behind her ear. Jae finds the action ridiculously endearing. “Anything you write in there will appear in my book and vise versa. We can talk to each other in class. It’s practical.”

In spite of the implication her words might have to anyone else, Jae nearly sags in relief at her choice of word and he suddenly remembers the gift he got for her.

He smiles and it’s shockingly sincere, so much so that it looks almost out of place on his face. “Thank you, Ray. I think I’ll be putting it to good use.”

“Not likely.” She says, but her lips tug up into a knowing smile and Jae himself grins at the dry joke.

Without missing a beat, Jae tucks the notebook carefully back into the bag and grabs his own behind him. In a not-exactly-shocking display, this one is green. And slightly bigger.

“Here.” Is all he says and Rayann eyes it for a moment before reaching out to take it.

She opens it mechanically. Meticulously. Avoiding bending the cheap plastic or ripping the even cheaper tissue paper on top as she casts it aside.

She goes quiet when she looks inside.

Jae’s heart beats painfully in his chest.

Slowly, Rayann pulls out what appears to been a thin green jacket, the fabric hanging from her pointer finger. She studies it for a moment before looking back at him.

“What is it?”

Jae chuckles at the remark and at the fact that she truly knows him so well. “What do you mean, Ray? It’s a jacket, clearly—”

“What else is it?” She arches a questing eyebrow at him, her brown eyes intrigued and imploring. “What does it do?”

His shoulders straighten and he puts on his selling smile—the one he uses to convince his buyers of their purchase. Though the quirk of his lips this time is a bit more fond, just a little more reverent. “This is a one of a kind charmed jacket—enchanted to not only match any outfit you put it over, but also to shift and change to accommodate the weather it is worn in,” Jae’s cheeks grow hot when he catches her eyes from across the top of the jacket, still held up between them. “Y’know...it’s practical. I thought you’d like that.”

Jae’s breath is caught embarrassingly in his throat in the short second it takes for Rayann to react to his gift. When she does, a pure, genuine smile breaks out across her face. The gesture cracks her neutral, intimidating expression and turns it into one no form of picture or prose or art could ever hope to imitate. Not if it has any desire of capturing it fully, in all its ethereal essence.

“I love it,” She says eventually and Jae is left with no room for doubt. She smiles shyly up at him but gratitude and understanding shine brilliantly in her soft eyes. “Thank you, Jae.”

“Thank you, Ray,” Jae shoots back, taking a step forward closer to her. On an instinct he wouldn’t have if he hadn’t been high off the sight of her smile, soft and rare and glorious, he leans down just slightly to press his lips cautiously to her cheek. He can feel the skin heat beneath his lips and it leaves them tingling even after he steps away. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

It takes her a moment to respond and when she does her voice is slightly strained but her eyes are still bright and it makes Jae smile for the umpteenth time that night since she showed up.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Jae.”

[redisriding]

The Right Swipe - Prologue

A Court of Thorns and Roses Modern AU Fanfic 

All character’s belong to the wonderful Sarah J Maas. 

“Come on Nesta!”

“Just for fun!”

“Humour us.”

“You never know who you might meet.”

Nesta rolled her eyes at her sisters’ cajoling, taking a bite of pizza, “I’m not looking to meet anyone right now.”

“It doesn’t have to be a serious thing. Don’t you think it would be nice to go on some dates?  Get back on the horse, so to speak.” 

“Get back on the dick, you mean,” Feyre rebutted. 

Elain giggled, “Well if the guy is very well endowed it might be like a hor—“

“ELAIN!” Feyre shrieked, grabbing a cushion off the sofa and throwing it at Elain. 

Nesta took another bite of her pizza to hide her laughter. Her two sisters were drunk. Nesta had been late getting out of work, and when she had arrived at Feyre’s apartment the two of them had already sunk a bottle of wine while they waited on her to arrive. 

It had been like that a lot recently, Elain and Feyre waiting on her to leave work. If she was able to leave at all. More often than Nesta wanted to admit, she was forced to call her sisters and cancel their plans only to realise that it was more than an hour after they had agreed to meet. There was so much going on in their lives that she was missing out on, which was why, this evening, she had been determined to leave her office on time. She still left 40 minutes later than she had planned, but at least she had made it, and before the pizza arrived too.

It had been too long since the three of them had had a good catch up about their lives, and Nesta wasted no time in filling them in on what had been going on in her life. Namely, her breakup with her longterm fiancé Thomas. 

Things with Thomas hadn’t ended badly. They’d just ended. 

They had been together for eight years, and engaged for five of those years. With no wedding on the horizon, and both of them more focused on their individual careers than building a life together, they had gone to brunch one morning and decided to break up over mimosas. Thomas had moved out a week later. 

Her two sisters, who had seemed less than surprised when she broke the news, were now trying to convince Nesta to download Swipe, a dating app they were both enjoying. 

“Please Nesta, just let us set you up a profile so we can have some fun tonight. You can delete it in the morning.”

“Yes Nesta, please. You don’t have to meet anyone, we can just spend our evening objectifying men.” Feyre said, with a sincere face, that did not match her words. 

“You two are ridiculous, you know that?” Nesta said with a smile.

“Oh we know, but you love us,’ Elain chirped. 

“That I do…okay fine, one night of objectifying men, but I’m deleting it the moment I leave this apartment.” 

“Deal!”

“Hand over you phone, Archeron,” Feyre said with a wiggle of her eyebrow. 

Nesta sighed, pulling her phone from her pocket she reluctantly handed it over to her sisters, who sat on the sofa opposite her grinning from ear to ear. 

As soon as the app had downloaded, Feyre and Elain put their heads together and began building Nesta’s profile. 

“I want final veto on any of the photos that you choose,” she said getting nervous, as they whispered. 

“Why don’t you come over here and help us?” Elain asked. 

“I don’t really know what I’m doing, you guys are the experts.”

“Hardly.” Feyre said with a snort. 

“Wait, you guys should let me see your profiles, its only fair.” 

“Sure,” Feyre picked up her phone off the coffee table between them and tossed it to Nesta, “just don’t swipe on anyone, you’ll mess up the algorithm.”

Nesta picked Feyre’s phone up from where it landed on the couch beside her, keying in the passcode, she scrolled through the mess of apps that was Feyre’s home screen before she located the little red hearted icon of Swipe. 

It took her a moment to find Feyre’s profile, she didn’t want to click on the wrong thing and accidentally betroth her sister to anyone. 

Feyre’s profile had six pictures to swipe through. The first, Nesta thought, captured her essence perfectly. Paintbrush in hand, she stood beside an easel laughing at something out of the view of the camera. She had blue paint smeared across her nose, but she looked radiant. The other photos included a picture at her final year art show, one with her friends, her graduation, a selfie, and the last one was her in a bikini on the beach. 

Neither too cutesy or overtly sexual, she looked like the perfect 'girl next door.’ It was the accompanying bio however that had Nesta choking on her wine. 

Feyre. 24. Fine art graduate working in a coffee shop, my parents would be so proud…if they weren’t dead. 

“Feyre!” Nesta explained, looking up at her sister, bewildered, “our parents are not dead!” 

“Mom is.”

“Yeah, but Dad isn’t.”

“He might as well be. When is the last time you’ve seen him?”

Nesta sighed, of all of them, Feyre had the worst relationship with their father, but it wasn’t something she wanted to get into right now. Not when they were having such a lovely evening chatting and laughing together as sisters should. It wasn’t always this easy.  

“Let’s see your profile, Elain,” she asked instead, moving the conversation away from their contentious father. 

Elain handed her phone over with a shy smile. 

Nesta brought up Elain’s profile. 

The pictures were all of Elain in sundresses, in one she held a bouquet of flowers, another she sat under a tree, in the final one she held a glass a wine as she smiled across the table at whoever had taken the photo. It was as close to racy as Elain got. 

Her bio read:

Elain. 26. School teacher. I enjoy gardening in summer and curling up in front of the fire in winter. 

“So what kind of vibe will my profile be?” Nesta asked cautiously. 

“Beautiful, bad bitch,” Feyre said with a smirk. 

“I’m not sure how to take that?”

“Its meant as a compliment.”

“Come see,” Elain said patting the space on the sofa beside her. 

Nesta drained what was left of her wine, and scrambled off the coach she was stretched out on, to join her sisters. 

She plonked herself down in between them, forcing their heads apart so she could see what pictures they were selecting. 

“Oh gosh no, you can’t use that one?” She exclaimed. The picture was one that Thomas had taken of her while they were on holiday the previous year. She had been wearing a teeny tiny bikini that she had hoped might ignite the passion in their relationship again.

“Why not?” Elain asked.

“Its a great picture,” Feyre added.

“My boobs are fully out,”

“If you’ve got it, flaunt it,” Feyre said, giving her a nudge. 

“That’s still too much. What about this one?” She asked, pointing to a professional picture she had taken when she was first called to the Bar. 

“Nesta no, this is not your CorporateLink profile, you need something a bit more…”

“Sexy,” Elain finished. 

“Your profile, isn’t sexy though?” Nesta said, before she thought to stop herself. 

The hurt that flashed across Elain’s face had Nesta’s stomach twisting, “My profile is sexy.”

Nesta quickly scrambled fix what she said. “Your profile is sweet and feminine, and you look beautiful, but its’ not tits out sex appeal.”

“Well…that’s true,” Elain said with a small sigh, her shoulders slumped but she gave Nesta a reassuring smile. 

“Guuuurrrlllll, look at this selfie you took,” Feyre said on a purr, interrupting the moment. She turned the phone towards Nesta and Elain. 

Nesta felt herself blush at the photo, “I was just finished in the gym…I felt good.”

“You look good,” replied Elain. 

“We’re using this one. Guys, love a girl who goes to the gym, it reminds them of other ways they like to get hot and sweaty.”

“Okay,” Nesta conceded, “you can use that one.”

“Wonderful, then we’re all set.” 

Nesta took the phone off Feyre and flicked through the photos she had chosen. Three of the pictures were ones Nesta had posted on her Photogram, she knew she looked good, dressed in tight body con dresses and heels, her makeup perfect. It wasn’t who she was everyday but these guys didn’t need to know that. There were two bikini pictures from holidays in the past few years, neither were the tiny bikini, and Nesta had to admit they were tasteful yet suggestive. The final one was the mirror selfie from the gym…

Feyre had set the bio as, 

Nesta. 28. Lawyer. If you want a queen, earn one. If you want a whore, buy me three shots of tequila. 

Nesta burst out laughing. 

Elain leaned in to read what had been written, “Feyre!”

“It will get the guys’ attention.”

“It sure will.”

“You know I’m deleting this in the morning,” Nesta said. 

“Doesn’t mean you can’t have some fun tonight.”

“True..so how does it work?”

Feyre took the phone from her, closing the profile page, and a picture of a guy appeared. He was standing on a deck, beer in hand, barbecuing. He was shirtless and his brown skin was covered in swirling tattoos that ran across his broad shoulders and down his arms. His body was hard but his face was kind, as he smiled brightly at the camera. 

“You swipe left for no, and right for yes. If you both swipe yes then you’re able to message each other.”

“Okay, that seems simple enough.”

“It is.”

Feyre handed the phone back to Nesta who fumbled it before catching it upside down. The shirtless barbecuer disappeared, “Ah, what did I do?”

“You swiped up.”

“What does that do?”

“It’s a mega-match.” 

“And that means…?”

“That they can see that you liked them and want to start a conversation.”

[hms-chill]

Red Velvet, White Meringue, and Royal Icing

The Bake Off AU that I didn’t know 2020 would need, written for @rwrbbigbang​!

Henry is a dramaturg who lives and works in London with his sister Bea and dog David. His bakes have all been approved by the casts and creative teams at the theater where he works, and inspired by his family baking tradition.

Originally from the American state of Texas, Alex now lives in Kent, where he balances studying law with his love for baking. He

Alex came to Bake Off to find out how good he is. Henry came to find new ideas and inspiration, and maybe to prove to himself that he can carry on his dad's baking traditions. But with ten weeks in a tent, they both find a little more than they bargained for.

With art by @emry-stars​ (which you can find Here and Here), and a massive thanks to Syd, @/wyverning on Twitter, for hopping in as a very last minute beta and dealing with my disaster of a first draft!

Chapter 1: Cake Week

“And you’ve got your recipes, right?”

Henry rolls his eyes with a smile, patting his bag. “Yes, Bea. They’re right here, safe and sound. If I lose them, I’m sure they’ll have the copies I sent them in the tent.”

“The little laundry sheets so you can do wash in case you get something on your top?”

“I’ve got them, too. I’m going to be fine; there’s nothing to worry about. I’ll call you when I get there, and before we start tomorrow, and I’ll keep you posted.”

She hugs him again, adding, “Dad would be so proud of you.”

He grins when they pull away, and she reaches up to ruffle his hair while he swats at her hands and escapes toward the train, waving with a confidence he’s not sure he feels. Bea had been there when he auditioned for the show, to proofread his application and help him learn the basics of food photography for the Instagram account she’d set up for him. She’d been there when they called him for the phone interview, and she’d cleaned up while he made things for the first in person interview. She’d helped him scour cookbooks and drill baking basics before his technical application, and she’s spent the past week testing his practice bakes and cleaning up after him, typically with nightly pep talks about how good he is and how she’s proud of him. But now, it’s just him and his overnight bag getting on the train for Berkshire. He’s committed to his bakes, and he’s sure of what he’s doing. Now, all that’s left is to do it.

The train ride is somehow both too long and too short all at once. He tries to get some work done, but the nerves make it hard. He wants to shout at everyone on the train that he’s made it, that he’s going to be on the show and in the tent, baking with the best home bakers in the country. He wants to ask each and every passenger if maybe they’re going to the same place, maybe they’ve done it, too, and the two of them are going to get to bake together. He wants to ask if a Victoria sponge is too simple, if he’s committed to something stupid enough to get him sent home the first week just because he’s a sentimental sap.

A crew member from the show meets him at the train station, and there’s someone else next to him, a Black man wearing the most colorful shirt Henry has ever seen. He’s got a big smile as he reaches out to shake Henry’s hand.

“I’m Percy. Call me Pez, like the sweets.”

“Henry. Nice to meet you.”

“Good to meet you. I think we’re waiting for one more, then we’ll go to the hotel and see the tent and things. You excited?”

Henry nods as another boy comes over in a rush, his curls flopping into his face and bag inches away from falling off his shoulder. He sticks his hand out, and the bag slips down his arm, settling around his elbow as he shakes their hands.

“Hi. Hi, sorry I’m late, I’m Alex.”

Henry and Pez introduce themselves, and the crew member whose name Henry doesn’t quite remember (it might be Sarah?) gets them into a car and driving toward the hotel where they’ll be staying for the weekend. Ideally, they’ll be back next weekend, too , but thinking about leaving already feels like a lot for week one. Alex introduces himself as a law student from Canterbury, and Pez works at a nonprofit in Manchester. Henry just tells them he does research for a theater; it’s not quite worth getting into everything when they’re all just getting to know each other. He’s more than happy to let the others talk; he hears about Alex’s classes and Pez’s charity work. He hears about how Alex moved from America to Scotland with his mom when she married his stepdad, but he still goes back to America in the summer and for some holidays.

He half-listens, half-worries about the upcoming weekend. He checks to make sure he’s still got his recipes at least three times. They still haven’t escaped, thankfully, and by the third time he looks in his bag, Alex, who’s sitting next to him, notices. “Hey, they’re there; it’s fine. We’re all nervous, but it’ll be okay.”

Henry just smiles at him. He’s not sure how he didn’t notice before, but Alex is… well. Alex’s face is very, very nice. He’s got a bit of a smile, and Pez is saying something, but Henry’s not sure what it is and he knows he doesn’t care.

“I just don’t want to go home first,” he admits, and Alex grins.

“Listen. If I think you’re going out, I’ll drop a cake on the floor and we’ll go together, okay?” Henry laughs a bit, and Alex pats his shoulder, then turns back to say something to Pez. His hand is still on Henry’s shoulder, and it stays there until they reach the hotel where they’ll meet the others, and Henry tries his hardest to think about or focus on other things, but it’s certainly distracting.

Alex doesn’t move his hand until they’re pulling up at the hotel, and when it’s gone it leaves a cold spot in its place. Henry doesn’t have long to think about that, though, as he’s climbing out of the car and joining a crowd already around a minibus with the Bake Off logo on the side. Probably-Sarah takes their bags to their rooms, explaining that they’ll be going to the tent tonight to get a look at it and learn how things like the ovens and the mixers work.

They have the obligatory round of slightly awkward introductions, and Henry finds himself next to a man named Shaan whose aura of calm somehow seems to quiet even Henry’s jangling nerves. They’re talking about Shaan’s role as a curator with the National Museum of Scotland and their exhibit on prosthetics when the bus turns a corner and they see the white peaks of the tent emerging from behind the Welford Park House. Henry stops in the middle of a question about the Alternative Limb Project’s Vine Arm to gape, and Shaan leans over to look out the window as well. The whole atmosphere of the bus has changed, and there are a few moments of silence before it erupts into excited chattering, everyone seeming to remember all at once why they’re here. Henry still just looks, grinning, out the window. That’s the tent. This is it. He snaps a picture to send Bea.

Then they’re getting out, and they’re walking the tent. They’re being shown which benches they’ll bake at tomorrow, and they’re meeting the hosts and judges and crew, and Henry’s brain can’t seem to focus on any of it. It doesn’t quite seem real, but between Shaan’s grounding presence and Pez’s chatter, it’s hard to believe he’s dreaming. Alex being here is another point in the not-a-dream category; he’s not sure he could have imagined a smile that bright.

It’s a whirlwind trip, and they’re loading back onto the minibus before too long, Henry’s head spinning. He’ll be back here tomorrow, baking cakes he used to bake with his dad, and he’ll be doing it for TV cameras and in front of the entire world. He’ll be telling the world about growing up baking cakes, and those very cakes he used to make with his dad could be the ones that send him home.

That night, the production team takes them out to dinner, and Henry meets Nora, the data analyst Alex has become fast friends with via a heated debate about how easy a pothos plant is to keep alive. He mentions that Bea’s kept one for a few years without much struggle, which drags him into the debate and gets them all laughing. They’re not talking about their bakes, and Henry’s glad. He’s got enough to worry about without hearing the amazing things the others have planned.

The next morning, they have an early call. Henry’s in the lobby of the hotel even before they need to be, though, texting Bea an extra thank you and checking, once again, that he has everything he needs. The last thing he wants is to get to the tent and realize he’s left something here. He’s halfway through another text to Bea when there’s a hand on his shoulder, and he turns to see Shaan.

“Hello. Couldn’t sleep either?” Henry asks with a smile. Shaan shrugs.

“I just think it never hurts to be a bit early to things.” He’s got a thermos of coffee, but beyond that, he looks just as polished as he would any other time of day. There’s no indication that he’s up at 5 AM.

“What do you think will happen today? I mean, I know they walked us all through it, but that’s not the same as actually doing it, and no one… no one really talked about things last night.”

“I think we’ll go in there and bake. What do you have planned?”

“Some… some Victoria sponges today. Mini ones. I… I’m sort of scared it’s too simple, but we used to make them with my dad growing up, and so I have a lot of practice. My sister suggested I pick something pretty simple that I’m familiar with for the first bake so I get used to it.”

“I think that’s a good plan, and I’m sure if you’ve been making these since you were young, you’ve got it down.”

“What are you making?”

“It’s a green tea cake; we had them at a gallery opening a few years back.”

“It sounds good; I’ll have to try some when you’re done.”

Shaan smiles at him, and Henry relaxes a bit. He looks around to see some of the other contestants have joined them in the lobby. He spends some time talking to Hunter, who’s very excited about the new high-protein flour he’s using for his cakes, and decides that he would maybe rather pull his ears off than hear more about high-protein flour or different milling varieties and their nutritional benefits. He’s in the bus when Alex arrives in the seat next to him, looking tired and carrying the biggest thermos Henry’s ever seen.

“Hello again. Ready for the big day?” Alex asks around a yawn.

“I’m not sure. I guess? We sort of have to be,” Henry says, and Alex nods.

“I can’t argue with you there. Still. You feel ready?”

“As ready as I can. What about you?”

“I guess. I think my sister’s more worried than I am, if I’m honest.”

“You have a sister?”

“An older one; June. She’s thinking of moving back to the states, but for now she’s working for a few magazines here.”

“Is it weird, sort of being here and sort of being back in the States?”

“I guess. It’s just sort of how it’s been since we moved, you know?”

“Think you’ll ever go back?”

“I’m not sure. It was sort of weird deciding to move, but June was coming since she was interested and school here’s a lot more affordable, so I came, too. It was… you know, this exciting new start and everything, and we’re pretty happy staying here and going back for summers sometimes.”

Henry just nods as they turn into Welford Park, looking down at the bag where he’s got his recipes again. Alex smiles.

“They all there?”

He’s teasing, and Henry just rolls his eyes. He’s expecting to be nervous as they all climb out of the van, but somehow, he’s not. Alex’s hand on his shoulder likely has nothing to do with that.

They file in to stand behind their assigned benches.

Henry puts his recipes and a picture of him and his dad baking down in front of him, taking a deep breath.

On your mark.

Get set.

Bake.

And then he’s reaching for the eggs and flour and sugar, and he’s baking a miniature Victoria sponge, just like he’s done a thousand times before. And yes, he’s in a tent rather than a kitchen, and yes, there’s the hustle and bustle of camera crews and other bakers around him, but it’s just baking. It’s just the same Victoria sponge he used to make for his mum every year on her birthday, when they’d each decorate one for her and she’d look at them all and puzzle over it before she declared them all the best decorators.

The first Royal Tour arrives before any of them are really ready for it. Henry sees Amy frantically cleaning a few things off her station as the judges come to stand in front of him. He’s seen this bit a million times, but it feels surreal to actually be the one in the spotlight.

“I’m Henry; I’m making some Victoria sponges. When we were kids, we used to make them with my dad, and all three of us kids would decorate them for our Mum.”

“Did you have to fight it out to have the best cake?” Noel asks, and Henry laughs.

“She’d always say we were all her favorite.”

“Bit simple, isn’t it?” Paul asks, and Henry’s heart is in his throat.

“I was hoping to do something where my nerves wouldn’t get in the way as much, at least for the first bake,” he explains, and Sandi smiles.

“Well, I think that if you do it well, something like this will really show us what you can do,” Prue says, and as they move on, Henry thanks every saint he’s ever disappointed that at least she’s on his side.

He has a second after he puts the cakes in when he can look around to see how everyone else is doing, and he sees an explosion of color on Pez’s station. Across the aisle from him, he sees a personal assistant named Zahra with a station he swears is neater than his was when they started. Nora is in front of him, checking things off a complex spreadsheet while surrounded by chaos, and somewhere, he thinks Alex might be swearing in Spanish.

After a second to breathe, Henry starts on his jam and buttercream, keeping an eye on his mini cakes. He’s making more than they used to with his dad, but even so, it feels just as familiar and comfortable.

The fillings come together, and then he gives himself a half second to check them before he’s on to assembling, setting a single raspberry in the middle of each cake and carefully piping designs on the tops. Noel announces that they have one minute left, and Henry gets everything on the end of his bench and leans back as they finish counting down.

Just like that, the first bake is over, and the bakers file out to rest. This is the part where the TV element of the show takes over; their bakes are going to get their beauty shots and the bakers are going to be interviewed. Hunter gets pulled first, so Henry gets to flop down onto the couch. Pez settles beside him, automatically resting a hand on Henry’s knee, and it turns out that he’s used a colorful mirror glaze and real flowers, either of which could have been the colors Henry saw. He asks about Nora’s spreadsheet, and she shows it to him, covered in frosting and batter and marking out what she should be doing every ten minutes.

When everything’s ready for them, the bakers traipse back into the tent, all quiet and nervous as they face their first round of judging. As much as Henry is trying to pay attention to everyone else’s comments, he’s too nervous to focus on much aside from the occasional word until the judges are in front of him.

He’s smiling, doing his best to relax as they take a bite. Paul reiterates that his cakes are simple, but says they’re perfectly done, and Prue agrees with him. Henry grins, finally feeling like he can breathe as he sits down. Behind him, Cash gets compliments on his flavors and the unique designs. Alex is next, and Henry hears them compliment his cake, but complain that it’s a bit claggy, which he’d been worried about. As they file out for lunch, Henry manages to get beside Alex and ask how it went, but Alex just shrugs.

“I made a damn good tres leches; if they thought it was a weird texture I’m not too upset about it. I mean, obviously I’m not thrilled, but you know. It was the type of cake they didn’t like, not my version of it. So it’s not, you know, that I’m bad at baking or anything, at least not really. This table look good?” Henry nods and sits, which is how he finds himself at a table with Nora, Pez, Alex, and Hunter, who turns out to be both very talkative and intensely boring.

Alex is across from Henry, and whenever they make eye contact, Alex makes a face, quietly mocking Hunter. Henry smiles, and he nods when Hunter says things, but it’s nice to know he’s not the only one bored with Hunter’s rambling. Alex is on his side, both in and out of the tent, and that’s nice to know, too, especially going into the technical.

Henry’s been trying to avoid thinking about it, but the technical’s been in the back of his mind. He’s done what he can to prepare for it, but he has no idea what to expect. Still, Alex will be baking near him, and Zahra will be across from him, and she seems like the sort of person who will know what’s happening if he gets really lost and needs to see what she’s up to. It’ll be alright.

They file back to the tent as lunch ends, and Henry takes a deep breath as he settles behind his bench, tying the apron. It’s just this technical, then they’ll be getting dinner together and spending time in the hotel, probably talking about the loved ones they’re making their showstopper cakes for. Henry is more than ready to talk about Bea and how much he loves her, and he wonders briefly who Alex is making a cake for. He’s been so focused on worrying about the technical that he hasn’t gotten a chance to know the other bakers as well as he hopes, but maybe that chance will come over a dinner with the bakers he’s starting to become friends with.

He tries to think about that instead of the gingham-clad mystery pile in front of him. There are ingredients for something under that fabric, but he can’t know what, and it’s not going to help to try and guess. He just takes a deep breath and tries to focus on the judges’ advice instead.

As it turns out, Prue’s advice is just to read closely, which is about as helpful as telling them to remember to breathe or that cakes need sugar. That’s all they get before the judges step out, and Noel has a joke about their figure skating class before Sandi announces the dish they’ve been tasked with.

They’re making something called nut cake. Henry thinks he may have heard of it once, and the cake itself seems fairly simple. The icing for it looks a bit more complicated, but that’s an issue for Future Henry. The cake is a problem for right now, and it’s not nearly as much of a problem as he thought it might be. And right now, Henry’s just baking, falling into the routine of reading a new recipe and figuring things out. He and Bea have been practicing technicals for weeks now, and he’s been reading old recipes for years so he can bake things appropriate for different plays he’s working on. As it turns out, deciphering them has helped him get ready for figuring out pared down modern ones.

Behind him, he hears Jeffrey, a man he’s not particularly close to, panicking.

Zahra seems in control, and while there are varying degrees of panic happening around him, everyone else seems relatively calm.

Nora’s workstation is a mess, as is Pez’s, but they and some of the other messy bakers seem like they’ll thrive in that mess. By contrast, Jeffrey’s mess just looks like mess.

But as much as he cares for the other bakers, Henry does his best to ignore them, at least for now. He tries to just concentrate on his own cake, even if it demands less concentration than he might have guessed. Even as they shift to icing, it’s far from the hardest thing he’s ever baked. The judges might be easing them into the technicals, but Henry’s glad for it. As the final seconds tick down, he’s drizzling the icing on his cake, and as he steps back he declares it ‘good enough’.

Carrying it up to the table and setting it behind his picture feels surreal, especially surrounded by the other bakers doing the same. He’s seen it on TV a million times, but somehow, doing it himself still sends a slight shiver down his spine. His cake doesn’t look bad compared to the others, and as he’s filing out to take a break with the rest of the bakers, he gets a glimpse at Jeffrey’s. It doesn’t look iced. In their resting area, Henry learns that he’s afraid it’s underbaked; apparently he’d forgotten to add nuts to his first one and had to restart with barely any time left.

As much as Henry hates to see anyone upset, a tiny, tiny part of him is relieved. He doesn’t want to come last in the technical, especially not the first one. They’re called back into the tent once it’s clean, and as they file onto the stools, Henry is sandwiched between Shaan and Alex. Alex grabs his hand; his cake is on the end where they’ll start the tasting and he’s pretty clearly worried. Henry just gives his hand a squeeze as the judges try his cake, and when they move on, Alex doesn’t stop squeezing, so Henry keeps a tight hold through the whole thing.

It is, by far, the worst part of the day. The deliberation about cakes is too quiet to hear, and it seems to take forever, but then they’ve decided. Alex is squeezing Henry’s hand so hard he thinks his fingers might go numb as the judges step forward to announce the results of the first technical challenge this group of bakers have ever faced.

Jeffrey comes in last. Alex is fourth, and to his shock, Henry comes in first. He’s not sure what to think, but he knows he has to call Bea as soon as he can. He has to thank her for how much she’s done to test him and get him ready for this part of the competition. Alex pulls him into a hug almost immediately, and Henry grins as Cash, a stay at home dad who seems great, joins in. They get pulled aside for more interviews, and Henry gets to be really, really excited without having to worry about hurting or offending anyone else, but even on the bus back, even as he tries to keep it toned down a bit so as not to upset anyone, he can’t quite help his grin.

He calls Bea that night from the hotel room, because really, he can’t think of anything else to do with these emotions. She picks up on the first ring.

“Henry! You did so well! I knew you would.” Just hearing her voice is enough to pull some of the tension out of his shoulders, and he laughs a bit.

“I never… god, it was a lot, but I… I did it.”

“You did it! And you got first in technical; I’m so proud of you. Dad would be, too, I know it.”

He just smiles, talking to her until there’s a knock on his door, and Pez is there to invite him out for dinner with some of the other contestants. Bea tells him to go have fun, and he finishes getting changed, then finds Pez, Alex, Nora, and a reporter named Oliver at the hotel bar. Alex is talking about a family friend he’s planning to make a cake for tomorrow, about how they’ve been friends since his dad took Raf in when his coming out didn’t go well. They’d had a tradition of birthday cookies, but Raf was used to cakes, so he’s the only one they make cake for. He’s planning a big cake decorated with cookies, just like they’d always done.

Henry gets to talk about how much he loves Bea, then a student named Liam joins them and hesitantly talks about how his boyfriend’s parents’ anniversary was last week, so he’s replicating the cake he made them. Pez demands a picture of Liam and his boyfriend, and they all get to admire how cute they are while Liam blushes. Pez moans that he and his partner will never be that cute, and he uses the word ‘partner’, which makes Liam relax a bit and makes Henry grin as a wave of quiet warmth washes over him. Even though he’d known that people would probably be fine if he came out, it’s nice to know he wouldn’t be alone if he did. Seeing Liam and Spencer’s pictures, and hearing that Pez probably isn’t straight (though honestly, he’d piqued Henry’s gaydar early on), helps quiet the part of him that’s worried.

Apparently Liam was the only one they were waiting for, so Pez leads the way to a nearby restaurant. Shaan and Zahra are there already, and they wave them over. The eight of them end up monopolizing a corner booth, filling the table with good food and the benches with good conversations. Zahra’s planning a baby shower cake for her sister, and Shaan’s planning one as a test for his parents’ renewal of vows. They finish dinner and go to bed relatively early, knowing they’ve got an early call tomorrow, but Henry goes to bed feeling better about the showstopper than he ever could have imagined.

It’s him and Shaan downstairs early the next day, and they make small talk and text their families while they wait for the others to come down. It’s a nice way to wake up, and Henry’s already starting to get used to this routine, to morning conversations about Shaan’s museum over tea and coffee. Shaan offers to give him a tour of the archives if he comes to visit, and Henry promises to take him up on that next time he’s in Edinburgh. Even that feels nice, to plan to see each other again after this is all over, and to know that even if he goes home this week, he’ll have made at least one friend.

The other bakers trickle down as Henry and Shaan are finishing their tea, and it’s not long before they’re all there, loading into the minibus and heading off to the tent to make cakes for their loved ones. Henry’s planning one shaped like a guitar for Bea, using a sponge recipe similar to the one they’d made with their dad but flavored especially for her. It’s the one bake he hasn’t practiced with her around, the only one she’s never tried in full. He wants her to be surprised when she watches the show.

He tells Paul and Prue about having lied about his plans to her when they come on the royal tour, and it makes Paul laugh, which is a relief from his regular stoicness. Prue tells him it’s sweet, Noel asks if there’s anything else he’d like to confess to lying to her about, and Henry honestly admits to having never lied to Bea in any other circumstance, and then they’re moving on. Behind him, Henry hears Cash talk about making a cake with layers for each of his kids, and he can’t help but grin. He’ll have to take a peek at that cake when decorating time comes.

His own cake is going well. He’s been playing it safe this week, and he knows that, but at least that means that he doesn’t have to worry about anything too hard. He’s made each of these cakes for Bea before, and he made a guitar cake for her last birthday. The hardest part is the assembly. He’s decided to have the guitar stand upright, probably because he’s an idiot, so the last two hours of the bake is entirely dedicated to carefully, carefully stacking cakes on top of each other and carving them into the right shape. He’s planning a mirror glaze, both because it will mimic the shine of Bea’s guitar and because he’s an idiot who likes to use every second of their allotted time and stress himself out as he does. He’s sure he’ll have time, but he’s making a brown fondant just in case.

He’s just getting his fondant-covered cake in the freezer when he hears Alex swear behind him, and he doesn’t even think before he turns to see what’s wrong. Alex has a decorative cake tin, and he’s frantically tapping it on a baking sheet. Henry goes over to his bench, and he can feel a camera following him as he asks, “How can I help?”

“Just… it won’t come out.”

“Did you run a knife around the middle? Try that.”

There’s a tense silence as Alex does. Henry’s holding his breath.

Alex flips the cake over again, shaking it up and down a few times on the baking sheet. Henry can just hear the thunk as it falls, and Alex lets out a shaky breath as he pulls the tin off. The cake emerges, looking complete, and Alex grins. Henry grins back, and Alex thanks him as he picks up a piping bag. Henry turns back to his own bench as Alex says, “Hey, if you need me to drop this on the floor, I still will.”

Henry just laughs as he goes back to his own bench. As he goes around Cash’s, Cash says, “Hey, either of you are welcome to drop anything on the floor as long as it’s not mine. Amy looks pretty confident over there.”

Alex tosses the top of a strawberry onto the ground behind Cash’s bench, and Cash laughs, and Henry starts on his mirror glaze infinitely less worried than he would have been otherwise.

He’s pulled shortbread decorations out of the oven and drizzled his mirror glaze over the cake when Noel calls the two minute warning, and his piping of the strings is a bit sloppy, but when he steps back he can barely believe he’s done it. It’s a bit messy, but it looks like a guitar, and he knows Bea would be thrilled with it. Really, that’s all that matters. He’s feeling good about it, but when he turns and sees Cash’s cake, he knows he’s lost any shot at star baker. It’s a towering beauty, each layer individually decorated with castles, jungles, and pirate ships.

Cash brushes aside their compliments, but when Henry asks about the kids, he starts talking about each of them, rambling and rambling as they leave the tent for their break. Henry just grins and listens as Cash’s excitement completely overwhelms any worry Henry might be feeling. Instead of thinking about if his cakes are too dry or if something is wrong with his fondant, Henry gets to look at pictures of Cash’s kids and husband and dog. It makes for a fantastic distraction while they wait for the tent to be cleaned up, and Henry wonders briefly just how many more people he can ask about pets or kids while they wait.

Cash rambles about his family through most of their break, and Henry is happy to just sit back and listen. Cash is clearly a good dad, and he’s more than happy to ramble about his son’s ballet recital or his daughter’s favorite cookie recipe throughout the entire cleaning period and photoshoot.

He’s still talking about his kids as they photographers finish up, so Henry gets to focus on that instead of worrying as they settle behind the benches for the final time that day. Henry is too far back to hear what the judges are saying to anyone else, but he watches Hunter’s and Jeffrey’s shoulders slump, watches Prue smile at Cash and Oliver, and he grins when Pez brings a rainbow explosion past his bench. Pez just winks as Henry laughs a bit.

Then it’s his turn, and he’s carefully carrying the cake up. It looks good; recognizably an electric guitar leaning against an amp. The judges like the flavors and the look, but it is dry. He’d been afraid of that; he’d been making fondant while it baked, and left it in a bit too long. Still, over all, it’s positive. Alex gives him a thumbs up as he carries the cake back, and Cash smiles at him. It’s not a bad cake, and he’s done well in the technical. He’s probably going to be back next week, and that’s good enough for now.

He does his best to focus on the others’ comments, but this far back it isn’t easy. It feels a bit like playing telephone as the bakers closer to the front say things like we’ve all had dry cakes or I heard good things. Reactions seem to be pretty varied across the board, and it doesn’t seem like Henry’s the only one who’s not done his best, but this far back he has no real idea.

The judges and hosts leave to make a decision, and the bakers are left to mill around the tent before eventually settling on the stools at the front. Alex is beside Henry again, and he grabs Henry’s hand as the judges and hosts come out. He’s had a good bake, and done decently in the technical, but nothing’s guaranteed in the tent.

Cash gets star baker, surprising no one but himself. His showstopper pushed him over the top, just like Henry knew it would, and he’s thrilled to get to reach over and squeeze Cash’s shoulder to congratulate him. His husband and kids are going to be so proud.

Then comes the hard part. Alex is squeezing Henry’s hand so hard it’s turning white.

Sandi opens her mouth.

“Jeffrey.”

Alex drops Henry’s hand and gives him a little half-embarrassed smile, and Henry has just enough time for half a thought about how he hopes he and Alex stay on the show. He refuses to let himself think on that, just gives Cash a big hug and gets through their final interviews. He tells the interviewer that he’s not surprised Cash got it, because he really deserves it, and that he’ll be glad to come back next week. Cash joins them again while he’s on the phone with his husband and kids, and he’s beaming as he talks and they load into the minibus.

It’s a strange atmosphere on the bus. Jeffrey’s upset to be going home, but Henry can’t seem to find it in himself to be all that sad. He’s staying, and so are Alex and Shaan and Pez. He gets to come back and bake with his friends next week, and as much as going home sucks for Jeffrey, Henry can’t find any particular grief about it.

They only have a few minutes to get their bags together before they’re heading back to the train station. Henry says goodbye to Alex, Pez, and the others, then calls Bea as he slips his ticket into the slot. The train is already on the platform, and he finds an empty table and slides into it, still talking as he pulls his laptop out to get some work done. He’s just hanging up with her when someone slides into the seat across from him.

“Anyone sitting here?” Alex asks with a smile. Henry smiles back, shaking his head.

“Hello.”

“Hey. Good job in there today; that guitar looked great.”

“Looked great, tasted dry. Yours looked good, too; I’m sure your family friend would have loved it.”

“Thanks. I needed it to be good after that tres leches disaster yesterday.”

“I’m just glad you didn’t have to drop anything on the floor,” Henry says, and Alex grins.

“Me too.” Alex pulls out a laptop, but even as he opens it, he seems no less willing to end the conversation. “And, if I’m honest, I know this is meant to be the most wholesome experience and all, but I’m sort of glad Jeffrey’s gone.” He’s leaning across the table conspiratorially, and Henry finds himself leaning forward, too. “He rubbed me weird.”

“He… he sort of rubbed me weird, too. If it had to be someone, I’m glad it was him.”

They share another conspiratorial smile, and Alex says, “Exactly. Like maybe he’s fine, but I’d rather him than someone else. I’d rather him than you or Nora or Pez any day.”

“He was just so…” Henry’s not quite sure what he wants to say, but Alex is nodding.

“Yeah. If it had to be someone, I’m glad it was him.”

He’s finally turning his attention to his laptop, making an excuse about a paper he’s got to work on, so Henry turns back to his own work with a small smile, his leg occasionally brushing Alex’s. They both get drinks when the cart comes, tea for Henry and coffee for Alex, and Alex pays for both, promising that Henry can get it next time.

Next time, because there will be a next time.

When he meets Bea at the station that night, he’s not quite sure how to tell her about Alex, but she seems to know what to think, even if Henry doesn’t.

On AO3

When I started this fic back in February, I had no idea how much the world might need it come October. But here we are, and here it is! Ten chapters of gay baking! That I hope y'all love!

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As always, if you want to support the Hannah-Makes-Art fund, you can tip me in ko-fi here! And if you want to support the Emry-Makes-Art fund, they’ve got commissions up on their blog!

[prayedtoyou]

overrated - read it on ao3

<<  when you get home, will you help me with a project?

>>  sure thing. i have to stop by the gas station on my way back, want anything?

<<  yeah, grab me some of those chocolate covered raisins that i like

>>  you got it. see you in 15

Dean had plans to go home after his three classes of the day to watch Netflix with his hand in his pants and eat pepper jack Cheez-Its until his stomach hurt, but he supposes it wouldn’t hurt to cancel those plans to help out his roommate for a few hours. Dean doesn’t often interrupt plans with himself, especially on a day where he doesn’t have any homework and he doesn’t have to show up for a shift at the salvage yard, but Cas is someone Dean doesn’t mind giving up a  few luxuries for.

Dean met Cas in their Design 101 class during freshman year. It was nothing more than a foundation class, one that Dean and Cas had to take in pursuit of their BFA degrees in film and television, and photography, respectively. Dean expected to jack off to the course by flirting with the fellow classmates while still paying just enough attention to pass the class and turn in projects and assignments on time, but when Cas started sitting next to him in the third week of the semester and heckled him about listening to the professor and taking better notes, Dean really started to buckle down and take it a little more seriously.

They’ve been friends ever since. They had late night study sessions during their first year when they were only an elevator ride away from each other’s dorm rooms. Their first college summer was mostly spent at the Biggerson’s just off SCAD’s campus where Cas served tables; Dean would come in to bother him, drink coffee, and take advantage of the free WiFi. They found an apartment they could barely afford just south of the metro area and moved in a week before the new school year started. They still have that same apartment.

This was to Charlie’s disappointment, at first. She had suggested moving in together before Cas had and Dean had been on the fence about it. He loved Charlie, they got along, she understood his nerdy references, they had similar taste in women--but he had been holding out for another photography major to make his move. She quickly forgave him when she met and later moved in with her girlfriend, Dorothy.

There was just something about Cas that set him apart from Dean’s other friends. It might have to do with how passionate Cas was about his classes and major; since sixth grade, he’s known that he would grow up to be a photographer for National Geographic so he could travel the world and take pictures of all his favorite creatures. Or it might have to do with his sense of humor--a little dark and always just flirtatious enough to make Dean wonder just how serious he is and whether or not he should laugh or take him up on his offers.

More than likely, though, it has to do with how attractive he is, how his smile is so bright it puts the sun to shame, how his laugh makes Dean’s heart swell up like a helium balloon, how he’s intelligent and eloquent, but also absolutely clueless about a lot of stuff Dean considers to be required life knowledge. Does most of that knowledge revolve around Star Wars, Back to the Future, and Indiana Jones movie references? Yes, but that’s beside the point.

And that’s what led Dean to living with the guy for going on three years, to spending entire days dedicated to showing Cas his favorite movies and shows, to picking up dark chocolate Raisinets on his way home from school, to walking into their apartment and calling out Cas’s name just like Ricky Ricardo.

Cas shouts back from the opposite side of the apartment where their bedrooms are. Dean finds Cas in his room, furniture pushed away from one wall and replaced with Cas’s favorite reading chair from the living room (that old, forest-green armchair that Cas found at an antique store on the Savannah River that Dean verbally hated, but secretly used when Cas wasn’t around because it’s about the most comfortable thing in the world), and a camera set up on a tripod facing the chair. Cas is wearing that white button down that looks especially good against the tan he got over the summer, the one that matches Dean’s after they spent several long days on Tybee Island right before their senior year started.

“So, what’s the project?” Dean asks, handing over the box of Raisinets. He curses at himself for forgetting to get a snack of his own while he was out.

Cas takes the box with a smile. “Thanks, Dean. This one is based on touch and what emotions it brings out in us, but we can’t have more than one subject in the shot. So, I need you to put this on.” Cas reaches out and drops a small black object into Dean’s palm.

It’s… a tube of lipstick.

“Uh, Cas? I thought we’ve established that I’m not really much of a model.”

Cas rolls his eyes, no doubt remembering the arguments they had on the river walk during their second year when Cas tried to shoot Dean for an assignment that ended up with them deciding that Dean would stick with filming and Cas would recruit performing arts majors to be his models. “I know, I'm not taking pictures of you, you’re taking pictures of me. I already have the camera focused and everything, you just need to put that on, give me a few kisses, and snap some pictures.”

Dean’s brain short-circuits. “K-kisses?”

“Yeah. I’m using lipstick kisses to represent my past relationships and how I feel about them touching me. Just cheek and forehead kisses. We’re not going to be Frenching or anything.”

“Oh.” Dean looks down at the lipstick, caught somewhere between disappointment and relief, wondering if it would be better or worse if these kisses were meant for Cas’s lips instead of the rest of his face. Would it even be right of him to take Cas up on this offer when he already fantasizes about putting kisses all over Cas’s skin? Would it be wrong for their first kisses to be over some project? “I don’t know how I feel about this, Cas.”

“About what, kissing me? They’re not even real kisses, you just have to pucker up like you're kissing your mom.”

Dean chews on his lip. Would it be so bad to take advantage of the situation and indulge in something he’s wanted since their second semester together? Shouldn’t he be a good friend and roommate and help Cas with his project, no matter the requirements?

Cas must see the uncertainty in Dean’s expression because he continues with, “Come on, Dean, we’re graduating next semester, we’re practically professionals. Are you really going to be embarrassed about a little lipstick when you could be filming HBO sex scenes a year from now?”

Dean looks back up at Cas. If he’s going to insist, who is Dean to tell him no? “Alright, asshole, I’ll do it. But you owe me.”

Cas smiles wide and, damn, Dean would wear lipstick every day if it meant Cas would look at him like that. “Okay, there’s a mirror behind you. It doesn’t have to be perfect, just put some on and lay it on me.”

Dean turns to find Cas’s mirror hung up with his portfolio. Photos are hung, tacked, and taped up from vacations, day trips, school projects, and family holidays. Dean is up there a few times: laughing on the opposite side of the table from Cas at Biggerson’s, a selfie of the two of them under the unflattering flash of a smartphone in a dark movie theater, the only good shot Cas got of Dean that day on the river walk, Dean asleep on the couch with a book folded up in his arms like a teddy bear.

Dean didn’t even know Cas took that last one.

He puts on the lipstick, ignoring the photos of himself. It’s definitely not as easy as he thought it would be--staying inside the lines was something he’s improved upon since childhood, but crayons are a lot different from makeup. He manages to swipe the color onto his face, grimacing at the taste of it.

When he looks back at Cas, all he gets is a blank stare and a slight nod. Feeling less than confident with deep red lips, Dean steps up to the plate.

“Where do you want it?”

Dean can hear the click of Cas’s throat as he swallows. He raises a hand, pointing to the knob of his left cheekbone.

“Here.”

Dean steps just a little closer. Cas is about his height, maybe an inch shorter, but it’s not even noticeable when Dean tilts Cas’s face up with a finger and thumb gently pinching his chin. He leans in and--smells Cas’s shampoo, notices the pores on his nose, finds trimmed whiskers along his cheeks--presses his lips right where Cas wanted them.

With the lipstick, Dean can’t taste Cas’s skin, but he can smell the face wash where his nose is sticking into Cas’s temple. Like pomegranates.

When he pulls away, he knows he’s blushing, but he has no way of hiding it, so he just smiles and says, “That’s a good color for you.”

Cas, a little pink himself, scoffs. “Just take the picture, Taylor Swift.”

Cas takes his seat, Dean steps behind the camera. He clicks the shutter button a few times, watching Cas’s face on the screen. He’s leaning his face up and slightly away, lips parted, eyes cast toward the door instead of the lense. It’s a great angle to show off that jawline of his.

Dean was never destined to be a model, but Cas looks just as good in photos as he does in real life. He knows exactly how to position himself, which light to use, how his face should look. He could model, if he ever wanted. Dean asked him if he would star in a short film Dean had to film, but Cas just laughed and said if he wanted to act he would have gone into performing arts.

“That should be enough,” Cas notes, and Dean realizes that he had taken way too many photos while thinking about Cas’s face. He backs away from the camera. “I’ll need a fresh layer for each kiss, so apply some more lipstick.”

Dean does as he’s told and goes back to Cas to kiss him again. This time it’s just above Cas’s right eyebrow. They go on like this a handful more times, until Cas has lipstick stains across his entire face. Each time feels like the first, and Dean has a harder and harder time removing his lips from Cas’s skin as they progress through the photos. Cas doesn’t seem to be as phased--he sits right down and assumes his pose. In each and every picture, Cas mostly just looks sad.

“Why do you look like that?” Dean finally asks after the sixth kiss, snapping pictures.

Cas unfurrows his brow and looks up from the floor. “Like what?”

“Like your dog just died.”

Cas cracks a small smile. “These kisses represent each of my exes and how I felt about my relationships with them.”

“They were all that bad?”

“They certainly weren’t good. After being cheated on, left for someone else, and dumped over text, I don’t exactly have fond memories of most of these people.”

“I remember when that dickhead Balth slept with that web designer. You didn’t leave the house for a week.”

“You took me to the Atlanta Aquarium and pointed at all the ugliest fish and said they looked like him.”

“And I was right. ”

When Cas smiles broadly, Dean sneaks in another picture. The shutter of the lense gives him away, but Cas doesn’t mention it.

“Remember when I watched 500 Days of Summer eight times in two days?” Cas asks. “That’s because Hannah kept telling me she didn’t want a relationship and ended up leaving me for someone who she got engaged to after five months.”

Dean chuckles low under his breath. “Yeah, I remember. I had to force you into the shower and then we went out for burgers.”

“And when Gadreel drunk texted me all the things he hated about me--”

“We toilet papered his frat house and went to a baseball game the next day. We got so sunburnt.”

Cas laughs at the memory and Dean captures it with the camera. He looks so much better like this, happy and covered in kisses from someone who actually cares about him. He deserves to be this happy for the rest of his life.

Cas sobers up and looks at Dean. His expression is soft, something closer to adoration than anything else. Dean wonders if he’s just amused  by the makeup.

“You were always there for me, Dean.”

Since Dean can’t take a compliment to save his life, he shrugs it off. “I was just trying to be a good friend. You did the same for me when Lisa and I broke up.”

They go quiet for a moment. Dean reflects back on the two weeks after their break up. Dean was drinking daily, taking whiskey in a travel mug to his classes, going to bars at night, falling asleep on the couch with a bottle in his hands. It took Cas several tries to get him out of his rut, first by asking Dean what was wrong, then by requesting that he eat something solid, and finally by whacking him with his rolled up yoga mat until Dean cleaned himself up and changed into some fresh clothes.

Dean had grumbled about it for a few days, but it was just what he needed. He couldn’t mope around forever and fall into a pit of alcoholism just because his year-long girlfriend finally got fed up with his shit. Cas spent extra time with him that month, changing his schedule and cancelling plans to hang out or do homework in the same room as him, occasionally reaching out to lay a hand on Dean’s shoulder or knocking their feet together to remind him that he wasn’t alone. It helped tremendously.

The worst part wasn’t losing Lisa, it was coming to terms with everything he had been trying to deny since he was seventeen. His attraction to men was something he first noticed when a new kid came to his high school and he fell for the linebacker build and honey-sweet Cajun accent. But after dating women exclusively his whole life, the last thing he wanted was for Cas to feel like some sort of experiment.

“What happened? With Lisa. You never told me.”

Cas catches his eye, but Dean directs his gaze away quickly, suddenly finding the curves of the camera very interesting.

“I, um… I wasn’t very good to her. I was kind of using her to get past a crush I had on someone, but it didn’t go away and she said she couldn’t keep living like that. Like she was competing to be my girlfriend. I don’t blame her one bit, she was right to leave me. I just thought, if it was just a crush, it wouldn’t be a problem once I was with someone else, but when I couldn’t stop liking them…”

Dean chances a look at Cas, who looks just as sad as he had in those pictures. His eyes are wide and it almost looks comical with all the lipstick kisses on his face.

“I realized it was more than just some crush,” Dean finishes lamely.

Every part of him wants to tell Cas. But what would be the point? The two of them will graduate and Cas will become the next most famous National Geographic photographer and Dean will be looking for work as a camera holder on low budget movies and shows that may or may not be cancelled halfway through filming. He could always turn to porn as a last resort, but he'll never make it as far as Cas and he’ll never make it with Cas.

In the beginning, he didn’t want to ruin their relationship. They worked well together, whether it was study sessions or getting back at exes or picking out mismatching furniture at second-hand stores. He worried about losing his friend. Now he doesn’t want to say anything because he knows he’s going to lose Cas one way or another, and it will hurt less if they don’t get involved with each other any more than they already are.

Cas takes a deep breath, processing the information. He searches the room. His eyes land back on the camera.

“I have one more shot to get.”

Dean blinks. It’s what he expected. It wouldn’t matter if Dean subtly tried to imply how in love he is with Cas or if he bluntly told him, he would always get the cold shoulder. It’s for the best, he tries to convince himself. Any other way would just end in a bigger heartbreak than necessary.

He turns back to the mirror. He finds the photo of him and Cas in the movie theater again. He can’t remember what movie they saw, but their faces are nearly touching and Dean’s arm is around Cas and he wishes more than anything that he’d taken the chance to kiss him back then. Because, what’s the quote? ‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. Does it count when Dean is, technically, in love, but just hasn’t voiced it yet?

With a new coat of lipstick, he faces Cas again. He’s standing in the middle of the room, right next to the camera, ready for his last kiss. Dean musters up all his fake confidence and closes the distance between them, standing just a little closer than he had before.

“And this time?” Dean asks.

Cas looks hesitant. Maybe he’s finally realizing that he should have chosen someone else to kiss him over and over again. Someone who he wouldn’t have to awkwardly live with afterwards. Someone who wouldn’t have made a straightforward project into something uncomfortable.

His hand comes up to his face. He points a single finger to his bottom lip.

“Here.”

Dean’s breath catches in his throat. He hunts for any sort of lie in Cas’s eyes, any indication that he didn’t want it, that he wanted to take it back. But Cas just looks right back at him, waiting, patient.

Dean fits the corner of Cas’s jaw into the center of his palm, runs his thumb across Cas’s cheek. A lipstick kiss smears under the pad of his finger, wiping into nothing but a blur, just like the memory of whichever lover that one was meant to be.

When their lips meet, Dean forgets about every single reason he didn’t let himself have this before. Everything in his head melts away until there’s just Cas and mouth and hands and Cas and Cas and Cas.

Cas doesn’t hold back. He grips Dean’s waist like a life raft in the middle of the ocean, opens his mouth and moans when Dean slips his tongue in. He takes everything Dean gives him. He moves his head aside when Dean trails his mouth along his jaw and down his neck, kissing and sucking and nipping at the skin. Dean pulls him closer, desperate to feel as much of Cas as he possibly can.

Dean feels like he’s shaking, or maybe vibrating, with need. Everything is tilting, moving, wavering around him. The lights could blow and he wouldn't even notice, he’s too wrapped up, too confused about which way is left or right.

Their mouths come together again and the world straightens out on its axis. They slow down, brushing their lips together the way pages of a book slide against one another. They take their time. They learn the way they move with each other.

Eventually, they part. Not to gasp for breath, but to rest their foreheads together; to align their hearts. Between them, Dean can smell Cas’s toothpaste and taste the lipstick.

“We should do projects together more often,” Dean concludes humorlessly.

“I think we should skip the projects and just make out,” Cas counters.

Dean pulls back to laugh quietly at Cas, but then sees his face. Cas is covered in lipstick, all around his mouth, his chin, across his jaw, down his neck. The makeup follows the patterns of Dean’s kisses, right down to where he had sucked Cas’s earlobe into his mouth.

He lets loose, practically wheezing at the state of Cas’s face. Dean’s must look similar, because Cas erupts into laughter too and they both sink into each other, bodies convulsing in their arms.

“Come on, come on. One more picture,” Cas begs, pulling out of Dean’s grasp and positioning himself on the chair. He couldn't wipe that smile off his face if he tried, and it looks like he isn’t putting in any effort at all to push it away.

Dean presses the shutter button three times, hoping at least one of them is a good shot, before diving around the camera to pull Cas into his embrace again.

The lipstick ends up on chests, wrist, bed sheets, and hips, but they don’t mind. They might even keep the tube for another time.

tags below the cut!

@sweatercas | @queenvee08 | @fierydeans | | @scamp-00 | @cottondean | @hallowedbecastiel | @wanderingcas | Please let me know if you’d like to be added to/taken off the list!

[lightsonparkave]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO LIGHTS ON PARK AVE! WE’RE OFFICIALLY A ONE-YEAR-OLD BABY (our birthday was on the 22nd). Join the celebrations by submitting a work! There’s one week left until Round 12 closes on August 31, and you have 80 prompts to choose from. There are no minimum work requirements or limit to how many works you can submit.

Not sure you can finish your work in time? Little messages are great presents too. What has the past year of Lights on Park Ave been like for you? Do you have a favorite prompt or round? A favorite LoPA work? Want to make a rec list of your favorites or wax poetic and show some love for a specific work and/or creator? Go for it. Let the Steve/Tony community know! The LoPA askbox is open or if you want to make your own Tumblr post or tweet, you can mention @lightsonparkave or tag #lightsonparkave. Whatever method you choose, I’ll make sure to share your message/post on here and Twitter.

Or maybe you’re not up to making anything this time. In that case, let’s take a walk down memory lane. Here are all 46 Lights on Park Ave works for previous rounds.

ART

3490 & 616

A comparison between 616 Civil War and universe 3490 where the war was averted by the marriage of Steve Rogers and Natasha Stark - @jarvisuanddumetoo​

ANY UNIVERSE

A framed portrait of a smiling Tony, drawn and signed by Steve - @hundredthousands

Steve steals his husband’s helmet and gives his king a springtime crown - @starksnack

AU

Tin soldier Steve and ballerina Tony dancing - @jarvisuanddumetoo

BATTLEWORLD

Steve watching Tony flying in on the battlefield - @thingexplainer

MCU

Old Steve holding flowers and seeing a blue butterfly after Tony’s death - @hundredthousands

So much of life feels like drowning... but when I’m with you my troubles recede like waves on the shore - @jarvisuanddumetoo

Stranger Things AU where Steve is the one who was experimented on in a lab and doesn’t understand pop culture and Tony is the guy with no powers who is still doing his best to fight these weird new aliens - @jarvisuanddumetoo

Steve and a dandelion that represents him weathering all his hardships over the years - @jarvisuanddumetoo

Tony on fire and Steve’s reaction - @jarvisuanddumetoo

Steve crying while holding Tony’s helmet after Tony’s funeral - @noririna

I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. You’re a hero. - @starksnack

ULTIMATES

Steve and Tony leaving marks on each other’s bodies that are only visible in the dark - @sirsapling Ults Steve and Tony are tragically bound to one another. They can always feel the trace of each others hands, it leaves an invisible mark they will cary with them till there is nothing left. Only a ghost of something lost in the chaos of the past.

FIC

1872

Say My Name - @citsiurtlanu Steve reminds Tony that there's more to him than the war his weapons were used in.

616

Snow Day - @captainneverever The Avengers think that Steve and Tony got engaged at the annual holiday party. It’s news to Steve and Tony.

Kiss me rough before you go - erde Tony is dying. His life is slipping away and Steve wants to be better than this, but he can't quite manage the feat. Tony's war has made a bitter man out of him, a lesser man.

Boys, boys, boys - Missy_dee811 (@viudanegraaa) (AU) Steve keeps putting off his oil change. Finally deciding to see the mechanic in town.

Without the rusty music of my machine - Missy_dee811 (@viudanegraaa)  Tony was lying on the hood of his car. He had taken off his leather jacket, gently folded it in half, and draped it across the windshield so he could rest his arms on the supple leather.

Muddy Waters - RossKL (@but-damn-is-he-lovable) (also on Tumblr) Tony bleeds. It's not real.

ANY

(A Dream is) A Wish Your Heart Makes - @helovedyou Cool evenings together and laughing free and all the nice things Tony never thought he’d get

Afternoon Off - Neverever (@captainneverever) Freedom is just another word for getting with your boyfriend on the downlow during a mission.

BULLET POINTS

Those We Were (For A While) - sadisticsparkle The blueprints hadn’t prepared Tony for the light bouncing off the battered metal, for the empty stare of its empty eye sockets or the dim circle in the middle of the chest. He traced its lines with his gaze, remembering every day he had spent hunched over the schematics picking its inner workings and every night he had spent sprawled under its pilot letting him take Tony apart.

MCU

border state - @areiton (also on Tumblr) They exist in the in between.

star crossed - @areiton (also on Tumblr) "The gods made the stars,” you whisper, a lifetime ago, a heartbeat ago, now, “and they were so bright, so beautiful and strong, that they ripped them in two. And half of ‘em fell to earth, and woke from the dust and walked as men.”

this is how - @areiton (also on Tumblr) This is how the world ends: Gaps in the code.

kiss me hard before you go - duckmoles​ & starxreactor (AU) “I love you, you know that?” Tony says just after popping another grape into Steve’s mouth. He watches as Steve’s jaw works, chewing and then swallowing. Steve smiles up at Tony with a bright, toothy grin. “I love you, too.” “I’m going to miss you,” Tony continues. “I’m going to call you everyday, okay? And—and, during the holidays I’ll show up at your house and we can—we can—sit together on the balcony, and—” The last day of summer, and it's time to hold on to what you might lose.

No Winter Lasts Forever - Fluffypanda (@ayapandagirl) Steve stopped, white breath clouding the air around him, to look at the little shoots of green and purple peeking out from the scant layer of snow left on the ground.

snippet of a post-apocalyptic A/B/O AU WIP - Fluffypanda (@ayapandagirl) Steve’s fingers traced the bite, a half-moon of red marks, from in front of the largest mirror he’d ever seen.

the first blush of morning - Fluffypanda (@ayapandagirl) (AU) The sun rises on the Atlantic ocean and Steve isn't alone - or is he?

Santa Paws - @heartsandmuses [I]f there were two things the public couldn’t get enough of, it was cute puppies and shirtless Captain America — and Tony, ever the philanthropist, decided to give the people exactly what they wanted, right on Christmas morning.

Philautia - @helovedyou Tony dies and Steve keeps on living. Well. He doesn’t die. Living might be a bit of a generous term

To the Victor - @helovedyou There are rainbows flying and people hugging and others ranting and raving, spittle flying, he thinks this. We have won this, this tiny victory.

Snippet of a WIP set post-IW - @ishipallthings The numbers keep climbing, for hours, in the aftermath.

Shuffle Off This Mortal Coil - jellybeanforest (@jellybeanforest-a-go-go) (also a Cap-IM Bingo 2020 round 1 fic) Tony hadn’t been a cruel man, but he had been a practical one. Or: In his twilight years, concerned about how his slow-aging possibly-immortal husband will adjust to his death, Tony builds an AI version of himself that he updates nightly, intending for it to keep Steve company after he’s gone. When the inevitable comes to pass, Steve doesn’t know what to make of the AI or whether its presence lessens his grief or makes it significantly worse. He’s leaning towards the latter.

Five Bells - @lazywriter7 (also on Tumblr) After returning the Stones, Steve takes a detour through time.

if we’re gonna heal, let it be glorious - @littlemissstark forgiveness. The salty air was intense enough to wake Steve up completely, snapping any left over drowsiness away. He was alert despite the sky still being a shade of navy that tapered into a purple at the sea’s horizon. The world was still dormant, but Steve couldn’t stay asleep – not when he woke to coldness on the right side of the bed and empty arms.

In My Hands and Gone Again - @nostalgicatsea (also on Tumblr) Memories were like fish, Tony had explained, or the tease of one. A flash of silver, and his hands would plunge down. Sometimes he would catch one; other times, it would dart out of reach. He wouldn’t be sure whether it had been real or just a trick of the light, after.

Leaving You Forward - @nostalgicatsea (AU) It would be easy, staying here like this with Tony. But Steve knew he couldn't—because he had never taken the easy way out and because he loved Tony.

i choose: me, you, us - @onlymorelove (also a Cap-IM Remix Madness 2020 fic) “We, uh. We’ve been together five years, and you’ve never— I’ve never let you see it. I told you I’d let you see it on our wedding night.” In which Tony and Steve marry, but Tony hasn't let Steve see the arc reactor—and the scars around it. Yet.

best of summers gone - rosycheeked (@lovelyisthedawn) Tony's favorite month has always been August.

when we all fall asleep - rosycheeked (@lovelyisthedawn) Tony wakes up and questions why Steve loves him. It's a surprisingly complex question for such a simple answer.

you anchor me (back down) - rosycheeked (@lovelyisthedawn) Steve still loves Tony, no matter what mask he’s wearing. He’ll never tell Tony that, though. He’s read enough books and watched enough movies to know that it only ends well when it’s just a story. Or, everyone needs an anchor sometimes, and Steve and Tony just happen to be each others’.

take me to the feeling - smalltonystark (@theotherwasdeath​) Steve looks gorgeous in the lights. He always looks stunning, but here, late at night, in the faint glow from the streetlamps underneath them and underneath the stars, he looks magnificent.

POETRY

A Toast to Cold, Hard Facts - @onlymorelove (also on Tumblr) The world is brutal and coarse, but...

Love was fading stars - @onlymorelove (also on AO3) Blackout poetry based on “Failing and Flying” by Jack Gilbert on top of an original print.

not married - @onlymorelove (also on Tumblr) Grief works in mysterious ways.

[aaudace]

art of loving on

pairing: sam wilson x ava rhodes

word count: 2.5k

notes: the fact that im super late on posting this says a lot about me, so lets just pretend that its still thanksgiving. okay so i know that the title is cliche and this might flop big time, but i wanted to do something a little different besides simply posting gifs. im a sucker for reading sappy one shots so I decided to make my own. this is part one of my holiday one shot series. enjoy!

If you were to ask Ava Rhodes how she felt about the holidays, more than likely she would give you a whole monologue on her hatred for it. 

    Call her a Scrooge, but her love for the holidays had faltered a year ago after she lost the one thing that was considered a gift to her. Losing the one thing that brought her peace was the last straw that broke her to pieces. Her patience for the holidays had changed dramatically. No longer had she been longing for the joyous laughter and loving smiles that the goodwill season brought along. 

    Instead with every waking moment, she dreaded it. 

    However, for at least the next few hours, she had to throw away her personal thoughts about jolly holiday and put on a facade. Her face no longer carried a cold hearted look, but instead her cheeks were burning red with joy and laughter. Although she hated herself for it, the Rhodes girl would volunteer herself to help at the Veterans Affairs Office that was a couple blocks from her apartment.

   Even though it pained her dearly to sit through hours of hearing individuals explain their gratitude and compassion for the season, a part of her felt like the peace that she lost was there with her when she volunteered. Before he died, her boyfriend Marcus would spend hours in the exact building that basically became a formulated routine of the two of them each holiday season. The one thing that Ava missed the most about him was his passion for helping others. Her heart sung with joy as she watched him go above and beyond for each individual that walked through the doors. He had a way with words that made people feel good about themselves. Whether you were the poorest individual or the richest, Marcus was willing to do whatever it took to bring the best out of you. At least that’s what he did for Ava.

   God, she missed him. 

    But she managed to put on a brave face as she stood in the same position that he did before. Her mind and hands had been tied up in many things. For the first hour of her time, she served food to individuals that came by the office. Usually within the first few minutes, the small building was packed from the outskirts. So this kept her mind busy. The few next hours, she spent entertaining the elderly veterans with card and board games. The first hour was pretty easy for her, but soon afterwards, she came to the realization that card games and grown men didn’t really mix as well as she thought. Bernard Chapman and Arthur Wilfred, two regulars at the VA did not really understand the concept of a friendly competition. One minute, she was showing one group how to play Connect Four, the next she found herself in the middle of a brawl that involved childish name calling and sailor swearing. This also kept her mind busy. 

   And now, with time being the thief that it was, she found herself in the banquet hall that once housed thousands of individuals that came from different walks, cleaning up the remainder of the trash that was left behind. Although the help that she once had offered to stay behind and help, she ushered them out of the door. She didn’t mind doing the clean up part. Out of everything, that was the easiest to her. In other words, it kept her mind busy. 

   As she cleaned off the tables, a sigh escaped from her lips. The silence that had once inhabited the quiet space had come to halt at the creaking sound of the doors being pushed open.

    She figured it has been one of the volunteers, Marge coming back to help her out with the clean up. Marge had been one of Marcus’ favorite volunteers to work with. Her sass was nothing compared to what he put up with at home with Ava, however, it was her golden heart that made her stand out. She was different from other volunteers. Marge had been working for the VA office for years after her husband passed away. For her, this place had been a sanctuary of peace. Just like for Ava. Marge had become family for Ava. She was the only person that knew her the way that Marcus had come to know her. Maybe that was the reason why Ava was able to remain stable throughout her time of volunteering. 

   “Marge, how many times do I have to tell you,” Ava yelled, placing her rag onto her shoulder. She didn’t bother looking up at the entrance way because she knew looking into the eyes of the shameless woman would only make it hard for her to say no to her. “You know, one of these days you are just gonna accept the fact that no means no.”

    The sound of footsteps echoed across the room as they began to move closer and closer towards Ava directions. “I swear, sometimes I wonder how Marcus dealt with you. You are worse than me. And sometimes I can’t even stand me....” 

    At this point, Ava turned from her duty to look up at the shadowy figure. Her green eyes widened as she realized that the body figure didn’t quite match up to the petite figure that Marge had. Instead, it was made up of bicep muscles that hid under a dark leather jacket. Her mouth opened to protest, but she couldn’t find the words. In fact, the only thing she could say was, “Uh, um—”

  “Just so you know, Marge was on her way back, I just managed to convince her to go home,” the man said. He moved a little closer, covering the large gap that stood in between them. “I swear, she reminds of someone that I know. Someone that’s kind of feisty, blunt, and can be a little sarcastic at times. Sometimes a little too much, but we are working on that.” 

   Ava rolled her eyes, “I think the key of life is getting your point across. And there’s nothing wrong with my sarcasm. Some people just don’t have a sense of humor.”

   “Or sometimes you can be a little too harsh and you aren’t willing to admit that.”

“If it makes you happy,” she scoffed. “I managed to put away my sarcasm and trade it in for joy and cheer for the day.” 

   “Atcha girl,” he laughed. “Look at you turning over a new leaf.” 

Ava smirked at him. She loved the idea that he was proud of her. It had been a while since she had felt like that before. “But, now that the day is over. I’m putting it back on and I am now returning to my normal sarcastic, feisty, blunt self. Ah, it’s good to be me again.”

   All the man could do is sigh and return a small chuckle as a response. Ava smiled back a little. “But besides my issues, what are you doing here, Sam? It’s the holidays, you are supposed to be spending time with family.”

   As she said this, she moved past him, focusing on the last of the table that she had to clean. The smell of fresh lemons brushed against her nostrils as she squirted the bottle of cleaning supply that had been resting in her waist apron. One thing that she loved the most about cleaning the VA office was the vast amount of cleaning products they stored. She really couldn’t her finger on why exactly she enjoyed them so much. She just did. 

    Maybe it was the idea that each of them held a fragrance that held a sentimental memory in her mind. Like the one that smelt like an island breeze reminded her of the time Marcus cleaned up after a man who accidentally spilled his carton of milk on the floor. It had been a slow holiday at the VA office that day. Although the man was generous enough to help Marcus clean up the mess, it was Marcus that had been too caught up with everything that he forgot to place the warning sign for the place that he mopped and managed to slip. That holiday, Ava spent the majority of the night cracking jokes as they occupied the waiting room of the hospital for Marcus’ broken back. The one that smelt like flowers reminded her of her first time volunteering at the VA office. She and Marcus had only been dating for a couple of months. As part of getting to know him better, he invited her to see what he considered his safe haven. When he wasn’t dealing with police business, he would spend his Saturdays, encouraging other veterans who had been down on their luck. Ava would later find out that his dad was the reason why the place even existed. New York only had a few VA offices, but there was nothing like the one that stood on the corner of Baldwin Avenue and 2nd Street. 

   The one that she loved the most was the one that smelt like lemons. That one was his favorite. 

   “I could ask you the same question, Ava.” Sam said. She didn’t bother to stop cleaning. “Mariah called and said you didn’t want to come over for Thanksgiving dinner. She said something about you being sick. But knowing you like the back of hand, I knew that wasn’t true.”

  Ava laughed a little. She had totally forgotten about the little white lie she had mentioned to her friend earlier. Mariah Riggs, her best friend, was known for doing the most of the holidays. In fact, she’s so much into it that she basically starts all of her planning in the summer. The summer for Christ’s sake. “Well, I was sick, but after a little while I started feeling a bit better. It’s no big deal, I’ll call Mariah tonight and tell her the truth.”

   “Which one?” asked Sam. “The truth about you not being sick or the truth of the real reason why you continue to hate the holidays.” At this, Ava stopped her motion and turned to look at him. “Ava, I understand your reasoning, but you can’t keep—”

  “Sam, can we please not get into this? I really don’t have the energy.” 

He sighed. “Ava, avoiding the topic will only make it worse. You can’t keep burying yourself in this hole of hurt.”

   “I am fine, okay,” she spoke, her tone turning a bit harsh. “I just don’t understand why everyone is so concerned. Why is it a crime that I hate this time of year?”

  “Because when Marcus was alive you enjoyed it.” Her heart sank. Even though it was unspoken for the two of them, Ava didn’t like it when other people brought up the issue of her dead boyfriend. Usually, her reaction was cold and she was ready to fight the first person in sight. However, Sam never really brought it up before so she really did not how to react. She opened her mouth to speak, but he continued. “Marge told me that once upon a time, you were in love with the holidays. Now all you do is make any excuse to get out of anything festive just so you could stay locked up in your apartment. I can’t even get you say one good thing about the holidays.”

   Her green eyes begin to water. She cursed at herself for even allowing herself to feel any type of vulnerability. He continued, “You don’t think when I signed up to be your boyfriend that I wouldn’t be prepared for these moments. Babe, you and I are a team. You have to let me in. You can’t keep shutting me out.”

   He had a point, but Ava really didn’t want to admit that. However, the tears that streamed down her face said something else. The pair had been together for a little over a few months. And even though they seemed compatible, the thought of them getting closer scared Ava. If she was being honest, she was terrified when her heart started developing feelings for him. She was terrified when he asked out on a date. And she had been feeling this way for a hot second, but ironically, she was terrified of even bringing it up. 

   The silence stood in between for a moment. Sam stood in front her, his heart beating out of his chest. The longer she stood in silent, the more nerve wracking it became from him. The few months of dating Ava had its moments of challenges. But it also had its rewards. Even though she was tough, she had her moments to where she brought out the good in him believe it or not. And that was something that wasn’t easy. But she did it. And as someone who cared and loved her, he was willing to do whatever it took to do the same for her.

   “I-I am scared that one day, I’ll wake up and you won’t be there for me.” Ava spoke, finally popping the bubble of silence. “I am scared that if I let my guard down, life will take away from me. Just like it did for Marcus. Sam, I want to let you in — I really do, but I am just tired of—” 

      Her words were cut off by the touch of his soft lips on herself. He placed his hands onto her waist, pulling her a little closer to him. Ava didn’t remember exactly when it happened, but sudden her hands were wrapped around his neck. Even though he was a couple inches taller she didn't have to stand on her toes, the heels of her boots did that job for her. 

   When he pulled away from her, he looked into her eyes and spoke, “Ava, it's gonna take a hell of a lot more than just life to keep me away from you. I am not going anywhere.” 

“You say that, but what if—”

 “I am not going anywhere, Ava.”

“Okay, but —”

“I could do this all day, Ava. I am not going anywhere.”

    She rolled her eyes. As she pulled away from him, she wiped her face from her tears. Maybe life did have a way of giving back. And even though, life had gave her shit for her whole entire existence, maybe in some universal designed fate, life was giving her the gift of love again. And his name was Sam Wilson. 

  “Well, if that's the case then just know that since you are linking me to you forever, that doesn't mean I’ll go easy on you, Wilson.” she said. He shook his head and laughed. Maybe he was right? Letting him in couldn’t be such a bad idea. “I am known to be pretty grouchy in the mornings when I don’t have my coffee.”

  “Noted. That's why I stack up extra coffee beans back at my place.” he laughed. “I love you.” 

    She kissed his cheek. “I love you more.” He smiled at her. Before she could say anything, he walked over a table just across from them. She didn’t realize it earlier, but he had a big brown bag that he propped on the table.

    He placed the bag on the table that she finished cleaning. “So since you really didn’t get a chance to properly celebrate Thanksgivings, I figured I would bring a piece of it to you.” he said. He pulled out two plastic containers along with utensils. “Marge told me you like pumpkin pie, so I managed to get the last two pieces from that diner up the street.”

    She laughed. From that moment, she made a mental note to take the time out to thank Marge for the many facts that she managed to learn about her. “Marge knows me well.”

   “Happy Thanksgiving, Ava. Here’s to many more holidays together.”

    “Cheers to that.”

[torestoreamends]

Just the way you look tonight – a Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Fic

1.7k words, G rated

Scorpius will never forget watching his parents dance to his mum’s favourite song. So one night, when he catches his dad dancing alone, he asks if he can join in.

Inspired by this gorgeous art by @scorpiusdraco.

Read the fic on AO3

*

The record crackles into life and vibrant music croons through the ballroom. Scorpius immediately drops the toy he’s playing with and looks up. Music can only mean one thing – his parents are going to dance, and there’s nothing he loves more than watching them dance.

He watches enrapt as his mother waltzes across the room on her own, her skirt flaring out, hair flying. A broad grin stretches across her face and she closes her eyes. Lost in her own little world for a moment.

In the corner, his father is still reclining in his big, carved wooden throne. Although he hasn’t moved, Scorpius can see his gaze is completely focused on Astoria. The corners of his lips twitch up into a soft, soppy little smile. His fingers tap the arm of the chair in time to the music, the emerald facets of his rings glittering in the candlelight.

Halfway across the room, Astoria opens her eyes. She never stops dancing, but she fixes her eyes on Draco and stretches a hand out towards him.

“Come and dance with me, dear.”

Draco’s smile widens and he settles himself deeper into his chair. “But I’m quite content just watching you.”

Astoria switches her gaze to Scorpius. “Do you think Daddy should dance with me? Is he being lazy?”

Scorpius nods enthusiastically. “Yes, yes, yes! Dance, Daddy, dance!”

Draco sighs, but Scorpius can see that he’s only pretending to hesitate. “It’s been a very long day, and...”

Astoria twirls over, and takes his hand. “And... this is my favourite song. Come on.”

“Fine, but only because it’s your favourite.”

He lets her pull him to his feet and Scorpius applauds very briefly before clasping his hands together and falling silent to watch.

Draco settles a hand on Astoria’s waist, and she beams as she alights her hand gently on his shoulder. They turn their bodies in towards one another, resting their foreheads together.

The rest of the world might as well not matter to them. They’re gazing into each other’s eyes, and it’s the most amazing thing Scorpius has ever seen. Better than any book he’s ever read, or any picture he’s examined. So much love. Intense, focused, beautiful. Just knowing something like that exists in the world makes him feel safer and warmer.

He melts against the wall and hugs himself as he watches them. Feet moving in perfect rhythmic precision. Fingers twined together. At one point, Draco twirls Astoria round and dips her. She tightens her grip on his shoulder, but he lifts her smoothly back to her feet and starts to sing along to the music as they move off again.

His voice is deep, breathless from the dancing and a little off key, but Astoria doesn’t seem to care as she blushes and giggles.

“With each word your tenderness grows, Tearing my fear apart, And that laugh that wrinkles your nose, Touches my foolish heart...”

Scorpius gazes at his parents with stars in his eyes and a heart of molten gold, and he knows he’s going to remember this moment – this night, this song – forever.

*

Scorpius sneaks down the stairs, footsteps feather light, breath held, making for the door down to the kitchen. It’s almost midnight, which means it’s snack time. His dad doesn’t seem to be around, so mission Pepper Imp is a go.

As he tiptoes towards the ballroom, however, a record crackles into life that makes him stop in his tracks.

Some day, when I'm awfully low, When the world is cold, I will feel a glow, Just thinking of you, And the way you look tonight.

The door is open and golden light spills out into the hall. Scorpius had been planning to run straight past, but now he’s frozen in the doorway, staring.

His dad has a glass of wine in his hand and is dancing on his own. He holds his arms outstretched as if he’s waiting for someone to waltz into them, and he hums softly along with the music. As he dances and sings, he rotates on the spot. Scorpius knows he should move, that he’s not supposed to be out of bed and he’s definitely not supposed to be witnessing this, but he’s transfixed.

So when his dad turns to face him, he’s stuck on the spot, and all he can do is swallows give a cheerful little wave.

“Um... h-hi, Dad!”

Draco drops his arms and takes a sip of his wine. He never blushes, but there’s a hint of colour on his cheeks all of a sudden.

“I thought you were in bed.”

Scorpius gestures over his shoulder towards the kitchen. “I needed a snack.”

“I see.”

They look at each other, at an awkward stalemate. Scorpius knows he should leave his dad to it and go and get his Imps, but he can’t. He’s tethered in place by the song that’s wound its way through his heart and into his memories.

“This was Mum’s favourite song.” He steps cautiously into the room. “You used to dance to it together.”

Draco hesitates, then sets his wine glass down on the wooden seat of the throne he used to in. “I thought you might have been too young to remember that.”

Scorpius shakes his head. “No. No, I remember! You would dip her and make her laugh. And you were so... so in love.” He looks down at his hands, heart wilting. This is too dangerous a topic for midnight on a Tuesday, even if it is the Christmas holidays.

“Yes,” Draco says simply.

For a moment, Scorpius thinks that’s all he’s going to get, and he starts planning his escape to the kitchen. He might be needing more than just Pepper Imps to cope with this.

But then Draco draws in a breath and twists one of his rings round his finger. “She was a beautiful dancer, wasn’t she?”

Scorpius looks up and nods eagerly. “She was. You both were. I...” He dares another step into the room. “Dad? C-can I, um... can I dance? With you? Would you mind?”

His dad blinks at him. “You want to dance?”

Scorpius nods. “Yes please. If it’s alright...” He trails off as the music finishes, leaving behind crackling silence and the uplifting memory of a love song.

His dad walks away, over to the record player. Scorpius watches his retreating back, pin straight and impenetrable. It feels like a dismissal.

“Never mind,” he murmurs, stepping back. “It’s not important. I should probably go back to bed anyway. Sorry I interrupted.”

He turns to flee, straight back up the stairs to the safety of his room, but before he can move an inch further, the music hums back into life. The bright beat and brassy chords ring out through the ballroom as Draco turns on his heel with a swoosh of his robes and holds his hand out to Scorpius.

“I hope you can keep up.”

Scorpius doesn’t grin. He’s so surprised that his emotions haven’t caught up. While his brain knows his dad is offering him a dance, the pieces of his heart are still scattered somewhere out in the dark hallway.

His feet carry him across the room and he takes his dad’s hand.

“You’re an old man,” he hears himself say, “of course I can keep up.”

“We’ll see.”

And then he’s flying. His dad spins him round so fast that he’s not sure if he’s dancing or falling. The room is a kaleidoscope blur of light. A bubble of laughter carries over the music and he thinks it belongs to him.

When the spinning stops he clings to his dad for dear life so he doesn’t fall, and his dad grins at him. At some point Scorpius’s heart catches up, beating in time to the music, soaring with every step across the ballroom floor.

It’s been so long since they last danced that he’s amazed he can still remember the steps, but they’re there. His feet find their mark, his shoulders relax, he stops gripping his dad’s hand, and when he remembers to stop panicking and look up, he finds his dad beaming at him.

It’s the sort of bright, fond smile that Scorpius always assumed was reserved for Astoria, but here it is, directed at him. He’s briefly dazzled by it, like he’s looked right at the sun on a summer day. What it means, he has no idea. But it makes him feel...

It makes him feel like he did as a child, watching his parents dance. Safe and warm. Full up inside. Like his heart is a rich pool of molten gold.

His dad squeezes his hand and sings along with the music, in his pitchy, imprecise voice.

“Lovely... Never ever change, Keep that breathless charm, Won’t you please arrange it, Cause I love you, Just the way you look tonight.”

Scorpius can’t say why, but the fact that it’s such a mess, off key and rough around the edges, makes it better. Maybe because it’s his dad, and it’s real, and raw, and means something.

He clings to the dying moments of the song like he clung to the memory of his parents dancing. When the last note fades, he hesitates to let go of his dad, and his dad must feel the same, because all of a sudden Scorpius finds himself wrapped up in an enormous, tight hug.

“I love you,” Draco murmurs. “I hope you know that.”

Scorpius thinks of his dad beaming at him as they danced, and he finally understands. It’s overwhelming and amazing and he thinks his heart might burst from it. He buries his face in his dad’s chest and nods.

“Love you too,” he mumbles.

This time he can practically feel his dad smiling. His grip tightens around Scorpius and a contented sigh resonates through him. He ducks down and presses a kiss to the top of Scorpius’s head, as Scorpius closes his eyes and focuses on storing this memory forever too. Two matching snap shots of love. Side by side and connected by a dance, and a song that was once his mother’s favourite.

[smolbeandrabbles]

Beat This Summer - Nolan Sorrento x Reader (Ready Player One)

GIF CREDIT: X

@mandy23b​ @wltz-bby​ @happyskywhale​ #mendotagsquad

Nolan Sorrento + 47: “Dogs don’t wear clothes!” Requested by @mysticaltimemachinewench

Author’s Note: Okay, this one took a little time. And I was already thinking of a vacation premise with Nolan, then kinda worked the dogs into it - and then *bam* this one hit me-! Also while doing all my research it all kinda just fell into place and I couldn’t believe how perfectly. Please enjoy! 😁 @mendelskrull​ - Shoutout for your help around vacationing in Sorrento, I hope I did it justice! 

Beat This Summer - Brad Paisley

Disclaimer: RPO characters not mine / gif not mine / lyrics not mine / a teeny-tiny reference to Tron Legacy for those that haven’t seen it

Premise: While on a much needed vacation in Italy, Nolan Sorrento decides he’s the dog fashion police.

Words: 2746

Warnings: N/A - a slight sexual reference and he’s drinking.

_____ Like the Ferris wheel goes around and around Well the trouble with up is there's always a down First I'm holding your hand and we're on the boardwalk There's heaven right here on these streets and these docks But the sun keeps setting and the days go fast And the sand on the beach is like an hourglass And I can just feel it, I'm slipping away And babe, I can already say As long as I live, whatever I do As great as it is you know what's a bummer I ain't never gonna beat this summer with you Baby, it's true The taste in your kiss is so bittersweet I ain't gonna beat, no way I'm gonna beat this summer with you Maybe I know that it ain't over yet So let's make the most of what we have left But it's hard living for this moment we're in Knowing it's all gonna end Looking at you, girl, standing there, Got your wayfarer's on and the sun in your hair And just like the song in a seashell, you'll be stuck in mind Bouncing around in my head And baby, I can tell As long as I live, whatever I do Baby, it's true I ain't gonna beat, no way I'm gonna beat this summer with you

---

It won’t always be like this... you found yourself thinking as you sat there outside that little cafe. Even if you wished it could be. Even if part of you felt like you never wanted to leave. He would have to - you didn’t see them letting him run the company from here... and Nolan didn’t have anything with him to help him run the company. Besides a tablet - which he was allowed to check once a day for anything urgent and then you hid it away again.

 The holiday had been your suggestion. Nolan looked like he needed a break, in your opinion he also more than deserved it. He’d worked so hard for so long and neither of you had had a proper holiday for at least a year. In fact, a rather lasting memory for you was that he blew off the last vacation for something that IOI “urgently” needed him for and you had to go alone. Even though you were away and relaxing, it was one of your worst weeks. This time, no wasn’t an option. Nolan Sorrento was coming on holiday with you and unwinding, even if he complained the whole time; and what better place to go than Italy. Sorrento, Italy, of course! You could only assume that given the namesake his ancestral lineage would trace back here. Nolan didn’t complain even once - he didn’t even roll his eyes when you suggested it as a place to go. He’d been once before, but not with you, and he’d been younger then. Before everything in the world had turned fairly dystopian. Sorrento was still fairly untouched by that though; still a popular tourist destination (for those that could afford such things). There were the occasional VR headsets, but you hadn’t seen one IOI advert. Life was better here - another reason why you thought Nolan might be acting more settled. You made the note in the back of your head that maybe moving to Europe would be a good plan, in future, even if you had to wait until he retired and IOI were using him as a chairman (bonus if he looked a little like Alan in Tron Legacy. You could visualise that; wondering for a second what Nolan would look like with glasses).

 You’d had a really fantastic holiday so far, and you still had a few days left... but you were already worried about it ending. Sad that he’d soon enough be slipping back into a suit at some ungodly hour in the morning and kissing you goodbye until just as ridiculously late in the evening. That made you more determined to sit and enjoy it while you could. And whilst you sat here staring at him this morning sipping coffee and red wine (Yes. Really. - but of course your wine connoisseur was going to do such a thing ‘My dear! This is Italy!’ and you teasing back, with what you had learned about the city you were visiting ‘But then surely you should be sipping limoncello?!’, ending with Nolan giving you a sharp look), you couldn’t help but reminisce your holiday.

It hadn’t all been picturesque squares and coastline – although the Amalfi coast was known for that – in Sorrento itself you’d had the opportunity to visit small museums (art and archaeological), pretty churches and colonnades, go down to the bay and marina to sit and watch the boats sail in and out across the sea, probably about every ice cream parlour that Nolan would allow you to drag him into, and quaint shopping streets, including market day – a tradition not broken by the state of the world and maybe one of your favourite days so far. Of course you hadn’t missed the opportunity to watch Limoncello being produced and the reason Nolan had probably given you such a look was because you continued to make the same joke every time he ordered wine instead – despite his insistence that wine from Campania was still fantastic. Outside of the city you’d been able to get a little more cultural; Naples, Pompeii, Vesuvius where you could both wax lyrical about ancient history together – a mutual interest - and Sorrento was also near a quiet marine reserve with stunning views of its own. And as if all that wasn’t enough on its own, he’d also whisked you across the water to the ever popular island of Capri. You felt a million miles from what you were used to in Columbus; it couldn’t have been any wonder why you wanted to stay here.

 You were only slightly snapped back to reality by the waiter coming to check on things; you use the word slightly because, although it had taken you out of your daydreams, Nolan was now speaking Italian. And you were fast discovering there was no better sound in the universe - you didn’t think you’d ever been so besotted with something so completely in your life. You were talking full on heart eyes. You didn’t understand much of it, but it just sounded so good with that voice of his. You shuddered slightly in delight and you could tell he’d caught it from the corner of his eye because Nolan smirked - even if his full attention was on the back and forth banter. More than once you’d thought about being brave enough to ask him to use it in far more intimate situations. Maybe tonight. Tonight you were going to the best drinks terrace in the city to watch the sunset - Nolan’s words, still after everywhere he’d taken you so far, you’d believe him - yet you’re craving of it would have to wait, even though he’d would continue using Italian all day. The café you were sitting in was on Plaza Tasso, lined with little places like this you weren’t sure how Nolan managed to determine that this was also the best one. Perhaps because he’d been before; but he probably wasn’t far wrong. In the late morning sun, you were sure that this was about to drift its way into early lunch as Nolan hadn’t had an inkling of giving you a rundown of his planned day. He had no inclination to move right now either and leant back in his chair for a minute with a smile. He'd looked good all holiday, but there was something about him in the sun right now; in a nice button up shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and shorts – Nolan’s shades were back in his hair and the constant bright weather has turned it a beautiful silver grey. You would also attribute the sun today to how dazzling the blue in his eyes looked and, as a further blessing that was only making you sit and swoon harder, his freckles were out… ‘Oh god… oh my god… he’s so beautiful!’ You were sitting to the table leaning on your hands and hanging onto every word he said, even when you didn’t understand the language. Until Nolan turned those eyes on you, biting his lip as he smiled and traced his gaze over you – telling you how great you looked today. Your face was heating up and that, in particular, had nothing to do with the hot sunshine, you were beaming so much your face was aching, and he knew it. So Nolan spent his time trying to make you smile more, and laugh more, to the point where you were forced to cover your face and yet that only made him turn up the sweet talk. “Please… Nolan! A girl can only take so much.” “Uh huh…” He grinned with a little wink, “And yet,” Nolan indicated around him, “In a city as beautiful as this, it’s clear to me that the most stunning sight is right in front of me.” “NOLAN!!” You could only imagine the shade of red you were turning. “Aw, come now, Y/N, don’t deny it.” You would; you were never one for taking compliments without hiding behind your hands. Nolan at best would deflect them with a bashful smile, but usually gave you a look that told you to please carry on. Today Nolan was content on giving them, he was receiving enough just from the looks you were giving him. He would revel in that attention; and couldn’t help but be a little smug about it. You were content to sit in silence and stare at him; but Nolan did eventually get to telling you about what he was thinking your day would entail – with the promise of that terrace this evening though, it was certainly going to be a more relaxing day. You were ready for that and would have been content to stay with him in bed all day – you weren’t going to complain though when he was a vision in sunlight. Sweet talk and small talk persisted as you continued to sip your drinks, and soon enough the table was filled with empty glasses and cups, and Nolan was asking for the lunch menu. No, moving on was happening no time soon – and you were still enamoured with each other. Just about the time you started thinking that though, Nolan’s eyeline moved from you to just behind, and he raised an eyebrow. You probably wouldn’t have noticed, if his coffee cup hadn’t been half way to his lips – now frozen. “What?” You looked in the direction he was staring but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Nolan had other ideas. “Hold on. What!?” You watched his eyes follow a woman and a dog and wondered why he looked so incensed. To you she looked like a typical Italian woman, dressed well – maybe a little too well to be walking through town with a dog, but each to their own – with a dog walking obediently on a lead. Nolan’s voice very nearly pitched; "No! That’s not right-! What is going on-!!?” You raised an eyebrow at him and then looked back; the dog itself was also dressed: dress shirt, waistcoat, bow tie. And you leant on your hand again with a smile; “Aww!! It’s so cute!” Nolan immediately snorted, “NO it’s not-! Dogs don’t wear clothes-!” Oh, that was his problem-!? It was making you think back to when you were younger and the dog you used to have, he had many outfits that you loved to dress him up in: from the cute, to sophisticated, to absolutely hysterical. They were fond memories, and you found yourself smiling as you reminisced; “When I was growing up I had a dog: we used to dress him up and it was so sweet!” You saw Nolan cringe out of the corner of your eye and you wondered if he was cringing at the scenario in front of him, or the fact that he’d said such a thing and with your anecdote he’d probably felt as if he’d screwed up big time. You wouldn’t hold it against him, but maybe you wouldn’t tell him that for a while – and you’d let him stew with the embarrassment. He cleared his throat, sliding his shades down over his eyes so you didn’t catch them emoting; “If you say so…” “I do-! It’s just a fine-looking lady with a handsome dog-! What’s wrong with that-!? Who made you the killjoy police?! Or are you the fashion police?” “I think I lost fashion police status a little while ago.” “Or you’re a rookie.” You thought on it, “The suits are sharp. Your intern days… ehhhhh… But I’ll forgive you, everyone has a glow up no matter how late.” He tried to keep a straight face but gave in and chuckled, “Thanks-!” Your eyes were drawn to the sound of barking from the other side of the plaza, and you realised that this dressed dog was not alone. In fact there were many well-dressed Italians walking well-dressed dogs; in suits and pretty dresses – a fashion show? For dogs? Surely not! Suddenly you gasped, realising that they were all heading out of the church. A wedding procession! Your hand went to your mouth, because there was no way you were letting Nolan realise how much you were smiling at that. “Oh my god…” He murmured, realising. All the guests and their dogs were dressed beautifully that much was true, but the bride and groom looked flawless. And, as you might expect, their dogs were in a matching dress and suit. You wouldn’t be surprised if they were essentially the best man and flower girl. But the matching really got you – and the whole idea was wonderful. The guests had been allowed to bring their dogs; and had dressed them appropriately. And with the sun shining down on them today, the wedding party looked glorious – they were all so happy and smiling. And the bride and groom looked so in love. You immediately looked over to your partner, pleased to see this hadn’t gone unnoticed, and despite his protest to the dressed dogs, there was a little smile on his face. Small it might have been, but significant. Nolan recognised the way they were looking at each other to be similar to the way you had both been flirting over these drinks. You wondered if he thought about the possibility of marriage as often as you did. If Nolan was even that traditional… and his smile only broadened as you continued to stare across at him. “You’re missing the pictures you know!” He grinned, still watching the square. “Yes…” You mused, “But, part of me wishes I could take pictures of this.” He laughed, shaking his head, and you saw that small bashful smile he tried to hide;  “Uh huh…” You looked back to the dogs again, how cute and happy they looked, feeding off every owners energy – as if they also knew the significance of the day. “But Nolan don’t they look so CUTE!! They’re all dressed so well-!” Nolan picked up his wine glass and took a sip, making you wonder if he really needed a drink for this. He didn’t agree with you, instead he looked across to you – and even behind those shades you knew exactly the look in his eyes. “Don’t get ANY ideas-!!!” You immediately straightened in your chair, attentive to his sentence and its implications; “Are you gonna propose?!” He scoffed, folding his arms to immediately shut your excitement down before it became uncontrollable; “Hell nah! If I was gonna do that I would have done it on the way to Capri!” Ah-! Yes; not only was Capri really beautiful, but Nolan insisted that instead of taking you over on a private boat (you were surprised), you had to go over on a tourist boat. As you had continued to sail towards the island however you realised why, as Nolan took your hand and you found yourselves sailing under a rock formation shaped like a heart. If you didn’t think that was pretty and romantic enough; your guide was not opposed to cranking up the love songs – and then apparently as tradition, all the couples onboard kissed. Which of course Nolan knew, so when the romantic music started and you got a little confused you only had to look to that smirk on his face to know he’d planned this one out too. For the record it was a good kiss, and he held your hand tight, unopposed to stealing more than one. Now he mentioned it, the heart grotto would have been a pretty ideal place to propose to someone. Nolan pressed his fingers to his lips; “Oh god, would that be too cliché?!” Your eyes were wide just thinking on the prospect and the way he now seemed to be in too much denial; “Boy! Say sike! You’re gonna propose!” He totally was, he had to be. Nolan pushed his shades back and turned his gorgeous blue eyes on you. This time he was firm; “No! I’m not! I’m not! Stop it! If that’s what you want, you’ll be disappointed.” You sighed gently, accepting that that wasn’t to be your fate on this holiday, but maybe soon. It was after all a not now, rather than a dead set against it. As you settled down once more to watch the dogs in the wedding party with that pretty, absentminded smile Nolan was only watching you. With a gentle smile of his own; One day I will... darling... I promise you, that will be us, one day...

---

10/16! More than half way! Home Stretch time!! Thank you for reading!!! 💜💙

[gloves94]

To Be So Lonely [Draco Malfoy] 28

Rating: M Pairings: Draco Malfoy/OC Chapter warnings: Drug use! SuicideMentions! SlightGore! Violence! Death! Depression!

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

MY MASTER-LIST

The dull oatmeal might as well have been sawmill dust. It was just one of those days that felt duller than the last. Lately for Nel it had kind of been like that. She shot a woeful look at the empty seats across from her where Tracey would usually be joking around and Daphne talking about her latest work of art. Letting out an exhausted sigh, she turned her attention to The Daily Prophet which was next to her breakfast. She didn’t care much for the articles but attempted to keep her mind busy from the fact both her best friends weren’t speaking to her and the horrible holiday she would have to spend with her cruel guardian, Cloelia Lestrange, and her psychotic adoptive brother.

“This has to stop,” A voice interrupted. Nel looked up to see Theodore quickly sit in front of her. He looked over his shoulder making sure his girlfriend wasn’t around to witness him threading with the ‘enemy.’ “Nel, this is absurd, just apologize for whatever you did and make up with Daphne and Trace. I can’t be looking over my shoulder like this every time I talk to you.”

For somebody who knew a lot about everything, Theodore didn’t know much about people.

“You know Daphne is upset because of what you did and well, I think Tracey is just hurt,” He expanded.

Her dark eyes fixed on him with no expression. Theo was acting worse than the girls. He was acting like a two-faced bitch. Sneaking around when interacting with the orphan girl so he wouldn’t upset Daphne. Nel didn’t know what was worse his cowardness or his willingness to do anything for his girlfriend. She secretly prayed never to be that pathetically whipped.

It was then that the rest of the Slytherin’s arrived and Theodore scampered away to take a seat with them. To make matter’s worse Pansy’s loud laughter and cheerier attitude at the new company she kept was the cherry on top. Part of the reason she didn’t want to speak to them was – yes, because of the whole telling Dumbledore her story, but the other half of it… The Dark Lord wanted to kill her. He had placed a bounty on her head. The Lestranges knew it, so did Mr. Malfoy, she eyed her friends from a distance. This time her gaze shifting into a suspicious one. Just how much did they really know? How much had they overheard during dinners with their families? Eyes moving across the room she looked at the Headmaster who seemed distracted in a hearty conversation. Dumbledore’s façade of being a kind, sweet, twinkly eyed, old man became more corrupt as time passed by and she saw the ugliness in him. He definitely knew. There was absolutely no way he didn’t.

Looking all the way across the Great Hall she saw the Gryffindor table. The House she initially wished she had been sorted into. She could see Harry half away struggling to keep his eyes open spilling some pumpkin juice on his uniform. Hermione lecturing from a thick book and Ron trying to help Harry stay awake. They were her friends, too right? They were nice to her, so were some of the other Weasleys. But what if they didn’t really like her? What if they only talked to her because they felt sorry for her? Anxiety pricked at her and her insecurities. They hadn’t spoken in a while, maybe they hated her too. Elowen was so engrossed in her own dark cloud of anxious thought that she didn’t realize the second boy that noticed the anxious look on her face from across the room and decided to join her for breakfast this morning taking a seat across from her.

He sat down confidently with an easy smile resting his elbows on the table and greeted her. “What are you doing?” She asked wide-eyed and surprised self-consciously turning to see the dozens of prying eyes that were staring at the two. “Everyone can see us!” She asked wide-eyed.

“Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?” Cedric let out a charming laugh. She looked greatly frustrated at his unannounced appearance. They were supposed to keep their partnership down and under the wraps, it simply made everything less complicated. “We haven’t discussed the Third Task yet. What are we going to do?” He leaned forward with interest, his elbows resting on the table.

“I haven’t really thought about it,” She admitted sincerely. “I haven’t really thought about anything lately,” She said miserably slumping her head on one of her palms. She hadn’t even been in the mood to have any sweets she might encounter. For some reason there had been a lot of pear tarts around her as of the late. However, she didn’t fancy them.

“You don’t look too excited,” He noted observing her obviously upset demeanor. She neither agreed nor disagreed with his statement. “Say, what do you want to be when you grow up?” He tried shifting the subject. “A menace to society,” Nel droned out numbly. Cedric couldn’t help but laugh, “You know, I’m going to be Ministry of Magic one day,” He boasted with pride. Being in a foul mood Nel fought the urge to roll her eyes of course the golden boy wanted to be Ministry of Magic. How could she have forgotten that?

She didn’t even hear what he said after that. Somehow the conversation quickly shifted back to the Tri-Wizard Tournament and the Third Task. “Meet me at the Room of Requirement tonight, I’ll see you there after prefect duty,” he leaned forward and whispered before leaving.

The school year was near its end. It was almost the Tri-Wizard tournament so the two really had to get cracking to find out what they were going up against and properly strategize. That meant Nel also had only a few weeks to make up with her friends. Turning her head, she hoped to meet Tracey’s brown eyes from across the dining table however, the Quidditch player seemed more focused on whatever Millicent was gossiping about.

Nel thought she hadn’t done anything wrong, she was sure, more than certain about it. She even hadn’t gone out of her way to make some elaborate plan for vengeance yet, despite this she felt the need to apologize. Even Theodore had advised her to apologize, but for what? She hadn’t done anything wrong. What would she apologize for? For not wanting to come forward to Dumbledore in fear of retaliation from the Lestrange family? For lying to the Headmaster? If anything they had done her wrong. They had gone and babbled her story. It was hard, but she had to remind herself she wasn’t the antagonist in this situation.

Once again looking forward across the room her eyes accidentally met an icy pair this time. She looked away quickly, if she had moved any faster her neck would’ve probably snapped. Suddenly, she couldn’t be in the same room as her attacker any longer. Quickly picking up her belongings she rushed to her first class of the day.  

She rushed out of the Great Hall and was about to reach the stairs when a handheld her back, the grip stern, not gentle or too harsh. She already knew who it was.

“Hello Elowen,” She was pulled back and cornered trapped in between a body and the wall with a stretched arm. Keeping her eyes down her jaw clenched when she saw the bottom of a Beauxbaton eggshell blue uniform pants. Impulsively she pushed past him and tried to walk away but the long boy didn’t flinch at her violent shove.

“I want to speak to you,” He spoke in a smooth voice cornering her further into the small space he had created in between the wall. “I want to give you something.” He spoke suspiciously scratching the tip of his nose, no doubt from having been snorting dragonpuffs.

It was the type of interaction which was downright ugly. Snape had already confirmed the girl’s worst fears. Ellar was planning something vile. So was his mother. Now all she needed to do was prove it. Prove it and find a way to escape going to their home this summer. She knew the moment she crossed the door she was as good as dead, and there was nothing she could do about it. “Stay away from me!” She spat once again attempting to rush past him. “Elowen come on,” Again, he spoke in an unstrained and eerily calm voice. “I’m late for class,” She snapped ignoring him. “History of Magic can wait,” He said senselessly. Nel tried to catch the eye of anybody passing by. She hoped someone would see and help her get out of this trap. “How do you expect me to talk to you after everything you’ve done to me?”

“Everything I’ve done?” He let out a cool laugh. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” He ran a hand through his shinny dark hair. “No ide-“ She coughed incredulously eyes widening in disbelief at what she was hearing. “You forced yourself on me, pushed me into the lake and tried to drown me!” She exclaimed, voice breaking at the admission. “You’re imagining things,” He didn’t bat an eyelash. “I didn’t do that,” He lied with terrifying ease.

“Yes, you did!” She spat back in a firm voice.

“You must be confused,” His eyes narrowed, and he looked at her as if she was the one acting insane. “We went down there just to talk, we started dancing-“ “Against my will,” She interrupted. He didn’t stop his manipulative narrative. “You fell in and I tried to get you out. In a moment of rush, I can understand how that can get confusing,” He smiled at her and even had the audacity to flick her nose in a playful manner. “Here, I got you something,” He said pulling up a small brown pastry box with a pear tart inside. She smacked his hand and the stupid tart away making it fall to the floor and looked at him furiously.   “You could’ve killed me!” “Elowen,” He shook his head, ignoring the pastry she had rejected or her livid expression. She hated the way he said her name stretching it out like a long drawl he was too lazy to properly pronounce. “Stop twisting things,” He clicked his tongue remaining composed. “Do you hear yourself talk? I didn’t do that. You need help,” He let out a chilling laugh as he gaslight the hell out of the Fourth-Year girl.

She knew he was lying, but why did he sound so certain? There was no way somebody had used a Polyjuice potion to imitate him. There was no  absolute way he had someone posing as him at Hogwarts. No way he was telling the truth. So, if she knew he was lying why did she find herself doubting her own memory? “And even then, it’s your fault for going down to the docks and falling in the water.”

“I didn’t fall-“ She stammered, deciding to stick to the facts she knew. “You pushed me.”

He flashed her an irritated look as if he couldn’t believe what she was saying. Elowen was beginning to question herself. Was she actually imagining things?

The hallway was now empty and Nel was officially late for class. “Don’t be unhappy,” He lifted her chin up with a finger and she jerked her head away not wanting to meet his eyes. “Watch the Third Task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament with me.” This time she looked at him in the eye. “No. This is the last time I ask you. Leave me alone,” she warned him before giving him a hearty shove that made him stagger back on his feet. Ellar stood back racking his brain for any idea to once again seize an emotional grip of control over the girl. He had really messed up at the Yule Ball. He should’ve sucked it up and strung her along for the rest of the year. How could he get her to stop walking away from him? To once again succumb to his will and squeeze her under his thumb. He needed her to attend the Third Task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament with him. After all, it was all part of the plan. “I just asked you to go steady and you walk away from me?” He followed. To be clear he didn’t ask, it was just another of his demands. “Nobody’s going to want to go with you just like nobody wanted to go with you to the Yule Ball,” He didn’t stop there when she realized the brunette continued to ignore his calls. “And Malfoy?” He let a rueful laugh aiming for where he knew it would hurt. The mentioning of her friend’s name brought her to a sudden halt. Ears automatically perking at the mention of his surname. “You think he’d ever be interested in a nobody like you? An orphan girl with no past, present or future?” He laughed, this time cruelly. “Please, Elowen, he’s only toying with you,” He said rounding around her his hand touching her back and caressing around her arm and shoulder. “But you already knew that didn’t you?”

She didn’t want to think about that… “Then again, he did strike me like a muggle. That brute. Perhaps, vulgar really is his style,” he chuckled. She smacked his arm away from her body and held her books closer to her body as she shrunk her shoulders forward. He side stepped around her this time and stood in front of her blocking her way. She continued to shrink under his intense gaze.

“You’re not pretty, you’re not smart, not even darling or graceful in any way shape or form without an ounce of elegance-“ “I already told you to stay away from me,” Her jaw was beginning to hurt from clenching it so tightly. Eyes beginning to sting. Why wouldn’t he leave her alone? Why did he have to be so cruel? Why couldn’t she see past the fear and find the strength to attack him with all of her bloody rage? “Who told you to say that?” He spoke in a low voice. “Your friends? The ones who don’t even like you?”

She was at a loss of words.

“They don’t know what’ good for you,” He paused. “But I do,” he insisted. His voice dripping like a bittersweet honey, the type that lingers in flytraps ready to capture an innocent passing by fly. How can someone be so damn fucking twisted? Who did this guy think he was?

“God, Ellar, you’re such a-“ She couldn’t even manage to get the word out. “You’re such a-“ As much as she pondered on picking the perfect word only one word came to mind. Ellar didn’t have a moment to react little by little a headache he had been feeling evolved into a migraine as his head began to swell and grow larger and larger until it inflated into large balloon. “You’re such a fat head!” She stomped her foot down and whipping her wand out of the inside of her sleeve zapped his back as he scurried away spitting out a trail of curses. His small body tipping from side to side as he struggled to keep his bobble head up. She would have to deal with whatever his mother would do to her over the holiday when the time came. Frustrated she wiped the one tear that had managed to escape.  

“Nel?”

‘Oh Merlin, really? Now what?’ Spinning on her heel she turned to face Harry Potter with her wand still held high and up. “Are you alright?” He asked with a confused look on his face. Shouldn’t he be in History of Magic? “Oh, er- yeah,” She lied wiping at the tip of her nose and slid her pale wand up her sleeve. “Was he bugging you?” By now Harry knew that Saintday kept these types of things to herself. The abuse, the bullying- He understood why, probably better than anybody else at Hogwarts and decided not to press about it today. However, things like this he couldn’t ignore. His green eyes remained looking in the direction in which Ellar had turned and vanished into. “I took care of him already,” She muttered looking down at her cheap black shoes. Suddenly she didn’t feel like going to class anymore.

“Are you sure you’re alright? Really?” Harry pressed. Why couldn’t she confide in him? Why didn’t she really trust him? She would rather be alone that reach out to him, Fred, George or anyone really. Of course, he had noticed the girl’s aloofness as of the late and what was that whole thing in the morning? Cedric Diggory having a word with her. “I think the question is, how are you Harry? I’m sure dealing with the Tri-Wizard Tournament has been bad enough as it is. Tell me,” She crossed her arms and approached him immediately switching the topic of conversation with ease. “What are you going to do with all that fame and glory?” She arched an eyebrow somewhat still bitter that Harry was allowed to enter the tournament and she hadn’t been. Harry frowned at her comment. He couldn’t tell if she was being spiteful or not. “I don’t care for either,” The Boy Who Lived admitted humbly.   Funny, considering it would be something The Girl Who Died would kill for.

“Hm,” She pondered on that thought wishing she could be Harry. She didn’t know if to take him for a fool or appreciate his humility. “Are you sure you’re okay?” She teased cracking a false smile. Harry saw right through it. “You know,” He began. “We should go to Hogsmeade someday. As friends. I know you’re banned from the Three Broomsticks, but there’s other stuff to do. We can go to Zonko’s? Or Honeyduke’s?” He offered with a casual shrug.

So, Harry actually was her friend. She felt rather foolish for forgetting but with the Slytherin-Gryffindor rivalry and clouds of anxious thoughts it was easy to forget. “Hogsmeade sounds nice,” She smiled at him sincerely. Harry was about to respond when someone bumped into his back shoving him forward. Irritated he turned to see Malfoy swaggering down the steps standing next to him shooting daggers at him. His eyes seemed to shout, ‘Shove it!’ Without acknowledging Potter, Draco turned to look at the girl. Harry returned the death stare.

“I’ll-uh, see you later Harry,” Nel broke the tense silence between the three bidding the Gryffindor goodbye subtly asking him for some space. “Yeah,” Harry looked between them. “Maybe at Hogsmeade,” He said purposely knowing it would irritate Malfoy to no end. He waved at her before walking away in the direction of Professor Moody’s classroom.

“Hogsmeade?” Draco exclaimed. “I heard you were with bad company, but Potter? Out of all people,” He combed his hair away from his forehead and shook his head. “And you’re going to Hogsmeade with him?”

She didn’t answer and kept her arms crossed looking at him with an irritated expression. They were just going as friends but that was none of his business.

“I’ve been with worse company,” She shot at him remembering that the time the two had attended together.

Ouch.

Despite the jab he let out a throaty chuckle. “Aren’t you supposed to be in class?” He asked. “Aren’t you supposed to be in class?” She shot back irritated that her hostile comment hadn’t made him upset. “Seems hardly fair you get to skip while the rest of us have to deal with Binns incessant rambling?”

Touché. “What is it to you if I’m in class or not?” She sighed pessimistically before walking away towards the Slytherin dormitory. The morning had been way too long. She didn’t want to think about anything Ellar had said to her. The thought of crawling into bed and laying in a fetal position underneath the covers passing the day by doing nothing was very tempting. “Davis and Greengrass still giving you a hard time?” He changed the topic both of his eyebrows knitting, the edges of his mouth pulling down in a frown. He sounded genuinely concerned, but then again- did he really care? She wanted to block him out of her head, but Ellar’s hurtful words sounded back like an echo: “He’s only toying with you.” She remained quiet her answer was her silence.

“I’m waiting,” the blonde said impatiently.  

Exasperated she didn’t mean to explode but she did. “What’s there to say?” She paced around the corridor walking back to him. “My best friends won’t even look at me- I get harassed by Lestrange first thing in the morning and now!” She didn’t’ mean to raise her voice. “Now youwon’t let me skip the most boring class at Hogwarts!”

“It’s not even noon and I just want today to be over with! I just want to lay down and die,” She shouted frustrated.

It took her a moment to compose herself from her loud tantrum and depressive statement. “Are you done?” He cocked an eyebrow up.

She felt her blood begin to boil. Why was he invalidating her emotions like that? She was about to push him away just like she had done to Ellar, like she did to everyone when he interrupted her in a surprisingly cool tone.

“I’ll take care of it,” He said cooly trying to reassure the girl. She was more than perplexed by his statement. Taken aback she looked at him oddly. Just what did he mean by that? “Just like I took care of Lestrange.” “Huh?” Slowly she could feel her anger begin to melt away. A mischievous smile grew on his face before he began to walk away. Purposely leaving her to wonder just what he had done.

“Draco?” She asked in awe. “What did you do?”

“Wouldn’t you love to know,” he let out a low laugh and walked away leaving a very confused Slytherin girl behind.

Xxx

Nel never apologized to Tracey or to Daphne. She knew that sometimes it was best to yield and bend a knee in these types of circumstances. However, this time she would not apologize. It was her story and they had taken that away from her.

It didn’t help that since she had been seen with Ellar that day some of the Slytherin girls began to call her nasty synonyms like victim, tease, and attention-seeker, slut was also on that list.

She tried not to let it bother her. Words hurt, even if she had sworn she didn’t care what anybody else thought. Not that any of them would ever say it to her face considering how scared they all were of her.

It was nearly the end of the year. After having spent all morning long packing her belongings and getting ready to return to her guardian, something which she had been terribly dreading, Nel decided to head to the Great Hall to have a late breakfast alone before going to the greenhouse to spend the rest of the day with Nathair. It wasn’t like she had much interest in bidding goodbye to anybody else. Maybe to Professor Snape and a few others, but it wasn’t urgent. Besides, everybody and their mother would be viewing the last task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

“Saintday!” A voice interrupted her alone time and her meal. “There you are the tournament is about to begin!” It was Professor Moody. It looked like he had been running around the castle. For some reason he looked more agitated than per usual.

“So?” She shot back rudely. Not caring if her attitude caused her some lost points for Slytherin or landed her in some detention. At this point she was beyond that.

“All students must attend the tournament,” He repeated again. The edge of his mouth twitching oddly. His eye unnervingly shaking as it focused on her deep frown. “That’s not true,” She mumbled taking a mouthful of cereal. “Professor Snape said I could stay in the castle,” She lied.

Not to mention the fact she was also avoiding bidding Cedric and Harry good luck. Not because she didn’t wish it upon them, but because she really didn’t know what to say to either of them. Sometimes words were, well, hard. “No students are allowed in the castle without supervision. Tournament now,” He leaned down to try and meet her eyes, but she ignored him. Before she knew it, he had aggressively lifted her by the arm and dragged her out of the empty Great Hall. The cereal spoon she had in her mouth dropping halfway as the two made way to the arena.

“Get your hands off me,” She whipped her arm back to her person. By now she had an idea that the retired Auror had more than unconventional, perhaps even unorthodox methods of teaching, but she drew the line when it came to physical boundaries.

He led her all the way to the arena and all the way there he complained about ungrateful, slimy orphans, or something amongst those lines. Arriving to the arena she realized that it was actually the Quidditch pitch which had been modified to resemble a massive auditorium with tall stands so that everyone could see the tournament. It seemed like the Third Task had not been what her and Cedric had been imagining. It was a massive maze of hedges that were at least 20 foot high. The maze was filled with dangers and traps and in the middle from the distance one could see a bright celestial glow – the Triwizard cup. The first to reach it would be the winner of the tournament. This was it – the moment her and Cedric had been waiting for all year.

It seemed like the Third Task hadn’t started yet.

She sat far away from everyone on Ravenclaws’ side. The students didn’t seem to mind her presence. Cedric’s girlfriend Cho was in the group and the two shared a friendly wave. Distracted by this, she didn’t notice the Slytherins watching her from the distance.

She sat in the top corner towards the end where she could hopefully be invisible for the time being. Little by little she was starting to understand Professor Snape more and more. She understood his aloofness, why he dressed and acted like a wet bat, always trying to camouflage every day. She looked at him from across the pitch, he was sitting with the Headmaster and other professors in a private box. “If we were up any higher, we’d have nosebleeds,” a voice interrupted her wish of being aloneand train of thoughts. Sulking Simon, she acknowledged the ghost boy. Maybe his company was more than appropriate.

“We?” She asked. “Simon, you don’t bleed,” She let out a humorous snort. Everything was fine until the ghost began ranting, moaning and sulking about his status as a lost soul in this cruel and very dull world. “I mean, I don’t even like Quidditch that much, and I’m stuck here. It makes me want to dieall over again.” Avoiding him, really not feeling charitable enough to help a poor soul cross to the other side Nel walked down the stands and instead took a seat next to a blonde girl that had a dazed look on her face and was eyeing a bird that was flying over the arena. She didn’t pay much mind to the bird. She was just grateful this girl didn’t talk. She sat pretending not to hear Simon calling at her from the highest stands in the seating area.

“Saintday,” Malfoy who had been watching her from the distance approached her. “Malfoy,” the other greeted emotionlessly. “Why on Earth are you sitting with the Ravenclaws?” He half sneered looking at his surroundings with disdain.

Nel shrugged. She just wanted to be alone. She was mourning her last hours of freedom before she had to return to La Maison de Lestrange. She also didn’t feel like sitting together with the Slytherins. What was the point? Why would she put herself through the martyrdom of attempting to capture her friend’s attention through pleading looks of pity?

“Come on,” Draco tossed his head back cooly.

“No, I think I’m okay, I’ll just sit here and cheer,” she said in the most uncheerful tone hoping he would go away, and she could simply return to her silence.

“It’s because of them, isn’t it?” He realized looking back at her friends.

Before Elowen had a chance to answer Malfoy grumbled a mysterious “I’ll be back,” before leaving.

Once he was gone, Nel let out a heavy sigh. She wasn’t expecting him to be back any time soon. And finally, it was silent. Nobody would speak to her. All she had to do was sit tight, watch the task and hope that Cedric came in first place.

“You know, it’s bad luck to see nightjars in the daylight,” The girl sitting next to her spoke in a soft voice. Nel ignored her hoping she would stop talking or go away. She didn’t.

“They’re an omen of death.” She continued with an eerie soothing tone that contrasted her morbid statement. Looking at her closely she realized who it was.

Great – Out of all people she had to end up sitting next to Looney Lovegood. Momentarily distraught, she didn’t feel the presence creep up behind her.

“Hello, Elowen,” The silky voice made her body turn stiff. With an abrupt flinch she slapped the owner of the voice by swatting her arm over her shoulder. She didn’t stop to see his reaction simply stood up and walked away.

“I’m glad you made it,” Ellar said strained trying to keep his temper in check, rubbing his wounded nose. He snorted and sniffed right afterwards cleaning his nostrils from any leftover substance.

“Bloody fuggin hell,” She exclaimed vulgarly her temper leaping from zero to hundred. “Merlin,” She growled out pulling out at the roots of her hair in stress. “Leave me alone!”

God all she wanted to do was be alone and stay alone in the stupid castle and marinate in the misery and little time that was left of her few hours of freedom. She noticed Moody standing near the exit of the stands. He had witnessed the entire interaction and hadn’t even flinched. Why hadn’t he come and jinxed Lestrange just like he had done to Malfoy earlier in the year? Frustrated she decided to head the opposite way, descending down the stairs of the stands heading down underneath them.

Walking underneath the stands she followed the trail which led to the Champion’s Tent. However, hearing a creak she stopped and turned, but didn’t see anyone behind.

It was suspicious. “Where are you going?” Simon suddenly appeared levitating besides her. “Away,” She grumbled pessimistically. “You know the champions’ tent is on the other side, right?” There was no use in avoiding it, but maybe there was just no going around it. She’d have to face Cedric and Harry eventually. “Thanks,” She said shortly, not lengthening the conversation but not dismissing him either.  She walked a long way, he hovered slightly behind. Once outside of the champions’ tent she assumed the participants were probably being interviewed by the media and preparing for the task.

She stood outside anxiously fidgeting for a moment and took a huge breath.

“You know it’s for champions only, right?” Simon said. “rules are for fools,” She scoffed self-importantly suddenly feeling some of the nervousness melt away as she pushed the tarp away and stepped in. She ignored the “Champions only!” Shout that came from a blonde journalist in the back.

All four champions turned to look at the intruder. “Nel!” Harry was the first to approach her. He was wearing a sporty long sleeve maroon shirt that was half black. “What are you doing here?” He asked surprised. “Harry,” She exhaled the breath she had been holding. Her dark eyes darted from Harry’s green to meet her friend’s across on the other side of room. “I just came to wish you good luck.” She really did. Even if her money was running on Cedric. “If you get lost, remember to keep your hand to the right, and eventually you’ll find your way out,” She advised wisely.

“Thanks, good advice,” He nodded looking exhausted. “You’ll do great, I know it,” She slapped his arm stating the end of the brief conversation. She turned to Cedric. ‘Harry already had made a name for himself, fame, fortune… Why not give somebody else a chance? It would be selfish of him not to do so’, she thought to herself with bitter resentment.

“Nel, you came,” Cedric looked pleasantly surprised as he approached the two students. Harry looked between the Hufflepuff and the Slytherin peculiarly. He had only seen the two of them interact a handful of times. However, after seeing the two in the Great Hall he decided to keep a close eye on them using the Marauder’s Map. To his surprise he found the two would sometimes vanish off the map. Not only that but they also spent a conspicuous amount of time together. Alone.

‘But wasn’t Cedric with Cho?’

Harry looked at them, it didn’t look like that type of relationship to him. However, with Saintday- it was always hard to tell these kinds of things.

The Chosen one pretended to busy himself with warming up and stepped away from the two.

“I’ll admit,” She began timidly. “I wasn’t going to come,” She admitted with discomfort, “Yet, here I am.”

A normal person would’ve perhaps taken offense to this but not Cedric. Instead, he chuckled at this. It was one of the great things about him, one of the things that made him so cool and easy going in the eyes of well, practically everyone. “I can’t believe you weren’t going to come bid your favorite person good luck,” he shook his head still wearing an askew smile that was perfect on him. This time it was her turn to laugh. “You? My favorite person?” “It’s been a pleasure Diggory, but I’m afraid this has all been business, not personal,” She joked stretching out her hand to him like partners usually did at the end of a successful business deal. Both shared a laugh. “Good luck. You’ve got it in the bag!”

Cedric smiled back and stretched out his hand to shake hers. However, instead, he pulled her into a hug. The girl wasn’t surprised by the gesture, she welcomed it and hugged her friend back. “Whatever happens Nel,” Cedric said pulling away. “If I win or lose, we’ll still be friends, right?” She wanted to joke and say that hadn’t been a plan of their business deal but chose not to. She was in a lonely moment of time, scarce in friends, and Cedric was a very good one at that. “Why wouldn’t we be?” She arched an eyebrow acting perplexed at his question.

“Good,” He nodded. “Because I’m going to need some eyes and ears in Gringotts when you get there. Specially since I’ll be working for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement starting this summer,” he boasted.

His friend couldn’t help but be genuinely happy for her. He was one step closer in the long way to accomplishing his goal as the next Ministry of Magic. She congratulated him and their moment was interrupted when a loud announcement was made indicating it was time for the champions to take their positions in their designated areas of the maze.

“Good luck everyone!” She said in general to all, including Viktor and Fleur. “I’ll see you on the other side!” Cedric waved as he began to walk away. “Oh, and Nel?” He paused on his step. “Be good?” He chuckled heartily before exiting the tent the opposite way.

To the Slytherin’s surprise Harry lingered behind.

“You’ll do fine,” She gave him a half side hug. “See you on the other side,” She exited the tent.

Walking out of the tent and underneath the tall stands she looked for Simon, but he was nowhere to be seen. Instead, she saw Professor Moody approaching the tent. The scowl on his face was deeper than usual and his walk was rushed. He did not look pleased.

“Oh, the task is about to start,” She explained. “I was just returning to-“ She ducked barely dodging a nasty hex the professor had cast in her direction. Her shocked mind barely had time to register when he again tried to hex her.

“Immobulus,” He spat. “Protego!” She blocked with swiftness.

“Professor,” She was tongue tied. There was no time to ask questions. Mad-Eye was lashing all kinds of spells in her direction. The attacks weren’t calculated yet weren’t sporadic either.

Nel took what she had said in the beginning of the year. So far, they had had a mass murderer, an idiot and a werewolf as a professor. This was a surprise – she hadn’t dealt with a psychopath before.

Taking back steps, she looked up the tall ceiling where people were sitting down witnessing the tournament. All oblivious to the hell that was being raised literally underneath their noses. “Help!” She shouted loudly hoping anybody would see her, would hear her. She shouted again until she backed up to a wooden rod that held the stadium up.

She raised her wand ready to cast any spell to the ceiling of people. Maybe then somebody would- “Incarcerous!” Like serpents, thorny ropes magically appeared and crawled over her body binding her with knots. Collapsing to the side her heart began to pound, she spat at the dirt she bit when she fell and attempted to blow a strand of hair off her face. She could see Mad-Eye’s limp legs approaching her.

“Filthy brat,” He walked over to her. Kneeling down he grabbed a fistful of hair with his good hand he turned her to the side roughly, “Scum,” he grumbled pulling on her hair making the student wince. She wanted to ask what he wanted. What his vile intentions were but suddenly couldn’t find her voice. She was looking at the man with hatred when a sudden zip knocked him back. Only then did she hear “Plumbum rectio!”

‘What was that spell?’ She could hear the footsteps crunching the ground below. Eyes peeled, shocked she looked up to see a boy holding his wand out looking down at Moody with a sneer. “Crucio!” He cursed without mercy making the older man writhe in uncontrollable pain. The ropes around her loosened and wiggling out of them she staggered to her feet she looked down at the horrifying scene. Strings of saliva, bulging veins and a twitching tongue were all in an irrepressible spasm as the man groaned and grit his teeth in terrible ache at the torment.

This had to stop. “Stop it!” She shoved the boys arm roughly.

Without removing his eyes from the professor, still wearing a sickly-sweet smile, he shot a final spell at Professor Moody making his body twitch one last time before becoming stiff.

Elowen looked at him with disbelief.

“I told you to stick by my side, didn’t I?” Ellar said gruffly closing the space between them and wrapping an arm around her side leading her away.

Panic and fear ridden she took his side without question as they walked away in rushed strides. “We have to find a professor! We Have to tell Professor Snape!” She looked over her shoulder to see that Mad-Eye was still laying limp on the dirt. “No,” He snapped harshly reaching for her hand. “It’ll only make things worse,” he said before once again leading the way. “How do you know there’s not more like him around? How do you know Snape isn’t with him? Or Dumbledore for a matter of fact.” Her mind was still processing what had happened. He was right, what if there were more people like Moody around the school grounds holding a wicked intent. “I mean- you don’t even know what that man was going to do to you. Do you ever use your head Elowen? Do you ever think?” He snapped cruelly making the girl flinch away from him, but his grip on her shoulder remained tight. “I know what to do,” he spoke without emotion.

Maybe he was right. Maybe he did have the best intentions after all. He wouldn’t have saved her and attacked Moody if he didn’t, right? But then again – he had tried to drown her earlier in the year. Snape had even admitted to her that the Lestranges had some evil plan in the works. So why trust him? Glancing over her shoulder she caught sight of the professor’s silhouette still laying down in the distance.

“Elowen, listen to me,” His tone was threatening. She started to step away from him, but he closed the space between them. “The only safe way out of here is through the maze. It’s dangerous out there,” He reasoned with a flawed logic that seemed to only make sense to him.

Going into the maze? Was he insane?

“It’s the safest place,” He insisted. “Somebody will see us there. We can hide! We don’t know who else is coming-“ He hurried towards her side, trying to take her hand in his, but she would not allow it. Her gust twisted at the thought of following him. All of her instincts should at her not to follow the boy into the maze.

“You,” a third voice made the two students turn their heads back. Before them stood Simon his translucent eyes were wide. He looked struck, almost as if he had been split by lightning. Eyes wide, thin jaw slack, the ghost remained frozen. ‘What was wrong with him?’ Nel turned to look back at Ellar who wore a contrasting nasty grin on his face. Unlike the ghost, he seemed pleased. Almost as if he was enjoying this.

“Sulking Simon. Hufflepuff died a couple of years ago. Some say it was a Quidditch accident, others say there was more to it,” She remembered Draco had said to her once. "I used to be the Slytherins Seeker and there was an accident," She remembered Ellar sharing. "They were looking for a scapegoat and well, there I was," She could still remember the way he oh-so innocently claimed to have been at the wrong place at the wrong time. Oh! And the worst part is that she believed him! “I-It was you,” She looked at him horrified. “You killed him!” Slowly she began stepping away from him creating as much distance as she could between the two. She looked in between the two males. “Nothing about your death was an accident. Was it?” She asked Simon who was rendered speechless. Triggers and lost memories of the night he lost his life came flooding back to the ghoul.

“Big deal,” Lestrange broke the silence with a loud scoff. “I had to prove myself to him,” he began. “Alas, my range of devotion was limit due to my schooling so I did what I could best. I began cleansing Hogwarts of the impure. Filthy blood mixed among us not worth the teachings of Sacred Salazar!” He shouted. “You tricked me,” Fuming Simon finally snape. “You tricked me into coming to the pitch at night and then used me to play your sick little game with your friends!” He rolled up his sleeves showing his twisted limbs and fractured bones. “Eighty-six fractures in my body!” Nel winced at the horrific sight, she couldn’t even imagine what Ellar and his accomplices had put Simon through. It sounded like they got away scat free by making it seem like Simon had fallen off a broom. “And there’s nothing you or anyone can do to prove it,” He threatened with a smug smirk with his crooked wand raised.

Nel felt nauseous. How had he conned her so easily? How had he done it again and lured her to this place and almost inside of the maze? Lying was a part of Ellar’s nature, just like violence was, it was a weed that had long been ingrained into his core by the environment he was brought up in. Yet, he was beyond the point of saving. At this point, he had no remorse, no conscience. She didn’t want to stick around and find out why he wanted her to go into the maze with him. “Simon,” Nel mouthed, her movements calculated as she waited to attack or deflect. The ghost waited. “Get help.”

Simon left.

And just like that- like a coin he flipped. Wands raised at each other, Nel wasn’t fast enough to deflect the silent Imperio curse he cast upon her. Just like his mother, he didn’t need to vocalize it.

Ellar smirked, pleased when he saw Saintday’s body tremble against her will as she dragged her feet towards him slowly until she was standing before him. A cross look on her face as she appeared to be struggling to fight back the curse. It was useless.

“Y-You’re a murderer,” she spat through a stiff jaw.

More than pleased and feeling haughty he opened his palm for her to hand her wand to him. “See? That wasn’t too bad,” He smiled before brushing her lose hair over her shoulder. Being close enough she socked him square in the nose. He bent down in pain feeling the hot rush of blood coming down his nostrils. God, that felt good. “Sniff that!” She shouted.

Heaving, quickly ducking for her wand Nel ran as fast as she could hoping to reach the stairs at the end of the underneath the stands. Her pounding, mind racing, consistently looking over her shoulder on the offense. It didn’t take the Beauxbaton student to catch up. She could see flashes of red as he casted aggressive dark spells in her direction. This time she knew he wouldn’t hesitate to kill.

“They’re an omen of death,” She remembered Lovegood saying early. She cursed the omen, did this mean her time had come?

Again, looking over her shoulder, she was so close to reaching the stairs, so close- when she stumbled on a wooden block and collapsed face first into the ground. The friction of the rocky roughly scraping her skin.

Ellar was unstoppable. She winced turning around to feel a sharp pain shoot up her ankle. He was getting closer, so close he lunged at her and in her moment of fear casted the only spell that came to mind.

“Expecto Patronus!”

A manic grin grew on the boy’s lips. It was useless. Instead, he was not expecting the creature that came out of the wand to be dark. Dozens of night jars shaped orbs of darkness surrounded him engulfing the boy in a whirling haze of energy sucking entities which rendered him weak and made him collapse on the ground. Again, struggling to her feet, she didn’t dare stop to see if he was fine or not. Instead, she limped towards the end. The stairs were closer now. Where was help? Why wasn’t anyone coming? Where was Simon? Finally reaching the entrance of the stairs she stopped to catch her breath and attempt to fix her wounded ankle. Leaning against the frame’s entrance she was about to cast the charm when she was unable to move her hand.

Stunned, her petrified body collapsed in a full bind.

She fell to the floor stiff, helplessly trying to find her attacker and when she did, she saw Professor Moody straightening out his ragged coat licking his chapped lips.

“Now, you’re coming with me,” was all he said before everything turned black.

Xxx

Alastor Moody barged inside of the Defense Against Dark Art’s Office. He tossed the student that limped like a ragdoll on a chair in the corner of the room. Her head lolled to the side as she struggled to regain consciousness. A haze of dark blurs blinded her dazed vision.

“You got lucky, eh,” He said over his shoulder as he opened and closed several of his desk drawers shut as he scavenged for a powder. “Real, real, lucky.” Finding a small vial with white glittery powder he rushed back to the Slytherin’s side.

With a flick of his wand, a robust manilla rope magically appeared binding the girl’s arms and legs to the chair. Head still down as she struggled to remain conscious the man uncapped the small vial and waved the dust under her nostrils making the girls back straighten out like an arrow. Eyes wide, chest heaving, a full-on panic began to settle in as she racked her body from side to side in a struggle to escape the binds of the chair. From across the room, she could see her wand on Moody’s desk.

“It got late, real late,” Moody said flipping a small blade on his hand. “You’re of no use for the Dark Lord today.”

She was trembling like a leaf in the wind. Looking at him terrified. Her eyes glued to the knife the man was playing with.

“Let’s see now-“ He held on the blade tightly and leaned in close to her. His breath stunk of fluxweed, not alcohol like she had always imagined. His tongue poked out. “I want to taste your blood, your precious blood.”

The man before her suddenly began morphing. His face molded and disfigured before tightening into the one of a younger man. The all-seeing mechanical eye fell to the ground with a loud thud. A thin man with sharp face features whom Nel had never seen before towered over her. A compulsive twitch which made his tongue stick out of his mouth revealed his psychopathy and mental instability.  

She could’ve wet herself with fear. She didn’t even realize the door opened and closed.

“Was the Crucio really necessary?” He turned to look at Ellar Lestrange who had shut the door behind him and locked it as he approached the two.

Of course, the two bastards were in it together. “Had to sell it,” The other shrugged an invisible speck of dust off his shoulder. Without much of a care he pulled out a small, thin vial from his pocket, popped it open and snorted a hit of whatever was inside. “Want a hit?” He asked the man, who ignored him. “So, what are we going to do?” Ellar asked. “We can’t get her in there now that the Tournament has started.” “We wouldn’t have this issue if you hadn’t been so coked up on dragonspuff done what I instructed you to do since the beginning!” The other snapped. “Didn’t you slip her the amortensia that I gave you?” “I did! But she didn’t take it!” “Then who did?”

Both exchanged a look before looking back at their hostage. It had collapsed to the floor that time he had tried to give her that pear pastry. Sitting in her seat, with adrenaline pulsing through her system she watched the two males carefully and attempted to remember and memorize every single word they said. Struggling was futile. If they wanted to kill her, they would’ve done it already. She sucked in a deep breath as if she were going to sink and held it.   “What’chu starring at?” The man growled out raising his knife. “Wan’ me to poke an eye out?” He warned pressing the blade against the thin skin on the edge of her eye socket. She winced pressing her back against the top rail of the chair.       “Hold her,” He ordered, and Ellar pinned down her left arm. The man she did now know was Barty Crouch Junior undid the bindings of her left arm and rolled her sleeve up over her elbow. She struggled coughing a “No,” as the breath she had been holding escaped. Screaming, trying to kick, or fend for herself she failed. The knife dug into her forearm and tore her flesh down vertically in a long line opening her skin to pouring red ribbons. She cried out in pain as the blood began to seep out. Trembling and in tears the horrified child was rendered silent.

Ellar simply watched, Crouch could’ve been muttering something to himself gibberish or Latin, it was hard to tell. Elowen thought the pain was over, but it wasn’t, she let out the loudest most horrifying scream when the man dove and with his long, filthy, and twitchy tongue licked her open wound.

A loud pop echoed the room as the light fixtures violently exploded making glass rain. The curtains caught on fire, windows cracked, and a moment latter shattered. Books began tumbling outside of their spaces in the bookshelf and the door blasted open.

The men remained undisturbed by all the chaos in the room. Instead, their eyes were pinned to the poor girl’s horrified expression. “Try whatever you want, you’re not getting out of here anytime soon,” Crouch laughed evilly licking and wiping some of the smeared blood that stained his bottom lip and chin. Undisturbed, perhaps too drugged and numb Lestrange chuckled and seemed to waltz around the room before standing before a large trunk. Crouch stuck an arm behind the chair and dragged it with her body still on it. He dumped her inside of the trunk without much care. As if she were waste. “And – into the trunk you go,” Ellar singsong as he slammed the opening locking her alone in the darkness.  

[inthewild-flowers]

fic masterlist!

This is a masterlist of all my fics. Most of them can be found on AO3, although there is a Tumblr Drabble section at the end.

I’ll be updating this every time I post a new fic/finish posting a multi chapter fic. Enjoy!

Oneshots

Weak In The Knees

Rating: General Audiences

Ship(s): Remus Lupin/Sirius Black

Word Count: 575

Summary: Kind of just a whole lot of Wolfstar fluff. There's dancing involved.

Other: Maybe a muggle au?? I’m not entirely sure tbh, pretty cute if I do say so myself, the title comes from the Serena Ryder song weak in the knees.

Bright Yellow Ducks

Rating: General Audiences

Ship(s): James Potter/Lily Evans, background Sirius Black/Remus Lupin

Word Count: 2114

Summary: Lily works at a corner store, and one day the Marauders walk in on a quest for ice cream.

Other: Muggle au, I’m pretty sure it was based on a post I saw but I wrote it a few years ago so I’m honestly not sure

Earth Angel

Rating: General Audiences

Ship(s): Sirius Black/Remus Lupin

Word Count: 674

Summary: I love fics where Remus is just an absolute angel, so here’s my version of that. Sirius has a crush on the cute guy who works at the bakery in his neighbourhood and finally get a chance to talk to him.

Other: Remus works at a bakery au, I wrote this after reading The London Underground Book Of Love by Children_of_the_Shadows on AO3 (absolutely would recommend, it’s amazing) and it’s probably one of my favourite fics I’ve written, the title is from the song Earth Angel by The Penguins

Gilderoy Lockhart Is A Dick (But His Dickery Has Some Interesting Consequences)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Ship(s): Remus Lupin/Sirius Black, background James Potter/Lily Evans

Word Count: 2699

Summary: When Remus finds out Gilderoy is cheating on him, the next thing he has to do is find out who he's cheating with. And if that person happens to be Sirius Black, well, Remus is okay with that. Based off of the joke me and my sister have about Legend of Korra: both of Mako's girlfriends leave him for each other.

Other: Muggle au, funny, crack fic, way more sex jokes than I usually write but it fits with the whole vibe of this fic

Text Me

Rating: General Audiences

Ship(s): Remus Lupin/Sirius Black

Word Count: 566

Summary: Written for girlwithacrown’s finish this fic challenge. My take on the second half of “Remus is a bookstore owner and Sirius comes in looking for a book during coronavirus lockdown” (might wanna read her first half tho lol).

Other: Here is @girlwithacrown ‘s first half of the fic, and here is her collection with the other fics that people wrote for their own versions of the second half!

Padfoot Won’t Leave

Rating: General Audiences

Ship(s): Remus Lupin/Sirius Black

Word Count: 2453

Summary: At the end of Harry's third year, Remus and Sirius have a plan to get Harry away from the Dursleys.

Other: crack fic, I tried my best to make it funny, someone sent a post to the wolf star games 2020 discord that said that there aren't enough “Sirius makes himself at home at the Dursley’s house because there’s nothing they can do to make him leave” fics and then we as a group decided to fix that. Here’s the collection of fics we wrote for it! :)

Rooftop Ramblings

Rating: General Audiences

Ship(s): Aziraphale/Crowley

Word Count: 526

Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley share a cigarette on a rooftop, and wish that things could be different.

Other: pining, the whole plot is literally just pining, written for a dtiys based on this art by @whiteleyfoster

yoga (sirius’s way)

Rating: General Audiences

Ship(s): Remus/Sirius

Word Count: 1043

Summary: Remus decides to start doing yoga to get some exercise during quarantine, and naturally, Sirius wants to try as well.

Other: Quarantine fic!!, domestic fluff, inspired by this art by @gaeilgelupin

two bros, going on a brocation, five feet apart cause they’re not gay

Rating: General Audiences

Ship(s): Remus/Sirius

Word Count: 1927

Summary: In which Sirius takes Remus on a surprise Christmas vacation

Other: Christmas fic!!, so much fluff, :))

🎶 Remus is a swearwolf 🎶

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Ship(s): Remus/Sirius, James/Lily/Regulus

Word Count: 2694

Summary: Regulus sighed. “Come on, Sirius, let’s get you off this thing and then you’ll feel better.” They pried Sirius’s hands off the bar and helped him out of the rollercoaster, where he stood for a moment on shaky legs, clutching Regulus’s arm.“I’m going to get some mint chocolate,” he declared once his legs had regained some of their strength, “and then we’re going to the haunted house and I’m getting my revenge.”

Other: A sequel to ice ice baby by @pan-and-ready-to-stan, 90% banter, a LOT of swearing, fluff

would it kill you if we kissed

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Ship(s): Remus/Sirius

Word Count: 1741

Summary: Sirius leaned his head against the window and let his eyes flutter shut. Maybe if he slept, some of the horrible things would go away. Maybe if he slept, he would wake up to find that he was just on a normal road trip with one of his best friends. Maybe if he slept, he could forget the reason he was here at all.

Other: hurt/comfort, and also getting together!! bc I love get together fics :)

(i thought) i knew you 

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Ship(s): Remus/Sirius

Word Count: 1432

Summary: Sometimes Sirius thinks that he might be okay. That maybe he’ll make it through this. He’s broken up with people before, hasn’t he? He’s been heartbroken before, and he’s always made it through. He’s survived so many things in his life that it seems silly that this would be the thing to break him.

Other: oh boy is there angst, that’s it that’s the fic just angst, there is a hopeful ending though??, there’s some super vague sort of references to self harm but it doesn’t like. happen

Got It

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Ship(s): Remus/Sirius

Word Count: 2859

Summary: Remus pushed down the butterflies in his stomach and accepted the vape when Sirius offered it, inhaling deeply and pointedly not thinking about how Sirius’s lips had been there just moments before. This was the closest Remus would ever get to kissing him. No, he told himself sternly, don’t think about that. It didn’t work. It never did.

Other: texting, fluff fluff fluffity fluff, getting together, written for marauders pride fanzine

in a cottage on a cliffside

Rating: General Audiences

Ship(s): Remus Lupin/Sirius Black

Word Count: 2865

Summary: “Are you cold?” Remus asked. “I’ve got another blanket somewhere…” he trailed off, looking at Sirius expectantly. Sirius shook his head.

“I’m fine.” he smiled again, then took another sip of his tea. He made the same face as before. It was adorable.

“Why are you here?” Remus asked. Sirius blinked at him.

“I wanted to see you.

Other: this was a birthday present for a friend, its fluff and a bit of pining and just generally soft :)) also a get together fic

The Year Remus Lupin Made Friends

Rating: General Audiences

Ship(s): Remus Lupin/Sirius Black

Word Count: 3546

Summary: James was sixteen years old, and it was summertime. Sirius and Pete were staying with him, Pete for a week, Sirius for the whole summer and hopefully every holiday after it too. James wanted to play quidditch, but the risk of being seen by muggles was too high, and his parents wouldn’t allow it. James was also very stubborn. His parents should have known to keep a closer eye on the boys, but some things can’t be helped. Here is what happened:

Other: written for a discord server secret santa. very marauders friendship focused, but also wolfstar at the end :))

In the dark and in the dusty sunlight

Rating: General Audiences

Ship(s): Sirius Black/Remus Lupin

Word Count: 1099

Summary: “I thought we were past such formalities, Lord Lupin.”“Indeed we are, Sirius, but it did feel right in the moment. You know,” Remus gave him an appraising look, and Sirius shivered, “you look rather like a painting, lying there like that.”“My dear Remus, we know very well that I am a work of art.”Remus laughed. “Yes, that has been well established.” He took off his hat and placed it on a table, then crossed over to the windows. “May I?” he asked, gesturing to the curtains.

yall its gay historical pining thats it thats the summary

Other: its just,,,, a period drama. thats it. I wrote a scene from a period drama just for the pining.

Multi Chapter Fics

Love At First Hot Chocolate

Rating: General Audiences

Ship(s): Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, background James Potter/Lily Evans

Chapter/Word Count: 5 chapters, 5069 words

Summary: 18 year old Remus Lupin works at Starbucks. He hates it. He hates that he has to talk to people and be nice. He hates making coffee (although he doesn't mind the hot chocolate). But one day, Sirius Black walks in. For Remus, it's love at first sight. But does Sirius feel the same way?

Other: Muggle au, sort of a coffeeshop au in that they meet at a coffeeshop but otherwise it’s not it there much, fluff, might have been inspired by a post I saw a few years ago about Remus working at a coffeeshop and always getting Sirius’s name wrong?? But again, I wrote this a few years ago and don’t really remember lol

I Hope That I Don’t Fall In Love With You

Rating: General Audiences

Ship(s): Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, James Potter/Lily Evans

Chapter/Word count: 2 chapters, 1431 words

Summary: James is getting married, and Sirius worries that he won't get to see his best friend anymore. One night, he vents his feelings to a cute stranger at a pub, who happens to be in a similar situation.

Other: Muggle au, title from the Tom Waits song I Hope That I Don’t Fall In Love With You

If You Want To Buy Me Flowers

Rating: General Audiences

Ship(s): Sirius Black/Remus Lupin

Chapter/Word Count: 3 chapters, 1499 words

Summary: Remus owns a flower shop. Sirius is breaking up with his boyfriend using flower language.

Other: Muggle au, Remus is a florist au, inspired by a post I saw about flower meanings, title from the song Two Princes by Spin Doctor

Don’t Shoot The Messenger

Rating: General Audiences

Ship(s): Remus Lupin/Sirius Black, James Potter/Lily Evans, Alice (I don’t know her last name)/Frank Longbottom

Chapter/Word Count: 16 chapters, 13,192 words

Summary: Ever since his first year at Hogwarts, Remus Lupin has been exchanging messages with someone on a bathroom stall. Neither of them know who the other one is, and now that they're graduating soon, they want to find out.

Other: Muggle au, modern au, Remus isn't part of the Marauders au, a bit of texting

Love Through The Ages

Rating: General Audiences

Ship(s): Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, some vague background James Potter/Lily Evans

Chapter/Word Count: 4 chapters, 2213 words

Summary: Remus finds a love letter that Sirius wrote to him two centuries previously and never sent.

Other: They’re vampires au, I guess technically muggle au??, fluff, love letters, confessions, inspired by this post by @kayvsworld

“No, Sirius, tying the stems of flowers together will NOT make a flower crown”

Rating: General Audiences

Ship(s): Remus Lupin/Sirius Black

Chapter/Word Count: 4/4 chapters, 4247 words

Summary: In which Sirius can’t make a flower crown, Remus thinks Sirius might be flirting, and James has no clue what’s going on.

Other: so much fluff, oblivious James, inspired by this art that I love a lot by @girlwithacrown

Hogwarts, 1993

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences (this may change, I don’t have the fic planned out at all, so it could end up with a G rating, but I’ve rated it T just to be safe)

Ship(s): Remus Lupin/Sirius Black

Chapter/Word Count: 7/? chapters, 7248 words as of October 4 2020

Summary: When Sirius escapes Azkaban and goes to Hogwarts, instead of lurking around as the Grim like a FOOL, he decides to seek help from an old friend.

Other: I don't have any warnings for this one yet, but I’ll put them in if necessary. I’ll be posting the chapters as I write them, and I’ll try to make sure it doesn’t take too long.

the doc was called halloween babeyy

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Ship(s): Remus Lupin/Sirius Black, James Potter/Lily Evans

Chapter/Word Count: 6 chapters, 1240 words

Summary: a self indulgent halloween fic with pumpkin shenanigans, meet cutes, and texting. 

“They’re battle scars,” Remus repeated. “And you can’t call him just ‘pumpkin’ anymore, his official title is the PumpKing and he requires it to be used at all times.” Remus finished carving out the last scar, and picked up the sharpie to draw the outline of a crown near the top of the pumpkin. One he was satisfied, he picked up his knife and started cutting along the lines.“In that case,” James said, “Mine’s the PumPeasant and he looks like this because of a childhood disease.”

Other: ‘tis all fluff :))

a very (in)effective seduction

Rating: General Audiences

Ship(s): Remus Lupin/Sirius Black

Chapter/Word Count: 10/? chapters, 9557 words

Summary: In which Sirius decides that it's time to seduce Moony. Yes, he has a list

Other: written for girlwithacrown and kidovna’s blissember chirstmas prompts! get together, fluff, etc.

Note: I will finish this eventually, but I was struggling a lot with writing it, so it may take some time. I do have it sort of planned out, and once I have the motivation to write it again it shouldn’t take too long to finish :))

dreaming of you

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Ship(s): Remus Lupin/Sirius Black, Dorcas Meadowes/Marlene McKinnon

Chapter/Word Count: 6/? chapters, 4932 words

Summary:

 french bitch: I have arrived

french bitch: paris has gained a resident and he is magnificent

sweet sweet moony: paris is usually referred to as she

french bitch: HOW DARE

Jimmy: he does have a point tho

or: Sirius is in france on his study abroad year, remus is pining, and James and Peter are enjoying the chaos

Other: texting, fluff, theres eventually gonna be wolfstar and dorlene and either jily or jegulily I haven’t decided yet

You Hold The Key To My Heart

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Ship(s): Remus Lupin/Sirius Black, James Potter/Lily Evans/Regulus Black

Chapter/Word Count: 38 chapters, 26 049 words

Summary: Sirius threw himself on his bed, not caring about how he must be wrinkling his clothes. In fact, he relished the idea. At least his parents would have a reason to be angry with him today. He stayed there, thinking about soft curls and a sweet face that he barely caught a glimpse of, until the sun was shining directly through his window and James arrived to help him dress for dinner.

Or, a victorian au in which Remus is a gardener, Sirius is a dramatic rich kid, and they fall in love.

Other: I wrote this for the 2020 wolfstar games. it’s mainly fluff, but I also got to indulge my love of historical things which was amazing :D

Series

Dan’s cute & short wolfstar fics with no plot that make them happy to write :)

Rating: General Audiences

Ship(s): Remus Lupin/Sirius Black

Number of works: 4

Complete: No

Works in the series:

Goodnight Moony - Remus doesn’t want to go to bed. Sirius thinks Remus should go to bed. 201 words.

Snow - It’s literally just Remus and Sirius enjoying the snow, that’s it, that’s the fic, please enjoy. 124 words.

I Just Called To Say I love You - Sirius calls Remus the night before a big exam. 174 words.

Lupin Can’t Sing - Please read the title to the tune of “lupin can’t sing, lupin can’t sing, lupin cannot sing!” from AVPS. Remus is drunk and trying really really hard at karaoke. 409 words.

Ruby Tuesday - Remus and Sirius cuddle and listen to Ruby Tuesday. It's very cute, if I do say so myself. 259 words.

HP Pride Month 2020!!

Rating: General Audiences

Ship(s): Remus Lupin/Sirius Black, Lily Evans/James Potter

Number of works: 4

Complete: Yes

Other: All the fics in this series were written for @girlwithacrown ‘s HP pride month prompts, and you can find other fics written for those prompts in her collection on AO3!

Works in the series:

Coming Out - Remus and Sirius decide to tell their friends they're dating. 1035 words.

Flag - Sirius and James make unique additions to their pride flags, and at the pride parade they see two other people with matching flags. 1126 words.

Family - Sirius runs away from home. 898 words.

Healing - Remus's dog gets hurt, and the vet is way hotter than Remus was prepared for. Sirius may or may not have Ted from Schitt's Creek vibes. It was mostly unintentional. 1012 words.

Working Title: Summertime

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Ship(s): Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, James Potter/Lily Evans

Number of Works: 2

Complete: No

Works in the series:

Forgiveness & Friendship - The summer after sixth year (and The Prank, you know which one. The one with Snape. And Remus.), Sirius shows up on James's doorstep. 13 chapters, 4437 words

Mischief & Matchmaking - The marauders (+ Lily) are spending a few weeks at James’s house, and oh boy is there a lot of sexual tension there. Peter decides to do something about it. Featuring: shenanigans and three separate tropes cause why not. 17/17 chapters and 6772 words.

dan?? writing angst?? it’s more likely than you’d think

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Ship(s): Remus Lupin/Sirius Black

Number of Works: 3

Complete: No

Works in the series:

stardust is easily lost - He kisses him because he loves him, because loving Sirius is a habit he’s never been able to break, not in school when he thought loving Sirius would kill him, and not now when he thinks that Sirius might kill them all. It keeps him up at night sometimes.

cascade - Teaching at Hogwarts is equal parts wonderful and miserable. He loves his students, but some days he looks at them and he sees himself, happy and carefree, with his best friends at his side. Those days are the hardest.

the death of a star - And sometimes, Sirius almost seems like his old self again. Sometimes, his mischievous grin that Remus remembers all too well will appear on his face, and he’ll lean over and whisper a snide comment in Remus’s ear, and Remus will have to try to stifle a laugh.

Other: yall this is angst, there is major character death, its A Lot, theyre also down in the Tumblr drabbles section & their titles are all variations of “angst babeyyy”

dan is a) yearning and b) obsessed with dorlene and bookstores

Rating: General Audiences and Teen and Up Audiences

Ship(s): Marlene McKinnon/Dorcas Meadowes

Number of Works: 3

Complete: No

Works in the series:

1. Walking In a Winter Wonderland – As they skated, Marlene couldn’t take her eyes off of Dorcas. She knew that they were holding a conversation somehow or other––about Dorcas’s job at the bookstore, she was fairly certain––but her brain was on autopilot as she watched the lights dance across Dorcas’s face, lighting up the night like miniature stars.

2. adventures pertaining to love actually (and also shrek) – The woman shook her head solemnly, but a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “You absolutely cannot.”They grinned at each other for a moment, then the woman’s eyes flicked up to the clock on the wall and she swore. “I’ve got to go. It was nice talking to you! And you’ll have to tell me what you think of that movie if you watch it!”“I will!” Dorcas called after her, and the woman waved as she hurried out the door.Well. She sure hoped that Love Actually was on Netflix. (note: this one is set before the first fic in the series)

3. it can't be hard to find a present right?? (wrong) – “What’cha got there?” Frank flopped into the chair beside Dorcas and took a sip of his coffee, eyeing the mess of yarn on her lap with curiosity.

“It’s not weird to make her a scarf, is it?”

“...to make who a scarf?”

“You know exactly who I’m talking about.”

Other: yeah im just being generally fluffy and self indulgent here, enjoy! :))

Tumblr Drabbles

“It’s three in the morning” - jegulus

“This is the opposite of what I told you to do!” - wolfstar

“Do you have a ride home?” - wolfstar

“Come cuddle” - wolfstar

“I am home” - dorlene

“I’m getting married? Since when were you choosing my future spouse?” - wolfstar

“Another bad date?” - jily

James and Remus being very very chaotic bros

24 hour diner au - wolfstar

they have the same favourite chair - wolfstar

Sirius loses Remus’s present (and James helps him look) – wolfstar

when she wears YOUR flannel shirt - dorlene

when you can’t choose just one snuggly blanket so you wrap up in all of them - the marauders

angst babeyyyyyyyyy - first war wolfstar

2 angst 2 babeyyyyyyyyy - poa wolfstar

angst babeyyyy 3.0 - ootp sorta wolfstar

high school/college minifest day 1: back to school - wolfstar

high school/college minifest day 2: detention - wolfstar

remus has whipped cream on his face and sirius canNOT handle it - wolfstar

hufflepuff remus who makes friends with the marauders - wolfstar

dorcas is hurt and marlene is taking care of her - dorlene

remus is a lil shit (back hugs prompt) - wolfstar

just friends booty shorts - James and sirius

night at the museum au - wolfstar and jily

[marvinswriting]

Gut feeling

Prompt: no prompt in this one buddies, just check out bear's borrower!janis au. Like my g/t mg au its something i thought about a lot but never officially put down anywhere, but she did and you fucking bet im gonna write it

This is a long one boys, and there's still more i wanna write lmfao

Think about everything you know about borrowers-

-and throw it out the fucking window.

Yep, fuck your stereotypes. I'm Janis, and yeah I guess your right about the whole tiny-people-who-live-in-walls-and-steal. You're also creepily accurate with your borrower's code (so I wanna know who blabbed. Probably Gretchen, god. I always wonder where she was before this house). I'm sidetracked. Other then that, you guys got it all wrong. 

We are very much aware of the concept of not all humans wanna kill or harm borrowers. Thank you very much. 

We just know most of them do.

And we aren't as rare as you may think. Lots of humans know about borrowers, and you all think we're a dying species or a myth. No. We're just good at what we do, thank you. The goal is to live undetected. It's safer that way.

We also don't live totally alone, isolated in walls. Well, some of us do, and some of us wish we did. (Me, it's me, I hate my roommates.)

I live with Gretchen and Kevin. Won't call them friends, because they're not. We aren't close enough. We keep each other around because we'd go insane without the interaction from others. A borrowers life can be boring and isolated.

Its the total opposite of a human's. When the owners of the house sleep, we're awake doing food runs. When the owners of the house are awake, we're hiding away, tucked in bed.

And for a long time that worked. But then something changed. I think the owners of the house called it 'the school year ended'? Now the boy, Damian- from what we've gathered he's our age. But who knows, it's not like we can just go up and meet him. He definitely seems to be the most sympathetic one of the family. 

The dad kills any fucking bug without even getting a good look, so like- don't get caught with him (not that you wanna get caught with any of them). 

The mom watches a lot of gory sci-fi shows that always end up with the main character in some type of experimental facility so we don't trust her. 

Damian just hides in his room, playing music and singing along. I like it, its harder for us to be heard that way. 

The final member of the household is the fucking cat. Her name is Ariel which is supposedly a reference to some princess, but the only royal she is is a royal pain. Little bitch almost killed me once. 

I'm so off track though. 

Apparently, this 'school year' is over, and now Damian is home all the time. He doesn't have to get up early to leave so he's opted to not sleeping at night at all. Which is just great for us. He doesn't often leave his room, but Gretch, Kevin, and I have to be a lot more careful often resulting in us grabbing a lot less.

I glance around my 'bedroom'. Through the years I like to think it's grown to be decorated nicely. Unlike my two roommates, I pride myself in my living space. I spend most of my time here, so why not. Yeah, I have the necessities, but I also have other things like plants and makeshift art supplies. In the corner of my room is what you could call a bed and a bottle cap nightstand. There's a piece of a mirror hanging. We all found mirror shards and took them, and might I say life hasn't quite been the same since. 

We don't really look at ourselves that often, there aren't many reflective surfaces to do so. Yeah, I'd catch my face staring back at me in my water, or on a shiny surface, but it was never as clear as the mirror. As I look right now, I just look stressed.

Pretty accurate.

I've got a weird feeling about tonight.

"We need food."

"No shit Gretchen." 

Gretchen and I are sitting in our combined space, waiting for Kevin. I'm hesitant to call it a living room because it hardly looks lived in. There are four beer cap chairs (and three of us, it's fucking stupid- I know) a pizza saver as a table, and a bunch of miscellaneous items that haven't found a home yet.

"Hubbards are asleep." Kevin walks out from where he was keeping watch. "The kids light is still on and I couldn't locate the cat, are we sure we want to go out tonight."

"We need food," Gretchen repeats herself.

"We don't have much of a choice," I say, shoving makeshift grappling hooks and double-sided tape into my satchel, and grabbing another bad for food. "We gotta make a big run tonight. We can't guarantee a day by day flow anymore, Damian has to unpredictable of a sleep schedule."

Gretchen makes a noise of agreement, packing up her own things.

Kevin is still peaking out of the exit into the household, worriedly. 

"Janis are you down for that trip tonight? You look stressed as fuck."

I bitterly. "Yeah, I'm just- tired. And hungry. And quite frankly I may be coming down with something."

"They stay away from me," Gretchen says, swinging her bag over her shoulder. "Ready?"

"Let's just grab food and go," Kevin says before spinning around to look at me. "Only food, Janis."

I nod. No point in trying to defend myself when he's not wrong. I have an awful habit of finding something I could use for art and going out of my way to grab it.

But we have priorities tonight. 

We file out into the household, all pressing against the wall. The exit we used lead right to the floor. Its a debate on which was riskier, but I for one, preferred to be higher. Further from the cat and a better view of everything. Kevin mumbled something about keeping watch and made his way over to the island table the Hubbard had. He pulled out his climbing supplies and made his way up as Gretchen and I continued our trek across the floor, waiting to reach the kitchen to get to higher grounds. 

"It hasn't been this hard since we all moved here." Gretchen says quietly, but I understand.

"Yeah." I whisper.

We all moved into this house together maybe two ago. We tell time by the day and the decor around the house. Humans often put of decorations for holidays and it's like marking points though the year. My least favorite holiday happens during the summer. I don't know the name but everything turns red white and blue and there's tons of loud booms and explosions. It kills my ears and sends me into sensory overload every time.

 We've pasted two Christmases. I don't know much about the holiday, but its the most decorated, with fancy trees and cookie crumbs everywhere. A borrower's dream. But it wasn't like that now. It was hot and sticky, food got left out on the counter less. We haven't eaten anything more then the minimum to survive, if you don't count yesterday where we didn't eat at all. 

I was so lost in my thought for food, I almost didn't hear it. Kevin calling out, the patter of paws on the floor-

-oh shit. 

I whirl around just in time to have a paw whacked with my side. 

Cat.

There was no claw, Ariel is here for a game of cat and mouse obviously. Roles already clear. 

That didn't make it hurt less though.

I groan skidding across the floor, curled into myself. 

Gretchen shrieks and runs away, the cat's interest on me.

She left me for fucking dead.

Wow.

Rude, but unsurprising.

I'd fucking bolt too. I wonder if Kevin ran as well. 

My heart stops as the truth of the statement catches up to me. 

I'm gonna die.

I'd like to say there's so much I still haven't done, or that my life had only just begun. But that wasn't true. I live to borrow another day and borrow to live another day. But I was content like that, I don't wanna die.

Ariel stalks towards me again. I sit up and push my self backward, only to find a wall.

Fuck.

I can see Gretchen duck back into the wall out of the corner of my eye, Kevin with her.

To be fair, I'd do the same. I can't bring myself to be too mad.

"Hey, kitty," I say softly, holding my hands out in defense. The cat sits down in front of me, eyes wide and pupils dilated, ready to play. "Ariel, right? Good kitty. I'm not a toy."

Ariel doesn't seem to get the message as she lifts her paw.

No!

"Hey, whatcha got there girl?" A voice comes from behind the cat. 

My blood runs colder than it already was. 

That was to loud to be Gretchen or Kevin, to masculine to be the mom, not deep enough to be the dad-

Hands pull Ariel away despite a mew of protest, leaving me totally exposed in the open. 

Put the cat back I'd rather die that way.

My eyes connect with the boy of the household- Damian. His gaze travels up and down my small form and he lets out breathy 'what?'.

Once again, I know not all humans are bad, but you try not even being four inches call, curled up against a wall with a full ass living moving human standing there. It's a lot.

Damian kneels down so he isn't towering over me but it doesn't feel any better. I push myself closer to the wall, ignoring the pain in my side.

"Are- I uh-" Damian seems as equally at a loss as I am. 

Don't worry buddy, I didn't think I'd be getting caught tonight either.

"Are you okay?"

I can't exactly say I've been caught before, so I don't exactly know the 'this is a bad guy' red flags, but asking about my well being probably isn't one of them. 

"Yeah." I say, shakily. My voice is weak and seems a lot quieter in contrast to the boy's in front of me.

"I'm sorry about her." Damian said, placing the cat down. Ariel glares at me before walking away, clearly bored.

I could tell we were dancing around the important questions. What are you? Why are you so small? What are you doing here?

"My name's Damian."

I almost say 'I know' but believe it or not- I do have manners and hey, this human hasn't killed you yet, don't be rude and give him a reason to.

"Janis." I say, giving a small wave. 

"Janis," Damian repeats like he's testing the name in his mouth. "It's pretty."

"Thank you." I glance around but as I suspected, my roommates did not even attempt to come back. 

"You're a borrower." Damian states. It wasn't a question and his voice sounded sure, but his raised eyebrow told a different story.

"Yeah, we're real, just-" I take a breath. "Uncommon?"

Damian nods. He knew what I was right off the bat which probably means I'll have less explaining to do. It also made me feel safer in a way. It meant he's less curious. Not to mention he has yet to move any closer or invade my space, so I felt okay. I push myself off the wall a bit, trying to ignore how my head spins a bit from lack of nutrients. 

"I'm sorry if I interrupted whatever you were doing. We'll leave if you don't want us here or-"

"No, it's okay. I honestly am glad I stepped in then I did- wait, we?"

Shit.

It was one thing to expose myself, but not I'm mentally hitting myself for exposing Gretchen and Kevin too.

"There are multiple of you?"

"Nonono forget I said anything." I wave my hand as if waving away nonexistent flies. 

Damian looks like he wants to press more but doesn't. "What are you doing out here? It's like, four am."

"It's still early for me. We- I need food." 

Damian's eyes light up. "Of course! Oh my god, I'm so sorry then. Do you-" He pauses. "Do you need help?"

My instinct is to decline but- there hasn't been much food out and Damian seems genuine. Its either die by cat or human. "Yeah, help would be nice."

Damian smiles softly. "Can I pick you up?"

What?

Oh.

Oh.

Yeah. 

Riiiight.

"Yeah, you can." I smile, trying to seem brave about this, but I've never been picked up before. The only time I'm off the ground is with my climbing tools with my fate in my own hands. 

Damian places his hand down next to me, it's huge. The sheer size difference doesn't sink in when somebody is crouched a couple of human feet away from you. 

I step onto his hand regardless, trying not to concentrate on how weird it feels. 

"You ready?" Damian's voice asked from above.

Was I ready?

Why did I think this was a good idea?

I could die right here right now.

I don't know anything about this kid other than his name and his favorite musical soundtrack. 

What if he's bad news?

"Yeah, I'm good." I say, despite my inner turmoil. 

The ground beneath me shifts and as much as I like to think I was mentally prepared, physically I was not as I ungracefully fall backward into Damian's palms.

"You okay?" He asks, freezing. 

He was as nervous as I was.

This sudden realization gave me a bit more confidence in the situation.

"Mhmm," I say, patting the hand beneath me gently. "Thanks."

"Of course." Damian says, and we're moving again. Its a significantly shorter trip from here to the kitchen for Damian. He holds me close to his chest, his fingers curled around me slightly. Its comforting, and contrary to what I expected, I don't feel ready to drop. I can see Ariel curled up contently on the couch, and the entrance to my home from here. One of them at least. I wonder if my roommates are watching or if they're already cleaning out my room. 

Damian places his hand on the table and I get off on my own.

It feels better up here, to be further up. I don't feel as small when Damian steps away. 

"You've made it clear it's just you," He does air quotes. "But how many people do you take food for."

The lie of 'it is only me' is the first thing on my tongue, but I hold it. Damian has done nothing but help me so far and he already knows there's multiple of us. No harm in giving exact numbers.

"Three," I say. "One with a big appetite." I smile as Kevin comes to mind. 

Damian grins. "What do you normally take?"

"Whatever is out." I shrug, glancing around at the table. Just like the past couple of times, the tables were empty.

Damian notices this and is silent for a bit. "I'll have to conveniently forget to put stuff back then." He says quietly. I can't tell if he was talking to me or himself but I smile nonetheless. 

"So, you've never had options?"

"No." I say. It feels weird to admit that. Damian grins. 

"Guess you're in luck. Wait here." He turns around and walks over to a cabinet. Where am I supposed to even go? 

His back isn't turned long enough to let me figure that out, because he soon comes back with two things. "So I brought this because I want you to try it," Its a cookie, I know that much from Christmas, but instead of decorative frosting and sprinkles its dotted with splotches of brown. "It's a chocolate chip cookie. And I brought this for practical reasons." He lifts up a bag. "Its granola and it comes in these little chunks- well for you they'd be big, but you can just break them off as you need!"

I smile at the thoughtfulness. Maybe this kid isn't all bad news. 

He opens the bag and pours a bit into his hand before placing one on the table. Sure enough, a cluster of granola is just big enough to fit maybe two into my bag. I can break off a piece and it will last days (assuming Kevin doesn't go to town).

"Woah." I say softly, picking it up. This is the most food I've ever even been near in one place. 

Damian chuckles as I carefully place the granola into my bag miraculously fitting three. One for each of us. Damian watches me silently, I guess we're both still stying to wrap our heads around the situation. 

"Oh! I almost forgot!" He picks up the cookie breaking off a piece and handing it to me. It's the size of my head but I can just save what's left for later. Damian takes the rest for himself, watching as I silently break a piece off to eat. 

It's grainy but smooth a the same time. Sweet and salty. It's-

"Woah." 

Damian laughs, its loud and sudden, but also contagious.

I giggle a bit as I feel my face flush. I know he's not laughing at me maliciously.

"They're good right?"

"Yeah." 

We fall into silence, and I look around. I've been up on the counters before, but I've always been in a rush, get food, and get out. I've never been this relaxed in the open and certainly never so close to a human. 

I look up at Damian and he smiles. "What are you gonna do now?"

"Huh?"

"I don't know how true the stories are but isn't this where you leave and never come back because you've been caught? I won't tell anyone if you don't want to leave."

He had a point. But- the borrower's code wasn't law. More like- recommended guidelines? I mean, not true at all, but it's not written in stone or anything. Borrower police aren't gonna break in and arrest me or anything.

I think.

Besides, I didn't want to leave. I liked my room and my roommates (not that I'd admit that to them). They don't need to know I met a human. And Damian said he wouldn't tell anyone-

"How do I know I can trust you?"

The question had a lot more of an edge then I expected, but Damian didn't seem to take offense. 

"You don't. But, follow your instincts. I'm not trying to trick you or anything if that's what your thinking."

He did help me get food. Which saved my life. He also saved me from the cat, which saved my life too. Even before he knew I existed, he always seemed to be the nicest Hubbard. Something tells me his word is good.

"I think I'm gonna stay," I say after a while.  "I'll just- never tell my roommates about this. One of them flips over everything. She'd pack in an instant if she knew."

Damian smiled. "I understand if you hope to never see me again and if you wanna just walk away like this never happened, but I'll be sure to leave granola out every once in a while."

I grin. "Thanks, Damian." It felt weird to be so close to a human and already trust them so much. Something deep inside told me that this wasn't the last time we'd see each other, and that's okay.

"I figure you can get down on your own? You don't want me to know where you live or anything."

I shook my head, patting my climbing tools. "I got this from here. Thank you so much for your help."

"Of course, Janis. I'll take Ariel to my room to make sure she doesn't cause any trouble. Maybe I'll see you around, hopefully not under any life or death circumstances though." Damian grins before walking away, leaving me alone in the kitchen. I can hear him call out to the cat followed by padding of paws as a door closes. I almost feel as if I've hallucinated the whole thing, but the weight of the granola in my bag proves to me otherwise. 

I begin to take out a hook and rope while I think of what I'm gonna tell my roommates. Gretchen will flip either way and I don't think Kevin will believe me that I was able to fend off a cat alone, but it's what I have to do if I don't want to move. Besides, deep down I feel like I can trust the teen of the Hubbard household. 

Let's just hope my gut isn't wrong. 

alt title: how borrower janis got hooked on granola tag list!!! @realmisspolarbear @musicallygt @smallsoysauce @sourishlemons

[missjosie27]

Year 3 Part 2- Boggarts and Slytherins

Hello, everyone. New day, different chapter. Hope you guys like it as always!

One small note: this is the beginning of the arc I have planned for Merula which will be quite extensive. For now she’s still perpetually angry and vengeful but I plan to plant the seeds very subtly along the way.

Constructive feedback is welcomed and appreciated. Enjoy!

The next morning the Gryffindors received their schedules for the year from Professor McGonagall and certain times had been switched around from the previous year.

“Looks like we have Herbology first thing in the morning now,” Rowan observed. “I always liked it in the afternoon.”

“At least we still take it with the Hufflepuffs,” David shrugged. “Potions on the other hand…”

“Slytherins, I know,” Rowan sighed, shaking his head.

“And that means another year of having to deal with Merula Snyde trying to get underneath my skin or attempting to blow up my cauldron.”

“Just be thankful, it’s not Ismelda,” Ben came up behind them, timidity in his brown eyes. “She doesn’t announce beforehand how she’s going to make your life miserable.”

“Well then brace yourself, because we have that today too,” David stated glumly.

“At least the rest of the week doesn’t look so bad,” Rowan pointed out on the schedule. “We get Transfiguration and Charms on the same day. Defense Against the Dark Arts on Wednesdays and Fridays along with our electives.”

“Can’t wait to see what rubbish teacher they picked for that class, if the previous two are any indicator,” David muttered.

Just then Charlie interrupted them, hustling over, a gigantic bag slung over his shoulders.

“Hey, guys. Did you get the schedules? What electives did you take? I can’t wait to take Care of Magical Creatures.”

David had never seen Charlie so excited before. He suspected the reason why.

“Well I’m taking Magical Creatures as well alongside Ancient Runes…Charlie are you taking this class so you can see a dragon?”

The response was predictable.

“No….maybe.”

“You realize that logistics of getting a dragon to Hogwarts are extremely difficult, bordering on impossible, especially with the more aggressive species. The sheer manpower alone would be astounding, not to mention the amount of sedation,” Rowan rattled off.

“I know, I know,” Charlie said sheepishly. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t learn about them. Hagrid is pretty knowledgeable about dragons too. Even offered to lend me a few books.”

“Out of curiosity, did anyone take Divination?” Ben asked.

The rest of the boys shook their heads.

“Heard the professor for it is completely bonkers,” David replied. “My parents also think the subject is a load of old tripe. For once I agree with them.”

“Not really my style either,” Rowan concurred. “I like dealing in facts not predictions.”

“I guess I dodged a bullet then,” Ben said with relief.

“Dodged a what now?” Charlie asked.

“Muggle saying,” Rowan informed.

It was then that Professor McGonagall came up to shoo them away as their cue to leave.

“We better get to Herbology before Professor Sprout gets cross with us,” David said aloud.

And off the Gryffindors went.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Professor Sprout took her job very seriously as head of Herbology, taking immense care of her greenhouses. However, being the Hufflepuff she was, she was not the type to give detention for tardiness. David personally enjoyed her class due to her friendly but fair demeanor. She even gave him a personal greeting upon arrival as the rest of the students set up.

“David Grant,” she said cheerfully. “So nice to see you in Herbology instead of inside of a Cursed Vault.”

Grinning at the good natured humor, David was thankful for Sprout’s non judgemental disposition.

“Cursed Vaults don’t compare to your class, Professor Sprout. I hope you had a nice summer.”

“How thoughtful of you to ask, your brother was always the same way.”

David ignored the pang in his chest as he listened politely.

“My summer was splendid! I conducted several experiments on the composition of dragon dung fertilizer. The quantity and quality of it has a tremendous impact on a plant’s growth.”

“Interesting. Just don’t let Charlie hear the word ‘dragon’ he might trip over himself trying to find it.”

Professor Sprout gave a hearty chuckle.

“There’s that wonderful sense of humor of yours. Ten points to Gryffindor for the laugh. Now, find your place Mr. Grant, we are about to begin today’s lesson.”

Feeling quite pleased with himself gaining points for simply making his professor laugh, David gladly took up a spot in between Tonks and Penny (the former gave him a wink) as the demonstration commenced.

“Good morning, class! Welcome back to Hogwarts and I hope you all had wonderful summer holidays!” Professor Sprout greeted in her usual affable manner. “Today we will be learning to grow Valerian. The roots of this magical plant can be used in many magical potions. All eyes up front, please!”

The lecture began with information about the plant itself, its properties, and the potions commonly used for. Penny was particularly excited as it turned it was a common ingredient in more advanced brews such as the Draught of Peace and the Forgetfulness Potion. Following that were notes on the proper care of the Valerian, the gathering of equipment and working on soil and roots. Greenhouse three usually housed far more dangerous plants, but that wasn’t what made the Valerian tricky. It required a very specific amount of water and light and if botched, died quite easily, something Professor Sprout was very quick to point out.

“Gather around, everyone,” she called out. “Too much water on the Valerian root will kill it within moments. I will demonstrate the proper amount to use. Miss Haywood, will you fetch me that pail on the shelf?”

“Yes, Professor Sprout,” the blonde beamed, hopping over to the shelf.

While that was occurring, Tonks took the time to catch up.

“Wotcher, Dave. I felt like I hardly saw you at the end of last year.”

“Saving the school from becoming the Arctic tundra will take up a good deal of time,” David joked. “But I promise we’ll hang out more this year.”

“Smashing! We can start right away. Which of these plants do you think would work best for bothering a certain, irritable librarian?”

The third year Gryffindor rolled his eyes but smiled all the same.

“Tonks, just how many detentions do you plan on getting this year?”

But before she could retort with a quip of her own there was a sudden crash and scream. Everyone turned to see Penny Haywood standing in front of one of the pots, positively petrified with fear. Standing over them all, was a vicious, snarling werewolf.

Immediately some of the class started screaming and a cold washed over David’s body.

How on earth did a full grown werewolf get in here?!.....In the middle of the day….when it’s two weeks before full moon….

None of this added up but before he came to the obvious conclusion, Professor Sprout leapt forward, wand drawn.

“Everyone remain calm!” she ordered. “There is nothing to fear. Please stand back, Miss Haywood.”

Penny dove underneath the table as the head of Hufflepuff house yelled out, “Riddikulus!”

The werewolf immediately transformed into a harmless, poorly stitched, teddy bear causing some of the class to laugh at the sheer hilarity. It proceeded to burst into a pile of smoke and vanish completely.

“What the hell was that?” Tonks asked aloud. “Was that a real werewolf?”

“It wasn’t,” Professor Sprout answered. “That was a boggart. Nasty shapeshifting creature that takes the form of a victim’s worst fear.”

“I’ve heard of those things,” Rowan informed them. “They’re found in almost every country. My grandfather came across one in India once. Not a pleasant experience.”

“Very true, Mr. Khanna. However, a boggart cannot physically harm you. The true damage it causes is to the mind. It is repelled by laughter and the incantation I just used will change it into something humorous.”

Sprout checked underneath the table.

“Miss Haywood, you may come out now. You do not need to be afraid any longer.”

Slowly, the blonde peaked her head out and slowly brought herself to her feet though her body was still trembling mightily.

“Oh, you poor, dear. I think a trip to Madam Pomfrey might be in order just to be safe.”

“I’ll take her,” Chiara Lobosca immediately volunteered. “I have some experience helping in the Hospital Wing. It’s the least I can do.”

David could already guess why Chiara was doing this so readily. As a werewolf herself, there was a guilt that she carried that he hardly blamed her for. And though Penny knew her secret and the two were friends, no doubt Chiara did not want to run the risk of her dormmate’s fear tainting that friendship again.

“That is very kind of you Miss Lobosca. I think we’ve all had enough for one day. I will also be forced to report this to the Headmaster; to my knowledge this is the first time a boggart has ever been seen inside the greenhouses. Class dismissed.”

Professor Sprout waved her wand, sending the Valerians back to their proper stations as the rest of the class put away their materials, gloves, and packed their things. Chiara hurried Penny away, the blonde still holding back tears and unable to speak.

David made up his mind to pay her a visit later on just to make sure she was okay. He also reflected on Professor Sprout’s comment that a boggart had never been seen in the greenhouses before.

Hogwarts was never what anyone would call ‘normal’ but even so, something very odd was going on.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lunch time only served to prove his hunch further. He and Rowan discussed the issue over pumpkin juice and ham sandwiches.

“An anomaly to be sure,” his best friend commented. “Boggarts typically like dark, decaying places.”

“A pot filled with soil is technically dark and decaying,” David joked.

“A pot in a greenhouse which absorbs and takes in massive amounts of sunlight,” Rowan pointed out. “When my grandfather stumbled across one in India, it was in a cave. It hardly adds up.”

He took out a book titled ‘Blithe’s Guide to Dark Creatures’ and flipped a few pages.

“Case and point,” he said, showing him the underlined text. “And I don’t know if you noticed this, but that boggart looked a lot more…realistic than normal.”

“It is odd I grant you that,” David conceded. “I’m just concerned about Penny mostly. She looked as though she might die of fright.”

“And that’s precisely what I’m getting at….what if that was no ordinary boggart?”

Before he could elaborate further, they were joined by the Weasley brothers, who sat down next to them.

“Did you hear about what happened?” Bill asked them.

“Charlie filled you in pretty quickly, eh?”

“No, not Penny. There was an incident in McGonagall’s sixth year Transfiguration class with the Ravenclaws. A boggart in the form of a banshee popped in out of nowhere and nearly gave this one bloke a heart attack. And there was another one in the Astronomy tower with the Slytherins. Second year broke down after seeing a bloodthirsty ogre.”

Rowan gave David a knowing look. Yes, something was definitely going on here.

“In other words, Penny wasn’t the only one to see their worst fear today,” Charlie summed it all up.

“One day back and we’re already dealing with a crisis,” David muttered. “If it isn’t cursed ice it’s the ‘Attack of the Boggarts’. Oh, joy.”

“You don’t think this has to do with another cursed vault, does it?” Rowan asked.

“And if it is, should we try and find it?” Bill added. There was an eagerness in his voice, but as it was during the feast, he tempered that eagerness.

David thought for a brief moment. It seemed preposterous to think that a cursed vault would be active so early in the year. Then again there wasn’t a viable explanation outside of that. But what did boggarts have to do with ancient curses anyway? They were sentient dark creatures, not tied to anything other than taking the shape of someone’s worst fear.

“I think we need to learn more about boggarts,” David said aloud. “There’s only so much a book can tell you. As far as whether this stems from a cursed vault, it’s too early to tell.”

“You should ask Hagrid,” Bill told him. “He knows all about terrifying creatures. He’s actually in the courtyard now if you want to talk to him. Let me know what you find.”

Just then the group had to duck as a custard tart narrowly missed hitting Charlie on the head.

“Duty calls,” Bill grinned, tapping his prefect badge. “OI! You first years! Stop throwing food in the Great Hall!”

As he left to handle the situation, David couldn’t help but shake his head and snicker a bit.

“He seems to be getting a handle on the job.”

“I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t entertaining when he tries to corral the first years,” Charlie laughed. “But this is going to work to your benefit, Dave. Bill can give you cover when you’re searching for the vaults. Like I said, he has no interest in stopping the search.”

David nodded but kept his response neutral. This wasn’t the time to go galloping off in search of another vault…not yet anyway. Dumbledore would not be pleased if he were to find out he directly disobeyed him. Nor did he want a howler from his parents.

He tried to ignore the memory of his brother once more as his face became quite vivid in his mind.

“Let’s just take it one step at a time.” Draining the last of his pumpkin juice, he got up from the table. “Shall we go visit Hagrid?”

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Finding a ten foot tall human was not a difficult task. David and Rowan spotted him right away. He was tending after Fang, who had grown quite considerably since the previous year, throwing him treats and laughing mightily.

It was a bright, sunny day. Perfect weather for going outside, and it seemed that most of the students had not heard of the mishaps with the boggarts. Not yet at least.

“Hey, Hagrid!”

The giant turned around and waved cheerily.

“Dave! Rowan! Good to see yeh.”

“Likewise. How was your summer?”

“It was fine. Thanks for askin,” Hagrid replied cheerily. “Raised a litter of flobberworms in the hut but now they’re fully grown. Don’t know what to do with em, really. Not very interestin creatures, flobberworms.”

“You could always set them free, Hagrid,” Rowan suggested. “Especially if Professor Snape doesn’t need them for any other potion.”

“Not a bad idea, though I’d have ter set em free away from me garden. They’ll eat all the pumpkins I’m growing fer this years Halloween feast. But enough of me flobberworm problems. What can I do fer yeh?”

David tried to phrase the question innocently.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard but there have been multiple boggart attacks today around the school, including Penny. Seeing as you’re an expert on creatures, we were wondering if you knew why so many are popping up out of nowhere.”

Hagrid’s normally warm, beetle eyes narrowed as he rubbed his massive beard.

“A boggart will occasionally get in here, but I haven’t seen one o’ them in ages. Not since…”

There was a pause and it was clear the gamekeeper was reluctant to reveal more.

“Since when, Hagrid?” he pressed.

“Since yer brother was a student and came askin about them as well.”

As it usually was with these cursed vaults, all questions seemed to lead to more questions, including several David had off the top of his head. He could not contain his desire for more information about Jacob this time.

“Why was my brother asking about boggarts? What did he say? What did you tell him?”

“Slow down, Dave. I’ll tell yeh everything yeh want to know,” Hagrid eased. “Years back, there was an infestation of the ruddy things. Yer brother came to me seekin’ ter know more. He had a theory that one of the vaults at Hogwarts played on the fears anyone who tried ter open it. If these boggarts are suddenly appearin’ again, it might mean someone’s bin messin with that vault.”

That all but confirmed that another Cursed Vault was currently active in the school. Except this time they had no idea where it was, unlike the ice which originated from a specific source.

“It is another vault,” Rowan whispered. “I knew it.”

“Do you know if my brother kept research on the vaults? Any writings of that nature?”

“Fraid not,” Hagrid said truthfully. “Yer brother didn’t have a lot o’ friends at Hogwarts. But he did spend a lot of time at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade. Madam Rosmerta is the innkeeper, I ‘spect she migh’ know more about any writings or notes he kept.”

David gave a wide smile.

“Well that’s quite convenient, because we’re third years now and we’re allowed to visit the village.”

Hagrid beamed. “Wonderful. I’ll have teh introduce yeh to her. She’s quite the woman, Rosmerta.”

“First trip is scheduled for the first week in October. We can meet then.”

“Sounds good ter me, Dave. I’ll see yeh around. Come along Fang.

*woof!

As Hagrid lumbered away, Rowan gave David a half inquisitive, half worried expression.

“What?”

“I know you and I know that look you get in your eye. This newfound information on your brother has you all excited again.”

“So what if it does? Do you know what I’ve had to put up with over the summer? Living with…”

He stopped, unwilling to reveal anything more. As always, the status of his family was not something he enjoyed or wanted to talk about and kept it under wraps. Rowan, gazed at him sympathetically, however.

“David, only a day ago you said you didn’t know whether we should continue searching for the vaults. One talk with Hagrid and you’re ready to go to Hogsmeade right now. Just be careful. Don’t get sucked back into this too early.”

His best friend definitely had a point. There were places in time during the previous two years where the search for Jacob had caused him to lose his rationality. Still, if there was a lead, he couldn’t simply stand by and not follow it.

“Don’t worry, Rowan. That Hogsmeade trip isn’t for another month. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with talking to Madam Rosmerta just to learn more about my brother.”

“We both know that’s not the only reason you want to talk to her.”

“Fine. You caught me. I’m going so I can stare at her chest all day. Happy?”

Rowan couldn’t help but chortle at that as he adjusted his glasses.

“David, I know I can’t stop you from talking to Rosmerta. When you put your mind to something there’s very little anyone can do to stop you. I just don’t want to see you expelled.”

“I won’t be, I can promise you that,” he replied, putting an arm around the Indian boy. “And I know you’re looking out for me like you always do. Thank you.”

That brought a big smile to Rowan’s face. Underneath the surface he was always a bit insecure about his place at Hogwarts and to reaffirm his friendship was exactly what a person like him needed now and again.

“I always will.” He checked his watch and frowned. “Lunch is almost over, and potions starts soon. You know what happens if we’re tardy.”

David groaned. Though potions was actually a subject he normally did well in, it also meant afternoons spent with two of his least favorite people: Severus Snape and Merula Snyde. And though he had not seen the latter of the two yet, there was no doubt the Slytherin girl would have multiple choice words for him.

“Let’s face it then, yeah? Nothing like trading warm air and sunshine for the black pit of the dungeons and Merula.”

It would have been a lot funnier were the prospect not so bleak.

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Sure enough, upon their entry to the Potions classroom Merula was waiting for them. Her look had changed slightly over the summer- she sported black eyeliner, heavy dark eyeshadow, and what looked like a tiny amount of blush in her cheeks. Otherwise, there was very little difference in her appearance- the orange tuft of hair, ripped tights and combat boots were still there. However, this time she wasn’t alone.

“Welcome back to Hogwarts, Grant. How did it feel to be publicly humiliated by Dumbledore at the welcome feast?”

“You know as lovely a tradition arguing with you every first potions class is, I really don’t have the patience to keep it going this year,” came the witty retort. David also wasn’t lying. His ire against the girl certainly hadn’t subsided but on days like this it receded into a kind of bored exasperation.

“You’ll need more than just patience this time around. In fact, I wouldn’t even bother trying to find the next vault. I’m going to open them all before you even have a chance to find them,” she sneered at him in her usual manner. “With my associates Ismelda and Barnaby here, all of the fortune and glory in the vaults will be mine.”

It was like the speech of a badly written villain, however Merula wasn’t fibbing on one aspect of her statement. Flanked on each side was indeed Ismelda Murk and Barnaby Lee, two people he was familiar with- the former once tried to threaten him into revealing more information about the vaults while the latter was notorious for consuming potions he wasn’t supposed to drink.

“Didn’t you say something similar to that last year?” Rowan pipped up.

“I don’t believe I was talking to you, four eyes,” Merula snapped at him as she turned back to David, violet eyes glinting maliciously. “You got lucky last year, Grant. But that luck is about to run out.”

The third year Gryffindor gave a false yawn as he slung his bag over his chair.

“Truly, I’m shaking in my boots. Merula. When you actually find a vault as opposed to talking about finding one get back to me. Otherwise, I have better things to do than listen to you carry on like a prat.”

Merula’s rosy pink cheeks turned a bright shade of red as anger surged through her.

“Like what?!”

“Uh, literally anything else.”

The Slytherin witch had no time to reply, however as Snape entered the room, his usual slumped over, bat like silhouette taking immediate command of the room. That certainly hadn’t changed.

“Alright you insufferable lot,” he droned in his usual monotone. “Take your seats, heat up your cauldrons and do try to not ruin another lesson…Mr. Lee that goes double for you. Any consumption of potions and I’ll have you repeating your third year faster than it takes you to form a sentence. Now, take out your books and turn to the first pages. Today we will be learning Wide Eye Potion.”

The class did not hesitate in obeying the Potions master and set to work. David was also extra careful to pay close attention to Merula and Ismelda, the latter of whom frightened the life out of Ben and never missed an opportunity to screw with his brew. However, Merula didn’t attempt to sabotage him today, nor did she whisper unsettling, annoying threats underneath her breath. Instead there was a pronounced smirk on her face, one that she occasionally threw his way. He did not care for it one bit.

After adding the two sprigs of wolfsbane and adding three counter-clockwise turns, David figured he’d brewed an acceptable concoction and placed a sample on Snape’s desk, who barely acknowledged his presence and waved him away. All in all, the class itself was uneventful. But Merula and her cronies weren’t done trying to antagonize him. After leaving the potions classroom, David and Rowan were again confronted by the Slytherin gang.

“You think you’re so amazing,” Merula snarled at him. “But you’ve had a team of people helping all along the way and taking the credit. Well that’s exactly what I have now. Wherever the next cursed vault is and whatever is inside it, it’s mine for the taking.”

David was about to retort but before he could, Barnaby interrupted. The hulking mass was easily the tallest among the group and was already just under six feet. When he spoke his voice was deep but surprisingly gentle.

“What do you think is inside the next Cursed Vault?” he wondered aloud more to himself than anyone else.

“I hope it’s something that can bring back the Dark Lord,” Ismelda said darkly. This caused Barnaby to look slightly fearful and the two Gryffindors extremely apprehensive.

“Maybe it’s something that can bring back Grant’s brother,” Merula said tapping a finger on her chin, her eyes up towards the sky. Her expression then turned back to her usual nasty leer. “On second thought, no one cares about that loser.”

As it was with David, he had very few sore spots, but his brother unfortunately was one of them. He could handle her usual barbs and insults, but if she needed another lesson when it came to talking badly about his family, he would teach it.

“I’d shut your mouth, Merula. Unless you want to duel again and we both know how that ended up the last two times.”

He stepped forward. She was still his equal in height but he held no fear of her. Malicious violet eyes clashed with the cold fury of hazel-blue ones and the tension was considerably heightened.

“You got lucky, Grant. You always get lucky. Next time, you’ll be begging for mercy…” Merula said dangerously.

“Didn’t you beg a bit when Grant beat you the last time?” Barnaby asked her stupidly. “People told me you cried too, but I could have sworn there was begging.”

It wasn’t until a few seconds passed that David realized the question was not a jab at Merula but a genuine one. He had heard Barnaby wasn’t the brightest candle in the room, even so his lack of brain power clearly irritated his leader.

“Shut up, Barnaby,” Merula growled. “Let’s go. This loser isn’t worth our time.”

She brushed past him, while Ismelda gave Rowan a rough shove. However, Barnaby did not immediately follow the two girls as he stared down at the Gryffindors in front of him, his face taking on a serious, stoic expression.

“If you mess with Merula, I’ll vanish all the bones in your body,” came the words. It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.

David sized up the burly Slytherin. This was probably not someone he wanted to tangle with both physically or in a duel. And yet there was something he didn’t understand.

“In case you haven’t noticed, she’s the one constantly messing with me,” he pointed out. “Why are you friends with her? She treats you like rubbish.”

“She treats everyone like rubbish, actually,” Rowan muttered.

“Merula says whatever is inside the vaults is something really powerful. If it makes me stronger, I want it. She’s the most cunning witch at Hogwarts and the only way I’ll ever get that power is to do exactly what she says.”

David resisted rolling his eyes at that logic. It was typical Slytherin speak. Power over everything else no matter how intelligent or moronic you were. In Barnaby’s case it was the latter.

“Is that what she told you?” he asked sincerely.

“Yes,” came the simple response.

“You ever think she might be lying in order to manipulate you?”

That gave Barnaby pause scrunching up his face as though he were trying to solve an incredibly difficult math equation. After a few moments, he frowned.

“Don’t try to make me think, Grant,” he growled, cracking his knuckles menacingly, multiple silver rings glinting as he did so. He too walked off to find the rest of his gang though he did not shove either one of them as Ismelda and Merula had.

“Is it just me, or was that conversation literally the stupidest thing I’ve ever been a part of?” David asked aloud.

“Barnaby is one of the strongest wizards in our year,” Rowan told him. “Has quite the reputation as a duelist. Even so he’s still thicker than a troll.”

“Even a bloody troll would know better than to trust Merula. Then again, I’m surprised that bloke knows how to put on his trousers properly in the morning.”

Rowan laughed and they continued on their way, but David couldn’t help but feel that his third year at Hogwarts might be the most challenging one yet. Between the possibility of another cursed vault and dealing with three hostile Slytherins as opposed to the usual one, the message was clear.

He had his work cut out for him.