#so i had to retype it all from scratch

[dramas-vs-novels]

... mu university would have to pull weapons on a professor to get them to teach on a Saturday.

[pitlanepeach]

FROM EDEN | Chapter Two (2/8)

Oscar Piastri x Francesca Gold (OFC)

Summary — Francesca Gold is an introvert with a quiet life and a Youtube channel where she talks about books, drinks too much tea, and rarely ever shows her face. She prefers it that way - tucked into her London flat with her cat, Henry, and safely hidden behind a screen.

Oscar Piastri is a Formula 1 driver. Fast-paced, high-stakes, always on the move. He hasn't read a book in years, but he's watched every single one of Francesca's videos. Just for the sound of her voice.

Following her on Instagram was a moment of weakness. He didn't think she'd notice.

She did.

Chapter Warnings — Mentions of agoraphobia + severe social anxiety, depressive episodes + very brief references to skin-picking. Mental health shaming.

Notes — Lots of dialogue + messages in this one. Next chapter will be posted on (or before) Thursday!

The family group chat was already at thirteen unread messages by the time Francesca mustered the courage to look at it.

Mum: June flights are cheaper if you book now xx

Izzy: I’ll be home that week too! Dad said he’s going to do a BBQ. I’m bringing Zack. 

Mum: It’s been ages, Fran. Everyone wants to see you.

Francesca read the messages slowly, one by one, her gut curling with that all too familiar guilt.

She should want to go home for the summer. She hadn’t seen any of them since Christmas. She missed them, in her own way. But the thought of travelling, especially alone — of trains, of planes, of conversations she couldn’t quietly log off from — made her want to disappear. 

She opened the notes app on her phone and rehearsed her response:

Hey, I don’t think I’ll be able to come this summer. It’s a really bad time for me, mentally.

She stared at it. Deleted it. 

Retyped:

Hey, I’ll have to see. Work is really full on right now.

That one she copied and pasted into the chat. Sent it. 

Immediately, three little bubbles popped up. Her pulse spiked.

Mum: It’s only one weekend. I’m sure your little channel survive. 

Izzy: Oh come on, Francesca. It’s one weekend. Dad misses you. 

Francesca locked her phone and turned it screen-side down on her bed. 

Henry stirred where he was curled up against her side, sensing the shift in energy.

She pressed her hand into his soft fur and whispered, “You’d hate it. Too many people. Not enough snacks. Mum will get hay fever and and blame her runny nose on you.”

He blinked up at her. Loyal. Unbothered. Her co-conspirator.

She picked up her phone again. She could feel the heat rising in her chest — a familiar, creeping anger she usually buried so deep that it didn’t even get a name.

Not today.

Her thumbs moved before her brain could stop them.

Has it ever occurred to you that you could come here instead?

She blinked at the snappiness of her outburst, her breath catching in her throat.

Then:

You’re always asking me to come home and expecting me to be okay with the travel. But none of you have been to London since I moved here. It’s just always assumed that I’ll suddenly be fine travelling by myself. Which I’m not. 

Her heart pounded. She hovered over the message, the way she always did.

And then she hit send.

Almost immediately, panic flooded in behind the adrenaline.

Too much. Too harsh. She could almost hear the stunned silence that would follow.

The chat stayed still for a minute. Then two. Then—

Mum: We’re just trying to help you, sweetheart. You need to learn how to push yourself out of your comfort zone. You’re an adult now. 

Izzy: Lol. Yikes. 

Francesca sighed and closed her eyes, pressing her head back against her headboard.

She didn’t regret letting herself say it. Not really.

Even though it hadn’t seemed to make a difference. 

She didn’t need to push herself. She had boundaries and that was okay.

Henry nosed her hand with his head, and she scratched behind his ears absently.

“I know,” she murmured. “That could’ve gone better. But still.”

She thumbed through her apps again, not to the chat this time, but Instagram. She found herself staring — almost absently — at Oscar’s profile, her thumb hovering over the follow button.

It wasn’t the same, she told herself. But somehow, it still felt like the same kind of bravery.

She pressed her thumb down and watched the icon shift from Follow to Following.

There. Done.

Her heart beat a little too fast, but she didn’t unlock her phone again. Not yet.

She glanced at the time and let out a quiet, slightly disbelieving laugh.

It wasn’t even eleven a.m. and she’d done two scary things.

She was unstoppable.

— 

iMessage — Katie & Francesca

Katie: 

You followed him back.

Francesca: 

should i have asked for permission first?

Katie:

You’re sassy today

Francesca: 

i had to interact with my sister  

Katie:

Ew.

—

Like she did every Friday night, Francesca ordered a takeaway — Thai, because she was predictable — and curled up with Henry while she worked through her notifications.

She responded to YouTube comments first. Then Instagram. Then TikTok.

“Loved this rec!”

“Adding this to my TBR.”

“You have the coziest voice, please do ASMR.”

She typed thank yous, sent emojis, liked everything in sight.

By the time she opened her DMs, she was comfortably full and lulled into a rhythm — heart-reacting sweet messages, replying to the odd question about where she got her bookshelf lights.

She didn’t expect to see it.

Didn’t expect him.

An unopened message. From a verified account. Sitting halfway down the screen like it had been waiting for her.

Instagram DM's — Oscar Piastri > Francesca Gold

Oscar Piastri Thank you. Are you a McLaren fan?

And then a few hours later, he’d followed up with: 

I just wanted to say I really liked your last video. It made my flight way less boring.

She froze. Actually froze.

Her eyes scanned the messages again, and again, as if they would change.

And then, with dawning horror, she realised what had happened. 

She’d sent it. In the process of clumsily exiting out of the app, she’d sent the message congratulating him on his podium.

And he’d seen it. 

And responded to it. 

His response hadn’t been there yesterday. Had it?

She wasn’t sure. Her inbox was always a bit of a mess, but still—

She let her phone drop to her lap, stared at the ceiling, and let out a sound that was somewhere between a squeak and a yell.

Henry looked up from his loaf position and stared at her. 

“I’m fine,” she whispered. “I’m totally fine.”

She wasn’t.

She was an idiot. A fat-thumbed idiot. 

She didn’t reply straight away.

Instead, she opened the message thread again. Then again. Then three more times, pacing between her couch and the kitchen like some kind of Victorian ghost haunting her flat.

Henry trailed after her for the first few laps before giving up and flopping down with a lazy sigh.

One sentence. Barely even a thing. But it was him, telling her that he’d enjoyed her last video, after asking her if she supported the team he drove for, and that changed everything.

She drafted five different replies, none of them good.

Too casual. Too try-hard. Too weird.

She threw her phone across the room, onto the couch, and stared at the wall for a full minute before groaning into her hands.

Eventually, after she’d stress-eaten three mini chocolate muffins that she didn’t even like, she picked up her phone and typed, quickly this time, before she could overthink it:

Francesca Gold Thanks. I’m glad I made it easier for you. 

And I don’t know much about McLaren. Just cheering for you, I guess. 

She stared at it.

It was true. It was honest. It didn’t sound like she wanted to marry him, probably.

She pressed send.

Immediately put her phone face down.

Then picked it back up, just to check.

Then turned it off entirely.

Henry meowed like he disapproved of her cowardice.

She glared at him. “Shut up, Garfield.” 

He glowered at her. 

—

Katie had arranged for an Uber to pick her up right outside of her flat and bring her straight to the office. No walking, no public transport, no unnecessary variables. Just door-to-door.

It was the kindest version of a nightmare.

Francesca perched on the edge of the back seat, hands curled in her lap, her breath shallow despite the driver's quiet humming and the soft instrumental music playing through the speakers. She had her AirPods in but wasn’t listening to anything — she just needed a barrier between her and the world.

Every red light made her stomach twist tighter. Every bump in the road sent a flicker of nausea through her chest. It felt ridiculous — it was ridiculous — but having self-awareness didn’t make it any easier.

She glanced at her phone without thinking.

And then blinked at the notification she was met with.

Instagram DM's — Oscar Piastri > Francesca Gold

Oscar Piastri I feel special. And kind of like I need to point at Lando and laugh at him

A small, startled laugh escaped her. It sounded foreign in the confined space.

Another message popped up, and her eyes went wide as she realised what was happening; they were both in the chat at the same time.

Oscar Piastri But now I have to ask — favourite driver who isn’t me?

A tiny smile pulled at the corners of her lips before she could stop it. Her fingers moved quickly over the screen. 

Francesca Gold I’n very new to the sport, but I have a few favourites, I guess. 

Oscar Piastri How new? 

She bit her lip. 

Francesca Gold

Watched my first qualifying the day after u followed me. 

Lol

Oscar Piastri 

No way

Really? 

That’s really cool, actually. 

Did you enjoy it then?

The tightness in her chest eased. Not completely. But enough.

The hum of the road didn’t feel so sharp. Her jaw unclenched.

She leaned her head against the window, let the cool glass ground her, and typed back:

Francesca Gold Sure. 

My cat wasn’t so keen. 

The three little dots appeared instantly.

And suddenly, the office didn’t feel quite so far away.

Oscar Piastri

The ginger one?

Francesca Gold

Haha. Yes. His name is Henry. 

Oscar Piastri I like cats :) Sry, gtg. Being glared at for being on my phone in a meeting.

Francesca stared at the message, her fingers tightening around her phone like it might float away if she let go.

He was messaging her when he was supposed to be working? Like, at work-working. With people. In a meeting. While probably wearing a team shirt and doing serious, important racing driver things.

Her heart did this awkward little somersault in her chest.

Francesca Gold 

Have fun. 

—

The Uber rolled to a stop outside the sleek glass building, and Francesca's heart started thudding again, loud and clumsy in her chest.

But before she could spiral, the door swung open and Katie’s familiar voice filled the car.

“There she is,” she said brightly, reaching in with one arm to haul Francesca up like she was a tiny dog and not a grown adult. “I was starting to think you’d made the driver turn around.” She leaned between the front seats and said, “Cheers, mate. Have a good day.” To the driver. 

“I considered it,” Francesca muttered, tucking her phone into her coat pocket and willing the blush on her cheeks to cool.

Katie narrowed her eyes the moment they stepped onto the pavement. “Why are you blushing?”

“I’m not—blushing,” Francesca lied, immediately and unconvincingly.

Katie stopped walking. “You are!”

Francesca shot her a warning look but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her mouth. “You’re being so dramatic.”

Katie just grinned, triumphant. “I’m right. You were blushing.”

Francesca shook her head, her fingers twitching inside her coat sleeves. Then, quieter, she said, “Thank you. For organising the car. And… for understanding. About all of this.”

Katie blinked at her like she’d just announced that she was moving to the moon.

“Babe,” she said simply, “you don’t thank people for turning on a light in the dark. It’s just what you do.”

Francesca swallowed hard. 

And then Katie, who never could leave a moment un-teased, added, “Now will you please tell me what made you blush?”

She exhaled slowly, pressing her knuckles to her lips.

Then, deadpan, to Katie: “He said he likes cats.”

Katie blinked. “He? Who’s he?”

Francesca just smiled down at the pavement.

Katie’s eyes narrowed. “You’re going to be unbearable, aren’t you?”

“I’m already unbearable.”

“Well. At least you’re self-aware.”

—

It was late, and the empty pizza box sat open on Francesca’s coffee table was like a monument to their gluttony. Henry had given up trying to sneak crusts and was now dozing on the back of the couch like a furry gargoyle, his tail flicking every so often.

Katie wiped her hands on a napkin and leaned back with a contented sigh. “Okay, we should eat like this every week. I don’t care if it gives me cheese-induced nightmares.”

Francesca laughed softly, tucking her legs beneath her and cradling her thin-stemmed wine glass close. “Hard agree.”

Katie nodded, then tilted her head, studying her. “How are you doing? With everything, I mean.”

Francesca took a breath. Then another. She watched the wine swirl in her glass, the way the lamplight caught it and made it look warmer than it was. 

“I’m… okay,” she said eventually. “Some days are harder than others. Today wasn’t the worst.”

Katie didn’t press. Just waited.

“I still haven’t been out on my own for months,” Francesca added, quieter now. “And I get panicky just thinking about having to travel home. I hate how heavy it all feels, sometimes.”

Katie reached for the bottle and topped up both their glasses, like that was the kind of answer that required more wine. It probably was. 

“It’s okay to feel heavy,” she said. “You’re the one living with it. You can feel however you want.”

Francesca’s eyes stung.

“I know,” she whispered. “It’s just exhausting. Like, I feel like I’m never doing enough.”

“Don’t say that,” Katie said firmly. “You’re successful. You’re kind. And you’re working really damn hard to get better. I know you are. Not just the therapy, but the medication, and the whole posting more of your face thing? Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” She said. “I think you’re really bloody brave.” 

Francesca smiled, brittle and small. “Tell that to my family.”

Katie rolled her eyes and raised her wine glass with a thin, vexed smile. “I hate your family. Let’s toast. To boundaries.”

Francesca clinked her glass with Katie’s. “To wine.”

They drank in silence for a beat, and then Katie smirked. “And to Oscar Piastri’s stupidly pretty face.”

Francesca choked on her sip, her face heating immediately. “God. I can’t even look at a picture of him properly without blushing.”

“So don’t look. Just keep messaging him and pretend he’s a normal boy with a normal job and a slightly ridiculous gluten allergy or something.”

Francesca frowned. “You think he has a gluten allergy?” 

She hadn’t seen any mention of one on his wikipedia page. 

Katie shrugged. “It feels like something rich men have.”

Francesca giggled, shaking her head at her best friends ridiculousness. 

“Don’t think I didn’t notice how you keep checking your phone every five minutes.”

Francesca scrunched up her nose in embarrassment and let her head fall back against the couch. “I’m pathetic.”

Katie grinned. “No, you’re not. But if you’re going to keep dm’ing Australia’s golden boy, I feel like I deserve to live vicariously.”

“He’s not—” She stopped herself, huffing out a breath. “He’s just… nice. And funny. And—”

“And gorgeous,” Katie supplied with a smirk.

Francesca covered her face with her hands. “He’s so gorgeous. It’s actually rude.”

Katie let out a delighted cackle.

“But,” Francesca added, quieter this time, “he’s from another planet. Like, look at my flat, and look at me. And then think about his world. I can’t even make myself go to the shop most days, and he’s flying around the world, at the top of his sport, walking red carpets, getting papped at airports…” 

Katie sobered a little, her eyes kind. “Yeah, but he followed you. And he’s still here.”

“I know,” Francesca whispered, resting her glass on the edge of the table. “But what could actually come of this? Realistically? His fans already hate me. Twitter made that very clear.” 

There was silence for a beat.

Then Katie shrugged. “Okay, then maybe it’ll mean nothing. Or maybe… you just keep talking and see what happens. You don’t have to map out the next ten years right now.”

Francesca gave a small, tired smile. “I wish I could think like that.”

“You will,” Katie said confidently, nudging her shoulder. “Maybe not today. But eventually. And until then, I’ll be here to eat carbs and overanalyse his emojis with you.”

Francesca chuckled, leaning into the familiar comfort of her best friend. 

—

After Katie left, Francesca moved around her flat in a soft, post-wine haze — putting away clean glasses, tucking the pizza box into the bin, flicking off the overhead lights in favour of the warm lamplight she always preferred. Henry had already curled up in his usual spot at the foot of her bed, purring faintly. The perfect white noise.

She changed into an oversized T-shirt, made herself a cup of peppermint tea she’d probably forget to drink, and slid under her duvet with her phone in hand — mostly to scroll aimlessly until she eventually fell asleep. 

Instead, she found a new message waiting.

Instagram DM's — Oscar Piastri > Francesca Gold

Oscar Piastri Hi again :) sry for earlier Do you have any book recs for a birthday gift? It’s for my sister. I forgot to plan ahead. And you seem like the right person to ask.

Francesca stared at the message, then at the time: 11:42 PM. Her heart did that familiar, silly twist, and she pulled the duvet a little higher around her.

Francesca Gold hi. it’s fine any idea what she likes?

The reply came almost immediately.

Oscar Piastri Umm. She reads a lot Sometimes romance. Sometimes thrillers. She’s smarter than me. Is that a genre?

Francesca let out a fond laugh, covering her mouth so she wouldn’t startle Henry. She could picture him typing, awkward but earnest, and it was too endearing for her peace of mind.

Francesca Gold not a genre but i can work with that

She paused, fingers hovering over the keyboard. There was something oddly intimate about choosing a book for someone else. Like passing along a tiny piece of yourself.

She thought for a moment, then started typing again.

Francesca Gold okay — can i send you a link to a list?

Oscar Piastri Yes. 100%

Francesca Gold *goodreads list named ‘Oscar’s Sister’*

Oscar Piastri Found them all on amazon. Thank you! Should i tell her that her birthday books were chosen by her favourite booktuber? Haha

She stared at the first message.

There was no reason for her to be surprised. He was a professional athlete — of course he had money — but the list she’d thrown together in less than five minutes had at least twenty books on it. Twenty.

And he’d gone and bought them all.

She shook her head, incredulous.

Francesca Gold if you want what if she doesn’t like them?

Oscar Piastri Figured if she doesn’t like some, she’ll just lend them to me

Francesca when was the last time you read a book? be honest

Oscar Piastri Pre-prema days probably

She stared blankly at the words.

Francesca Gold i have no idea what that means. sorry

There was a short pause, then:

Oscar Piastri Cute :) Before I joined F1, I was in the lower formulas. I was with a team called Prema. That’s the last time I remember reading a book.

Cute. He’d called her cute.

She reread the message at least four times, just to be sure she hadn’t hallucinated it.

Nope. Still there.

She was blushing so hard it felt like her face might actually combust. It was ridiculous. Entirely inappropriate. She was a grown woman — a grown woman who’d once had a panic attack in a Tesco Express and was currently hiding under a weighted blanket like it might save her from the implications of the word cute.

This was uncharted territory. Dangerous, flirty territory. And the worst part?

She kind of liked it.

— 

A week later, Oscar sat in front of the McLaren media backdrop, posture relaxed, eyes half-lidded beneath the bright spotlights. The interview had been going on for ten minutes. Same questions. Slightly different wording.

And then:

“Last one for you, Oscar — what’s something you’ve been enjoying lately? Doesn’t have to be racing-related. Music? TV? Podcasts?”

Oscar paused for a beat, lips twitching. “There’s this YouTuber I’ve been watching. She talks about books.” He shrugs, playing it off as casually as he can. “It’s kind of calming. I’ve been into that lately.”

He moved on to the next question, pointedly ignoring the deer-in-headlights stare from Lando. 

— 

Francesca hadn’t tuned in to watch any of the driver press conferences. She had too much editing to do and not enough time to get it all done before her deadlines.

She was knee-deep in timestamps, captions, and a particularly annoying bit of background noise she couldn’t quite scrub out when her phone buzzed once.

Then again. And again.

And then Katie texted her in all caps.

iMessage — Francesca & Katie

Katie: OSCAR. MENTIONED. YOU.

Katie: LIKE OUT LOUD. IN FRONT OF ACTUAL PEOPLE.

*link*

Feeling numb, she clicked the link and watched the 10-second clip.

And then she watched it again.

And again.

“There’s this YouTuber I’ve been watching. She talks about books. It’s kind of calming.”

No name. No direct reference. But the moment hung in the air like a secret someone had shouted through a megaphone. She almost laughed at the expression on Lando’s face — pure astonishment. 

Her Instagram notifications were already spiralling. A few thousand new followers. Two brand accounts she’d never heard of trying to DM her. And someone had already screen-recorded the moment and posted it to Twitter.

“BOOKTUBE GIRLIE IS BOOKTUBING INTO OSCAR PIASTRI’S HEART”

“he’s so real for watching a comfort girl on youtube before bed”

“get her name now i want to see her tiktoks before the algorithm ruins it”

Francesca blinked at her phone. 

Oh. That was… better than last time, at least. 

Then again, they had no idea who she was yet. They were just blindly trusting their idols opinion. As soon as they looked further into her channel, watched a few videos, they’d realise that she wasn’t exactly… normal. 

She swallowed thickly. 

Her phone pinged with a message.

Katie:

You okay? 

Francesca: 

Yeah

—

Instagram DM’s — Oscar Piastri > Francesca Gold

Oscar Piastri Sorry. Hope that wasn’t weird Reckon I should’ve checked with you before I did that 

She inhaled sharply, her fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Francesca Gold bit overwhelmed tbh but i like that you like my vids enough to actually talk about them

Oscar Piastri I really do Do you have any new ones coming soon? I'm travelling a lot over the next few weeks 

She buried her face in her hands, sighing loudly.

Because she was smiling.

— 

She wasn’t expecting it.

She’d woken up later than planned, face smooshed into her pillow, hair doing some kind of modern art sculpture around her head. Her phone was tucked under the duvet with her — a terrible habit — and she blinked at the bright screen as it buzzed once in her hand.

Oscar Piastri sent a voice message.

Her heart stopped. She stared at the notification with shock. 

A voice message. At 8:13 a.m. On a Friday.

“No,” she whispered aloud, already flailing to sit up, which only caused Henry to jump down from her legs with a dramatic mrrrow of protest. “Henry. He’s sent us a voice note. A bloody voice note.” 

Henry didn’t react. 

She hesitated for a solid minute before pressing play, holding the phone just close enough that she could hear it, but far enough away that she could easily throw it across the room if she needed to. You know… precautions. 

Oscar’s voice filtered through the speaker, low and rough with sleep, the edge of a yawn tangled in his tone.

“Morning. Sorry for the voice thing — texting felt like too much effort and I’m not awake enough to type properly yet. Just wanted to say thanks for the book ideas. She loved them. You’ve officially saved my status as Best Brother Ever.” There was a beat of silence, and then he added, quietly, “Hope you slept okay.”

And the message ended.

Francesca stared at her phone. “No.” She whispered. 

Henry, now settled beside her again, chirped.

“No, Henry. You don’t understand. That was his morning voice. That’s like... illegal.” She choked out, feeling like she’d been turned inside-out. 

Henry purred and rubbed his head against her phone. 

She stared at her cat with bewilderment. “Oh my god. You like him. You like his voice.”

She pressed a hand to her chest and fell backward into her pillows.

“What do I even say to that?” she muttered to the ceiling. “Do I... send a voice note back? No. That’s psychotic. I don’t sound like… sexy. Not in the morning. Not any time.” She panicked. 

Henry meowed again. 

Before she could do anything, her phone lit up again—this time with a FaceTime call.

“Katie, no,” she groaned, but her thumb betrayed her and answered anyway.

Katie’s face appeared, framed by her usual messy bun and a spoon hanging out of her mouth. “Hey, I’m eating yoghurt and I just had a feeling.”

Francesca stared at her, incredulous. “What kind of psychic yoghurt-fuelled sixth sense do you have?”

“The kind that goes off when you ignore my morning text.” She squinted. “Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

Francesca wordlessly switched to the Instagram app and tapped to replay the voice note.

Katie leaned in, eyes wide. The moment Oscar’s gravelly morning voice hit the speaker, she dropped her spoon and sucked in a sharp breath. 

“Oh my god,” she said, slow and reverent. “He sent you a bed voice note?”

“Don’t call it that.” Francesca hissed, absolutely mortified. 

“What else do you want me to call it? He sounds like he literally just rolled out of bed and thought, ‘You know what? Let me send Francesca a little audio kiss to start her day.’”

Francesca curled into a tight ball of limbs. “Oh my god, shut up. He was thanking me for the book suggestions. It was innocent.”

“Babe. That voice was not innocent. That voice had vibes.” 

Henry meowed from where he was curled up once again, clearly in agreement.

“Oh god,” Francesca muttered, forlorn at this turn of events. “Even Henry likes him.”

Katie beamed. “Because Henry’s got taste. Also, side note—you need to respond.”

“I can’t respond! What if I sound like a frog? What if I say something weird? I almost told him he has a nice voice and then realised I’d have to move to another country out of embarrassment.”

“If you don’t respond, I will,” Katie threatened, sitting cross-legged in her chair like she had all the power in the world.

Francesca’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t.”

Katie raised a perfectly groomed brow. “I literally have your login, Francesca. Try me. I’ll tell him you fainted from the sheer sex appeal of his voice. I’ll sign it off with sparkles.”

Francesca gasped. “You are evil. Actual evil.”

“Not evil,” Katie said sweetly. “Just a manager who refuses to let her best friend fumble a flirtation with, arguably, the hottest F1 driver on the grid.” 

Francesca hung up on her.

Rudely. Desperately. With the kind of energy reserved for someone trying to escape a burning building.

Then she went back to the Instagram app, thumb hovering over the little microphone icon. She stared at it for a full minute, heart pounding, brain spinning, stomach flipping.

She cleared her throat. Twice.

And then, because thinking only made things worse, she closed her eyes… and spoke.

“Hi, um. Sorry—voice notes are terrifying, but you sent one first, so… fair’s fair?” She winced at her own voice. “Anyway. I hope your sister really did like the books. If she didn’t, that’s totally okay. You don’t have to pretend. I won’t be offended. Probably.”

Her cheeks were on fire now. She forced herself to keep going.

“I also Googled Prema. I knew you’d won F2 and F3, but I had no idea what teams you’d driven for. So…” She laughed under her breath, light and awkward. “Anyway. Thanks for the voice note. You—uh, have a nice voice. Okay. Bye.”

She hit send before she could stop herself, phone clutched to her chest. 

Henry turned to stare at her. 

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she muttered, flopping sideways. “You’d be a mess too if a ridiculously handsome Australian race car driver voice-noted you.”

Her phone buzzed almost instantly, a message that time. Thank god. She wasn’t sure how much more deep, manly Australian accent she could handle. 

Oscar Piastri I definitely win for most awkward voice note. Yours was cute. Also, she loved the books. You’re 1 for 1.

She smiled so hard it hurt.

Francesca Gold what’s her instagram user? 

Oscar Piastri @hattiepiastri 

Francesca Gold <3 thanks 

—

Instagram DM’s — Francesca Gold > Hattie Piastri 

Francesca Gold Hey! Sry if this is weird, just wanted to say happy late bday and I’m really glad you’re enjoying the books. I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I threw a bunch of genre’s together and just hoped for the best. 

Hattie Piastri 

Oh my god, HI! First of all, I just want to tell you how much I love your videos. I’ve been subscribed since your channel was like, 2 months old haha. 

Thank you so much for helping Oscar out. He’s a useless gift giver, but I know he tries. He was really happy to be able to give me something I actually liked this year. So, yeah. Thank you. 

Francesca Gold

I was scared you'd hate them all. I'm glad you didn't. :)

—

Francesca Gold just followed Hattie Piastri 

—

iMessage — Hattie & Nicole 

Hattie:

Oscar has literally met his soulmate and has no idea 

He’s such an idiot omg hahahahaha

Nicole: 

Come downstairs. I need to know everything. 

CHAPTER THREE

[hugemilkshake]

Enjoy the milkshake! I had to retype this whole thing. My hands hurt

A Path not Traveled

-platonic or romantic but it’s more romantic-

!TW! Under the cut will be stuff like obsessiveness, isolation, bad coping mechanisms, over protectiveness, alcoholism, attachment issues, implied kidnapping and stalking.

Most kingdoms were far away, and long ago some paths were created to make travel easier, but the path was wrong. Those who used it alone never came back, groups claimed that creatures stalked them.

The only cookies who could travel the path without a hitch were the ancient hero’s, so the path was dubbed “The guide of hero’s” or just the path.

—————————————

Pure Vanilla

Pure Vanilla likes walks just as much as the next person, the bule birds that flawk to him, the gentle breeze, it’s all is almost perfect.

His walks felt lonely. It was sad. He missed his friends.

But then he met Y/N Cookie, a fellow walk enjoyer.

And man did he fall hard.

Y/N Cookie was perfect! From their personality to their smile to the softness of their dough. Who needs friends when you have a Y/N Cookie?

When Y/N Cookie suggested going on the path, Pure Vanilla was nervous, but in the end it became a regular thing!

But that was held on hold for a while…

Throughout the kingdom he searched. High and low but Y/N Cookie couldn’t be found. Black Rasin said that one of the crows saw Y/N Cookie going to the path.

When he heard that. It was over. His loneliness came back to him. He isolated himself, without Y/N Cookie… what other friends did he have?

At some point Pure Vanilla started to lie to himself to convince himself your fine and jsut hiding from him.

Imagine his shock when you come back perfectly fine…

He’s kissing your forehead and hugging you, he may or not cry about finally seeing a cookie he assumed was dead for months

Now do be ready to have at least two crows by you at all times and the constant and sometimes even nauseating amount of healing spells Pure Vanilla has uses on you

You mustn’t get a scratch on your dough! That is a guarantee!

Hollyberry

Hollyberry preferred to walk through the castle gardens since the jungle was a little unpredictable, but it wasn’t something she did constantly.

But meeting Y/N Cookie opened new doors for her.

She took walks with Y/N Cookie and sip on some berry wine as she listened to the cookie ramble on about whatever

She chimed in with her own statements, feelings and jokes and the two of them started to get along really well

At least that’s what she believed

When Y/N Cookie disappeared, at first she thought that it was a day were they didn’t want to talk or something

But as the days turn into months she starts to think that Y/N Cookie didn’t want to talk to her anymore, that they hated her.

Come to find out they just got lost.

She would have dranken a lot of berry juice and seemingly being around you makes her forget about the juice which others around her are happy about

Now you would want to let them down by leaving her alone for a while! She’s recovering, you’d be a monster if you did!

Dark Cacao

Now walks aren’t something he has time for. Dark Cacao has more priorities and less time for simple walks when he lives in such a dangerous place.

Most Cookies don’t go on walks anyways.

But one cookie did. Y/N Cookie.

That cookie was able to crack through the kings touch exterior which comes to a shock to all.

He might force time for him to walk with Y/N Cookie but their short and sweet. Dark Cacao yearns for a day where he can walk with Y/N Cooke without worrying about the dangers of the frozen tundra

But he forbids Y/N Cookie to go beyond the citadel walls, not because they’ve grown to be supper important to him, but because it’s dangerous! Why would you think the first one is a lie? I mean it is but shhh

So because of that there’s always a guard with Y/N Cookie

Imagine the shock and terrror he feels when he’s informed that, not only did Y/N Cookie sneak away from their gaurd but they went down that cursed path!

Dark Cacao takes his best guards and is searching for them. They can’t be gone…

Did he do something wrong? Was Y/N Cookie not happy with how he ruled his kingdom? Was he wrong?

This spirals him into a dark rabbit hole full of self loathing and confusion

When Y/N Cookie returned, he was overjoyed yes but he remained cold to Y/N Cookie. He didn’t appreciate the little stunt they pulled.

So now there at least a few more guards observing Y/N Cookie and there’s now a rule that if anyone sees Y/N Cookie even trying to leave the citadel then they bring them straight back to the king.

He won’t be very happy… don’t you know it’s dangerous?

Golden Cheese

Bold of you to assume Golden Cheese leaves her kingdom.

Golden Cheese is secretly afraid of accidentally getting her kingdom destroyed again that she won’t risk it, she also trusts Burnt Cheese to gaurd the kingdom for her

But when a cookie wonders into her kingdom and passed Burnt Cheeses test she might actually consider going on walks through her kingdom

Keyword HER kingdom.

If you ask to take a walk outside the kingdom you might put her in a shock induced coma

She’ll tell you that it’s dangerous out there since this time of year monsters start getting more violent. That’s mostly a lie but you don’t need to know that

Now the real problem is when you keep insisting.

The more you insist the more desperate she is, you might make her cry, she might yell at you, she might give you a gift to make it up to you.

Golden Cheese doesn’t want you to leave.

And you won’t have to. You can either accept that Burnt Cheese is watching the exit like a hawk all the time and Golden Cheese will just have Mozzarella and Smoked Cheese Cookie keeping their eyes on you

Or…

She can force you into a sarcophagus with her.

Either way, she won’t lose someone else important to her… NOT AGAIN.

White Lily

In a quaint little village, a cookie smelling of lilies arrived from the path. The one rumored that only ancient hero’s can pass through safely.

She doesn’t believe these rumors since White Lily was fine when going down the path

Cookies looked at her with confusion yet admiration since she was able to avoid the path of certain death

One cookie started to grow closer to White Lily, Y/N Cookie.

They were amazed that this cookie could make their way through the deadly path without even seeing a thing!

White Lily finds solace with Y/N Cookie. A solace that she hasn’t felt in some time. Her mind can rest now, she can stop thinking about the witches and her goal

Walks are mandatory. The two of you are taking walks anywhere and everywhere. Even the path. She’s always admiring how Y/N Cookie looks and how they get when they are passionate

But the one time she looks away, their gone. Just like that. White Lily is frantic. Why did she look away?!

Months go by, White Lily is watching the path and village, seeing if Y/N Cookie will ever return.

And all that waiting paid off. Y/N Cookie came back, and not with a single scratch!

But she didn’t greet them… she just watched. Afraid that she’d do something to ruin everything again…

[night-raven-miscellany]

"Perhaps death or living like a husk would be preferable to just... Being abandoned and forgotten like this, wouldn't it? I wouldn't have to worry about such things..." Yuna started, but she turned away, staring out the window.

"But... I don't want any of that. I don't want to die. I don't want to be forgotten. I don't want to be an incidental NPC in everyone's lives, even if that's how it's always been no matter HOW HARD I TRY," Yuna was beginning to sob, dark tears running down her face like crude oil that clung to her for every second it could. "But I don't want it... But I don't know how to fix it. I've tried so HARD... I just... I..."

She sunk to the ground, briars curling around her legs and moving to "shield" her from... Something. Whether it was the others or herself, though, she hadn't the foggiest idea.

"I-"

'Don't you dare give them your weakness, Yuna... They'll just use it to their advantage. Everything we've done here will be for nothing!'

'But... They're right. If I keep this up, I'll die... I don't want that. I don't want any of this!'

'Weren't you the one just saying that meeting your end here would be preferable to being forgotten?'

'But... That was you who said that. Not me.'

'Yuna... I am you. You and I both know that.'

'I guess... But... I don't want to let it end like this.'

'Yuna...'

'I have to tell them. I've never given up before, I can't do it this time.'

'Yuna, please.'

'I... I refuse to give up like this. I'm going to stop myself.'

'You can't do this! Don't do this to yourself! Don't do this to us! Don't do this to me-'

"The staff." Yuna said, after a long silence as the briars began to cage her, like a lost and injured bird. "I want you to destroy it."

A notification flashes across phone screens everywhere throughout NRC. The radio podcast, NRTea has gone live once more!

"Hello, hello, dearest listeners! And welcome to another episode of NRTea, the hottest tea party on sages island! I'm your host, Chamomile-"

"and I am Earl Grey"

"And oh boy do we have a story for you today! Take it away, Earl!"

"...alright.

As of late, there have been brambles spiralling up and encasing parts of the Ramshackle dorm. The brambles themselves seem generally harmless, as do the roses that fall from them, but if you prick yourself on the thorns, it would be quite an unpleasant sensation, so I'd suggest exercising some extra caution when visiting for now."

"Yup, yup! If you've got a friend or two living in the dorm out there, go check on em and make sure they're doing okay!"

"I know I myself must check in on my dearest companions soon..."

"Well that's it for now! We've been your hosts, Chamomile-"

"And Earl Grey,"

"And this has been NRTea. Stay thirsty, dear listeners!"

The stream continues on for a bit before cutting off, though.

"Hey... James?"

"Yes?"

"Y'know how Yuna has been locking up lately and stuff? Says she's been super sick recently."

"Mhm... It's quite concerning, if I am being honest. I haven't seen her for a while..."

"...I wonder if Yuna is alright. I hope she doesn't get hurt with all those brambles."

"...Me too, Lewis. Me too."

(✨YUNA OVERBLOT STUFF YAHOO!!!

-✨mod, @night-raven-miscellany. Technically James and Lewis, too, but I haven't been adding them fhdjfj)

Kiyuu stared down at her phone with a frown as the podcast ended. She didn't say anything, prompting Aros to speak up from behind her.

"...Lucky you haven't been over there for a while, isn't it?"

He spoke, giving Kiyuu a faint smile, leaning in just a little closer while dabbing a makeup brush into the eyeshadow pallette in his hand, before applying it, making slightly quicker movements than previously, already being able to tell what Kiyuu was thinking.

They both knew the signs by now from even just a glance. With the context the podcast had accidentlly given... Something bad was about to happen. That much they could tell.

His expression morphed back into a frown as he watched how Kiyuu's face seemed to go through a cycle of conflicting emotions, confirming what he'd thought.

"...Yuuto's close by, though. And he definitely won't hesitate to head straight for Ramshackle once he suspects something's happening..."

There was more silence, only disturbed by the quiet sounds of rummaging through makeup and supplies from Aros. They'd been in the middle of testing out some makeup samples Aros had been sent for a promotion when they'd decided to tune into NRTea's podcast in the background.

"...Would you like me to quickly finish applying your makeup before we go?"

Aros offered, picking up an eyelash curler, and tilting Kiyuu's head up gently with his pointer finger.

"But-"

"Ah- Let me finish now. If you're worried about time, I'll change up our plan, do something quick, yet effective, instead. Don't stress out more than you need to. It won't do you any good."

"Mmh... Okay then. I'd- really like that. Thank you..."

Kiyuu conceeded softly, a silent exchange of gratitude from Kiyuu between them, Aros nodding in response, expression neutral as he continued.

"...Heh. I bet he's real excited right now. I worry a lot for him when he does this sort of thing, y'know. Just doing whatever he wants with no consideration to anyone else's feelings..."

Kiyuu mumbled, an underlying bitterness that she never quite felt wholeheartedly in her voice.

"That's just how he is. The only thing for us to do now is help them both out, hm?"

"Ah- right..! Yuna, I heard their name was, I think... I hope they're alright..."

"As do I."

Aro's commented as he stood, reaching instinctively for his hand mirror, handing it to Kiyuu as he hastily, yet still neatly, tidied up his supplies.

"Satisfactory?"

He asked, turning his head around to gauge Kiyuu's opinion.

"Yeah! More than, for sure."

Kiyuu agreed, handing back the mirror. She felt a little better now, the familiar feeling of her makeup calming her nerves ever so slightly.

After a few short moments she stood, hastily reaching to fix up her hair into a more practical fashion.

"Okay! Okay. Let's go! We shouldn't waste anymore time."

She announced, projecting bounds more confidence than she actually felt.

"Yes, let's. Perhaps we'll even arrive before anything too disastrous occurs on either party's end..."

Aros responded. Though somehow, they both doubted that much of a miricle would happen for them today...

[wnobin]

NO BUNNY BUT YOU! 🐰

petsitter! wonbin x fem! reader

series synopsis: your friends refuse to look after your bunnies, tokki and dokki, while you’re on an overseas programme for a week. luckily, winter knows the right person for the job.

series masterlist

part four: maybe bunnies aren’t that bad

you had finally reached your accommodation after a long and tiring flight and endless security checks that never seemed to end. you checked the time on your phone, it was around evening time which meant wonbin was most likely over and taking care of tokki and dokki. you’re not sure why you were nervous but you kept retyping and deleting your text to him. it was just a simple “how are the bunnies?” text but for some reason, your heart was doing backflips at the thought of sending wonbin a text. letting out a sharp exhale, you hit send on the message, placing your phone face down. almost immediately, your phone started ringing with a call from wonbin.

fuck shit fuck why is he facetiming me now, i’m not ready!!!!

before you could even process what was happening, you accidentally pressed the accept call button and was now connected to wonbin. “h-hey?” your voice cracked as you internally cursed at yourself, already embarrassing yourself with one word.

“hiiii, y/n!! how was your flight? i hope it was good! tokki misses you especially.”

wonbin waved to you before directing the camera to tokki who seemed to recognise you through the screen. even thiugh you were exhausted from the travelling, you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of tokki’s nose twitching as wonbin gently scratched the side of her face. soon the awkwardness faded and you were both telling each other about your days. you listened to wonbin telling you about how the bunnies missed your scent and would cuddle up near your pillows, responding with soft mhm’s, his voice almost lulling you to sleep. the call continued until the bunnies eventually tired themselves out and fell asleep, meaning wonbin would have to go back to his dorm. you were slightly sad that the call ended so soon but wonbin assured you that he would call you again the next day and keep you updated on your fur babies.

laying in your bed and staring at the ceiling, you couldn’t wait for the next day to come. not because you were eager to see tokki and dokki, but instead looking forward to seeing their cute petsitter.

the next few days went the same, you would spend the day taking part in events and programmes and wonbin would send you updates of the bunnies in the morning before he went off to his class. in the evening when you were finally free to relax, you would be on facetime with wonbin, telling him about the fun stuff you did today while he and the bunnies listened intently. your calls would last for hours until tokki and dokki fell asleep. wonbin would stay on call with you as he locked up your dorm and walked back to his own, telling you about his day and how his roommate, sungchan, was still torturing him and making his life living hell over the flowerpot incident.

you enjoyed these late night calls with wonbin, it felt very domestic and nothing like you’ve ever experienced before. you thought the highlight about your overseas trip would be the new experiences but no, the highlight was seeing wonbin being all cuddly with your bunnies and hearing his sleepy voice as it got later in the night.

tonight was the last night before you flew back and as usual, you were on call with wonbin. he seemed sleepier than normal today, his words slurring and voice softer. he told you that he was just tired from sungchan waking him up early in the morning because of an insect in the bathroom. “he’s sucha wimp, i swear… but i’m not!” you giggled as wonbin tried to prove his courage and braveness in attempt to win you over. “then i’ll make sure to call you the next time tokki brings a grasshopper to me.”

“mhm, that’s good. don’t call anyone else, okay?”

you could tell wonbin was getting even sleepier, tokki already curled up by his side. wonbin was dozing off slightly, eyes staying shut longer during his blinks. as much as you liked hearing his sleepy voice, you knew he had to get some rest. “you should head back to your dorm soon, yknow? you’re already so tired.”

“mm, so lazy though…”

“then you can sleep at mine. i don’t mind and ‘s not like i’m there anyways.”

“reaaaally? you’re the best, y/n. your couch’s so comfy.”

wonbin eventually dozed off, too tired to even end the call, soft snores escaping his parted lips. you couldn’t help but to take a screenshot, he looked so pretty. his lips were so kissable. you couldn’t wait to be back tomorrow.

taglist: @istphanie @snowyseungs @nyuoqi @myizhous @jhskluv @babigriin @revehosh

[idontknowreallywhy]

WIP-what-on-earth-have-I-got-myself-into-here…

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Ash had had access to both of their files for a long while… the visible parts anyway. The extensive redactions? Not so much. Well… now his new GDF rank meant he could get past those too but he hadn’t dared. Partly because he wasn’t sure it was a can of worms he was ready to face. Not now he had Scott back after so long.

The other big reason he’d resisted was because they’d know. The decryption keys were personalised… they’d know both who and when. And three weeks into the new job was a little early to risk getting fired.

Or worse. Knowing them… probably worse.

Tonight though, hours of the puffed up, clueless idiots squabbling about the new outbreak had forced him to relive so many parts of his experience ten years before that the phantom pain was almost unbearable. He rubbed at his lower leg, trying to fool his mind into thinking he was comforting the missing arm, soothing the nerves that tormented him but that he could never reach.

Scott hadn’t lost anything visible. But Ash knew they’d stolen a no less crippling part of him too. He’d watched his friend from a distance, scratching at a a similar untouchable itch in so many subtle ways. How much of his friend’s confident, controlled outward demeanour was as synthetic as the fingertips Ash realised he was rapping against the desktop? He flattened his hand, grimacing at the supposedly-unnoticeable delay between thought and movement that had rewritten his future.

Ash knew what his friend had lost. And he couldn’t help feel responsible - he should have been there. He’d spent countless sleepless nights trying to figure out how he could have prevented it all, if he’d spotted the clumsy sabotage as he should have, swapped with another jet… maybe he could have got there in time. Got him out.

Instead he’d just sat there shaking and bleeding and sobbing and helpless as first Scott and then Val’s radios had cut out. If Ash hadn’t passed out from the shock of his injury perhaps he could have got her out at least…

No. They’d got it right in her jet. She wouldn’t have known a thing.

EHZ007 was all over Scott’s file. And each time the reference was used, the following sections were blacked out. If he knew why, maybe he might get closer to finding out what had happened and why.

At the very least he might be able to reach out to his friend, to help him find closure. If he knew better what had occurred between that last desperate shout over the radio and the day that the gaunt face of his best friend had asked him to leave the ranch and never return.

It would look highly suspicious if the first Top-Secret graded file he accessed post-promotion was that of his old wingman. They were clueless in some ways, but not in all of them.

Giles, though. He looked at a lot of the TS material just for fun and bragging rights, if his boasting was to be believed. And this evening Ash had watched the man unlock his work phone with 1234. Someone that uncreative with passcodes might just have used the same one for everything…

Officer ID, rank code, personal pin, age in days. The man’s date of birth was on his Wikipedia page and so… Ash now had everything he needed.

Except the courage. He’d been staring at the encryption alert box for over an hour. His shoulder ached.

He disconnected his prosthetic and dumped it on the table before snatching up the scotch bottle and refilling his glass.

He typed in the number.

PASSCODE ERROR.

He swore and retyped it.

No! The man had clearly used another pin. Damn.

He drained the glass and dropped his head to the desk. It was probably just as well.

Out in the hallway his great grandmother’s clock chimed once.

It was later than he thought.

It was… tomorrow.

He sat up, cursing his own idiocy and typed the code again, increasing the last digit by one. The screen refreshed and the blacked out sections disappeared.

He was in.

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

[ccrites]

Signal Lost

I've had something happen to me that's so incredible and that I could have never hoped, something so touching and so unbelievable that it made me rethink a whole lot of stuff: a wonderful reader on Ao3 started reading my long-form fic (101k words!!!) and commented basically every chapter after a certain point. And wow, I would have never thought something like this might happen.

And yeah, it is my first fic with plot in it, yeah I will never believe it to be perfect, but it's good enough. And receiving all those emails from Ao3 really was the highlight of my days over the course of which I saw said reader slowly go through all my favorite parts!

And so I wish to give it some spotlight here, while I'm finishing up my school year and work and whatever! I will post this here for now, but I will drop chapters every few days and make a Masterlist for it this weekend. (nvm I don't have the energy to do this any time soon lmao) I have too many loose ideas in my head so this is just to pass the time till the brain worms wiggle all in the same direction

So without further ado:

Link to AO3 here : Signal Lost - a John Price x reader fic

----- here's a blurb to pique your interest!

“I don’t think I’ve ever received a document as classified as this one. What am I supposed to do with it, Kate?” he says, dragging his thumb across the pile of papers, each file filled with more ink than the last.

“You asked for proof, there’s your proof,” Laswell says.

“You said you’ll bring someone competent, and who can help us, this doesn’t tell me shit.” He stares blankly at the screen, tired. She stares back.

“The Captain specifically asked to keep this under wraps.”

He rubs at his face, scratching at his beard. It’s getting long again.

“Who is he, anyway?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

He groans again, picking up the file on top. No photo, no name, no age, no height, weight, no nothing . And he thought Simon was secretive.

“What can you tell me?”

“It’s the closest we’ve ever gotten to him. Did things a particular way.”

He shifts through the papers. “And the discharge?”

“Left after the entire team got wiped out. Messy stuff.”

“That why he doesn’t show his face?” He bends forward, grabbing the cigar from the ashtray and bringing it to his lips.

“John.” Her voice carries a heavy warning.

“Just sayin’,” he says, biting around the cigar with one side of the mouth. “What kinda captain doesn’t go down with his men?”

“Got enough guilt as is. You’re lucky I convinced them.”

They both remain silent. They know the missions would be a slippery slope. One wrong move and a war is started. He puffs a cloud of smoke.

“Anything else?” John asks.

Kate looks to the side, her face illuminated by another screen. He can see her hesitate, her lips are pursed in a thin line as if she’s debating her options.

“You’ve worked together before.”

His face lights up. “Finally! Who?”

Her face immediately hardens back up. “Can’t tell, John, my hands are tied.” She sighs. “You were still a Lieutenant.”

Years ago then. He mentally catalogs everyone he’s ever worked with, but he knows that at that age, he was throwing himself at every available mission, wanting to make a name for himself. “So an old fart then? How’s that gonna help us?” If the guy was a Captain when he was still a Lieutenant, and he felt himself grow old, he can’t imagine who Laswell is bringing back from the dead.

Laswell’s face distorts, he knows he’s pushing her buttons, but he has to know.

“Not older than you John.”

His eyebrows raise. “Oh?”

---

or

returning to the military to hunt Makarov is hard enough, to do it with your past lover is even harder. a "friends to lovers to enemies to friends and back to lovers" story

---

Tags and other CW: will be posted for each chapter containing warnings for more hardcore stuff (i.e., torture and angst namely), but this is a fanfic, with smut, so if you want all the tags feel free to check the ao3 link bc there are a LOT and I am lazy to retype them all here

[finnlongman]

I am so curious about your drafting process, would you be wiling to share a little more about it? I've never come across the idea of completely rewriting from scratch every time, how did you arrive at this as a method that works for you?

I've been writing novels since I was thirteen, so the origin of a lot of my writing processes is somewhat lost to time/memory -- I don't know why I started doing them, only that they either worked or didn't work and the ones that worked stuck around and the ones that didn't... didn't.

I find it difficult to edit within an existing document because it feels like I don't have space to think when all the words are already there. If I open a new document next to the old one and type it out again, I'm more free to move things around, reword them slightly, layer in new details, shift the emphasis etc, without feeling like I have to fit that into the existing framework of sentences that are on the page. If the sentences that are on the page are still working, cool, I'll write them out again. Anything I can't be bothered to type out was probably boring, so that can go, making this a useful strategy for cutting extraneous words and redundant descriptions, too.

The old document is always present when I do this. I don't rewrite from memory or without reference to it. It's just an easier way of refining what I'd put on the page before. And the advantage of this is that the old version always still exists, too. I have never "deleted" a scene, I've simply written a new version of the book that no longer contains that scene. If I want to put it back, I can go and find it, and write it in again.

It's also a lot easier to make major plot changes this way. Sometimes I'll duplicate the old draft and then use tracked changes to move scenes into their new position to see how they'd look -- then I rewrite it and actually make them work in that position. It creates a consistency of voice and style, and makes it easier to avoid continuity issues created by moving things around. And I do tend to make big plot changes and shift things around a lot, partly because I don't tend to plan or outline much in advance and often haven't worked out what I'm trying to do, thematically, until I'm halfway through doing it. A scene that moves from two-thirds of the way through the book to one-third of the way through is going to need to express different characterisation and different aspects of the book's themes, or it'll seem out of place, so it'll need rewriting anyway to make it work, and so will the scenes around it. I can't really imagine a way to edit without large-scale rewrites unless I somehow avoided moving or adding any scenes, which I have never yet avoided!

Consistency of voice and style is especially important when some of my novels have been written over a very long period -- e.g. The Butterfly Assassin was first drafted in 2014 and was published in 2022, and I wrote at least one draft every year for seven years. Any sentence that survived from 2014 to 2022 had been retyped and rewritten half a dozen times to get there -- and there were not many such sentences -- with minor shifts in style and rhythm so that it matched everything around it. If I had edited that book in-document, it would have been much harder to avoid the sense that it was a patchwork of pieces written years apart from each other.

But this need for consistency, and the desire to avoid continuity errors, is also why I tend to write very fast when I do this: I am holding all of the pieces in my head, everything from plot to sentence structure, and it's hard to sustain that for long. For me, writing looks like long periods of thinking and making notes and puzzling over things, and then a frenzied burst of activity where I act on all of the conclusions I've come to, which is why I like to write very quickly and then take several months away to work on other things before I come back to a project.

Academically, I also find this rewriting helpful: I would always prefer to write a new paragraph that makes the point the old one was trying to make but better, than to try to "fix" the old paragraph. It's just a lot more tedious with academic work because of references and quotes and stuff, so I end up copy+pasting more over.

I will say that the first time an editor said, "Can you do this with tracked changes turned on?" and I said, "Ah. Small problem," and explained that I would in fact be writing the whole book again, they were ... somewhat horrified. But they've accepted that the thoroughness with which I rework everything on the page makes it necessary, and I've figured out how to use "compare documents" to create a version that looks like I used tracked changes while not being an absolute headache for me in the process. So then everyone's happy.

[flamboyantly-incompetent]

OoTP, Chapter 3 - Your First Lessons

Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Reader

Warnings: none?

Masterlist

Word Count: ~4,800

Note: the length of this one kind of got away from me, can't lie. usually my method of proof reading / editing is retyping the whole thing from my text editor to tumblr but this was taking me days with all the other stuff I have going on, so if there are more weird typos than usual that's why and I'm sorry

Saturday morning came, and you woke up and groaned at the ceiling. You hoped that if you pressed your pillow onto your head hard enough you could go back in time to stop yourself from offering tutoring to the biggest git at Hogwarts.

Wilbur sat down on your chest and started purring.

"Gff mrng," you mumbled from under your pillow. He began kneading your chest. You sighed and removed the pillow. "I suppose you'd like some treats." He pushed his wet nose into your face, so you pushed back your bed curtains to find an open bag. Donna was awake too, stretching in bed.

When she saw you were up, she said, "You getting breakfast? I think Yvette is already gone - she said something about Quidditch before passing out last night."

"Nah, I've gotta get to the greenhouses. I'm tutoring someone today."

"Who?" She sat next to you on your bed, scratching under Wilbur's chin.

You grimaced. "Uh, you probably don't know him. He's a fifth year. A Slytherin."

Donna laughed, then said, "Oh, you're serious? Well, ha! Good luck."

"Thanks. Keep him company, will you?" You pulled on a pair of jeans and a lime green and peach jumper your mum had described as 'hideous, but warm,' and headed out the door.

Before the greenhouses though, you needed to make a stop in the library if you were going to help Malfoy rewrite his self-fertalizing shrubs essay, which, thankfully, was about as easy to find as the great hall.

Halfway down the corridor you heard Peeves singing at the top of his ethereal lungs, "Saturday! Ink hooray! Why are you working? Saturday! Time to play! Good luck without your ink!" followed by the unmistakable sound of ink bottles shattering against stone. To be fair to Peeves, that was the nicest thing you'd ever heard him sing.

A Gryffindor came sprinting round the corner, dripping in ink, followed closely by the Gryffindor ghost.

"Oh, hey Ginny. Rough morning?"

She scowled, "I don't know why I even bother. Scourgify." She tapped herself with her wand, and the ink melted into the think air.

"I'll go get the Bloody Baron," the ghost said before drifting off into the wall.

"You don't happen to have any spare ink, do you?" asked Ginny. "I've procrastinated too much on that nonmagical transportation essay for Muggle Studies."

"Yep, s'all yours. Is the library...?"

"I'd wait for Nick to get back. Peeves has totally blocked the door. He's actually trapped a couple students and Madam Pince inside."

"Great." You peered around the corner; inside the library Peeves was doing a jig atop a toppled bookcase leaning against the door and throwing books with every kick. Madam Pince repaired them as quick as he could rip them apart. You watched, horrified and baffled, through the windows lining the library until the Bloody Baron appeared a few minutes later. He drifted up out of the floor and bellowed at Peeves incoherently, who then disappeared into the ceiling in a fright.

You ducked under the fallen bookcase and gingerly stepped through the books littering the ground, glancing at titles. You found a few that would suffice and stuffed them into your bag, and left to find your way back out to the greenhouse.

A few other students were already there, milling around with watering cans and bags of fertilizer.

Draco Malfoy waited for you by the vegetable patches, wearing a green argyle sweater vest over a pristine white button-down -why he chose that to garden in a mystery you wouldn't venture to guess- staring at his shoes.

He looked up and met your eye; his mouth fell open but before he could speak, you said, "Did you bring your essay?"

He nodded sharply. "I wasn't sure you were still coming."

"Oh? And why was that?" you snarked, walking past him to greenhouse 5. He trotted to keep up with you.

"Well, you seemed pretty mad the other day."

"Don't know what you mean. Sit." You held out your hand for the essay. At the top you saw, "T- see me" scrawled in Professor Sprout's handwriting, and you began to scan through. It was truly dreadful, not only was it several inches too short, it made the argument that the shrub bore fruit that, when it fell, turned into excrement that put nutrients back into the soil. "Where did you get this information? Don't tell me you made it up!"

"She gave us homework the first day!"

"So did everyone else, small wonder this is so bad. I have brought actual, real sources for you to pull from in your new essay." You ripped the old one in half with a flourish. "And we'll never speak of this one again."

Draco huffed, "How is anyone supposed to come up with a foot of yammering about a shrub?" You shot him a dark look, your patience wearing thin. "Fine, fine. Where do I start?"

You handed him a tome entitled Carnivorous Flora - Reversal in the Food Chain and said, "Chapter three."

"Carnivorous?"

"Read," you commanded, pointing firmly at the book, "and we'll talk after you've got the broad strokes. I'm going to get some things set up for your snapdragons; Professor Sprout may be lenient and regrade that as well. They'll be on the O.W.L. anyway." You found the snapdragon; it wasn't difficult since the tips of its petals were still discolored from the acidic soil, and pulled down the limestone, as well as powdered moonstone, ground horsefly wings, and gargoyle blood. Draco was still skimming, so you took a moment to fill a watering can from the pump outside again, not willing to fail at that bloody water creation charm in front of him.

"Well?" you asked, setting the water down.

"This is absurd. These things eat people. There's a whole section about how to keep them from eating you."

You pointed at your bag, "In Travels with Trolls there's a fairly detailed account of an accidental encounter with one while Gilderoy Lockhart was searching for trolls in the caves of Sweden. There are pictures in that one there - Flesh-Eating Trees of the World - for reference."

"God, that's disgusting."

"Yep. Am I safe in assuming that you've written a passable essay before?"

Draco scowled. "Well, yeah, but where do I even start with this? I can't very well write a foot on how to survive a flesh eating bush attack for Herbology."

"Ok," you sat down next to him and pulled out some new parchment and a quill. "We can start with an outline, and you can do the writing on your own." You walked through the important sections - climate, soil quality, how best to care for the plant - and picked out various bits of helpful text.

You continued, "If you need more length after that, it's always nice to not why someone would want to cultivate a species. These produce seed pods that are rich in iron, used in various medicinal concoctions, see here?" you pointed to a page in the potions textbook for second years. "Otherwise, once you've covered the basics of having the thing in your garden, just find something about it that interests you and expand on it. That should get you to a foot of parchment, and at least an A."

You stood up and stretched a bit before moving onto the snapdragons.

They were whining in a weak, rather pathetic way. Draco watched with a creased brow as you explained how their petals acted as a pH test, and you could tell his soil was too acidic based on the green tinge around the petals' edges. You pointed to the things you'd pulled out and said, "The limestone is the gentlest way to raise the pH, but I think for you the moonstone should do fine. You want purple edges, if they turn blue you've gone too far - add some gargoyle blood. Works as well as leaf mold, but these things love blood."

He took a pinch of the powdered moonstone and sprinkled it close to the base of the stems. "How do you know so much about this?" The petals lost their sickly hue and softened into yellow.

"My mum runs a potions supply shop. We grow almost everything we've seen in class."

"And that's why you're in Herbology 5?"

"Yeah, Professor Sprout convinced Dumbledore to let me skip ahead a bit because I kept interrupting her in first year." Draco continued to sprinkle the moonstone on his firebreathing snapdragons, and their leaves finally turned the right shade of purple. "Stop! That's perfect. Now you want to annoy them until they start glowing red, then be ready to douse. I'll go get a bottle." He managed to rather cleanly bottle beautifully plum smoke right up to the brim, and despite your lingering distaste, you bloomed with just a little bit of pride at his success.

The sun had been climbing steadily during your activities, and by the time the bottle of smoke was tucked into Draco Malfoy's bag, along with the reference books you pulled for him, it was obviously noon by the way the rays beat down through the greenhouse's glass roof and the way your stomach rumbled with fervor. He thanked you rather brusquely, the conflict of Thursday apparently remembered, and strutted back off into the castle.

The next Herbology lesson rolled around, and while Draco refused to meet your eye during Professor Sprout's lecture on the screechsnap, on your way out the door you heard, "Y/N! Hang on!"

He had jogged out into the sprinkling rain, bag held above his head, and handed a roll of parchment to you. It was his rewritten essay, a hastily written "E" and smiley face at the top.

"She accepted the smoke too." Though good news, his expression remained rather stoic. You cocked an eyebrow. "I owe you one."

"Don't worry about it," you said before turning to walk away.

He followed you into the castle, "No, really, I owe you. I don't understand why else you'd offer-"

"Because I could. Is that not good enough?" You shook your robes off in front of a fireplace, eyebrows knit together. "And you desperately needed it. If you need any help with the screechsnaps let me know - they can be a bit nippy."

His mouth opened and closed a few times, a bit like a fish out of water. "You clearly don't like me though, no accounting for taste, but I don't-"

"I like you fine when you aren't being a git or ignoring me for no reason. Besides, this has nothing to do with-"

He got quieter, glancing around at the other students walking through the hall, "I just don't want anyone to know - just if my father found out I need help in Herbology, from a fourth year in Hufflepuff-"

"And what's that supposed to mean? Nevermind, I don't care. I have to get to Potions. Goodbye." You huffed away from him, fuming and damp, asking yourself repeatedly why me?

Though you had a sinking feeling that every conversation with Draco Malfoy would be a contentious one, Saturday morning after the third week of the academic year you were inhaling a muffin on your way to greenhouse 5. You weren’t sure if it was a good idea to continue tutoring, or if Draco would even show up, and your stomach was turning over at the thought of it. Yet, once you sat down at one of the benches, you saw that silver-blond hair glint harshly through the tinted glass and the knot in your gut loosened. He jerked open the door and paused.

You gestured at the bench across from you. “This time I wasn’t sure if you were showing up,” you joked weakly.

“Well, as you so deftly pointed out, I desperately need help.”

The morning was tense as you explained the homework - getting the screechsnaps to sing and harmonize - but by the end you thought you may have a way to lighten the mood. You just hoped you were right.

“So,” you began slowly, “you still owe me one?”

Draco’s eyebrows narrowed. “Yes.”

“I think I’ve thought of something. Do you know the water conjuration charm?”

He pulled his wand from his pocket unceremoniously, tapped the nearest empty pot and commanded, “Aguamenti.” The pot filled to the brim with perfectly clear, almost sparkling, water.

“I’m absolute pixie piss at Transfiguration, but I’ve had to use the hand-pump outside since forever, and I wondered if you could help me with it?”

“This is the favor you want from me,” he said, deadpan.

“Yeah,” you said, trying to sound casual. “That way no one owes anyone, and no one has to know.”

“And you’re ok with that all of a sudden?”

“Well I don’t love the idea, but it’s not like we need to be friends, right? This is just a mutually beneficial academic exchange.” He raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, I just can’t tell if you’re angry or not and I use big words when I’m nervous. But I can’t think of a reason why you would be angry, so I’m confused too. You gotta give me something here.”

He sat back on the bench and exhaled heavily. “No, I mean, I just thought, nevermind. Yeah, you’ve got a deal.”

“Great.” You shifted and looked at him expectantly, hoping he’d take the hint and teach you how to do the spell that’s been giving you grief since you read about it. McGonagall kept telling you it was “advanced” and you shouldn’t worry about it, but you’d show her.

Draco blinked a couple times. “What, now?”

“If you have the time, please.”

“Uh, alright.” He tossed the water from the pot onto the greenhouse’s floor and plunked it in front of you. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”

You took a deep breath, pulled out you wand, and cleared your throat, then said, “Aguamenti.” There was a long pause while nothing came out of your wand. You knit your eyebrows together and tried again. “Aguamenti.” There was another long pause and heat crept swiftly into your cheeks. You shrugged and looked at Draco as if to say, “See?”

“Don’t be offended by this, but have you ever transfigured anything?”

“How could I possibly be offended by that,” you said in disbelief. The absolute audacity. Though you hated to admit it, there was some truth there as you thought back to last year and your inability to ever correctly transform a teapot into a tortoise. “Like I said. Pixie piss.”

“Maybe we should start with something simpler. What was the last thing you did that seemed easy?”

You grimaced. “The match to needle spell in first year.” He snorted rather derisively, his cold grey eyes rolling in his stupid head. You crossed your arms, indignation rising hot in your gut. You blurted out defensively, “At least I’m not just a lazy, entitled muppet-”

“Now, see here-”

“No! Why is my inadequacy any funnier than yours?” He stood up, still gripping his want tightly, eyes angry and flitting to and from the door. You held your hands up in surrender, “Look, I’m sorry. But this is never going to work if we take turns insulting each other’s intelligence - it’s just school, so it’s normal to need help, right? Though I stand by lazy, I think that’s accurate.”

He sat back down in a huff. “How so?”

“You could’ve passed the essay if you’d done any research to begin with - it’s clear you aren’t stupid, but asking Professor Sprout to curve your grade because of whoever your parents are instead of just doing the work is my definition of lazy.” He mumbled something under his breath. “What?”

He grumbled, “I sort of see your point.”

You grinned cheekily, “What?”

“You heard me.”

“I did. Now, are you going to teach me how to conjure water or not?”

He rolled up his sleeves and cited the transformation formula - bodyweight, viciousness, wand power, concentration, and a fifth unknown variable - before gesturing to his own wand. “Hawthorn, unicorn hair. Sufficient wand power. What’s yours?”

“Oh, uh, chestnut, unicorn hair.”

He nodded, “Bodyweight and viciousness has nothing to do with you, so it must be the concentration component.”

You huffed, “Well that’s not helpful.”

“Would you just relax?”

“Sorry,” you grumbled.

“Transfiguration almost always works for me,” you rolled your eyes, “because, my theory anyway, I almost always believe it will. And I stay focused. So, instead of concentration, try confidence and focus.”

You squinted doubtfully; how could you possibly convince yourself that the spell which hadn’t worked would suddenly? Though, you had to admit it made some amount of sense. And Draco seemed to have some idea what he was talking about. The spell worked for him after all. A transfiguration spell. Wasn’t it just transfiguring air into water? Steam found its way and dissipated into the air all the time. Surely the things were related.

“Ok,” you said to yourself, “I’m ready.” You squared your shoulders and readjusted the grip on your wand. Draco nodded once, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. “Aguamenti.” You couldn’t believe your eyes. A healthy stream fell from the tip of your wand into the bucket. But then you looked up, excited, and it sputtered out.

Draco smiled smugly, “You lost focus. But better.” He stood up. “I think this will work. But if we can avoid it I’d rather not meet here every Saturday. I’ll find somewhere more secluded; I don’t want to have to explain what I’m doing in the greenhouses to every Hufflepuff pruning some vegetable.”

At first you were prepared to protest, but looking around, there were only going to be more people here on weekends as the term advanced - especially O.W.L. students. “Ok, some days we will need to be here, though. The conceptual lessons only go so far; Herbology is very hands-on. And I can’t imagine where would be a secluded place at Hogwarts on a Saturday that won’t be overrun with couples.” He waved a hand, “I’ll take care of it, don’t worry.”

“Alright, let me know when you’ve figured it out then.” You stood up to gather your things.

Draco, at the door, turned around and asked, “By the way, I never asked - did you make the team?”

“What? Oh, Quidditch. No, I’m a substitute though.”

“Ah, too bad. You’re a decent flier.” He left you standing dumbfounded in the greenhouse, uncomfortable and flighty heat flooding your cheeks.

The next Saturday Draco found you leaving the great hall after breakfast. He had been lurking behind the beveled arch of a window, and you yelped when he materialized from the shadow. He shushed you and pulled you around under the arch with him.

“Are you insane?” you whispered, poking your head out, wondering if Yvette had seen. It looked like her early morning Quidditch practices were doing you a favor - she seemed totally unawares as she slumped away back to the common room.

“I’ve found a place,” in addition to his usual school bag, he was carrying two boxes - one wrapped like a package, the other with holes poked in the top - he continued more quietly, “Meet me on the Quidditch pitch, at the base of the Professors’ stand, in fifteen minutes.”

Before you could ask any questions, he hopped through the open window and strolled out onto the grounds. Despite your confusion, you did arrive on the Quidditch pitch and found his head poking out from under the checkered cloth covering the stands.

He waved at you hurriedly, “C’mon! Under here!”

You followed him under, asking, “Here? What if we get caught? We’ll get in so much trouble.”

“Nah,” he said, brushing off his trousers and pointing to the pin on his lapel, “We won’t - I am a prefect, after all.”

Under the stand, a fairly large if short space, very little light filtered through the cover and the bare ground was patchy and hard, not to mention freezing. The first rafter nearly brushed the top of Draco’s head. “Oh, ok…” you said, rubbing your arms and trying not to shiver.

Draco smirked and picked up the box wrapped like a package. “My mum sent this to me this morning.” Inside was a perfectly round stone, which he set on the ground in one of the corners. “This should do the trick. Lapis Ignis.” A faint light grew from within the stone, and the air was warmer immediately - the light became a tiny, crackling fire trapped behind a thin layer of the stone. “It’s a portable fireplace. I told her I’d been getting cold at night. Our common room’s under the lake, so.”

The tenseness in your shoulders relaxed with the warmth. You set down your bag on the ground thoughtfully. “This could work. Next time I may bring a picnic blanket though.”

“I was getting to that. I did say I’d take care of it, didn’t I?” He pulled a large green and black checkered quilt from his bag that looked far too nice to be putting on the ground, and tossed it into the air. You tilted your head to your right shoulder sharply. Draco didn’t miss a beat. He whipped out his wand and muttered something, and before the quilt started to fall it opened in ripples and settled itself neatly on the ground.

The borders on the quilt were all embroidered with little silver snakes.

“You really bleed Slytherin, don’t you?”

“It is the best house.”

You laughed, until you realized he was not at all joking. “Well, everyone thinks their house is the best house, don’t they?”

“They might think that. But, really, there’s no contest.”

Well, you disagreed there pretty strongly, but given he’d turned his attention to whatever else he brought with him, you decided there was no use in arguing. You rolled your eyes, “Anyway, do I wanna know what’s in that box?” You pointed to the one with holes poked into the lid.

“Right, this is for Transfiguration. I borrowed it from McGonagall this morning.” He opened the box and coaxed the thing inside out onto the blanket.

It was a hedgehog.

“Don’t worry, I’ll return it when we’re done here.” It’s cute little nose was working overtime, snuffling around on the quilt.

You knelt on the edge of the quilt across from him, careful to keep your shoes off of it. “Poor thing looks nervous. You didn’t bring any treats, did you?”

“Why would I have brought treats? We’re gonna turn it into a pin cushion, not invite it over for tea.”

“No need to get snippy,” you said, trying to rub a bit of your scent onto the quilt. Draco watched dubiously. Softly, to the hedgehog, you said, “No, no need to get snippy. You’re a cute tiny thing, aren’t you? Yes, of course.”

Draco cleared his throat.

“Right, sorry. We’ll start with Transfiguration, then?”

An hour later, you had succeeded in turning the hedgehog’s quills into pins, matches, and threads, but the hedgehog remained a hedgehog and never a pincushion. Draco’s brow had knit together furiously and he tried with growing fervor to explain the spell to no avail. Finally, he sat back on his heels and sighed, head thrown back.

“Well,” he said before a long pause, “it’s an improvement at least. Shall we move on to Herbology?”

“Oh thank heavens.” Your spine relaxed as you waved your wand and the hedgehog’s pins turned back into quills. “Professor Sprout tells me we’ll be getting to fanged geraniums soon; they’re not complicated but forgetting a step can get you bitten and that will scar no matter what Madam Pomfrey puts on it.”

Another hour passed, and you had taken off your shoes to sit cross-legged on the quilt, open book in your lap and happily napping hedgehog under a fold of your cloak. Draco had begun tapping his wand against his knee in frustration. “Remember,” you said, “they’re sentient beings. They really don’t want you to take their fangs - you have to reason with them.”

“How?” he said hotly, “How do I ‘reason’ with it?”

You shrugged. “A trade typically works. I’ve got one at home who likes acorns to decorate its pot. Or you could convince it that you need the fangs more than it does, like in Wandering with Werewolves.”

“This is absurd. I feel silly.”

You smirked, sensing a foothold. “And you’re going to let that stop you? I thought you wanted to be a… something?”

“I thought it could be fun to be a curse-breaker. For Gringotts.”

“Ah, and when you’re breaking curses all over the world, and you miss a trap because your tie gets crumpled and you need to make a blood-replenishing potion or you’ll bleed out, are you going to hesitate asking for a trade from the nearest fanged geranium? Or will you feel too silly?”

He paused. “You’re kind of an ass, you know?”

“Says the kettle. What do you do?”

But Draco never had the chance to answer, as the curtain began to lift. You shared a panicked look for a moment. A large eagle-owl came tramping into the space, feathers ruffled, carrying a letter on its leg. Draco held out his arm for the bird, “Here, Montague.” Montague settled himself on Draco’s shoulder and began preening, clearly affronted, and Draco plucked the letter from his leg. The parchment was gilded on the edge and sealed with inky black wax. His brow furrowed as he read. “I have to go,” he said, looking up quickly, “Now. I’m sorry.”

“That’s ok,” you picked up the hedgehog to return him to his box. “I can return him to McGonagall for you, if it’s urgent.”

He nodded, “Same place next week?” He tapped the stone and the light went out, the chill creeping back into your bones at once. You stood up and helped him fold the quilt before he stuffed it back into his bag along with the stone.

You sat back down next to the hedgehog’s box to pull on your shoes. “Sure. But don’t think we’ve moved on from fanged geraniums.”

He laughed shallowly, silver hair falling limply on his forehead.

“C’mon Montague.” He lifted the curtain and stooped to climb out, then looked back rather regretfully. “Sorry, thanks, uh… bye.”

“Bye,” you said to the closed curtain. “Lumos,” you whispered, and your wand lit up so you could tie your shoes. That was strange, wasn’t it? You brushed some dirt off your jeans as you stood and picked up the hedgehog.

The week following crawled on agonizingly slowly, and, to make matters worse, the stairs seemed particularly driven to keep you from any and all destinations. It had put you in a rather sour mood. So sour, in fact, that when Professor Umbridge made an unexpected appearance in Arithmancy, and proceeded to interrupt Professor Vector every two minutes to ask her to repeat herself in “more general language,” after class you couldn’t help but complain about it the second she was out of earshot.

“It’s like she has no understanding of the subjects she’s evaluating,” you moaned to Luna, the both of you on your way to Charms. “She doesn’t even have a grasp on her own subject, I’d bet any number of galleons on it.”

She nodded thoughtfully, “It does seem that way. But I don’t think Fudge cares much about her being a competent teacher.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well she’s clearly meant to be a competent spy.”

“Hey - Luna. Oh, hi Y/N,” Ginny came hopping up from behind, swinging an arm through each of yours. “Where’re you off to?”

“Charms,” you grumbled.

Luna’s eyes sparked with her sly smile. “Professor Umbridge sat in on Arithmancy. We’ve been discussing-”

“We’ve been complaining, Luna, tell it how it is.”

“Well it’s funny you mention her,” Ginny started, lowering her tone as other students passed. “How do you feel about the current quality of your education?”

Luna replied, “Not good.”

You said, “Pixie piss.”

“And how would you feel about learning from a more practiced source?”

You cocked an eyebrow, “Who?”

“Harry Potter.”

You let out a laugh, “Excuse me?”

Luna thought for a moment, her eyes glazing over, then said, “He should be a font of experience, theoretically. To survive He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named not once, but twice is quite a qualification.”

You felt Ginny’s gaze before you met it, her eyes searching and only a touch wary. You sighed, “Well I don’t know what happened last year but I don’t think he’s a murderer, or crazy. So I guess I believe him. What’s this about?”

Ginny, apparently satisfied, leaned in closer. “We’re having a meeting. This Saturday at the Hog’s Head in Hogsmeade. At noon. Just to talk things over.” She shrugged. “But you didn’t hear it from me.”

~~~ Taglist ~~~

@yeolsbubbles

@ronslovergirl

@snickersmee

[halliescomut]

Love Sea Ep1 Watch Along

-Already need to know more about what Mut does....what is he making notes about.

-Conner/Love Sand mention already... interesting 🤔

-As someone raised in a rural area the 'I'm borrowing this' to a seemingly random person and them just nodding bc everyone knows you is relatable, even if it seems farfetched

-Cat sounds for Peat/Rak is sending me.

-Will we meet Connor I wonder?

-As someone from a family of beach/coastal ppl, totally understand the awe of the ocean, even if I'm dealing with mid Atlantic and not sub tropical. (Also, I really thought I was going to cross off one of my bingo squares with that one, but no😔)

-Okay I gotta be honest - the knocking on the glass door by Mut is just reminding me of when my dog scratches at our glass door to come back inside and it kinda just sounds like nails tapping the window. Cute

-If I call that number will Mut flirt with me?? 🥺

-Aya!!!! Khaimuk is me at work fr, but far more fashionable

-Test Love???? What is this???

-Ja already? Or is this the only ep we'll see him in?? I'm curious.

-I know it's not everyone's cup of tea, but I love grumpy almost rude love interests. It's why I liked Sky so much and it's why I'm certain I'll enjoy Rak.

- Not a drinker, but I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to just drink a martini like a shot 😂😂

-Aww a little montage of Mut being thoughtful and sweet.

-Is the breaking and entering cool? Not really, but it is nice that he's straightening up.

-Rak all curled up like a kitty 🥺🥺

-Cat sounds effects...but not catlike reflexes

-Rak trying to seduce him and Mut being totally oblivious is hilarious 😂😂

-Is this mfer eating a dry salad? Man is clearly a psychopath.

-The close ups of Peat's face and his eyes in HD is so 😍😍😍😍 I kinda need them to switch seats so I can see Fort's eyes in the good lighting.

-The guilt tripping and puppy eyes are working!!!

-You ever just think about how pretty Fort's lips are???

-I guess Mook is Aya's character's nickname. Hopefully I can keep that in my head. I struggle so much remembering names.

{Okay I saved this as a draft because I had to go do something and then come back and finish the episode and it didn't save the second half. So I'm going to retype what I can remember but it's iffy}

-Interesting idea that he must be having sex to write about it. (And honestly a little fun considering how many Ace smutfic writers I know....including myself)

- The matching scenes of both of them late at night before bed is sweet.

-While I do understand how frustrating it is to have someone interrupting your work, Mut is so cute.

-Boat adventure!!! 🛥️

-Grouchy Rak after being told to sit still so he doesn't go overboard 😂😂

-"Get lost"....and go fucking where? We're on a boat!

(lemme know if you catch the reference)

-Oh no....Mut has accidentally traumatized him. ( Was that on my bingo card?? No...dang it)

-Aww😭😭 Rak does need a strong warm hug poor baby. 🫂🫂🫂

-"This is good stuff too" in reference to Mut's body is.....amazing. Simply a amazing.

-"Which do you want to eat?"...well you see I actually don't like clams so....👀👀

- A wet dream!! Or I guess maybe it would have been if Mut hadn't woken up. 😂

-Seems like we're gonna be moving at a good clip based on the preview for next week. Though I'm not surprised...Mame's never been one of the first kiss in episode 7 types. (& we love that about her)

-End credits is Rak(?) alone on the beach....I wonder if that will change as we go through the show?🤔

Well this was fun. I'm excited for next week. I have some critiques, but that's to be expected and honestly it was a nice distraction for an hour from the dumpster fire that is existence.

[kingofthe-egirls]

TEXT ME: SHOYO x Y/N (part 2)

series

(cw: food/eating, fluff, shojo vibes)

(a/n: text conversation romance i swore i’d never write you)

words: 1.3k

****

so when are you coming to visit??

Shoyo texts with exclamation points and emojis. His enthusiasm for life shines through every sunny character.

You do your best to keep up.

this weekend?

Shoyo responds with a smiley face and the double exclamation points.

we should get ramen! 🍜

You’d met Shoyo at the practice match between Karasuno and Nekoma in Tokyo. Shoyo had stuck out to you as shiny, athletic, and sunny. His fiery orange hair and his scrawny-yet-sculpted physique, his brown eyes and intense stare…he’d caught your eye.

You’d become fast friends over text.

Seems like he’s most passionate about volleyball, spending most of his time either practicing or wishing he was practicing.

tonkotsu is my favorite

You lie back on your bed, phone held over your face.

🍜😺🍲💯‼️

You smile, and send back your own line of emojis. He’s sweet, and fun to talk to. He’s never boring.

You lick your lips.

so, do u have a gf?

(…)

You watch the ellipses appear and bounce as Shoyo types.

nooo

Sighing, you type in relief:

sweet! then it’s a date ;)

Shoyo types and stops. Retypes. Stops. You’re hypnotized by the text on your screen.

🫣😳‼️

And then,

okay!!!

You smirk.

bring flowers

🌺🌷💐🌼

You chew your lip, staring at your phone. You want to ask him more, pry him open, see what makes him tick. So you decide to press:

have you ever had a gf?

no, wbu?

ive had some boyfriends but nothing that lasted more than a month

You roll over onto your stomach, chin propped up on a pillow. Your ballet slippers phone charm clicks against the case. You toy with it, idling.

sorry about that but also im not sorry. since i wanna go on a date w u

Smiling, you hide your face in your pillow. It smells like lavender.

same

You have homework waiting on your desk, but that’s what morning bus rides are for.

what’s ur fav thing in the whole wide world?

Hinata asks such earnest things.

umm…ballet, i think

He responds quickly:

why??

You sigh, and think of how to answer. Your room’s fan spins lazily overhead. You kick your feet as you type.

it’s perfect. the shapes, the movements, it’s all so beautiful. plus it’s exercise and makes my body feel so good after and i really like pointe

You take a deep breath, sending the run-on sentences without editing.

it’s like music or poetry, but in my body. pointe feels especially challenging, but i like it 🩰

Shoyo types.

i like challenges too

****

Saturday comes after even more text conversations. You’d spent the week glued to your phone. Each text sends butterflies through you.

You’d learned about his little sister, his parents, the foods his family cooks (salmon and pork buns are his favorite).

In turn, he’d spoken with you about Kenma, your family’s pet cat, and your somewhat distant parents.

You’re standing in front of the ramen place you’d both decided on. You muse on what other questions you’d like to ask—favorite colors, animals, subjects in school—when the orange-haired boy himself bikes up beside you. He’s electric.

“Hiya,” you say, hands clasped behind your back. Shyness suddenly overtakes you, as he smiles and steps forward.

“Hey!” He locks his bike, and then fishes something out of the basket.

Sunflowers.

“Oh!” You say, delicately accepting the bouquet, “Oh my gosh…”

Shoyo scratches the back of his head. “Hope you like sun—“

He’s interrupted by a quick, tight hug from you. Your arms wrap around his thin, wiry frame, as you bury your face in his shoulder. He smells like the sunflowers in your hand.

“I love them.”

You speak and then quickly step backward. Shoyo’s face is flushed a deep red, and judging by the heat searing your cheeks, your blush is just as bad. Smiling, you tuck a stray lock of hair behind an ear. “Sorry, I uh…didn’t actually expect flowers.”

He bustles up, cheeks puffed, “But you said to bring them!!”

“I know, I know,” you smile, “It makes me happy you did.” You bury your face in the flowers and inhale.

They smell like spring.

****

“Let’s eat!”

Shoyo exclaims before digging into his bowl of ramen. Your own steaming bowl sits in front of you: pork and scallions and hard-boiled eggs. Mmm…

“This is so good!” Shoyo picks his bowl up to sip the broth, “Like, really good!”

You smile, slurping up noodles with a hum. “Ramen was a good idea.”

“Mhmm!!!”

You sit and eat for a moment. It’s an easy silence. Shoyo is someone who you don’t have to feel awkward around. His expressions are honest, and he always says whatever he’s thinking.

“So…,” you start, toying with your chopsticks, “What’s so great about volleyball?”

Shoyo lights up.

“It’s the best!! You get to run around and play on a team, and your friends are all there supporting you!” He pauses to wipe broth off his face with the back of his hand. He’s excited and flushed, eyes wide and shining.

You sigh, picking at noodles. “I wish ballet was more of a team sport. It’s really beautiful, dancing with friends, but it’s not like a team or anything. No one’s gonna support me in a pirouette,” you say, scratching the back of your head.

Shoyo cocks his head.

Wow,

His stare is intense.

“Why don’t you play a team sport?”

You shrug.

“Ballet takes most of my energy, aside from schoolwork.” You bite your lip, “Besides, I’m already so in love with ballet. I can’t ever imagine stopping dancing. It makes me too happy. Even when my hips hurt and my toes sting, it doesn’t matter,” you lift your chin to meet Shoyo’s amber eyes, “Because it means I got to dance ballet.”

Shoyo stares.

And then his face cracks into the biggest grin you’ve ever seen.

“That’s why I love volleyball!!”

You both smile and laugh, happy to have found such a common thread.

Shoyo slurps up the last of his pork broth. “When do you have your next game—or uh, performance?” He smiles sheepishly. “I dunno all the lingo, hah…”

He’s cute when he’s shy.

“Recital,” you say for him, “And the next one is in three months! I have a solo part…,” you say nervously. Shoyo lights up, chopsticks in hand and broth on his chin.

“Solo!? That sounds super cool!”

You nod, sheepish. “It’s the Rose Fairy from The Nutcracker! I come out in the Waltz of the Flowers, and I get to do a bunch of spinny stuff with the male dancers,” You chew your lip, “I guess it is sort of a team sport, doing partner work like that,” You tap your chin, “Since they technically are helping me with pirouettes!”

Shoyo falters for a moment, lips pursed. “What’s this about male dancers?” His cheeks are flushed.

You smile,

you can’t help it.

“Here,” you say, and show a YouTube video of the waltz. His expression only darkens. He watches the men help the Rose Fairy spin across the stage—each man helping her with an impressive move. “My favorite is this promenade,” you point out.

Hinata frowns.

“All these…guys are gonna be touching you?” He asks with a pout.

You snicker.

“Jealous?”

Hinata nods fiercely.

“Yes!”

You burst out laughing. “None of these dudes are interested in me,” you assure him, “It’s just part of the dance.”

He still doesn’t look pleased.

“Of course they might be interested in you! You’re the prettiest girl in the world!”

You smile behind your hand. Even so, your face is burning hot from his complement. He sits up with his arms crossed. “I wanna be the one to help you peer-oh-wet!” He sounds out the French. (It’s so cute, you could die.)

“Well…,” you drum your fingertips on the table, “I usually rent the studio for an hour each week to rehearse on my own. If you want, you could join me! I’ll teach you,” you say. Shoyo immediately brightens.

“Mkay!”

****

[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tag @somethingclevermahogony!

Find the Word Tag

My words: rough, spice, fix, and nature

(I couldn't find spice in the draft of HO I'm working on, so I had to grab a snippet from MG lol)

(Edit: I see now that those were your words, @somethingclevermahogony, not mine. Aw well, I'll blame the dyslexia. Im too lazy to retype all this, so I'll leave it as is. I got one of them in there at least)

Your words: design, radient, fish, faith

I'll tag @ryns-ramblings @deanwax @carrotsinnovember and @bard-coded!

.

While Sepo had been focused on the broken base of the stone, he had completely neglected to examine the upper part. All of the stones were carved with intricate designs matching the thorny motifs of the arrows that had led them here. From what he could make out, the detail was impeccable; it must've taken a master mason decades to achieve such artistry. However, the patterns were now nearly unreadable due to the rough, four-pointed stars scratched over every inch of the thing.

.

Again, she spun the barrel of her new gun and got into position to watch the battle unfold. Perhaps, for the second time in her life, her stepdaughter would swoop in to fix everything. Perhaps not. Either way, Oyanna was ready.

.

Mierka was a Yewbury staple and, in Astra's opinion, one of the best things to come out of the gods-forsaken city since the invention of the microscope. It was a sort of flakey dumpling filled with all manner of fruits and spices, tapioca binding the whole thing together. Scholars, lords, and errand boys alike ate mierka on their way to work; it was the perfect food to eat while busy.

.

Bi'em nodded hesitantly. "The pattern is pretty scattershot, so it took me longer than I would've liked, but I was originally built as a code breaker, so these things are second nature."

"A code breaker...." Twenari cocked her head. "In the Dwarven Alliance?"

The robot nodded again. "Privately owned. I lived there for years before I gained sentience. And I see that look in your eyes, young Miss Devaris. Don't bother. No one knows how mechanical sentience comes to be, least of all us who experience it."

[mariakko]

(Accidentally deleted my repost like a total dummy. Gotta retype what I said :’( )

Yeah I’ll be honest, I love Strangled Red’s writing a lot more, and I can see why it was highly favored and preserved better than the sequels. I mean, I think a hacked cartridge rather than a secret Easter egg is a much better way to tell a story, especially with how Steven reacts to the world being just a video game and how he hates the game for destroying what happiness he had. There is some respect for the sequels though, I do appreciate how damn good S!3V3N is at being a villain. Cold, depressed, obsessive, insane. What more could you want from a guy? (The fact that Steven’s name returns to normal after the glitched charizards get defeated, and yet he’s still a total asshole, is just the cherry on top that lets the reader know he didn’t become evil because he was corrupted, he became corrupted because he was evil. It just shows everything Steven did was his own actions and he really seems unapologetic about it all.)

My small extra facts about Door’s Open and Strangled… that I wish to comment:

Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think the fourth move is just “Strangle” but since the author already wrote that in Strangled… and the player’s pokemon are capable of fighting in Door’s Open, maybe that was written away. But given that Miki was the one who killed Mike (according to S!3V3N’s command) and that she manages to use that on everyone in Strangled…, I would assume that. But, if we were to use a legitimate move, then yeah we could just replace that with submission or counter like you mentioned.

(Random fun fact for charizard in general: So you know how Charizard couldn’t use Fly in Red until the next game? Yeah well, apparently since it’s a lizard, it can learn ‘dig’. Wouldn’t it be funny if Miki knew Dig? I mean, it’s not canon, but given that Miki is now a corrupted zombie, and that the irl Miki was leveled up to lvl 100 with a variety of move types, I could totally see Dig as her second ace move post-revival.)

Now, canonic fun fact: You see the line “The abomination of a Pokémon that is your foe will retaliate with simple Scratch, which to your dismay”? Yeah, that’s from Miki. The move she had when she was lvl 5

I kid you know, Steven ‘revived’ his Miki, somehow duplicated her to three worst versions, somehow gave her corrupted moves, but kept ‘scratch.’ I mean, no judging, since Miki’s so strong it’s apparently still strong enough to KO the player’s pokemon. But like, come on. Was it just kept for the memories? (Oh S!3V3N, never change.)

btw i dont think ive ever blatantly put it anywhere afaik??? maybe. idk. but in doors open it heavily implies mikis moveset, which is one of the other 'cool random details that doors open has despite it not being that great of a story' - and one thats like never actually mentioned by anybody except me as far as i can tell. so if you were wondering:

hyper beam, firespin, flamethrower, and Unknown fourth move

yes i have these on my lvl 100 EV trained female charizard named miki in my copy of violet because im very normal ( not ). i was on a grind, and knowing some vague listing of mikis moves helped with motivation.

anyways.

this is pulled from doors open text - its not entirely 100% reliable bc its based on the "Hellfire" move thats unique to miki / M' / M@#% / M@#$*

*( there is no entirely canon and consistent name for missingno/revived miki - the last two Look similar but the & is replaced w a $ in the og . the percentage at the end is the first miki of 4 in stevens party from doors open - he has multiple but the only fully 'corrupted' name that starts with an M is that one since all of them have one letter of mikis name in order uncorrupted... so ig thats the most canon name, but its never consistent. she's also just called . 's / [ BLANK ] in strangled because when she attacks its just 's attack continues! so its just empty. literally never consistent its kind of funny. entire off ramble. image examples below from strangled and doors open. )

( btw i know ive talked about it before but i think all 4 of his weird charizards spelling out mikis name and stevens name slowly going from PokeMANIAC to S!3v3n to St3v3n to Stev3n and once he's defeated just "Steven" is. mwah. chefs kiss. )

off ramble aside, hellfire is a unique move that seems to mix several other move animations together which i feel implies mikis moveset but its not like, a given, its just what id assume is implied. hypnosis is the only move there that cannot be learned by charizard, firespin hyperbeam and flamethrower obviously can and are specifically pulled from Gen 1 charizard's learn by level up moveset, and one tm being hyperbeam. which means the fourth move is up to interpretation in her alive moveset.

btw in gen 1 pokemon don't have different moves if they level up to their evolve level or past it but dont evolve. at least for charmanders line, each member of it has the same level up moveset.

i personally think its like... inferno. or i think my miki in violet has inferno as the fourth move. but inferno was introduced gen 5 so for moves a gen 1 charizard could actually learn, slash or rage by level up maybe? but i think for miki a fighting type move would be funny. gen 1 charizard can learn that by tm and mikis already weird and special, so if she learned moves charizards normally cant by level up itd be par for the course. the fighting type moves charizard in gen 1 can learn by tm are submission, counter, and seismic toss, which all feel like something miki could have. specifically seismic toss but any of the 3 work for her fourth hypothetical move.

also because seismic toss does dmg equal to level so it'd do 100 damage and mikis already overpowered. which i think is fitting.

or its like. fly, or something. which would make sense. i guess. i just personally hc steven as having a pidgeot as a fly hm user instead bc you know his ass would have the most basic pokemon team of 'op starter and some early route mons for hms' . but he'd obviously still mainly fly on miki due to his attachment, so... who knows!

[eurydiceryn]

hello this is my loser babygirl, pls be nice to him

my underswap

more about my us! papyrus:

swapped or not, papyrus is still a silly little guy (tm) in every universe. unlike ut! sans' suave first meeting with the human, your first encounter with him in snowdin forest is just mostly him being a silly little guy (tm).

he's never exactly seen a human before, so he just stumbles over his words trying to deduce whether or not this strange child is actually a human. chara just found the whole thing funny.

papyrus dedicates himself as chara's current guardian & guide through snowdin, so he hides them from his brother with the best of his abilities. ("quickly now human (?), hide behind that oddly convenient, human(??)-shaped lamp.")

he acts so off - sans immediately realizes that yeah, his brother is definitely hiding something from him. he'll continue to play along with papyrus though, and just for fun, he'll throw in a few puns too. cue papyrus going through 3 minutes of sans' "unsufferable sense of humor" and being FORCED to endure it because the human (???) IS STILL HIDING BEHIND THAT LAMP DAMN IT. HE CAN'T LEAVE THEM HERE.

by the time sans actually leaves, papyrus is on the ground & is fucking drained. chara just waddles over to him & drags him with them to continue on their way.

when sans actually spots the human child with papyrus, he just stares. papyrus,, that's a human,, we're basically going against the law,, papyrus,,

he gets over it quickly though once he sees that his younger brother is getting along rather well with the human. don't get him wrong, he's still torn on "capturing" the human. monsterkind is so close to freedom - his brother is so close to FINALLY experiencing the surface. but at the same time.. this is a kid?? he's not sure he can kill a kid - especially one that his brother seems to be getting along with spectacularly well.

sans just.. decides to go along with it, just a little bit longer (for papyrus' sake). papyrus tries to pretend that he's not aiding the human but anyone with working eyes can see that yeah, no.

sans urges papyrus to try out the puzzles he contructs in his free time on the human & papyrus is ecstatic at the idea. chara decides to go along with it with slight reluctance after papyrus reassures them that the puzzles are all relatively safe.

suffice to say, everyone has a blast.

chara gets to try out some complicated & admittedly really fun puzzles. (it's the most fun they've had in a long time)

papyrus gets a new friend in the form of a human child who seems to genuinely enjoy HIS puzzles.

and sans.. he's just glad to see his brother having a great time.

[pedgito]

Could you do a love triangle between reader, Steve and Eddie? Like she can't decide who she's more attracted too and spin the bottle goes south really quick. Because they're jealous when someone dares the reader to kiss the other or someone else.

author's note: uh, yeah...i got carried away. this took on a life of it's own. i also got halfway through and tumblr deleted it and i had retype all of it, so if it seems a little disjointed, i'm sorry. hopefully it isn't too noticeable

cw: 18+ (to be safe), background!ronance, lots of making out and some suggestive touching, but nothing too crazy. there's not any interaction outside of the reader between steve & eddie, other than talking, ect, but i tried leaving the ending a little ambiguous for a reason :p

word count: 3.6k

You weren’t entirely too sure how you ended up in this situation—scratch that—you were definitely aware of how, but why was the real issue. A small group of teenagers huddled around a fire during of those infamous senior year parties, drinking until you couldn’t see straight and making far too many irrational decisions—which is the how on you ending up here, staring directly at the two boys you couldn’t stop thinking about, sans the few other kids who didn’t really matter—not to you, anyways. You hadn’t spoke to half these kids the entire school year, but spin the bottle was harmless, practically child’s play. What was the worst thing that could happen?

“So, how are we doing this?” Steve asks after a long silence. Everyone shares a glance around the circle, not a single word spoken. “Come on, at least one of you has to have some idea of how to play.”

You sigh, taking the bait. “Let’s do—spinner chooses the person to kiss for whoever it lands on. Fair enough?” There’s a collective shrug from everyone in response. “Great—I’ll go first.” No one argues against it.

It lands on Nancy first, who takes a small sip of her beer—liquid courage, maybe? Though, she already looked like she been through a few by the slight flush in her face. You glance over at your quirky, fast talking friend and an idea strikes you.

“Robin.” You grin, staring Nancy down. Part of you expects Nancy to back out, but she crosses the path to Robin, who sitting beside you. It’s a quick kiss—close mouthed and simple. Nancy offered a comforting smile to her friend before turning on her heels and returning to her seat—and if it weren’t for the four beers Robin had consumed in the time you had been here, she’d be shaking in her converse after being kissed—and by Nancy Wheeler, of all people. You nudge her shoulder comfortingly, watching the blush creep up her neck toward her face. “Alright, who’s next?” Robin asks, desperately hoping to avert the attention away from her.

A young blonde girl who’s name you couldn’t remember spun the bottle, landing on Jason, and to no surprise—she picked herself. You’ve never been more happy that Chrissy wasn’t much of a partier, she didn’t deserve this—Jason really didn’t deserve her. You couldn’t be bothered to watch, eyes averting to Eddie who was just as equally uncomfortable, but it didn’t seem like it was for the same reason. He rarely ever took part in group stuff or socialized outside of his D&D club—but he had you, Nancy, Robin, and Steve to thank for finally helping him branch out—even if it was against his own will most of the time.

Jason took the next turn, spinning the bottle. It spun and spun, lasting for what felt like hours until it stopped on you. You looked at Jason, bracing for whatever stupid choice he was about to.

“Harrington.” He says smugly, smirk covering his annoying face. “You get to kiss Harrington.”

Steve eyes you wearily, immediately feeling uncomfortable with all eyes on him. Luckily, it wasn’t that big of a deal. Had he been the Steve of two years ago, he would’ve had no shame, kissing you square on the mouth in front of the entire school if he needed to, just to prove a point. But this Steve, he was hesitant. You had been through a lot, together and apart.

“Lucky me.” You joke, flashing a sweet smile in Steve’s direction. You chug the rest of the beer, throwing the bottle off toward the other growing pile of empty bottles. You contemplate whether a simple kiss was enough, but the way Jason was staring you down—you just had to stick it to him, shove it right in his face.

Steve’s leg spread slightly as you moved forward, allowing you the space you needed to take a careful seat on his leg, one arm hung loosely around his back. “You can hate me later.” You whisper, hand coming up to cradle the side of his face before leaning in, pressing you lips against his own with all the confidence in the world.

You really don’t expect the pressure the Steve returns, parting your lips slightly. But, he seems to catch on to why you were putting on such a show—he would play along either way. And even if you did have the teensiest of crushes on Steve, you would never find the courage to act on it alone. Steve spent all of his time talking about girls that there was no reason for you to be anywhere on his radar. He sighs quietly, bring you in closer, hand gripping onto your waist gently.

Jason clears his throat awkwardly, “If you two want to get a room that’s fine.” Of course the jerk couldn’t take what he wanted to dish out. You pull away slowly, eyes immediately connecting with his.

“Sorry. Who’s next?” You ask simply, standing to smooth out your shirt where it had ridden up from Steve’s hand. “Robin?”

“Me?” She asks, voice shaken. Robin was always so inherently nervous, but it was part of her charm. "I, uh--Okay."

You could hear a pin drop as soon as it landed on Eddie, the entire group snapping their attention in his direction. He was fiddling with the neck of the bottle, not realizing everyone was staring at him until Steve nudges him.

He laughs lightly, not even the slightest bit uncomfortable. You would never understand how easily he brushed everything off. "Choose wisely, Robin." He teases, pointing a tantalizing finger her direction. Robin forces a laugh, eyes wandering around the group slowly, categorizing every person.

Not Jason, not Nancy, not to mention all the other kids who were vehemently making an effort to avoid Robin's gaze. She stops on Steve for half a second, considering--before she snaps to you. She mumbles a sheepish, "Sorry--I love you, please don't hate me."

But, there wasn't any reason to hate her. It was a game--a silly, stupid little game, right? You shrug, throwing your arms up in the air. "Rules are rules." You assure her, "Pucker up, Munson."

Much similar to your approach to Steve, Eddie widens his legs. But, he's perched higher, allowing his head to be level with you while he sat. "It's an honor, sweetheart." His voice dripping with honey, warm and entirely too welcoming--and now you really can't ignore the shiver that runs down your spine. It wasn't the alcohol this time, not even in the slightest.

He yanks you toward him gently, fingers carding their way through the hair at nape of your neck, pulling you in for a slow, searing kiss. You yelp quietly at the action, caught off guard by the way Eddie manhandled you into place--not that you were complaining.

The kiss quickly turns into something else, a mess of tongues and not much else. It was probably time to cut off the alcohol. Robin whistles loudly from behind you, the rest of the teenagers joining in quickly, pulling you both out of whatever trance you had both entered. You quickly stepped back from Eddie, pointedly avoiding his eyes--unfortunately, locking right onto Steve's. Except he's not looking back, he's staring directly at Eddie. And it's then, in the midst of all your drunkenness, that your existential crisis hits you.

Steve was jealous and Eddie wanted to make Steve jealous. It had worked perfectly, assuming by the look on Steve's face. But, what doesn't make sense, is why Steve couldn't bare to look at you now. Eddie coughs softly, causing you to separate further. "Sorry, sweetheart. Kinda got ahead of myself." You wanted to blame it on the alcohol, but it couldn't have been more obvious--the problem was literally staring you directly in the face.

They were both jealous. They couldn't even share a glance with each other anymore, after an entire night of pointless chatting, it was like they couldn't be on further points of the universe, all over a harmless game.

"Well, I think that's enough for one night." Nancy finally says, breaking the tension that had been created between the three of you. "Robin?" She asks, making an effort to hope she would catch on.

"Yep!" She claps, standing up from her spot and immediately snatching Nancy away from the group. "God, please fill me in on whatever is going on with those two." Robin whispers into your ear before she finally flees, following Nancy toward the drink table, against her better judgement.

.ೃ࿐

After a few minutes of silence and stolen glances between each other, no one speaks. You sigh loudly, hands thrown out to your side. "I'm not dealing with you two. I'm not--I'm just gonna go find somewhere to sober up." You weren't sure what had brought out the behavior from Steve--well, Eddie had--but, you hadn't done a single thing to him. And Eddie, he couldn't even be bothered to look Steve's way.

You turn, stomping off into the deep brush of forest, desperate to escape the chaos of the party and calm your nerves. "Wait!" You hear Steve call out, but you don't stop. To no one's surprise, Steve trails closely behind--a quiet Eddie sticking behind, staring at the dirty, scuffed white sneakers he wore.

"Wait, please," Steve's voice is softer this time, but louder, void of all the loud music and chatter. He's staring at you with his soft, brown eyes--the type of look that would make any girl melt. But not you, not now, "stuff got weird back there, I'm sorry."

"Stuff got weird? Is that the excuse you're using?" You ask, entirely unconvinced by what he was telling you. "So, you staring down Eddie like you wanted to murder him isn't important? I shouldn't be worried about that?"

Steve looks away, jaw clenching. "I didn't think it would feel weird. But, I couldn't help it." He replies lamely, still not looking your way.

"Couldn't help what?" You ask, arms crossing over your chest, "Acting like a complete douche? It was a game, Steve." But, you were far past the point of it just being a game--you knew it was more to Steve, maybe not before, but definitely now.

"Just a game? So when you had your tongue shoved down Eddie's throat, that was just a game?" Steve turns toward you, eyes narrowing. You set yourself, brows furrowing in anger.

"So, you are jealous." Steve shakes his head in frustration, back turned toward you. "You're jealous that I kissed Eddie? Steve, I kissed you too, how does that make any sense?" He didn't even have the courage to look at you now, even after being so confrontational. "Steve, seriously?"

"Fuck this." He snaps, turning on his heels and stalking toward you, legs hitting the back of the worn out picnic table, sending you stumbling back, arm extended out in an effort to catch yourself, but Steve's hands are around you before you can even think, pulling you into him.

You hesitate for a split second, seeing his eyes scan over the expanse of your face, silently checking if you were okay--you were furious, but you couldn't help but want to lean in further, the tingle of alcohol filling your body. You sigh into Steve's mouth the moment it touches yours, immediately wrapping your arms around the expanse of his neck, allowing his hands to slip under your thighs and force you to be fully seated on the table now, wrapping your legs around his hips.

His tongue traces a line against your top lip, idle hand squeezing at the soft flesh of your waist, before delving into your mouth like he was a man dying of thirst, ready to bleed you dry. You fight back, lips pressing against his in an effort to gain an upper hand, fingers gently pulling at his hair. Steve moans outwardly, a filthy laugh slipping from his lips at the effort you were giving. "I guess I had a reason to be jealous, yeah?" He asks teasingly, his voice low and soft, only for your ears.

"Shut up." You bite back, pulling him back in for another kiss, leaving you practically breathless.

"Well, seems you two had a couple issues to work through." A voice bleeds through the trees, the familiar crackle of leaves coming closer and closer until..."Didn't think you had it in you, Harrington."

"Eddie." It's a warning. He knows it.

Eddie throws his hands up in defeat before resting them behind his back, slowly stepping closer. Steve was still pressed between your legs, but both of you were glued on Eddie and that stupid smirk he had.

"Don't act so innocent, sweetheart." He chides, his voice soft but condescending in it's tone. "You knew exactly what you were doing."

A step closer, than another, until he's practically kneeling on the bench beside you both, only a few inches away. "Steve's definitely got it out for you--problem is, I do too."

It couldn't have been more obvious, but the reality of hearing it fall from Eddie's mouth has your heart skipping a beat. Two of you bestfriends, two people you loved--it should feel wrong.

Eddie lets out a short chuckle, eyes dark, not soft like they usually are. He wasn't mad, you've known him long enough to understand what that looks like, but this--it was something else entirely. He leans in slowly, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You were too hyperaware of your position now--Steve crowded over you, Eddie pushed in beside you. Steve hadn't even bothered to move, to enraptured by the show Eddie was putting on, almost like he was amused by it. You glance over at Steve, his mouth hung open slightly, still caught up in all the emotion of the moment, his grip never faltering.

"You think Harrington likes to watch? Or maybe he'll join in?" Eddie asks teasingly, eyes glancing toward Steve. Steve's eyes flit toward Eddie quickly, before returning to your own, eyes glossing over slightly. "He does get a little feisty when he drinks, doesn't he?"

"Eddie, just get to the point." You beg tiredly, glancing up toward him now. Eddie smiles, but it's slight, barely noticeable at all. He's thinking, contemplating. But, it doesn't take long before Eddie's leaning forward, chin grasped between his fingers in an effort to maneuver your face toward him. It's surprisingly gentle, despite how aggressive it would look to anyone passing by, luckily you three were completely alone.

"Just couldn't resist another taste, sweetheart." Eddie flirted entirely to well, it was one of his more annoying traits. He flirted with everyone, anything, it wasn't something you ever put much thought into. But, this--this was dirty, this was real. "I'll let myself regret it in the morning."

But, it's you who closes that gap, hand reaching up to graze the side of Eddie's face, fingers catching in one of his curls. Steve's grip on your waist tightens, but he doesn't move, doesn't let go. He hasn't even made a sound. Eddie licks into your mouth, desperate for more of you, teeth grazing against your bottom lip, nipping gently. Eddie was messy with passion in the way that Steve was slightly more coordinated--and the idea that you were even comparing the two was insane, but that was a thought for a later time. There were more pressing issues at hand--like, Eddie pulling away to suck at a particular spot on your neck, allowing you to finally lock eyes with Steve again.

"Can I kiss you?" His voice was rough, eyes drawn to where Eddie was sucking along your neck. You couldn't even be bothered to answer, nodding quickly in response. He pulls you in carefully, the hand that wasn't holding your waist a featherlight touch against your thigh, pulling your leg higher up his hip. He didn't seem to mind that Eddie wanted to join in, but he wanted to make sure his presence was still known. Not like you could forget it--this would be burned into your mind forever.

You sigh, desperate for more and more touch, from either of them. It was driving you wild, the way Eddie was whispering in your ear, taking the time to claim up your skin with his own mouth, all while being devoured by Steve’s, his tongue breaching past your lips, desperate to pull any little sound he could out of you. Words were pointless, you couldn’t even form one. It wasn’t like you were drunk enough to the point where you couldn’t make a rational decision, not that anything was making sense right now, but you were definitely aware.

“Switch me, Harrington.” Eddie sighs out, hand reaching around to grip at the thigh that Steve wasn’t occupying, squeezing at the sensitive flesh. You whine softly, the cold sting of his rings a very prominent reminder. This was Eddie, your best friend, and Steve—also your best friend—how were you going to recover from this?

Steve doesn’t put up a fight, surprisingly, switching with Eddie quickly, hand wandering up your chest, slipping under the thin material of your shirt. “This okay?” He asks into crown of your head, mouth buried into your hair, squeezing at your breast, over the flimsy bralette that covered them.

“So okay. So much better than okay.” You confess, pleasure having taken over your rational thinking completely. You catch the glance that Eddie sends Steve's way, watching his hand disappear under your shirt. And for a split second, Steve locks eyes with him. They could've buried you six feet under at this point, not even feeling like you were in control of yourself anymore. But, the feeling of Eddie's lips brushing against your own has you jolting back to reality, your hand coming up to push his hair out of his face, delving into his mouth, a sloppy mess of tongue and spit, just like before.

It was a stark contrast, the way Eddie was ready to devour you whole, compared to Steve, who was sure of himself, but never taking a step too far without checking in with you. It had you reeling, two of the boys you care about most, drawing sounds out of you that you had no idea existed. You had to stop this at some point, before you three woke up the next morning, unable to look at each other.

You sighed, reaching back to rub tenderly at Steve's arm, pulling his attention away from where his face was buried in your neck, barely grazing Eddie's, but it's enough to interrupt him. He pulls back, eyes softer now.

"We have to stop." You say, regretfully. As much as you wanted to let the alcohol think for you, some things just couldn't get out of control, not this. "We can't do this."

They both pull back slowly, slightly dejected. "Sorry." Steve says softly, attempting to subtly adjust the front of his pants, but he fails.

"Damn, Harrington." Eddie laughs, finally pulling back, fishing his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. "You just keep surprising me."

"Shut up." Steve shoots back, but there's no real emotion behind it. He almost laughs at the absurdity of the situation, not having fully processed everything either.

"I need to get back before Robin comes looking for me." You tell them both, the flick of Eddie's lighter louder in the silence that had settled.

"Eh, I don't know about that." Eddie gives you a playful look, taking a long drag from the cigarette. "She might be a little busy."

"With?" You ask, eyeing him carefully.

"Let's just say, Wheeler was pretty eager to run off with her earlier," He glances over at Steve, then back at you, "and I definitely didn't catch them making out over by the parking lot."

"Damn, I didn't think Robin had it in her." Steve comments offhandedly, seemingly proud of his friend.

"God," You sigh, rubbing your hands over your face tiredly, "this is the last party I'm ever tagging along on."

"Probably a good idea," Eddie says, smiling down at you, "you might end up falling in love with us." It's a lame attempt at a joke, but the way your heart flutters scares you.

"Yeah." You force a laugh, pushing yourself off the table and attempting to walk back toward the wild group of drunk teenagers. The boys trail closely behind, exchanging glances between each other unbeknownst you. Steve shakes his head in disbelief.

"Hey!" You hear Robin yells, jogging toward you. Nancy was close behind her, an obvious pep in her step. You gave Robin a suspicious look, eyeing her up and down. "So, these two ever stop acting so grumpy?"

"Yeah." You say slowly, glancing over at Nancy, who was forcing herself to hide the obvious smile on her face. "They'll be okay, we talked it out."

"Good, at least they finally figured their shit out." Robin whispers to you, glancing up at the two boys who were both wearing the same pair of shit-eating grins on their face at the sight of their other two friends.

"I could say the same for you."

The look on Robin's face is priceless, sending you running in the direction of Steve's car at the startled yell of your name. "She's gonna kill you for that." Eddie comments, gasping for breath when you finally come to a stop, arm draped over your shoulder gently.

"I told you, she just needed a nudge." Steve smirks, jingling the keys to his car in front of you. "Need a ride?"

It didn't matter if you three ended up in the back of Steve's car that night, somehow in the same situation as earlier, you could regret it in the morning. But truthfully, that wasn't the last time—and none of you ever regretted it.

[enhas-bestie]

Idol Crush! [46]

► FORTY SIX: make it official bro (smau + written [1. 5k words] + smau)

"I think Y/N's mad at me." Jungwon says frowning, his eyes still trained on his phone. Or scratch that, he knew that you were mad at him - and frankly, you had every right to be.

His "it's complicated" excuse sounded like bullshit even to his own ears.

Sunoo looks up from his own phone and spares the younger boy a curious glance, a feeling of sympathy rising within him as he continues to watch Jungwon deflate, "Why? Did you did you do something wrong?" 

As far as Sunoo was concerned, you being mad at Jungwon didn’t even sound plausible. The two of you had been seeing each other for roughly 3 months now and everything was going great. 

Sure, there were times when you visited the dorms and Sunoo and the rest of the boys had to witness you and Jungwon having a few petty arguments (if he could even call them arguments) . But it was almost always over within ten minutes and then followed by a nauseating battle of “No, I’m the one who should be apologising first”.

This time, however, it seemed a bit different. Jungwon actually looked a bit distressed.

"I think,” Jungwon murmurs, his eyebrows furrowing in concentration while he rapidly tries to type out another message to you, “it's because I haven't asked her to be my girlfriend yet..."

To be honest, he didn't think it was because he didn't ask you to be his girlfriend yet. He knew it was because of that.

The boy’s still in the process of figuring out what to say to in an attempt to remedy the situation- typing, deleting and then retyping a flurry of unsent text messages- when suddenly his phone is snatched out of his hands by Sunoo. 

The older boy levels him with a look of plain disbelief, "What do you mean you haven't asked her yet? I thought you guys were dating already!" 

Flipping Jungwon's phone around - and not necessarily caring about invading his friend’s privacy- Sunoo allows his eyes to roam over the screen, a mixture of a gasp and scoff leaving his lips as he reads through the messages, "Oh, there is no way you're this clueless about love." 

"It's not that I'm clueless, okay" Jungwon defends, “It just... Things have been going so amazing with Y/N these past few months. We meet up whenever we're free, we go on dates, we enjoy each other's company…In my head we’re already a couple; so I guess I just didn't feel the need to have the whole "girlfriend boyfriend" talk with her... " 

The words coming out of Jungwon’s mouth weren't necessarily a lie - but it was just a very very small part of a much bigger truth. And the truth of the matter is this: Jungwon is scared. 

He's brave enough to perform in front of thousands of people. He could withstand the harshest criticism from his vocal teachers and dance coaches. He could even steal Sunoo’s fancy skincare products without batting a damn eyelash…

But officially asking you to be his girlfriend? For a multitude of reasons, it was both a thrilling and terrifying thought to think of.

Sunoo gives the boy in front of him a long, hard stare before rolling his eyes, "You’re so hopeless.”

Jay chooses that exact moment to walk in groggily, still dressed in his pajamas even though it was nearing the afternoon.

“Who’s hopeless?” he asks, sharp eyes automatically surveying the empty lounge just to see that it's only occupied with himself, Sunoo and…Jungwon.

“Oh, nevermind. It’s probably loverboy over there.”

If it’s possible, Jungwon only deflates further.

“Not much of a loverboy if we’re being serious,” Sunoo snorts, “He and Y/N aren’t even officially dating yet.”

Jay’s hands pause their action of rubbing his eyes. He could hardly believe his ears, “...What?”

“Yeah.” Sunoo all but shoves Jungwon’s phone into Jay’s face, who squints as he reads the conversation. After he's done, he instantly drags his eyes over to look at Jungwon who’s sitting crossed-legged on the couch, “Seriously?”

“I’ll talk to her.”

“Yeah, you better.”

A cool and gentle breeze ruffles Jungwon’s hair as he stands a good distance away from a group of buildings. Said buildings had become increasingly familiar to him over the past few weeks, given that he became a regular visitor to the place, though, he had never once show up without your permission.

It was the residential complex that housed your dorms.

He had sent you a short text message a few minutes ago telling you to come outside, but the fact that you were taking so long was starting to unnerve him. Were you even at home or what?

The streets were completely empty, save for a few people who were speed-walking to get home. But the slim chance that someone would recognise him - even in the dim lighting of the dark - set him on edge. He had seen himself in enough tabloid articles to last him a lifetime.

Additionally, the thought that you were still frustrated at him and simply just didn’t want to see him at all also ate away at his mind. You hadn't even responded back to his messages yet...

It’s another two minutes of waiting (though it feels much longer) before he finally sees your familiar figure jogging towards him. The sight of you makes him relax and the fact that you were unintentionally dressed similarly to him - in an oversized black t-shirt and sweats - makes his lips quirk up in a smile.

Of course, that smile drops off his face the instant you open your mouth.

“Hey, Bro.” your voice greets him and he resists the urge to roll his eyes at that stupid fucking nickname. He didn't want to let you know how much it irked him to hear it. Because if you did know how much it bothered him, you’d probably never stop calling him that just to mess with him.

“Are you wearing lipgloss?” is what he chooses to say instead of addressing your annoying choice of a pet name.

But also, he’s curious. Why were you wearing red lipgloss at almost 9pm at night and why did you have blush and concealer applied to your face? It looked messily blended too - almost like it was put on in a rush... Wait a minute.

Not even he can hide the self-satisfied grin that crawls up onto his face, “Did you put on make up for me?” he asks innocently.

“What? No. Of course not.” the way you almost spit the words out makes his eyebrows raise in amusement.

“Are you sure?”

Your spluttering and vehement denial is honestly all the answer he needs to be able to tell that you’re lying, but he’s having too much fun watching you squirm and dodging his eyes.

It almost makes him forget why he set up this little rendezvous with you in the first place - but the next few words that fall out of your mouth remind him instantly:

“Sorry,” you make a show of folding your arms in front of your chest, “I don’t put on makeup for my bros.” 

His grin is replaced by a crestfallen expression and he watches the way your turn your head from him to hide your smirk. If he wanted to tease you, fine. But you could tease him too. You didn’t know who the hell he thought he was fooling by trying to cover up the fact that the term “bro” was clearly making him upset.

Jungwon bites back an exasperated sigh and then pulls you to him. You’re trapped in a half hug - his arms circled around you while you stubbornly refuse to uncross your arms from their folded position. But his hugs are warm and familiar and you can't help but relent by leaning your head against his chest. It allows you to hear how fast his heart is beating.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” he mumbles into your hair and you hum.

“Oh? And what exactly are you sorry for?”

He’s quiet for a second before he replies softly, “For akways making you do all the work in this relationship.”

Your arms unconsciously loosen to wrap around his waist. He...felt like you were doing all the work? 

“The reason I didn’t ask you to be my girlfriend is because, honestly, I don’t even know what it takes to be a boyfriend. I’ve never been in a relationship before... and I have no clue how any of this is supposed to work.” he admits.

“I’ve been so incredibly happy with you these past few months - the happiest I’ve been in a long time actually. But I’m just so scared that once we put a label on everything, there’ll be an added pressure and you’ll realise what a shitty boyfriend I might be.”

His confession has you blinking.

Once. Twice. And then thrice. 

Honestly, you’re torn between squeezing him in the tightest hug of his life and whacking him over the head with the nearest (non-violent) object you can find.

You have no idea which option to pick... so you decide to do both.

Jungwon feels your comforting embrace around him tightening and he melts into it a bit; trying to get comfortable by bending down slightly so he can rest his head on yours - but then you’re pushing him back and the next thing he knows is he’s feeling a light smack being delivered to the back of his head. 

Did you just hit him?

 “...Ow?”

“Yeah “ow”, I should’ve hit you harder.” you scowl and Jungwon frowns. Overall, he’s getting some pretty mixed signals here and it's messing with his head a bit. Were you mad at him or not?

“Jungwon, I’m new to the whole dating thing too, okay? I know how scary it is. But you can’t just go around assuming the worst of yourself! If I thought you were gonna be a bad boyfriend, I wouldn’t be standing in front of you in the first place.”

Jungwon avoids eye contact, waiting quietly for you to continue, “We’re going to make mistakes. And fight. And get a little angry at each other. And things aren’t always going to go our way... but that’s okay - it’s inevitable." you give his hand a reassuring squeeze.

"The important thing is that we can come together and talk out whatever's bothering us - just like we’re doing right now.”

Jungwon feels your arms wrap around him again and he leans into your hug, "Everything will be okay if we just learn to communicate properly, okay?"

Somehow, you had the ability to shrink all of his insecurities and make them feel trivial.

It was something only you could do - something he was so grateful for, because even amidst all of these new and foreign experiences, he knew that you’d always be there right next to him - holding his hand and reassuring him that in the end, everything would be okay.

And he wanted you to feel the same way about him too.

He wanted to be someone you could rely on - someone who provided you with as as much comfort as you provided him. He didn’t just want to take; he wanted to give too.

And if that meant he had to step out of his comfort zone and venture into new, undiscovered territory…Well, that was okay, as long as he had you by his side.

“Y/N, will you let me be your boyfriend?”

He feels you bury your head deeper into his chest, your face so warm he can feel it through the thin material of his sweater.

A muffled “yes” is your answer, followed by a shy, “Will you let me be your girlfriend?”

Jungwon smiles so hard he fears his face will split in two.

He unwraps his arms from around your shoulders so that he could use his hands to gently tilt back your head. He wanted to give his answer while looking into your pretty eyes. And he wanted you to look into his own eyes so that you could see the sincerity brimming in them, “Yes.”

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