#not usually big on other character loops aus but i like this one!! very interesting im excited to see more

[drawcupidsbow]

doodle of @sharkylass's roboro i like this guy ^_^ made the stars on its skin look like leaves cause.. dandelion.... idk i thought it was cute

[gnomewithalaptop]

I'm still too distracted to write so here have a list of YJ-cast centric fics that make me froth at the mouth

Kon-centric recs:

I Want It That Way (1990s Tim/Kon) by WynterSky / @wynterstars -- A revamped, 90s-style Superboy origin story with added Lex Luthor AND a lil bit of 90s Robin for spice and flavor. Honestly, this whole series is so elite -- goes hard with the Superboy mythos + angst PLUS the third fic leans hard into the secret identity shenanigans in a way that'd make Miraculous Ladybug jealous. The first fic splits its attention between Tim and Kon, but the latter two are solidly Kon-centric

one plus one (easy math) by connerdrakewayne / @comphetkoncass -- Cassandra Cain and Kon go to a gala together. I'm always a sucker for a good Cass + Kon friendship. This one's very short and sweet, and it gets the job done -- 10/10 would read again

a timeline can be a haunted house by connerdrakewayne -- post-universal reset Kon angst + terrible coping mechanisms! This one goes so hard I read it three times. Tbh this author has an excellent handle on Kon as a character in general, so I honestly recommend just checking out their whole fic stash

Tim-centric recs:

Top 10 Secret Identity Fails by @havendance -- Tim's new English teacher is his on-again-off-again superhero teamup Helena Bertinelli (aka the Huntress). This one's just fun, okay -- the whole thing reads like it could be straight out of Tim's 1993 solo run, plus I love the dynamic between him and Helena. Overall just a very cool vibe

only the dead stay 17 forever by Sky_Dust (couldn't find their tumblr sorry) -- Listen, I've really been restraining myself here, because I realize my love for time-travel bullshit is not universal, but I genuinely couldn't not include this one. This bad boy is a Tim-centric time-loop featuring a seriously unhinged Tim -- definitely a darker tone, but I can't stop rereading it

Bart-centric recs:

reflections on respawning: a gamer's uncertainty by merils / @mamawasatesttube -- Bart has a hard conversation about his death and subsequent resurrection (feat. Kon) man, I just vibe with this one so hard. It's such a thoughtful take on Bart's more contemplative side, while still managing to keep his personality intact

the backlash to the backlash to the thing that's just begun by @kermit-coded -- trans/gnc impulse my beloved <3 also we get some funky Max & Bart bonding, made much rawer and more real by the fact that it's the 90s and nobody knows what they're doing. Again, feels like it's straight out of Bart's solo series

Cassie-centric recs:

you and I, we are more than just this armor by @suzukiblu -- KonCassie bonding + gender feels. They're both so trans in this, and the author does a great job of really digging deep into their complicated feelings (both about gender and about each other)

(also PLEASE somebody give me more Cassie-centric fic recs I'm literally begging you)

Team recs

I'm all yours but you're all mine by suzukiblu -- Poly Core 4 Soulmates AU! Essentially, everybody gets their 'soulmark'/soulmate-identifier (not really, but the best word) right when Kon wakes up in his pod, and because Superboy hasn't really made his big splash yet, they misidentify their soulmate as Superman; this is an issue mainly because 1) they're all 14-15 and Superman is roughly 30-ish, and 2) by the time this fic takes place, Superman is pretty verifiably dead. Currently in-progress, but this is such an interesting and fun take on the usual soulmates trope. I pinky promise you won't regret reading it

Love, Not Loved series by @popsunner -- hoooomygod this series makes me cry literally every time I read it, it's genuinely one of the most realistic representations of grief I've seen on AO3. Basically explores the general fucked-up-edness of pretty much the whole YJ Core 4 Squad dying one by one, with each fic focusing on a different funeral (complete with survivor's guilt, regular guilt, and just plain old complicated feelings). We get Cassie feels, we get Tim feels, we get Bart + Kon feels -- it's the whole shebang. Don't worry -- there's a happy ending eventually, but you def gotta work for it. This series beat me up and stole my lunch money and I'd happily do it all over again

Lost the Last Piece of Me by InsaneTrollLogic / @last01standing -- YJ Core 4 Animorphs AU! I'm sad to say I've never read the original Animorphs series, but every single Animorphs AU I've ever read has been such high quality. Unsurprisingly (I love this author, okay), this fic is no exception to that rule. Solid alien-invasion plot, character driven, and the world-building is explained well enough that even a newbie like me can understand (feat. some TimKon, but it's not the main focus)

Ikonoclast by anantipodean (couldn't find a tumblr) -- Tim and Kon get sent to an alternate reality that's almost (but not quite) like their own. This one's just fun for me -- I love the TimBart buildup and the worldbuilding on the other Earth is a funky time. Also, the other universe's Tim is goth and absolutely cannot stand mainstream-reality Tim, and I find that extremely funny for some reason

[rrtfs-official-blog]

Alright, it's been on my mind for a while...

More so a few days, but I think you get the point. I've been mulling this over for, maybe about a week by now? Point is, I can't come to a decision and someone might be able to help.

Me and my co-writers (Spits and Speedy) were in a Discord call. Just hanging out as we do sometimes. As per usual we were talking about the different series and projects we're all working on. Speedy and Spits talked about theirs together for a while (I didn't get in on it much but I'll explain why in a moment), and I also talked about RRTFS. (If I wasn't this likely wouldn't end up on this blog.)

I sorta off handedly mentioned this blog, both of them know its exists. It sorta came up because of Speedy and Spits talking, and Spits telling Speedy he should make a Tumblr account. (As a side note Speedy DOES want to make one at some point for his Thomas the Tank Engine AU, and I absolutely would tag him a million times here.) I said he'd probably get more engagement than I do, simply because although it's an AU, there's a fandom for the series and people eat that stuff up! No matter how absurd there's always an audience, unlike for my stuff since it's just a little homebrewed OC project.

Spits then suggested I start tagging posts on this blog, about Somewhereica, with the Thomas the Tank Engine tags. I've been mulling over his idea for some time. And I want to list out the reasons why I would and wouldn't.

Why I Would Use The TTTE Tags:

I would, well, because I will admit there are similarities. Mainly just the style of the faces on the engines, some of the shorts, and well... It's talking locomotives who have silly adventures and get themselves caught up in wild situations.

Spits also claimed that people would love the series! People who like TTTE would more than likely like my series. Especially those who want something a little more serious or even gory than just the kid's show. Both Spits and Speedy claim the writing is good (which, I hope so! I'm putting my heart and soul into it!), and Spits also said there's enough people who like American locomotives in the Thomas fandom to where they'd likely at least give it a shot.

Why I Wouldn't Use The TTTE Tags:

The big one is all honesty, is the fact I don't want this series to come off like an AU. In all honesty, it's not. Sure I've made some Thomas references within shorts and even some of the titles, RRTFS is something I want to be it's own thing. Now I know it'll probably always be overshadowed by TTTE, and TTTE was a very heavy influence, they're not the same. And I want TTTE to be nothing more than that to RRTFS, an influence and where I got some concepts for my series from. (Note, I did watch a ton of Thomas as a kid! Although these days I'm rather out of the loop, and that's why Speedy and Spits talk about their AUs with each other more than me, because there's a lot I don't know.)

The other is the fact that... Like I said, this isn't an AU. It would feel to me like I'm putting useless tags on things for nothing more than engagement. It would feel like bait to people who are scrolling through the TTTE tag looking for, well, Thomas, and then getting some random completely unrelated OC project that they likely have no interest in. So I don't want to tag incorrectly, although the series do have the same basis of talking trains with faces.

Well... That's about it I think. That's what's been on my mind. If anyone could tell me which I should do, please do! Even if it's just in the replies, I read those! I just want advice to make a few friends and perhaps have a very small community of people who have interest in the project. That's all for now I think. Thanks for putting up with my rambles and for those of you who answer, thank you! And if tis post does manage to catch anyone's eyes, I'm open to answer asks about the series! I know I haven't posted a lot about the characters, but I just... Haven't had a reason to yet I suppose.

(P.S. I will be tagging this post as TTTE simply because I mention it quite a bit. That, and perhaps someone or a few someones in the fandom can let me know if tagging anything else with it would be rude or annoying.)

[heartberrydog]

Oooooh, nice fandoms you got there! I gotta replay Slay the Princess.

I'm pissed off because the first time I played it, I went as far as four different loops except that I didn't know how to save, so I lost my progression and wasn't able to get it back. Which enrages me, because I wanted to know what ending I would get by just being me. So now I'm trying to forget everything about it so that I can replay it, except that my memory works only on stuff that I like, and I absolutely loved this game o(╥﹏╥)o

My life is so unfair, Tuli, so unfair.

I really enjoy the mechanics though, and the way your choices influence which voices you hear and the fact that all of these are still, you know, you. You mentioned not liking crossovers, I think, but I really enjoy taking this concept and putting other characters in it, imagine how they'd react, what they would get, you know?

For example, if Dazai was the one supposed to slay the princess, I am like 99.9% sure that the first voice he'd get is The Contrarian! ... Or The Opportunist.

I think if it was Chuuya, he'd get either The Skeptic or The Cheated. I guess The Stubborn could work too.

It's just a very fun thing to do, imagining what choices they would make in that situation, you know? That's also why I love games like that, it's just. So interesting.

Out of the fandoms I’ve mentioned STP was probably the last one I was expecting for someone to know?? 😭 But I’m so glad you do!

I mean, I’m not gonna lie, the endings don’t really differ that much based on how you play until the final battle. The choices are usually at the end, unless Stranger was the first princess or unless you’ve taken the Meanie route. Mayhaps you’re talking about which vessels you gain? Which I do get, but at the same time, I don’t really… View STP through this lens. But that might be because I’m not particularly big on games precisely because of the importance of player involvement. I don’t view any games in relation to myself. The player is STP is never me, even before the reveal of him being the Long Quiet. So I never really pay attention to things like this? Playing games is never about me, it’s about the story of the game itself. I don’t remember what my first round was like, outside of getting HEA as my first princess because I didn’t want to be mean, and also because I thought it was so beautifully romantic making Smitten rip their heart out 💗💕

I do have to replay HEA though bc, by going with instinct, I went the Lights Out route, and also never discovered that the shadow itself was the Smitten. Getting HEA first was really such a wonderful introduction to STP because I feel like the writing there is really beautiful, and the symbolism is top tier. The whole thing about still being hungry even after eating that amazing meal. UGH. Chills. Genuinely, I was sitting in bed shaking. The metaphor did kind of drag, imo. I feel like somehow leaving it with the food would’ve been fine, no need for them to play that game and whatever.

I never particularly thought of skk playing STP, or what voices they’d get because, again, I don’t like viewing games as a player-based analysis (which is funny because all the games I like are basically about this in one way or another, including STP. DDLC was my LIFE back in the day, dude. Yuri is my fav, if anyone cares…), but I have thought of creating a skk being in STP AU, because I do believe the blurry line between violence and love STP presents is very soukoku coded. But, at the same time, I can’t decide which of them would be the Princess, and which would be the player. Though I do also think this reinforces the idea, doesn’t it?

I don’t like crossover AUs in the sense of characters from X franchise meeting characters from Y franchise. I’m okay with the Universes themselves getting crossed over, and a certain cast of characters being brought up in a different world, though, for example. Just… without the MCs meeting.

I know you haven’t asked but my favorite princess is The Den… I just need to share that. I am so in love with her it’s stupid. She’s not even anything remotely human anymore, yet she’s the absolute love of my life. The whole thing about consumption healing the body and The Den and the player essentially becoming the same entity from eating each other over and over….. Nobody mention The Den (or Voice of The Hunted) around me unless you’re ready to converse with a psychopath that is way too fond of consumption as a metaphor for love…

I also really need to play it again, though. I haven’t in a while, and I still haven’t 100%-ed the game. Mostly because I got really mad I couldn’t unlock all endings organically and had to Google some stuff, which then made it less fun 🙄

Have an awesome day!! Many thanks for being based and liking Slay the Princess ( ੭ ˘ ³˘)੭‎°｡⋆♡‧₊˚

[jukebox-arts]

I was an OG FNAF fan and watched content of SB when it first dropped; I cycled out of the fandom briefly due to IRL things and then looped back to watch mods and glitch runs. It made me appreciate how absolutely broken the game is. I ended up watching Ask Sun and Moon by Shandzii a few times, and got exposed to DCA content on Tiktok through SatogaCrank and a few others. I've been stuck in the glue trap since.

TBH I didn't care for the DCAs at first because their designs freaked me out, but as good fandom does, I warmed up to them via the above creators and started my own AU interpretations thereafter. I've always loved sun-moon(-stars) motifs and in my current situation having never had comfort characters before, the slew of wholesome DCA content really stapled me to the glue trap.

Technically from the beginning if it's SB, but DCA was Nov or Dec 2022? Ish?

I haven't but my bestie did, partially. We bought the game to take screenshots for references and currently have a very persistent Moon running rampant in the daycare trying to get us so we didn't get far.

To date? ASL Sun for the holidays, the "New Mother" comic, and my AU images, "Tidal Lock" and "Kilonova"

I really love the new-genre-style art that they keep coming up with, making D&D characters, wizards, mermaids, etc. The wholesome stuff makes me happy, especially when its a little new or well done.

I really like 8um8le's "Stellar City", I'm in the fringes of Fairy, Overshadowed and GITM, plus my own Free Runner and Legacy AUs.

The Jens (Jennifer, Jenny and Jenn). I've put so much work into them compared to my usual amount, they're my darlings and I adore them all.

Used to dislike it but Biblically Accurate has become amusing and very interesting to see interpreted because it's so rare now, it feels like.

The pure creativity and amazing DCA variants. I really like robots.

Canon? Sun. From an AU that isn't mine? Probably 8um8le's Sun. From mine? Moon, hands down (sorry Sun). Overall if it's not just Sun or Moon? 8um8le's Cat or Eclipse, or Satoga's Nova.

Canon Eclipse is baby, but pre-canon fandom Eclipse was wild to see evolve.

That guy needed a vacation long before the glitch set in, but I think he enjoyed himself.

He definitely had the theater kid vibe, switching on a dime from nap time to goblin mode faster than the light could flip.

Personally, they're two AI, but I enjoy the rare takes where they're a split persona or Jekyll-Hyde situation if done well. Generally it doesn't matter to me as long as it's... tasteful, we'll say.

More AUs that aren't focused on the pizzaplex. I'm biased.

DCA-cest I guess? But I filter my tags so it's not a big deal, I mostly just don't like it when they're written as brothers AND lovers at the same time. Also, fucking shipping drama. Oh my god. Leave each other alone.

Turning my Free Runner AU into a legit comic/story that's only mildly DCA-adjacent.

I'd like to hope so, I consider myself a safe person so I shouldn't set off any danger signs.

Seriously, keep cranking out other DCA variants, they're tasty and I'm looking with as much respect as I can muster.

Additional nitpick/vent thing: I love me some saucy bots but I can't reconcile canon-adjacent, active daycare attendants having genitals. Do whatever, genuinely, but I just do not comprehend them having any simply because of what they are and are made to do. It's the one thing I can't suspend my disbelief on for some reason.

Non-canon-compliant scenarios or later modified outside of fazbear? Abso-fucking-lutely. Love to see it.

But currently-working-in-the-daycare-they-were-built-to-be-in? Too confusing. Brain error.

That's all.

alright dca fandom, here's some questions bc i'm curious. the funky jesters make our brains go brr, but why? treat it as an ask game or answer in the tags if you feel like it! :)

how did you get here?

why these characters in particular? what was the hook for you?

how long have you been here?

have you actually played fnaf sb?

if you make content, what's your favorite piece you've contributed?

what's your favorite sort of art or fic? what genre/flavor/style?

what's your favorite au?

do you have any ocs, or have any ocs you're fond of?

what do you think of the dca's canon appearance? Scary? Cute? Something else?

what keeps you in this fandom despite the very small amount of canon content the dca had?

be honest: if you had to pick only one, sun or moon?

thoughts on eclipse?

thoughts on pre-glitch sun?

thoughts on pre-glitch moon?

do you interpret sun and moon as two sides of the same person, or truly two separate beings in one body? does it matter?

what's something in the fandom you'd like to see more of?

what's something in the fandom you'd like to see less of?

anything you're looking forward to?

do you think you'd actually get along with the dca if you met them irl?

free space! talk about whatever's on your mind!

[justfor2am]

hi my interview has been rescheduled once again because of course it is ^_^ nothing wants me to be interviewed ig ^_^ anyways 🥺😈🛒🎢✨💋🎶⛔🍦🌞💖💌❌🧐🦅👀🤗💞🧠🤩🤯💔🤭 for the fanfic writer asks or wtevr they're called??? didn't realize until just now u even rbed an ask game so apologies 🫡 side note the 💥 emoji is so fun . its just like 💥💥💥💥💥 yk??? also feel free to skip any of those i just threw down the ones i think would be most interesting but as usual there r many

i am manifesting an interview AND a job for u, get that bag king!!!

also waough ty for giving me an excuse to talk abt my blorbos 🥺🥺🥺

and ya 💥 feels like ur comboing someone really well in a fighting game, like 💥💥💥 K.O. yanno?

this is def gonna be a long one tho soooo the rest underneath the cut this goes lmao

🥺 Is there a certain type of moment or common interaction between your characters that never fails to put you in your feels?

Anything having to do with touch. I'm a sucker for physical gestures, so anything that involves details like brushing someone's hair out of their eyes, hooking a tentative pinky around someone else's hand, it doesn't need to be overt to get me in my feels every single time.

😈 Has there been a point in a story where you did something just to be playfully mean to your readers?

Yes! I threatened a major character death in [though I've closed my eyes, I know who you pretend I am] late in the final (12th) chapter lmao

I knew that being that late into the fic most people would've forgotten what the specific tags were and even less would be willing to scrolling all the way back up to check lol

🛒 What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.

Like I said in the first Q, touch is a big thing for me. Eyes and anything having to do with vision also tends to be a big one, if you read a fic with both of those elements there's a decent chance I wrote it.

As far as overarching things, I prefer to write scenery over dialogue, and put a heavy emphasis on describing what the characters are feeling/thinking over having them verbally express it.

🎢 Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

I wanna say my [detroit become human au] has shit hit the fan pretty quickly. The fic opens with the conflict and it takes a few chapters for the reader to get any context, but once you've got it, going back to the start just makes your heart break.

✨ Give you and your writing a compliment. Go on now. You know you deserve it. 😉

booo hiss grrr

no but actually uhhhhhh... I will say that when I've got a good idea rattling around in my head, I can churn out a fic for that premise very quickly. to the point that i accidentally wrote three chapters for one of my fics all within a day, because I'm unhinged like that

💋 First kiss fics. Love em or hate em?

LOVE but only if they're done right. I appreciate first kiss fics that aren't perfect or a little clumsy, but also i'm a sucker for those picture perfect moments too

🎶 Do you listen to music while you write? What song have you been playing on loop lately?

YA i do my best writing with some music on. I've been listening to a mix of things lately (Love from the Other Side by FOB, that new Shakira collab, and Flowers by Miley Cyrus) but i've also been looping my 14+ hour long exo playlist

⛔ Do you have a fic you started, but scrapped?

I had a sculk!Grian fic from like, I wanna say October last year that I was 1k words into that just. Disappeared. No clue where it went or how I lost but, but in hindsight, it wasn't my best work.

I'm still a bit sad to have lost it, but considerably more proud of the things I've written since.

🍦 What’s the sweetest fic you’ve created so far?

I have come to the realization that I am horrible at writing fluff without some level of conflict within the fic. Whoops! Closest I've got is a [scarian sick fic] that I wrote recently lmao

🌞 Do you have a preferred time of day to write?

Either while I'm at work when it's dead during the day time, or frantically at like, 11 o'clock p.m., there is no in between.

💖 What made you start writing?

Wayyyyy back when I was 12/13 I used to be big into rp, and I came into the realization that the rps I was doing could just as easily be formatting into fics.

None of those fics were ever published, but getting to learn how to edit and rewrite scenes that had been planned out with another person made me want to start creating stories of my own.

💌 How do you feel about comments and feedback?

Love love LOVE comments and feedback. Literally getting a comment is like a serotonin boost directly into my veins to write more, esp comments that'll point out specific scenes or moments/lines they liked.

someone pointed out that they liked the way I described fresh hickeys like blooming violets and I haven't been able to stop thinking about that comment ever since.

❌ What’s a trope you will never write?

That's a good question.... I'm trying to think of one that isn't like, a blatantly obvious icky trope.

I'm not sure if it counts as a trope, but Y/N fics. Not only are their primary function to act as fan service, they end up coming off very RPF to me which I'm not a fan of.

Oh, also RPF. Any fic i write has to do 100% with the characters those people portray, not the real person.

🧐 Do you spend much time researching for your stories?

Depends on the fic! For my [actor au] I've just been kinda flying by the seat of my pants, doing the occasional googling but not much. The opposite of this would be my [detroit become human au] where I literally rewatched jacksepticeye's d:bh playthrough and scoured wikis to make sure i'm describing androids correctly.

tl;dr: generally no, only as needed unless I get fixated on it.

🦅 Do you outline fics or fly by the seat of your pants?

Fly by the seat of my pants, but i'm trying to change this! For my multi-chaptered fics I've started actually planning out future events, and even for this one big one shot im working on, i've got an outline in the works.

...though generally, i don't plan. it's a bad habit.

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

GLADLY so speaking of that big one shot, it's going to be a boatem superhero au, i've started outlining it and getting my concepts together, i'm very excited for it!

here's a snippet:

It was fairly obvious that the Mayor had pulled some strings to get Scar to this stage; once a nobody vigilante who seemed more preoccupied with dazzling the camera over saving lives, Scar's public image had taken a hard left turn during the past few campaigning months.

The situation was more of an open secret— it was all too convenient for Scar, who practically lived in the Mayor's pocket, to be joining the city's most elite crime-fighting team.

it's VERY early in development so don't expect this one for a while tho

🤗 What advice would you give to new fanfic writers that are just getting started?

I'd say figure out your character's voice is a big one. It's easy to fall into fanon tropes and while they're fun, they can cause lots of warping in the way you write your own fics, which might make them sound off.

So look out for fanon tropes! Personally I've run into people who make Scar very sweet and innocent, to the point of dusting his hands clean of blame. It's an easy hole to fall into, and no one should fault a writer for falling into tropes.

There's a line to walk, and I find that watching content relating to that character really helps shaping that "inner voice".

Also, get someone to proof read your work who is willing to point out your mistakes. Editing/betaing is never meant to be a personal attack, but rather to make sure that the fic you present to the rest of the world is cohesive and clear.

💞 Who’s your comfort character?

Scar! He just gets me fr. He's one of my favorite guys to write because of how versatile and how much variety he has. He could be a silly salesman one minute, and a quietly scary assassin the next. Whatever the bit or joke is, he fully commits to it, often to the detriment of himself, but god does it make for good content.

Also he has a really good narration voice ok

🧠 Pick a character, and I’ll tell you my favorite headcanon for them.

(ty for the speedy discord reply lol)

Grian! my darling baby boy who has every mental illness ever

no but actually, i'd say my favorite grian head canon is anything having to do with him being an alchemist. i want that man brewing potions, getting blown up, and curing all his friends ailments with the most illegal looking brew you've ever seen in your life.

🤩 Who is your favorite character to write?

Grian, mostly because he comes easiest to me! There's such a sense of endless potential when I get ready to write him, and like, idk what it is, but longing too?

We've been getting it pretty heavy w/ his whole "I Miss Mumbo" campaign but like, grian to me feels like someone who's always thinking about reaching a hand out, and pulls it back at the last second. It's very relatable.

🤯 What’s a genre you struggle with as a writer (ex. romance, action, etc.)?

Weirdly enough, it's fluff. I always feel compelled to write stories with some level of conflict or it's not "satisfying" to me. I love reading the genre, but for whatever reason when I write it, I get in my head about if it's "good enough" or not without conflict. I'm working on that lol

💔 Is there a fic of yours that broke your heart?

EDIT: so i misread this, you get fic recs as a bonus. my proper answer is: [my bad ending fae two shot], it will shatter you as it did me </3

i'm going to give two because i do what i want. the first being [It's Only Logical by TSTrashCaptain] which is a sanders sides fic that to this day, i can only dream of writing something so good. tw for themes of abuse and nsfw at times, but god. just reading the title again puts a knot in my heart in the best way possible.

now, this fic. [your heart rots in my hands by thepigeoncat]. this fic slaughtered me the first time i read it. i left a long ass comment on it. tw for major character death, but this is the perfect last life scarian fic.

it's beautiful, and tragic, and it makes me feel as though the world has truly ended /pos. please go read it.

🤭 Do you have a favorite tag to use when posting your works?

my favorite tag for when i post unbetaed work is "no beta we die like scar to the boatem hole"

as far as a REAL tag, hurt/comfort >:))

and my favorite one off funny tag is "i cannot emphasis to you enough how much blood is in this fic"

[fanfic writer emoji asks!]

[jawllines]

“You’re really gonna go in there?” Y/N queries gently, and Harry only nods his head in response, reaching for the door handle. An urgent, delicate touch of Y/N’s hand startles him, looping around his wrist and dragging his attention toward her, “Shouldn’t we have a game plan if something is behind the door?” She asks, her hold on him tightening just a little, and Harry notes how soft her palm feels against his skin, “Like, let’s say we open the door and a behemoth is standing there, what do we do?”

“The only behemoth that could fit in this tiny room is the band from Poland, Babe, and I reckon they have better things to do on a Thursday night,” he retorts, clenching around the knob and tilting it down, “Now unless you want to hold hands in there. . .”

She lets go before he can finish, and he doesn’t have to look back at her face to know she’s irate. A small smile quirks at his mouth as he pushes his shoulder against the heavy door to aid him opening it, bracing himself to see something potentially horrid. . .

And there’s nothing.

or

Harry and Y/N are witches, they hate each other, and something’s coming

19K+ words

(A/N: Hiii!! So, I’ll be honest I know absolutely nothing about real witches at all, so what is in this story is not fact! it’s just an AU and doesn’t speak toward any of my real witches out there unless i accidentally got some things right. Happy reading, I really liked writing these guys I hope you like them just as much!!)

i.

It was dark. 

Both in the state of the sky and the feeling that slithered through Y/N’s body while she tended to the Brugmansia finally flowering in her garden. The shift in the air could have easily been inculpated by the cool breeze that blew past her face, shepherding clouds thick and heavy with autumn rain, but Y/N knew better than that. Those feelings typically bring her peace; the rattle of thunder soothes her aching bones while fat drops paint the pavement, wet the dirt to mud, and feed the drying grass.

This feeling made her bones rattle. It crawled beneath her skin like billions of tiny beetles unearthed within her vessels; her stomach churned, her shoulders were weighed down, there was a gnawing pain at her temples, so fierce she held her hand to them. The cold brass of her ring cools her heated skin. This feeling was vile, it was awful, for fuck sake what was causing it? 

She stood from her crouched position and slid back into her store. Technically, she’d closed about three hours prior so she should have been home well by now, but when she’d finally gathered her things in her duffle at 12, she looked out the back window and noticed some of her moonflowers had begun to bloom. There was a small part of her that had been reluctant to step outside at all, but she needed to greet them and water them, no matter the odd, unfamiliar troubling sense that had initially confused her. She ignored it -- she thought maybe she was just nervous to say hi to them, sometimes she was. 

(Flowers and plants hold a special connection with their caretaker, from a tiny seed to a flourishing garden, they place their lives in the care of the earth or a human. If not properly nursed, their wilted petals appear so quickly, a silent plea for water, or sun, or even a little attention -- Y/N found that plants liked a little attention. That’s why she spoke to them, she cooed and gave them well-wishes when she left them alone. They felt just a part of her family as any blood relative had, from the moment she had sliced the tip of her finger in a torn brush and the petal she’d touched afterward fused together her tiny wound. Her nan had always told her that maybe she was a bit closer to plants than others were, so she probably shouldn’t share this with kids in her class because they might be jealous of her (Y/N knows now her nan just didn’t want her getting picked on.) 

It was clear to her now that this feeling was a bit more than that when her goose pimples sunk back into her skin after stepping into the warmth of her store. Though it was not just because she had been keeping her shop pleasantly warm as the nights grow colder and longer; she kept herself protected in here. In between these walls lied a sanctitude that kept all evil out, in all manners, of all species, besides two. 

One of which is her bunny, Thumper, who in all ways but emotionally was her familiar. He was a ghostly white Holland lop, with big dopey ears that she slid her fingers beneath and flipped up and down in spare moments. She accuses him of being evil because he’s always nipping at her fingertips, demanding food with a stomp of his foot, and gives the silent threat that he’ll nibble on her plants if she really pisses him off (he stands by them, twitches his little nose and shows his two front teeth until she gives him what he wants -- it’s usually more hay). He’s nothing but a little, greedy nuisance that showed up on her step one day and hadn’t left since.

The other. . .well, the other was Harry Styles. 

Y/N liked most witches, no matter their point of interest. She knew that there could be a certain level of distrust amongst the syndicate -- hexes, and curses placed upon one another, but she tried to stay out of that -- she held no disfavor toward most of the others either. Everyone connected with things very differently, what she may connect with might not be that of what her neighbor connected with and that was okay. Her nan’s emotions had been in accord with the sea, and even though Y/N spent most of her life fearing water, she bore no judgment. 

What she does is done in the mind of good favor, of bettering oneself with the world around them in a way that would beneficial to not only them but the people in their lives. Open up otherwise closed eyes to the beauty of the spirit and soul they possess, and the beauty and soul that the world around them held. The town she had moved to at 20 was so rich in natural beauty, ponderosa pine and hemlock trees grew tall in an extensive, juniper green forest almost always clouded with thick fog, the soil was soft and fertile, the air was crisp and clean. She felt happy here and wanted the others around her to recognize how lucky they were to be in an area so free of sordidity. 

There was an empty shop up the brick road of the older part of town, that had been crowded in cobwebs, leaves that had blown in from the broken window, and animal droppings. Her nan came to help her clean it up (her mum had too, but she was dog tired after her workweek so spent most of the visit asleep on Y/N’s couch), and did something short of absolving the land so that she could grow a garden behind the store, in the clearing of 200 or so meters before it meets the mouth of the forest. She sold herbs, people came to her for intricate, meaningful bouquets with flowers that could not be found in just any store (and she was good to her plants, so if she asked very kindly, and sent them with a packet that produced a very special brew when dumped in the water, they would live very, very, suspiciously long), plants that would liberate people of their aches and pains so long as they tended to them, journals of reused paper, scrubs, oils. . .there were many things. She offered classes too, to help people learn how to better cater to their flowers.

That had been a year ago, so she was still finding her footing, but not six months into this happy reality she had created for herself, Harry Styles had come to town. It took nothing but a few minutes of coming to contact with him that he was a bad apple, and when the once sweet-tempered town had begun mottling with dark splotches, she knew for sure. Harry was like her, but his book of shadows had pages filled with wicked words of revenge, conjuring demons and letting them wreak havoc. His business was more under the cuff -- he posed as a writer who needed a scenery change for his work, but Y/N knew it had to be more than that -- but he did his bidding in the night, seeding through clubs, in alleyways, in the forest. . .if someone knew about Harry, it was because they knew a guy who knows a guy. 

And for some reason, unbeknownst to her, he refused to leave her be. 

This is why it almost makes sense that the bell of her store would jingle brightly no matter the fact she’d locked the doors hours ago, and her attention would be brought to the pest himself. He wore a sweater that threatened to swallow him whole, and baggy, holey jeans he rolled at the cuff showing off his bat printed socks, stuffed into grandpa-Esque loafers. The necklace he always wears around his neck (a small pendant that she had never gotten close enough to make out) is sat atop of his sweater today rather than hidden beneath it as it usually is. His hair is getting longer, more unruly with his warm brown curls than it had been when she first met him -- she really hadn’t known he’d had curly hair until the more recent months when it had started growing out. 

His eyes were always the same soft, crystal green that matched his character none, and a pawky smirk on his mouth as he dragged his fingers along the lavender jars placed on her shelves, “Shouldn’t you be home by now? I figure it’s past your bedtime.” He leans down like he is about to pick something up, and when Y/N peers over the counter, she sees him slide his hand beneath Thumper’s soft white belly and pull him up to his chest. That was another indicator that Harry was just no good -- he was the only human that he liked, and the little creatine didn’t even like her. 

“Shouldn’t you?” She flips it, continuing to gather her things so she could head home for the night.

“You know these are my typical hours, Babe -- everyone wants to curse someone at 1 AM, there was a study done in the east end.” He pets between Thumper’s ears as he sets him down on the counter beside the cash register, before he reaches out for the wooden crafted incense burners, “Have these cheap little things been selling any?” 

“Piss off,” she stuffs her phone into her purse, then flips through her things to make sure her wallet was tucked in there as well, “What do you want, Harry? I’m about to go home, if you wanted to come around to bother me you should have hours ago.”

Harry feigns a gasp like he does any time she curses, “Thought good little witches didn’t have such foul tongues?” He flicks the candle jar on her counter, an apple scent had been melting around the wick for the better half of the day, “I don’t want anything in particular, just passing through. You know you’re right in the way of the forest, don’t you? S’kinda of obnoxious when you’re trying to summon imps at the cave -- they hate the bloody “stench” of the flowers.” 

“Good,” she retorts, “You shouldn’t be summoning around here anyway, this area’s off-limits.”

It was barely an agreement but still an agreement nonetheless -- if Harry left her be, she would leave him be because Y/N wasn’t an idiot. If he wanted a fight, Harry could start one and he would fight dirty. All she asks him is to stay away from her store and her flat, and to keep away from certain areas of the forest where the soil was always soft -- in return, he would do his activities, sometimes he would need her flowers for different spells and she would turn a blind eye to what he was doing. She does a few gentle protection spells here and there but otherwise, he’s a free man to do as he pleases, just so long as he respects her request. He’d seemed perturbed by the conditions none -- had even chuckled and said as long as he let her keep her “pretty little flowers” he could get away with murder. 

A heavy, weary sigh leaves him, “Yes, I’m well aware,” he rolled his eyes before crossing his arms on top of the counter and tucking his face in his elbow,  “Gimme a moment though, it’s warm in here and I was freezing outside.” He muffles into his sweater. 

Y/N had almost forgotten what she had felt prior to coming back inside, but his words bring it clearly to the forefront of her mind once more. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, hearing the floorboards creak beneath her as she wondered if he’d felt it too. It couldn’t have been him -- no, he was powerful but by no means powerful enough to conjure up something like that. And she’d like to ask him, but Harry has never been someone who took her seriously -- he would just make a joke of it, probably, or tease her. It wouldn’t be worth asking. 

But the feeling that she’d gotten is chewing on her memory, so she asks anyway, “Hey,” she began and the only indication that he was listening to her is the fact his fingers stopped tapping against the wood beneath them, “Did you. . .when you were outside, did you feel that?” 

He picks his head up from the crevice of his arm, “You’re gonna have to be a bit more descriptive than ‘that’,” his brows are raised as he continues, “Are you talking about the new pleasant but cold breeze we’ve gained for autumn, or the gut-twisting odious one?” 

Y/N looks at him impassively, “The latter, idiot.” 

“Yeah, I felt it,” he ignores her insult, “What about it?” 

The skin between her brows pinches, “Are you not concerned? It felt. . .bad,” she couldn’t think of a better word to describe it, “I didn’t like it at all.” 

“Are you scared?” There is delight swimming in Harry’s gaze as he stands up straighter, “Don’t tell me Glinda the Good Witch herself is scared of a little frightening feeling? I thought you were tough as nails and all that, hm?” 

“Never mind, forget I even brought it up,” she tried to dismiss it, as she slings her purse over her shoulder and plucks Thumper up to sit him in the cradle of her arms -- she knew better than to ask him like she might get any comfort at all from his words. 

He steps up and in front of her before she could start toward the door, “Oi, listen scaredy-cat, I don’t know if you’re aware but I deal with shite like this all the time, which means I’ve got a few banishments spells up my sleeve. If it’s really something that awful, I’ll cast it back to hell, easy as that.” Harry follows close behind her as she exits the door, feeling the same shiver of fear slither through her body, “I do want to see what it wants first though.” 

“Of course you do,” she utters in disappointment, “Just keep it away from my garden, please.” 

“I’ll try,” he tells her just as she reaches her car before he dips into his pocket and reveals that he’d stolen a baggy of chamomile, “If I didn’t keep your precious garden safe, then I wouldn’t have anywhere to get enchanted chamomile, and it works lovely in a sleepy time tea, I’ll tell you that -- your lavender is shit though. Never puts me to sleep like it ought to.” 

She pops open her car door, “Stop taking stuff from the store, or I’ll start lacing it with laxatives.” 

“While you’re doing that, won’t you plant them Clathrus mushrooms? I reckon the imps would prefer them way more than the mums.” He looks serious -- not a trace of a joke laced in his features and somehow that leaves Y/N more irritated than if he were laughing at her as he spoke. 

Her response is blunt, “No.” 

“Listen --”

“Harry, I’m not going to plant mushrooms for the damn imps!” 

                                                         .                             .                          .

When Y/N had met Harry, she was angry. 

She had never been a very angry person. Seldom has someone or something truly has gotten so deeply beneath her skin that she felt the need to yell or grump about it -- mild irritation was never off the table, but true, unadulterated wrath and resentment? It was rare she ever felt the need to even make a snide comment. And that wasn’t to say she was better than anyone else, she was just mild-tempered and forbearing. . .it took a little more than a remark or two to make her angry.

But when she was angry, she was an amalgamation of vexation and fire, and there was no surer way to disrupt her peaceful demeanor than to compromise her flowers. 

The day had been uneventful up to that point. It’d been a week since Harry had moved into town and Y/N was surely feeling the negativity that followed in his wake, but she was focusing on maintaining the tranquil, idyllic environment that she had around her previous. As much as she would have loved to seek him out, ready to squabble, tell him off for bringing any dark energy into such a calm place -- she had to come at it pragmatically. She and her friend Niall (who wasn’t a witch but knew about her) had both agreed that while it was aggravating, they didn’t know him. They did not understand the depth of his power, or what he was here for, nor had they understood wholly what he was capable of. Y/N had felt his presence, but Niall had confirmed it after hearing the underground chatter of a dark witch who made promises to turn glitter to gold. 

She was on her way to her store. Though she was closed on weekends, she always went by to check on the flowers, water them, tell them about her day, and with her was Thumper who would be hopping around the grassy field and gnawing on the blades. It was very peaceful -- the time she spent with her plants -- so she always looked forward to it, but that day she was filled with trepidation as she parked her car. Something was off. . .not in the air, but with her flowers -- she could feel it deep in her marrow that they were in pain. 

So she huffed it to the back of the store, and there she found Harry, two of her purple vervains nestled against his palm. He noticed her before she could even think to say anything, and something short of relief had flushed through him, “Oh thank fuck, you’re here,” he sighs, referencing her garden with a wave of his hands, “I cannot for the life of me remember what hazel looks like.” 

“What the hell are you doing?” Y/N demanded, stomping toward him, but instead of shoving him to the ground like she wanted to, she dropped to her knees and caressed the remaining vervain, “Why would you pluck them like that? They aren’t ready!” 

“Ready? They’ve flowered haven’t they?” His brows had been tilted while his mouth dipped in a frown, “I need them for an incantation, figured you wouldn’t mind if I borrowed these two. Aren’t we meant to help each other out?”

 “You should have asked, you prick,” she pointed up at him, “And even if you had, I would have said no. I don’t know what you’re doing here, but you’re really disturbing an otherwise pleasant place. I wish you would leave.’ 

Harry feigned hurt, placing a hand to his chest, “You wound me,” he mocks her, “Listen Glinda Good Witch, we all gotta get by somehow, yeah? Not all of us talk to plants or whatever it is you do. So do you want me to pay or --” 

“Those won’t work for whatever it is you’re trying to do,” she cut him off, “If it’s something with cruel intent, it won’t happen -- they were grown to do good.” 

“Which is exactly why I needed them from you,” he wiggles them in her direction, “Well, I need to get going. You’re awful in particular about a garden that is subpar at best. Wish you well, see you later.” 

Then he left. No guilt, no apology -- he just up and left, and Y/N was livid. 

(Later that night when she had explained the situation to Niall, he was nothing short of outraged, so they had tried to find out more about Harry. Anything about him, really, but he leaves a very little paper trail in his endeavors -- from public records they find that he’s 25 and from Holmes Chapel, and from a google search they find he has two books out, published online, and doing decently well. There was nothing else apart from that, he kept his socials pretty dry, and what he did post was nonsensical drivel.)

Y/N thinks about this, as she sinks into her tub, the burning water scalding against her skin. Harry had always driven her mad but he has never seemed half as angry as she was -- hell if anything he always seemed like he enjoyed it. 

He was just absolutely rotten. 

                                                           .                                  .                           .

Harry thinks Y/N is just absolutely rotten. 

There were many reasons that he had classified her as such, but namely what he was concerned about now was how she kept her shop closed on the weekends. 

Who kept their store closed the entire bloody weekend?

It wasn’t so much that he wanted to see her -- Harry actually found the girl quite plaguy. Her opinions on his practice were priggish, not unlike the others like them he had met in the past. There has always been an unfaltering stigma that was carried with what he did, one that was quite hard to shake within the factions of other witches that are sprinkled across the world. He’s seen as careless, cruel, greedy, and selfish -- he doesn’t practice magic for the love of the world around him, to feel a deeper, spiritual connection with the fecund soil that covered the earth, or with the water gently slipping past rocks along a stream bank. They look at him and see someone who shakes hands with the devil and ruins lives for a cookie. 

Harry lets them think as they wish, he has no patience to attempt correcting them. If they’d bothered to learn an inch about him at all before passing their judgment then they would have a clue about his true character, but the jury had already made the decision before Harry even realized he was on trial. They never really wanted to give Harry a chance, so he knew he would be hated no matter where he decided to reside. The pack mentality that they carry is the reason he has to move around so often though (more than any 25 years old was typically doing) he gets run out of a lot of areas because a group of soft witches decides he’s no good. 

That’s what drew him to this place -- there was practically nobody. He could sense when there were more like him loitering around an area, and made an effort to keep a decently low profile so that he could stay around longer (but they always managed to find him), but here, he only sensed one. That had been good enough for him to know this was the right move -- the beautiful scenery surrounding them; the soft bed of dirt that Harry’s feet would sink into easily; the dense, damp fog that covered the forest floor in the early mornings; the lush, green trees and how life seemed to remain there when it was meant to be waning in the colder months -- all of that, had only been a plus. 

When he’d met Y/N, he knew that she disliked him, but Harry had expected as much so it disturbed him none. If anything, he was delighted to have a purer witch than himself around, all things considered. There were no others that she could develop a hive mind with to drive him out of town, but she was no competition to the businesses that he provided, and when a decoction called for an obscure plant or an unsullied petal -- well, a Garden witch was not the worst kind to have nearby. She may be devout in her notions that Harry was a disagreeable, repugnant being, but she was good at what she did. Anything done with her plants was twice as effective as any other person’s flowers he’d used in the past, so it was necessary he bothered her often. 

She refused to sell to him -- something about her doing business with a demon, or whatever she’d said -- but so long as he doesn’t go and cut them from the stem himself, she helps him out. Will give him the plants he needs, and in return, he doesn’t taint certain areas of the town and the forest that she declared were off-limits. It was a spoken commercial agreement that both of them went by and because of it, their lives near to one another were comparatively peaceful to any other situation Harry has found him in prior. 

That didn’t come without its faults. They butt heads often, their bickering is nonstop, and Harry could think of many things he would rather do than have to stay in a room with her for longer than the ten minutes it takes him to get what he needs. It was fun to fluster her -- getting beneath her skin was an easy feat that he found a lot of joy in, and sometimes she gave him a run for his money. He always kind of liked making a normally mild-tempered person grump at him a little, if not for his impish ways, then so he could get to know them as their full self. 

So he wasn’t mad that she was closed because he particularly wanted to see her, no, he was mad because he was exhausted. Absolutely drained. The business was incredible when you’re the only dark witch willing to do some questionable, immoral things, but that also meant long nights and incredible emotional toil -- it wasn’t a walk in the park to conjure up a bloody demon! 

Ever since Harry had started this path, he’d had immense trouble sleeping at appropriate times, if he could fall asleep at all. He guesses this was what he gets in return for what he practices, and it could be worse so he doesn’t mind it too much, but it was still a hassle. It had been a good four years since Harry just had a good, peaceful night of sleep. 

Up until he had moved here, of course, because the same little garden witch that thought he was the devil incarnate, made a tea he could brew that set him right to sleep. Kept him asleep the entire night too, which had always been an impossible endeavor spanning back to when he was a child, but there was something about her chamomile -- hell, it really knocked him out. 

He tested his theory -- part of him thought that maybe chamomile was suddenly working for him, but no matter the brand that he tried, or the amount of tea he drank, none of it could compare to what Y/N’s did. When he visited her store, he took what he could to hold him off to the next time he came by. He hadn’t realized how low he was though when he had seen her last and she threatened to lace it with laxatives -- he should have taken two because he used his last bit the night prior to the one he’s suffering through right now. 

And he could have gotten more this morning if she didn’t close her stupid shop on weekends!

If Harry were not positive that he needed to rest, he wouldn’t bother to be trying. There was nothing worse to him than the laying in his bed and waiting for sleep that refused to come...it felt like he was being stood up by a date. It hasn’t happened often, but enough that Harry could match the feeling low in his stomach, indicative of discontent and sadness while he waited. . . . .and waited. . . .and waited. . . .and waited. 

It was useless -- the universe’s retribution for summoning spirits to the living world left him with what a doctor might diagnose as chronic insomnia, but none of the treatments did him any good. No mortal medicinal could soothe him of this ailment. So one would think he would be smarter about keeping a hearty stock of it at his disposal rather than one at a time, but Harry never claimed to be the best at planning ahead. 

And now here he was, staring at his ceiling fan whirl, his cat at his side while he contemplated if breaking and entering her shop was against his morals (he had a few left, surprisingly). 

God, she was so rotten! 

                                               .                                     .                                 .

“Have you felt weird lately?” 

“Hm?” Niall’s face scrunches up in confusion, his mouth stuffed full of noodles he just slurpped into his mouth, “Wha’ d’ya mean?” He muffles out, reaching over to her side of the table for a napkin to dab at the corners of his mouth.

The record store that Niall worked at wasn’t too far from Y/N’s shop so if her day wasn’t too busy, she would step away from the store for her lunch break and seek him out. It was never a planned ordeal; Y/N would stop off somewhere to get them something to eat and appear at his storefront, the sharp ding of the bell knotted on the door alerted him of her presence. He was always one of two places: in the back, tuning the old guitars the owner would bid on different websites, or he was in the front thumbing through the record baskets, organizing and reorganizing them by name. Sometimes he would be sat behind the counter, with his feet kicked up just beside the register but Y/N scolds him for that (he’s always wearing a dingy, scuffed pair of shoes that have no business seeing the light of day, let alone be shown off to others). 

His head would perk up, he would look toward the door, and his face would bloom into one of sheer delight as he would call over to her, “Oh, thank fuck! Thought I would go crazy if I had to listen to myself think for one more second.” 

Today was no different. She brought him ramen from the place three buildings down from his own, where she bends down a street that feels more like an alleyway and the door is hidden beneath a brassy fire escape. The owners were always very kind to her, and since she came often and tipped well, they would give her free bowls if they were in the mood. Y/N never liked the idea of a one-sided relationship with a business, so she always brought them herbs, and gardenias to plant at home (they were the husband’s favorite). She takes their fliers and posts them up in high traffic areas too, and when they have their business cards made and an extra hundred or so, she slips them in the paper baggies that she gathers her customer’s things in before sending them on their way. 

Niall was grateful. He did a little cheer, left his spot from behind the counter, and urged her to follow him to the back where the break room was located (if a customer came around he would hear the bell and duck his head out to greet them, but for the most part their Tuesdays were pretty uneventful). He told her he had sensed her coming so he already had two stools set out for them to sit on, and napkins placed in the middle of the table, but she’s almost a hundred percent sure they had been left like that last time she was here. 

Try as she might to let her mind flee from the dark, hazed feeling that had overcome her last week, she couldn’t. Even as she listened to Niall prattle about some Gibson Les Paul custom that the owner purchased a while back, she struggled not to wonder what it was that was worming itself into her brain; slick tendrils of dismay overcame her. The true, unadulterated, execrable feeling only truly hits her in the night if she is outside the safety of her home or her shop, but otherwise, it was memories of this haunting aura that struck her throughout the day.

She couldn’t place her finger on it though, what it could be. There are feelings she garners when Harry summons certain spirits, but she can typically tell when he’s doing that, and they’ve never felt so. . .evil, before. What Harry deals with is evil, sure, but this was so smothered in turpitude that she couldn’t make it out. Like spilling black ink over a letter written in blue. 

That’s why she asks Niall -- it feels too strong for it to be something only felt by her and Harry. It would also soothe her mind if someone had felt it as horribly and heavily as she did, considering it wasn’t affecting Harry enough that he would try to banish the damn thing before things went sour. 

“Like, do things just not feel. . .off, to you?” She didn’t want to feed him any impressions of what she might be speaking about -- she would like to know if it were true to him. Niall is sweet as he could be, but not always when it was appropriate; he would tell her he did just to spare her from feeling foolish. It’s why she thought berets were her thing for about a month when really she looked like a washed-up indie artist trying too hard (Niall had agreed they weren’t her best fashion venture, but he certainly didn’t think they were that bad). 

His face contorts in a pout as he mulls it over in his head, stabbing his fork into the noodles and catching a bit of pork on two of the pronks, “Hm, let’s see. . .” he looks like he’s spinning through a Rolodex, “I have not for the life of me mustered enough energy to have a wank in about a week, that’s some cause for concern,” when she responds with a blank stare, he holds his hands up, “Okay, fine -- Butternut was biting at the air when I took him on his walk the other night -- like. . .chomping at it, I was actually gonna ask you what that might be about.”  

Now, don’t get Y/N wrong, any other time Niall would have told her that his great Pyrenees puppy was yapping and chomping at the wind, she would have brushed it off. “Niall, you’re just going to have to accept that he’s going to be a big, sweet dummy when he’s older.” But she was so desperate for something, anything -- because if something felt it other than she and Harry, then she wouldn’t feel quite as crazy. 

“Sometimes it feels a bit like something’s watching me,” he tacks on at the end, taking the brown napkin from the stack in between them and dabs roughly at his mouth, “At night, when I’m walking Butternut, I get these chills but there’s no wind around.” 

Y/N leans forward, thankful, “Yeah?” she presses, “Is it like -- describe it. What does it feel like?” 

“Y’know, I do forget you’re a witch until times like these,” he leans back in his chair, a heavy sigh slides from his lips before he closes his eyes like he’s trying to place himself back at the moment, “I’ll tell ya what, it’s fuckin’ -- it’s a bit like I feel it right down to my bones, but then --” he opens his eyes, raises his closed fists and flicks his fingers out at her, “Poof, s’gone as quick as it came and I forget about it. My nan used to tell me that was the devil patting your shoulder, but if it went away quick s’because an angel kicked his arse out of there.” 

It’s enough, Y/N decides, so she nods and relaxes back in her seat, “Okay, good.” 

“Good?” His brows furrow, as he reaches for his can of soda and the aluminum can crinkles beneath his fingers, “Tell you that I get chills and you’re relieved? Should I be relieved too, or worried?” 

“It isn’t anything to concern over, I don’t think,” she explains to him, “If anything changes I’ll let you know.” 

Niall uses one of his fingernails to dig the dirt from beneath the other, “Did that Harry bloke muster some horrible demon up again?” His voice is laced with vexation. Niall wasn’t a hard guy to get along with -- he was loud and Irish, could chat up a storm about anything and everything, and while he could be scrappy at times, it was for all the right reasons. He was equanimous in most situations, even-tempered to a fair degree; if Y/N were in a situation where a cool, calm collected head would be the best approach then Niall was definitely the person she wanted on her side. 

(Like when they had to drive home from a day trip to the massive lake just north of them, but the roads hadn’t been pretreated for the icy sleet that gripped the pavement. He drove them the whole way on the windy roads with little traction from the tires to the road, and was still bobbing his head and singing along to Ed Sheeran on the radio). 

But Harry Styles? Oh, the mention of his name could dig right beneath Niall’s skin. Y/N would like to think that it was because he was so cruel to her, but she knows that there are two main reasons Niall is not too fond of him nor his craft. One of which is the fact that he slept with Liana (she happened to be one of Niall’s flings at the time -- there were plenty, but Y/N only remembered this one’s name because she shared it with a woody stem rooted to the forest soil that made for easy climbing), and the other, the fact that he had helped the captain of the opposing summer footie team with one of his enchantments to make them win. There are few things Niall cares for so deeply that he would dislike someone, but his sex life and his footie were two things a person just couldn’t mess up for him. 

“No, it wasn’t him this time,” she clears her throat, pushing the rest of her ramen around idly, “It’s a bit too strong to be his doing -- more sinister too. He conjures mostly petty demons; the little ones that don’t have much better to do anyway. This is something. . .I don’t know, it just feels different.” 

Niall sighs heavily, “Well, thanks for that, reckon I won’t be sleeping tonight,” he pushes the container away from himself to signify he’s done and when she takes a peek inside and sees nothing but a few noodles limp along the sides, “I like that you keep me in the loop, but sometimes I wish you would let me live in ignorance.” 

“You know, I would apologize, but you’ve gone into an in-depth description of your arsehole to me so I thought any boundaries and forms of secrecy were long gone by now.” 

His brows furrow features contorting into that of the same desperation he had come to her with two months ago, “Ugh, c’mon! You’re practically like a witch doctor or somethin’, I thought you would have a cream or something for it.” 

“You had a hemorrhoid, Niall, for fuck sake! Even if I were a “witch doctor” then I would never let you put anything that came from my plants on your filthy bum.” 

Niall stands, gathering their trash from the break room table but using his free hand as he passes her, he swats her shoulder, “You better be nice to me, or you’re gonna have to start eating lunch with Styles.” He steps on the level for the waste bin, throwing the trash in the bag, “Though I think you two would just end up hate fucking and the food would go cold.” 

“No,” she rolls her eyes, “I would never let that Gremlin near my naked body.” 

“Listen, I’m not saying I want the guy anywhere near your naked body,” he plops back down in his seat, “What I am saying is that you lot have such unbridled sexual tension it is practically palpable when I’m at the shop with the both of you. Maybe it’s ‘cos the two of you are the only witches, and opposites at that.” 

Y/N snorts, “Maybe if we were in some enemies to lovers film, sure.” 

   After they finish their break, and Y/N realizes that she’s been with him for a little over an hour, they make plans to meet up tomorrow for a movie and she heads out. The air was cool -- when she had made her way over here the sun had been glittering rays down that bathed the world in gold, but it was now hidden beneath an overcast of thick clouds. Rain always carried a familiar scent just before it started to pour and Y/N had forgone a jacket, so she huffed her way back, breathless by the time she made it up the hill and saw Harry leaning against her door. 

The sight of him makes her exhausted, but not in the usual way it does. He looks awful -- and typically he doesn’t! Y/N could admit that Harry was gorgeous; his hair always appeared soft, loose curls dispersed along the brunette strands, his eyes are a sea green, tender in his gaze when he wasn’t being an absolute prick and always bright (even when he was). His lips were pink, shaped perfectly, and his skin is typically smooth but even when he grows out his facial hair it still manages to look good. He had dimples. . .hell, Y/N would place a bet that he’d made a deal with the devil to look like that. 

But today, he just looked worn down, and exhausted, like he might not have slept the entire weekend. His eyes were closed, his hands were in his pockets and his chin was tilted down towards his chest. If not for the way his head perked up immediately when her foot crunched into the gravel pathway leading up to her store from the small parking area (that was more so a beaten down, once grassy area now just dirt with tire tracks in it), she would have thought he was asleep standing up. There’s relief in his eyes when they meet her own, which she isn’t used to seeing from him, “Thank fuck.” 

“You look horrible,” Y/N slides her hand into her pocket, pulling out her keys so she could unlock the door, “Budge over.” 

“I feel it,” he rubs tiredly at his eyes, “Go on and open up quickly then. Why the hell do you keep your store closed on weekends?” 

Y/N fits her hand over the knob, twisting it and shoving the door open with her shoulder. Thumper greets them at the door, nudging the top of his head against her ankle, “Do you work every night?” 

“No --” 

“I keep it closed on weekends for the same reason why you don’t work every night,” she heads toward the counter, settling her things down and reaching in for Thumper’s hay stash so that she could give him some, “What’re you here for? You usually come around to bother me later.” She chances petting at Thumper’s head for a moment, and since he was preoccupied with his hay he would allow it.

“Fuck!” Y/N startles, popping up from behind the counter, looking back up only to see Harry with wide, disgruntled eyes, “Where’s your chamomile?” 

Her brows dip, “I’m out right now, so --” 

“How the hell did you run out? Shit, what am I going to do now, hm? Shouldn’t you keep up with shite like this?” He’s going a mile a minute, he’s walking closer to her, distress was written all over his face and Y/N is alarmed to a fair degree -- Harry’s always seemed very collected and calm, it was seldom she ever seen him have more emotion than pure elation to fuck with her or displeased with her presence. 

“ -- so I’m going to make more today. What’s going on with you? Why are you so pissy over it?” She finishes her previous thought, watching as he leans against the counter, propping his face up with his hand and she could now more clearly make out the bags beneath his eyes.

He rubs at his temple with the finger closest to it, “The only way I can sleep is with your bloody tea,” he grumbled, “That’s why I come around all the time -- well, that and to fuck with you, but mostly the tea.” 

“Oh?” She reaches down, plucking Thumper from where he’d been positioned by her feet and setting him on the counter. He thumps his foot at her once but eventually makes his way over to Harry, sniffing at his chin before resting right before him. Y/N wasn’t necessarily doing it to be nice, but the energy he was exuding could really dampen the growth rate of her plants, and Thumper had a soothing way about him that drew all that negativity out. It was one of those odd little familiar powers that went unexplained for the most part. “Why aren’t you sleeping?” 

“Dunno,” he shrugged his shoulders, but the tension in them begins to dissipate as Thumper snuggles beneath his chin, “Reckon I pissed off some demon or summat -- usually it isn’t this bad. Without your tea, I can at least get to bed for three hours before waking up and catch cat naps during the day, but nothing was working this weekend. I think I’ve slept a total of two hours?” 

“Christ,” she tuts her tongue, but her brain starts churning, “Do you think it has anything to do with that. . .with that thing, that’s around? That feeling?” 

Harry huffs a sigh, “Fuck, here you go again -- Babe, listen, I can barely keep a coherent thought, so why don’t I just give you some money and you make that tea for me, alright?” 

“That’s no way to ask,” Y/N chastises him, and though she is already beginning to gather the supplies she needs so she could go out and harvest her leaves, she taunts him, “You’ll have to say please, or I might just decide to wait on this batch.” 

“Please,” he wastes no time in saying, “Pretty please harvest the chamomile so that I can sleep and I promise I’ll sit and theorize with you over whatever the fuck thing you’re feeling.” 

Y/N could go through the trouble of doing a blood binding with him to ensure that he wasn’t lying to her, but she felt that was a little on the extreme side so she took his word for it. She could easily harvest her chamomile here at the shop -- she had two doors behind the counter, one that led to her garden, the field, and the forest outside while the other led to a backroom that was made into a little kitchen area. It was easier for her to do things here rather than at home and have to risk tainting them in transport; for the best results to any enchanted item, one has to seal it immediately and it should only be reopened prior to use. 

She wouldn’t allow Harry to hover over her while she worked, so she sat him behind the counter and told him to not speak to any customers if they come through (“Wasn’t planning to,”) while she went to work. Y/N gave Thumper a look when he had started to follow her, and with a small thump of his foot (his way of saying Fine!) he hops himself into Harry’s lap and settles there. The tension once again eases from Harry’s features, soothing the pinch in his brow and the way his lips had been pursed in a frown. 

It was silent as she set to work, and save for a few customers who filtered in and out (at least a dozen of them, only eight purchased something but her Mondays were always pretty slow so that was expected), there wasn’t much to disturb what appeared to be a dozing Harry. He looked much more peaceful than she’s ever seen him, and for a brief moment she contemplates sending Thumper back home with him, but she shakes her head physically as if to expel the thought from her brain. What was she going on about? She would give him his tea and send the heathen on his way. No matter how empathetic she felt for him (she had struggled with issues sleeping when she was a lot younger), there was no need to go out of her way. . .even if she could admit that the sight of him cuddling with a bunny was a little too sweet not to be documented somewhere. 

She’s finished drying the leaves and carefully stirring them in the fine powder that she still had leftover from her last batch (there were many flowers from her garden ground up and enchanted with an incantation, which sounds like a simple enough task but the entire process took a little over a week -- the magic had to be purified several times, and the potential adverse effects had to be mollified. . . if she didn’t, instead of pleasant dreams of floating in clouds, her customers would be in an unsolicited astral projection) in a little over an hour. Y/N takes care to bag them delicately, adding a little extra in the two bags she would be giving Harry so that he would bother her less over it. 

By the time she’s retreated from the back preparation room, she finds that Harry is awake now, eyeballing her Intimacy and Romance section. When he sees that she’s returned to the front, he holds up the small, cardboard parcel, “I didn’t know you doubled as a Pulse and Cocktails.” 

“That’s a natural aphrodisiac,” she tells him, walking over to her empty chamomile shelf before she begins to fill it,  “You might want to take some so your partners will actually desire you for once.” 

“Oh, Honey,” he shakes his head, a look on his face almost like he pities her, “Don’ know a thing about how people desire me. Barely have to take my cock out for them to be gagging for it -- kind of how you are, but won’t admit it to yourself.” 

Y/N kisses her teeth, “Alright lecher, come and get your chamomile then,” she plucks the two remaining bags from the box she brought them in and holds them out for him, “You should look into some spells to combat that though -- if a demon is purloining your sleep, then it’s probably still hanging around and like deluging your flat with negative energy.” 

“Dunno’ if you know this, but I work with demons often, I’m always surrounded by negative energy,” he plucks the chamomile from her grasp, before reaching in his pocket and producing a small wad of cash that he places in her palm-- Y/N opens her mouth to decline it (she felt that his money was earned in a dishonest way and would not accept it for her flowers, because it felt as if she were disrespecting them. . .she would much rather give it to him for free), but he cuts her off, “Oh, hush and take the money. This is from a care package my Nan sent me, so it wasn’t earned in any rotten way, you spoiled brat.” 

She sighs, clutching the money in her hands, “You still better keep your end of the deal,” Y/N tells him, “I want to talk about this. . .whatever that feeling is, around here lately. And I want you to be serious about it!” 

Harry was already retreating, waving his hand up at her, “Yeah, sure thing, I’ll have my secretary get in contact with you --” 

“Harry --” 

“M’only joking. I’ll come around Friday.” 

                                                                     .                       .                         .

Later that night, with Thumper snuggled in her lap snoozing, Y/N looks into purging a home of sleep stealing spirits. 

She’s only curious. 

                                                             .                         .                        . 

Sleep comes gradually, then all at once, like the shift between summer and fall. 

Wind whistles past window sills singing shallow songs of change, while red apples ripen on their branches in the orchard during harvest season. The air grows colder in the mornings and at night, the day is still steeped in the sun’s benevolent kisses of heat at first until even that begins to wane. An aesthetic of reds, oranges, forest greens and golden hues occupy the minds of many as the leaves start to stain with color. Everyone waits with bated breath for true autumn to come around the corner. 

And when it does, it’s with a cold slap of air against the face when they step outside. The air carries that distinct autumn smell, the world is chilly enough for thicker jackets and long socks, rain comes in sheets during the evenings, and the colorful leaves that had drooped from the trees adhere to the concrete, or in matted piles on the forest floor.  Suddenly, the warm drink in everyone’s hand is a little less for the excitement and impatience for fall to begin, and more so to warm their cold palms from the onslaught of biting wind. 

It isn’t autumn, and then it is -- just like sleep. Harry’s awake one minute, and then he’s passed right out. 

Well, with Y/N’s help, bless her. Sure, she had been rotten before, but she made him a new batch and sent him off with two hearty bags full of tea that would soothe his worries and put his arse to bed. Plus, he had cuddled with her sweet little bunny Thumper for a while and he had a feeling the little bugger was exuding some sort of her soft magic unto him in the form of calming waves. When the rabbit sat in his lap, all the tension eased from his muscles and he sank into an otherwise uncomfortable chair like it was the softest mattress he’d ever been privy to. So by the time he came home, started the kettle, drank a mug full, and hot tailed it to his bed, he was asleep before his head could even quite hit the pillow. 

It was so good. His dreams were pleasant, his sleep was heavy, and deep, and lasted around fifteen hours -- which in the grand scheme of things, made him feel a bit like a sloth, but he knew he needed it. He still couldn’t quite pinpoint what had happened that he just couldn’t sleep even a little bit, but he has no interest in investigating now that he had a full night’s (and partially day’s) rest. Plus, there was no time to do any exploring when he needed to make up for the work he’d missed in his time exhausted -- his powers are nowhere near as strong if he is tired, and it’s incredibly dangerous to be working with little sleep. He could mess up, and a mess-up could mean someone would likely end up possessed and -- albeit how interesting they are -- Harry’s intrigue with exorcisms ended after the seventh one he performed. 

After he woke up, showered off, and ate brekkie, he sat down with his kitten and they cleaned his crystals and a few amulets before he set on preparing some of his finer elixirs, that he always waited until he was down to the last drop to begin making more canisters of considering how extensive the process was. It would be easier if he had someone else to help out, but the only other witch within 160 kilometers of him, he wouldn’t label as the type all too willing to help him break into a blood bank. 

But he did have his kitten Oat. He was his little miracle -- Harry had been so sad when he learned that witches could have familiars, but the animal would come to him and he was supposed to just know. At that point, he’d been practicing for three years and the only feelings he could sense from any animal around him were fear and disdain, so he had thought that maybe he just wasn’t meant to have one. Which felt horrible. . .he loved animals. 

One day, when the chill in the air rosied his cheeks and the cardigan he sported did little to shield him from the cold, he was taking a walk in the forest nearby. He’d left the trail, but not because he was working. . .if he were honest, he thought that the garden that Y/N kept out there was quite magnificent. It flourished even in the winter, a meadow of flowers that’s petals never frost, and the ground never grew hard. There was an air around it that made him feel warm and pleasant, so he visited often without letting her know. Which was what he was doing, walking through the small path that she had created so that she could tend to them (he’d seen her water them once when he’d come unknowing that she was there to cater to them). 

And one moment he was looking at what he believed to be an oat grass, he heard a rustle from the bushes to his left that he looked toward (it was a bird flying away), and when his gaze returned to where it had once been, there a small kitten was laying. She was the kind of small that made his heart ache, with her eyes barely open as she yawned and stretched very wide -- she wasn’t there, and then she was. Harry always liked to say she was born from the soft soil of Y/N’s garden which was why her grey fur felt like clouds and she always smelled sweet as heliotrope. . .and, well, she smelled a lot like Y/N too. He may not be all too fond of the girl, but she did always smell nice. 

She hadn’t grown bigger than one of his boots, the tiny little thing, but not because she was malnourished in any way (Harry always made sure she was well-fed), he just thinks she’s finished growing. He couldn’t tell her breed, but if he had to guess she was some mix between a munchkin and a ragamuffin cat. Harry knows all familiars have their duties and special abilities, but he wasn’t quite sure what hers was -- he just knew that he loved her to bits and pieces, and couldn’t ask for a better little ball of fur to sit on his shoulder while he made coffee in the morning. 

What Harry did know, was that none of the demon’s he had ever conjured had ever bothered her, and she loved to be rubbed behind her ears. 

So Thursday night, when the town grew quiet and the air was still, Harry ventured out with his tote bag slung over his shoulder. It was easy to move about relatively unseen in a place like this, that wasn’t so big there were people constantly looming around the corners of every nook and cranny, but wasn’t so small that everybody knew everyone’s business. It was a pleasant in between, where he could snake through the mouth of the forest, walk a trail and end up on the other side of town without having been seen by more than a few critters. He typically made this journey relatively late, without a worry or stressor in sight -- it only took him about an hour and a half to get everything done. 

Today though -- today, he felt off. It hadn’t been immediately when he’d stepped outside, but after some time in his walk, goosebumps prickled his skin and the hair at the back of his neck stood on end. He couldn’t quite decipher what was making him feel like this when the wind hadn’t rustled the trees in a few minutes, but it put him on guard. He disliked the feeling and had only truly sensed it to this degree that night Y/N had originally questioned him about it. It was an unsavory sensation, and for it to even make him feel uneasy was saying something tremendous. 

He attempts to ignore it, even though it only grew stronger the closer he was to his destination. He weaves through the trees, stepping over the thick roots, crunching over fallen leaves, and appreciating the scent of autumn as he goes. It was a nice night, despite the chill that ran just beneath his skin. . .it was the kind of night that he might go out on his balcony and sip on his tea until he grew weary enough to step inside. Oat liked to sit outside with him, curled peacefully in his lap and resting without a care in the world (she made him feel not so lonely all the time, which he appreciated immensely). 

Harry was thinking about how that was precisely what he was going to do as soon as he returned home after he had emerged from the trees and walked through an expansive field, toward an old road that led him back into town and entered the blood bank (after melting the lock with one of his crystals). Though he sensed something strong when he was walking down the cold, dark hall. . .or someone that is, who --  before he could register their presence -- ran straight into him as they were peeling around the corner and nearly knocked him on his arse (but definitely knocked them on theirs). 

“Fuck sake!” He cried out, steadying himself, looking down at the assailant, “Watch where you’re going, mate, or you’ll -- oh, Y/N?” He pauses, confusion laces through his brain as he recognizes her, “What’re you doing here so late?” 

Y/N was on her bum, scowling at him as she gathered herself before flattening her palms to the cold, white tiled floor and pressing up to a stand, “I could ask you the same question.” 

“It would be a silly one if you did, ‘cos you and I both know what I’m doing for a living,” he watches as she swipes her bum of the dust adhering to her sweatpants -- he had never seen her so dressed down before, in a dark-colored hoodie that just about swallowed her whole. She appeared much less ferocious this way -- not that she appeared very ferocious before, but he is always intrigued to see typically put together people in their sleep clothes. . .he thinks it says a lot about a person. From Y/N’s choice of pajamas, he could tell that she probably kept her flat on the side of too cold because she liked to bundle up. . .she felt safe that way, he would guess, and he would bet 50 quid that there was bunny hair all over it because -- despite his grumpy tendencies -- Thumper loved a good cuddle.

“I felt it again,” she says after a moment, her voice only above a whisper, though there was no security here -- or anyone, for that matter since the place closes at 7 PM, but her eyes still shift around like she’s a high schooler ditching class and the headmaster's down the hall, “. . .that thing, y’know, while I was getting ready for bed, so I followed where it felt grossest and came to check it out to see if it led me anywhere.” 

Harry’s brows furrowed, “Well that was stupid,” he derides her, fixing the tote around his shoulder and shifting weight from one heel to the other, “What were you going to do if you found something, hm? Fight it off with your bunny and rose petals?”

Her scowl returns, “Piss off,” she utters before her gaze flickers to his tote and the reason he’s here becomes clearer to her than it had been before, “You shouldn’t be stealing blood. Isn’t that unethical?” 

“It’s either this or siphoning it from a live vein, Babe, and while I’m aces at plenty of things, I have not been properly trained to set up an IV. I only take the blood that’s about to expire anyway,” He nods down the hallway, toward the refrigeration where they kept all of the baggies, “You might as well continue investigating while we’re here because it’s coming from that way -- plus you can make yourself useful by keeping the door propped open for me.”

In all honesty, Harry expects more fight than he was given considering how often she seems to object to every move he makes, but she merely rolls her eyes and starts ahead of him. The feeling does grow stronger the further they descend into the hallway and he knows Y/N can feel it too, from the way she shuffles just a little closer to him, and he can hear her breathing hitch to a small halt as they stood before the door and it felt like it had all been focused just behind the door. As strong as the taste of frozen orange juice concentrate, it made his face pucker just slightly as he raised his fingers toward the keypad and began punching in the code. 

“You’re really gonna go in there?” Y/N queries gently, and Harry only nods his head in response, reaching for the door handle. An urgent, delicate touch of Y/N’s hand startles him, looping around his wrist and dragging his attention toward her, “Shouldn’t we have a game plan if something is behind the door?” She asks, her hold on him tightening just a little, and Harry notes how soft her palm feels against his skin, “Like, let’s say we open the door and a behemoth is standing there, what do we do?” 

“The only behemoth that could fit in this tiny room is the band from Poland, Babe, and I reckon they have better things to do on a Thursday night,” he retorts, clenching around the knob and tilting it down, “Now unless you want to hold hands in there. . .” 

She lets go before he can finish, and he doesn’t have to look back at her face to know she’s irate. A small smile quirks at his mouth as he pushes his shoulder against the heavy door to aid him opening it, bracing himself to see something potentially horrid. . .

And there’s nothing. 

Actually, as soon as they open the door, the dark, odious feeling that had been encompassing both of them disappears entirely. “Whoa,” Y/N pushes her hand against the door and keeps it open, taking one step inside of the room, “There’s a lot of blood in here.” His gaze flickers back at her, as she looks around, looking more intrigued than disgusted -- there was a lot of blood, 8 by 5-meter room just filled with it, so he could understand some of the awe. The more he returns, the less awe he feels, but he reckons that was to be expected. 

“There are about five other refrigerators in this building too,” he tells her as he lowers to his knees, cracking open his tote, “This one’s computers are easier to get into though, and doesn’t say the date and time the amount was changed so nobody knows anything is missing. Easy peasy.” 

Y/N nods, “Right. Stealing blood -- easy peasy,” she leans against the door, “What is it that you use it for?” 

“It really depends,” he murmurs as he pulls out a rack, counting out the baggies he needed, “Some demons like blood more than ash, so they come when called and are more willing to help you out when given a little gift. There are a few spells that call for it, and elixirs are twice as potent — sometimes I have to drink it, which is...unpleasant,” he hears her shiver, “—but it makes the outcome better. All in a day's work.”

“Oh wow,” Y/N hummed, “That’s...different. I think the weirdest thing I’ve had to drink for a spell was doe milk and I felt guilty the whole time. Like I was taking it from a fawn that needed it.”

Harry huffed out a laugh — Y/N was a soft little thing, comparing drinking blood to milk — sometimes he forgets how sheltered her world of magic is compared to his own.  It was easy to forget with all the spiteful words she could throw his way, but to see her out of her comfort zone. . .it’s refreshing. Not because she is less confident in her surroundings, but because she is more open to his own If someone would have told Harry they would be even remotely civil with one another in a room full of blood, he would have snorted before asking what they were snorting. 

“I oughta call you Bambi then.” 

He was on his last baggy of blood, checking the expiration date, and logging it into the computer when the dreadful feeling returned. Like a fly to rotting meat, it clings back to the room they were in tenfold. From behind him, a sharp clatter and Y/N’s squeal startles him to look back at her, “Harry!” She cried, pointing ahead of her, “The walls! L-look at the walls!”  

Harry follows her finger, watching as a thick, black substance oozes from the wall’s coving. When Y/N had noticed as much, she knocked down a stray IV pole that had been left in here, and it lay at her feet where the same black ooze had begun seeping up from the trim of the floors. In all his time doing what he does, Harry had never seen something so odd, nor had he ever felt something this grotesque overcome his being. It makes him act quickly, and while he doesn’t speak, he does fix his tote over his shoulder and practically jog the short distance to Y/N, knocking her out of the room, grabbing the door by the handle, and swinging it shut. He had hoped to seal it in there, whatever it was, but when they look down at the floor, the goo bleeds beneath the door and they both take a startled step back, “Oh fuck me,” Harry mutters to himself, shaking his head. 

“What the hell is this?” Y/N is panicked -- it’s very clear in her voice, and while Harry was a tad thankful not to be dealing with this alone, he can’t say that a soft which, who planted pretty flowers and made sleepy time tea was necessarily the backing he wanted in the event he had to exorcise a demon. He didn’t even have the proper tools for it. . .he didn’t know what he was exorcising, fuck sake --  “Harry, shouldn’t we --” 

“We need to leave,” he states, pivoting on his heel and hustling down the hall, Y/N was quick to scurry behind him, though she still murmurs some protest. 

“We shouldn’t just --” 

“Listen, unless you have any idea what that is and how to clean it, let alone banish it to hell, I saw we have a better chance through those doors than we do staying in here for even a second more,” he told her, holding out his hands to the crash bar, shoving the heavy door open, only looking back to make sure that Y/N had made it through, seeing that the black ooze had been following them before he promptly slammed the door shut. 

This was one of the back doors, so it spits them out to the graveled employee parking lot that dances along one of the many mouths of the forest that surrounded them. They’re both out of breath, adrenalin zipping through their veins in a tidal wave as their chests heave and they stare at the door. They wait for it to crawl beneath these doors. . .they wait for the building to either be overcome by sludge or combust from whatever sinister being had decided to preoccupy this space. 

But nothing happens. 

The wind picks up, the leaves rustle against the branches, and as if it were a gift from the Earth, the sordid feeling blew right away with it. 

“What the hell was that?” Y/N asks for the second time. 

Harry straightens out from where he’d been crouched, inhaling the cool air, appreciative to be in it. 

“Do you think for a second, with my reaction, that I have any fucking clue?” 

                                           ��            .                             .                              .

Y/N doesn’t have people at her flat often. 

Actually, apart from Niall and a few maintenance men, nobody had ever really come over. Not for any particular reason, really, and not because she didn’t want them to necessarily -- the opportunity just rarely arose, or more so, she didn’t often allow it to. If she were going to meet someone then she would meet them somewhere else, and they would part ways after they were finished (again, apart from Niall, who would simply follow her home, kick his trainers off, and head toward her couch which he had told her was simply the comfiest he’d ever been on). Her home was her humble abode. . .it was where she came to destress after a long day, and where Thumper sometimes waited for her debating whether or not he wanted to nibble her bathroom rug to shreds.

Not to mention she had plants growing here too, and flowers that she held dear to her, and while people are more reluctant to go touching what isn’t their business at a store, they are much less disinclined to give that same respect to her plants. Once Y/N had a maintenance man over to fix her faucet and she’d walked out from her room to see that he was caressing her snake plant’s leaves. She couldn’t blame him -- the plant had a very encompassing presence about it and had a way of drawing people in if they weren’t careful. . .hypnotized by the way it made them feel. All of Y/N’s soil and seeds are charmed with special incantations and concoctions that took her years to perfect, she would be disappointed if they weren’t causing people to leave all semblance of professionalism to even for a moment feel as if they were in a room with such clear air, their lungs felt renewed and they deemed it necessary to get closer. 

But then she had to apologize to her snake plant for nearly two days after! It had been so upset with her, she could feel it, so she started being even more careful about who she let in.  If she was going to go out of her way to have someone over, then there was a good reason for it. . .or it was Niall. 

And a demonic, gooey substance sweating from the walls of a blood bank, was well enough a good reason to have Harry over. 

It took some coaxing on her part -- he was convinced that they needed to just go back to their respective flats and go to bed, but Y/N was adamant in vetoing the idea. “We’re supposed to talk tomorrow anyway, so we might as well just go ahead and do it tonight -- and you are not leaving me alone after whatever the fuck that was!” 

After a good ten minutes, he finally relented as long as they could stop by his flat so he could get his kitten. Y/N hadn’t known that he had a kitten and thought maybe he would bring out some ragged-looking thing, but she was surprised to see through her windshield window that Harry was approaching her car with a small grey kitten. Her face contorts in the way everyone’s face might when they see something small and cute, “Look at her,” she coos once Harry opens his door, “What’s her name?” 

“This is Oat,” he answered, holding her out for Y/N to pet, “Be careful, she’s vicious.” 

Y/N pet at her head and Oat’s eyes shut as she nuzzled into her palm, “Oh yeah, what a panther.”

 Apart from the nerves that had already materialized from what they had seen in the blood bank, she was a little worried about inviting him into her home. When she visualized her safe space, Harry was not typically who she saw sitting on her couch when she came in from the kitchen, holding mugs of warm tea. Yet there he was, introducing Thumper and Oat to one another (who merely sniffed each other, then immediately cozied against her olive throw blanket on the end of the couch), and Y/N is handing him his steamy mug. 

“I’ve been thinking,” he began, immediately nursing the mug between his palms and lifting it up to his mouth for a small sip -- the steam disperses around his face in plumes, “And it wouldn’t make sense for. . .for whatever that is to just be a demon.” 

“What?” She inquires, taking her seat beside him on the couch, her body twisted so she was facing him entirely. Y/N had adjusted the temperature to something that would be a bit more suited toward having a guest -- when she’s alone, she keeps it ungodly cold so she has an excuse to bundle up in her clothes and blankets. There’s nothing like feeling safe in a cocoon of various fabrics with Buffy the Vampire Slayer on the telly. 

Harry strategically places the mug between his knitted socked feet, steadying it there as he begins to play with the thick, brassy tiger ring on his index finger, “Demons are strong, sure, but if they’re gonna be that strong there’s typically two reasons for it: they have already inhabited that area, or someone is controlling them behind the scenes. I would be more inclined to believe the prior, but I’ve been going to this blood blank for about a year now and unless there were some pentagrams I’ve missed or a gruesome ordeal that never made the papers in the past two weeks -- then there’s no reason for that to have happened at the hands of a spirit. Even a blood demon isn’t strong enough to make what happened in there happen, and they literally feed off the substance in the room.” 

“So you think someone summoned it or something? I thought you were the only one around here that did that?” Y/N probes, trying to look in his eyes but she keeps getting distracted by his rings -- how many did he have? She thinks he nearly has one on each finger, and he’s plucking them off and placing them on different knuckles as he speaks. Y/N wonders if it’s something he does in response to a stressor, like how she picks at her nails. 

“I’m the only witch that summons things around here, but not even I could conjure something that feels that vile.” He explained, fitting the last ring against his knuckle before he pops the bones in his fingers, and Y/N watches as the skin stretches and moves around the muscles in his hands,  “I think someone is trying to manifest something without the proper safeguards in place. . .the lack of protection charms, crystals, and spells can invite much more heinous creatures to the living world. They feed off shite like that -- naivety. . .thinking that any person could decide they’ll have a demon carry out a job for them. It’s easier for them to take advantage of them that way.” Harry exhales, running the pad of his thumb around the rim of the mug— she’s given him the one that has intricate, realistic drawings of beluga whales on it, not for any other reason apart from that one was her favorite and she liked to see it in use, “And with a full moon coming up? Recipe for disaster.”

“Oh shit,” Y/N holds her tea closer to her being, “That’s why the feeling is so profuse and disagreeable in the air then, ‘cos they aren’t containing it right? When I was looking into a little bit of what you do, I read that there are containment spells so the demon or spirit doesn’t have free range to do as it pleases, but the spell is dependent on the demon in question and the severity of its power.” 

Harry looked pleasantly surprised, “Yeah, that’s right -- what’re ya looking up what I’m doing for?” He settles into her couch, “Have you got a crush on me or summat?” 

If Y/N rolled her eyes any further back, she thinks they would have done a 360 in her eye sockets, “I fell down a rabbit hole the other night when I was trying to figure out why you couldn’t sleep,” an impish grin slides onto his mouth, “And not because I’m “in love with you” -- I just thought it would be interesting to know if your insomnia was the reason of a demon because that would mean one of my items combats against that and wins. My. . .most of my magic is based on prevention when it comes to dark things like that, not really to fight what’s already there.” 

“So your flowers don’t like -- I dunno, Little Shop of Horrors it?” He teases, motioning to her Hoya plant that had just begun to bloom for her, “I reckon when I think of plant magic, I think of you snapping your fingers and thorned ivy whipping around to slow assailants.” 

“No, none of that,” she laughs lightly, shaking her head, “They’re much too nice and gentle. . .they only want to help. And I’m rarely in a situation where I would need thorned ivy whipping around.” Y/N locks eyes with Oat for a moment, whose eyes close nice and slow before she reopens them and Y/N thinks she might just melt, “What do we do then? How do we stop it?” 

He slides a ring with teddy bears from his pinky and spins it between his forefinger and thumb, “There’s nothing to do -- if we don’t know who the problem is, then we can’t fix anything.” Harry shrugs his shoulders, and the action makes his already loose cardigan slide down his arms, revealing more of the cream-colored shirt he wore with Smokey the Bear on the front reading Only YOU! can prevent forest fires, “All we can do is wait for the next fucked feeling and hopefully run into the person causing -- oh,” Harry pauses, motioning toward her, “You’ve got a new friend.” 

Y/N’s confused, brows knitted until she feels a paw press against her shoulder and the telltale purr of a happy kitty. When she turns her head, she finds that Oat has snuck her way up to her, and is now attempting to perch on Y/N’s shoulder. She presses closer to the back of the couch so that she had a better footing, and in return Oat bumps at her cheek with the top of her head, “You’re so cute, stop it,” she murmurs, and when she takes a breath through her nose, she smiles, “She smells like my heliotrope flowers too! How are you the familiar of such a grumpy, cruel lug, huh?” 

“Oi,” Harry mutters, “I resent that. I’m not grumpy or cruel, you’re just rotten.” 

A retort plays at Y/N’s mouth but her phone screen lights up from where it’s sat on the coffee table and strays her attention. She’s confused -- the only person who would be messaging her this late was Niall but she’s almost a hundred percent certain that he was supposed to be out at the bar tonight. It is him though. 

Fuck me, have ya looked at the news? Is this that thing we were talkin bout? 

Harry is a nosy bugger, and after reading the message with her he reaches for her remote, “You told him about it?” He turns on her telly, quick to open her TV guide, “So he knows about you?” 

“Yeah, he knows -- turn to 3,” she tells him, and soon enough the local news is playing out, big bold letters on the blue band stretched across the bottom of the screen. 

MAN TO BE CHARGED WITH ATTEMPTED MURDER ON GIRLFRIEND 

He turned the volume up, so they could hear the news reporter who was on site. There was yellow caution tape stripped around a house, police lights, cops walking around in the back, and frightened neighbors who had left the comfort of their homes to investigate what was happening. The woman on screen had long blonde hair that whipped when the wind blew and muffled her microphone feed, her face set stony as she recounted the events as the police had told her, “. . .has no recollection of the event, and is claiming the “walls” were dripping in blood and demanding that he do it. Jacobs is being taken in for further questioning and pending a psychiatric evaluation -- his girlfriend Amanda Wilson is being rushed to hospital that’s all anyone knows right now. Back to you Tom...” 

“Oh, fuck sake,” Harry groaned, shaking his head, “Now this is a problem, problem innit?” 

“Was it not before?” Y/N takes the remote from him, turning the volume down, “Do you -- does that sound like anything you’ve dealt with? That would try hurting someone like that?” 

He presses his knuckles to his eyes, sighing, “Not that I remember -- I’ll have to do some digging. . .this is bollocks, you know how bad this is for business? Nobody wants to mess with dark magic when shit like this is going on.”

“Aish, don’t think so selfishly. People are in danger,” she tsks at him, “And we’ll need to -- what are you doing?” She asks as he removes his feet from where they had been on the couch, reaching down for his loafers like he was about to put them on. 

“S’getting late,” he responded, “I was g’na head home --” 

“No you’re not,” she told him, her face dropping in borderline disgust as he seemed genuinely confused with her, his face twisting, “We experience something like that, then see the news, and you not only want to separate, but you want to walk all the way home, alone, in the dark? No way, that’s too stupid, you’re staying here.” 

Harry’s brows dipped in, irritated, however, he did stop reaching for his loafers,  “But --” 

“Listen, we may not be fond of each other but I’m not letting you put yourself in danger,” she tells him, before adding quickly, “And you are fucking not going to leave me alone after that! Are you mad?” 

“I’m sorry, I thought I’d be doing you a favor without bothering ya with my presence. Never thought Miss. Good Witch of the North would want me breathing her air for too long.” He ripostes and it reinvigorates any distaste for Harry that had been easing throughout the night the more they spoke. He always did that -- always made her feel like she was some stuck up prick who never gave him a chance, but she would have if he hadn’t started out being such an arse to her. Sure, the circumstances they had met under weren’t fantastic. . .she snapped at him for taking her flowers without asking, but he could have just apologized -- could have said sorry, and they could have started over but he was immediately put off by her she presumes, because ever since he’d been nothing but cruel to her. His knocking her out of the room in the blood bank was probably the first kind thing he’d ever done for her, and she isn’t a hundred percent certain that she wasn’t just in his way while he was trying to get out. 

So she glowers at him as she pushes from her couch, “Sod off. I’ll get you some blankets.”

He almost immediately replaces the spot that her body had been with his legs, stretching out as far as he could and his feet flop on the arm of the sofa, “Reckon you should make me some of that tea though, so I can sleep.” He called after her. Thumper hops off and follows after her, while Oat finds her spot at Harry’s side and cuddles into where his cardigan’s extra fabric bundles. Y/N goes to the closet in the hall that leads to her bedroom, pries it open, and reaches to the top shelf where she keeps her extra blankets and pillows. Despite how irritated he makes her, she grabs him one of her heavier quilts, because even with her heat kicked up higher than normal her flat has very poor insulation, and the night’s into early mornings get pretty cold. She’s about to grumble at him that he better thank her for this and the bloody tea, but when she returns to the living room. . .he’s asleep. 

Harry just fell right to sleep. 

She’s confused -- understandably, she thinks, because she remembers how much of a fit he’d thrown about her tea and how she was closed on weekends so he couldn’t have any of it. Had whined how he wasn’t able to sleep without the tea, and she had only given him peppermint tea tonight, so there was no reason that should have put him to bed. 

Yet there he was, fast asleep with his arms crossed over his chest. 

 Tutting her tongue quietly, she unrolls the blanket she had chosen for him and strategically places it over his legs. She is careful to move Oat so that she doesn’t suffocate under the covers as she pulls them over, up to Harry’s chest before replacing her in the spot she had snuggled prior. She pauses for a moment before she leaves them, taking in a completely relaxed Harry -- not that he doesn’t seem relaxed all the time, but he’s just. . .calm. His muscles have melted against her couch cushions, his brow has soothed and his amaranth pink lips are soft and parted. Gentle, easy breaths slip through his mouth. . .Y/N thinks that she likes him like this. Not spiteful, or crass -- this Harry doesn’t seem to hate her. This Harry is warm and comfortable enough to just fall asleep on her couch. 

Thumper thumps his foot against the floor, his not-so-silent request that they go to bed and Y/N snaps out of whatever hypnotic state she’d been in watching him rest. She feels creepy but shakes it off, reaching down to pick up Thumper by his belly and cradling him to her chest as she leaves the living room, keeping her lamp on for him in case he wakes up to have a wee or anything. 

It’s when she goes to the kitchen to grab him a bottle of water to leave at the coffee table for him, that she can feel Thumper judging her. This is only confirmed by the way he is looking up at her when she looks down at him, his small, pink nose twitching, and she can just sense him repeating Harry’s tease of have you got a crush on me or summat? -- it’s not like he hasn’t questioned her before. She reckons if Thumper could actually speak and not just implant little thoughts of his in her head through whatever little bond they have, he would be very free with his accusations about who she might have feelings for. 

Y/N rolls her eyes. 

“No, I don’t,” she disagrees with him quietly, “What do you know about crushes, hm? You’re just a bunny.” 

                                                         .                               .                              .

It had been a while since Harry had worked. 

Though he was always hesitant to call it work, all things considered. Y/N had once described to him that what he did was lurk around seedy clubs and wait to be recognized by a sorry sap that wanted something they didn’t want to put much effort towards, and Harry can’t necessarily say she’s wrong.  He preyed on the lazy; men and women who couldn’t be arsed to obtain a goal without the help of a little magic no matter how negative, and Harry couldn’t really fault them for it. One, because sometimes goals are unattainable with literally anything other than a demon's help, and two because he gets a hefty wad of cash in his pocket for his trouble. How hypocritical could he be to deprecate their usage of dark magic when he is doing the same thing. . .when he relies on that more than anything, even the silly little romance novels he writes so that nobody questions where his money’s coming from. 

It was a Friday night, and since he was no longer tied to the commitment of meeting Y/N to discuss the horrible, no good, terrible thing that was slithering its way through town and apparently spurring bouts of attempted murder -- he was able to visit a club. Though Y/N had made him lock pinkies with her that morning, telling him to keep his eye out for anything suspicious that may or may not have led to the events from the night prior. 

Promise me that you’ll keep informed on what’s going on there, okay? And promise me that you’ll tell me about it. 

The club he’d visited was one of the more popular of the four he frequented, and within the walls, amongst the gyrating bodies in scant clothing and sweat-drenched skin, were many of his regular clients. One of which had been blowing up his phone for the past week telling him how he desperately needed help, and he needed it ASAP. Harry finally replied to his message with a simple time that he would meet him, and that they would discuss the cost once he’s explained what is being asked of him. This guy, in particular, wanted many frivolous things, and typically his requests revolved around wealth, though Harry thought he had more than enough. And while Harry could do a few simple spells that would bring the money gradually and don’t come with the dangers that a demon will, he refuses. Harry has always told each of his clients that a spell and a demon could do the same thing, but demons brought faster results, albeit potentially precarious consequences.

And when it comes to summoning, things can get a bit tricky. If the person who is summoning is the person who will benefit from the demon’s will directly, then it may come with a price, and that price may or may not be hidden between the lines. Especially when it is someone who has no clue about the actual process, offerings that could be made without including their soul for the taking, and spells that could be done that would protect them. After doing this for so long, Harry had developed and harnessed enough power that it was rare a spell every backfired or a demon ever bested him, but if Bradley Evans tried this himself, he’d be good as dead. 

This is why, no matter how this man grates every open end of his nerves with a dull blade, he continues to help him. Again, Harry gets paid an obscene amount of money for what he does, so he sucks it right up -- and it’s not as if this money is just for him. He has people to take care of, his own personal gripes with the smarmy, rich, meat-headed pricks that want him to summon Clauneck for a trip to the Bahamas matter very little in the grand scheme of things. 

He’s leaning against the far back corner, at a table that he’d claimed for the night and a cherry mango cocktail that wets his lips and stains them red. He really isn’t scouting for suspicious behavior like he had promised to, only because his mind had floated elsewhere entirely. Like how, after so long of only ever being able to rest with help of Y/N’s chamomile, he was able to fall asleep without the help of anything. He had asked her about the tea that she and he drank prior to him passing out unprompted on her couch, but she told him it was just a store-bought strawberry tea that was a guilty pleasure. 

It perplexed him greatly. He only remembers her demanding him to stay the night because she didn’t want to be alone (and if he’s honest, neither had he after the night they had), he remembers her standing and him stretching out on her couch, and he remembers asking her for the tea that would help him sleep. 

And then he remembers waking, feeling refreshed, and renewed. Confused, but reinvigorated, he had a wee before poking around in her kitchen for something to satiate his grumbly stomach. Y/N was still asleep -- he’d peeked his head into her cracked open door only to find her dreaming peacefully, relaxed, and content. As creepy as it felt to stare at her as she slept, he did watch for a moment. It was different to see her without the accompanied scowl he usually coaxed upon her face -- the blissful gleam that exudes from her now is the same that he sees when she’s tending to one of her gardens. 

He brewed two chai lattes in her Keurig with Oat on his shoulder like a bird and she woke as he was taking the second mug, setting it on her kitchen counter, “G’morning,” she yawned, Thumper hopping behind her, looking just as sleepy, “Did you sleep through the night? I made you a cuppa and kept it in the microwave in case you woke up.” 

His heart had lurched. . .a genuine clench that Harry had not felt in a while.

“Oh,” he blinked at her owlishly, “I slept just fine, but thank you.” 

“Mm, good,” she was so sleepy still, Harry remembers wondering if she was even fully awake speaking to him, “I  have sliced fruit in the fridge if you want, for brekkie.” 

It was a domesticated scenario that Harry had not been privy to.  

Had it been her flat? Maybe the plants that she had strewn about the room were all enchanted, singing sweet songs of sleep that lulled him to sleep without him knowing. All he could recall was feeling so unbelievably comforted and no matter how cold it was in that damn flat, he felt so warm. . .so warm, and it smelled so good, and Oat was snoozing happily at his side. Plus she had wrapped him in this quilt that was heavy and smelled nice -- he thinks, in that moment, he finally understood why babies liked feeling contained in a swaddle blanket. Regardless of what happened at the blood bank, and what they found out on the news, Harry felt safe in her flat. And he probably wouldn’t have left either, if he didn’t have to work. 

He’s so caught in his reverie, that Bradley’s arrival truly startled him. A clearing of his throat catches his attention, dragging his unfocused gaze from the crowd of dancers to Bradly, dressed in a Lacoste polo that thought was ugly but he would never say it aloud, “Oh,” he straightened up, bringing the rim of his glass to his mouth and taking a small sip of it, “Right then, what can I do for you? Another trip to Barbados?” 

Bradley shakes his head a little frantically, and it's only then that Harry takes in the actual appearance of him, that surpasses the Lacoste and zeros in on the panic that decorates his face, “I need like -- like a demon protector or some kinda spell or -- I don’t fucking know, or something.” 

“Oh --” his brows dip, “What’s wrong? Is something bothering you?” 

He starts to nod, then switches it to a shake of his head, and that morphs into a shrug of his shoulders, “I don’t know man, I just don’t feel -- I don’t feel safe. I wondered if one of those demons from before were like. . .after my soul or summat.” 

“Not possible,” Harry dismisses the idea, setting his glass down on the high round table, “When I work with them we make a spiritual, contractual agreement that they are bound to. If your soul was not on the table, then it will never be on the table -- it must be something else,” he thinks for a moment before a slither of realization stokes the fire in his brain, that sets the coals aflame and heats the cogs to a churn, “What -- explain to me what you’re feeling?” 

“Like something is watching me,” he blinked, crossing his arms on top of the table and leaning most of his weight onto it, the scent of liquor wafts over Harry’s face when Bradly breathes, “It’s heavy and. . .it’s like swimming in ink. It’s horrible and frightening, and I’ve never -- I’ve never been one to rely on vibes, but mate, they were bad. . .they were like -- vile. Vile vibes, man.” 

Harry thinks, while his description is repugnant, he knows exactly what he’s talking about, but there wasn’t much he could do. Harry can make protection spells that are generalized but he doesn’t believe that any of them are strong enough to fend off whatever this thing is. In cases like this one, sometimes dark magic is not good to fight dark magic, it can only make it grow and fester like a nasty, infected wound. He really did not want to try that out on Bradley. . .he may not be fond of the guy, but he didn’t wish anything ill on him. 

“You wouldn’t come to me for a protection spell, for something like that,” Harry begins, “You would need --” You would need Y/N -- is what is about to leave his lips, but it drops away. As much as it’s true -- as much as Harry knows that the reason he felt the safest he’s ever had in Y/N’s presence was whatever protection spells she had put in place and strengthened -- he couldn’t. The thought of sending someone like Bradley to someone like Y/N, makes him feel sick. “Give me one second, yeah? Stay here.” 

Y/N gave him her number that morning, telling him that it was silly for them to be unable to contact one another. Harry saved it into his phone and sent her a picture of Oat so that she would have his, but left it at that -- he had assumed, until this moment, that he would never have a reason to have her number. If he ever wanted anything from her he would just show up at her store. 

But here he was, scrolling through his contact list to find her, pressing her number and holding his phone up to his ear. It only rings twice before she’s answered it, “Hello? Is everything okay Harry, did you get a lead?” 

Harry laughs in disbelief, “What’re you, a detective?” He cleared his throat so he could speak over the music clearly, “I need you for something, and I’ll give you half. And before you get all high and mighty, it isn’t for anything bad -- one of my regulars is experiencing the same fucked thing we have only it’s more vile vibes opposed to blood seeping from the walls. Need a protection spell -- whatever you use for your flat and store.” 

She’s quiet for a moment, long enough that Harry questions if his service dropped, but her voice reappears.

 “Where are you?” 

Fifteen minutes later, Harry is flagging Y/N down to his spot in the club where he stood next to Bradley whose friends kept coming around wondering if Harry was his pull for the night. Her jumper with a printed bunny right in the center made him chuckle to himself -- it was more than clear that she had not planned on coming out tonight, and if not for Harry, he thinks she would have spent three more hours at her store tending to the garden there if not for him. When she sees him, noticeable relief makes her shoulders slump, and as she gets closer, she reaches into her pocket, “Thank god,” she called over the music, “I’ve been in here for three minutes and if I got knocked into one more time I was going to lose it.” 

She produces two things -- one is a tiny vial, with an unidentified green liquid, and the other is a small baggie of her tea. Harry takes both from her hand, “Thank you,” he murmurs, before dipping down closer to her ear, “Go over to that empty table near the bar, I don’t want this guy seeing you clear enough that he could ask you for anything ever again.” 

Though she was confused, she listened to him, slinking her way over to the table while Harry turned to Bradley who had been looking at his phone, before both were placed in front of them, “Thank you,” he tells him, “Thank you, thank you, thank you. How much?” 

“850,” Harry says without batting an eyelash. Typically his business runs closer to the thousands but he cuts the guy a break since he’s scared.

“Each or what?” Bradley asks as he fishes his wallet from his pocket, flipping the leather open and beginning to thumb through his bills. 

“No, just 850,” he takes the bills from him, folding it between his fingers, “I shipped your crystals last week, did they come?” 

Bradley nods, a big grin on his face, “Oh, fuck yeah dude, I almost forgot! I already transferred you the money for them right?” 

Harry thinks it’s a shame that he doesn’t keep track -- he could really scam him if he wanted to, with these black crystals bathed in the water of Asmodeus (they increases stamina and aids them in not being shit in bed; it was a fucking full-day event to get Asmodeus to recognize the clear stream water, in an incubator that he checks every 15 minutes or so to see if the water has been touched red)  “Yeah, you sent double the amount ‘cos your buddy wanted some too, right?” 

“He loved them, mate,  he’s way less narky too now that he’s getting his dick wet.” 

Harry holds back a grimace, “Alright then, stay safe. You know how to contact me if you need anything.” 

Bradley bids his goodbye and Harry seeks out Y/N, who is picking idly at her fingernails and bobbing her head slightly to the music. When he gets close enough to her, he starts on his spiel as he waves the money toward her,

“Listen, Babe, you used your plants to help him, honestly you deserve way more than this -- a fucking Nobel Prize probably,” he holds it out to her, “Here.” 

She shakes her head, but not in the way she would if she were refusing it because she was disgusted by him -- no, instead she closes his hand around it again and presses it closer to his body, “No, no, you keep it, he’s your guy or whatever.” 

Harry tilts his head, brows knitted, “But they’re your plants.” 

“Yeah, but I would just feel guilty taking it from you so --” 

He sighs, counting out 450 of it, taking her hand, opening her fingers, and sliding the bills into her palm, “Even split then. If you’re going to utilize something precious to you to help someone like that fucker, you deserve a little compensation for it. “ 

Y/N must realize that he wasn’t going to let it go, because she finally folds it in her hands, slipping it into her pocket, “What’s with that guy then? Why do you not like him?” 

Harry can see it clearly; the image of his childhood self, his family struggling to make ends meet but going to primary school with the wealthier kids. The ones who laughed at his faded shirts, and holed winter coats -- who would ask him to their birthday parties and talk shit about the gift he’d scraped up coins for doing miscellaneous work around the neighborhood. He thinks about how he knew they would go home to kitchens full of food, and bountiful dinners that they would never appreciate, while Harry never took seconds because no matter how hungry he was, he made sure their bellies were as full as they could be. And Harry remembers how the headmaster did nothing to quell his worries because those kid’s parents could buy out the school if they wanted to. 

He sees it all, and he hears it all, and for a moment -- selfishly -- it makes Harry wish he had never given Bradley the protection spell at all. 

But he only shakes his head, “He’s just a prick,” he answers simply, before nodding his head toward the door, “Reckon we should get out of here, it smells like piss.” 

It’s always a little easier to leave the club than it is to enter it, so they’re out in the cool air soon enough. A small line had formed outside since Harry had been in there last, and as they step out, a group of three is let in through the rope chain that the bouncer is policing. This part of town is always bustling late into the night, so neither feel the cold brush of fear they have been when they’re out in the dark -- or at least the relaxed way Y/N is looking around tells him that she’s pretty content. 

“Do you want to get something to eat?” She asks him, pointing at the 24-hour diner right across the street, that had been strategically placed there because people who are drunk and high who just sweat out half their body weight love greasy food, “I skipped dinner today.” 

“What a coincidence -- so did I.” 

They got a booth in the far back corner, where the white and maroon tilted floor glistened wet from a recent scrub from the mop, and the air smells of lemon pine-sol. This along with the fact that the black leather seats were dusted of the crumbs that usually mottles them, Harry would assume that they had come just in time for their 12 AM clean up, where the first batch of besotted clubbers had left a mess and they were waiting for the second wave to come through. He didn’t miss the eye that the waitress had given them, looking them up and down like she was trying to decipher what state they were both in, but when neither of them wobbles in their stance, or slur through their words asking for a table, she relaxes and asks them where they’d like to sit. 

After they get settled and order their food (Harry convinces her to get one of their malted milkshakes with him -- his favorite was strawberry and after she confessed that she never had their strawberry malt, he was insistent on her trying it), Harry’s curiosity is suddenly piqued as he thinks of something he hadn’t thought of before, “How did you make it over to the club so fast, hm? Do you just have jars of this stuff made laying around?” 

Y/N sticks her clear straw in the icy glass of water she’d been poured, stirring it like there was anything to mix, and the ice cubes clink together soundly, “No, no, I actually don’t make protection spells unless I’m asked directly -- or usually that’s the case, but I was already in the middle of making some for you and me, so I had a little leftover.” 

“For me too?” Harry inquires, genuinely surprised by the concept that she would make him something to keep him safe. She nods though, like it was silly that he thought she wouldn’t have, only this time she reaches into her purse and retrieves two much larger vials with little cork tops, and one bigger bag of the dried leaves, accompanied by a smaller one tied with red ribbon. 

“I was doing some research while I was at work --” 

“You do a lot of research, don’t you?” He cuts her off and she nods. 

“Mhm -- and there’s this like. . .there’s this elder witch who lives an hour or so drive away from us who I think might be immortal, but that’s beside the point. She has this blog that I was scrolling through and she linked her email, so I messaged her and she sent me her number and told me to call her immediately.” She slides one of the vials over to him, along with the tree leaves, “When I did, she told us that we were in a little more danger than everyone else ‘cos like -- whatever this thing is could start trying to feed off of us, especially you. Said that we needed a potent protection spell, and I told her about mine. You feel safe in my store and in my flat right? Like -- like whatever that thing is couldn’t get to us?” He nodded, eyes fixed on hers, “So this is a version of that suitable for our bodies. The tea leaves are for your flat, and then this little bag here --” she points at the one tied closed with the small strip of red ribbon, “-- this is a tea version of it safe for Oat to drink.” 

Not only had she made him some, but she also made Oat some too? As much as he disliked her before, he can’t help how this warms his heart, zipping through his body and makes him feel just as safe as he did when he was wrapped in her quilt snug on her couch. Harry wonders if this is what she’s like all the time with her friends. . .he wonders if this side of her, that researches and makes protection goodies, brews him a cuppa just in case he woke up in the middle of the night and comes out in the depth of night to the seedy clubs she despises just because he called and asked -- if that’s what they get to see. If that’s what he would have seen had their meeting been any different. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, taking the vial and the bags, looking at them against his palm, “A lot. You didn’t have to do this for me.” 

“I did though,” she takes a drink of the water through her straw, “I may not agree with what you do but we’re the only two witches here and there is power in unity, even if our versions of magic are different. We have to be there for each other -- Thumper agrees, and that’s a lot coming from him because he doesn’t like much of anybody. . .he barely likes me,” she holds her hand up, the index finger of her other going from finger to finger as she lists off the ingredients, “So we’ve got fern, anise, leaves from the ash tree in the forest, fennel -- the nice old woman told me to hold off on the mugwort unless we’re planning on astral projecting or doing anything with divination, but if we felt that it was necessary we could wear a wreath of it around her necks. That’s an old wives tale though, I’m pretty sure.” She wiggles her fingers, “All that and a little bit of moon water, and we have ourselves a little protection spell! I dipped my finger in for a taste test and I’ll be honest, it’s awful and plant-y but I reckon we can toss them back like a shot and chase it with a sweet drink like juice or something.” 

It hits Harry that he gave Y/N very little credit for what she did, but now as he’s looking at something that she’d made specifically with him in mind, that wasn’t just a glorified sleepy time tea, it puts some things in perspective for him. Sure, she’s been a dick to him in the past, but he was a dick too, about her magic. While he isn’t going to start kissing the ground she walks on, he decides then that he’ll be more mindful of her craft. Plus, from the amount of time that they’ve had to spend together in the past two days, she’s tolerable when she isn’t on her high horse about him summoning spirits and ruining the town. She’s even helpful. 

“Thank you,” he repeats, “I really mean it, I appreciate this a lot.” 

Y/N smiles at him and it’s a smile that he’s never been gifted before. A smile that makes him smile back, as she places her elbow on the table and holds out her pinky toward him -- she’s big on pinky swears, he’s finding. 

“We’re looking out for each other, okay? I’ve got your back if you’ve got mine. . .I swear it.” 

Harry locks his pinky with hers without a second thought. 

[blxetsi]

modern levi ackerman dating headcanons

lowercase intended !

levi ackerman x gn!reader

- firstly, lets get love language out of the way

- i think his love language would be acts of service

- so like, he'll brew your coffee for you and set out your favourite mug when he goes to the kitchen to make his tea (bc we all know he'd wake up earlier than you 🙄)

- or he'll pick up a muffin from your favourite bakery on his way home

- or if you ask him to remind you to do something later, he's immediately writing it out on a sticky note and sticking it somewhere youd notice

- he notices youre getting low on your favourite moisturizer ? or lipbalm ? he's taking a picture of the packaging and getting it the next time he drives past walmart or smth

- he just does little things that help make your day better

- now i feel like a lot of people say this already, but he is NOT very comfortable with public displays of affection

- its not that he doesnt like it when you touch him, or hold his hand, or kiss his cheek, he just gets flustered and feels like everyone is watching you two

- but one thing he does allow is looping your arms together while you walk, especially in crowded streets

- it doesnt mean he doesnt like being close with you, he just hates doing it public. when youre alone ? hes ALL OVER YOU.

- "will you play with my hair ?"

- "levi im working."

- "okay can you multitask ?" motherfucker 😐

- doesnt matter if hes the big spoon or little spoon, just being close to you is enough.

- also would try and get used to your love language

- if your love language is physical touch hes genuinely surprised by how many times you put his hands on him each day (NOT in a sexual way) like even his mother never touched him as much and he's a momma's boy 😳

- when you wake up your coming out to the kitchen to fill your coffee, but not before kissing the top of his head as you walk past

- then youre guzzling down your coffee like its water before putting it in the sink and walking back, petting his head in the process

- you'll hug him while hes cooking, or brushing his teeth. youre giving him kisses before he leaves and when he comes home, just little small acts of love, but it happens so frequently that levi cant help but notice it

- your love language is verbal affirmations ? youre getting your coffee while saying "goodmorning beautiful"

- "i love yous" are thrown at him a lot, they never fail to make him feel better

- youll compliment this man and he short circuits for a second, quickly gets used to it as time goes on

- also too i think he'd be taller in a modern au, but not very very tall like erwin, im talking 5'7" to 5'9"

- and he's fine with his height, it doesn't bother him that much, he's the average height of a man so what's the big deal ?

- also he really doesnt care about height either. youre shorter than him ? cool, that means he can bend down to give you little forehead kisses. around the same height as him ? awesome, that makes it easier for him to give you a peck on the lips. taller than him ? mf he'll climb you like a tree if he has to. really doesn't care.

- also doesn't have a preferences for body type or anything. he thinks that character is way more important than looks 100% and he'll always find different things about you beautiful. your laugh is weird ? k now he's making you two watch a john mulaney special to so youll laugh. hate your belly and wanna lose weight, he's holding you and telling you to only lose weight if you genuinely want to be "healthier" and not so you get skinny. your acne scars bother you ? he's kissing your cheeks a lot more than usual, but you can't complain. literally Loves Every Part of You

- also i think his family would absolutely ADORE YOU and his friends for that matter

- miss kuchel is pulling you into a hug the first time she sees you, and is so accomodating and sweet. shes genuinely interested in your interests and what you do for a living, and will NOT hesitate to get levi's baby pictures out if you ask.

- his uncle ? he probably wont be there for the family dinner, but then kuchel's gonna call him up like "levi's s/o ?? absolutely spectacular !!" and then hes like "huh maybe i gotta come visit to see the runt and his lover"

- also i think in a modern au, kuchel wouldve gotten really sick when levi is a boy, so kenny would have came home to take care of his sister and try and take care of levi. in the end she got better, and he went back to his own home, but now she requests that he come for at least one family holidy so they can all spend it together

- BUT back to mr. ackerman

- idk what he'd do in modern times, i used to think he'd be a good english professor for a university, but then i saw a headcanon that he'd go into law school and become a lawyer, and honestly ?? it makes sense

- after a long day at work he just wants to come home to you, he'll find you on the couch reading or doing some of your own work, so he'll just slip off his coat and blazer and undo his tie while slipping off his shoes by the door. before plopping his head in your lap and requesting you to play with his hair.

- if you don't live with him hes taking a shower and then immediately calling you asking to come over. if you can ?? great he'll be in bed waiting to be spooned. if not, thats fine, but levi would like to facetime and rant.

- also has the absolute WORST road rage

- "that little prick cut me off !"

- "levi he's taking his driver's test !"

- "so ? i hope that instructor doesn't give the idiot a pass 🙄" and then will immediately honk his horn at the poor kid.

- also wouldnt be a clean freak like in canonverse. his whole "everything has to be spotless" stuff stems from trauma, specifically being left in an apartment with his decaying mother for weeks on end, but since kuchel is alive that never happens

- were things a little hectic during the time she was sick ? sure ! but kenny always tried to tidy up a bit when he saw it was getting to levi.

- levi just likes things to be neat and tidy, he doesnt do a deep clean of his apartment every two weeks, but always makes sure to clean up his messes as soon as they happen

- also doesnt like to fight

- his mom raised him with the idea that communication is key, and always encouraged him to "explain why hes upset" so they could work together to come up with a solution

- its something hes taken with him to adulthood, and even though sometimes he sounds like hes talking to a child when hes trying to get you to "use your words" he really doesnt mean to

- if youre yelling at him he'll stand there like 😐 and wait until youre out of breath so he can say "okay lets talk about this"

- is also very handy

- have a hole in your wall ? hes coming over to fix it

- need a lightbulb changed ? hes got u dont worry

- you need to assemble a piece of furniture ? he glances at the step by step guide once before hes putting it together

- hes so great at that stuff, and you only have kenny to thank

- literally when kenny first came to stay with levi and kuchel when she was sick, the kitchen light went out and he asked levi to screw another lightbulb in, the poor kid stood there like 🤨 and when kenny said "what ? you don't know how to change a fucking lightbulb ?" levi shook his head and said "uncle kenny im seven 😐"

- kenny was APPALLED. and immediately made it his mission to make levi as handy as himself.

- also, dates with him are rlly lowkey.

- he likes being in your company, so staying home and ordering take out is AWESOME in his opinion. sometimes he'll dress up and make a fancy meal with you.

- if you like going to carnivals and stuff, he's reluctant but eventually caves. wins you a lot of the prizes.

- "fuck. this shit is rigged y/n"

- "sorry levi, lets go do something else !"

- "what ? no. give me another dollar im getting you that fucking turtle"

- hange always wants to see you. levi makes it his life mission to keep you away from them as much as possible. not because he doesnt want you to get along with his friends, just because he knows that hange will spill some embarassing secrets from his college days.

- erwin ? hes okay but hes on thin fucking ice.

- also is very gentlemanly. will not only hold the door for you but for everyone. hes waiting in line for his order and someone comes up behind him and asks him to scootch so they can get some napkins ? mf its grabbing a handful himself and handing it to the person, wishing them a nice day with a small smile. hes just like,, a genuinely good person

- his singing voice ? immaculate. will he sing for you ? no.

- he also loves playing board games with you. like chess or checkers. you love playing board games with him and his friends, specifically monopoly. hange makes moblit form an alliance with them. mike is a lone wolf, and erwin and levi are always helping each other out until erwin betrays him. lots of trust is ruined between these game nights, but you literally cant bring yourself to care because its so fun to watch it unfold

this is my first headcanon thingy !! im v excited !! hope u all enjoyed 🤩✨ should i do more headcanons like these ???

- all in all, levi is a cool guy, and a cool bf.

[real-american]

Supernatural: A dedication to its memory and how the show changed my life

Fifteen Years. 15 years and over 300 episodes of the greatest show on TV. 15 years of joy, heartache, tears, fun and inspiration; and for me, 15 years, two marriages one divorce, two tattoos and a show that brought me the love of my life. Supernatural has impacted us all on so many levels. I could easily write a 15 page academic paper on the seasons, the meanings behind each season and all the little things that made the show so great. Things such as the music, the brothers Winchester, the family dynamic, and the beautiful 1967 Chevy Impala (my dream car should I win the lottery. Black four door version of course). I could go on about each major and minor character, how they impacted the show and what each of them meant to me and the fans but this is not what this is about. This post is about how Supernatural changed my life and how it impacted me.

First a few housekeeping things to address regarding the final season and the series finale. I thought the pre finale show was excellent but definitely could have been longer and included more. However I do understand they only had 42 minutes or so to cram 15 years of memories and characters in so I understand they had to only hit the highlights. They should do a longer version for the Blue Ray 15 season collectors set which I'm sure they will make and that I am definitely getting. Regarding the final season, I thought it was excellent. My wife, who is also a big fan of the show (more on her later) didn't think it was as good as other seasons but enjoyed it none the less. The ending was good sort of expected with the two boys ending up in heaven together, but I was surprised they killed Dean in the sort of nonchalant way they did. Sort of anti climactic for the greatest hunter in the world. The final speech to Sam was heartbreaking and heartfelt and I loved it! I also loved the symmetry of how Sam's son Dean also gave him permission to leave this world as Sam gave (original) Dean all those years later. I'm glad they didn't show who Sam's wife was and she was just left as a mysterious place holder. Originally I thought maybe they should have had him with Eileen but in retrospect the way they did it was better and honestly I'm not sure if she (or the other AU folk) were even brought back with the rest of the world. Maybe someone can clear this point up for me. I was really surprised they didn't do the "carry on my wayward son" beginning but I soon figured out before it even happened they were going to do it in the end of the episode which turned out to be much better. All in all I give the last season an A- and the finale and how it ended an A+ Again there is a lot to say about the final season, the final episode, and all the seasons but I will leave that analysis to other people. This is about what the show meant to me specifically about how it helped me through my darkest days and ushered in my brightest of days which I am living now. This is that story.

I wasn't with Supernatural from the very beginning. The show premiered in 2005 and I honestly hadn't heard anything about it or did I know anything about it for a few years. I came off active duty from the Marine Corps in June of 2005 and after fighting my beloved country's wars for a few years I was out of the loop on many things. I first came across Supernatural on TNT catching a re run here and there but with no real interest and only getting bits and pieces of the story. In 2010 I met my first wife and was a casual fan at this point seeing enough re runs on TNT to get a general idea of the storyline for the first few seasons but again only as a casual fan. At this point of my life I was also falling down a dark hole. My alcoholism which is a result of my PTSD from my combat service started to get really bad. I was drinking more than most people could handle but as my father was, highly functional. This led to me staying with and eventually marrying my first wife which was a bad idea. She cheated on me constantly and probably didn't even really love me. We were also polar political opposites (you can figure out my political viewpoints from the rest of my blog) and not compatible really in the least. Why I ever stayed with her and married her is beyond me at this point in my life. So there I was drinking my life away in a bad relationship and trying to figure out how to manage my life. Then Supernatural came on Netflix and I decided to give it a real shot. This decision changed my life.

I quickly caught up on the first six seasons and started watching the show live starting with season 7. I was hooked. I loved everything about it. Dean and Sam, Cass the car, the brotherly love, the monsters, the angels, everything but I still didn't know how this show would impact me in the end. I continued to drink myself to death getting unhealthier fatter and no longer resembling the fit Marine I once was. I was in a constant haze drinking an entire bottle of whiskey every night to drink away the pain of my bad marriage and the pain of not being loved and cheated on by my wife. Supernatural was the one bright spot in my life.

In 2014 I finally divorced my wife but this was only the first step. I continued to drink and destroy my life causing me to get fired from my job. Fortunately I was hired on back into government work making much better money and with having no wife and no kids was finally able to live a little better financially but I was lonely and alone except for the alcohol. I continued to find refuge in the bottle but also in Supernatural. I watched every episode as it came on, re watched all the old episodes, blogged and facebooked about it to the point that I am sure I was annoying the one or two friends that I had. The rest of my life was a blur. Get up, stumble into work drunk or hungover, go home sick and jonesing for my next drink, bottle of whiskey till one in the morning, a few hours of sleep and starting the whole cycle back over. I was fat, ugly on the outside, ugly on the inside, and a bad human being. My drinking got so bad I destroyed my liver and was medically discharged from my job but was given retirement for all my years of service to the federal government. So now I was 33 retired with a pension and VA disability and really nothing to do but sit at home drink whiskey and watch TV. I had no love in my life, one or two close friends who didn't like being around me anymore because of my drinking, and my family was worried but couldn't get through to me. Even after my father died of alcohol abuse in 2015 I still continued down my destructive path. Finally in February of 2017 I was hospitalized and was told I would be dead in less than a year. I truly believe I was touched by God at this point because I went home dumped out three bottles of alcohol and never touched the stuff again to this day.

Now I had to learn to relive my life all over without alcohol. I started to exercise and lose weight (90 pounds in 5 months) I went back to church, and I started to try and find love again and of course needing distraction and something to occupy my mind I dove deep into Supernatural. I re watched and re watched again all the old episodes, I poured myself into analysis of the plot lines and characters, I got tattoos on my arms (the demon trap and the anti possession symbol), I obsessed with everything Supernatural. It helped me stay sober. When I wanted a drink I would watch an episode, when I was feeling lonely I would go hang out with Sam and Dean. When I wanted to give up I took refuge in the Impala. I became a super fan. So far Supernatural got me through my divorce, was my bright spot in my alcoholic haze, and helped me stay sober when I first gave up my demons. I cheered harder during the happy moments of the show and cried harder in the sad ones. I was an emotional wreck and my feelings only seemed to come out while watching the show. Although I had quit drinking, got rid of my toxic ex wife and started to improve my life, I was still not happy. I was alone and lonely but Supernatural came to my rescue once again.

Throughout 2017 and the first part of 2018 I managed to be in two relationships. I poured myself into them grasping at them as if they were my reward for turning my life around and ignoring all the signs that they were not good relationships. I was still learning to relive my life as a sober person. I never integrated back into society after I left the Corps in 2005 and finally I was doing so but it was a hard journey. Inevitably those relationships failed and I was utterly heartbroken each time, but Supernatural was always there through the good times and the bad. When my heart was broken I would go find refuge in my favorite show forgetting about my problems and trying to help Sam and Dean solve theirs. Finally in May of 2018 I decided to try and find love again. This time it would be different and this time it was Supernatural that helped me get there.

As part of my recovery and daily routine I started to eat at my local diner everyday. Everyday from about July 2017 to the present time in this story I would go in, order 2 eggs over easy, hash browns, sausage, and toast. Everyday I would sit in the same spot at the counter (counter 6 was the name of the spot) order the same thing and even had my own special coffee mug. I knew everyone who worked there by name and they all knew me by name. They knew my order and had it ready for me when I came in. It felt like a magical place, a place that would forever change my life. There was one waitress/cook that I didn't see very often. She mostly worked the night shift but occasionally I would see her if I was there later in the day than usual or if she occasionally worked a morning shift. I was drawn to this woman. About the middle of May in 2018 I decided to maybe try and work up the courage to ask her out. I would always look for her when I went in hoping she was working that day hoping she wasn't too busy so that I could exchange a few words with her and hoping she would even notice me. Then one day in July I went in and she was there. I said hello and ate my breakfast but we didn't talk much. When I was paying for my meal the other gal working there asked  what my plans were for the day and I said oh nothing much just gonna go home and watch Supernatural. Then she turned around. The woman I had been trying to talk to, the one I wanted to ask out, Michelle was her name. She said, "I love that show I'm watching season 13 on DVD right now". I perked up a smile came across my face. Nervously I said, "oh cool yeah its my favorite show" Michelle nodded and turned back to work, I went to my car got in and smiled. I knew how I was gonna break the ice now next time. A few days later on my daily visit to the diner I went in a little later than usual. It was about 3 in the afternoon. It was dark and gloomy, raining, and cold. It felt like a Supernatural episode. It felt like a 67 Impala should have been in the parking lot and two good looking hunters should be in the corner on a laptop researching their current case. It felt like a magical moment. Turns out I was the only customer in the whole place. It was just me the waitress and Michelle who was cooking that day. They took my order without asking as the usually did and I could already see Michelle had already started cooking it. She finished and brought it to me herself. We exchanged a look and a feeling of confidence I have never had in my life overcame me and I said to her, "So are you enjoying season 13?" That is how it all began we started talking about the show. How we started watching it who our favorite characters were, how much we loved this season or that one. The conversation was seamless. We got into other get to know you topics around our conversation about Supernatural and it was like we were old friends talking about a show we loved. Eventually I got up and went to pay the waitress and she turned to go back to the kitchen in the back. Feeling an opportunity slip away I said "hey Michelle, maybe we should go get some dinner some time and watch some Supernatural together". I held my breath. She would surely smile and politely say no. She probably gets asked out all the time by the customers, beautiful woman that she is. Then she smiled and said "sure that would be great" I must have smiled so big and my heart skipped 10 beats! I got her number which she wrote on a order ticket and the rest they say is history. Ten months later I wrote ,"will you marry me" on the back of that order ticket and gave it to her at counter 6 at the diner where we met, where we first started talking about Supernatural, where my life finally changed for the better forever, and she said yes! We were married two months later on our one year anniversary and we just watched the final episode together yesterday. We both had tears, we both smiled when Sam and Dean, soulmates, were finally together at the end because we both know how it feels to be with each others soulmate. We held each others hand and said goodbye together.

Supernatural has forever changed me. It has been with me through every major event in my life over the last 15 years. Through the dark times, through the hard times, and finally through the current happy times. I guess it is ok that Supernatural is over now. I no longer need it. I have my wife, my Michelle, my soulmate. I am finally happy. I have Sam and Dean's permission to move on and they have mine. Good bye Winchesters. Good bye and thank you. You have taught me to carry on and find my peace when I'm done, and to cry no more. This is but one man's story, one of so many. How many lives has this show changed? How many people have found comfort in the adventures of Sam and Dean? I'm not sure the answer. Too many to count I would wager. 15 years and 300 episodes of the greatest show ever on TV. Thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.  

[tren-fraszka]

Fic in a Box 2021 Exchange Letter

Dear creator,

Thank you for taking your time to check my requests. I know my requests can sound a bit tricky, but please don’t be discouraged. I wish you will have good time writing first and foremost!

My AO3 is Tren, if you wish to check it out.

Likes: comedy, casefics, canon compliants, AUs, time loops, bodyswaps, roleswaps, “being hoisted by your own petard” plotlines, snark, pettiness, rivals, enemies to friends to lovers, violence, friendships, and character bonding,

DNW: explicit sex (makeouts and fade to black is okay), A/B/O, mpreg, rape depicted as positive (so no “it’s okay, because the other person enjoyed it/it was what they truly wanted”), trans headcanons, soulmate AUs, stories ending with surrender to fate/destiny, fourth wall breaking in canons where that doesn’t occur, character has cancer or other real-life terminal disease AU, word “queerplatonic”.

Also, I included what ships I’m okay with in each fandom. Please do not include any ships that aren’t canon and I have not allowed in those sections (if you feel really strongly about a ship I haven’t mentioned, you can always ask through mods just in case).

On a separate, but similar note, I’m okay with OCs as long as they don’t overshadow the characters I requested.

Additionally, while I almost never request fanart as possible medium, because I prefer my main gift to be fic, I would be very okay with receiving fanart treats. Also, feel free to peruse my old letters if you get your hands on them. I never stop being interested in fandoms, and if I requested something once I will still want it in the future.

                                           REQUESTS

Medium opt-ins (they are the same for all the fandoms):

Length Opt-In: Drabble Length Opt-In: Drabble Series Medium Opt In: Any - Any In-Universe Documents Medium Opt In: Art - Drawn - Comics Medium Opt In: Art - Drawn - Fanart Medium Opt In: Art - Excerpts from a Character's Sketchbook Medium Opt In: Art - Tarot Card Medium Opt In: Illustrated Text (Art & Writing) - Bureaucratic Paperwork Medium Opt In: Illustrated Text (Art & Writing) - Excerpts from a Journal/Notebook/Sketchbook Medium Opt In: Illustrated Text (Art & Writing) - Field Report Medium Opt In: Illustrated Text (Art & Writing) - Mission Report Medium Opt In: Illustrated Text (Art & Writing) - In-Universe Scientific Documents Medium Opt In: Writing - Unreliable Narrator Medium Opt In: Writing - Non-Linear Narrative

MARIMASHITA! IRUMA-KUN

I read new manga chapters as they get translated so feel free to incorporate anything from the manga that’s available in English.

Kirio Amy/Suzuki Iruma

There are many good ships with Iruma, but this one just has a lot things I like. I love enemy ships with both sides being way too emotionally invested into each other so this was inevitable. I love how this relationship starts as this really wholesome friendship and school festival preparation, except Kirio turns out to be a bit messed up and wants to blow up everyone. But then they both accept the outcome and go on with their lives still thinking about each other. Iruma goes through a lot of trouble to keep the club operating even though Kirio has been pretty much expelled. And then Kirio is now obsessed with Iruma as his anthitesis and perfect enemy.

I’m okay with the potential story happening at any point in the canon. I would love both a story set before the festival while Kirio is still hiding his true colors or a story set after it. Maybe Iruma runs into Kirio somewhere after he escapes prison and instead of calling an adult, he tries to stop Kirio from causing trouble on his own. As for pre-festival story. Maybe some upperclassmen steal important parts from the club and Iruma and Kirio set out to get them back.

Naberius Callego & Suzuki Iruma

I love Callego for being a much better take on Snape than original Snape ever was. The second the series made Callego Iruma’s familiar I knew this was about to get good. And it was. I love how Callego slowly warms up to Iruma, even if he is still allergic to his and Sullivan’s antics. I love that Callego is actually a competent teacher who cares about his students, but at the same time he would rather eat a whole lemon than admit it out loud.

For prompts, maybe Sullivan ends up having an important business and Opera isn’t available so he dumps looking after Iruma on Callego for a few days. Or Iruma is struggling with studying since so many things are new for him, so Callego ends up forced to help him catch up with the material (if you are following manga inclusion of Balam is always welcome). Or maybe Iruma gets into usual trouble ends up stranded somewhere and the only one he can call for help is his familiar.

Crocell Kerori | Kuromu/Gyari

One of the last thing I expected to get this year was a canonical yuri romance in this manga, but here it is and it’s perfect. I love how it is pretty much built on mutual pining. I love how Kuromu loves Gyari, but refuses to reciprocate her feelings, because she knows that she needs to remain unattainable to keep their relationship alive, and I love how Gyari is never ever going to give up.

I would love to see more of the time when they worked together. We know it was love at the first sight for Gyari, but I would love to see how Kuromu’s feelings grew. Those hours they spent together practicing, maybe a not-date where they sneak together to scout a venue where they will be having their first big concert, or maybe a small contest that would sow the seeds for their future rivalry. I would love any and all of it. Also, Gyari doesn’t seem to be aware of Kuromu’s civilian identity, so I would love a story where Gyari meets Crocell Kerori rather than Kuromu. Does she recognize her? Or does Kerori manage to successfully trick her? Maybe Gyari makes a full investigation after hearing rumors that Kuromu is attending Babylys. I would also love any sort of future fic for those two.

AUs and ships

I love the worldbuilding around the demon world, so I would ask that if you decided to write an AU that it still incorporates demons. I would definitely love an AU where rather than getting summoned to demon world, Iruma accidentally summons either Kirio or Callego into the human world. Maybe Iruma’s parents try to use him as an offering, but instead he ends up bound to a demon. I would love to see Kirio excited to unleash suffering (even if his weak powers severely limit him in that regard) onto human world just to discover that he made contract with the biggest pacifist possible. Or Callego being torn between wanting to return home as soon as possible (he has classes to teach!) and wanting to somehow help the weird human child that just keeps getting into trouble. Any other demon-focused AU is also welcome. For Gyari and Kurmou, maybe one of them is a human who ends up summoning the other as a demon. How different would their relationship be then? I’m also fine with any sort of AU divergences scenario. Maybe Iruma keeps accidentally sabbotaging Kirio’s terrorist plans without realizing it. Or Iruma ends up summoning Callego more often as his familiar when he gets into trouble. What if Gyari also attended Babylys.

As for ships, I’d rather avoid any love triangle scenarios for this canon, so please focus on just one pairing per character (competing for Iruma’s attention is normal for this canon, I’d just rather not see outright romantic competition). It’s self-explainatory for Kirio request, but if you want to include some shipping elements into the other requests I also ship Iruma/Amelie and Callego/Balam.

VIVY: FLUORITE EYE’S SONG

Solo: Vivy

WB: Any

I would love a look into some alternate timelines or missing scenes. Feel free to go as tragic as you like for alternate timelines, or make a happy end, or anything in between. I just think the core concept of the show has a lot of potential in that regard. For a more specific prompts I would love an AU where Diva doesn't disappear, but maybe she and Vivy end up spliting in some way (I'm sure Matsumoto could find a spare body or something). Or maybe a story where one of the Sisters ends up dragged into Singularity project (I really loved what they did with Elizabeth in the show).

For more worldbuilding prompts I would love a more in-depth look of how Matsumoto as more advanced AI differs from the past eye and how that gap is slowly being closed with each case he and Vivy resolves. Or outsider POV on how Vivy’s and Matsumoto’s actions shape the world. Them turning off the plant producing new androids and the subsequent suicide would definitely get coverage. I would love to know how the whole thing was officially explained. Are there conspiracy theories on the Internet? Sisters are involved in every major incident, would people suspect something?

AUs and ships

I would prefer no setting changes for this story. Any other AUs are fine. As mentioned I would love any look for alternate timeline. I would also love an AU where Diva doesn’t recover her memories and keeps helping Matsumoto while trying to regain them.

Any canon pairings are fine.

SOUSOU NO FRIEREN

I read new manga chapters as they get translated so feel free to incorporate anything from the manga that’s available in English.

Frieren

Frieren/Himmel

I love how this manga is a slow-paced fantasy dealing with loss and inevitable passage of time. And I love Frieren for being one of the best depictions of an elf whose long life actually affects their outlook on life and actions.

I would equally love the insight into Frieren’s present with her charges and the past with hero party. What other shenanigans they get into on their journey? What kind of weird magic Frieren pursued? I would love to see more of her mentoring Fern and Stark. I also love to see her interactions with the hero party. Maybe some more insight into how they fought with demons, since Frieren seemed to have picked up a number of enemies during that time. For some more specific prompts: maybe Frieren accidentally stumbles ona cursed item that erases her memories (or just her memories of Himmel). How would it affect her? What would the party do to help her? Or maybe a demon kidnaps someone from Frieren’s party?

Feel free to include any other characters, they are a colorful bunch.

AUs and ships

I’m fine with AUs as long as Frieren’s long lifespan is preserved. Her perspective is very much shaped by how long she has lived, so I wouldn’t want that aspect to change. One exception would be, a roleswap where Himmel is an elf, while Frieren is a human, and exploration of how both of them would be affected by having a different lifespan. An AU with mythological creatures or similar could be interesting.

I would very much love Himmel/Frieren, though I also enjoy how the manga softly builds on their connection. I also enjoy the budding romance between Fern and Stark.

ONMYOJI

I like all the characters so feel free to include any of them in the story. Bonus points for Ennmusubi doing some subtle matchmaking.

Hakuro/Kusa

I love both of them and how much Kusa looks up to Hakuro. I would love to see them have some adventures together. Maybe they help some other youkai? Or one of the onmyoji? I would also love a deeper insight into how Kusa became stronger after getting inspired by Hakuro. How did she try to improve herself? There definitely was some trial and error and I would love to see that.  

Shiranui/Kinnara

That pairing came out of the left field for me, but I absolutely love the interactions the two of them had so far. I would love to see them meeting more, their feelings growing each time they see each other. I also feel like a story where they keep meeting each other in a dream would really fit them, as they would long to finally meet each other in reality.

AUs and ships

I’m fine with any AU. A modern AU with archer Hakuro and gardener Kusa would be cute. Or a dancer Shiranui and a musican Kinnara. Alternatively an AU where one of the two is onmyoji could be very interesting.

I’m fine with Hakuro’s admiration for Hiromasa being present as long as it doesn’t overshadow her relationship with Kusa. 

DRESDEN FILES

Harry Dresden/Lara Raith

I was sceptical of this pairing all the way through Peace Talks, but then Harry and Lara had this intense falling out, Murphy had died, and suddenly this is a supernatural arranged political marriage and I love everything about this situation. I mean everything. Harry still being in mourning and absolutely not wanting to be forced into this arrangement, Lara still being distrustful of Harry, suspecting that Dresden is using their brother as a bargaining chip, Mab expecting both of them to present themselve as a couple for political reasons. It’s just terrible time for both of them, but so much fun for me.

I would love to see them forced to attend various supernatural events to present themselves per Mab’s wishes. How badly would Dresden handle it? Also it was confirmed that he was marked with true love which means he and Lara probably can’t even touch directly. How well do they hide that fact from everyone? How much guilt would Harry have once he realized that the mark has weakened or disappeared now that he started to develop feelings for Lara? How much chaos will ensue when the wedding does happen?

AUs and ships

I don’t want any setting AU for this fandom, because the existing setup is just too perfect. I’m fine with a divergence AU as long as Lara and Harry are still forced into arranged marriage.

I would want for Harry’s past relationships be acknowledged mostly because him being in mourning is part of what I find appealing about his situation. I don’t expect any scenes actually showing him with his past lovers, but I would be very okay with them appearing.

TALES OF CRESTORIA

Feel free to include other Tales characters. My faves are the cast of Xillia, Symphonia and Graces, but I’m also fine with including other characters (I would appreciate proper introductions in that case, I still haven’t played some of the games, so I might not recognize everyone just by their name).

Solo: Lloyd Irving

I would love more insight into small, but murdeous Lloyd. Seriously I loved the idea of Lloyd originally being manipulated into killing Colette and would love to see Lloyd remembering his lost memories at some point (bonus points for also exploring the idea of Colette as an artificial construct). Also I'm always a sucker for Kratos and Lloyd awkwardly trying to rebuild their familial bonds. What if Lloyd went with Kratos after all? What would happen if they ran into each other again. 

Stahn Aileron & Leon Magnus

I would love more of Leon's utter suffering as he searches for a way to turn his best friend back into human, so people stop thinking he's crazy whenever he tells his sword to shut up. I would love to see him reunite with Crestoria’s main cast and getting annoyed at how chaotic they are. Or running into Sorey again. Honestly, I would love seeing him interact with pretty much anyone, and grumpily helping them kill monsters/do charity/etc. Or exploring Stahn’s and Leon’s past. I would love to see their childhood and how they grew to be such a good friends.

I haven’t played Destiny, so please give me context if you want to include any elements that aren’t in Crestoria.

Velvet Crowe/Milla Maxwell

I thrive on the twisted codependency those two have in Crestoria. I will take both good, tragic and/or ambiguous ends for this relationship. Whether Velvet decides to forgive Milla or kill her it will be great. Give me all those twisted emotions, the hesitation, and pain both of them are carrying.

For straightforward approach, maybe the two of them stop in a town while chasing the last Incarnation and Milla decides to throw a party (because it’s some sort of festival, or maybe she found out it’s Velvet’s or Laphicet’s birthday and wants to make some amends however small). Or maybe one of them gets hurt during the fight with an Incarnation and the other ends up nursing them to health.

For some more levity, maybe Velvet and Milla ran out of money and pick up some side-job to have enough money for an inn. Maybe they work as waitresses and are both great and terrible at it at the same time. Or they have to take care of kids. Any other amusing job is also good.

AUs and ships

I’m fine with any AUs, though for Stahn&Leon request I still want Stahn to be the sword. I’m okay with Stahn turning human (or from human to sword) in the course of the story or being human when showing his past with Leon.

I don’t want Velvet or Milla paired with anyone else or Asbel/Cheria. Other than that there’s too much ships. Please inquire through the mods about specific ones.

FATE/GRAND ORDER

WB: Any

Please only include NA content, I want to avoid JP spoilers

I would love to explore any part of the setting really. I especially love the various interesting connections Servant have with each other that might not be obvious at first glance (like the fact that Iskander is also a pharaoh). I’m just fascinated by all the intricate historical connections. I would also love to see how some Servants would react if they were taken to Singularity/Lostbelt/Event they weren’t a part of. 

Alternatively I would love to see exploration on how different the protagonists upbringing is from other mages especially given how bad they are at magic. We get some of it with Crypters (I loved how frustrated Kadoc was at the fact that the protagonist is even worse at magic than him), but I would love to see more of it. Maybe some Servants try to teach protagonist magic or prepare them for interactions with Clock Tower mages.

I'm fine with both male and female protagonist. Feel free to do anything from a serious character exploration to zany antics. I love both moods FGO jumps between, you can't go wrong with that. Historical context always welcome. I'm fine for any usual suspects when it comes to plot ideas: be it training simulator shenanigans, "oh no we lost comms and are stuck in Singularity", Moriarty scheming, to someone wanting to make Master happy in their own special, dysfunstional and/or possibly destructive ways

Some of the characters I enjoy: Gilgamesh (any), Mordred, Karna, Medea, Saint Martha, Ereshikigal, Danzo, Jeanne D'Arc Alter, Mysterious Heroine XX, Sitonai, Moriarty, Goredolf, any character from pairings section solo. Though honestly I love pretty much everyone in Chaldea except Columbus.

AUs and ships

Obviously, no setting changes AUs, but feel free to Canon Divergence

Pairings: Amakusa/Semiramis, Izou/Ryouma, Kintoki/Fuuma, Romani/Merlin, Romani/protagonist. Also feel free to assume protagonist/everyone (except the "child" Servants). Feel free to ask about other pairings through mods, I’m definitely missing some

[xbaepsae]

the ebb and flow | part four

“In the five years you’ve known him, you’ve never really stopped to notice how much he has changed. Long gone is that awkward thirteen-year-old boy.”

[demigod!jeongguk x demigod!reader]

genre: percy jackson!au, mythology!au, demigod!au, enemies to lovers!au

word count: 1.9k

rating: pg-13

warnings: the usual character tension, nothing really too crazy...besides a shirtless jk lol

a/n: omg i love this chapter so much! eeek. it’s just very exciting imo lol. hope you all enjoy :) xoxo

→ series masterlist!

the fifth summer – in which you come to a realization

“How come I’ve barely seen you these last few days?”

It’s the third day of you fulfilling out your punishment with Jeongguk, and surprisingly it hasn’t been that awful. When you both are busy cleaning, you guys rarely talk. There is just always so much to be done, it leaves little room for conversation. But this is ideal anyway; the less you have to interact with Jeongguk, the better.

Looking up from your lunch, you see Haru blinking at you. She’s the head counselor for Aphrodite’s cabin now. “Oh, hey. What’s up?”

Even though she’s technically not supposed to, she takes a seat at your table anyway and gives you a concerned look. However, on her pretty face, even concern looks beautiful. “There’s a rumor going around that your cabin got in trouble.”

You freeze. “Who did you hear that from?”

“I heard some of the younger Aphrodite girls gossiping last night,” Haru says, “and they mentioned your name and Jeongguk’s.”

“Oh,” you don’t even know what to say. Styx. If the Aphrodite cabin knew, then everyone is bound to find out sooner or later. “Yeah, it’s a long story.”

Haru cocks her head. “Well, good thing I’m a great listener.”

As one of your closest friends here, Haru knows much about the history between you and Jeongguk. When you tell her about the attempted capture the flag game and how you’re stuck cleaning stables with your enemy, you can tell she’s struggling not to laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing,” she lets out a giggle. “This is all just too perfect.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, getting up to throw the rest of your meal as an offering. Walking out of the dining pavilion, Haru follows you closely behind.

“What I mean is,” she begins, looping her arm through yours, “that I can’t be the only one here who notices something.”

You have zero idea what she’s talking about. “Notice what?”

Haru suddenly forces you to stop in your tracks, angling your body towards the volleyball courts. “Notice that.”

Narrowing your gaze towards that direction, you notice there are a number of people there—especially girls. Rarely does a large crowd like that gather during this time of day; it’s the afternoon and an incredibly hot summer in Long Island this year. Your eyes move from the crowd to the players, and that’s when you see what Haru was talking about. You realize Ares’s cabin is playing against Poseidon’s, which means Jeongguk is—

“Why does he have to be so hot without a shirt on?” Haru muses, fanning herself.

From this angle, you can see the way his shorts ride dangerously low on his hips and the sweat that glistens across his skin. His hair has grown considerably long recently, and he has to continuously brush it back to reveal his eyes. As he moves to receive the ball and jumps to land a spike, you can understand why the girls are looking at him like he’s a god and not just a half-blood.

In the five years you’ve known him, you’ve never really stopped to notice how much he has changed. Long gone is that awkward thirteen-year-old boy. Obviously, training here at Camp Half-Blood makes campers leaner and more muscular, but Jeongguk looks…good—really good—which you hate to even think about.

“He looks okay,” you manage to say before you tear your eyes away from him.

Beside you, Haru huffs. “You’re so lame, y/n. Can’t even admit that Jeongguk is hot.”

“He’s annoying, that’s what he is.”

“Whatever you say,” she rolls her eyes. “I think he looks especially delicious these days.”

After you drop Haru off at Cabin Ten, you walk towards yours and proceed to finish some summer work. Well, it’s not really work per se, but more like something you just really wanted to do. Since you’re going to college in New Rome this fall and majoring in architecture, you’ve been redesigning a few buildings and even creating your own. Like most Athena children, you love creating and can’t wait to see what your future holds in the field.

You are so caught up in your work that you don’t even notice that much of the day has already passed by, and you should probably grab a quick dinner before heading to the stables. As you rush through dinner, a few of your half-siblings bring up your punishment, clearly feeling bad that you’re the one who’s taken responsibility for everything.

“As head counselor, I had to,” you explain.

“Yeah, but it’s not really fair,” one of them says. “I mean, we all wanted to give Poseidon’s cabin a run for their money.”

“They’re all so arrogant since their godly parent is one of the big three.”

“Zeus and Hades campers are the same.”

You listen as your cabin begins complaining about all the other cabins and their various faults, but their voices fade when Jeongguk passes by your table. He’s walking with Jimin and gives you a look that you can’t decipher. But before you can delve too deeply in it, Aphrodite’s table calls him over. Flashing them his signature smirk, he leaves without another glance.

“How’s it been having to work with him?” Namjoon sets his plate right in front of you, breaking your attention away from Jeongguk.

You shrug. “He’s an asshole, but it actually hasn’t been that bad. Could honestly be worse.”

“Think you’ll last the rest of your punishment?”

“I hope so,” you sip from your goblet. “Or else Chiron is going to have my ass, and not to mention Mr. D is supposed to come back next week.”

“Oh yeah,” Namjoon muses like he forgot that the god of wine runs the camp. You don’t blame him—you often forget that too. “Where is he anyway?”

Thinking back to the head counselor meeting you had a few weeks ago, you try to remember what Chiron had told you all. “I think he just had some business to take care of in Olympus. You know, twelve stuff. Meetings perhaps?”

Namjoon nods before you tell him that you have to leave. “I’ll see you guys at the campfire later.”

“Sure; see ya.”

***

You finish your portion of the stables quick—cleaning has gotten easier as the days have gone by—and wait outside the stables.

It’s not like you want to wait for Jeongguk’s slow ass, but you have the key anyway and there’s no way you trust him enough to just leave it. So, you settle for watching the last remnants of the sunset in the sky. From here, you can begin to make out the smoke from the nightly campfire. And slowly, the smell of burnt marshmallows begins to fill your lungs and thought brings a smile to your face. 

For a moment, you’re so caught up in your thoughts that you don’t even realize that Jeongguk is already beside you. When you realize that he’s awfully close to you, a gasp leaves your lips. “Holy Styx, you scared me!”

You except him to respond with something snarky, but he doesn’t. Instead, he begins to walk away, and you frantically attempt to lock the gate and follow him. On the way to the campfire, you stay a few feet behind Jeongguk, and you can’t help but think about Haru’s words from earlier today.

As much as it pisses you off, Jeongguk is super attractive these days. However, although he looks good, you can’t get over his attitude that often clouds your judgement. He’s a pain in the ass, and you can’t wait for the rest of the punishment to fly by.

When you both arrive at the campfire, the singing has already begun. Well, the singing by Apollo’s cabin at least. You try to get as far away from Jeongguk as possible, finding a seat beside Min Yoongi, son of Hades. The pale boy gives you a weird look, probably wondering why you’re sitting beside him.

“What in Zeus’s name do you think you’re doing?” he asks, confirming your thoughts.

You feign innocence. “What do you mean?”

“Y/n, you never sit here.”

He is partially correct—you usually sit beside your own cabin or Haru—but you two are friends…right? You voice this thought to him, but Yoongi just rolls his eyes—clearly not enthused by you or Hoseok’s lyre playing. “Oh, don’t be like that, Yoongi. We are friends.”

“What have you been doing with Jeongguk?” he suddenly changes the subject, and everyone’s singing seems to fade into the background. “You two aren’t…sneaking around, are you?”

The suggestive look on Yoongi’s face would be hilarious any other moment—because he rarely shows any emotion—but you choke at his assumption instead. “Oh gods no. Why would I do something like that?”

“Beats me,” Yoongi shrugs. “All I know is you both look suspicious as fuck.”

“Well, you’re wrong,” you huff, “Jeongguk and I aren’t sneaking around. That’s disgusting.”

“Then what are you two doing coming to the campfire together?” If Yoongi doesn’t know about your punishment, then most people probably don’t know either. That brings you a little relief.

Although you don’t want everyone to know, you also don’t mind telling Yoongi. As a Hades kid, he mostly keeps to himself anyway. So, you answer his question and reveal that you actually got in trouble, which is why you’ve been spending extra time with the son of Poseidon.

“So, yeah, Chiron’s making us build teamwork skills,” you practically spit out.

Yoongi hums, eyes moving from you to glance at the fire. You take a moment to observe him, glancing at his dark hair and dark clothes. How does he manage to get away with not wearing the camp t-shirt? Maybe he just doesn’t care.

“Interesting,” is all he says.

“How so?”

Yoongi doesn’t answer your question; instead, he asks, “So, how’s it been building teamwork skills with Jeongguk?”

“I mean,” you begin, “it could be worse, I guess. Jeongguk and I usually fight all the time; but we really haven’t these last few days.”

“That’s some progress, yes?”

You nod. “I suppose.”

“Think you’ll hate the poor kid forever?” Turning your head to face him, you notice a weird expression in his eyes. You don’t really know what it means.

“I don’t know,” you answer truthfully. “Forever’s a long time.”

Silence passes between you after that, the both of you paying attention to Chiron’s announcements. Afterwards, more music is played, and more singing is done—some campers even get up to dance with the nymphs. Eventually, the night ends and everyone slowly begins to walk back to their cabins. You’re about to join Namjoon and the rest of Athena’s cabin when Yoongi’s voice holds you back.

“I think you should give Jeongguk a chance.”

You raise a brow at that. Is he being serious? “What?”

“He’s not as horrible as you make him seem,” Yoongi says, which causes you to roll your eyes. “I’m serious.”

“Are we talking about the same person?” You almost want to laugh. Where is this even coming from? “Because if so, you have a really different perception of Jeongguk than I do.”

“Maybe I do because I’m a child of the Big Three too, which means I empathize with him; but at the same time, you’ve only seen one side of Jeongguk—the side you want to see. The side he shows when you two are at odds.”

You think about this for a moment, but quickly shake your head. “I don’t know, Yoongi.”

“Trust me,” he says before leaving you to stand there all alone.

[technofantasia]

coffee shop AU, enemies to lovers, fake dating, high school AU, hurt/comfort, hurt/no comfort, soulmates, time loop 🤔🤨🤔

(In response to this)

OOOO ooo ooo ooo this is many!! :D

But okay letsgo >:3

Coffee shop AU: Eh, C. Coffee shop AUs feel like the least interesting kind of domestic AU to me for some reason. Like, I won't AVOID them? But I feel like the author needs to really try to make it great. On its own, it falls a bit flat. Maybe because I don't tend to go to coffee shops myself, so it's not relatable...? Also whenever I do, I don't talk to the person working there. Like, they're doing their job, I don't want to bother them. Do most people have conversations with their baristas? idk maybe it's just because I'm not social. Either way, I think it's ok. A bit bland unless the author does something special with it.

Enemies to lovers: Honestly? D. I do not care for it at all. I like the fluffy stuff! Enemies to FRIENDS to lovers, I could get behind, but you CANNOT skip the intermediary step there. Otherwise, it's like, what is the relationship even based on, y'know? If they just flip from hating each other to being all lovey-dovey. Kismesisitude and non-hs relationships like it are another thing, and I do really like that, but only when it's done right, and it usually isn't. IT'S ABOUT THE MUTUAL TRUST AND ADMIRATION OKAY!! NOT THE RANDOM OUT OF THE BLUE LOVEY-DOVEY STUFF >:0

Fake dating: B! I can get behind it. It really allows for some great character interaction opportunities, all based around the premise of what you show to the world vs. what you actually feel, and how those feed into each other (which is a great hook). You get that good good private relationship and public relationship dynamic, until they inevitably collide!! Lots of fluff or hurt/comfort opportunity there as well. I don't tend to read a lot of it, but whenever I see it for characters I care about, it can be nice.

HIgh school AU: C. My interest in high school AUs plummeted after leaving high school, surprisingly enough. They're okay, to be sure, but the usual fare relies on a kind of rose-tinted glasses view of high school that I can't imagine anyone being able to slip into after going through it themself. It really depends on the fandom, though; some sets of characters work really well put into that kind of a structured social ecosystem, but for others, it just kind of feels limiting.

Hurt/Comfort: YESSSS YES YES SOLID A NO QUESTION. My drug of choice!! THIS is where the heart of fandom lies, in my humble opinion. It's alllll about putting characters in bad situations, and seeing the other characters help them out, be it physically or emotionally! Mostly because, while that kind of thing is central to the construction of any kind of story, most canons don't spend much time exploring the aftermath of the hurt they inflict. It would take up too much time. BUT it's exactly that aftermath that holds the deepest depths of the characters' emotions!! As fandomgoers, then, it is our duty, nay, PRIVILEGE to uncover those depths via exploring that hurt in the ways the original author didn't! And also sometimes creating new hurts in order to get to that same place of vulnerability, that works too. The best fandom trope, either way.

Hurt/No Comfort: Ooooh this can be great too. Another A. While the purpose of Hurt/Comfort is to use the characters' vulnerabilities to experience catharsis, Hurt/No Comfort (or angst? whump? all names for similar things) is all about a different kind of catharsis. It's to say, "what if the worst happened? what then?", and exploring that for a while, since the characters' true depths always come out the clearest in their darkest hour; then, you can come back from that, appreciate the fact that the worst HASN'T come to pass, and also appreciate the characters in a new, more meaningful light. When you're in the mood for it, that's the gooood shit.

Soulmates: F. Straight up. This is probably my most unpopular fandom opinion, but I hate soulmate AUs. It takes away all the interesting parts of a ship, waters it down into uninteresting, out of character, amatonormative nonsense, and flavors it all with shallow worldbuilding that falls apart into dystopia if you think about it for more than two seconds. Like... I understand WHY people like it. If you just want an excuse for your favorite characters to have a meaningful-feeling, adorable meet-cute, okay! Yeah, it allows for that. But if you care about ANYTHING deeper, soulmate AUs destroy that by its very premise. They don't allow for depth, because when you try to take the concept deeper, you start running into essential problems; things like "what if they ever have an argument? its not like they can ever split up. what kind of pressures might that inherent fact put on their relationship?" or "if these two characters MET knowing that they would be romantic partners, wouldn't that completely change their relationship? would their dynamic even be close to what drew me to them in the first place?" or "wouldn't a world where everyone spends their lives looking for their "soulmate", before meeting them and then not being able to leave that person no matter what happens, be fucking terrible? that sounds like a BREEDING GROUND for abuse." Not to mention that, as an arospec person myself, the idea of "everyone has one person who is made for them, who completes them" just feels... slimy. I can't enjoy it. No shade to people who do, obviously, but it makes me VERY uncomfortable. I have a whole big rant about soulmate AUs that I've touched on the basic points of here but I won't go into it any more than this, because hoo boy, this is already getting pretty long.

Time Loop: AAAAA YES I LOVE TIME LOOPS!!!! A, for sure. It's the PERFECT hurt/comfort and/or angst setup, with a heavy focus on character development. How will the character first react to being in a loop? What do they do? How do they feel? All with that slow rise in desperation, as their personal problems just keep compounding and compounding with the knowledge that, in order for anything to change, THEY have to be the one to do it.... aaaaa its such a good scenario!!! GUARANTEED to bring out the most juicy parts of the character, I love it.

And noooow we are done!! That was very long. But thank you so much for asking, I have so many thoughts all the time lol :P

[theladyofdeath]

Rags & Riches {7}

Summary: An A Court of Thorns and Roses Fanfiction. 19th century AU. Based on the prompt sent in by @cat5313 All characters belong to SJM, I am just a fan with a plot.

Warning: Mature content strung throughout.

A/N: And so it begins.

Leave a comment to be tagged & tell me what you think! :)

The last thing Feyre wanted to do was sit through supper with her sisters, Elain’s future fiance, and the pain in the ass that was Lord Rhysand of Velaris. 

It was just past six-thirty and their guests were soon to arrive. Nesta had received return letters from both of the gentlemen as the afternoon went on, accepting her invitation. 

Suddenly, Feyre wished that her father hadn’t had to leave town. When he did, Nesta always assumed she was to replace the role of head of the family, because she was the eldest. 

Which was shit, because she was the only one among the three that was yet to have a suitor. There was a time when Feyre believed Tomas Mandray had taken an interest in Nesta. They all believed he would one day propose marriage...until he showed up with his betrothed to their last ball.

Perhaps that is why Nesta had arranged the supper, Feyre thought. To distract her from her own boring loneliness. 

With one last look in the mirror, Feyre jumped off her vanity stool and exited her bedroom. She wore a floor length, dusty blue evening gown and new, polished boots. Her hair was down in long curls, one side pinned back. She told Alis she would have no makeup, for she preferred her natural appearance. 

Besides, she surely wasn’t trying to impress anybody.

Especially not Rhysand, even if the memories of the night before had her heart lightning at the thought of him. 

“Well, don’t you look lovely.”

The moment Feyre shut her door behind her, she was joined by her sister, looking beautiful, but terrified.

Feyre instantly softened at the sight of Elain becoming uneasy. “What is it?”

“What?” Elain asked, caught off guard by the question. 

“You look as if you may faint,” Feyre began, cautiously. “Or vomit.”

Elain chuckled, hesitantly. “I’m quite alright. And you? Excited to see Lord Rhysand?”

“I’d much rather pluck my eyes out,” Feyre mumbled.

She looped her arm through her sister’s as they walked the halls, then down the main staircase, where Nesta was waiting at the bottom. 

Her navy blue gown hugged her hips tightly. Her hair was braided into a crown, and her hands were on her hips as she ordered the servants around. 

“Is this truly such a big occasion?” Feyre asked, brows raised. “Seems to me like you’re overdoing it a bit.”

Indeed, Nesta had gone a bit overboard. Flowers were everywhere, a string quartet was playing softly in the corner. Feyre couldn’t even imagine how the dining room looked. 

“Truly, Nesta,” Elain began, looking around, “it’s lovely, but is it necessary?”

Nesta turned to face her sisters. “Of course, it is. I am trying to find my sisters eligible suitors.”

Feyre groaned as Elain cleared her throat.

“Oh, stop looking so nervous,” Nesta said. “They’ll be here at any moment. Chins up, shoulders back.”

Feyre and Elain shared a look, and she instantly knew what her sister was thinking. Nesta was sounding just like their mother. 

“May as well do what we’re told or all hell will break loose,” Feyre muttered.

Still arm in arm, Feyre and Elain made their way into the grand entrance to await the fate of their evening. 

Feyre couldn’t help but notice the hesitant steps Elain was taking. It was almost as if Feyre was the one dragging her along.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Feyre whispered.

Elain nodded, quickly, but her hands were shaking as they took their place in front of Nesta’s carefully placed bouquets. 

~~~~~

Nesta hurried into the dining room to make sure the table was set like she had asked.

To her surprise, it was, down to the very last detail. The blush lace runner was placed over the ivory tablecloth, and the centerpiece of tulips and baby’s breath fit perfectly. Their finest china was placed about, their finest silverware laid beside it. Floral wine glasses were set by each place, shining brightly as if they were scrubbed more than once.

Nesta was satisfied. 

Sweeping through the threshold of the dining room was Cassian, although Nesta had to glance at him twice to realize it.

His typical stableboy wear was replaced with a fine, tailored suit and white gloves. His shoulder-length hair was brushed neatly and tied back at the nape of his neck.

The moment he saw Nesta, he froze. 

As did she.

“Stableboy,” she greeted him.

Cassian bowed his head. “Lady Nesta.”

“I didn’t realize you were still needed to fill Oliver’s position. Is he still unwell?”

They stood on opposite ends of the room, but Nesta felt as if she were standing much closer to him. Details of their night together at the tavern were still blurry, but as the days went by, the more she remembered.

“He’s feeling better, but still has a bit of a cough and such,” Cassian confirmed. “He should be back soon. Until then, here I am.”

“Are you filling both positions?” Nesta asked. “Edward went with my father, did he not?”

“Yes,” Cassian said, quietly. “He did. I tend to the stables, as I usually do, until they tell me that they need me in here. I am grateful to fill both positions.”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed, unsure if he was telling the truth or not. Yet, he seemed genuine. “Very well. Did they train you properly?”

Cassian blinked. “I...believe so?”

“Hmmm.” Nesta eyed him suspiciously. “Very well.” She looked behind him, through the doorway, and when she saw no one was coming, she asked, “Do you recall me wearing a silver bracelet the other night? When we...when I...was...out? If not, it’s quite alright. I just thought I had it on but it was gone when I awoke the next morning. My mother gifted it to me.”

Cassian cleared his throat. “Oh, I...I’m not sure, Lady Nesta. I was focused more on keeping you upright than your apparel.”

Nesta’s scowl deepened. “Very well. If you find it anywhere, please let me know.”

There was no use, though. Nesta knew she wasn’t the classiest of drunks. It had most likely fallen off at some point, between here and there. 

Cassian bowed his head once more before leaving the room. Nesta watched him leave, surprised at how well he looked when he wasn’t dressed in dirty trousers. 

She looked around to admire the work, once more, before returning to her sisters.

~~~~~

Elain felt uneasy. With every second that passed, her heart beat faster. 

With every second that passed, she longed to take Azriel’s hand and run into the woods, damning the consequences. 

But she knew that was nothing more than a dream.

Elain felt like an eternity had passed before the front doors opened and their footman had announced that Lord Rhysand had arrived. Letting out a breath, Elain felt a burden lifted off her as Lucien was not the first to arrive.

Lord Rhysand entered and politely greeted Nesta and Elain before pausing before Feyre and taking her hand, kissing the backside of her palm softly.

Feyre said nothing. She simply snatched her hand away and put it back at her side.

If Lord Rhysand was surprised by this, he surely didn’t show it. His smile widened as Feyre resisted, and he did not push himself any further. Instead, he began to look around the foyer, at the art and the flowers and the quartet in the corner.

Meanwhile, Feyre’s lips were tight in a straight line as she resisted the urge to follow Lord Rhysand with her curious gaze.

Elain knew she wanted to.

She could tell by her mannerisms. 

She could tell by the way her fingers were curled into fists at her aides, by the way her eyes darted across the room every other second. 

But Elain did not dwell much on Feyre, because as the clock continued ticking, her time ran out.

Lucien would be arriving soon.

“At least look as if you’re pleased,” Nesta mumbled.

Elain cleared her throat. She could do this. She could. 

Lucien was the perfect match. 

Azriel was nothing but….

No, Azriel was everything. He-

The thought was cut off short as the front doors opened and Lord Lucien stepped through. His shoulders were relaxed, his eyes bright - the complete opposite of Elain.

Nesta greeted him, then stepped aside, leave Elain in the spotlight.

“My Lord,” she said and curtsied.

“Lady Elain,” he smiled, bowing. “A pleasure to see you again so soon.”

“And you,” Elain agreed.

He was just as handsome as the last time she had seen him. His russet eyes were shining, his auburn hair tied back and neat. He wore a dark green waistcoat that suited him well.

“I am glad you were able to join us,” Elain said, hoping her voice was much more confident than she felt.

“As am I,” he smiled, then held out his hand.

Elain took it, graciously, although her fingers shook as Lucien pressed his mouth to the back of her palm, and Nesta announced, “Let us make way to the dining room.”

No one protested, although Feyre looked as if she wanted to, as Nesta led them from the foyer to the dining hall.

Although there were only five of them, the long table was set extravagantly. They each took their places, Nesta at the head, before the first course appeared.

Lucien helped Elain into her seat before sitting beside her, the pair sitting across from Lord Rhysand and Feyre - the latter looking as if she may set the whole manor on fire. 

~~~~~

Rhysand handled new places and situations quite well.

Thus far, he had gathered that Nesta thought far too highly of herself. She could not have been but a year or two older than the middle sister; yet, she acted as if she was the rich, snooty aunt that expected everyone to fall at her feet and kiss her ass. 

The middle sister - Elain - looked paler than Rhysand had seen her at the ball. She must have been unwell, Rhysand thought. Hopefully she was not vomit all over the grand place setting. 

Her betrothed - or, soon to be betrothed, rather - did not seem to notice. He simply kept smiling her way and gifting her compliments.

Rhysand swore the butler standing closest to the table holding the water and the wine kept looking at Lord Lucien with a murderous gleam in his hazel eyes. But, then again, he was known to imagine such things.

However, he surely was not imagining the scowl that had contorted Feyre’s own face. 

He had to admit. He rather liked the scowl. He knew that she wasn’t trying to be humorous, but he couldn’t help but laugh at the expression.

Even if he kept that laughter within the boundaries of his mind.

“You haven’t touched your soup,” Rhysand began, taking a bite of his own.

Feyre did not meet his gaze. “It’s hot.”

“Is not,” Rhysand murmured, before taking yet another bite.

“Truly, Feyre, do not be rude,” Nesta scorned, although she paid little attention to the bowl before her. “Lucien, how is your father?”

“He’s well.” Lucien smiled politely. 

“And your brothers? All married now, I presume.”

A strangled noise left Elain’s throat.

“Yes,” Lucien confirmed, smiling at the eldest Archeron sister. “All married.”

Nesta gave him a smile that confirmed what they were all thinking, although Rhysand had to admit that he didn’t care.

All he cared about was the woman beside him, looking at her soup as if it was her greatest enemy. 

“We know plenty about Lucien,” Elain began, clearing her throat, voice quiet. “He’s lived here always, and father is good friends with his.” Lucien smiled at that. “But, we do not know much about you, Lord Rhysand.”

Rhysand lifted a brow, spoon still in his hand. “Is that so? Okay. What do you wish to know?”

Elain hesitated. Apparently she hadn’t thought past her statement.

“What keeps you in town?” Nesta asked. “We are glad you are here, of course, but we all thought you had gone back to Velaris.”

Rhysand hesitated, although his sly smile gave nothing away. He could tell them the truth, of course, but that all seemed too private. He was surely into Feyre, obviously, but he did not trust Nesta whatsoever and Elain seemed concerned with her own internal matters. 

“Family matters,” he said, keeping it simple. “Nothing too serious.”

“Ready to go back to Velaris?” Nesta asked.

“Hopefully,” Feyre mumbled.

“I hear it’s lovely there,” Elain said, having yet to take a bite of her soup. “We’ve never been.”

“It is,” Rhysand confirmed. “Velaris has the most beautiful of nights. The starlight is unique, unlike anywhere else.”

Elain’s gentle smile somehow made him feel homesick as he talked about his beloved Velaris. 

“I hope to take Feyre there,” Rhysand began, “soon.”

“She would love that,” Nesta said, allowing the butler to remove her bowl and make way for the main course.

“She can speak for herself, thank you,” Feyre announced, for the first time in quite some time. “And no, she certainly would not love that.”

Rhysand chuckled as a broad-shouldered butler appeared beside him, hair tied back, and took his bowl.

“Pardon me, my Lord,” he said.

“No need,” Rhysand smiled. “If you need me to move, please say so.”

Before the butler could reply, Nesta rolled her eyes. “Please excuse our stableboy. He’s helping while our butler is sick.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that he’s unwell,” Rhysand said, “but it’s nice to know you have such great help in the stables.”

Nesta looked annoyed at his comment, and the table fell into an uncomfortable silence. 

“Well,” Lucien said, from across the table, seemingly nervous. “I am excited for this meal. It smells delicious.” 

No one said a word for the remainder of the meal.

~~~~~

After supper, Elain gave Lucien a tour of the manor, both inside and out. As they walked around Elain’s garden, he found himself smiling.

Elain had been attempting to avoid eye contact at all times. During supper, Azriel had not even looked at her, not once. It was all she could think about.

“You have a lovely garden,” Lucien said, breaking her out of her thoughts. “You’ve done this all on your own?”

“I have,” she said, gently. “It’s one of my greatest passions. I love watching beauty appear from nowhere.”

His smile widened. “That’s beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she said, fully aware that he had taken a step nearer to her.

“Lady Elain-”

“Please, you may call me Elain.”

Lucien nodded. “Then you may call me Lucien.”

Elain, despite her nerves and paranoia, smiled. “Very well.”

He cleared his throat, and for the first time in a long while, Elain met his eyes. “You know that our fathers intend us to be married.”

“Yes,” Elain breathed.

“I know we do not know each other all that well, but I know you are a beautiful, respectable woman,” Lucien began. Elain thought she may faint. “I would like to ask for your hand in marriage, Elain. We can start planning and be wed within the year. And, as that time approaches, I hope to spend each day getting to know you, and proving that I will do all I can to be the greatest husband.”

Elain felt her eyes well up with tears. The man in her mind, in her heart, and the man before her were not the same man. And she hated herself for it, because the man in front of her deserved to be married to someone who adored him in every way.

“You are a good man,” Elain said, words flooding out. “I am honored that you have asked.”

Lucien’s smile widened, reaching up to brush away a tear that fell. Then, his smile wavered. The touch of his skin against hers was warm. “I surely do hope these are tears of joy...Have I done something to offend you, La- sorry. Elain.”

Elain huffed a laugh at his hesitation with her title. No, the tears were not tears of joy, but it was not because of him. He was lovely. He was a Lord. He was who she had to marry, or her father would never forgive her, would never speak to her again. She would be disowned.

“Of course,” she said, voice so quiet it could barely be heard above the pounding of her heart. “It would be an honor to be your wife.”

~~~~~

Nesta had abandoned them moments before, leaving Feyre and Rhysand to a sitting room full of uncomfortable silence.

“Is this it?” Rhysand asked.

Feyre shot him a glare from where she sat across from him. “Pardon?”

“Typically there should be some grand romantic gesture to end an evening such as this,” Rhysand said. “This is just awkward.” 

“Then perhaps you should be going home,” Feyre suggested, rising to her feet. “Well, I should walk you out.”

Rhysand’s deep laugh followed her as she hurried out of the room. “Well, Feyre, darling, I had a lovely evening.” 

“That makes one of us,” Feyre said. 

They reached the front doors, then the front walk. 

“Allow me to tell Cassian to bring your carriage around,” Feyre said.

Rhysand laughed. “I am perfectly capable of going to the stables and fetching my own horse. No carriage.”

“You rode your horse to supper?” Feyre asked, stopping in her tracks. “In your fine clothes?”

Rhysand raised a brow, meeting her gaze. “Does that surprise you?” 

It did, but Feyre wasn’t sure why. “Well, then I’ll leave you be. Good night.”

She didn’t step away.

“Is that all?” Rhysand asked.

Feyre’s eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

This time, she did turn to leave, but that familiar hand wrapped around her wrist and pulled her back to him. She fell close to his body, and did not dare to move.

“This is inappropriate,” Feyre whispered, although there was no hostility in it. “You are a Lord, and I am a Lady.” 

“Almost as inappropriate as being alone together at an inn?” Rhysand asked. For once, he wore no stupid grin. 

“Almost,” Feyre confirmed.

He was standing close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her forehead, could smell the oaky scent of his cologne. 

“I think I have proven that I have no ill intentions toward you,” he said, his hand brushing along her own. “Yet, all night, you seem to have wanted me gone. Do you truly hate me that much? I thought, perhaps, after the other night, I had grown on you.” 

His words were light, but his stare was intent. Dangerous. His stare made Feyre’s thoughts run wild with thoughts that a Lady should not think. 

“You are cocky and rude,” Feyre said, words shaking.

Rhysand bit his lip to keep from smiling. “Perhaps. But, so are you.”

Feyre thought that he may kiss her then, and she knew that she shouldn’t but she did, she wanted him so badly to close the distance between them and press his mouth against hers. 

But he didn’t.

He stepped away, and bowed, before meeting her gaze, once more. “Goodnight, Feyre. Until next time.”

Feyre turned to watch him as he strode past her, down the path toward the stables. She hated him for not looking back. 

~~~~~

Cassian mounted Marigold the moment Lord Rhysand walked into the stables.

Cassian opened his mouth to speak, but Rhysand just smiled. “No need to explain. I’m just here for my horse. Going out?”

Cassian cleared his throat. “Just to the tavern, my Lord.”

Hoping that barmaid is there. He hadn’t realized Nesta’s bracelet had been a gift from her mother. It was all he had thought of the entire evening. 

Guilt. He was filled with guilt.

“Please, call me Rhysand,” he laughed, charmingly, taking his own mare out of her stall. “Mind if I join you?”

Cassian blinked. “You want to join me? At the tavern? You do realize I’m the help, right?”

Rhysand grinned as he pulled his horse into the open. “I do. I also realize I could go for a drink.”

He’s serious, Cassian realized, as Rhysand hopped onto his horse and looked over his shoulder at the stableboy.

“Coming, then?” Rhysand asked, digging his heels into his horse’s side.

“Apparently so,” Cassian muttered, still in disbelief as he followed the Lord of Velaris into the village.

~~~~~

@throne-of-ashes-and-beauty @mariamuses @a-happybird @amusicalbookworm @manoncrochanblackbeak @alifletcher2012 @candid-confetti @fandoms-everywhere-united @mis-lil-red @littlehoneyybee @abillionlittlepieces @impossiblescissorspeachpaper @awesomelena555 @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @tswaney17 @jemma-nessian-and-elriel @rhysandsrightknee @gendryaforthemasses @dayanna-hatter @thebluemartini @welcometothespeaknowworldtour @julemmaes @christiashadows @sleeping-and-books @itsme-malin @agnez312 @cat5313 @amren-courtofdreams @chemica @empress-ofbloodshed @islamonna @illyrianbeauty  @sleeping-and-books @queenofxhearts @sleeping-and-books​ @aedionashryver-wolfofthenorth​ @queenofillea1​ @mynewdreamwasyou​ @levivlio​ @hellolenas​ @burritowithfeels​ @that-other-pineapple​ @girl-who-reads-the-books​ @raghad-50725 @musicmaam @rowaelinforeverworld​ @negativenesta  @welcometothespeaknowworldtour​ @gloriouspaintercreatorbandit

[joontopia]

Underneath the Ginkgo Tree | KNJ - Teaser

pairings: namjoon x female reader

rating: nsfw, 18+

genre: slight time travel!au, soulmate(if you squint)!au, strangers to lovers, fluff, angst, influenced by the movie The Lake House

series warnings: angst, fluff, pining, language, mentions of death, major character death, talks of mental health, description of hospital scenes, description of car accidents (more warnings will come with each chapter)

teaser warnings: a couple of dashes of angst, slight pining, language? (did i write curse words in this? probably idk) mention of a break up, talks of feeling lost

teaser word count: 2.9k

series release: 1st qtr 2021

a/n: thank you to my twin and soulmate, @escapingreality4now​ for reading over this and fixing my mistakes. thank you for always being so enthusiastic about all of the random ideas that I have and start to work on (even when it brings me away from the one WIP you’ve been waiting on an update for hehehe). I love you!

The lone ginkgo tree stood out among the others that were outlining the small clearing. It looks absolutely beautiful the way the golden leaves contrast to the dark green around them. It seemed almost magical and you silently scold yourself for leaving your camera back at the studio. You walk across the grass clearing towards the ginkgo tree, examining it along the way. As you get closer, you notice carvings in the wide base of the tree in the shape of a small door, looking to be about a foot tall and half a foot wide.

“How cute,” you mutter to yourself, crouching down to examine the door further. Placing your backpack up against the tree, you notice a small hoop attached to the door, the opening of the ring just big enough for you to hook two fingers. You pull on the hoop, letting out a small gasp of excitement as the door gives way, revealing a hollow opening in the tree. You peak through the doorway, seeing nothing but dried leaves and small sticks. A slight breeze blows past you as you start to close the door, moving around the contents inside the hollowed out trunk. The door was almost half way closed when something caught your eye.

You peak back into the small room, noticing something long and light blue under the rearranged foliage. You look around the hollowed trunk, making sure there’s no hidden creature that could jump out and bite you. “Oh God, please don’t let there be a snake,” you think to yourself as you reach in to retrieve the mystery item. Snatching your arm back, you let out a small breath and chuckle at yourself for the small overreaction.

“An envelope?” you say out loud, looking at the newly retrieved item in your hand. You flip it over while observing it, noticing that it's sealed with nothing written on the front.

“I wonder if anything’s in it,” you mumble to yourself. You reposition yourself with your back up against the trunk of the tree, opening the envelope as you get settled. The paper tears easily and you guess that it must be old. Finally getting the envelope wide enough, you pull out a piece of paper, unfolding it carefully to make sure not to tear it. You were happy to see the writing was still legible with only some minor smudges and dirt marks spread across the page. Noticing a small date at the top, you squint as you bring the paper closer to read, only able to make out a faint 2018 as the rest of the date was ruined by the dirt.

“Two years ago… Wow.” You pull the paper back, taking a quick look around the small meadow before you start to read.

Dear future me,

I hope when you open this letter, it finds you well. Maybe you finally asked out that cute girl in your Art History class. Or maybe, at the very least, grew a pair to introduce yourself to her properly. Anyways, I’m not writing this to give you a hard time. We’re dealing with enough of that as it is. I’m just hoping that writing this will be something to help me gain some motivation. Give me a sense of purpose. Things just feel stagnant lately. I’m in the middle of my Senior year of university and have no idea what I’m going to do once I graduate. Everyone around me seems to have everything planned out and I’m just… here. I’m hoping when you finally read this again, you’ll have found your path. I promise to try my best on my end to get you there.

Starting with Art History girl. Hopefully she likes nature walks or hikes. I would love to take her to this old ginkgo tree for a picnic. So let’s work on step #1. Figure out how to simply walk up to her without falling flat on your face.

This is hopeless. Sending you luck and well wishes from the past. - Joon

You flip the page around to see if there was anything only to be met with a blank back.

“I wonder if he ever came back to read this,” you think out loud. Taking a look around the base of the tree, it seems like this place has been unbothered for quite some time. You assume so, anyways, especially with how covered the letter was when you found it. You continue to sit there against the tree, looking out into the small clearing. “Maybe I should write a letter back.”

You feel a slight gust of wind, closing your eyes as you appreciate the soft chill kiss your face and the beautiful sound of the rustling leaves of the ginkgo tree. “I’m guessing I should take that as a yes,” you say with a giggle. The tiny laugh is cut short as you let out a small scoff and shake your head.

“Great. I don’t know what's worse; me talking to myself or to the wind,” you grumble as you reach into your backpack, pulling out a notebook and pen, flipping to a blank page. “Okay, well here goes nothing.”

You sat at the base of the ginkgo tree writing out your letter back to this Joon. Constantly erasing and rewriting half of it, feeling like you were getting too deep and personal with your reply. It wasn’t until the third revision that you finally told yourself that it didn’t matter. No one was going to find it and read it anyways. Once complete, you reach back into your bag, pulling out a yellow envelope meant for holding photos. You check to make sure it’s empty before stuffing your letter inside and sealing it. You place the envelope inside the hollow base of the tree and close the door.

Standing up, you brush the leaves and dirt off your knees, backside, and hands. Not quite ready to leave your newly found secret hideaway, you look around the area, eyeing many rocks of different shapes and sizes. Most of them being just the right size for making a rock tower. You check your watch for the time, mentally calculating just how much time you have before you need to be back at the studio. “5 minutes until noon. Just one tower, one wish, and then I’ll head back to the real world. Sound good?” you said out loud, looking up at the ginkgo tree. A small breeze picks back up as you start to search for the perfect rocks. The wind softly blows through the leaves as if it were trying to give you a response.

The sun sits high in the sky as Namjoon treks down the now familiar path as the wind blows softly around him. The trees and bushes make the most comforting sounds as their branches and leaves rub together through the breeze. He looks down at the blue envelope in his hand before checking the time on his watch. 5 minutes until noon. He’s out here earlier than usual. A bittersweet surprise due to his class being canceled. The very class where he was finally going to talk to the pretty girl who sat by the window. Or at the very least, sit right next to her awkwardly while not saying anything at all. He hadn’t planned on writing another letter, but with the surge of motivation the last one had left him, he felt like it wouldn’t hurt to do it again.

Namjoon readjusts the strap of his messenger bag on his shoulder as he enters the small hidden meadow. His eyes and lips turn up into a small smile as he looks at the lone ginkgo tree. “Hello, old friend,” he says as he approaches the base of the tree. The branches and leaves sway in the wind as if giving their own greeting back. Namjoon looks around at the empty meadow before placing his bag on the ground and kneeling before the small wooden door.

“I’m not here for long, friend,” he says as he looks up at the tree. “Just dropping off another.” Namjoon reaches for the small loop to open the door. Blue envelope in hand, he reaches in to place the letter inside, pausing when he sees something he didn't expect. There in the middle of the hollow trunk sat a clean, yellow envelope, seemingly untouched by the nature around it.

“I didn’t think anyone else knew about this place,” Namjoon mumbles to himself. He grabs the envelope from the opening, eyes going wide in a small moment of panic as he realizes his previous letter is no longer there. He lets out a low groan. “Oh no, someone read my letter.”

He hits his head with his palm, looking at the stranger’s envelope in his hand “Should I read it? They wouldn’t respond with their own letter just to laugh at me, right?” he thinks to himself. Namjoon looks around before adjusting himself to lean against the wide tree trunk. He opens the envelope, pulling out the letter. The faint scent of a female’s perfume follows, hitting Namjoon’s senses as he breathes it in. Appreciating the lovely scent while also finding it oddly familiar, but he just can’t place it. He takes a look at the letter and shrugs his shoulders. “Well I guess fair’s fair,” he mumbles to himself again as he begins to read the mystery letter.

Dear Joon,

I hope you don’t mind that I read your letter. It seemed to have been left untouched for sometime. I felt the least I could do is write back, even if you don’t ever return to this place. I would like to apologize in advance for using your letter as my own little outlet to vent. I’m sure there’s more interesting things you would like to know about the future if you were to ever find this. Not much has changed in the two years since your letter. The world is still a big mystery where people still feel lost. Myself included. I hope that’s not too discouraging. It’s normal to experience a sense of mispurpose and self doubt in college. Everyone feels lost at least once in their lives. Even if they felt like they had everything planned and figured out. The universe doesn’t make exceptions in that affair.

If you did figure a way out of your stump, let a girl know. I could use some words of wisdom myself. My boyfriend of almost two years broke up with me not too long ago. On White Day, if you can believe it. We started dating my senior year of university and I thought we were on the same page as far as our future together was concerned. But there I was, sitting on a bench in Yongsan Park, thinking I was about to be proposed to and end up getting dumped instead. He always talked about marriage, but I guess people tend to just change their minds.

But here’s the real kicker… my feeling of being lost isn’t from the heartbreak. I wish it were that simple. I'm feeling lost because when he broke up with me and ended almost two years of us, I didn’t feel sad. I felt relieved. Who in their right mind feels relief when the person they thought they were going to spend their life with breaks up with them? I don't know. Maybe love just isn't for me.

Anyways, that was a long drawn out way of saying, don’t place your sense of purpose on a relationship, let alone another person. People will only let you down. That being said, if Art History Girl doesn’t enjoy nature walks or picnics, she’s not the one. It sounds like the perfect date. - Y/N 2♥2♥

Namjoon reads the last couple of lines over again, smirking as he traces the small hearts you drew in place of the zeros of the year by your name. “Cute,” he mumbles to himself as he places your letter on the ground next to him, digging into his bag for his notebook and a pen. He quickly scribbles out a response, grabbing the blue envelope he brought and discarding his unread letter from it. Replacing it with the new one he just wrote. Namjoon sticks the now sealed envelope and letter into the holy trunk, closing the door before checking his watch again. Almost 12:35 PM.

“I guess I have time to eat lunch here.” Namjoon reaches back into his bag, pulling out the carefully wrapped sandwich his roommate made him this morning. After finishing his meal, he leans back against the tree, closing his eyes, enjoying the occasional breeze as the time passes. Deciding he spent enough time hiding from the real world, Namjoon stands from his spot against the tree, grabbing his bag in the process. He takes a quick glance at the small door, eyebrows furrowing as he does a double take, noticing the door is slightly ajar. “Didn’t I close this?” he thought to himself as he kneels back down in front of the door, opening it wider to see if anything was keeping it from closing all the way.

“What the hell?!” Namjoon exclaims as his eyes widen at the sight of another yellow envelope lying in the middle of the hollow trunk. His blue envelope, once again, nowhere to be seen.

You take a step back from your newly built structure, admiring your handiwork. You decided to build the little rock tower at the base of the tree, right in front of the little door. You tell yourself it’s to discourage any newcomers from opening the door, but you know it's just to discourage yourself from retrieving your letter.

“Okay, Y/N, now make a wish.” You close your eyes and bow your head by the rock tower. Searching your mind for the perfect wish, you finally land on the right words. Please let me be wrong about love. Please let it find me in this lifetime. You let out a deep breath as you open your eyes. Grabbing your bag off the ground, you take one more look up at the ginkgo tree before starting back towards the walking trail.

“I hope I’m able to find this place again,” you whisper to yourself as you take a few steps away from the tree. You’re only halfway across the small meadow when the sound of a snapping twig stops you in your track, causing you to turn around, looking for the source of the noise.

“Hello?” You call out as you look around the seemingly empty meadow. Finding nothing, you turn back around towards the walking trail. “The woods make noises, Y/N. Nothing to freak out about,” you mumble to yourself.

You barely take another step when you hear the sound of rocks falling behind you. You quickly turn around, hoping to catch whatever person or woodland creature that could be causing these disturbances only to find that you’re still alone in the meadow. You take a quick scan of the area before your eyes move straight to your rock tower at the base of the ginkgo tree. Or at least what used to be your rock tower. What resides there now is just a pile of rocks. The sight of your fallen tower alone isn’t enough to put you on edge. Rocks fall. You just didn’t expect to see the previously closed door at the base of the tree to now be wide open.

You take slow steps back towards the tree, scanning the surroundings again for anyone or anything hiding in the tree line. Telling yourself that it was just the wind as you make it back to the tree, you kneel down to close back the little door. Your movements halt when you sneak a peek inside the hollow trunk, your eyes landing on what should have been the yellow envelope you just left inside. Instead, in its place, you find another blue envelope. You snatch the envelope from the hollow trunk, tearing it open with so much force that you wouldn’t be surprised if you ripped the letter inside. You pulled the letter from the envelope and began to read.

Dear Y/N,

Thank you for writing me back. I’m going to be honest, I'm a little surprised to have found your letter. I didn’t think anyone else knew about this place, considering it's off a hidden path that's found off another hidden path. But I’m happy someone else gets to enjoy the beauty of this hidden gem of a meadow. Thank you for your kind words. It’s nice to know there are people out there who care enough to try and comfort a stranger. I’m sorry to read about your breakup. Those are never easy, regardless of the tenure of the relationship. I hope you don’t feel too troubled by your feelings around it. It could just be a blessing in disguise. Sometimes you have to close one door for another to open. I believe there is someone for everyone and they will find you when you least expect it. So if you return here to find this letter, don’t give up. Love will find you. I promise. - Joon

P.S. Thanks for the little 2020 joke. Got quite a chuckle out of that one. Maybe we’ll see each other at this ol’ ginkgo tree some day. You know, in the current year of 2018.

© joontopia 2020 all rights reserved - Do not copy, Do not translate, Do not repost

[lucarioisinthevoid]

What would everyone think of king Afton?

After many years of the animatronics killing nightguards, they finally caught William and killed him. But as you know from my ask about Goldie and Cassidy, Cassidy lied saying it wasn't him. When humans found out the animatronics were sentient, they locked all animatronics underground, including all the nightguards that were stuffed. Which meant Afton was still around to mess with the animatronics and the dead kids. When animatronics started getting the hang of having a society, springtrap (as how he went by in his suit. It became common among stuffed humans to make up names for themselves instead of using their human names) became the town nuisance. He basically caused trouble just get reactions, everyone just ignored him and pissed him off.

A few years later, about a week after Golden Freddy's and Cassidy's death, the guards were waiting for orders from king Fazbear, Bonnie was subcoming to guilt and depression seeing the situation with Goldie and Cassi as his fault, the Marionette was mourning the death of another child in her room, and Freddy was in his palace thinking. He honestly didn't know how to feel in the moment of their deaths, so he just kept thinking about it knowing the should feel something, like sad or angry.

Springtrap snuck inside the palace, almost too easily. When he was sneaking in, a human fell down. Freddy went to investigate, with springtrap following behind in the shadows. The human that fell sorta looked like Cassidy, except she had gold blonde hair, but that was the only difference. It was like the world wanted to play a joke on Freddy, "hey look!!! A little girl that looks like both of your now dead friends!!! Isn't that funny?!!?!" How dare the world. Before he could even think, all the feelings he should have felt flooded through him, the sadness of loosing the people he loves, the guilt of being unable to prevent their deaths, and the anger towards humanity for killing people he held close to his soul. Without thinking, he projected his anger towards humans on the child, and mercilessly killed her.

He was brought back to his senses when William started laughing and applauding the show before him. Freddy then attacked him, nearly killing him before realizing in this moment he was no better than him. After this realization, he declared war on humanity. The Marionette ran away back to the ruins never to be heard from again, and springtrap was made into the new royal adviser. Freddy hired him as royal adviser in hopes that maybe Afton could teach him to be more merciless.

The only reason why he was so merciless as a killer was because Chara made him think he was insane, and he was a player's puppet. He lived his own life so many times, why would it matter if he killed people if he knew they were going to be fine when he wakes up yesterday? Now Chara became dormant, and the players stopped controlling him. Kinda ironic how he's now feeling powerless despite now having complete control of his body.

He began to feel regret for everything his done. The many people he's killed, the many people he let stay dead. He was no longer above his actions. He was no longer above consequences. This made him fall into despair and depression.

After years of being royal adviser, Freddy gave him a title of king, trusting him enough to rule beside him as brothers. After he was crowned, him and Fazbear became closer, like actual brothers.

But they had disagreements, like all siblings do. Except their disagreements had to do with life and death. Freddy would argue with Afton over killing humans, he'd say that he needed to kill humans and collect their souls in order to set them all free. Afton would argue saying that everyone had already suffered enough, and that more children didn't deserve to die. When ever human children fall down and leave the Marionette's protection in the ruins, he would try and protect the children from Freddy, in hopes that he might be able to talk him out of killing them. Usually the kids flat out give up and let themselves be killed. Afton stopped trying to protect the kids after a 5 year old gave up her life to Fazbear.

King Afton, with the help of doctor Bonnie, removed his suit, and rebuilt Springbonnie and Fredbear. Fredbear remembered how Afton used spring for murder, but thankfully Springbonnie didn't remember how he was used. He didn't even remember the surface, he just knew who he was, who his brother Fredbear was, and that Afton was one of the people that made him. Afton talked with Fredbear privately about how times had changed from 1987 to now, when Fredbear was shut down to when he was rebuilt. Fredbear didn't remember the bite of 87, and his memories of the surface weren't any better. All he remembered was kids, the layout of the diner, and the stars he'd look at out the window.

Once Afton explained everything, leaving out the bite incident, Fredbear to forgive the poor corpse for everything he's done. He didn't trust him, he just forgave him. Fredbear and Springbonnie then left Afton's room where they were rebuilt and started living their own lives.

This Afton is a more forgivable, and melancholy version of Afton.

What would everyone in your AU think of King Afton?

First up, very interesting take, though now all the pressure of the “why did you kill” are put on Chara. The concept of Afton getting EXP from stuffing children into suits is wrecking me with laughter to be fully honest- this man must be buff- Everyone is a big number, but I can give you three main people, I think.

Marionette hates him- like all Williams. He doesn’t believe in redemption; he doesn’t believe in the concept of regret. Nobody ever regretted what happened to him, thus regret must be a hindering emotion at best- a liability at worst. Useless and hurtful. This William is pathetic! How can you go around killing children because of some fucking spirit?! And then being all regretful about it, as though it makes a difference?! Devaluing these murders even MORE! How much must he hate these children that he admits openly that his murders were pointless and soulless and now after decades something he would be taking back?! HOW DOES THAT HELP?! WHO?! HE DOESN’T DESERVE PITY. AND YOUR FREDDY, HE SHOULD HAVE KILLED HIM FOR GOOD! SO WHAT IF YOU ARE “EQUALLY” AS BAD?! IF TWO WRONGS MEET AND ONE KILLS THE OTHER, THEN WE HAVE AT LEAST ONE RIGHT! There is nothing more appalling to him than regretting the evil deeds, because then you say you did those evil deeds out of weakness and selfishness and nothing else came from it. Marion doesn’t regret killing the guards. Marion DOESN’T regret killing the guards! (My Marionette would make a much more ruthless ruler of the underground than both William and Freddy combined…) Fredbear is actually somewhat happy. He feels terrible for everything that happened until then and that the Marionette had to leave home because of William returning and becoming an advisor- and of course, he’s agonizing about the fact that another child had to die. But in the end, there’s some reassurance in William just being another puppet, suffering the circumstances and now working for redemption. The children are still here in some way after all, with this new technology- once it is perfected, everyone can live the life they wanted. All he hopes is that William will be a force of good this time around and for good this time. He shouldn’t have crumbled to the timeloop, but… … things like that are mindbreaking, certainly. Not being yourself is extremely scary. And how can you be sure you ARE yourself? If he would have the chance to say anything to Afton, then it’s to not give protecting the children. They need you. They need someone to stand up for them. No matter how pointless it seems or how often you fail, continuing to try is what matters. Stay determined. You owe them this after all- you have proven your ability to use what’s inside of you for destruction, make sure that it will become good permanently. You need to wake up every morning and choose to do the right thing. They need you. Both the living and the dead. Old Sport thinks he’s a funny fucker. As someone in the same shoes as him- well, without that evil spirit thing, but still- he sees his acting out and then doing a 180° as pretty hilarious. Like, sure, you go dude, reinvent yourself as this regretful somebody who wants to help, Old Sport gets it, he has done stuff like that too- but being all mopey and melancholic about it? Just move on! If you were in a loop, what does it matter? Reset and restart. You didn’t feel bad doing it, right? So why feel bad now? What’s the point? Genuine question. You did the deed, you committed the crime and that was okay. And then you stuck to that timeline. Sorry, not sorry, you have nobody to blame but yourself. And that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be able to move on and change and make peace, that’s totally fine, but the way Old Sport sees it from the outside, there’s a lot of misplaced guilt. This is a story, right? … … even if Old Sport doesn’t like, part of him feels jealous. Afton lacked control over his body, but at least he had a soul, right? At least he HAS a kind of personality and sense of self. He can make himself into a consistent character, unlike Old Sport who has to pick and choose and never knows what to do- In his opinion, Afton needs to get a grip and be less ungrateful for the things he actually DOES have. Save the kids, kill the kids, whatever, protect your sense of self… but then at least be satisfied with your choices that came out of that sense of self. Guilt is a choice. Either regret and act or don’t and stay back.

[dreaminpeaches]

Humble Pie Concept: Hereau Timeline

Okay so its 4am when I came up with this concept it was too hot for me to sleep so forgive me, if it's sound too weird.

Okay, so what if Beau never met Beau (walk with me to this pier before you throw me off), but instead Beau met Hera...

Hera is character from my other blog , but she exists in Humble Pie, as a famous all star athlete. She's not only know for being a talented athlete but also a beautiful athlete as well. Beau knows of Hera and is a semi fan of hers, her poster was one of the only ones he didn't take down when he was redoing his room. Anyways, Hera is also known be to a very cool and spicy athlete often called the Mona Lisa of sports because she never smiles in pictures and she has a very cool girl, competitive and cocky persona in public. But in actuality, Hera is a nervous wreck whose real dream is to break from her cool girl persona and become a cutesy idol girl.

Where as Bonnie and Beau are interesting as couple for how different they are, Hera and Beau are interesting for how similar they are, both trying to break from personas, that they made for themselves out of protect and want to be a more honest verison of themselves, and I could see them help each other through it.

Beau and Hera's relationship is more mellow than Beau's and Bonnie's chaotic relationship, like for example, Bonnie won't really have the patience to go fishing with Beau--like just watching him fish, but Hera wouldn't be really mind it, she would actually find it really calming, and would enjoy watching Beau along with playing with the cats near by.

Beau is less snarky with Hera and more gentle because Hera can be really hard on herself when she makes the slightest mistakes, and tends to fall into stress loops.

While in Beau and Bonnie's relationship, Bonnie is the one usually to make Beau laugh and cheer him up, in Hera and Beau's relationship, Beau is the one to make Hera laugh and is more goofy with her. Mostly because Hera doesn't rub it in like Bonnie does, like when Beau acts goofy around Beau too much for too long , Bonnie is basically like "You like Krabby Patties don't you, Squidward?" If you know what mean, but Hera is more is more like "Thanks, I need that" and doesn't mention again in mocking or teasing way.

Beau and Hera also have a few more things in common, they both like sports (duh) and they both grew up with fathers who weren't the best dads outside of sports. Hera's father wasn't nearly as physically abusive as Beau's dad, he was more neglectful and ignored Hera anytime she wasn't talking about or practicing some type of sport, Hera's dad secretly wanted a son and kind of was depressed when he found out Hera was a girl, and ever since she could walk he always pushed her to more masculine interest than feminine, he would completely ignore her if she wanted to show her dad and new song and dance she made up in her favorite Ariel dress but she would have his undivided attention if she finally prefected her volleyball serve. Bonnie never knew her father because everytime she would ask her mom what he was like she would say "He was a useless p@#$ who couldn't handle my energy, so I got rid of him", Bonnie's mom would as end the conversation there never really elaborating any further.

How Beau and Hera meet is basically the same how Bonnie and Beau met, but with Hera the meeting has a more 90/80s sitcom feel like "All Star Athlete, Hera Grace? What are you doing here?" But less sitcom y because Hera as a nervous breakdown at the same time her car broke down. So, not only is Beau trying to help fix her car, but is also trying to comfort Hera, while at the same time trying figure out what is All Star Athlete, Hera Grace doing in his small town driving a beat up car.

At first, Hera tells Beau that's she just in town for vacation...

Beau: "So, out of all the places you could go as All Star Athlete, Hera Grace, you chose a small southern town?"

Hera: "I guess I just like the humble aesthetic... heh heh.."

Beau:" Okay.."

Beau (internally): Grandma was right, famous people are weird..

Beau and Hera continue to meet to work on Hera's car, and people don't recognize Hera because (a. Small town folk wouldn't really believe some one THAT famous would just plop into town (b. Using superman logic, Hera wears sunglasses so nobody can recognize her. So yes, Beau and Hera are sunglasses stunting couple 😎😎

Anyways, Beau and Hera start spending more time together and get closer, there is that scene where Hera walks in on Beau playing and being goofy with his siblings, but since Hera isnt as teasing as Bonnie, Beau doesn't feel as embarrassed about it.

There is a moment where Beau walks in on Hera doing a Disney number in one of her cute idol dress, she has another breakdown when she realizes Beau is watching, Beau comforts her again, and that's when Hera reveals that she actually made a deal with her father that if she can at least start her idol career in a year, then she could quit her athlete career and become an idol full time. The reason why she came to Beau's town because all the big city entertainment and music companies literally shut the door in Hera's face, Hera suspect that her dad was behind it and was purposely making harder for her since he wasn't going to help out at all with her idol career, which is why he gave her the best up car, there's a small but ambitious entertainment company in Beau's town looking to start an idol group and since it's not connected to a big company Hera felt like she actually had a chance. Hera begs Beau to keep this a secret and she isn't ready to go public with it.

Hera: "Please, keep this a secret, if-if anyone finds out, I'll--ill--"

Beau: "Hey! hey! It's okay, I know what it's like to keep a secret, but at least yours is actually really cute.."

Hera:" (Blush) heh...heh.. thank you, that really means alot to me, Beau"

While Bonnie's hyperfixation is mascots, Hera are idols, idol culture, Idol anime shows/games, and Disney. She often info dumps about Idol stuff while helping Beau work on the car.

Hera: "Oh! Oh, there's this another idol group I like called Arashi, they're were the first idol group I ever seen, and they have this one song that oozes sparkle energy, and they're still really cute and fun despite being kind of old for idols, and --oh, I'm sorry, rambling again.."

Beau: "No, no, it's fine, you smile for real when you talk about that stuff, I like it.."

Hera: "(blushes) UMMMM!..okay, so where was I-- oh, yeah.."

For money, Hera works at a cat cafe, she was gonna work at the same maid cafe Bonnie did but Hera was still shy about preforming in front others on the spot like that, so she picked the cat cafe that was two stores down, she also coaches softball at the local rec center.

Hera is no where near as flirtatious as Bonnie, since Hera spent most of her life practicing sports, and trying to literally win her dad's affection, she didn't really think about boys in a romantic sense, although she is comfortable around guys platonically, Beau was the first guy to treat Hera like a normal girl, not one of the guys or a sports goddess, just a normal girl, Hera is used to being call Beautiful or Sexy, but when Beau calls her Cute, she considers that flirting.

Since Hera is so used to holding masculine energy and qualities and being praised and recognized for it, it's nice to allow herself to be more feminine and being recognized and complimented for it.

While Beau is more sparing but loving with his kisses with Bonnie . With, Hera he uses his kisses to comfort her and/or to stop her from falling into stress/aniexty loop, usually holding her or hugging her or at least holding her hand and say "It's Okay", "I'm here", "Don't worry about it"

Okay, that's about all I have to say for this timeline/AU, I still love both Beaunnie and Hereau equally, I like Beaunnie for it's chaotic energy, I like Hereau for it's neutral good energy, I like both Bonnie and Hera, we can stan multiple queens in this household thank you very much...