#she probably will wilt when it gets colder but that is what it is but sage is evergreen

[elibeeline]

OH OH OH did i tell yall about my new cacti?? i added them to my wide pot with my aloe and eeeeeeeeee it looks so much better now!!!!

[nikethestatue]

True story:

So in May/early June, I decided that I am gonna grow some herbs and veggies. Nothing fancy, but I bought a tomato plant, then basil, dill, mint and rosemary, and a zucchini plant.

Mind you, I don't have a yard/garden, but a large patio. It's nicely shaded, and yet gets enough sunlight, and it's protected from the elements.

Fast forward almost 3 months.

We have two survivors! The basil is lush and growing wonderfully. The tomato plant is thriving. Only, no tomatoes. Not even a whiff of tomatoes. Just the plant.

The rest of the herbs died.

And then I started thinking about Eain 'She Didn't Grow Vegetables' Archeron.

Say she only had space to grow a few bushes of something. Firstly, it cost money to buy, but let's say Feyre bought either seeds or plants for Elain to plant. And let's say Elain plants them. Months pass, and she still doesn't have a tomato to show for her efforts. Half of what she planted died, for various reasons, and she's got a bunch of basil.

So, are they all sitting around munching on basil for month? Some dill? Something like potatoes requires a decent amount of land and suitable land too. Forget wheat or anything of the sort. Beans? Maybe beans, if she could manage to grow them. But realistically, the reason there was starvation in Europe, for example, is because a regular person couldn't just 'grow vegetables' to sustain their lives. It's not that easy and it's hard to sustain, especially in an imperfect climate. Maybe it was possible to have a small garden in Italy or France, but in colder climates? Not so much. ons of people died throughout history of starvation--think about the potato famine in Ireland, for example--couldn't they have all planted some vegetables and survived? Apparently not.

And even considering that SJM herself knows nothing about any of this, and just wanted to be dramatic about Feyre hunting, in reality, there is something to be said in ACOTAR about starvation and lack of money and lack of opportunities. To feed a family of 4 just from the garden is much harder than what girls on Tumblr and Reddit think. They think that if you stick a zucchini in the ground, you'll have 200 zucchini in 2 weeks. Not so. Chances are, you'll probably get no zucchini at all.

And I didn't even mention water and how much water just ONE tomato plant needs. It wilts every 48 hrs, and I have to water it all the time. But I can turn on the faucet and get some water. The Archeron sisters needed to go to the well and get water in the buckets and carry it back. And if you've never gotten water from a well--believe me, I've done it, and it's a lot of freaking work! You have to have it for drinking, washing, cooking, and laundry. When water isn't readily available, believe me, you start to conserve it like it's a precious commodity. Which it is.

I've yet again recognized how silly the 'grow vegetables'!' argument is, as I watch my tomato-less plant bloom and grow.

No tomato in sight

[midnightsun-if]

angst hehehe ANGST!! How would the ROs react to accidentally hurting the MC? (this could be because of a psychic attack, illusion making them think the MC is someone else, etc?)

Koda: He’d feel absolutely awful. He’s so much bigger than you, while he’s aware you can take care of yourself, the simple fact that he laid his hands on you? Illusion or not? It’d cause him to wilt and he’d do everything he could to ensure that you knew he’d never harm you intentionally, that he’d do anything in his power to make it up to you. For being a bear shifter, he does an excellent impression of a kicked puppy.

Scarlett: All the angst with this one… Her actions would trigger some deep rooted things within her mind, things that she’s tried to avoid for a long time, and bring them to the forefront of her mind. She wouldn’t be able to look at you, after ensuring you were safe and protected as much as you could be, and would avoid being alone with you at all costs. Flinching whenever you within arms reach of her— she’d feel awful because you were the one that’s supposed to be scared of her, you were the one that’s supposed to be avoiding her, and she hates that she’s running from you when all she wants to be is closer, but she can’t be. Not when she doesn’t trust herself anymore near you. You were supposed to be the one person, the one being, she’d never harm.

Cyrus/Cyra: Given the fact that they’re a fire entity, they’d be completely horrified. They could have killed you, could have destroyed ever semblance of peace they’ve ever known, and they wouldn’t have even realized it until it was too late. They’d be stuck in a loop within their mind, thinking of all the things that they could have done to be better prepared. All the things that could have negated what they’ve done to you. They’d give you as much of the tears as you’d need, even if it’d push them past the point of exhaustion. As long as you were okay, as long as they could help you in anyway, it’d be well worth the physical toll it takes on their body. After all, they had hurt you. What does it matter what happens to them while they make sure it gets better for you?

Quinn: They’d be completely desolate. Their wolf wilted entirely inside of them. They’re the protector, they’re the defender, and they’ve failed you spectacularly. A sullen look on them doesn’t look good, but it’d be hard to make their attitude lighten up. Not when they’ve hurt their chosen mate, when they could have killed you. You’d be getting a lot of apology gifts, very short visits from their wolf, as it’d have to come to terms with things too, and just generally trying their best to make it up to you. They know it wasn’t them, that they’d never harm a single hair on your head if they were in their right mind, but that doesn’t negate the guilt that makes its home within their chest.

Caden: They’d be back to their flustered/fidgety mess. Would ensure that you had anything you could ever want and/or need. Nothing would be too great for them to procure for you. Not when they’ve done such a heinous act to themself. They probably wouldn’t be able to look you in the eye for a few days after the fact, not being willing to see the potential look you might have in your eyes, but they’d stay steadfastly by your side. Even if the room got s smidge colder every time they settled within it.

Sloane: They’d be a mess. It’s honestly one of their fears to lose control and hurt someone they care for. Knowing that it could happen to even you? Their potential mate? It’d put a huge roadblock between their reconciliation with their wolf… Not that their wolf would truly complain about it because it’d accept the punishment accordingly. You’d see them turn a lot more sullen, snapping at more people, never you, and generally having a darkened expression etched across their face. One that softens for you when they look in your direction, but you’d notice it’d immediately fall away once they turn from you.

Blake: They wouldn’t be able to believe it at first. Them, hurting you? Thats completely preposterous. They’d never do such a thing. But then vignettes of their actions, when they didn’t have control, would begin to flash through their mind, foggy like it’s a bad dream. Once Blake realizes what they did? They honestly wouldn’t know what to do with themself… Wouldn’t know how to make it better. How the hell could they hurt you? Regardless of the fact that they were being mind controlled. How could they truly call themself your best friend, your significant other, and do something like that to you? It’d make their heart hurt, pain echoing through their body, but they’d do their best to be there for you. To prove to you that you didn’t make a mistake in choosing them.

Reginald/Regina: They’d honestly be surprised. Not in a gloating sort of way that they were able to somehow hurt a vampire… They’d just honestly be gobsmacked. Would probably sum it up to you simply not wanting to hurt them in return… They’d apologize to you, ask you what you needed, and try to make your wishes a reality. Would want to make sure that you were during okay— telling you random stories to distract you, or varying puns/bad jokes to keep your mind off of things (which also helps them too). They wouldn’t act like nothing happened, but they also wouldn’t force you to talk about it either. They’d follow your lead on this.

[vegetable-man]

Divine Intervention

FLUFFY WINTER FIC JUST DROPPED. I’m halfway done with finals. Bless the lord. N e wayz, I wrote this bc I think Eddie is so bae. no warnings just love fr. Sending u kithes <3

Divine Intervention

Eddie munson x reader (a slight mention of mechanic Eddie). Same universe as my other mechanic eddie fic.

{*_*}

Indiana was surprisingly cold in the winter. As soon as October came around, a chill would start to crawl down Eddie’s spine and soon enough would leave his back tight and aching. While he never complained, it kept him under the flannel and thick comforter of his bed like a super magnet.

Needless to say, Eddie wouldn’t get up for anybody.

Well, not quite anybody.

…

Max actually liked living in a small trailer with her mom. Living in that big house with Neil and Billy was far colder in the summers than it was here in the dead of winter. She settled quite nicely in her small bedroom and admired how peaceful her mom kept the place.

There was also another thing Max liked about living in the trailer park: she knew anything and everything about everyone.

You wouldn’t peg her to be much of a nosy girl but in truth, Max was a hardcore people watcher. She enjoyed silently observing her neighbor’s lives and arguments, even noticing small changes in their routines.

Max noticed when Mrs. Wilt got a new senior dog from the shelter. She noticed when the kids down the street started to feed the stray cats.

She also noticed that Eddie had been leaving his trailer much earlier than usual.

Now, being the observer she was, she knew that normally, Eddie was late for everything. He was late to the house parties at Steve’s, he was late to pick up her boyfriend and his friends, he was even late to his own campaigns.

As soon as there was even a thought of snow falling from the impossibly dark morning sky, Eddie was dressed and out of the trailer at 6:30 AM sharp.

The van starting up would wake her up, and Max would blearily look out her window at the trailer across from the window. Eddie would be out there warming up the car, brushing snow off his windshield, and sometimes running frantically back inside to grab something he probably forgot.

With a roll of her eyes, Max would roll back into bed and wait for her mom to wake her up in another half hour for school.

…

Wayne always kept the news on, especially in the afternoons. He didn’t care for the news, no, but he did care about the weather for the week.

After a small dinner between himself and his boy, Wayne sat his heavy bones down on the couch to watch some TV. Eddie grabbed two beers and a couple of papers, presumably for one of his games that Wayne didn’t quite understand, and set up camp on the small chair that accompanied the couch in their comfortably cluttered living room.

Handing Wayne an opened beer, Eddie sat down in his chair and took a swig from his own bottle, eyes trained on the TV.

“what are they sayin it’s gonna be?” He asked his uncle.

“a couple feet of snow” he groans out, and suddenly he smirks “you better head on to bed, boy”

“Fuuuuuck” Eddie gripped his forehead and leaned forward. With a breath he sat back up, barked out a quick ‘yeah I guess you’re right’  and dragged his feet to the bathroom to wash up before bed.

On the couch, where Eddie couldn’t see him -where no one could see him in fact-, Wayne couldn’t help the smile and sigh that escaped his mouth and entered the very bottle he sipped.

…

There was nothing that irritated Eddie more than his 6:00 AM alarm on a cold morning.

His body felt warm, his nose felt cold, his brain felt like a brick. And yet, Eddie dragged himself out of bed to put on his usual uniform except with an added twist: the winter coat that you had bought for him last Christmas. While Eddie thought that a bulky coat would destroy his style, it seemed like you had thought of everything, it was a true Wilson leather jacket with all the padding and insulation to get him through the arctic. Eddie knew that wasn’t true, but hell, he’d never see Michigan anytime soon much less the arctic circle. He just knew you didn’t want him to be cold, and he’d do anything for you.

Even get up at the crack of fucking dawn.

When finished his morning routine, Eddie was much more awake than before, but not anymore prepared to face the biting cold of the outside.

Still, he grabbed his keys and headed out to warm up the car and drive off.

As soon as the heat had filled the car, Eddie shifted out of park and slowly drove out of the trailer park through the newly falling snow.

…

If the roads in Hawkins were bad enough in the summertime, the wintertime felt like a deathtrap. There weren’t enough plows to keep up with the roads that weren’t frequently used such as I don’t know, most of them?

And while Eddie didn’t care for driving in the snow, he knew you were absolutely terrified.

You had your own car, you own routine and places to go, but it all seemed to slow down when there was a dusting of snow or ice on the asphalt. Once, you had called Eddie in a panic because you were stuck at school in a blizzard and couldn’t even get out of the parking lot without sliding.

Eddie laughed, he didn’t mean to, but blizzard was a gross overstatement.

Nevertheless, he drove his ass up to your college campus to save you from the dastardly dangerous terribly scary snow.

Ever since then, Eddie vowed to never let you drive in the snow again.

…

Back in the van, Eddie navigated the tight and windy roads of Hawkins to your house. Not even fifteen minutes by car, and Eddie knew he would be early like he always was.

Pulling into your driveway, which was quickly building up snow, Eddie saw that the garage was open and the lights were on. He knew enough of your family’s routine to know that both your parents were leaving for work at their usual time. Too fucking early, but their usual time regardless.

With an empty spot in the garage from the recent departure of your father, Eddie pulled into the spot and waved at your mom who was warming up her car herself. She looked over at Eddie and gave him a tired wave and smile, one that said ‘yeah hun she’s still in bed’.

Shutting off his car and tightening his abdomen, Eddie braced for, and eventually threw himself, into the cold air lingering around your garage. It wasn’t a long walk to the door which led into the coatroom, perhaps 10 steps. But these were 10 steps in which Eddie felt his back start to cramp and started walking with a hunch.

Your house was much warmer, though, which made up for the incessant and violating cold.

Taking off his boots and heavy coat, Eddie entered your house and beelined for your bedroom.

…

If Eddie was frozen before, he was entirely melted by the way you were swallowed by the seven..? He tried to count, blankets on your bed. He heart melted through his chest and in a puddle that made his socks wet with sticky and sweet love.

He could barely see your long and steady breaths from under your blanket and what he could see told him you were utterly out.

With firm steps to your bed, Eddie sat on the edge and dipped the mattress in a way that exposed your face a little further to his sight. Now, he always thought you were cute, even far before he told you for the first time, but Eddie was always hit by it the most when you were sleeping. When you would get a small furrow in your brows and cheeks would squish from the pillow supporting your face.

Cuteness aggression was an intrusive thought that Eddie used all his power to resist.

Compromising with himself, Eddie placed a firm kiss on your temple. Firm, now, meant that the kiss pushed almost your whole head a few inches into the pillow, and exposed your neck for a slight moment from the motion. Eddie used this moment to slip his hand into the crook of your neck and gently rubbed across its length.

A bit startled and groggy from sleep, you furrowed your brows and without opening your eyes, graveled out a small “hello?”

Eddie bit back a laugh and stroked upwards towards your cheek “Good morning sweetheart” and pressed an even deeper kiss to your temple.

With a small sleepy gasp, you moved from your side and onto your back and softly whined out “Eddie? Hi! G’Mornin”.

With that, Eddie laid his torso on top of yours as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, breathing in his hair and soaking in his warmth.

Eddie knew, however, that if you wanted to be on time for your 8:00 AM class, you would need to get up right about now.

“You’ve gotta get up and ready sweetheart” he spoke near your neck.

“No.”

“Come on up now” Eddie used his leverage to lift you into a seated position. Seated in a valley made by the mountains of blankets on your bed, perhaps not up, but maybe more slouched than anything.

Eddie laughed at your messy hair and slightly swollen eyes as you yawned and embraced him again in your new position. This time, with your head on his shoulder and your cheek squished into his collarbone.

“I love you so much” you squeaked out.

“I know honey” he rubbed your back “I love you too” and he kissed your hairline.

Marinating in the love, as Eddie called it, you both sat exchanging small gestures and warmth under the soft glow of your bedside lamp.

A ringing of the phone somewhere down the hallway interrupted you both and sent Eddie slowly pulling away from you padding towards the wall where he picked up the receiver.

Great news.

Eddie grinned as he blinked out the lingering exhaustion from his eyes and called the garage.

“Hey Ray… yeah bud… nah… no yeah that’s perfect I was calling to call out anyway!” Eddie barked out a laugh. They were closing the garage for the blizzard “yeah, It shouldn’t be a hard job anyway… no I’m with my girl… no worries man… stay safe I’ll see ya Monday!”

Eddie always felt a sort of divine intervention around you.

First your college campus closes due to weather, and then his garage takes a day off too.

Perfect, he smiled.

Walking back to your bed, shutting off the hallway and kitchen lights on the way, Eddie opened the door to your room and slipped inside. It was dark besides the lamp which was still on and you, well, you had fallen back under the oppression of your six, eddie finally decided, blankets.

Grabbing a pair of his sweatpants from your drawer, Eddie slipped them on in lieu of his jeans, shut off the lamp, and climbed into bed with you and your squished cheeks.

Eddie maneuvered your half asleep body next to him and caressed the back of your head until you fell back asleep with a newfound warmth next to you.

Eddie was comfortable. It was dark, it was warm, it was heavy, and you were next to him.

Divine intervention, he reminded himself. And then, like young men can’t resist, he fell deeply asleep.

…

Eddie woke up to two things. Well, three. Eddie woke up to three things.

He woke up to the soft white winter light. A morning snow kind of light beaming from the windows of your room. It was somehow one of the most loving and nostalgic scenes that he could think of. A fresh snow gleam was a sight to warm the heart.

The second thing Eddie woke up to was the heavy dip next to him on your mattress as you re-entered the bed.

The third thing Eddie woke up to was the smell of hot chocolate.

Eddie took a deep breath, rubbed his eyes, and stretched his arms up and out before looking up at you and the mug of hot chocolate you sported.

Your hair was still messy, your glasses were on, and you brushed the hair out of Eddies face as you traced his jaw towards the outer corner of his eye.

Eddie moved his head to slightly bite the meat of your thumb and kiss the palm of your hand.

Groaning and lifting himself to a seated position, he grabbed the mug, tugged you into his side, and thanked divine intervention once again.

[pixiesempire]

˚₊♡ Lizzie swam through the deep ocean thoughtfully alongside her royal axolotl guards, Lady Marcelline and Sir Strawberry. They floated, close enough to be at her aid in seconds, but far enough to leave her with her thoughts.

Schools of fish passed by, but not before looking at their queen in awe as she graced their presence, dancing around the depths completely immersed in her own mind.

Soon, Queen Lizzie reached a sand wall, the water becoming colder and almost thinner as she approached. Lining around the mountains were some of her guards and peering, curious subjects such as yellow tropical fish, though they seemed to steer away from the axolotls escorting her. They didn't want to be claimed as lunch today.

The cod, once populating this area of the ocean fully, were nowhere in sight. Queen Lizzie, their hybrid, blue axolotl queen, suspected it was because of the new changes which had been occuring, not fully under her own control.

It all changed when the salmon ‘invaded’. Ever since their arrival, the sea was adapting to their habitat, affecting not only the wildlife around where they decided to now live, but the single most important thing in her entire existence.

Her younger brother. Her seabling.

He hadn't been this affected since they found a red land flower growing under the water, and even then it wasn't much of an illness, just a sort of odd bashfulness.

But this wasn't as easy as plucking a flower and serving it for a royal banquet. The salmon were affecting her dearest brother in an extremely harsh way, and Lizzie was furious. Especially when she was supposed to be the ruler of everything below the depths and oceans, the queen- yet she couldn't even help defend her brother, and her land.

She looked over their barricade, stuck together with dead coral which was once vibrant with life but, due to the cold temperatures which came alongside the salmons invasion, had now wilted.

Bubbles of anxiousness surrounded her. It was an uncommon feeling for the Queen, used to her emotions being as calm as the sea on a calm day. These changes weren't only affecting her ocean, but they were affecting her too. It was...frightening.

The Ocean Queen was not a frightened person. She was the type of person to frighten others, for it was up to her to keep the mobs from the land on the land and away from her beautiful sea.

First, it was the salmon. Who knows what could've happened next? She'd heard stories of before she had taken the throne and raised her empire of the drowned mobs tormenting the sea, before her divinity drove them away and they were forbidden to return.

Their probable return was one of the risks of leaving. But if she didn't, it would be allowing the salmon to just stay there. She needed to find a way to drive them out- but more importantly, she needed a cure for Jimmy. She would risk the fate of her empire on the odds that she might be able to help him, even slightly.

And she did.

Lizzie approached the edge of the waterfront slowly. Her head was about ten inches from surging above the surface. The sand below her was extremely warm. Taking a breath through her gills, Lizzie sat down, taking out a piece of coral to write her goodbye message on to Jimmy. Her two royal guards swam around her feet as she wrote a heartwarming letter for him.

She was halfway through writing a goodbye letter for him before she realized he wouldn't have been able to read it anway, despite her numerous attempts to get him an education. In a last attempt, Lizzie reached down onto the ocean floor and picked up a shell.

She lifted it to her mouth and whispered into it lyrically, the siren part of her genetics coming to play as the ocean lapped around her delicately.

Lastly, she spoke a soft goodbye, and a heartfelt ‘Oceans Blessings, your beloved sister Lizzie.’

She handed the coral and conch shell to Sir Strawberry and Lady Marcelline individually, readying herself to get up and leave her comfort zone. Her home.

Her royal guards were to stay put for no longer than an hour if she hadn't returned by then. They had no clue what was going to come of her as she stepped onto land, so their orders were clear.

Do not come searching for me if I do not return. Do not let the salmon or my subjects catch any wave of my excursion. By the tides, return home if I do not come and collect you both after an hour. Give Jimmy these parting letters when he has been awoken from his salmon-induced coma, do not let him worry about me. Take care of him. If I end up not returning, don't forget your Ocean Queen. The current will pull me back one day. Tell Jimmy to keep hope and-

The axolotls blinked at her and Lizzie sighed. I know, I know. I'm going now. Please take care of him.

They blinked at her again and she smiled.

Her head was five inches from the waters surface. She thought of the coral reeves she would miss, and the beauty of her Prismarine temples.

Four inches. She thought about her subjects, and wondered how they would cope without her. She hoped the kelp economy wouldn't collapse again.

Three inches. Her breathing started to feel shallow...

Two inches. Her nose was so cold, she was turning a pale white colour. She shivered. She almost turned to stay in the warmth.

One inch. She thought of her sickly brother lying alone in his bed, heads clouded by the onslaught of the salmon. She thought of his terror and loneliness. It almost gave her enough strength to rid the ocean of the whole salmon species right then and there.

Half an inch. This was taking so long. But if was for her brother. Her poor, sweet brother...

Her head was no longer submerged. Her axolotl guards watched as she left the ocean, blue scales almost melting off of her body.

She didn't even turn back once.

───  ᣟ •✿𝆬 🧁✨

hi, so i wrote this at 2am(?), woke up the next morning and completely forgot about this until i wrote something else and saw this in my drafts!!

so, this isn't proofread or anything, but if you want a part 2 just tell me and i'll put something together!! :)

[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. 

[guessimate]

This is the beginning of round 4. I will play the original families for 1 more day if needed, because adults are almost about to age up [at the beginning of the round they had ~8 days as adults left].

I decided to play the Gardiner family first, because I wanted the boys to age up. I had some plans for Olga Leila too, but there was a rather unfortunate ROS… It was not even the worst ROS, but my luck turned out to be terrible. It was a body skill dependent ROS and I believe I rolled 1 out of 11 [she had 7 body skill points], so it was just my luck. It was scenario #40 I’m the Highwayman. She was attacked by a man who wanted to steal her coins... but she had nothing on her, and she was murdered. Her brothers are devastated, as she was taking care of them from the young age. I’m going to say the ROS was connected to what I said before – that the war would have some consequences and there would be some ‘enemies’ trying to rummage lands.

~*~

They earned around 2000$ this round, and it was at the very beginning of the round, really, as I needed them to get some money to plant some maxis plants again, for the last time this season circle, as winter was coming. They paid the taxes immediately, as well.

600$ – tax.

1000$ – rent.

= 1600$ to the Royal Treasury [total in Treasury = 118,500$]

200$ – tithe [Church’s total earnings = 19,600$]. They owe burial fees to the Church.

~*~

As children, the twins wanted to get Creativity skill points, because they had played on the xylophone when they were toddlers, but this family was too broke to get easels, lutes or anything, especially taking the ROS into consideration. I couldn’t even really get them another proper bed and they had to sleep in turns on their parents’ double bed, and on the couch. 

I feel bad especially for Ronan, as he seems fixated on improving his Creativity. Declan at least got some different wants, like going fishing. Ronan didn’t learn to talk as a toddler and maybe now he has trouble communicating his wants to the family or he isn’t convincing enough for them to get him the hobby items [I believe in TS4 children can ask for new toys, so I’d say he failed to do that].

~*~

Castor grew up on Wednesday (he was rolled to be a Romance sim) and Olga Leila was sadly ready to depart from this world. I only realized later that it makes little sense for Castor to be a Romance sim. He got Family-oriented TS3 trait before. I might give him Family secondary, maybe... Castor got his teen trait, and he turned out, being Inappropriate. It could be due to the fact that their father was diagnosed with some mental issues or because their sister is dead and mom – permanently bedridden. He has maxed out Nature enthusiasm and is on the way to becoming the perfect heir for the gardening business, as he has a Silver talent badge already.

Twins aged up at the very end of the round. They are Knowledge [Declan] and Family [Ronan]. Castor is 4 days older than his twin brothers, which is not much of a difference. If I decide to move the brothers onto their own lots, they won’t be played this rotation anymore, but if some lady wants to have an affair with them, they’ll be available.

Declan is a Great kisser, Coward, with Green thumb, and No sense of humor. He will have a winery, if I manage to get the mod to work in the spring season.

Ronan is a Socially awkward, Inappropriate sim with Good sense of humor who Loves the heat. Loving the heat makes sense, as they are from a family for whom the colder seasons were really difficult. I don’t really know what to do with him yet, but he seemed quite into Creativity, so perhaps Pottery (both maxis and the new Sun&Moon set).

~*~

Eustacia and Cyprian Carbonneau came over [it took Cyprian out of the family bin!], probably because Eustacia wanted to visit her old BFF as she hasn’t heard from her for a long time – and maybe they wanted to buy some vegetables. Unfortunately, Hortensia is pretty much a wilting vegetable at this point, but her children kept the guests company at least. It makes sense Cyprian arrives, as this is the round when he’s coming home! Unfortunately, Leofwine Gardiner is never coming back...

~*~

It started snowing during the last days of autumn already, but they managed to harvest some stuff at least. There is nothing to do in winter on a plantation really, so Castor will probably try to find love.

I think the grapevines bugged out because I had moved them from another lot (inspecting them doesn’t show any pop up, so I feel like something is up). I also had some invisible objects on the lot and had to nuke them. Hopefully the lot itself is fine though, as it had a grave on it, and I’d rather not fiddle with that.

[akiraink-no]

Empires SMP-Spirts/Fae AU

Hey! So I was watching Shubble’s stream(right after her first episode and as she was playing, I got some ideas for the Empires SMP!  Note: I haven’t watched everyone’s episodes on Empires, but I highly suggest that you check them all out. Pearl and Gem’s videos on Empires are some of my favorites, but I also love Shubble, Scott, fWhip, and Pixlriffs.

Initial World-building:  I like to think that the Empires SMP is a story of spirits/fae/royal courts. For example some of the players would be spirits or fae creatures. (Think Scott, Shubble, Jimmy?? And maybe Pixl), and the rest would be normal, human players that are royals. (Again, fWhip, Mythical, Pearl, Katherine, Joey, Gem, etc…)  I’ll start with the fae creatures first and if I’m up to it, I’ll post my ideas for the others. 

Scott Smajor: Ice/Wind

So in my head, I like to think that Scott is a fae creature from the court of ice and wind. (Mostly because ice powers are cool and because he’s in a mountain). He has explicitly stated that he’s building in an elven sort of style, which can still match with him being from a fae court. 

Personality: 

I would like to say he’s cold, calculating, and even ruthless or cruel at times (He murdered Gem after she died, guys, come on). He sees the people around him as assets that can help him, but he doesn’t form a real connection with any of them just yet. Everything is very strict and formal around him

I like to think that because wind spirits are pretty mischievous and free spirited, he has a softer side to him as well. He likes to pull pranks, but doesn’t know when too far is too far. His pranks can border on cruel and sometimes insensitive, but it’s because wind/ice spirits are probably the most detached from the other spirits

Appearance:

As for his appearance, I’m taking his skin as part of my inspiration. I like the idea of him in whites, blues, golds, and silvers. He has a crown of diamond shards that mimic ice and is held together with silver and gold that mimic branches. His robes are mostly white(representing snow) and there would be a trim of blue for the skies above his lands. He might have either arm bands, bracelets, or rings that are made of silver or gold(representing the times when the sun or moon hits the snow). 

Powers(?)

Because Scott is an ice/wind spirit, I think it would be cool if parts of him would reflect that. Maybe his skin is super pale and cold to the touch. Maybe he doesn’t wear furry coats because he doesn’t get cold. 

The air around him gets colder when he’s angry or stressed, and if he gets really pissed, he could make it start to snow around him. When he’s sad, ice starts to freeze the ground under his feet or plants around him. Maybe it gets windy when he’s happy or dies down when something shocks him

I also think it’d be cool if he had like… frost walker(?) on his feet. Like the water freezes should he get too close and he doesn’t even realize it until someone points it out. It makes travel easy for him, but also an annoyance when he is doing a build or getting a bucket of water

Shubble: Nature/Decay

So Shubble’s kingdom/empire is called the Undergrowth. When I think of that, I think of mushrooms, soil, roots, and trees. It’s pretty close to what she’s planning right now. Her style of building gives me very cottage core vibes that’s very overgrown. I like to think that she’s a nature spirit because she has said that nature provides and that just seems like a very spirit thing to say. 

So I know I said decay, but when it comes to decay, it has an interesting look to everyone. Sometimes it’s bleached bones and withered grass, sometimes it’s spongy soil and mushrooms. I like to think that Shubble is the kinder side to decay(That’s saved for someone else). Something that must happen for the cycle of life to continue, she isn’t ruthless or cruel, she’s just trying to help the earth along.

Personality: 

Shubble would be very kind, sweet, and overall very trusting. That doesn’t mean she’s stupid or naive, it just means she’s willing to be kind to people first and give them chances to show their kindness. (I spent a long time in her chat during her streams and… yeah, wholesome energy). 

She doesn’t see the people around her as assets and rather hopes to make friends rather than enemies. I won’t say she forms connections quickly(mostly because I haven’t seen her interact with others just yet). But she is very trusting. (remember fWhips potatoes and Pearl’s shovel). During her stream after her first episode aired, she talked about hoping to be friends with Katherine from House Blossom and is aiming to stay as peaceful as possible during the time of the server. 

Appearance: 

So I haven’t seen her skin yet(mostly because this is coming out before we see it.) But she’s using a lot of browns, yellows, greens, and reds. I would like to say that her outfit would sort of reflect that. Instead of a crown of precious gems and metals, it’s maybe a crown of twigs, branches, leaves, and maybe some smaller mushrooms. (Antlers would be cool, so… ) 

I don’t think a dress would work, since she does a lot of work around her base. (Her stream was having her working with trees, leaves, and mining), so I think maybe a pair of overalls (maybe a brown?), a yellow/red undershirt and maybe a dark green jacket. Her outfit would be perfect for her to get on her hands and knees and dig into the earth(Gardener! Shubble). 

Powers:

I feel like because Shubble has this overall sweet and kind energy, I think mushrooms would grow from around her feet. Maybe she can sense when things are about to pass on and tries to make them as comfortable as possible. She can communicate with the earth below her(again, nature provides), and can speak with the animals to some degree

I would like to see spore blossoms react to her. Since spores are also the seeds for mushrooms, it’d just make sense in my head. Maybe she can coax plants to bloom or grow slightly faster around her if she’s happy. Maybe when she’s sad, things start to wilt or shrivel up. Her anger makes things die or age rapidly around her. Her touch can either harm or heal. Knitting the body’s wounds or it could tear into them, causing them agony. 

Jimmy: Ghosts/Decay

I like to think that maybe Jimmy started out human. Or maybe he’s half human. Like one of his parents was human and the other was a fae. (It would certainly explain his skin) 

Personality:

So I haven’t watched a lot of Jimmy, but I wanted to get this off my chest because it’s been in my head for a while now. I think Jimmy, like Shubble, is trusting. Not as much as Shubble, but he does aim for friendship first and then enemy second. So, maybe he’s an opportunist instead. 

Another thing that he might be is petty or spiteful(see his and Sausage’s argument over a music disc). Another ruler might negotiate or bargain their way to what they want, but I think that either Jimmy is pretty young(for fae standards) or his mixed bloodline makes it hard for him to act with a clearer head. It’s pretty clear that he wants others to take him seriously, but at the same time, he can act very impulsive and rashly(See all of 3rd life). 

Appearance: 

It’s pretty clear that Jimmy has that green tinge to his skin. But I think he would have colours such as green(for obvious reasons), browns, and maybe some greys(for clay in the swamp). He wouldn’t have a crown, instead, he’d have a set of gills on each side of his neck. Since I like to think that he swims around in the swamp to talk to the cod in his kingdom. 

For more formal events, he might have a brown cloak and pants with a rich green tunic. He doesn’t look the most royal, but maybe that’s okay because he doesn’t want to be seen as super royal to the rest of his kingdom. Maybe he feels like if he appears to be too royal, the people of his kingdom wouldn’t approach him. 

Powers: 

So Jimmy’s was pretty difficult. Swamps aren’t like ice and wind or nature. But he is a spirit of decay. A less kind version of decay, but not overall cruel. Maybe his decay strikes faster than Shubbles. Where she is understanding and aims to help those along, Jimmy is buried with memories, sunken bodies, and ghostly apparitions. 

So maybe he can see the dead, ghosts who haven’t passed on and simply wander his empire. His eyes glow a faint green whenever he talks to them and tries to aid them to move on to the afterlife.When he’s happy, he shines in the dark backdrop of the swamp, drawing more of the dead, eager to pass on. 

Maybe his anger results in ghostly wails or being dragged into the soft earth around his home. His sadness draws more of the dead to his area, even if they didn’t die there. His pain and grief is like a blackhole, pulling souls in and forcing them to stick around, stuck in his orbit. Maybe a certain few stayed because he was the first one who spoke to them, who reached out to them, who made an effort. 

Pixlriffs:Time/Death

So Pixlriffs has said that he wants to watch over the others deaths with his vigil and he lives in a desert, so I thought they would work with each other. When you think of time, you think of hourglasses, they have sand so that’s the connection I made. 

Personality: 

So Pix has shown an unhinged side to his overall calm and collected composure.(Example, Episode Ten, I think?) His: I sent five people to their deaths and they granted me wings(paraphrased) line is both chilling and is also perfect for a spirit of time/death. 

He, like Scott, is a bit disconnected from the others. Not by accident or nature, but by choice. As a spirit of time and death, he sees the clocks above everyone’s heads, knowing when their last breaths will be taken and when those clocks finally stop. 

It’s not that he’s apathetic to his fellow kings and queens, but rather he is scared. He doesn’t want to form connections only to see them disappear like a drop of sand in a desert. He wishes to honour the people who have weaseled their way into his heart. So he keeps the vigil to count their deaths and remind them that they will not be forgotten. Pixl is a watcher, an overseer that is afraid of the day his friends will pass on and leave him alone. 

Appearance:

The man calls himself the copper king, so I have to have those shades of copper in his outfits somewhere. Teal, brown(for bronze), and those shades between (for copper)are very good(both in builds and on clothes). I also think that pale yellow(representing the sand) is also a nice touch and green for his lush gardens is also a wonderful tone. 

He has a cape that is mostly teal(I’m thinking the shift between the third to final stage) with a bronze belt. The pale yellow would be his shirt and his pants would be a darker brown. Matching his boots. 

I think he would have a crown with pale yellow crystals(yellow zircon or topaz) with bronze wires making up the rest of the crown. Maybe there are pieces of turquoise or aquamarine, that would be cool too. 

Powers: 

The man is basically a watcher. He has wings and can see through time. Like I said before, he can see the clocks ticking above the other players’ heads. Seeing how long they have until their last breath. Pixl is equal parts chaotic and calm. So I think he has a good control over his emotions. 

When he’s stressed things start to wilt under his feet(another reason he lives in a desert), in his anger, he can cause death. Maybe he’s just an omen or something that draws in death. (See his end raiding attempts one and two). I like to think that maybe he has the ability to hold flames or make small ones(just for his candles), he isn’t violent or uses them to hurt others. He simply just uses them to light his candles. 

He’s more than capable with his other abilities. 

This is all I have for now. If I decide to do the others, I’ll add a link to this post. I’d appreciate some information or ideas for the other players since I haven’t had the chance to touch down on all of them. If you have any ideas, feel free to send them to me too!

[andypantsx3]

if i could keep cool | 4

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 20,322 words / 6 chapters

summary: A villain attacks Shouto Todoroki’s apartment and kidnaps what he apparently believes to be Todoroki’s secret lover. The bad news—for both you and the villain in question—is that you’re just there to clean the place. That’s how it starts.

tags: romance, reader-insert, accidental sugar daddy shouto, misunderstandings

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut

There was no other word for it. Todoroki was a menace.

Though his schedule seemed to return to something approximating normal, he was still in the apartment often enough that you began to anticipate him being there. Even when he wasn’t, however, he made life difficult enough for you by leaving behind gifts, with progressively more disappointed notes if you didn’t take them. You didn’t know how it was possible to convey that flat tone in the shape of his letters, but you could practically hear it as you read them over.

Worse, he seemed to know exactly which of your weak points to exploit to get you to want the gifts--leaving you several more books, a bag of the really nice coffee beans from the coffee shop you’d told him about, and a sinfully soft scarf as the weather turned colder. When you continued to ignore the insane amount of money he seemed to think passed for a tip, fresh vegetables started cropping up on the countertops with notes that said things like I’m not going to eat these, if you don’t take them they will be wasted to guilt you into compliance.

A month into it, an entire grocery order started showing up every Thursday shift. My refrigerator is full so don’t try to stuff any of this in there, his note commanded.

He was a master of manipulation, it seemed, and to what end you didn’t know. You made mental notes to not mention any further likes during your conversations, but when he was there, Todoroki’s conversation was so easy and so natural, he continued to pull all the details out of you with ease.

So things you really, really liked kept turning up. And as you talked to him, Todoroki was turning into a thing that you really, really liked as well.

It was overwhelming.

The final straw was a Friday afternoon when you hit up the fancy coffee shop just outside campus. You walked in with the extra money you’d saved up not buying your own groceries, and the vague idea that you would get a head start on an upcoming paper. And then, the barista very obviously glanced between you and a sheet of paper taped to a corner of the register, and refused to let you pay for your order.

“Your order is free!” she chirped cheerfully.

You stared. “What?”

“It’s already taken care of!” she said, and immediately, a cloud of suspicion settled over you.

“What’s the occasion?” you asked.

She smiled. “The occasion is someone already paid for you!”

You glanced around the coffee shop, but you could find nothing but a few unfamiliar students purusing books or churning out work on their respective laptops. You turned back to her.

“And if I were to walk into this coffee shop tomorrow, would the occasion also be that someone already paid for me?”

She nodded. “Yes! All your future orders are paid for, please come as often as you like!”

You gaped at her, and she cheerfully stuffed your coffee into your hands. Then you glared down at the white paper cup accusingly, and it stared back at you, looking like one half of a certain menace’s hair color.

Oh, he was in for it.

You stalked over to a table and whipped out your cell phone, shooting off a message so fast your fingers practically burned.

todoroki what the hell

To your surprise, you received a reply almost immediately.

It’s Shouto.

Like hell it was.

first names are for friends, not psychopaths. did you really pay for all of my future orders at the coffee shop?

Is this your first time there this month? he answered. Where do you usually go?

You stared at your phone. He’d done this a month ago? Also, no way you were telling him your budget spot where you picked up lukewarm bean water when you couldn’t afford four dollar americanos. The last thing you needed was for him to buy them out, too.

You got to your feet, marching back over to the barista.

She smiled. “Back for something else?”

“Yeah, how do I cancel the all my orders are paid for thing?” you asked. “Can you just delete whatever info he left you and charge me from now on?”

She looked you up and down. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

She stared, then leaned in to whisper. “You do know who paid for all your orders, right? Are you actually sure you want to cancel?”

A migraine started in your temples. Had Todoroki actually come in here himself to give his information? Was he trying to get you caught up in the secret lover bullshit that was still swirling in the media?

“I’m extra sure,” you smiled, then went back to your table, satisfied.

No sooner than you had dug out your laptop, though, when your phone buzzed. You looked down at the name on the screen and paled. Todoroki was way easier to deal with via text when you couldn’t hear that low, smooth tone directly in your ear. His face and his voice were absolutely fucking mind-melting, and it would be hard to maintain your stubborn stance even in the face of just one.

Still, though, this was the last straw.

“How many times do I have to tell you that friendship is free?” you hissed quietly as you picked up.

“They told me you tried to cancel,” he said flatly, and your head whipped up to glare at the barista accusingly. She smiled.

“Todoroki--”

“Shouto,” he said.

“Fine, Shouto,” you said, “It’s been a month and maybe I let you get the wrong idea by accepting all of the vegetables and everything, but this ends here. I told you that it doesn’t cost anything to be friends with me, and you had better stop apologizing. It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, but--”

“Then do,” he said simply.

“What?”

“Then just appreciate it,” he answered. His voice was somehow even lower on the phone and a shiver went down your spine, despite your frustration with him. “Just accept them. Why is it so bad if a friend gives you things?”

God, he was such a rich boy, wasn’t he?

“Shouto, I do appreciate it,” you said. “But I don’t need any of that. And I know that you know this isn’t necessary--I highly doubt that you are buying Midoriya all of his weekly coffees or draping Bakugou in soft scarves. All you need to be friends with me is to just hang out, the same way you do them.”

Shouto was quiet a moment. “Hang out,” he finally said, slowly, like he was tasting the words in his mouth. Then, “Are you free right now?”

“W-what?” you managed.

“You don’t have class right now, right? Your last lecture just let out.”

You were surprised that he remembered your class schedule. Just how much had you told him?

“Uh, yeah?” you asked.

“Good, stay where you are. We’re hanging out,” he pronounced the words like they were foreign on his tongue, then hung up.

You stared down at your phone in shock. He wanted to hang out with you? Like, outside of his apartment?

There was no arguing the two of you got along relatively well, now that the threat of your crazy fandom and the weight of his mistake no longer hung over your relationship. You talked easily enough the one or two times you saw him during any given week. But so far your interactions had been somewhat limited, confined to the familiar space of his apartment and limited to the time that you had to be there. You texted a little outside of that, but you’d never just casually hung out.

Then the weight of his words really hit you. He was coming here? To the coffee shop? In full view of your entire campus? Was he insane?

You ran through a mental checklist of things in your bag that could be used to disguise him but came up short. You didn’t know exactly what he planned to look like when he put in an appearance here, but you were not interested in fanning the flames of the secret lover garbage that was still all over twitter and splashed across the glossy pages of the magazines at the grocery store.

You shot to your feet and threw your bag over your shoulder, then ran out the door, dashing for the campus shop that sat just outside the student center. You blew through the door and dove straight for the apparel section, grabbing the least heinous hat that looked like it would cover most of Shouto’s distinctive hairstyle while also drawing the least amount of attention to its wearer. You also helped yourself to a plain pair of sunglasses that would probably be kind of inappropriate in the fall weather, but would go a long way in hiding his eyes and that scar.

Why did he insist on having so many distinguishing features? Would it kill him to have dark hair and dark eyes like most of the rest of the earth’s population?

You threw the items and a wad of bills down on the register counter, then paused. A few small, slightly-wilted looking bouquets of flowers sprouted from buckets just beside the register in the colors of your university. You didn’t know what the colors or type of the flowers were supposed to mean, and they probably didn’t give off exactly the message you wanted to send, but Shouto had gotten you flowers as the first gift he’d ever given you…

You grabbed the least wilted looking bunch and threw them on top of the other items.

The cashier rang you up with all the urgency of a sloth, and you tapped your foot nervously as you waited. How was Shouto getting here? How long would it take him? Would he be at the coffee shop already?

You stuffed the flowers into your bag, then launched yourself out of the campus shop like a rocket, catching that mop of red and white hair just outside the entrance to the coffee shop. You put on a burst of speed and managed to jam the baseball cap down over his head before he pulled open the door. He turned to you in surprise.

“Y/N,” he said.

“Yes, hi, hello,” you managed while also trying to ram the sunglasses onto his face.

He let out a small huff of amusement. “What are you doing?”

“What you should have done before coming here, you absolute wackjob,” you said, finally managing to slip the shades over his high-bridged nose without poking his eyes out.

Shouto let you manhandle him to your liking, until his face and hair were mostly hidden under your university merchandise.

“Okay, you should be good now,” you said, looking him over. He still stood out, honestly, too tall and outrageously handsome, even covered up as he was. The sweater and well-fitting jeans he’d chosen would still draw anyone’s gaze straight to his trim figure, but it would have to do.

“We can’t go inside, though, you’ll look too shady with the cap and glasses,” you said. “We need to go somewhere outdoors.”

He stared down at you, one eyebrow lifted over the top of his sunglasses. “It’s fall.”

You thought for a moment.

“How do you feel about izakaya?” you asked. “There’s a street-side one not far from here that’s mostly outdoors. They’re good, and I think they’re still open.”

He nodded. “Do you go there often?”

You eyed him. “Oh no. If I tell you places I go, you apparently buy them out. The whole point of you being here is to prove that buying me things is stupid when we can just hang out.”

The corner of his mouth twitched like he was being told a joke you couldn’t hear. “Lead the way, then,” he said evenly.

You pulled him down a few blocks, expertly navigating your way through the winding city streets. You would never admit as much to him, but this place was one of your faves for good beer and cheap yakitori, and you could probably easily find your way both blindfolded and drunk. Shouto followed you easily, a tall, silent warmth at your back.

There were few people at the izakaya when you arrived, considering it was still a little early for dinner, and no one gave the two of you a second glance when you pulled back the curtains and helped yourselves to pair of stools in the corner of the stall.

“Okay, you have to get a beer and yakitori first," you said. "You can do whatever you want after, but the first round has to be that. Just trust me.”

“No vegetables?” Shouto asked.

You laughed. “I know that’s my brand. And there are good veggie side dishes. But there is nothing like fresh, warm, cheap yakitori and a really good beer, especially on a cool fall day like this. I know what I’m talking about.”

A soft smile pulled at his mouth. “So you do come here often.”

You stared up at him accusingly. “If you dare throw a single dollar at them, you’re in huge trouble. I know where you live.”

He smiled down at you. It was easier to notice how boyish his grin was when the rest of his face was hidden by his sunglasses, and heat flared in your cheeks. He was just so damn good looking.

It suddenly dawned on you how forward you’d been with him, sending him sassy texts and putting your hands all over him when you were attempting to stuff him into your university swag. Your relationship had progressed somewhat since that first book he’d bribed you with, but honestly, this was completely new ground for you.

Your face burned hotter. You’d been so, so inexcusably forward. Had you lost your mind?

Shouto seemed to be thinking about the hat as well. “So, do I look like a student at your university?”

You looked him up and down. Aside from your school’s name emblazoned across his baseball cap, he looked nothing like a student, too put together in his dark sweater and jeans that probably cost more than your monthly rent. You wondered if he’d even been within ten feet of an instant ramen cup in his entire life.

“Uh, no,” you said. “You look like someone forced you to wear a hat they panic purchased and it just so happened to be the least horrible one available.”

A smile played about his mouth again. “What were the other options?”

You grinned. “It was this one or a proud dad of a college grad cap.”

He let out a small huff of amusement. You smiled, then leaned forward as the man at the counter came over to take your order, making sure to cut Shouto off before he could attempt any rich boy tricks. You put in an order for two beers and what was probably a concerning amount of yakitori, then turned back to Shouto and almost fell off your stool when he was much closer than you’d expected.

“Do you have a teleportation quirk I don’t know about?” you asked, internally panicking at his proximity. He was close enough now that you could feel the heat of him and catch the scent of his cologne, light and fresh and disturbingly good.

He smiled that boyish smile again and your heart suddenly forgot how to do its job, freezing in your chest. “It’s cold.”

You rolled your eyes. “You have a fire quirk.”

You felt the air grow a little warmer around the two of you. “I meant for you,” he said.

You were torn between relaxing into the sudden warmth and freezing up in embarrassment. It was beginning to dawn on you just how attentive and thoughtful he always was, and you wondered vaguely if the gift giving was actually just a really extreme manifestation of that personality trait. Maybe being an awkward rich boy with a weird way of making friends was just part of the issue.

Your heartbeat suddenly kicked into overdrive. He was already so overwhelming to look at, incredibly brave, such a good listener, and way too easy to talk to. You did not need to pile on other endearing qualities to the frankly alarming number of things feeding into what was quickly becoming the fattest crush of your lifetime. Did he have to be so good all the time?

A hand suddenly reached out, pulling you closer so that you were practically fused to his left side. You stiffened, resisting the urge to curl into the warmth pouring off of him in thick waves.

Not good, this was so not good.

“Uh, you don’t have to do that,” you said, tongue thick, like you were speaking through a mouthful of applesauce. “I’m wearing the scarf you got me.”

Shouto tilted his head, and though you couldn’t see his expression behind the sunglasses, something like satisfaction curled the corner of his mouth. “Good,” he said in his deep tone, “but this will help too.”

“Really, you’re my friend not my personal space heater,” you insisted, trying to squirm away from him. “You don’t need to do this.”

He flared hotter, and a strong arm went around the back of your chair, halting your escape. “I don’t mind,” he said.

God it was like he didn’t even know what effect he had on people. People, of course, being cleaning ladies with twitters full of zoomed in pictures of his abs. It was not good for your health to be this close to him, couldn’t he just let you sit ten thousand miles away from him where both of you would be a little safer?

The izakaya owner interrupted this train of thought, pushing two beers and a plateful of yakitori between the two of you.

You instantly seized on the distraction, bringing a beer to your mouth to give you a couple moments for your brain to turn on again. It was refreshingly cold, and the flavor was nostalgic, tasting like breaks after class with friends and late nights stumbling back after several rounds of karaoke and drinking. You wondered now if, in the future, you would taste it and think back to the one time you’d hung out with Shouto Todoroki.

“It’s good,” Shouto said, looking at you over the rim of his own beer.

You smiled. “I told you.”

Then you shoved a stick of yakitori at him. “Now eat this and tell me I was right about it too.”

His fingers slid along yours as he took the stick from you, calloused and warm. “...You were right about this too,” he said after managing a bite.

You felt yourself puff up. “Of course I was.”

He smiled and helped himself to the rest. With the food and drink absorbing some of your attention, you were able to calm down somewhat, and the conversation returned to normal, you doing your best to forget about the sinfully warm arm curled around your back.

Here, too, Shouto was absurdly easy to talk to, the new venue doing nothing to dull his charm or the easy way that he pulled information out of you with a few, short, well-placed questions. Over the course of a few hours, you worked your way through a few beers and several more side dishes, the conversation never letting up. Shouto was just as intelligent and thoughtful as ever, and he made you laugh with a couple of unexpectedly short tempered comments. Even the discovery that he was not as princely as he usually seemed just fanned the flames of your crush.

It was only when the people around you began to shuffle off of their stools and pack up that you realized how late it had grown, and that you’d spent the entire evening hanging out and talking.

Shouto helped you off your stool when you stumbled a little, the number of beers you’d consumed suddenly making themselves known. “You’re more of a lightweight than I would have guessed by the conversation,” he teased.

You looked up into his face, realizing that he’d shed the sunglasses at some point during your conversation and you hadn’t noticed. Had anyone else noticed? No one had come over asking for an autograph. Maybe he was so unexpected at a place like this that the hat had been enough of a disguise.

You blinked, realized you’d been staring. “Nonsense, I’m a pro. I’ve put in many more beers at this place.”

Then your eyes narrowed at the slow movement his hand was making along the counter, what looked suspiciously like a stack of bills underneath. That little shit.

“Are you trying to distract me?” you demanded, grabbing his hand and stuffing the money back into it. “This is on me. I haven’t paid for groceries in weeks, thanks to somebody.”

Shouto smirked, looking strangely pleased with himself. His hand curled around yours, and his other came up to take your free hand. It was only when he’d transferred both of your wrists into one large palm that you realized what he was doing, plopping down a handful of bills on the counter quickly with his free hand, then pulling your backpack over your shoulder and tugging you away from the izakaya before you could make a scene. You’d been thoroughly outmaneuvered.

“I’ll take you home,” he said, steering you back out into the street. “Give me your address.”

“Shouto,” you whined, “this whole evening was supposed to be about proving you don’t need to spend money to be my friend. We were supposed to hang out.”

“We did hang out,” he pointed out, looking down at you from under the rim of that ridiculous baseball cap. “Your point was very much made.”

It was a testament to how tipsy you were, probably, that this warmed you. You forgot your annoyance with him almost immediately. “Really?”

He huffed a laugh. “Really. Now give me your address so I can take you home.”

You did and he plugged it into his phone. Then he led you along with one hand curled around yours. You spent the whole walk musing on how warm his fingers were in yours, how much larger his hands seemed than yours. Why was even his stupid hand so nice?

It was only as Shouto walked you to the door of your apartment that you remembered the last thing you’d gotten for him in the campus store. You quickly unzipped your backpack, shoving the bouquet of flowers at him.

“For you,” you said, pressing them into his chest. “You got me those flowers. These ones aren’t as nice, but I thought that you should have some too.”

He stared down at you, something strange glinting in his eyes. “You got me flowers.”

“Do you not like them?” you asked nervously. Was it weird to give a guy flowers? It was probably weird…

“I like them,” he declared, and a genuine smile flickered across his mouth. His eyes looked a little brighter, and his gaze was growing more intent by the second. “Now, you should probably get inside before I forget my manners.”

Forget his manners? You stared up at him in confusion.

He looked down at you for a long moment, and then he was suddenly very close, his face dipping down to yours.

“Get inside,” he said quietly, voice deeper than you’d ever heard it. “Please.”

You nodded, swallowing. You had just enough presence of mind to turn and unlock your door. Shouto guided you gently inside with a hand on your back, and then stepped back outside, smiling.

“I’ll see you on Tuesday,” he said.

You waved. “See you on Tuesday.”

You watched him make his way back down the street, only closing your door when you saw him turn the corner and disappear out of sight. Then you sank down against the door frame, heart feeling like it was going to beat straight out of your chest.

Shouto was the most overwhelming man on this earth. You were in such big trouble.

[kaitoujokerscans]

The Night the Silver Cape is Set Ablaze CH4

CW eating disorders: this chapter describes a crash diet.

<4> Silver Heart's Secret

One of Silver Heart's hideouts in Europe. The small house was visited by Hachi on a night several days after Noir had intruded. Since that day, Joker had holed up in his bedroom on the Sky Joker and wasn't coming out. Losing so easily to Noir must have been a shock to him.

Hachi had been leaving meals out in front of his room every day. Joker hadn't burrowed away in his room like this since the last time a game he had been excited for finally released.

"Help yourself, Hachi-kun."

Cookies and tea were placed in front of Hachi, who was sitting at the table. Beside him, Hosshi was munching his favorite konpeito.

"Thank you, Roko-san."

The small white dog who had brought over the tray with his prehensile ears gave him a smile.

Roko was a super dog who had gained extraordinary powers thanks to genetic manipulation. He could speak human language, and he was so intelligent that it was easy to forget he was a dog. He was a full-fledged phantom thief dog, and he often worked alongside Queen on her capers. Queen herself was sitting at the table with Hachi, resting her chin in her hands with a dissatisfied look.

"Roko, get me some too~ Just the tea."

Like Joker and Spade, Queen too was a phantom thief and a disciple of Silver Heart. She called Silver Heart "Grandpa" and lived together with him. She was a pretty girl, dressed in a white and pink costume with her blonde hair bound in twintails. Huge diamond-shaped eyes were set in her fair skin, yet today their shine seemed duller than usual.

"Are you sure, Queen? Shouldn't you eat something soon? We have cookies."

"It's fine, I'll just fill my stomach with tea. I'm so close to my goal." From the sound of it, Queen was on a diet. "Anyway, where'd Grandpa go? Hachi-kun came all the way here..." pouted Queen.

Then Roko pushed a few buttons for the television and changed the channel. "It looks like he's still in the basement."

The basement came up on the television screen. There must have been a security camera set up there. It showed Silver Heart downstairs at his desk fervently studying something. Maybe he was making a new phantom thief tool...

"Did Grandpa stay up all night again? I wish he'd take better care of himself," said Queen, but she wasn't looking too healthy either. It was probably because of her diet, but in Hachi's opinion, he couldn't understand why Queen was so concerned about her figure. He didn't bring it up, however.

If Joker were here, he'd probably ask a bunch of questions like "Eh? Queen, you're on a diet? Why? How many kilos are you trying to lose? Actually, how many kilos are you now anyway?" and would subsequently become rust on Queen's diamond sword. But at the moment, Queen didn't seem to have the energy to swing the great sword she usually wielded, and was instead languishing at the table.

"Augh, I'm so hungry..." she moaned, and was met with a tactless query of "Oh, Queen, are you on a diet?" from the side. It was from Silver Heart, who had been in the basement up until now.

He was clothed in a clean white double-breasted suit and had a cup of tea in his hand. His most distinctive features were his long, straight white beard and his long locks of white hair. He gave the atmosphere of an elegant gentleman.

"Grandpa!"

"Silver Heart-san!"

Queen and the rest looked at Silver Heart in surprise. "Huh? You were just on screen, though..." When they glanced over at the television, the screen cut out with a static buzz and showed an empty basement instead.

"Fu fu fu, this is the improved version of the 'Image Card' I invented. Place it in front of a camera and it'll play fake footage that'll deceive the camera feed. It was only able to show still images before, but now it can play moving images for a short period too!" exclaimed Silver Heart, proudly holding out a few Image Cards.

"Hmm, another new invention?" Queen took a card and examined it with curiosity.

"In any case, Queen, you may be the right age for it, but you shouldn't go on a crash diet. How many kilos are you trying to lose? Actually, how many kilos are you now?"

"......"

Aah, you shouldn't ask that...! But before Hachi could even blanch, Queen threw a knife-sharp glare at Silver Heart. Her colder-than-ice eyes froze Silver Heart on the spot.

"Er, uh.... O-Oh, okay. N-Never mind! Actually, Q-Queen, you don't look any heavier! You practically look as thin as that wilted sunflower we saw recently!" Silver Heart tried to cover himself, but dug his grave deeper with every following remark. Finally, in an attempt to avoid Queen's glare, Silver Heart turned to Hachi. "S-So! How's Joker doing?"

"Well, he's not coming out of his room still. I think it was a huge shock for him."

"Hm, it sounds like it had a major effect on him."

"Joker's not even eating proper meals? Really now..." Queen marveled, staring into space. All she could think about at the moment was food.

"Silver Heart-san, please tell me. Who is Phantom Thief Noir?" Hachi asked, bending forward. Noir had known about Silver Heart. There must have been some sort of connection between the two of them. Hachi had come to Silver Heart's hideout to ask about this.

But when asked, Silver Heart took a sip of tea and answered with a blank look. "Noir's an old friend of mine, why?"

"Huh?" Hachi, Queen, and Roko's eyes widened. "He's your friend?"

"Yes. You know that I used to work as a spy, correct? Noir was a colleague of mine in those days."

"Eeeh!?" The trio exclaimed in surprise.

"Which means this Noir person was also a spy?" Queen forgot about her empty stomach and leaned forward.

"That's right. I was paired with a woman named Purple back then, and we carried out many assignments. Exposing the classified intel of enemy countries, blowing up the factories where weapons were being made in secret, all sorts of missions to protect world peace. But when Purple was on other assignments or when we had more rugged jobs, I paired up with Noir. Working with Noir as a team was tension-free since we were both men, and I enjoyed it in a different way than how I did with Purple. They used to say that when we paired up, there was no mission we couldn't accomplish. I had a friendly, enriching rivalry with him, and he was a lifelong friend!"

"Really?"

"Yes, really. That's why for the life of me I can't figure out why Noir would become a phantom thief and attack Joker." Silver Heart turned his gaze upwards in thought. He didn't look like he was hiding anything. Silver Heart must truly have considered Noir a friend.

"You don't have any idea why Noir-san might have shown up?" Hearing that he was a friend, Hachi appended a "-san" to Noir's name.

"Not in the slightest... But if there's anything Noir's holding against me, it might be from that time when we infiltrated a country called Lachla to eliminate a hidden treasure and I fell asleep. He nearly died that time..."

"I can see why he'd get angry," sighed Roko.

"The hidden treasure of Lachla is an honest-to-goodness crown. I found out about it just recently, so I'm going to steal it soon."

"That's what you wrote your last notice for," commented Queen.

"Besides that... ah!" Silver Heart exclaimed as if he had just remembered something. "Perhaps..."

"What?"

"What is it?"

"When I quit being a spy, in return for the farewell gift he got me, I gave Noir a wallet. He hates lizards, so I put a toy lizard in it as a prank. Maybe he only just opened it up recently."

When he heard this, Hachi fell to the ground. "That can't be it!"

"It has to be something else!"

"He wouldn't steal treasure from Joker-san just over that!"

"Y-You think so...?" Silver Heart was stunned by their negative reactions. "In that case, there's nothing I can think of... I should ask him directly."

"Do you know how to contact him?"

Then Silver Heart laughed and responded proudly. "I used to be a renowned spy, you know? I have plenty of ways to contact my old colleagues. Without anyone else knowing, either."

"Please ask him right away! Joker-san is depressed!"

Hachi pressed him hard, but Silver Heart knit his brows. "What? Right now?"

"...You can't?"

"It's just that today's not quite a good day for it..." Silver Heart stood up discreetly.

"Do you have plans, Grandpa?"

"Eh? No, well..."

Roko caught him casting a sideways glace at the newspaper. "Does it have something to do with the news?" Roko grabbed the newspaper and spread it out. One sheet had a headline reading "Queen of Pandora Makes Courtesy Call".

"Ah..."

"What's this?" Queen took the newspaper and started reading it. "The Queen of the country of Pandora is visiting France.'"

"Isn't this queen Grandpa's girlfriend? What's going on?" When Queen pulled her face out of the paper, there wasn't a trace of Silver Heart to be seen. "Huh? Huh? Where'd you go, Grandpa!?"

Evidently, Silver Heart had bolted off somewhere while everyone else was looking at the newspaper. Naturally, the legendary phantom thief was a master at running away.

"Argh! I wanted to hear more about Noir!"

"Queen-san, are you concerned about Noir-san too?" Hachi asked, curious.

"I mean, the fact that he outdid Joker is a testament to his abilities. He might be able to tell me something about how to beat Joker!"

"Makes sense..." Hachi saw the logic in what Queen had said. She looked like she had more color in her cheeks now despite the empty stomach. Hachi finished drinking his tea and stood up. "I'll be going now. Joker-san might come out of his room soon."

"Okay, bye now."

"Please tell Joker to not think too hard about it."

"Thank you. I enjoyed the food!" Hachi bobbed his head and left Silver Heart's hideout with Hosshi.

Blending in with the dark of night, the Sky Joker floated in the clear sky.

I wonder if he ate his meal... He had prepared Joker's favorite food, curry, today. Hachi fretted a little, before taking a breath. Just then, a voice came from his phone.

"Hachi, I heard everything."

"Eh!? Joker-san!?"

"Sorry, but I listened to what Master had to say using your phone." Joker had evidently tampered with Hachi's phone to listen to the conversation. Joker likewise seemed surprised to hear that Noir was Silver Heart's friend. "So, I thought up a way to get the better of Noir. Using the 'Lachla Crown' that Master mentioned."

"What do you mean?"

"Something happened between Master and Noir, and the crown's been targeted by Master now. It's only natural to assume that Noir showing up at this juncture must have something to do with the crown, yeah?"

"Oh, I see!"

"Now that that's established, let's go. Come back quick!"

"Roger! Ah, there's curry outside your door."

"Eeh, really? You could've told me that earlier!"

While the sound of scrambling came from the other end of the line, Hachi inflated Balloon Gum, picked up Hosshi, and flew up towards the Sky Joker. Internally, he thought about how glad he was that Joker was back to normal.

As he watched Hachi float up from the window, Roko contemplated. "I'm worried about Joker."

"Yeah~ munch munch... I'm worried too~" Queen responded, her mouth full of something. Roko turned around in surprise to see Queen munching on cookies.

"Huh!? Queen, what about your diet!?" Roko asked confusedly, only for Queen to smile.

"I mean, I can't very well fight on an empty stomach. I'll go on a diet some other time. Right now, I want to know more about Noir."

"You want to know more... but do you have anything to go off of?"

"It's simple. The easiest way is to ask someone who knows about Grandpa's past."

"Someone who knows his past...?"

As Roko gave her a blank look, Queen grabbed all of the cookies left on the plate and stuffed them into her mouth. "Munch munch... Aah! Cookies taste so good after restraining for so long!"

[daydream-believin]

The Never-Ending Roadtrip (new beginnings)

Summary: Reader joins Douxie in the quest for Nari’s safety. He’ll need company won’t he? - Also, a talk about Merlin and grief. It’s big feelings time. (part two)

Warnings: Swearing, theres like three bad puns and at least one meme im sorry

Word Count: 2713

A/N: inspired by the fact that i recently moved states and it was the most tedious trip ever. It took the entire day. i was bored out of my mind. So i decided to write about going on a long boring roadtrip with Douxie instead. also, i have a black cat myself and i can attest that they are little domesticated demons. she didn’t like the long trip either.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” Douxie deadpanned when he saw (Name) run up to join him on the ship, perching on the edge. “Well I’m coming with you, obviously.” Douxie had known the young woman long enough to know that there would not be a point in arguing. They would just go round and round for hours before she ultimately won. She fought dirty, puppy dog eyes and all. He didn’t have time for this.

After making sure that Archie and Nari were secure, Doux turned back to (Name), “You’re absolutely sure about this decision, love? Once we take off there’s no going back. We could even be running for the rest of our lives. You really should stay with the others,” he warned.

She looked annoyed. “Yes, Doux. I am absolutely sure. I wouldn’t want you to do this alone. And besides, you’ll need me.”

He blushed for a second before realizing she meant he would need her as in extra backup and not that he needed her needed her. Trying not to show the slight disappointment that was written on his face, he chuckled and covered his cheek with his palm, “Of course.”

They set off into the early morning sky. After waving goodbye to the rest of the gang, (Name) clung to the golden railing, looking out over California in amazement. It was like she was in a movie. This was her life changing magic carpet ride. Of course, a lot about her life had seemed to be out of a movie lately. Ever since she discovered her gift for sorcery. Ever since she got mixed up in all this Arcadian mess. Ever since she met Douxie.

Surprisingly, Douxie was really talkative for the first few hours of the trip. (Name) had expected him to be a bit more closed off, considering the week they had just gone through. He was really gushy too, with his heart on his sleeve even more so than usual, and that’s saying something for Douxie. Maybe momentary death was good for unclogging heart pipes.  (Name) was loving it. Not the momentary death thing. That had almost stopped her heart. No, it was so nice to be having such lighthearted conversation with her friends. Kept her from dwelling on things. Once night got closer, though, she couldn’t help it. What could she say, the pink splattered purple sunset made her sentimental. She and Douxie had slipped into a little talk about Arcadia, about the kids, about what had happened, and about what was next for them. Despite her gushing about how happy she was to be here with him, Douxie still felt really guilty that he put her through all this. She made the mistake of telling him how much it scared her, everything that happened earlier. She made a bigger mistake telling him how she cried over his body, refusing to accept that he was gone. He wasn’t of course, but she didn’t know that.

He suddenly got quiet after that. The conversation lulled. Even Nari and Archie seemed to sense that something was off and kept quiet. After watching the stars roll by in silence for a few hours, (Name) started to feel the tug of sleep. She tried to find a cozy spot, but failed, because she was on a ship. A pretty basic little vessel. There were no seats or anything even kind of cushiony. She contemplated using Archie as a pillow, but that probably wouldn’t fly well with him. Pun intended.

Douxie was still as statue, staring out straight ahead into the clouds. Like a grizzled old sea captain. The bags under his eyes were getting worse than usual, but (Name) decided to not to say anything to him and let it be. He looked like he was enjoying the silence. She didn’t think he’d sleep tonight. How could he? She mused. (Name) herself hadn’t even begun to truly process all that had happened. She wished she knew what to say. Anything to comfort him, to let him know she’s be there. But (Name) was no use now, in her sleepy state. She might make it worse. She’d try talking to him in the morning. If he even wanted to talk.

In the end, (Name) wound up leaning against the corner, using her balled up over-shirt as a pillow. It was a bit colder now, but with Nari snuggled up in her lap and Archie stretched out over her legs, she’d be just fine. They might as well had been heaters. Doux wouldn’t join them, insisting that they needed to fly through the entire night to put as much distance between them and Arcadia as possible. He assured them that he’d wake them up if something was the matter. Of course, they were sleeping on an open deck floor. Any sort of trouble would wake them up immediately anyway, but it was a nice thought. (Name) snuggled into her makeshift pillow. She took one last look at Douxie, brooding at the helm, before slipping off to dreamland. It was a mediocre dream.

The morning sun came sooner than (Name) wanted. The cheeky bugger. There was no use trying to go back to sleep. The sun was too big and bright. so, so bright. Nari also stirred when the sun beam hit her face. She blinked blearily and let out a cute yawn. Or at least it would have been cute, had it not been directly into (Name)’s face. (Name) had to give it to Nari though, her morning breath actually didn’t smell bad. It was earthy, floral even. Damn nature spirits. Despite (Name) and Nari being awake, the sun’s rays seemed to have little to no effect on Archie. He could sleep through anything, on anything, at any time. Damn cats.

Douxie looked like the dead. His raven hair was a mess, lips chapped from the wind. Those eyebags had somehow gotten even worse. Douxie gave Tim Burton characters a run for their money. (Name) decided it might be better to wait until she was a bit more awake and articulate to try and talk to him more about… the, ah, events from yesterday. Yet, she was fully aware that if she kept procrastinating, the conversation was just going to get worse and worse. But the timing’s not right. Yes, the timing’s just not right. The stars, they’re not in position. In fact it might be easier if she got him to take a nap first. Yeah, no need to cause sleep deprived Douxie to have an unnecessary breakdown.

It took some convincing, but (Name) finally got him to agree to let her take the helm and get that well deserved rest. Not that Douxie thought he deserved it. He wasn’t too happy about leaving (Name) and Nari alone, figuratively, while he was unconscious and unable to protect them. He wasn’t too happy about a lot of things, really. He especially didn’t care to be alone with his subconscious. But with the worried look (Name) gave him, he couldn’t help but comply with her demands. Her and her bloody puppy dog eyes.

He woke up to the sound of (Name)’s singing. She probably hadn’t meant to wake him up, with her soft voice hushed, but nonetheless he was awake. Douxie was a light sleeper. He had to be, after all his troublesome years. She was singing a sweet little love song. He felt a drumming in his chest as he listened. Speaking of his chest, there seemed to be a bit of pressure on it. A familiar pressure. It started to purr, sending the comforting vibrations through his ribcage. He gave Arch a good scritch behind the ears before sitting up.

“Your voice is so lovely, you know. I cannot imagine why you’re always hiding it.”

Name startled. “Did I wake you?” she asked, concerned since he hadn’t been out but for a few hours.

“Yes, you had,” He began gently, “But, I’m glad.”

“You’re glad?”

“Of course, I got to hear that beautiful singing voice of yours. Quite the rarity, innit?”

(Name) flushed. She wasn’t sure if she was flattered by his compliments or embarrassed that he had caught her singing once again. Still, she tried to refute his words but all that came out was a flustered sputter. Thankfully, Nari came to the rescue. Unintentionally, but a rescue all the same.

“Hisirdoux, now that you are awake, may I ask where it is that we are going?” the small goddess asked.

“Oh, uh, about that,” Doux wrapped his arms behind his back and sucked some air through his teeth, “I actually didn’t have a set place in mind. I think we’ll just wing it. On our winged boat.”

(Name) whipped her head towards him so fast she’d get whiplash. She didn’t even acknowledge the terrible joke. “I’m terribly sorry, but you what.”

“I just thought we’d head northeast for now. Once we run out of land, we’ll pick a new direction. It’s not like we’d be able to stay too long in a place, after all. It’s safer to be constantly moving.” He tried not to sound to unsure in this rambling. He did have a plan, just not one that looked too solid on a piece of paper. It’ll be fine. They’ll be fine.

“I- okay.” She didn’t sound too panicked, which Douxie counted as a win. Still, he didn’t want her to be too stressed about the uncertainties. He figured he might as well just pick a place to ease her fears a bit. She couldn’t worry herself raw, that was his job.

“How about New York City? That can be our first official destination on the Never-Ending Roadtrip.”

“Yeah, yeah okay. New York City, that sounds nice.” Victory.

***

“Ugh, we’ve been flying over basically the same damn thing forever! Can’t this thing go any faster?” (Name) whined as she leaned over the edge like a wilted flower. Her wind-mussed hair hung over her face. It took everything in Douxie not to flinch whenever she got to close to where she might fall out. Sure, she would most likely be able to break her fall with magic, not coming out with too many scratches, but it still scared him just the same. (Name) was gonna give him a heart attack one of these days.

“It’s a fucking magical flying boat, (Name). It goes eighty miles per hour tops. Do you know how advanced that was in the twelfth century? It was a fucking miracle of technology, (Name). It’s not the boat’s fault we’re currently travelling through Kansas.” Doux huffed. He quickly felt guilty for snapping at her and apologized. He felt a bit on edge lately. Their conversation last night kind of freaked him out. He wanted to be a little more protective of her now since she told him about how scared she was, but snapping at her would just accomplish the opposite of getting across how much he cared.

Name sighed. Looking around the ship, she noticed that Nari and Archie were just napping in the sun, completely unbothered by her and Douxie’s loud outbursts. She looked back out into the seemingly infinite grass field again.

“Well, I guess now is a pretty good time,” She said cryptically, “Hisirdoux, we need to talk.”

It was like she just injected ice water into his veins. He didn’t like her tone, plus, those words were never proceeded by something good. Never. “To talk?” he asked with a nervous tinge in his voice, hoping if she elaborated it wouldn’t be as bad as the conclusions he was jumping to.

“Yeah. Talk. About your feelings.” Well now he was panicking. She said that so solemnly. How did she know? Fuzzbuckets, she was about to reject him, on this boat they were stuck on, in the middle of Kansas. Rip out his heart and throw it into the grassy void.

“To talk, about my feelings?” he repeated her again, incredulously. He put on his best fake smile.

“Yes, Doux.” She sat down on the railing near him and crossed her legs. “I just- I think it’s time we had a proper conversation about stuff. Like say, I don’t know, how you’re handling your grief over a certain mentor.”

Douxie quickly let go of the breath, he wasn’t sure when he started holding, in a loud sigh of relief. Oh thank Merlin, he thought this was going to be bad. That’s what she wanted to talk about? Okay, not the problem he was expecting, but one he could deal with. He’s already had a couple of good cries. He spent most of last night mulling over not just Merlin but the whole concept of death. He could talk about the weight of grief hanging over his heart, no big deal.

“I believe I am handling it well, thank you for your concern, Love.” He tried to sound nonchalant.

“Hisirdoux Casperan, you stared out into the distance with unblinking glassy eyes for hours last night and barely spoke to any of us. Hell, you fucking died yesterday, Doux. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about that. You’re not fine. And you’re not weaseling your way out of this conversation either.” She said sternly. They entered an unspoken staring contest.

“Alright, Love, fine. I am fine. Okay?” She quirked her brow. “I am, truly. I’m at peace. He lived a good life and I’ll continue his legacy with honour. Of course I’m still sad about it, but I’ve got other things to focus on right now. Sure, my chest is still heavy, but it’s not crushing like it was when the wound was fresh,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “And I did get my last goodbye talk with him when I was dead,” He chuckled to try and lighten that last bit up, but name still winced at his words.

“Douxie, I just- I know what it’s like, ya know. To suddenly no longer have that father figure in your life. Someone you looked up to for so long. It’s hard Doux, I get that.” She sympathized. She tipped her head down towards the deck floor.

“Well, in a way, he’s already been gone for about, say, nine centuries. I’ve had my time away from him, so I know that I can do it. It’s the knowing that now he’s gone gone that’s the real kicker.” He glanced across the boat over to the sleeping pile of fur and greenery. Nari was curled up into a ball while Archie mirrored the same, but on top of her. They were like a couple of stacked buns. Douxie smiled at the sight. “And yet, do you know what makes it all feel better?” Name looked back up at him and furrowed her brows.

“You. And Archie. And Zoe. And Claire. And my bandmates and my coworkers and the rest of the Arcadia gang. I’ve got plenty of people in the world now. I know I’ve got all kinds of love.”  He hung his arm over her shoulders. He had made up his mind, he was going to open his heart to her soon. Almost dying really puts one’s priorities in view. “Recently, a great man, well, a great dragon, told me that family is not just who you have, it’s also who you’re with. If one thing I’ve learned in this nightmare week, it’s that you’ve got to enjoy people while you can. Because once they’re gone, they’re gone. You can’t dwell on past love, you’ve got to soak in the love you’ve got now, or you’ll miss it.”

“I guess I understand that.” (Name) said softly. She took in his words. Focus on the now love, huh. She could use to do that too. She felt his hand move from her shoulder to the small of her back.

“Oh hey look at that, we’re coming up on Missouri. How about we stop for brunch, Love?”

“Oh I’m starving,” Archie butt into the conversation and flew over to rest on (Name)’s shoulder. He did one of those black cat yawns where they turn their entire faces inside out and they become nothing more than a black hole with teeth, “I could really go for a bagel with extra lox right now.”

[libsterslobsters]

Sick Again

Summary: It's the worst time of month for the reader, and on top of the difficulty of dealing with her period, she's having an awful, no good, very bad day all around. Lucky for her, Bucky just wants to help.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x fem! enhanced! Reader

(Reader can see shards of the future and understand every language)

Warnings: mild angst, mentions of blood and menstruation, language, fluff

Author's note: This is the softest shit I've ever written for this site! In real life, I'm lucky enough to have someone who goes out of their way to make my day better when I'm dealing with my period, so I thought the reader deserved that too. As always, I've left the reader unnamed so this can be read as a self-insert, but I've written so much about this character that, in my head, her name is Violet.

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

 She knows it’s going to be a rough one from the moment she wakes up. She’s slept through her alarm somehow (either that, or she forgot to set it), and she’s not entirely sure if her phone dinging with  a good morning text that’s brought her out of unconsciousness, or the dull ache in her lower stomach. Cramps. Great. As she stands, she realizes that it’s already started, the bed has a noticable red splotch and her thighs are wet. Her period has arrived. Hey, at least she’s not pregnant. That would be some relief if she were actually having sex.

 While waiting for the shower to heat up (after stripping the bed of course; she’ll have to do something about those sheets to make sure they don’t stain), she reads over her text. “Good morning, sweetheart.” That’s a new one. He must be exploring different pet names. So far, she feels awkward using anything other than his given name. Still, she smiles and types back a “Good morning. How are you always so damn chipper?” before stepping into the shower.

 There’s not a lot of options for breakfast, and every single one of them turns her stomach as she imagines consuming them. With a sigh, she shoves some spare change in her pocket and vows to buy herself a cup of coffee on the way to the college. It’ll give her the jitters, but she’s so tired this morning that it’s a risk she’s willing to take.

 Unfortunately, by the time she arrives at work, her head is pounding and the cramps have gone from unpleasant to downright painful. Her plan for this morning’s class was to read the children’s classic, “Green Eggs and Ham”, have a discussion about rhyming words, and then have her students work on simple poems of their own, but she’s feeling so bad that she decides to make it a movie day and have them translate a scene of their choosing from a Romanian cartoon into English.

 Usually she enjoys her work. The students always ask great questions, and the thing she likes most about teaching adults is they’re here because they want to learn. Today, however? It feels like every minute lasts five times as long as it should, and by lunch time, she’s wilting. When her phone rings, she almost sends it to voicemail, but then he’d worry about her, and besides, the highlight of her whole shitty day so far has been that good morning text.

 “Hey, Bucky.” As she says it, a wave of nausea hits her, and she has to take a deep breath before continuing. “What’s new on the other side of the city?”

 She really should be paying attention, but she feels bad enough that most of what he says goes in one ear and out the other. She’s so muddled in fact that she doesn’t realize he’s asked her something until the line goes silent for a few seconds too long.

 “I’m sorry. Say again?”

 “Doll, are you okay? You sound a little…” he hesitates. “...not like yourself.”

 She’s prepared to tell him she’s fine, right as rain, but one thing they both absolutely agree on is honesty between them, since they have to tell so many lies to the outside world on a day-to-day basis.

 “I’m not feeling that well today, but I’ll be okay.”

 “What’s going on? Are you coming down with something, do you think?” Yeah, her period, but if what she’s read about the nineteen forties is anything to judge from, he’s probably not used to hearing about that particular bodily function.

 “No. It happens every so often. I’ll be good as new in a few days.” But right now, she sure as shit wishes she’d remembered to grab a few aspirin.

 “If you say so. Do you want me to swing by after you get home from work and bring you anything?” That would be really, really great, but considering she still has blood-stained sheets soaking in her bathtub…

 “No, that’s alright. Thanks anyway.”

 “Okay, if you’re sure.”

 It’s a mercy she only has two afternoon classes, neither of which are very intense, so by two o’clock, she’s on the bus home. All she wants to do is curl up into a ball on one of the seats in hopes it’ll alleviate some of the pain in her abdomen, but then an older gentleman with a cane boards the bus and there aren’t any other seats available, so she waves him over and gives him her seat. It’s only another ten minutes, after all. Finally, the bus stops a few blocks from her apartment so, slinging her over-filled backpack onto her shoulder, she sets off on the trudge home.

 She’s just set foot into the building when a woman she recognizes as her neighbor from a few doors down comes her way. “The heat is out and the super is off who knows where.” Great. She thought it felt a little chilly in here, and now that she’s paying attention, her breath is forming ice crystals in the air. She thanks her neighbor for the warning and, collecting her mail, heads towards the elevator.

 Because her luck is shitty, she has a vision of pressing the buttons and waiting, only for nothing to happen. Looks like the elevator is out too. The stairs then. No big deal. She only lives on the sixth floor. It could be worse. Of course, on her way up, her backpack strap breaks, so she has to shift to carrying it in her arms. Today is just not her day, and she needs to accept it.

 That truth becomes even more apparent as she reaches her door (at last!) and realizes that her key is nowhere to be found. She must’ve dropped it in the stairwell when her backpack gave out. She’ll have to go searching for it later, but for now, she digs around in her purse and, producing the right implements, proceeds to pick her own lock and let herself inside.

 It shouldn’t be possible, but her apartment is actually colder than the hallway was. Feeling utterly defeated, she drops her backpack onto the couch with a thump and, not bothering to peel off her coat, climbs into bed. Maybe she can get a power nap and it’ll give her enough energy to get through the papers she needs to grade before tomorrow.

___________________________________________________________________________________

 The first sign of trouble appears when he texts her ten minutes after the usual time she arrives home, and there’s no reply. From what he’s read, lots of people take a while to return texts or phone calls, but not her. No, she’s always prompt. Thirty seconds or less. Then, he tries to call, ask her if she’s  feeling any better and if she’s sure she doesn’t want him to bring her anything. After eight rings, he gets her voicemail. He’s not great at leaving messages, so he just goes with the basics. Hey, it’s Bucky. Just checking on you. Call me back when you’re up to it. Another hour passes, and nothing.

 He can’t just sit around his apartment worrying, so he decides to do what he was planning on earlier when he sent the first text: ignore that she’s told him she doesn’t need anything and go to pick up some supplies, then drop them by her front door. No need to go inside if she’d rather not have company. They don’t even have to see each other. He wonders briefly as he’s going through the grocery store, adding cans of soup to his cart, if this is crossing a boundary. Should he just leave her be, since she said she didn’t need anything? Is this pushing too far? He doesn’t know, but he can’t stop imagining her all alone with no one to take care of her. Sure, she can look after herself, but she doesn’t have to. No, a few cans of soup and some tea won’t go amiss. That’s all he’ll do unless she asks for his help.

 The bus ride is a little awkward, considering the two huge paper bags he’s carrying with him, but that’s the least of his worries as he sends her another text that he’s dropping a few things by her door, but not to worry about making conversation if she’s not up to it, he won’t come in. No reply, again. A huge part of him wants to get off at the next stop and just run the rest of the way (it’d probably be faster), but that seems like a good way to attract attention, so he forces himself to stay in his seat, waiting for the right street.

 The lobby is freezing when he steps inside. There’s a thermometer hanging by the elevator. It’s in celcius, but he rapidly translate the temperature. Roughly thirty-eight degrees fahrenheit. In other words, cold as fuck. As he’s waiting for the elevator to return to the ground floor, a man passes by him and mutters, “You’re going to be waiting a long time, son. It’s out of order.” Of course it is. This isn’t the worst apartment building in the city, but it’s not too far off. The stairs, then.

 He’s halfway up the six flights to her floor when he sees something on the ground, something he immediately recognizes because of the butterfly key chain attached. Her keys. Now he’s not just worried; he’s outright scared. Grabbing up the keys, he hurriedly climbs the last three flights  and, no longer concerned about looking suspicious, knocks hard on her door. Nothing. Fuck. What should he do? The obvious answer is to use the damn keys (he has a spare set, but he’s never let himself in without her express permission before) and go inside. So, that’s what he does, hoping against hope that there’s a logical explanation for all this. One besides something being very, very wrong.

 It feels like someone left the air conditioning on full blast inside the apartment. At first he thinks a window must be open, but as he walks from kitchen to living room (all four paces of it), he sees nothing out of the ordinary. Well, except her backpack. The strap has given out, and it’s been thrown haphazardly on the couch. So at least she made it home.

 He calls her name quietly, then a little louder before making his way towards her bedroom, not wanting to startle her. The bathroom door is ajar, and without meaning to, he glances inside. Immediately, he freezes. There’s a set of bed sheets in the tub, and… is that blood? Shit! How could he be this stupid? He should’ve rushed over the second he realized she’d taken too long to return a text. Now who knows what’s happened?

 The bedroom door is closed, so he can’t see inside. A cold sweat has broken out on the back of his neck as, slowly, he turns the doorknob. He’s got one hand on his pocket with the knife concealed inside as he eases the door open, but there’s no need. She’s all alone in there, curled into a ball on her stripped bed, still in her coat and hat. Thanks to his better than average sight, even from a distance, he can tell that she’s breathing, body shifting slightly with each inhale and exhale, and in return, he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

 He approaches the bed as quietly as he can so as not to disturb her. She’s really out then, if she hasn’t woken up from the mattress dipping as he sits down next to her. He doesn’t touch her, just holds the palm of his good hand a few millimeters away from her forehead. No fever from what he can tell. He feels a little foolish now, because it appears that she’s perfectly fine. More than likely was asleep and didn’t hear the text alert. Still, for his own peace of mind, he needs to hear as much from her.

 “Doll, can you wake up for me?” As he says it, he pushes back a few stray hairs that have stuck to her forehead in sleep. Her eyelids flutter once, twice, before opening all the way.

 “Bucky? What-” She starts to sit up, then groans.

 “What’s wrong?”

 “Nothing.” She shakes her head, a pained smile in place. “At least, nothing major.” He’s not sure he buys that, but before he can give it anymore consideration- “What are you doing here?”

 There’s no good way to put it, so he goes with the truth.

 “When you didn’t answer your phone, I got worried. I was gonna come by and drop some things off at the door, but when I found your keys in the stairwell-”

 “Oh.” She chuckles softly. “So that’s where they went. I had to pick the lock on my own front door. Must’ve dropped them when the strap broke on my backpack.” That answers that. Not a fight. Not her running to get away and, in her haste, losing her keys. Just an ordinary mishap.

 “Sorry.” Without thinking, he scratches at his neck. “Guess I got a little carried away.”

 “No, don’t be sorry.” She shakes her head and, offering him a small smile, takes his hand. “It’s sweet of you to worry. Although I didn’t mean for you to.” Worrying about her seems to be a permanent part of his life, and frankly, it’s one he wouldn’t get rid of even if he could. That reminds him…

 “Why were there blood-soaked sheets in your tub?” Her cheeks heat up, and he immediately hates himself. “Sorry. The door was open and I saw-”

 “It’s okay.” She looks down, studying her lap. “This is embarrassing to talk about, but I started my period last night in my sleep.” Oh. “That’s why I wasn’t feeling so hot today, and before I went to work, I put the sheets in the tub to soak.” That makes sense. If he felt stupid before, now he feels like an absolute moron.

 “Don’t be embarrassed.” It wasn’t exactly something that was commonly talked about when he was growing up, but he’s an adult. He knows how this works. “I shouldn’t have pried.”

 “We’re together now, right?” Frowning in confusion, he nods. “Pry away. I’ll tell you to fuck off if you push too far. After all, I think you know my biggest secret.” He chuckles and leans forward, planting a kiss on her forehead.

 “I think that’s mutual.”  Now that he knows she’s okay, it’s time to get to work. “Is it okay if I go ahead and unpack what I brought? Just a few cans of soup and the like?”

 “You didn’t have to-”

 “Sure I did.” He cuts her off. “That’s my job. Take care of my best girl.” The blush is back, but this time, he doesn’t feel bad for provoking it.

 “I can help you put those away-” As she speaks, she sits up and starts to climb out of bed.

 “Or you can stay there and rest. Let me handle it.” She still doesn’t look convinced. “Then maybe we can just sit together and relax, watch a movie while you get a head start on those papers? What do you say?”

 She sighs. “Are you sure? I’m not going to be much company, and this time of month can get kinda graphic.”

 As if that’s even a question. “I’m sure.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

 It hasn’t been an evening for the record books. The most exciting thing that’s happened is that she’s taken a hot shower with him still in her apartment (scandalous! He was a mere two rooms away, so he could’ve seen everything). Still it’s been nice. The canned soup tasted as you would expect canned soup to taste. They made brief small talk about each other’s days before starting up a movie on her laptop (Frozen, because it seems appropriate, given the temperature, plus if she has to deal with ‘Let it Go’ living in her mind rent-free for the rest of her life, then dammit, so does he), and settled in on her bed to watch. The last paper was graded a full hour ago, and currently, she’s resting with her head on his chest, both of them bundled in every blanket she owns.

 The cramps are still bad, but his good arm is slung over her lower stomach, and the warm is helping somewhat. That, and with a few painkillers in her system, she’s feeling much better than earlier in the day. Better, and sleepy.

 She tries to stay awake (she wants to be completely alert for every second that he’s with her), but between the warmth from their bodies pressed together under the covers, the pleasant background noise from the movie, the contentment of a full stomach, and the heaviness of exhaustion, before she realizes it, she’s asleep.

 It’s only when she feels a feather-light touch to her cheek that she opens her eyes and becomes aware that she’s been dosing. His face is mere inches from her, hand caressing her face.

 “Doll, you seem pretty tired. I think we should call it a night and let you get some rest.”

 She knows better, but she’s just sleepy enough that her inhibitions lower, and she murmurs,

 “Stay with me.”

 Behind lowered lashes, she sees his face break into a small smile.

 “Sure, sweetheart. I’ll stay if you want me to.”

 It’s forward. They’ve never spent the night together (or, come to think of it, even been in her bed) before in any sense of the word, but as she drifts off once more, she can’t help but think that this just feels right.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Gavin’s Gardening Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

Gavin has been asked to take care of a greenhouse for a day, so he asks MC to help him out that weekend

It’s a rare occurrence for Gavin to ask for help, so she immediately agrees

During the weekend, they head to the greenhouse. MC wonders why Gavin would suddenly be tasked to take care of the greenhouse, but he remains oddly vague about it

Fortunately, the owner of the greenhouse left a manual for them to follow, and they locate the gardening tools in a cupboard:

Gavin: There’s only one apron here.

He grabs the apron and immediately puts it on me.

Before I can say anything, he has already made his way behind me, his large hands tying a knot using the two straps of the apron.

Gavin: Done.

His retracts his hand, stopping mid-air to gently lift the hair which is trapped under the apron strap.

The coolness of his fingers as they brush my neck is a little ticklish, and my body trembles slightly in response.

I suppress the seemingly itchy sensation in my heart, and quickly digress.

MC: Let’s begin!

They start by watering the plants. MC notes that gardening seems simple but requires a great deal of meticulousness and patience.

Gavin: Tell me what to do, and I’ll handle it.

MC: I’m here to help. How can you be the only one doing all the work?

Gavin: It’s more efficient this way.

Without a second thought, he takes the hose I am holding, and stuffs the manual into my hands. Knowing that it is futile to object, I can only follow him to a Sweetheart plant (also known as Hoya Kerrii), reading the contents of the manual line by line aloud.

MC: Sweetheart plant… water it if the soil is dry, but do not overwater it...

Gavin: …How can I tell if the soil is dry?

Gavin thinks for a moment before deciding to feel the exposed soil directly with his fingers.

Gavin: It seems… I can’t feel it.

His question stumps me as well, and I refer to the manual to find the answer.

Their mutual confusion reminds them of their cooking date, and they acknowledge that cooking and gardening are very similar in that there is a lot of trial and error involved before one can get the hang of it

When tending to the succulents, MC finds a few white dots on one of them, and she discovers that they are coccidias (i.e. a kind of parasite). 

They get worried that if the coccidias aren’t dealt with soon, it would affect the entire area of succulents

MC heads to the cupboard to get the medicine and a spray bottle.

While getting the medicine bottle, I didn’t notice the residual liquid. A few undiluted medicinal droplets land on my arm, leaving several water marks. The resulting sharp pains on my skin stun me. Before I can react, Gavin snatches the spray bottle away, holding onto my wrist and leading me out the door.

Gavin: Let’s wash your hands.

MC: … Okay!

I am a little flustered while he pulls me to the sink outside the greenhouse. He unscrews the tap and puts my hand under the running water. The water is colder than expected, and I retract my hand immediately.

Gavin: Is the water too cold?

MC: It’s fine.

I am about to shoot him a smile, but Gavin rolls up his sleeves, extends his arms, and encases my hand in both of his. The ice-cold water is separated by Gavin’s hands, and I am frozen in place.

Gavin: Still cold?

Gavin’s position looks as though he is holding me in his arms. He looks down, squeezes some hand-washing liquid, and patiently cleans the medicine off of my hand.

His long eyelashes cast a small shadow, amber eyes deep in concentration. The pressure at the back of my hand increases. With the fine foam, his fingers rub my skin, creating a numbing sensation.

MC: Gavin, I can do it myself…

It feels like all the blood in my body has rushed to my face, and my heartbeat pounds incessantly.

Gavin: Don’t move, it’d be done soon.

Gavin’s voice and his warm breath land on the back of my neck.

He laces his fingers between mine and scrubs them, and then my knuckles, nails… the tiny electric shock-like currents travel from my nerves to my brain. The water quickly washes away the white foam, and Gavin relaxes his hold on my hands.

The warmth in my ears make me feel as though they have been set ablaze.

MC: I-I’m fine. Let’s dilute the medicine now.

We return to the greenhouse.

Gavin: There shouldn’t be a problem anymore.

MC: Good thing we realised in time!

I move the disinfected succulents to an area with sunlight, and watch as the beads of medicine on the leaves dance under the light. I can’t help but smile at the sight.

MC: I hope things will get better for them.

Gavin looks at the rescued succulents with a tender look in his eyes.

Gavin: They will. Plants cannot speak, so they can’t tell others that they’ve fallen ill. It’s a good thing you’re here.

His eyes and breath fall on my cheeks, and the atmosphere of the late afternoon softens. 

As they continue tending to the plants, he notices that she’s sweating profusely and comes over.

Gavin: Are you tired?

As he speaks, he takes out a tissue and conscientiously wipes away the sweat on my face. All of a sudden, there is a gust of wind on my cheeks, making me feel instantly refreshed.

Gavin: Doesn’t this feel much better?

MC: Yup, I can carry on now!

MC spots a photograph of the greenhouse owner. He appears to be in his mid-thirties, wearing a cowboy hat, giving the impression of someone who is coarse and rough.

Curious, MC asks how Gavin met the greenhouse owner. Gavin reveals that they cross paths often when he buys succulents.

Gavin: But…

Gavin rubs the back of his neck abashedly.

Gavin: He seems to think I like rearing succulents. So he asked me to take care of the greenhouse while he’s away.

I let out a laugh, but try my best to suppress it.

MC: The reason why you buy succulents so often is because they keep wilting right?

Gavin coughs, his ears flushing a light red.

Gavin: …I don’t buy them that often.

I finally understand why Gavin was behaving so oddly before, and can’t help but laugh.

MC: So the owner has the impression that you’re a gardening master?

Gavin grows silent before muttering out a “yeah”.

Gavin: He has probably realized that I’m not one.

MC: Even so, he definitely realized that you’re a very trustworthy person. That’s why he would entrust his important greenhouse to you!

The corners of Gavin’s mouth lift, and he visibly relaxes.

Gavin takes her to see the bonsai plants made by the owner. Looking at the large collection of bonsai plants, MC can see that each one has been shaped with a lot of thought, as though each bonsai plant has its own story to tell

She can’t imagine that they were crafted by the owner, who has a very rough and rugged appearance

Gavin explains that people who are not good at expressing themselves through words can use flowers and plants to convey what is in their hearts

He picks up a leaf:

Gavin: Different people see this leaf differently. Some see it as gentle, some see it as hardy. Though to a majority of people, it is just a plain, mundane leaf.

At this moment, a slight silence envelops Gavin’s surroundings, and I have a strong urge to break through it.

MC: It doesn’t matter if a lot of people don’t understand it! Actually… it’s enough if just one person understands what they wish to convey through their plants. Then hold on to that person, and never let go!

Gavin is stunned for a moment, and he keeps the leaf in his palm. He leans down and gently presses his forehead to mine.

Gavin: I will hold on tightly.

His voice carries a tinge of laughter, and there is a smile in his eyes.

My accelerating heart rate makes me unconsciously shuffle backwards, but Gavin takes hold of my wrist, holding me in place in front of him.

With my wrist feeling warmer than usual and my face completely red, I try to change the topic.

MC: That’s not what I meant… I’m thinking of doing a show on “The Language of Plants”, to let more people know about their significance… What do you think?

Gavin: It’s a good idea.

MC: Right! For someone who likes plants and can understand the meaning behind them, I’m sure it will be heartwarming. I think you’re a very kind person, Gavin.

Gavin’s eyes widen at my words.

Gavin: …You’re the first person to describe me in such a way.

MC: I-it could be that people don’t dare to say it in front of you. For instance, you agreed to help the owner take care of the greenhouse… that is very kind of you.

Sensing a hint of disbelief from him, I frantically add:

MC: I’m telling you the truth!

Gavin: Okay, I know.

He smiles gently, as though convinced by my frantic and sincere words. I think back to our previous conversation which was left incomplete, and suddenly feel curious.

MC: Gavin, what does that leaf mean to you?

Gavin: New life. The leaf returns to the soil, and brings with it new beginnings.

He answers without giving it much thought. His answer shocks me, yet it is not completely unexpected. Because in Gavin’s heart, he hides a tenderness that is not easily detectable.

They continue working

Gavin: Thank you for today.

MC: Hold on, I’m the one who should be thanking you!

Gavin looks at me questioningly.

MC: You’re always the one helping me, so being able to help you is already more than enough. I didn’t really help much though. There were a lot of things I didn’t know…

Gavin: Just being by my side is good enough.

Gavin cuts me off, and he lifts his hand to my hair, rubbing it gently.

Gavin: No matter how difficult something is, I feel like I can overcome it as long as you’re by my side. So, you have already helped a lot.

They are finally done, and lock up the greenhouse, preparing to leave

Gavin: I’ve wanted to introduce you to the owner of the greenhouse for a while now.

MC: Why?

Gavin doesn’t answer immediately. He brushes the back of my hand with his fingertips, then wraps my hand with his palm, clasping it tightly with his fingers.

Gavin: The owner said that if I ever meet someone who can understand the hearts of people, I should introduce them to him.

Under the sunlight, he mouth angles into a smile. His eyes are focused, as though carving me into the depths of his pupils.

The wind surrounds me in a somewhat overbearing manner, rooting me in place.

Gavin: Since I’ve found you… I’ll never let you go.

-

🍃 MOMENTS: ONE 🍃

Gavin’s Post: Why do flowers of different colours have different flower languages?

MC: Eh, you actually started doing research on this?

Gavin: I’m a little curious. 

-

Gavin’s Post: Why do flowers of different colours have different flower languages?

MC: Because different coloured flowers have different meanings too.

Gavin: I see. What colour of flowers to you like? 

-

Gavin’s Post: Why do flowers of different colours have different flower languages?

MC: I’ve also always wanted to know why.

Gavin: I’ll tell you once I understand it.

-

🍃 MOMENTS: TWO 🍃

Gavin’s Post: Does anybody know how to make a leaf specimen which preserves its original colour?

MC: You’re preparing to make that leaf into a specimen?

Gavin: Yes, I brought it home.

-

Gavin’s Post: Does anybody know how to make a leaf specimen which preserves its original colour?

MC: I learnt it from my Nature Class teacher in primary school!

Gavin: Primary school taught this?

-

Gavin’s Post: Does anybody know how to make a leaf specimen which preserves its original colour?

MC: Why don’t I help you?

Gavin: All right, let me know when you’re free.

[amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines]

Steve//the wind goes right through you, it’s no place for the old

hey! i’m running out of things to say by now so here’s the next part. also, i haven’t counted but i think there’s only like three parts left after this, whaaaat? anyway, i hope you like it! it’s sort of a filler bit, but it is important! 

Lighting flashes through the permanently dark sky making your eyes snap open.

You sit up quickly, the memories of Christmas Eve hitting you instantly. The fight with Steve, the snow and then-

“Ow!” You quietly curse and look down at your leg. 

The blue jeans covering your legs have been dyed red on the left side and you know you’re going to be there forever explaining that to your mom. The hand print on your face was bad enough, but a bloodied leg and claw mark the size of your calf is going to be something else. 

Thunder rumbles through the sky and gust of wind blows through your hair making you shiver and wrap your torn jacket closer to you. You look up at the sky and watch as the blues, blacks and grey’s swirl together, and then it hits you.

“For fuck sake.” 

Well this is definitely the worst Christmas you’ve ever had, including the time your fish died when you were eight. Disappointment flickers in your chest at the realization that the mall wasn’t the last of it. Somehow you’ve ended up as the main person in a the story, and you most definitely would rather be the one throwing fireworks at a big, screaming monster. 

The feeling only grows when you think of Steve. The last thing you did was argue, and now you’re here. You’d definitely much rather be arguing with him, but now all of that is forgotten. It seems stupid to argue about names when you’re facing near certain death. 

You remember being told about Barb, what took her and what happened to her afterwards and you feel your blood run cold at the thought of the same happening to you. 

Ashes fall around you, almost like snow and you decide you need to stop dwelling on what happened and what could happen. 

You need to get out, and now. 

You push yourself up and groan when you feel your hand fall into something sticky, but you decide it might be best not to look at it, instead you just wipe it on your jeans and slowly stumble forward.

Your legs shake underneath you and you can feel blood trickling from your wound, but a ruined pair of jeans is the least of your worries.

It seems whatever took you, decided it wanted to get some last minute Christmas shopping done because you’ve been dumped in the parking lot of the mall. Which is 1, just inconsiderate. If they were gonna dump you, at least do it somewhere a bit nicer...not that there is anything nice here. And 2, it’s such a walk back to your house anyway, never mind when there’s tripping hazards all over the floor.

You’d think if they were going to invite company over, they’d at least clean up a bit.

Speaking of them, it seems oddly quiet here. It seems colder than you imagined, and even more run-down. The only noises come from the sky, but there’s no screams or screeches or thuds. It feels almost empty. Usually, that would be a good thing, but if the scary place is devoid of any otherworldly creatures, that can’t mean anything good.

The neon lights flicker eerily, almost as if sending a sign to the rest of the world saying ‘she’s here!’ and you give it a dirty look, despite it being an inanimate object. That stupid place has already given you enough grief to last a life time, you don’t need anymore. 

You quickly scan the floor, hoping to find something you can use as weapon, just in case something does decide to say hello, but the only thing you can see are dried vines and dead leaves. 

“Fucking great.” You mutter angrily and start a slow hobble back ‘home’. Your hoping that if you were taken by your house, they’ll be a way to get out back there. 

But the further you walk, the harder it becomes to believe. You wince with each step and try to focus on the dark road ahead of you, but the way the trees wilt around you and the buildings look even more run down than you’d expect, doesn’t fill you with hope. 

It looks dead. Okay, more dead that it already is. And you’re not entirely sure if that’s good thing or not. Your foot slides in something wet and you force yourself to look down and then instantly regretting. 

What looks like a rat lies with its guts hanging out on the side of the road and you have to force yourself not to puke. 

“Sorry.” You whisper and pull your gaze away from it. Something screeches in distance making you freeze. 

Okay, apparently it’s not that dead. 

Who thought Christmas was the perfect time to take a trip to the Upside Down, it certainly wasn’t you. 

You should have never come back to Hawkins in the first place, its a cursed town with cursed people and anyone who lives there should get as far away from it as possible and never look back. 

A tear slips down your cheek as you think of your family and friends. This year was supposed to be perfect. Everyone was going to be back together again, hoping to make new, happy memories to replace the horrible ones first found here. 

You hear heavy footsteps pound behind you, they get louder with each second. You twist and turn, trying to navigate where you are and if there’s any place you can hide, but it’s no use. You’re in the middle of an open road, and you know even if you did go into the forest and survived, you’d end up lost with absolutely no hope of getting out again. 

Lightening flashes again and then you see it. A few feet away a creature that you can only describe as one of Dustin’s old science experiments gone wrong. It’s a lot smaller than the others things you’d seen, skinnier, like it had gone weeks without eating. It’s back hunched and you could see its spine move when it did. Black eyes stared at you without blinking, but you were probably doing the same. 

Who blinks when they’re too scared to anyway?

If you close your eyes, you can imagine Steve, running in at the last minute with the now rusting baseball bat. He’d swing it around all cockily like he did before and then beat the shit out of whatever was trying to get you. 

And then after, he’d brush the hair out of his face, give you the famous Steve smirk and say something he thinks sounds really cool but actually just sounds lame. 

You’d tell him so when you were both safe and far away from Hawkins, and he’d roll his eyes at you but press a kiss to your forehead anyway. 

You close your eyes and accept your fate. You’re gonna be this things dinner, and there’s nothing you can do about it. 

But when you don’t feel anything, and when the noise gets quieter, you force yourself to open an eye. There’s nothing there, and so you turn around watch as it runs straight past you and into the woods. 

The last time a something like that ran past you, it was scared and desperately trying to protect its leader. But this one looks terrified, and you really don’t want to find out why. 

“...great.” 

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

Pairings: Bumblebee (Blake x Yang)

Word Count: 1,923 Words

Summary: Discussion and go time.

Warnings: Fighting Mention, Cursing, Weapon Mention, Death Mention, Blood Mention, Amputation Mention, let me know if I should tag anything else.

Shadows Are Made Of Light: Chapter 5

Dinner was lively to say the least. Terra and Saphron seemingly decided that eating at the table in their kitchen was their best bet while the group was discussing. Terra and Saphron had long since gone up to their bedroom to sleep.

The plans were talked through and they were about to wrap up the conversation when Mercury sighed. Now was a better time than ever for the little plans he'd overheard details from.

"I actually have something to say." Mercury didn't like all this attention once all their eyes were on him.

"What's wrong?" Jaune asked, looking over his tension-filled expression.

"There were some things Salem would relay through Cinder. There was always a plan behind the fall of Beacon. Salem's plans are to create a divide and unrest amongst the people of Remnant and gather the relics so, when the gods come back, they'll destroy Remnant, everyone on it, and she will no longer be immortal. Salem's goal is to free herself from eternity by taking everyone with her." Mercury told them.

"So she'll be looking for the Lamp." Oscar asked, though it sounded more like a statement.

"For all the relics. Last I heard, Emerald told me that Ozpin had apparently hidden the Crown even better than the other three and Cinder still hadn't found it. Now that we have the Lamp, they know they need to get the others before we can so our goal is a ticking clock." Mercury took a deep breath, hoping nobody was disappointed.

"A time crunch isn't anything new. We can still do this." Ruby assured him.

"We should get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be interesting." Maria laughed on her way upstairs. Mercury was going to end up asleep on the couch again because Oscar was half asleep against him again.

"I have a feeling Nora is taking pictures." Mercury told them.

"Good instincts." Nora told him, obviously taking another picture. "I've never passed up an opportunity for Cute Farm Son pictures." Nora alerted him.

"Good to know, crop me out of them." Mercury told her.

"Ehhh, I think I'll leave you in since you're looking particularly Dad-like." Mercury laughed while frowning at her.

"I hate you." Mercury smiled at her.

"Yeah, sure, Dad-cury." Nora snorted.

"Go sleep or something." He laughed, smiling as everyone filed from the room and shut the lights off. Mercury's heart stopped at the darkness. As childish as it may be, the dark was something he couldn't deal with.

"Nora?" He asked, she'd been the last one to go up the stairs due to her need for pictures of Mercury and Oscar.

"What's up Dad-cury?" Nora asked, coming downstairs and turning the lights on.

"Could you leave a light on?" Mercury asked.

"Oh yeah, sure. You scared of the dark too?" She asked.

"More of an instinct. Can't sleep with lights off. My dad told me too many stories of monsters in the dark." Mercury admitted.

"You're good, I'll leave the lamp over here on." She told him and patted the lamp before turning it on and turning the main light off. "Night, Dad-cury." She told him.

"Night, Nora." He called after her as she went upstairs. Mercury sighed at Oscar asleep on him.

"I hope you realize I'm not a pillow." He told the sleeping boy only to receive a small snore. "Fine, but it's because you're a kid and you remind me of Chrome." Mercury grumbled.

He went about pulling Oscar's excess clothing off as well as his own. They didn't need to wake up in puddles of sweat in warm, heavy clothing meant for much colder weather than this.

Then he laid down and then he smiled holding the bear from inside his jacket that he had kept, Chrome's favorite teddy bear. It was the piece of her he had left. He had kept it with him since he left his father's house. He fell asleep holding it close, Oscar deciding to cuddle up against him and he smiled. He guessed he would be a father figure to a pre-teen now too.

In the morning, the plan was running smoothly, Weiss was on the Atlesian aircraft to Atlas with Maria in her luggage as the only small person who could fit who could also fly a plane with Saphron and Adrian as her distraction to get Maria onboard. It was up to him and Blake to turn off the radar for Weiss.

Mercury was sure that three people riding on a two person motorcycle probably wasn't safe, he was aware. He was acutely aware of the conversation Blake and Terra were having about the comms equipment for the city versus the radar box.

"Are you two sure I shouldn't come with?" Yang asked as the bike stopped about a half mile from the tower.

"More intruders means we're more likely to be seen." Blake told her. "Besides, stealth isn't exactly your, um...I mean, you're great and we'll hurry back!" Blake told her.

"Go." Yang smiled at her. They went running off toward the tower together, Mercury feeling that bear close in his jacket, snuggly secured to his front so he couldn't possibly lose it.

"Heading in on foot, won't be long." Blake told the others on the comms.

"You know, you two flirting couldn't be more apparent." He told her.

"Hey!" She snapped.

"I just say what I see." He smirked.

"Sure, 'Dad-cury'." Blake teased.

"I won't deny my fatherly title. And don't make me adopt you all." He taunted back.

Their run to the tower was largely uneventful until they got to the tower itself. When they got there, there was a red-haired man he vaguely recognized as having maybe met once or possibly twice. Adam Taurus, a White Fang operative whom Emerald had informed him about two weeks ago that he'd taken reigns as the head of the organization before its eventual fall at Haven not long after.

"Blake. And you. Salem heard of your betrayal at Beacon, Mercury Black." Mercury felt a rush of both helpless and rage. This guy had the guts to practically threaten him?

"Merc, don't rush him." She warned quietly.

"Protecting your friend? Or are you travelling with an enemy, Belladonna? He could betray any of you at any moment while claiming to be a friend. He's probably not even with you to help, he's just running away like he ran away from his dear old daughter two years ago." Adam taunted.

"Don't you talk about my daughter!" Mercury snapped at him.

"Is Dad mad I brought up his abandoned baby? Mad because I'm right or because you're sad she won't have a Dad after I'm done with you?" Adam asked.

"I'm mad because some asshole is talking shit about me protecting my daughter!" Mercury shot at him with the gun-scythe, which he'd named Caduceus, Qrow got him that morning.

"Merc!" Blake snapped, pulling him away.

"Get to the radar." He whispered to her, rushing into the fight with Adam and distracted him while Blake tried to get up the relay tower. Unfortunately, that fight didn't quite favor Mercury as Adam grabbed his leg during a kick and pulled. Hard, so much Mercury went flying to the ground. The lock popped from the pin and he felt the lock break as the pin wasn't undone properly.

"Looks like Silver Black did a good job making his son easily controlled." Adam snapped. Mercury couldn't move, he knew Adam was looming over him, he knew it was so easy for him to die like this if he didn't attack but he felt a crushing weight of shock hit him that he would never see Chrome again.

She would never have a Dad, at least not one that was him. He'd never see her grow up. It made the breath catch in his lungs and tears build in his eyes. But the strike never came and, when he opened his eyes, Adam was gone, going after Blake.

He had to had to help Blake. He heard them tumbling in the trees, he shoved a twig into the the broken lock and put the pin back in. The stupid thing didn't move his stupid knee. Thankfully, he didn't need the use of it, he had a weapon still and another leg.

He could do this. He wouldn't stop fighting until he at least saw Chrome again. Blake was fighting Adam. He could hear it. he followed them to a waterfall nearby. he could tell by the sound of their swords clashing.

"You're delusional." Blake sounded shaken as he stood hidden in the forest before the opening. He saw their blades clash once more as he ran forward to save her. He wouldn't let him kill her.

Gambol Shroud was broken in half and his ears rang with Blake's scream as Mercury saw the blood on her wrist and was now getting on the ground. Her hand still on the grip of Gambol Shroud as it skittered away from her.

Adam simply shoved Mercury down and went about his bullshit speech about how she hurt him, showing off a brand on his left eye, one of the Schnee Dust Company's for their mineworkers. Blake's ears tuned back.

"I don't fucking care much for your pity me speech." Mercury spat and took him onto the ground, knocking Wilt from his hand and bringing the staff of Caduceus down on the bastard's head to try to just knock him out but he got kicked off and landed on top of Blake.

"Tell me, how does it feel to be alone?" Adam was picking up Wilt. He was holding that blade up, yelling as his intent was to bring it down but the blade didn't come a second time, Blake had taken him as she used her semblance to shadow them a few feet away.

"I'm not alone." She grit out as she held her holster for Gambol Shroud in her left hand.

"Yang." Blake grunted, holding her bleeding right wrist.

"It's okay, Blake, catch your breath for a second. Me and Merc can hold him off." Yang assured her.

"She's right, Blake. It's okay, we have unfinished business." And man if he actually needed to help her, he would have but Yang was amazing fighting him. He aided helping Blake stem the blood flow before she bled out by having grabbed her jacket, which he tied part of around her forearm and made a makeshift tourniquet.

"You'll be okay. Don't let yourself get dizzy and don't fall asleep, it might be severe blood loss." He warned her.

"His semblance is like yours! He absorbs energy through his sword, stores it up, and then sends it back when he's ready." Blake told Yang.

"He gets to dish out damage without having to feel it? That's just cheap." Yang scoffed before going after him again. Before he knew it, Blake was yelling for Yang and he was grabbing for her.

"Leave us alone. This is your last chance." Yang told Adam.

"Do you really believe that? Or are you just trying to scare me away so you won't have to die to protect her? Like your good metal buddy, Mercury over there, tried to." Adam asked.

"She's not protecting me, Adam. Neither is Mercury." He felt Blake's stump in his hand, she put it there. She was holding Yang's hand and trying to hold his in the only way she could with her right hand now gone. "And I'm not protecting them. We're protecting each other."

[cosmicclownboy]

Alex has been stirring his milkshake for half an hour his fries completely untouched getting colder by the minute. Alex loves dipping his fries. What the hell?? Michael knows somethings up his Alex senses are tingling. Getting their friendship on track has been a struggle at times but he fought against his need to put his face on Alex’s face to support Alex’s needs. He knows it’s not the Forest breakup. It was amicable they even went to a concert as friends the other day. So it’s not Forest. And it’s not him because Alex smiles a lot more recently at him which his alien heart isn’t prepared for in the slightest. The Alex Manes protection squad protocol has jumped out so he’s surveying when he can get a minute to maybe see if Liz has any details. When Alex sighs for the third time before quietly excusing himself to pee it’s when he hops to it.

The responsible party for making Alex Manes sad isn’t a person.

It’s a rocking chair. His grandfather’s rocking chair.

The last storm that hit the reservation had wilted whatever life was left in it. When Greg went to sit down the next evening the thing snapped in two.

“Alex once told me his mom used to rock him in that chair before she left and that his grandparents took over until he could sit in it himself”

Beautiful loving memories his father never touched it’s not hard to see why he’s sad. Alex slips back into the chair chewing with an air of disgust at the cold plate of fries he’s doing it for Liz’s benefit no doubt.So instead of watching his soulmate dejectedly chew cold potato Michael concocts his brain into action.

He calls Greg for starters asks if he can maybe take a look at the damage.

“You can take a look but there’s not much to look at the wood mites have been at it for years”

And upon inspection, the rocking chair is very much dead. There was no way he could bring it back to life and sadness washes over him. He can’t take away Alex’s pain in the way he wants to so he kindly asks Greg if there’s a picture he can borrow.

Woodworking is a pain in the ass. He’s been to several woodworking classes when he started out under Sanders's thumb he knows chances are you aren’t leaving without a splinter or two. And making a rocking chair is probably one of the most intricate and difficult things to make. Yet he’s clutching a photo of a young Alex playing with trucks in front of the chair happy as Larry. And maybe Michael wants to make him happier then any Larry he could find.

It takes months of blood sweat and tears he pours all of his unspoken love into it. Is it the best thing he’s ever made?  probably he’s been hyperfocused on it wanting it to be perfect. Alex’s birthday is in a week and he’s nervous. He has made one alteration. The detailing in the head of the chair and the arms are still exactly like the one previous but when he was working on the legs he was thinking about Alex - how brave and beautiful he was and he wound up doing something a bit different for the legs. One of the legs is littered with music notes and stars winding up and stopping three quarters away from the top. Even if there are days in the world where it gets hard for him he wants Alex to feel like he fits.It’s his home and he matters.

The little shit winds up working on his birthday. He can’t tell who’s more pissed himself for not getting to spend time with Alex or Isobel who was planning a party. He knows Alex will be tired working on his feet all day and he probably shouldn’t park his truck on his garage but even he’s worked a six-hour shift it’s still his birthday. And he misses him.

Alex is a little stunned when he spots him swinging his legs on his tailgate humming judging by his warm smile he’s greeted with he thinks maybe Alex wanted to spend part of his birthday with him too. Alex has stopped attempting to date. They've held hands twice. It feels like everything's finally falling in their favour.

“Please tell me I am not going to walk into a surprise party with streamers thrown into my face. I've already had my unit give me a very special cake that I really can’t unsee”.

Alex spends the better half of three seconds juggling the keys and the cake box before Michael takes it off his hands. He's ushered into the kitchen. 

“You almost did but I dissuaded Is. You still are getting one Saturday though so make sure your free and act surprised. Now let me see this monstrosity”

The box is flipped open on the counter and WOW. He's holding a laugh Alex is staring him down for a second before handing him a fork.

“Since I have a poor lack of restraint when it comes to cake.Head or balls?”

 They don’t eat the whole thing that’s a whole level of buzz neither one could take at this hour. Somehow after Alex takes a sip of his wine he takes a tiny step closer to him.

“Is it bad that I’ve had so many people wanting to celebrate me but all I wanted to do was see you” his hand finds his cheek softly tracing it.”Everyone kept asking me what do you want for your birthday and all I could think about was this”.

He slowly steps into his legs to which Michael enthusiastically opens his legs to him.Yes to all of this yes to the touching yes to their lips meeting and kissing.Yes.Yes.Yes.It isn’t until Alex is on top of him on the couch tracing his neck with kisses he remembers he hasn’t given him it yet.

“Oh um I got you a present. Well, I made you a present. Long story. Is it okay if I bring it in? you have to close your eyes though”

Alex softly nods lips puffy dazed from kisses. God, he’s beautiful.

How he manoeuvres the door without squeaking it and the chair is anyone's guess it all pays off the moment Alex opens his eyes. Alex is so bewildered and taken aback he’s almost choking on air. Eyes watering looking up at him with the most achingly soft eyes is the love of his life.

“You did all of this for me? It must have taken forever the detailing it’s just ......how?”

“I know you Alex.You don’t care about objects or have a materialistic bone in your body. It doesn’t matter what you have it’s the memories. Liz could give you a pair of socks and you would treasure it because that’s who you are. And you’re just...there’s a lot of ugly people on this planet seen the worst of them you’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And your majestic ass deserves a throne”

He wipes away the tears holding him as he can trying to throw as much unconditional love towards him.They wake up to one another that morning knowing there isn’t going to be a day they won’t.

Takes three months to realise he’s already sort of moved in.His clothes are in spread about in drawers.His books his plans are all decked about the house along with little mementos of their relationship.He finds his boyfriend in the garden book in one hand reading watching their dog prance around the grass.It’s so domestic it hurts.And as he sits on a battered lawn chair he realises something is missing....His rocking chair. This is the big leagues the endgame. And when Alex sings a song about growing old together in rocking chairs he takes the concept and runs with it. For the first time in a long time Michael slaves on something purely for himself. He puts nods of Alex’s chair to his, of course, wanting them to be almost a matching pair but he covers his in constellations, the cosmos the galaxy. When he finally finishes and places the chair next to Alex’s holding a book it’s the first time it hits him. He’s finally home.