#so it's only fair to give her some art in return for not dissecting me

[myrmyrtheorca]

The Bonegrinder. Carrion-eater. Lieutenant of the Defense and Strategy branch, Leda Ysoude Cavalieri. Ya' call me whatever the fuck you want, keh. It's not going to matter - it's pretty hard to speak without your teeth in their place, y'know?

I was supposed to go back home and write, but Ysoude had other plans for me.

By the way, she's innocent of all crimes. She did nothing wrong. Those stories about rats in Myr's food? Slander. Ysoude is an angel.

The wrong kind of angel.

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

Of Academic Interest

Fandom: Indiana Jones

Collection/Series: Tribute to/Part of @alloftheimaginesblog ‘s ‘Secret’s Out’ Saga world.

Pairing: Indiana Jones x Plus Size Female History Lecturer Reader (Glasses are mentioned very briefly)

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long

Rating: T 

Warnings: N/A

Summary: You’re one of the newest history lecturers and Indiana turns up to watch your open lecture on the Cult of the Beautiful Dead

Notes: I love Angela’s Secret’s Out Saga, i’m happy that I get to send her requests and see the amazing things she writes for it and lately i’ve been getting the urge to write something for the world/au/series. 

This is a homage, a tribute, to it, obviously none of this is canon unless Angela says so. 

This is set before Indy and the Reader are dating.

All facts come from an essay I did at university on the Cult of the Beautiful Dead, which I also did an hour long presentation on. 

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You were relatively new to the history department at Marshall College and were somewhat of a novelty to students and staff alike having only been there for a few months. Being one of the few female professors and on top of that specialising in some more taboo or ground breaking historical takes on the history of gender and sexuality, you had successfully caused quite the stir. 

The majority of your colleagues were accepting, happy to have you and generally interested by your studies and research. Despite being relatively new to academic teaching they were supportive, although there was a small subsection of the humanities department who, in typical old man fashion, talked down to you, treated you like a coffee girl and disrespected your expertise. You had taken to stealing their students from their modules and attracting them to your modules instead as a passive form of fighting back.

Students were clamouring to be taught by you, to get onto the list for your modules or to get to see your open lectures. You were the only member of the faculty who talked about the more riveting elements of history such as prostitution, sexualisation, and even ghosts. In comparison to the same lectures on Anglo-Saxon England and the Civil War, you were significantly more interesting to the student population. That did not, however, remove sexism within the student population. While female students actively enjoyed your lectures, got involved more so than in other modules, and felt a sense of comfort in a more female friendly space, you found that a small portion of the student male population tried at every turn to either explain your own specialism to you or to discredit you. You had long since taken to finding it rather amusing, especially when most of those individuals were failing your course. 

You had been asked many months ago to prepare an open lecture on the history of surgery and medicine, the faculty head had told you to pick any topic you wished so long as it was well researched and you could put on a good lecture for the student population. For some it might well be their first ever history lecture, for others it was just an addition to their usual workload, nonetheless you’d chosen a topic that was of interest to you and that you felt confident presenting. 

Standing before a podium in a large lecture hall, you push your glass further up the bridge of your nose and flick through the pages of notes in front of you to temporarily distract yourself from the crowds of people that were slowly making their way inside and to seats. It was a large hall, one that could hold upwards of 200 people and despite years of public speaking under your belt there was always an anticipation, a sense of nerves, before you began a lecture or presentation. 

You checked the microphone on the podium, happy to find it in working order and smiled at a few familiar faces in the front row, some of your students who had apparently decided to spend their free period listening to you talk some more. Checking the time you waited a few more minutes before choosing to start, letting the last stragglers find a seat or for those unlucky enough to stand at the back after all seats were filled. It was a large turn out and you could feel those nerves buzzing in the pit of your stomach as you cleared your throat and picked up your notes. 

“Good morning, everyone! Thank you for coming despite your busy schedules to hear me drone on once more about dead people,” Light laughter and small chuckles filled the space as you began, your students looking at each other with a shake of their heads. “Today i’m going to be talking to you about something called the Cult of the Beautiful Dead in Victorian medicine. Specifically surgery.” 

You find yourself drifting from the podium, pacing across the stage even as this requires you to speak louder without the microphone. There is a familiar energy in your body that demands you move as you speak, to expend it in some physical way. “The Cult of the Beautiful Dead pervaded the world of art within the 18th and 19th centuries. It has been defined as ‘a subjective fascination with idealised images of the deceased in such a way that permanently embalmed bodies and stable images displace and replace impermanent reality’, but I would characterise it within medical and surgical art somewhat differently.”

You stop briefly, give yourself time to breathe and them time to process your words, in that brief moment your eyes glance across the crowd and spot a familiar face that makes your cheeks warm and your heart stutter. Professor Henry ‘Indiana’ Jones Junior. 

Professor Jones was known throughout the history and archaeology department for his digs, his finds, and his immense knowledge, that and his good looks and charming persona. He was friendly, enticing, handsome, and treated you as an equal. While you could not consider yourself friends, you did have a healthy respect and rather decent crush on the man. In fact, the only reason you weren’t friends, you suspected, was your inability to talk around the man without stuttering. He had no reason to be at your lecture, but he’d come anyway, in fact it looked as if he were the only member of the archaeology department present. 

You forced yourself to tear your eyes away and continue, “It is the idealised image of the female body on the dissection room table or the surgical bed with her flowing hair, her soft, pale skin, her perfect, unharmed nature and her sexualised passivity which characterises the Cult of the Beautiful Dead within medical art. On your seats you would have found copies of a painting by Henri Gervaux and an illustration by Hasselhorst, I will be talking today about these pieces of art and how they fit in with the realities of the dissection room.” 

You move across the stage again, wait as they find out their papers and find yourself looking over at Dr Jones again. He is intent in his observations of the papers in his hands, interested, actively engaged and that is a bigger compliment than anything you think. It would be heartbreaking, you decide, if he were bored by or disinterested in your lecture. While you don’t need his approval, you are an academic in your own right, you do desire it. 

You continue on when he looks up, shifting your eyes away quickly, “In the 19th century women were less likely to be patients of surgeons than men and even when they were operated on they were by no means symbols of the Cult of the Beautiful dead. See Before the Operation by Henri Gervaux,” You wait for them to find the print of the painting, “It is a portrait of Dr Pean, a French Surgeon, and depicts the moment before an operation on a young woman and fits into the ideal of the Cult even though the woman is anaesthetised and not dead.” 

In this fashion you continue your lecture, moving across the stage discussing the sexualisation of the female body in medical art and the realities of surgery in comparison. You’re highly aware of Dr Jones’ eyes on you as you move across the stage, to the point that you stumble at points in your oration. As time goes on you find yourself relaxing under his gaze, accepting that he is here purely out of interest, not to judge you or pass criticism. His active engagement with your lecture, the notes you can see him scribbling down in a notebook, is rewarding and reassures you that he is enjoying himself even on a topic so far removed from his own studies of ancient civilisations and centuries old artefacts and skeletons. 

You reach the end of your lecture, returning to the podium and straightening your skirt, “Are there any questions?”

Hands pop up across the room, but it is one in particular that you are drawn to. You don’t expect him to ask questions, you don’t expect him to have any, but you are a little scared to hear what he has to say. It shouldn’t scare you, this active academic engagement, the meeting of minds, but you so desperately do not want to make a fool of yourself. 

“Dr Jones?” You gesture for him to go on and ask and he stands in response. Tugging at the tweed waistcoat and adjusting his glasses on his nose.

He smiles at you as he begins, “Dr Y/L/N,” He addresses you by your title, formal and respectful. You are reminded, once more, that he has never failed to treat you as an equal. Unlike some of the other male professors, “I was just wondering what your opinion was on the eroticisation of death in this period?” You let out a little laugh, for no reason other than a little relief at the ease with which you can answer that question. 

“Thank you for your question Dr Jones, well art such as Hasselhorst’s helped to eroticise death in the 18th and 19th centuries, death became equated with beauty, even if the reality of the dissection room failed to live up to the standards of the Cult of the Beautiful Dead. What we see is death portrayed often as a young woman. She is often portrayed as beautiful with long flowing hair, a fair face, a soft pale body, naked, open to the eye and most importantly passive. The dead woman in this period is a passive object, dead, yet sleeping, immortally captured at her most beautiful and unable to object to any sexualisation or objectification. She cannot talk back. Death is an obsession of the Victorians and it’s prevalence in medical art like Hasselhorst’s shows just how deeply connected death, beauty and the erotic became at this time.”

“Do you think we’ve continued that desire for passivity today? The way in which we expect women to act?” 

“What do you think, Dr Jones?” You turn the question back on him, eager to hear his opinion, knowing that your own certainly sees the way 1930s society demands passivity from women even if death is no longer eroticised in the same way. 

“I think we’ve perpetuated that desire for passivity from women within our society, demanded they hold their tongue, keep themselves in check and in place and as objects of desire, but not too much or else they’re no longer respectable. I think we expect women to be passively sexual, unknowingly so, innocently so, yet they must be attractive else their worth is diminished. An outspoken or intelligent woman is demeaned, pushed out from academics or workplaces. Don’t you agree?”

“I do.” You take a moment, give him a smile before answering the next question and the next and the next. You expect him to leave like many of the other members of the audience once his question has been answered, instead he stays, listens to your responses to each question and pays you rapt attention. 

You find yourself even more interested in Dr Jones than you were before. His acknowledgement of the treatment you and other women have faced when attempting to make a name in a career or in academics is refreshing and his engagement with your lecture is enjoyable and endearing. You curse him a little for making your crush, your infatuation deeper simply by coming to your lecture. 

You find yourself packing up your notes at the end, listening to the sound of feet leaving as you grab your notes and stuff them into your leather satchel. A tall shadow falls over you as you heft the bag onto your shoulder and you smile up at Dr Jones as he stands before the podium notebook in hand, he folds the glasses off of his nose and pockets them. 

“How did you enjoy the lecture, Dr Jones?” You run an anxious hand through your hair and twist your wide hips in a nervous movement, always finding yourself a little flustered when one on one with the man. There’s a part of you that worries about coming under scrutiny from him, the part that has so often been judged in life for your gender, your area of study, and your weight. Years of nasty comments, suggested diets and family obsession with the size of your body had created a paranoia almost, a sense of expectation. You were just waiting for the scrutiny to be voiced.

“It was one of the most interesting lectures I've had the pleasure of watching. You should write a book, it might be a worthy next research project and please call me Indiana.” 

“Only if you call me by name. I think we can both drop the doctor? I wasn’t expecting to see you here, I...I didn’t think the Victorians would interest an archaeologist.” In truth the idea of Indiana Jones wanting to learn about people not long dead, a period which rarely requires archaeological excavation and has few true mysteries, had never crossed your mind. 

“In all honesty?” There’s a pause as he looks away from you with a charming smirk before turning back to you, teeth showing through his smile. “You interest me. I’ve read all your books, all your papers, every time you lecture I stop at the door and listen. You’re a compelling orator.”

“You listen to my lectures?” You can feel warmth flooding your cheeks, your neck, your ears at his admission. Feel a familiar sense of butterflies flapping about in your stomach. You look down briefly, smiling at the ground before meeting his blue eyes again.

“When I have time, surprised you haven’t noticed me hovering in the doorway. You really are one of the best academics I've ever met.”

“I...thank you.” You’re a little lost for words, you have barely shared more than a few polite conversations with Indiana, too intimidated to talk in depth with him and yet here he is extolling your values and praising you. 

“Don’t let Dr Carr convince you otherwise.” He taps his fingers in a rhythm on the wood of the podium, looking away from you and towards the door where you can see the much older Dr Carr standing waiting impatiently for you to leave the room for his next lecture. 

“You heard...the other day.” You think back to the argument you’d gotten into with the old professor over his sexist attitude towards you, his constant demeaning comments. You had thought it had been a private argument, but it seems not. You were still rather angry about the whole thing in truth.

“Yeah, look he’s old school. Doesn’t think women should have degrees or PhDs, ignore him. You’re a better academic by far and he’s just angry that he’s been passed over for the chair again. He’s a washed up old academic, he’s only still got a job because the Dean feels bad for him.” He says the last part loudly, on purpose you’re sure, loud enough for Dr Carr to hear and turn a glare on him. You know he won’t say anything to him though, Dr Jones was the university’s prized archaeology professor, he brought in more artefacts than the other’s combined and more students. Dr Carr wouldn’t say a bad word against him. Couldn’t. It was enjoyable to watch the old fuddy professor go red in the face and huff at the doors. 

“I don’t know what to say. I...Thank you. I know we don’t...we don’t really talk, but thank you, I. It’s been hard joining the faculty, it’s a very masculine environment and I...it’s nice to know there’s someone in my corner.” You think to your Grandfather telling you that academics would make you barren, cause you to go insane, think to your mother telling you to find a nice husband and settle down, that you should desire the life of a housewife alone. It has been very difficult simply getting this far and to know you have him in your corner, someone in your corner means a great deal, in a new city, a new job, a new career. 

“Always.” The two of you stand there in silence, just staring at each other, despite the impatient noises being made at the door by Dr Carr. You grip the satchel strap tighter over your shoulder and tuck your hair behind your ear. 

“Would you like to get some coffee?”

“Now?” You don’t have any more lectures for the day, just your office hours later to answer any student questions, but the offer still surprises you. 

“Yeah, I don’t have a lecture until later and...if you’re free I have more questions.” He holds up the notebook, little post notes coming out of the side, it’s thick from writings and usage. It flatters you that he’s so interested in what you have to say, in your mind. You think it might be more of a compliment than anything physical. 

“So it’s entirely professional then, Dr Jones?” You’re not sure where the confidence comes from to cause the words to fall from your lips, to cause a little smirk to lift at them as you look at him over the top of your glasses. Flirtation is one area you are not confident in, despite it all. 

“Well, I wouldn’t say entirely, sweetheart...I’d like to get to know you better.” He’s utterly too charming for his own good you think and too charming for your poor little heart, but despite any concerns you have, any worries about his intentions you still find yourself agreeing. You’ve wanted to get to know him better for so long, too scared to talk to him in more than passing that you can’t let this opportunity pass you by. Refuse to. 

“That sounds...lovely.” 

“Shall we?” He offers his elbow out to you and you take it, wrapping your arm through his and pulling yourself to his side. He is taller, broader, and warmer than you. He smells woodsy and a little like black coffee and everything about this moment has your heart skipping a beat. 

“We shall.”  

You take great pleasure in the dissatisfied sneer on Dr Carr’s face as the two of you walk arm in arm out of the lecture hall. 

                                                            ----

Taglists: 

@charradelange @belfry-bat @gabile18 @beccaboo929  @trasheater

[365days365movies]

March 9, 2021: Orpheus (Review)

Man, I really should’ve taken a film class in college.

Orpheus, understand, is a fantastic film...that I am highly unqualified to judge. I man, I’m gonna give it a shot, but this isn’t gonna be a professional film essay on the reflections (ha) of this movie on the French political scene at the time or anything like that. It’s just gonna be what I thought of the movie.

And what did I think of the movie? Well, other than letting me refresh my French language skills a little, I had an excellent time with this movie. It’s stunning, it’s groundbreaking, it’s breathtaking, and it’s a great example of what can be done with clever filmmaking and practical effects. I mean, what would you expect? It’s Jean Cocteau.

I’ve only seen one of his films prior to this, La Belle et la Bête, and that’s a beautiful film in its own right, with equally fantastic effects. Like Aladdin and The Thief of Bagdad, Disney took a lot of that film’s aesthetic and themes from Cocteau’s version of the story. What can I say, they’ve got good taste.

As for me...I’d like to think I have good taste, but that’s technically what this whole thing is for, right? To broaden my palate and further define my taste. Sooooo, what exactly did I think of this one? Check out the Recap (Part One | Part Two) if you want to see my reaction to the movie as I watched it! Otherwise...

Review

Cast and Acting: 9/10

Jean Marais is our star here, and one of Cocteau’s favorites (he was also the Beast and the Gaston in La Belle et la Bête four years earlier). He plays Orpheus like an absolute dick most of the time, which is interesting, since the character is the prototype of a tortured artist, so it makes some sense. However, that portrayal is somewhat on the writing, less so than Marais’ performance. That said, he’s still fantastic in the role. François Périer is also fucking fantastic as Heurtebise, and is genuinely my favorite character (and I still think he was meant to represent Hermes). María Casares intricately plays her complex character, an aspect of Death in love with a poet. Which, yeah, rules. And Marie Déa and  Édouard Dermit were...fine as Eurydice and Jacques. Yeah, they were both very good, but I can’t say that they were perfect, especially Dermit. But still, all of these were strong performances in a strong movie.

Plot and Writing: 9/10

Oh boy, the PLOT. Jean Cocteau’s screenplay is a great example of a screenplay adapted from source material, but doing something completely different with that material. It’s adaptation done...well, right, but also done creatively. Now, obviously, that’s done mostly through the visual rather than the verbal, but it’s still done VERY well. I mean, come on, they turned the tale of Orpheus into a Hades and Persephone love story as well!

 Yeah, I didn’t mention it in the Recap, but think about it! An aspect of Death, referred to as royalty, falls in love with a mortal human. Said mortal is also in love with another woman (allegedly). Now, yeah, that’s basically the whole “even the Gods loved Orpheus” thing, but HE also falls in love with HER. She’s Hades, and he’s Persephone! But in the end, he needs to return to the mortal world for springtime, while Hades must remain in the Underworld...for now, anyway. Maybe that’s e over-reading a bit, but I can see it. In any case, the screenplay’s adaptation of the original story is fantastic. Not the easiest to dissect, maybe (the whole “Death loves Orpheus” thing sort of comes out of nowhere), but still great!

Directing and Cinematography: 10/10

I mean...it’s Jean Cocteau (and Nicolas Hayer for the cinematography). What else am I gonna do, give him a nine and say that it wasn’t perfect? I mean...come on. It was amazing. It’s Jean goddamn Cocteau. The camera movements and shot framing are goddamn spectacular IT IS JEAN FUCKING COCTEAU

Production and Art Design: 8/10

Art design was only really OK, though. Yeah, sorry, sometimes it struck me quite well, but I don’t know that I can say the production and art design was as much of a stand out for this one. The only reason is because the camera and editing really did all of the work here, real talk. Cocteau made this movie look amazing, not as much the movie itself. But don’t get me wrong, the movie does still look amazing. Whomever did the location scouting did a great job in finding an abandoned military school for the Underworld, because it’s great looking. However, again...the way it’s all shot isn’t about the set itself, it’s about the camera work. And one other thing...

Music and Editing: 10/10

MMMMMMMMMMMWAHCHEF’SKISSBABY

Yeah, now, this is an amazing goddamn editing job be Jacqueline Sadoul, and the music by Georges Auric is equally as fantastic. This is a gorgeous film, and the editing is a HUGE part of that. Practical effects is one thing, but clever editing also made this film work as well as it did. There’s so much to unpack with that, it’s genuinely hard to go into. But hell, I don’t need to. Watch this film, especially if you have HBO Max. You’ll see what I mean, because it’s a fantastic looking movie that’s genuinely hard to describe to the unfamiliar.

92%, and I’m not looking back.

Well, one day I probably will, because this movie was wonderful, and DEFINITELY worth another watch. Mostly so I can better figure out what’s going on, and what Cocteau’s trying to say. Although, to be fair, this movie isn’t as experimental as film can get, not by a long shot. It’s still beautiful, without a doubt, and it’s absolutely worth a second viewing.

OK. Now that that’s done, let’s go to another country renowned for its fantasy stylings. Or, to be more accurate...let’s go back. You guys ready to get spooked?

March 10, 2021: Ugetsu Monogatari (1953)

[muggleriddle]

1, 2, and 5!

1. give short descriptions of all your current WIPs.

Wayfaring Stranger - France, 1940. While retreating towards the litoral to be evacuated with the rest of the British Army, Corporal James Mittal stumbles upon another young British soldier, one who claims to have served in the army during the Great War, before being spirited away by the fair folk.

This is the only original wip I have, the other are all fanfictions:

Where the Wild Roses Grow - Hermione Granger decides to travel back in time to stop Tom Riddle from becoming Voldemort, except that once she arrives in 1944, she's met with Thomasin Riddle, and her friend Arantxa Malfoy, instead of the boy she had heard about from Harry.

Prefects Who Gained Power - After the fiasco during the Quidditch World Cup, Percy Weasley is introduced to the Squib who works as secretary to Mrs. Amelia Bones and finds an unexpected friend in him. (listen, I just wanted to write TomRiddle/PercyWeasley. That's it.)

Three of Wands - "The police had never read an odder report. A team of doctors had examined the bodies and had concluded that none of the Riddles had been poisoned, stabbed, shot, strangled, suffocated, or (as far as they could tell) harmed at all." (GOF, Chapter 1). The pathologist responsible for the post mortem of the Riddle family is baffled by the lack of findings and the curious circunstances of the family's death (and for the weird frost and paint stain he found on Tom Riddle's corpse and that only he seemed to be able to see). While trying to make sense of the case, he ends up meeting and befriending the main suspect of the murder, Frank Bryce. (this is a HP fanfic, but it's a story that I really wanted to... turn into something original one day?)

2. give short descriptions of all the main characters for [WIP].

James S. Mittal (Wayfaring Stranger) - a 21 year old pathologists' assistant from London who enlisted upon the declaration of war against Germany in 1939. He's got his right hand wounded during the evacuation on Dunkirk beach and is learning to cope with his wound, his status as a discharged soldier and his new flatmate once he returns to London. I like to think of him as Dev Patel.

Alastair R. Hall (Wayfaring Stranger) - a young British man whose father was a doctor who expected his son to follow his footsteps. Alastair's way out (and rebelious act) was to join the army when the war broke out in 1914. In 1917, aged 22, he went missing in action. In 1940, James finds him in the woods on his way to be evacuated. He's short, with red hair, brown eyes and some secrets. Like James, he was wounded during the British army evacuation in Dunkirk. He was the first character in the story and came up in my mind after listening to Jos Slovick's beautiful I am a poor wayfaring stranger from 1917.

Feliks Ravenwood (Three of Wands) - a 32 year old Scottish pathologist living in London. At the beginning of the story he works as a general pathologist and a forensic pathologist. He's really sweet and can talk about dissecting corpses, cleaning intestines and preparing eyeballs for analysis in a way that makes you think he's talking about, I don't know, art or something really soft and beautiful. He also can talk about cells and histology for hours if you don't stop him, melanocytes are amazing and eosinophils are the most beautiful cells in the human body. Maybe he drowns himself in pathology in order to avoid some issues? Maybe. It's an easy thing to do, trust me. He's tall, with dark curly hair and blue eyes, super short sighted. He's asexual and panromantic. He was minimally inspired by Dr. Keith Simpson, who was the first forensic pathologist recognized by the Home Office in London (I say minimally because Feliks existed before I knew of Dr. Simpson, but later Simpson's work during the war was a great lead for me to shape Feliks'), and in the past three years he has acquired some quirks and bits of many pathologists I had the chance of getting to know. I started writing him a few months before I started Pathology residency and I've learned so much about him in the three years I spent in it.

5. what do you think is the most important part of writing?

Characters, probably. Once I start to understand them, it's much easier for the story to move fowards. I'm still finding it difficult to make the plot of Wayfaring Stranger to move fowards and it's probably because I'm still getting to know James and Alastair. Feliks, on the other hand, is someon I've been writing (as Dr Feliks Ravenwood) since 2016, so I know much more about him and it's easy for me to write him in any situation. 

[writingismyhappytime]

Draco Malfoy and the Disaster of a Year

Draco Malfoy X Reader

Warnings: Language, magic

A/N: So, I’ve read the books and watched the movies, and I know I’m kind of mixing them both together, so just forgive me! Hopefully it’s still a good read! Let me know if you want to be tagged for more updates, or if you want to be taken off the list!

(Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6) Aesthetic 

You dislike this woman very, very much.

Not only is she completely incompetent as a teacher, she is vile, disgusting, rude, and cruel! You can't imagine why the ministry would assign her as your professor in a course that she isn't even intending to teach, she just wants you to read about spells, not perform them! How exactly are you supposed to learn anything from that?

Not to mention she seems to have a special hatred for Harry, who honestly has done nothing to deserve it. You wish he'd stop patronizing her and getting detention, you've heard of how horrid it is. Something about a pen that actually writes into your skin or something, she shouldn't be allowed to do such things! Why does Dumbledore not step up?

You're so... frustrated! Snape seems to be the only teacher not bothered or intimidated by Umbridge, he doesn't seem to care about her at all and has no patience for her sickly sweet attitude and her constant need to wear that awful color of pink you previously liked until her. She's just so fake, or maybe it's the fact she's not sincere, that makes you detest her more.

"High Inquisitor of Hogwarts, ridiculous!" You hear someone scoff, and you glance over from where you're standing in one of the many hallways. You'd paused on your walk to the courtyard to talk to Nearly Headless Nick, who has no promptly floated through the wall to another chamber, leaving you alone. "Who does she think she is!? Dumbledore needs to put an end to this nonsense!"

Well, that's Hermione Granger, you recognize her angry voice easily enough. She shouldn't say things like that out loud, not when there are so many ears that report back to the evil woman. You hesitate, wondering if you can make it down the hallway fast enough so that you don't run into anyone, and you hastily start towards the end.

"I mean, she shouldn't be doing this! She shouldn't be allowed," Hermione continues furiously, her voice echoing against the stone walls.

"Shh, keep your voice down!" someone says hastily, and you cringe slightly as you realize they're about to turn the corner and you haven't made your great escape just yet. You sigh as you hear their footsteps, glancing over your shoulder to see them turning the corner. Hermione quiets as she notices they're not alone, and you start to turn the corner ---.

"Oof!" You run smack into someone, nearly dropping all of your things, your quill and a book clattering to the ground. You mutter an apology without looking as you kneel, hastily gathering your school things.

"Well, I see there's not a student around here paying attention today."

Uh oh.

You hesitate before you look up, noticing the pink skirt before you see the frog-like face of the very teacher everyone seems to hate. You frown as you straighten, propping your things in your arms; she's a short lady, with curly brown hair, and very pale, which the constant wearing of pink does nothing to help.

"Sorry about that," you apologize again, twisting the end of your braid nervously. Your eyes flick behind her, and of course you're not surprised to see Draco on her heels, silver eyes gleaming with no doubt some mischief.

This year hasn't been that great, and although he's a Prefect, it's already gone to his head; you're not sure why he's siding with this awful toad of a witch, other than she seems to hate Harry and he's a pure blood, not that she can talk, you've heard one of her parents was a muggle anyhow. You keep quiet in class, try to keep your distance from her, you don't really want her attention.

Now you understand why your mother has been so inquisitive in her letters about how your year is going, she wants to know all about Umbridge, and really she's not been so subtle about it. You wonder what she knows about the woman that she can't tell you in writing, as you don't doubt every letter that is sent to or from Hogwarts is read before the student ever sees it.

"Really, such disregard," Umbridge sniffs, beady eyes thoughtful. "It's a trend among your class I've noticed, not paying attention."

You narrow your eyes at her; does she really want you to respond to that? You severely dislike this woman, and you dare her to even mention detention at you.

Just wait until your mother hears about this.

Oh no, did you just sound like Draco?

You did, didn't you?

"Uh, Ms. Umbridge, I'm sure it was just an accident." Draco comes to your rescue immediately, taking a step until he's at your side in one smooth movement. His hand comes to rest on your shoulder supportively, and you cast a narrowed look at him. "(Y/N) is usually very careful about where she's going. Gets her attention to detail from her father, Nicolas (Y/L/N)."

Oh, you see what he did there, throwing around your parents name.

Umbridge recognizes it immediately, and your face sours. Really? You're getting a free pass because of who your parents are? If you were anyone else she would send you to detention, just to make a point.

"Oh, the inventor."  Umbridge hums thoughtfully, her eyes dissecting you from head to toe. "His wife is friends with your mother, Draco, correct?"

"Yes, very good friends." Draco's hand tightens slightly on your shoulder, but he's giving her a pleasant smirk. "I think her mother just had a party, didn't she, (Y/N)? Didn't the minister attend?"

"I suppose." You don't know, you don't care. You're just irritated at this point that he feels the need to keep rubbing your social status in her face. Well, it's sort of pleasing of course that she now know's that if she messes with you there could be consequences, but you just don't think it's fair!

You hate this woman, you really do. You want nothing more than to glare at her and tell her exactly how little you think of her, but you wouldn't do that to a professor --- although technically she isn't one.

Harry's right, you can't learn Defense Against the Dark Arts if you're not even going to practice the magic.

"Well, I suppose we all do have our moments where we aren't paying attention," Umbridge clasps her hands, giving you that grimace of a smile. "Just do be careful in the future, Miss (Y/L/N)."

"Of course." You say, but your tone belies how little you mean it. You know she catches it, but pretends otherwise as she sails down the hallway, ignoring you. You watch her go, and at least have the sense to wait until she's disappeared before you turn on the blonde haired boy at your side.

"You didn't have to do that."

"Did you want detention instead?" Draco frowns down at you as you square off with him, looking annoyed. He just came to your rescue! Shouldn't you be grateful towards him? You should have already introduced yourself to Umbridge anyhow, that way she could know of your standing! You could even be on the Inquisitorial Squad.

"I don't think someone should get detention for accidentally bumping into another person." You retort, brushing your hair behind your ear. "That woman is not fit to be a teacher."

"Shh! Don't say that so loudly," Draco scowls, nervously glancing over your shoulder down the hallway. He wants to keep you out of trouble and on Umbridge's good side, otherwise your family name won't be enough to keep you safe. He definitely doesn't want you in detention, not that Snape would allow it anyhow, considering the circumstances --- you're a pureblood Slytherin with very influential parents, and right now the Malfoy's are really pulling for power with their connections considering their house guests.

His stomach tightens as he thinks about it. It's not often that he doesn't want to go home, but he's suddenly glad his mother sent him away. He always thought being a Death Eater was cool, that they were standing up for the fact that purebloods should be the reigning class, that muggles should be aware that they're not the top.

But now everything is changing and he's not sure how he feels.

"Why not?" You huff, but you do soften your tone. "She shouldn't be allowed to bully everyone just because she's from the ministry! She is a vile, horrible woman who Dumbledore should get rid of before she does permanent damage to this school!"

"You know why she's here!" Draco snaps, annoyed at your obvious disdain; again, he just came to your rescue here, you could be a little more appreciative! Hold his hand, kiss his cheek, offer your eternal love, something. "Dumblemore was too incompetent to find someone for the position, and it's not like his last few have been good choices ---."

"Oh, please. Everyone knows the ministry made him," you roll your eyes, shifting your books as they start to grow heavy. "Fudge just wants someone here to spy."

"(Y/N) ---."

"No, don't start with me! I can't believe you're siding with someone like her, Draco! I thought you were better than that! You're just on her side because she's letting you have free reign to be a a real git whenever you want!"

Draco has never been so offended in his life. He tenses, his hands curling tightly at his sides; wow, you're really going for the gold in insulting him today, aren't you? You've had such a temper with him this year, it's like as soon as you stepped foot on school grounds things changed.

Well, everything has changed.

The ministry has never been so involved in schooling before, sending one of their own representatives in, and then there's the whispers, the worries about the Dark Lord's return. Draco knows more than anyone how true it is, but he would never say anything to you about it, he would never burden you with that sort of knowledge --- you of all people should stay oblivious, live in a bubble where you're untouchable.

"Don't be ridiculous," Draco scoffs, gray eyes growing dark. "I'm a Prefect, I ---."

"You've let the power go straight to your head, just as I thought you would."

Well that's harsh.

"What is your problem this year, (Y/N)? Everything was fine over the summer, and on the train, but as soon as we get here ---."

"Look at all that's happening! That awful woman is overstepping her authority, and no one is doing anything to stop it? You're just letting it happen! Of all times, this is exactly when you should be wanting your father to hear about this, don't you think?" You just don't understand, doesn't he want to use his status for good? What's the point of being important if you're just going to be cruel and not offer to help make anything better?

You hate being so helpless, and you don't feel like you're learning anything at all! What's the point of being at this school?

You're so mad at Draco for being selfish, and you're mad at Dumbledore for not stepping up! Draco can be such a better person than what he strives to be, he really can, he doesn't have to be as prejudiced as his father.

"You can do so much better than this," you finally say when Draco doesn't answer, growing even more upset. "You're a much better person."

You could probably have punched him and he wouldn't have been so hurt. You shake your head as you start to dart around him, clenching your books tightly to your chest. Everything is just so wrong this year! You hate it!

"(Y/N), wait ---," Draco's chest feels so tight, his heart is hammering so hard it feels like it's going to explode from his chest! He doesn't want you so upset at him, but you don't understand everything that's going on, and he doesn't want you too! The less you know, the safer you are!

He grabs your arm, pulling you back before you storm away from him.

"Draco, let go!"

"Just listen to me for a moment, would you?" he demands, refusing to let you pull away from him. You hesitate, letting him pull you so close you could almost count each eyelash, his gaze riveted on yours. He looks so serious. "You don't understand everything that's going on."

"Don't I? I see you taking advantage of the situation."

He sighs, growing frustrated; you're so bull headed sometimes! "That's your problem! You see only what's right in front of you, but not the big picture!"

You bristle slightly, glaring up at him; how many times have you been so close before? The scent of him is so familiar, and honestly still a little comforting. He looks so handsome in green and silver, the colors compliment his pale face and blonde hair.

If only his personality was as good as his looks.

"Like you can talk!" You hiss, refusing to budge an inch. "All you care about is yourself and the next person you can lord your pureblood status over! Just like you did with Umbridge, using my family name like I should be treated any different!"

"You had better appreciate the fact I did! Why are you so ungrateful I just saved you from detention?"

"I don't need you saving me!"

"Well clearly you do!"

You both glare at each other, and oh you want nothing more than to hit him with your book! He can be so, so --- ugh!

"You're impossible!" You hiss, finally wrenching away from him; you don't like standing so close, it brings other memories to the surface you don't want to revisit. "You always act like you're entitled to everything, like you deserve respect when you've done nothing to earn it! Grow up, Draco!"

"You're the one who needs the reality check!" he snaps, scowling. "You have no idea what's going on, do you? In the world? With the ministry? You think sticking your head in the sand and ignoring it will make it go away, but it won't! The problems are still here!"

You send him a furious look, despite you know he's right. You do tend to ignore everything if you can, expecting it to blow over so you don't have to worry about it. Your parents tend to take care of everything, but you have noticed their whispers, you know something is going on, just not what. They don't want you to worry, and it's not like Draco ever feels the need to tell you anything either.

You just... don't want to know.

You want to go to school, learn your courses, pass them, and move on with your life. You don't want to think about the fact everything is suddenly so serious now, that it's all changing and might not ever be the same again.

You hate this year.

You turn on your heel, storming away from Draco before he manages to yell anything else true at you.

~~~~~~

"Sorry I'm late," you apologize to Fred as you come to sit beside him in the courtyard, sighing. It's been such a rough day, from classes to dealing with your peers, and you're so glad it's finally over.

Yesterday, arguing with Draco, it made you feel awful. You hate to be mean to him, and you hate it when he tells you things that might be right, especially. You've ignored him blatantly since then.

"It's allright," Fred shrugs his shoulders, relaxing back on the bench with you. You're sitting hip to hip, Umbridge rarely goes outside to enforce her rule about students staying so much of a distance with each other. None of the other teachers care otherwise. "Figured you were busy."

You glance at him, seeing the distant look on his face. You've noticed he's been disappearing a lot, although you're not sure where. Well, actually, there's been a lot of students doing that, if you're being honest, but you've kept your nose out of their business.

But now with Draco saying all that...

"Have you had a good day?" You ask lightly, enjoying the brief bits of sun peaking through the clouds.

"Sort of."

"Sort of?" You hesitate, and now you can definitely hear the tone. "What's happened?"

"Oh, you know, just... everything this year. Ran into a 2nd year that had detention because of that ---."

"Come now, brother, don't get testy." George suddenly flops down on your other side, sandwiching you between the two twins. You scoot as much as you can to make room for him, feeling Fred's arm slip around your shoulder; you like his casual gestures, you find it sweet. You know the summer was a rough go for the two of you, considering that you didn't really get to write much --- or, well, Fred didn't write much, but of course you don't know what was going on in his life.

It must just be so busy with having such a large family.

Still, what has it been now? Almost a year? A little more?

You've sort of lost track, but it's just so easy with Fred, and he's always making you laugh. You find him incredibly sweet and his pranks are always keeping everyone on their toes. It's especially nice during a time like this, with such a vile, terrible, disgusting woman walking around.

"Oi, didn't I hear you almost got yourself detention yesterday?" George suddenly asks, and you blink as you look over at him. How did he know about that?

"You almost did?" Fred sounds surprised, and you hesitate, glancing back and forth between matching faces. Well this is almost intimidating, having them both look at you like this.

"I, uh, accidentally walked into her. Quite literally. As I was going around a corner," you shrug, absently leaning into Fred's side. "How do you know about that?"

You didn't tell Fred, you didn't think it was important.

"Ron and Hermione heard you talking to her, is all. And Draco."

Fred stiffens beside you, and you hesitate, feeling the red starting to crawl up your cheeks.

"Well, he was with her, of course." You shrug it off, peeved; are those two gossiping? What exactly did they hear in your conversation? Did they see you and Draco so close? Is that why Fred is all tense, his arm slipping away from your shoulder?

"Why didn't you mention that?" Fred asks, shifting as so he can look at you better.

"Well, I didn't think it was important."

"But you could have got detention, (Y/N). That's serious."

You shake your head. "It's fine, it doesn't matter since I didn't."

"Yeah, but why not? I heard someone sneezed in her vicinity the other day and she gave them detention." George rubs the back of his neck, looking tired; as a matter of fact, they both do. "I thought you bewitched her or something, was looking for pointers."

You almost roll your eyes. "No, I did no such thing. Just apologized, it was an accident after all."

"Umbridge takes apologies? I wouldn't apologize to her if I stepped on her foot three times." George sniffs, and you notice he's rubbing his hand. "She's a rotten one, that one."

Well, you don't disagree.

"Everyone's too afraid to stand up to her 'cept Harry, poor bloke. He's always getting the brunt of it. Did you see the scar on his hand?" George shakes his ginger head, scowling; you've never seen the twins look so serious before, so angry. You glance between them worriedly, seeing both of their faces dark.

Well, this is... different.

"She's such an awful woman," you mutter thoughtlessly, reaching down for your bag. "They need to do something about her, especially Dumbledore. Does anyone even know what she's doing?"

"They do, can't do anything because she's from the ministry."

"That's ridiculous. She's stepping out of bounds. Someone needs to do something."

Why are they exchanging a look over your head?

"Well, I'd best be off," George says suddenly, hopping to his feet. You glance over at him, seeing him tugging at the collar of his robe. "I gotta catch up with some fellows anyhow, got some merchandise and all that."

Ahuh.

All their prankster toys.

You watch as he goes across the grass, waving to a few other Gryffindors as he passes.

At least no one sneers at you and Fred anymore, well, some Slytherins still do but you think that's just their faces. You've been together long enough now where it's just sort of either accepted or ignored, and that suits you just fine. You don't like being in the spotlight.

"Can you meet me tonight, after curfew?" Fred asks suddenly, his hand creeping to yours.

"Okay, now are you trying to get me detention?" You ask in amusement, threading your fingers with his. "You know how strict things are right now."

"Yeah, I know, but I want to show you something."

"Like what?"

"Well, let's call it a secret club of sorts, but you're invited. Just meet me at the Room of Requirement. You know how to get there, yeah?"

Well, yes, of course you do. Fred and you have been in there before, to finally have some peace and quiet for yourselves so you can spend genuine time together. Well, you've also used it a few times yourself just so you can study and not be interrupted.

"Yes."

"Good. Promise you'll meet me tonight?"

"Fred, I don't know ---."

"Oh, c'mon, (Y/N). Be a sport, would you? It'll be fun."

You look at him dubiously. A secret club? A club shouldn't be secret unless it's something that Umbridge would pitch a fit over, which is exactly what it is, you suppose. Is that what he's doing every night? Running off to the Room of Requirement?

"After curfew?"

"Yup." He squeezes your hand. "Trust me, you're gonna love it."

Yeah, you find that suspicious.

"Why are you only telling me now about this?" You ask after a moment, curious. Why just now mention this club when you don't doubt it's been going on for a bit? Who all is involved?

You doubt any other Slytherins.

"Just didn't think you would be interested in it before," the twin shrugs his shoulders, and after a moment he stands, still holding your hand. "But now I think you will. Promise you'll meet me?"

You hesitate, gazing up into his mischevious eyes, your worry wavering.

"Fine," you relent after a moment. "But if I get caught and get sent to detention, I'm dragging you down with me."

Fred actually chuckles, and you flush as he presses a kiss against your knuckles. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

~~~~~~~~

This is such a bad idea.

You frown where you stand, glancing around anxiously. You're so worried someone checking the halls is going to come around at any point and spot you, report you. You do not want to get in trouble, because you will absolutely pitch the worst fit Umbridge has ever seen in the history of Hogwarts.

You sigh, tapping your foot impatiently; Fred said to meet him here! Now where is ---?

You gasp as you're suddenly being pulled back, someone having hold of the back of your shirt.  You blink as you pass backward through the wall, bumping into someone before their arms close around you; you immediately know it's Fred, you can tell by the sweater he's wearing, the one his mother makes for him every Christmas.

You relax slightly before he lets you go, grinning at you when you turn around.

You glance behind him, eyes flicking over all the other students in the room, and you're surprised at the amount of them. How many people are skipping curfew right now to be here, and why is Harry walking around teaching?

The Room of Requirement looks like a studyhall, with a large area full of books that you can see Hermione perusing, and the House flags all dangle from the ceiling and errant columns; you notice there's no Slytherin colors however.

"What's going on?" You ask after a moment, the red head in front of you looking over his shoulder. You can see George and Neville Longbottom practicing with their wands, George apparently showing him the correct way to flick his wrist for a spell.

"We're practicing what they won't teach us." Fred says after a moment, stepping to where he stands beside you; you feel better that you didn't wear your house sweater, but just a normal one. "Umbridge is a terror, and all of us here aren't going to stand for it. We're learning Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"You're teaching yourselves magic?" You're surprised, that's not what you expected by secret club. You thought maybe just a hate-Umbridge club or something, but not this. Is Harry the ringleader, since he's apparently the teacher?

"Yep, since no one else will." Fred sounds so proud of himself, of everyone else, but you worry immediately. You'll all get expelled if you get caught here! Or worse, detention! Well, you suppose that's not so bad, but still it'll be on your record and that's definitely not something that you want. "All of us know Umbridge is going to run this school to the ground, and with You-Know-Who back, we need to be prepared."

You frown as you glance up at him. Is he really back, though? Harry has been spouting that for years, you're sort of numb to it.

"Well.... what spells have you learned so far?" You're reluctantly curious, and though you really don't want to be incriminated by staying in this room any longer than necessary, it has your interest. So they're really teaching each other spells?

"Expelliarmus. Stupefy. Basic defensive spells."

"So nothing extreme?"

"No," Fred looks amused, his arm coming to rest across your shoulders and giving you a light squeeze. "You think we were learnin' something wild in here? Like how to walk through walls or turn people into ferrets?"

Your mind immediately flicks to Draco and his unfortunate time spent as the animal, and you purse your lips against a smile. "Well, it was always a possibility."

Fred chuckles; you have a point.

"We're just learning the spells rather than reading about them. This is where we can practice, and not have to worry about someone catching us."

"Don't you worry what will happen should Umbridge find out?"

"Eh, don't worry. Hermione has something in place, we'd know exactly who ratted us out."

"Yes, but there stands the point it would be too late. If she finds out, all of you will be in so much trouble." You worry, crossing your arms tightly across your chest. "You could be expelled!"

"Now you do sound like Hermione."

You frown.

Your greatest rival.

"So, are you interested? You'd be a great help, you're a quick learner." Fred states, although you know you don't have much of a choice. One, because he's already showed you their secret  meeting and you can't forget it and are therefore involved. Two, well, it's a good idea, you really do need to know how to use the spells, reading about them and not performing them is ridiculous.

"I'm in," you say, noticing you're also the only Slytherin in the room. "As long as no one else has an issue with it."

"Nah, you're my girl, you're trustworthy," Fred shrugs, your eyes flicking up to him. He says that so easily, like he really does trust you'll not say a word and have the best intentions. You're a Slytherin, though, he really shouldn't be so... well, you're still sure the Sorting Hat made a mistake with you, you were meant to be a Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff --- anything but a Slytherin!

"So, you want to get started? Harry's going to teach us about how to cast a Patronus," Fred says, his voice excited. "To fight off the Dementors."

"He knows how to do that?" You're surprised, but with how many of them were around last year during the tournament you shouldn't be. No wonder he learned how to fight them, he had so many altercations with them!

"Harry's got a lot more tricks up his sleeve than people give him credit for," your boyfriend smirks, urging you to walk with him to where Harry is talking to Neville and George. "Now, let's get you started. You're a bit behind after all."

"Well, as you said, I'm a quick study."

~~~~~~~

"Plotting against me, is he?" Umbridge mutters as she paces back and forth inside her very pink, kitten-decorated office. Draco frowns where he stands by the door, watching as he goes to her desk, rapping her nails against the hard wood. "Thinking he can make his students create a club, well, it's not going to work in his favor!"

Ahuh.

Draco knows about the D.A., everyone does actually, it's just no one talks about it. He isn't about to say a word to Umbridge about it, no matter how much he'd love to busy Harry Potter. He thinks it's a good idea, although he'd never voice that, and he also knows you've gotten twisted up in it thanks to that damned Weasley.

He's seen you hanging around blatantly with Harry and Hermione, the latter of which you're always frustrated with! He can only imagine that must be what is happening, and that it's only a matter of time before you all get caught.

So, he has to save you, of course.

He's not sure how, but there must be some way to get you out of that ridiculous club. Even if he does agree with it, he could never go along with it on principle, Harry is involved after all and his arch nemesis. So the only conclusion is that he's going to have to hunt all the other members down, get someone to confess, and advise that you were a spy on his side the entire time working for information, but he wanted to play his cards close to his chest lest your identity be found out.

Or is that... too unbelievable?

He'll have to think on it.

Meanwhile, he now has to deal with a paranoid Umbridge, and in some ways she reminds him of his father. The power hungry, paranoid, insecure way, anyhow --- power slips so easily these days, he finds it rather depressing she's become erratic so quickly.

"Perhaps we should start questioning some of the students known to be a part of the group," Pansy Parkinson offers, eager to get on Umbridge's side. Draco frowns as he glances at her, Crabbe and Goyle flanking either side of them. The Inquisitorial Squad is rather small, and mostly just Slytherins, and see if you'd just joined, you wouldn't be in this predicament!

You're always siding with the enemy.

"I know Cho Chang, that Gryffindor, is one." Pansy offers when Umbridge doesn't immediately bite. "And that friend of hers, her mother works at the ministry, we can put pressure on her."

Clever, Pansy. Draco almost appreciates her cunning.

Almost.

She's still not as brilliant are you are.

"Well, I must say that's not a bad idea." Umbridge pauses thoughtfully, brushing her fingers against her pink skirt suit with lace frills on the hem. "Do that, would you, dear? I want this 'club' dismantled immediately. And I want the instigator brought to me immediately."

"Yes, Professor." Pansy grins, pleased her suggestion is taken. "We will start right away."

She turns, heading quickly for the door but not before giving Draco a smug look that only makes him scowl.

She's a right thorn in his side.

"Draco," Umbridge sighs as she sits down at her desk, clasping her hands in front of her as she straightens. She really does look like a toad sitting there in her little pink hat, gazing at him with glassy, soulless eyes.

"Yes, Professor?"

"Do be a dear and put in a good word for me with your parents. I'm sure they're pleased I've made you part of the Inquisitorial Squad. It's only for the most trustworthy of students, you know," Umbridge adds, as if it's some great honor.

Draco inclines his blonde head slightly, but he has no intentions of bragging on her whatsoever. He needs to write his mother and check on her anyhow, considering their house guests.

He's just had to be more clever about sending letters out of Hogwarts so that Umbridge doesn't read them, and just in case he does write them in code.

"Now, let's move on to more pleasant business," Umbridge states, lightly straightening a picture of a mewing kitten on her desk. She preens for a moment before turning her gleaming eyes on the students gathered before her desk. "Who wants to lead the others when we storm their hideout, hmm? Who thinks they're most worthy?"

Draco visibly rolls his eyes as Pansy,Crabbe, and Goyle all immediately announce they would love too. She just asked that question as if she was asking who wants the next pin of ice cream.

How insulting.

Of course Draco is going to do it, he's a natural born leader after all. Crabbe and Goyle are followers, they're not smart enough to lead anything unless it's themselves to the Great Hall for dinner. Pansy is just manipulative but she'd rather be treated like a princess then do any hard work, she just wants the power and recognition.

So of course Draco is the natural leader, the natural choice.

"I'll do it," Draco sighs dramatically, as if it pains him to speak. Everyone frowns as they look at him, but Umbridge looks pleased that he volunteered.

"Wonderful," she replies, clasping her hands on her desk, smirking. "Let's find out where this silly army is and destroy everything."

Huh.

Draco really needs to get you out of there.

~~~~~~~~~

"Are you not worried about what your career is going to be?" You ask, distracted by the numerous pamphlets. You have no idea what you want to do with your future, you know your marks are fantastic, but...

"You're great at everything, you have nothing to worry about." Fred replies where he sits beside you, not at all looking bothered. You'd found him in the courtyard, by himself for once, which is odd considering George is always at his side. He's older, so he's already gone through the Career Advice, but it makes you nervous! You're meeting is with Snape, and you don't know what you want to do!

"But what about my career?" You sigh, holding four different pamphlets in hand. "I mean, Harry knows he wants to be an auror, that's what he said to McGonagall! What did you say to her?" You glance up at him anxiously. "What was your career choice?"

"Well, me and George said we was going to open up a joke shop, so that was going to be our 'career.'  McGonagall agreed."

"She agreed?" You snort, doubting that completely. That stern woman doesn't look like she would agree much with what the twins say, but you don't really know her. Snape is okay, but he makes you uncomfortable with his constant glaring and disdain; your father says he was always like that, even as a child. They all went to school together.

"She has a soft spot for us, I think." Fred chuckles, tugging one little booklet out of your nervous fingers. "You could be an auror too, you know. Or part of the ministry."

"The ministry is literally up in flames right now, they're not very stable." You dismiss that immediately.

"Healer?"

"Do I look nurturing?" You snort, waving that away; you don't like blood anyway.

"My older brother works at Gringotts as a curse-breaker," Fred suggests helpfully after a moment. "You could do something like that. Goblins aren't very chatty, so I'm not sure how great the water cooler talk is."

"Which one?" You look up in surprise; you didn't know anyone in his family worked there.

"Bill, he's my oldest brother."

Oh nice.

"Well, my other brother, Charlie, he works with dragons." Fred sounds like he's reluctantly impressed. "Rounding them up and taking care of them and all that."

"I don't know if I could handle a dragon," they're much too big and nothing at all like cats! You run your fingers through your hair, tucking away the loose strands. "It must be nice to have so many siblings."

"My mum had seven of us, can you imagine? I don't think she remembers all of our names," he jokes, nudging you. "Must be pretty peaceful being an only child."

"I suppose. My parents raised me around all the other wizarding families, so it wasn't too lonely." you shrug your shoulders.

It's almost easy for Fred to forget you were raised around the pure bloods, around Draco, for most of your life.

"What about a writer? You love reading books."

"A writer?" you frown. "I feel like all the subjects have probably already been covered, though. I wouldn't have anything new to put out there."

"Make a new one, write some fiction." Fred takes your hand, squeezing. "You're talented. You're brilliant, you know, and pretty," you flush, "you know your business. You can choose whatever career you want."

He thinks you're pretty?

Everyone always tells you how smart you are, but you know that. You keep your grades exemplary, and you'd be at the top if it wasn't for Hermione --- you don't know how she always does better than you!

You know your face is hot, your cheeks are burning, but Fred looks pleased with himself. Maybe he should compliment you more often!

"You think much too highly of me," you dismiss, embarrassed.  

"No, I don't think so," Fred grins, and he leans forward to kiss your hair. "And don't worry, you'll find something that's good for you. Don't let Snape bully you."

"Snape is fine," he's never been mean to you or anything, and you like the sass he gives Umbridge, him and McGonagall both. He might be the head of your house, but you're pretty sure you're just another student to him; you hope your parents weren't mean to him, not like you've heard Harry's might have been.

They're infamous, after all.

It makes you feel bad for Snape at times, really.

"I gotta go," Fred sighs as he stands, rolling his shoulders. He doesn't want too, he was enjoying some time with just you, but --- well, Harry needs him and George, and the brothers are going to thoroughly enjoy pranking Umbridge. They need to, of course, discuss and iron out the details of the plan, but that won't take long; Hermione is a genius, although she's totally against it. "But I'll see you for dinner, yeah?"

"Of course." You get to your feet, tossing your pamphlets onto your books; you'll worry about them later when your meeting is closer, at least it gets you out of Umbridge's class for a while. "Don't do anything diabolical."

"Me and George? Nah." Fred chuckles, and you roll your eyes. "Everyone seems to think we're deviants."

"Probably because you hang around Peeves so much," you mention the ghost who's always doing something, and with who the brothers seem to really like. "You're a bad influence on him."

"Ya wound me, truly." Fred shakes his head, ginger hair brushing his eyes. He doesn't think about it as he leans down, giving you a swift kiss he knows will probably get you both in trouble should Umbridge ever see, but he can't help himself; he really likes you, you're one of his favorite people, and man you rival Hermione when it comes to spells.

He's seen the expert way you move your wand, how so easily you catch on to the rather advanced spells Hermione wants to use sometimes. Even she begrudgingly has to admit you're on the same level, you're brilliant; Fred doesn't think he's ever been so smitten with anyone before, at least not so wholeheartedly.

You can't do anything wrong in his eyes, but he knows you have a weakness for Draco.

He's not blind.

He knows Draco is in love with you, that's clear to anyone with eyes who's in the same room as the two of you; the Slytherin moons after you. You don't seem to notice, you've never looked at Draco like you're interested back, which is the only reason Fred doesn't worry. He trusts you, he figures it's just because the two of you grew up together and your families are so close.

At least yours isn't a Death Eater, your father is a renowned inventor who works closely with the Ministry, but isn't necessarily one of them.

You watch as Fred leaves, frowning after him. Why do you have the feeling he's up to something?

~~~~~~

The Weasleys are up to something, Draco just knows it. He eyeballs the twins across the Great Hall where they sit at their table across from Harry and his followers, their heads all bent together as they talk.

What are they planning?

What are they up too? Are they talking about their secret hiding place? Are they talking about their next move?

He's dying to know.

His eyes flick to you where you sit down the table from him, your chin propped on your hand as you read a book. You've not really eaten much tonight, are you not feeling well? You seem fairly focused on whatever it is you're reading, and he noticed you're using a career pamphlet as a bookmark. Have you been studying those?

Draco doesn't know what career he wants either, but he's wealthy, he doesn't really need one. His money is old and plentiful, so he's not worried about his future. You shouldn't either, you're in the same category as him, so why are you frowning so hard?

What's bothering you?

"What do you think they're talking about?" Pansy asks softly, sitting to Draco's right. She's leaning forward a little over the table, dark hair framing her face. Her gossiping friends are sitting around her, as well as a few other members of the Inquisitorial Squad; Draco and Pansy are both prefects as well, so unfortunately they're spending a lot of time together.

Draco can only tolerate her in increments, and before he used to think they were at least decent friends.

Funny how times change.

"Maybe what they're doing for the summer?" someone down the table shrugs, earning a roll of eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous," Pansy scoffs, her eyes focusing. "I know they're up to something, look at them conspiring. We're going to bust them, I know it."

Draco doesn't say anything, just keeps eating his dinner, listening. Pansy is intent she's going to get in good with Umbridge, gain some status, and he's going to use her ambition for his own. She'll no doubt find out the location of their meetings and how to crash them, and as soon as she finds out, he's going to make sure you're not there --- no one can ruin your name, and he just can't let Umbridge get ahold of you.

He slowly sips his drink.

He doesn't know why he still wants to protect you after you constantly reject him, make him feel terrible, and just overall say he's a horrible person. He's still sore over your last argument, which he feels was completely unnecessary since he was in the right. He was keeping you from detention, a little gratitude goes a long way!

His eyes flick down the table to where you're sitting, ignoring the world. You're absently twisting the end of your braid between your fingers, which lets him know you're pretty deep in thought. What are you thinking about? How involved with the D.A. are you really?

He doesn't want you in trouble.

He gets the reason behind it, Umbridge doesn't teach anything at all during class, but that's beside the point.

"Oh, will you stop staring at (Y/N) like a love sick puppy!?"

What?

Draco turns in surprise, staring at Pansy as she scowls at him.

"What?"

"Stop staring at her! She obviously likes Gryffindors, she's dating one of those mudblood lovers, isn't she? One of those twins? I saw them yesterday in the courtyard snogging." Pansy rolls her eyes, moving her hair out of her eyes. "If Umbridge saw they'd have days of detention."

Draco's face sours.

He didn't need to know that.

He prefers not to think of it.

"You know, I bet she would know about the whereabouts, or whatever they're planning," Pansy continues, as if a light bulb has gone off atop her head. Her eyes widen, and it's quite an unsettling smile on her face. "They probably trust her, don't you think?"

"Trust a Slytherin? They wouldn't dare," Millicent Bulstrode says, sitting across from Pansy, black hair loose around her face. Draco has never liked the half-blood witch, she's rather violent, and there's no class about her in his eyes. "They'd be fools."

"Gryffindors are fools, Millicent. They're brave but they're stupid."

Well, how rude, yet Draco agrees.

"I don't think (Y/N) is going to have much information," Draco says after a moment, shrugging his shoulders. "Being a Slytherin, they're not going to tell her anything."

"Or that's what they want us to think, and she does know something!" Pansy retorts, peeved. "You always defend her."

"She's one of us."

"She doesn't act like it."

Draco huffs, straightening slightly as he turns his silver gaze on her in a withering stare. She doesn't immediately cower, but after a moment she looks away, frowning. He doesn't want to argue with her, he's not in the mood; he has too much to think about.

"Houses are supposed to stick together, especially the pure bloods," he says after a moment, his eyes flicking across the table where his... his "friends" sit. "We're of very few pure bloodlines these days, and those of us of status need to be reminded of who our allies are."

"Shouldn't that be a speech she hears?" Pansy snaps, insulted.

"I think it's a speech we all should hear," he retorts, annoyed. "There's only twenty-six families left of pure blood, and we're the future of them. We can't alienate other members simply because we don't like them."

"You're just saying that because you like her so much," Millicent says after a moment, almost in a challenging tone; she feels braver with Pansy across from her. "You want her to be the one that continues your stupid family name."

Draco rolls his eyes. "Well at least I know she would be worthy of it, she's brilliant. Unlike some of us here."

Draco sips his drink.

Not to insult anyone's intelligence, but some are not doing so well in their classes.

At least no one else dares to challenge his words.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Hey, (Y/N)."

"No."

Draco frowns, miffed. "Excuse me?"

"I don't want to talk to you," you say over your shoulder, not breaking your pace as you leave your last class of the day. Draco is right behind you, he obviously wants a conversation and the last one you had was a fight.

"Well, I need to talk to you," he replies, easily catching pace with his long legs. You cut your eyes at him, frowning; his blonde hair looks messy, like he's been running his fingers through it, and he has a determined glint in his eyes that lets you know you're not going to have a choice but talk to him.

"What about?" You frown, holding your books to your chest a little tighter, gait slowing as you reach the stairs. Everyone is filing past you, and honestly you don't even like being seen with Draco under the circumstances; anyone who would side with Umbridge doesn't currently have good status, plus they're jerks.

"Come with me," he glances around, not liking the crowd or for anyone to overhear. What he has to say is important, and would probably get him on Umbridge's bad side, not that it would matter, she still couldn't bother him. His family is too important.

"Where?" you sound wary, you don't want to go anywhere with him. You find it incredibly suspicious.

"(Y/N)." He's quite serious, and you sigh, giving in.

"Fine, lead the way." You huff, your eyes flicking around; Fred wanted to meet you later, you hope this doesn't make you late.

You follow Draco reluctantly, the two of you heading in the opposite direction of the dorms. You frown as he steps down a very deserted hallway, the paintings all turning to look down at you curiously from their frames. You ignore them, but they're all such gossips you're glad when he keeps walking.

"Where are we going?" You ask, frowning. "The middle of nowhere?"

"I don't want anyone overhearing is all, too many ears," he gestures lightly, and you know he's talking about the paintings. You raise your brows, finally coming to a section where it's all statues and suits of armor, no prying eyes.

He's not going to try and kiss you, is he?

"Draco, what is it?" You ask in exasperation, annoyed. "I have something to do, and you're going to make me late."

"You know, I'm trying to be nice and help you out," he's annoyed you're being so rude. "Out of the kindness of my heart."

"You can't have a heart and work for Umbridge." you retort, irked. "She's a monster."

"Most people in the world are." he turns, cutting his eyes in either direction before turning his serious gaze back on you. "But she's why I'm here, and it's for your own good, so it would do you well to listen."

"What do you mean?" You shift your books against your black robe, frowning.

"Umbridge knows just about all the members part of the D.A., and she's going to get them all." Draco almost feels like a traitor for spilling the beans, and he knows it's also hurting his chances of putting Harry Potter in the fire, but... well, your well-being is more important. "First one of them spills the beans, and she'll come crashing down on all their heads, the Weasleys included."

You tense, staring up at him. "Why are you telling me this?"

Your heart beats a little faster with worry, your mind flicking to the Room of Requirement --- oh no. Has someone told? Did someone snitch on the group? Technically you're just learning spells and how to defend yourself, that shouldn't be a punishable crime! It's not fair at all!

"Because you're always with them now, and if Umbridge thinks you know anything about their group ---."

"I'm a Slytherin, Draco, she won't do anything." You dismiss; you're not worried about yourself, but everyone else? They're going to be in danger and she won't take it easy on them! You should warn them, shouldn't you? Oh but if you say something they'll ask who from, and if you say Draco ---.

"You don't know that." Draco doesn't know if the House will matter since you align yourself with the Gryffindors. "if you're caught with them ---."

"Draco, don't be ridiculous. They're not even doing anything to get caught at," you reply, trying to play it off. "This is not ---."

"You know you're a terrible liar, don't you?" Draco can read you easily, you always avert your eyes when you lie. It could also be due to the fact he knows you so well, he's grown up with you, spent years with you, kissed you ---. "I know you too well."

"You don't know me at all," you scowl at him, shifting your books nervously.

"I know you well, you know that. We've spent too much time together ---."

"Not that much time ---."

"We just spent the entire summer together!"

"Not the entire summer," you disagree, knowing you're being difficult. You appreciate him warning you, it must mean that he cares something about you, right? He must understand that you're immediately going to tell the others, warn them that she's onto them, which you suppose they already know.

But she must be getting close if he's concerned.

"(Y/N)," Draco sounds frustrated. "I'm trying to help."

"I know, I know, thank you," you say, rather sincerely. It's out of character for him to be so nice but you are thankful he's at least making the gesture despite his jerkish nature this year. You need to go tell the others now though, before it's too late! You need to find Fred!

He said he wanted to meet you today, so it's the perfect time to tell him!

~~~~~~

"You're --- what?" You gasp, taken back. You stare at Fred where the two of you stand on the staircase, startled. You'd been so excited to see him, you'd planned on telling him about Draco visiting you, and he just hits you with this!

"We're creating a distraction for Harry, George and me." Fred says, as if it's the most natural thing to do in the world. "And then we're leaving."

"But --- but where are you going?" You demand, flabbergasted. Leaving? He can't leave! You know he's seventeen, he's technically of age to do whatever he wants, but he's --- he can't leave! Umbridge is vile and still around, and he's just going to leave you here, without him, with her?

"Me and George are going to open our joke shop, in Diagon Alley. We've already got a place picked out and everything, we don't need to be here," he gestures vaguely in the air, his voice excited. "We're going to make plenty of galleons with our merchandise."

"Your pranks and your jokes, all those toys."

"Yes." Fred says proudly. "Weasley's Wizard Wheezes!"

He moves his arm in an arc as if displaying the name in the air. He looks so pleased with himself, and you want to be happy for him, but --- you're disappointed. You don't want him to go, won't that end your relationship?

"I'm happy for you, I know that's what you've always wanted," you say, although you're afraid your voice doesn't sound sincere. "I mean, you and George are wonderful pranksters."

"Yeah," he shifts slightly, soft eyes looking down at you. "We're not staying here another night."

"Okay." You don't really know what to say, that's --- he's just leaving.

"(Y/N)," Fred suddenly grasps your hands, and you find his very warm as they encompass yours. "You can come with me, you know. We can go together."

"You want me to go with you?" You say, incredulous. He can't really expect you'll go, can he? You can't just skip out on school, plus you're not even seventeen! Your parents would hunt you down and drag you back screaming, especially if they thought you were abandoning your education for a boy!

"Yes." His grip tightens, and for the first time he seems serious, his eyes finding yours. "Come with me, (Y/N). We'd have so much fun, and you can't want to stay in this place."

"Well, No, I --- I don't want to stay here, but I can't just leave." You hesitate, and after a moment you take your hands from his. "You don't even have that long left, Fred! You shouldn't leave so close to being able to graduate ---."

"Ah, school was never for me and George. This could be a new adventure for us! We'd have a blast! Our future isn't here in this old castle."

"But you're so close to graduation, Fred!" And he's giving all of that up for Harry? To do what exactly? You can't believe he's just giving up his education! What about his future? What about if his joke shop doesn't work out? It's not practical!

"(Y/N)," Fred looks disappointed; he didn't really expect you to go with him, but he thought you might be a little more supportive. "School just isn't the place for us, you know that. We're leaving tonight, I just wanted to let you know."

You sigh, brushing your hair out of your face. You suppose that means the two of you are breaking up then, considering you can't have a relationship with someone you never see, or will get to have contact with under these circumstances.

Your first breakup, great.

"I'll just... miss you." You admit, your cheeks warming with the confession. You don't want to see him go, he's been someone you can rely on and talk to, he makes you laugh, he even slightly brought you into his group of friends --- you love the D.A., you love learning the magic, the pairing up, Hermione is actually as brilliant as she seems. You know you're not friends with any of them, they were slightly distrustful in the beginning, but it's a nice start. "It won't be the same here without you."

"Ah, I could always leave George," Fred chuckles, relaxing slightly. He cups your shoulders, grinning down at you. "And you can always come see me on holidays and breaks. We already have plans for our shops, it'll be great. You'll get the friends and family discount."

"Well, how very generous of you." You force a smile up at him, but it's not as sincere as you want it to be. "Just be careful, okay? Umbridge is awful."

"We know how to handle her," Fred isn't worried. "We have this under control. Will you come see me over summer?"

"Of course I will. I'll make a special trip to Diagon Alley," you assure him, reaching up to squeeze his hand. "You'll have to pick out some of your inventions for me, some that I'd like."

"I'll have a whole basket." he says, nodding. His eyes flick down the hallway, he knows he's running out of time, but every moment with you is precious to him. He's going to miss you too; he appreciates your practicality, your cynicism, but also your kindness and other than Umbridge, you never say much bad about anyone. You shouldn't be a Slytherin, that's not your House, not where your loyalty lies.

You're too smart, too brave, like Hermione. You have such a bright future, you can do anything you want, like he told you before. He hates he has to leave, he wants to keep dating you, but he can't stay at Hogwarts anymore, it isn't for him; his future awaits.

Maybe one day you'll be in his future again.

"I have to go," he says, and before you can respond he's leaning down, giving you a swift, firm kiss that you somehow know will be the last one you ever get. You treasure those few moments before he lets go, before he's telling you goodbye and walking down the hallway.

Why do you have such a bad feeling about this?

Why do you feel like you'll never see him again?

~~~~~~~~~~

Draco is peeved.

He told you to stay away from Potter and all of his like, and now look at you! You're sitting in Umbridge's office, in trouble for something you've not even done! You look annoyed as well, sitting on the edge of the uncomfortable chair in front of the toad-like woman's desk.

The Weasleys made a serious mess of things the other day, fireworks and wild broom rides through the castle, how distasteful! They made quite a show before they left school grounds, Draco's father would disown him for behaving in such a way! But the Weasleys have so many children, disowning two of them would probably free up some space in that closet they live in.

"Well, Ms. (Y/L/N), I do hate we have to meet under such unfortunate circumstances." Umbridge sighs lightly from across her desk, your eyes narrowing; you're not intimidated by her, you're not going to cower either, and if she tries any sort of punishment, you'll have her head! You refuse to play her games. "I understand you were dating one of the twins who caused such a ruckus on school grounds the other day, interrupting classes and causing such a fuss."

"We're not dating anymore," you say after a moment, smoothing out the wrinkles in your black robes, the green Slytherin symbol bright on your chest. Draco's eyes flick to you where he stands at the back of the room, Pansy smirking at his side; she's the one who mentioned to Umbridge you should be spoken with, considering your disgraceful alliance with Potter. Crabbe and Goyle are hulking on the other side of the door, making sure the meeting isn't disturbed.

You really don't like her office. You don't understand the need for everything to be pink, from the carpet she's thrown down on the cold stone floor to the flowery curtains on the windows. There's little plates with playful kittens decorating the walls, all of them staring at you, it feels like, as judgemental as she is. The fire is crackling in the fireplace, and you know it's the only one the Ministry isn't heavily watching, the rest of the school is definitely under watch.

You decide you hate this room.

"Oh? Well, that's probably for the best. He doesn't seem like he was a good influence for you, Ms. (Y/L/N)." Umbridge curls her thick fingers together, leveling her gaze at you, but you don't squirm, you just stare back. "He seemed quite the troublemaker, a prankster. We don't take well to his kind at this school."

Ahuh.

"Why am I here?" You ask bluntly, not in the mood. You're mad at Fred for different reasons right now and you don't have time for Umbridge. You're upset he left, that the two of you broke up, that he's giving up his education for some wild dive in entrepreneurship that might not even be successful! What if it's a wasted venture!? He needs to think more about his future!  

"It has been brought to my attention that Fred Weasley was involved in an unapproved organization, having meetings and performing magic that I did not sanction," Umbridge says, shifting slightly in her chair. "Would you know anything about this, dear?"

"No." Nope, nothing at all, not you. You have no idea what she's talking about. "Fred wouldn't get involved in something like that."

"Oh, but I believe he did," Umbridge gives you a sickly sweet smile. "I just want to see if you might have heard something, or he might have said something to you, that could be useful to us. After all, you're a Slytherin."

What does your House have to do with anything?

"Your fellow Slytherins are part of my Inquisitorial Squad, very trusted students. I hold them to the very highest of standards, and all of them I know are doing very well," Umbridge glances behind you. "I would love to add you to the Squad, of course, considering your cooperation."

Draco almost cringes; Umbridge is not doing well with you, he can tell by the stiff set of your shoulders. You don't like her, she could be offering you a job at the ministry right now and you'd still tell her to go jump off a broom.  You're already shaking your head.

"I have no interest in your squad of bullies." You reply almost waspishly, Umbridge's brows rising. "I honestly have no idea what you're talking about, what group of students would be doing magic. You've already banned study sessions, so it's not like a large amount of us could get together without notice. If such a thing was happening, I'm sure with your connections and the rapport you've built with the students at Hogwarts, no one would have any issue coming to tell you if they saw someone breaking the rules."

Well, you only insulted her openly once with the bully comment, but you certainly sugar-coated the rest of them. Draco is actually impressed, so you do have a mean bone in your body, and it's not just directed at him! Finally someone else can get a lashing.

"Well," Umbridge's smile grows, but that's not a good sign. "I can see you're certainly your mothers daughter."

Oh? What's that supposed to mean?

You frown at her, straightening. You're tempted to stand up and walk out, she's not going to get anything out of you, not without a truth potion. She wouldn't dare go that far, but you won't put anything past her either. At least the school year is close to over and you can get out of this place. It's been nothing but awful this year.

"Well, Miss (Y/L/N), where were you the other day, when the Weasleys were planning their big plan? Do you have anyone who can vouch for your whereabouts?"

What?

You blink at her a moment, taken back. Is she trying to involve you in their scheme? Does she want to punish you for something they did, especially when you haven't ---?

"Excuse me?"

"I'm just curious. We do want to make sure that if anyone knew about the Weasleys plan, and did not report it, they are given the appropriate punishment."

Well.

Uh.

Hmm.

You were with Fred before he made such a commotion, and you did know about the plan. You don't have anyone who can vouch for where you were, and even if you did not a lot would, you're not friends with them, or Umbridge would bully them into saying otherwise. So you don't have an excuse, or anyway to defend yourself.

Umbridge look pleased when you don't respond, and she starts to speak, to explain exactly how much you're going to be in trouble for their crime; she doesn't like you, she knows your parents due to your fathers constant visits to the Ministry and your mothers high social status, and you've certainly your mothers snotty attitude and none of your fathers genius. However, when you have money, brilliance and etiquette doesn't seem to matter, as in your case. You're rude, insolent, and you look at her as if you're going to run through her!

Not polite at all.

"She was with me." Draco blurts suddenly, stepping forward from the back of the room. You swivel to look at him over your shoulder in surprise, Umbridge even blinking. He stops beside your chair, where you're both facing the toadlike witch, and it's not just you by yourself. "I can vouch for her, Professor."

"You can?" Umbridge frowns, leaning back in her chair. That's not what she wants to hear.

"Yes. (Y/N) and I were together before the incident." Draco says confidently, a smirk appearing on his lips. You tense as you look up at him, wondering what awful words are about to come out his mouth. "She and the Weasley have been not been together for a few days, actually."

"Oh?" Umbridge almost frowns. "So you're saying she was with you before and during the incident?"

"Well, before certainly, during we were all in class." Draco says innocently, his hand coming to rest on the back of the chair beside you. "We were talking, in the hallways. I'm sure some of the paintings can substantiate that, they saw us."

"And the two of you were... talking?" Umbridge gestures back and forth, raising her brows. You feel sick, you really do, you can't believe this. Draco is insinuating that you just, that you just went from Fred right to him!? Like Fred didnt matter whatsoever to you? That would never be the case!

You would never choose Draco!

"Of course. We were discussing our studies, the careers we want to choose." Draco shrugs nonchalantly. "She wouldn't have been discussing anything with the Weasley, she's not had anything to do with him. She's moved on."

You're going to punch him. You don't say a word, your fingers curling tightly in your lap until your knuckles turn white. You're so, so angry at him, how could he say something like that! You were still dating Fred, actually, and you were loyal to him!

Well, no, actually, you...

No, you're not going to think about those moments with Draco, those few kisses that don't mean anything or matter in the long run. He doesn't care about you, he's never made you laugh or smile like Fred, all he cares about is his money and docking points off muggle born witches in other Houses!

You just don't want him to make it sound like Fred wasn't important, like he could just be discarded so easily. That's certainly not the case!

"Well, I'm certainly not going to question that choosing someone of her own House isn't much better," Umbridge states, liking your discomfort. "Houses should stay together, after all, as it's always been. Well, Miss (Y/L/N), Mr. Malfoy states that you had nothing to do with the Weasley conundrum, is that correct?"

"Yes." You say between your teeth, your jaw wanting to clench. You know you should be happy that Draco is giving an excuse that covers you, but still!

You're just ---.

"Very well then, all of you are dismissed." Umbridge says, shaking her head. "Please report to me if you gain any knowledge on this unfortunate event."

There's a chorus of "yes, Professor," before everyone is shuffling, heading for the door. You rise slowly, sending Draco a furious look as you pass him, one that makes his stomach drop. He's tried all year to keep you out of Umbridge's clutches, he's lied many times, sweet-talked, belittled even in Pansy's case, to ensure you have a safe year, and yet you're still mad at him! Sure, his methods may not have been exactly ethical, but that shouldn't matter!

Why are you always so mad at him?

What a disaster of a year.

Tags: @ariminiria     @xaohroa       @raven666hale.  @thebrookerose.  @imthedrappleapple.  @scarlet-witch-baby     @a-mnda    @itsspecial-itsnotforeveryone     

[ruffoverthinksthings]

Can you do malvie for the ship meme?

1.Whois the most affectionate?:

Evie.

Shewas trained by her mother to shower her “future prince” with asmuch love and affection as she possibly could before starving himshortly after, so the flame of his passion wouldn’t go out, his eyewould never stray, and he wouldn’t consider something soscandalous, hurtful—and most importantly, jeopardizing to EvilQueen’s desired standard of living—as divorcing Evie, or runningaway with “some harlot” and taking all of the money andreputation with him.

Ona darker note, Mal has been reluctant to show affection to prettymuch anyone as Maleficent has been keen in her attempts to drill andbeat all the love and kindness out of her. She got better with datingBen and hanging out with their friends, but it’s hard to undosixteen years of brutally efficient conditioning.

2.Bigspoon/Little spoon?:

Malis the big spoon, Evie is the little spoon, always.

Regardlessof whether or not you subscribe to Mal getting moreFaerie/Dragon-like now that she’s getting a regular doses of magicto her system (and proper nutrition beside), Mal is incrediblyprotective of her girlfriend, and Evie is more than happy to beprotected, cuddled, and loved in such an obvious way.

3.Mostcommon argument?:

WhatMal is wearing, especially to public events in their adulthood. Mal’smost common complaint is “But you picked this out for me!” iscountered with “I have a better idea!”

4.Favoritenon-sexual activity?:

Casuallymaking up insults and comebacks for the people that still haven’tgotten used to VKs being productive, accepted, and contributingmembers of society. Sometimes, they do them with their friends,during playful teasing or the odd occasion where they wish to cutdown the others ego.

5.Whois most likely to carry the other?:

Mal.

Eviewill carry Mal if it’s a matter of life and death, butotherwise, Evie is more than content to be the princess being carriedoff by her lover—she may have been wearing high-heeled boots sinceshe could walk, but she still isn’t immune to the pain of wearingthem for too long.

6.Whatis their favorite feature of their partner’s?:

Mal’seyes are Evie’s favourite. Aside from the striking emerald colour,she enjoys how they light up when she’s happy, excited, or angry,and how you can tell she is not someone to be messed with from a lookalone.

Evie’sskin is Mal’s favourite. Because Evie was the only one with anyreliable access to both proper and homemade cosmetics and body careproducts, she was one of the few VK girls with almost flawless skin;she’s long been jealous of Evie for having such soft, warm, andnon-scarred and bruised skin, and now she realizes that jealousy wasfrom not being the one caressing that.

7.What’sthe first thing that changes when they realize they have feelings forthe other?:

Eviesuddenly gets suspiciously reluctant to help pick outfits out for Maland especially witness her changing clothes, because now she realizeswhy she’s so incredibly, casually touchy-feely with her, and it’snot just because the concept of personal space is pretty non-existentin the Isle.

Malgets incredibly avoidant with everything involving Evie, andfiguratively and literally runs away from her such as sleeping overfor weeks at a time with anyone who will let her in their room,trying to find some way to not be partnered with her on schoolprojects, and finding increasingly flimsy reasons to not hang outwith Evie aside from “I’m avoiding you because I’ve realizedI’m gay for you, and I don’t want to accidentally blurt thatout.”

8.Nicknames?& if so, how did they originate?:

Asidefrom “M” and “E,” there’s “Princess” for both of them,“Blue” for Evie, and “Sparky” for Mal. The last one is Mal’shabit of lighting up dark rooms and candles using her magic as amatter of convenience and flair.

9.Whoworries the most?:

Mal.

Shehas just started admitting to herself that she cares deeply aboutthese people and that she doesn’t see them as mere tools, and tosee or to think that something bad will happen to them sends her in atizzy. It doesn’t help that she’s slowly revitalizing heratrophied sense of Fairy Empathy, and she’s feeling intenseemotions after 16 years of pushing them down.

10.Whoremembers what the other one always orders at a restaurant?:

Mal.

Shehas a better memory than Evie; not as infallible as Jane’s orJordan’s, but still impressive. This is both because she ishalf-Fae and because she has had to remember a lot of details andinformation for her evil schemes, both for lack of reliable writingimplements on the Isle, and to keep people from finding out thedetails and turning it against her.

11.Whotops?:

Evie.

12.Whoinitiates kisses?:

Evie.

Malloves them, and can’t get enough, but since Evie keeps making herstop functioning for minutes to hours after some particularly intensekisses, she knows better than to give in to temptation most days. Shedoesn’t stop Evie if she initiates, however, because now it’sEvie’s fault that she couldn’t do the thing she needed to do.

13.Whoreaches for the other’s hand first?:

Evie.

Again,Mal was taught and habituated to avoid all form of physical affectionand feelings for other people, to maintain the objective distancefrom people so you can use them as you should: tools.

14.Whokisses the hardest?:

Evie.

It’spart of the Evil Queen’s chief strategy—push and pull, “leavehim drowning in your love one day, leave him high and dry the next,never let him rest.”

15.Whowakes up first?:

Mal.

Evierequires her beauty sleep, and Mal is used to waking up early to keepfrom being victimized and have a headstart on all her mischief and“the good stuff” before someone else takes it.

16.Whowants to stay in bed just a little longer?:

Evie.Again with the beauty sleep, and later on, so she can cuddle with herown personal tiny space heater some more.

17.Whosays I love you first?:

Mal,surprisingly enough.

Eviehas only ever learned to say “I love you” as a means tomanipulate her exes and people to get them to do what she wants;she’s never really understood or considered ever meaning that shedoes in fact love that person.

Andbefore you ask, Mal blurted out those three magical words after Eviefinally confronted her, and demanded that she tell her just whyexactly she’s suddenly avoiding her all the time.

18.Wholeaves little notes in the other’s one lunch? (Bonus: what does itusually say?):

Evie.

“Thesecret ingredient is love, and also (list of exotic ingredients orflairs in her cooking here).”

19.Whotells their family/friends about their relationship first?:

Mal,largely because it’s easy to tell that to a lizard who’s onlycapable of communicating through a very basic text-to-speech consolewith an intentionally limited number of buttons and sentences you canmake out of them.

Itwas also easier for her, “Because I had already made myself a giantdisappointment to her once, what’s a second time?”

20.Whatdo their family/friends think of their relationship?:

Maleficentseems even more disappointed and disgusted with Mal than usual, it’shard to tell when she can’t really make facial expressions, and hasto communicate via pressing buttons with her tiny lizard claws.

EvilQueen is disappointed. “This wasn’t the royalty I wished you tomarry, Evie.” She’s even more disappointed when she learns thatMal is going into a career as an artist–”At least be an artDEALER!”–that they live in a very modest apartment, and Evie isactively GIVING away her wealth and talent on a regular basis withoutexpecting something in return or “taking advantage of” (abusing)the goodwill she’s earning with the people.

21.Whois more likely to start dancing with the other?:

Evie.

She’salways the first one on the dance floor, looking for someone that cankeep up with her, and even though Mal still can’t hope to hell withmatching her style, she’s perfectly content to be the incrediblystupid-looking human pole that Evie is dancing around.

22.Whocooks more/who is better at cooking?:

Evie.

Asidefrom the facts that Mal has never cooked for herself or done much ofanything entirely by herself except evil plots, and Evie has beentrained in how to cook and has an instinctive understanding of mixingand combinations because of her lineage, Evie just likes doing allthe “wife stuff” while Mal would rather distance herself from it.

23.Whocomes up with cheesy pick up lines?:

Neither.

Eviehas long developed a distaste for them ever since she starteddissecting how incredibly sexist, raunchy, and outright disgustingthey can be, while Jay has forever ruined that for Mal.

24.Whowhispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear duringinappropriate times?:

Evie.

Yetagain, another technique from the Evil Queen–”Always keep him onhis toes, promise reward, but only ever give it when he’s justabout to give up.”

25.Whoneeds more assurance?:

Mal.

Self-confidenceissues, and a demanding, horrifically abusive mother with impossiblyhigh standards, ahoy!

26.Whatwould be their theme song?:

“Seventeen”from “Heathers: The Musical.”

Thesetwo have been stripped of their childhoods and forced to become grownup well before they should be, and while there’s no reclaimingtheir innocence or going back to the time before they realized theentire world was out to get them and that life just isn’t fair,they can act their age and do normal, everyday things like regularteenagers, or later, adults.

27.Whowould sing to their child back to sleep?:

Mal.

She’sthe one who’s most protective and concerned over their futurechildren, unless it’s Dizzy—she’s Evie’s sole domain.

28.Whatdo they do when they’re away from each other?:

Malworks on her art or explores the big wide world to get inspiration,Evie socializes and reminds herself what it’s like to hang out withsomeone who isn’t her girlfriend, and of course, run her business.

29.oneheadcanon about this OTP that breaks your heart:

Asmentioned, Mal’s avoiding Evie at all costs once she realizes thatshe’s in love with her, which is coincidentally the reason why Evierealized she was in love with her back—having your female bestfriend suddenly completely avoid you like you’re the Crimson Curse,spending lots of lonely nights laying in bed, and being prone torumination and overly meticulous examination does that.

Evielikely falls into a depression, finding herself unable to work,socialize, or do all the things she could, experiencing what it’slike to legitimately be heartbroken—made worse by the fact thatthey never really were a “thing” to begin with.

30.oneheadcanon about this OTP that mends it:

Fedup, depressed, and possibly just a little bit concerned at thethoughts she was having after she sharpens her new pair of shears andrealizes they could cut pretty much anything just like that, even byaccident, Evie finally decides to stop “lamenting her faith” likea “lady should,” breaks out of the tower prison their room hasbecome, and goes on to find Mal, corner her, and demand that she tellher just why it is that their friendship has suddenly gone to shit.

“Thisis bullshit, Mal! We’ve been friends for years! Did all ofthat mean nothing to you?” Evie starts tearing up, and thistime, she’s not feigning it for sympathy. “Did I ever meananything to you…?”

Mal’sface contorts in pain. “Yes, but–!”

“Butwhat, huh?!” Evie snaps. “What is it, Mal?! Tell me, evenif it’s the last thing you’ll ever say to me!”

“Ilove you!” Mal screams.

Evieblinks. “What…?”

Mallooks like a sheep just realizing that a dragon’s open jaws areright above it. There’s a reflexive part of that wants to makesomething up and avoid this whole business, before she finally admitsto herself that all this evading has done nothing but worsen theproblem, and that she’s done withrunning.

“Ilove you,” Mal says, quieter and slower. “I love you as way morethan my best friend, and that freaks me the fuck out, becauseI know that if we get together, it’s probably going to be all aboutthe sex and pissing off our moms and ironically making the guys wantyou more, just like it was on the Isle, and I don’t want thatanymore!

“… Now…now, I want to actually get serious with you… like date youexclusively, hold your hand and kiss you even if no one can see us,fuck for more reasons than we’re bored and have nothing better todo… maybe even get married and try and start a family, settle downtogether and all that domestic crap…”

Eviestares at Mal, her cheeks wet with fresh tears.

Malsighs, turns around, and hangs her head. “I’m sorry…” shesays, her hands balling into her fists, her nose getting stuffy withsnot, her own eyes getting blurry and hot with tears. “I’m sorryI’m such a huge fuck-up who can do anything but ruineverything…”

Sheprepares to bolt again, no destination except anywhere away fromhere, before Evie grabs her shoulder and spins her around.

Malgets ready to snap, figuratively or literally breathe fire on Evie,before she feels her smash her lips on hers, and suddenly Mal’seyes go wide as her body turns to gelatin. Evie grabs the sides ofher head to keep her from falling away, before she pulls back.

“Ilove you too, Mal,” Evie says, her bloodshot eyes shining, her lipscurled into a smile.

Malblinks. “Wait, what?”

“Ilove you too, Mal,” Evie says. “I realized that some time afteryou started sleeping over all the time. And for your information, Ialso don’t want to do what we did on the Isle, and I also want tosee if we can make a future here… together.”

Malstares at Evie, her mouth falling open in surprise, before she findsherself grinning. “Man… we fucking suck at this ‘romance’business…”

Eviechuckles. “We’re VK, Mal—it’s kind of our thing.”

Malfinds her footing again, wraps her arms around Evie, and the two ofthem kiss once more.

Meanwhile,on the sidelines, all of their friends and several other Auradon Prepstudents gush over them, take pictures, or talk quietly amongthemselves, asking “Should we… should we leave? Or do we justtell them to go find a room…?”

[maneaterwithtail]

Warning depressed overindulgent rant about kids cartoon incoming

I’m cross-posting that’s from spacebattles. You know I really need to start posting some positive s*** about Steven Universe. There’s a reason why it keeps getting my attention. I really love the setup, there are wonderful events, I love that its Aim so well. It’s managed to assemble a number of things as well as had a way of interacting with fans that encourages creativity and a community that produces so much that can be loved and expresses Joy. 

I guess I’m just a natural Grump and I can only talk about things when I’m pissed off or think I’m being smart by dissecting it. Which in my mind means needlessly ranting about every silly little thing that I observe about a work or feel about a work or I feel about the people that I’m watching the work alongside. I understand if this is not the kind of thing that you like. I can also understand if you want to be defensive of the show. Just respect the fact that I’m a person who has watched the show for a bit or just a person at all. But I do want to have some sort of discussion. It is why I am posting this out loud. It’s just with the ramp up for more speculation and another interview I just feel like we’ve been at this dance so many damn times and we’re just being jerked around here. Which of course is the purpose of any work of art. At least serial media. You constantly give just enough so that people feel inclined to come back for more. But I guess well read the rant

Whiteeyes, post: 36894166, member: 314250

No mo, it felt much much worse. See Lost had no answers when it was written. It was created to pile up mysteries for a season or so and then get cancled like Twin Peams and every ither wekrd mystery show so they never had to answer any. It became too popular to cancel and they had to scramble to invent answers. SU has had dorwshadowing and setup as warly as season 1. It knows what it is doing.

 .... I personally think that Steven Universe's character development and pacing is hampered by the fact that it wants to make everything a f****** mystery. This was a characteristic of Lost in a way that it got ridiculous. To the point where things like what's on Jack's tattoo or who is married or who was not or who had a terminal illness that they had known publicly forever and so on and so forth.  

  I think Steven Universe suffers from the same problem. Basic character development, interaction, or what-have-you tends to be put in a mystery box just so that that way we can create drama and then have it emerge later to create a resolution without progress. 

The problem is that while mystery is their main tool in this endeavor to set up interest it's not the only way in which they do this and then be annoying. Now some of this is the fans frothing themselves up.

 relevant example, when we see a title and then flip out about major speculation for a major plot point and then get disappointed when it's basically not so. 

 However I think this is in a part with all of their setup plot developments. As an example the return of Marty.  

  I actually want to be very fair-minded here. The Sour Cream situation identity and everything about him was very carefully set up over the course of a year and it actually made sense for once that he was a relatively new char in Stevens life. He's apparently older, runs with a different crowd, all that stuff. 

Marty comes back for one episode 

Not only do they run the most cliched plot imaginable about a deadbeat father and artsy dreamer son and the man who doesn’t get their passion but they do this basically to setup a virtue signal and reconcile sour cream and yellowtail in perhaps the worst way imaginable. In the first episode they actually share a scene.

But they don't share a scene in anyway proceeding to their actual reconciliation. All of that is cut aside just so that we can get to our cute little happy ending. This kind of ran things into the ground for me in some ways. Everybody defends moves of aborted long-term plot like this by saying that Steven Universe is more about people and characters and it is not about big plot twists and Sci-Fi Action. 

That might be true but they're doing that character and living the life stuff in a bad way as well. By not having the family reconcile but by having Yellowtail basically come around and agree because Sour Cream suddenly has a villain for Yellowtail to prove immediately better than.

  For a show that's often praised for its diversity and lack of stock archetypes this was too cliche    You see this time and again with long setup plot points whether it's the eventual return and revelation of the backstory of lapis Lazuli, the face off with the cluster, and others- That isn't to say all long-term plot points have fallen on their face but a lot of them have and it seems as if what succeeds or what gets the necessary follow-up is arbitrary and random

This isn't the usual complaint of "this is filler! where is the plot?" This happens whether it's character Focus-interaction that often feels as if it's taking forever to happen or gets bogged down in Mindless drama such as the entire relationship between Sadie and Lars to the point that Lars doesn't feel as if he has a real character until these last 7 or so episodes. 

He was basically the Grump. A cartoon stock archetype, a television stock archetype, a place talk archetype. 

You didn't have to think about why he was grumpy because there was no reason other than to make him and grumpy.  And remember this is the longest term character that's been on the show (was in the pilot) and he had a ridiculously thin characterization.

 All of this would still be bad even if he didn't have a plot line that made me cringe 

mackon, post: 36912103, member: 9256

Sure there are a lot of scenarios where the Zoo could be where it is and Pinks holdings only cover the solar system but just looking at what we have seen so far it looks like Pink administrated space covers more -shrug- How the Gempire is governed is sure to be more complex than X diamond runs this area and Y diamond runs that area anyway.

 And this just all ties it together. We get all of this stuff that's supposed to matter then push it all to the side and then come up with confrontation that's in many ways not satisfying because there's no build-up or it's just confusing or inevitably leads to more stupid questions that aren't even asked in the show.    I guess what makes this so frustrating is that the show has great set up. it does set up very well. But every time, or at least many times, when it's time for the payoff for those Domino's to go it always goes off like a bad fart. 

All of these are pointing to the same issue. . .

For some people this is the climax of The Cluster. For others It's the Return of Marty. For others it's The Search For Answers.  Some others feel disappointed because they think that there hasn't been enough queer text in the show. Others feel like characters are often push the Wayside and not given enough time to interact with the world shaking plot.  All of these are pointing to the same issue, broadly speaking. Crewniverse throws something in the air but they don't follow through. Or they passport or just suddenly resolve something with another IOU. 

The weird part is when they do this with a plot point they say that it's about the people. But Fusion Cuisine (wryyyyy) I think keeps hurting me because it's the episode that proves they don't respect people and character interaction.   

 Character interaction has to have consequences. Those consequences can be negative.  It can be positive but it has to arise and seem to follow from each other. Subtle or flagrant but the consequences of character interaction, if having dramatic focus, have to be observable and meaningful. Instead, all too often, we see artificial ways in order to create drama and then arbitrarily end or ignore it. For some people this is Stevens disturbing naivete childish behavior when he supposed to be a mid teenager. The lack of follow-up questions or the way that plot points will conveniently go off screen for months at a time only to then pop up in order to keep up interest and tease us and then come off with a lack of resolution despite lots of build up to no change or wasted opportunity.  

I think one thing that's bothering me is the reintroduction of there being some mystery to the death of Pink Diamond and Rose Quartz's crime against her. We've been here. already.  we know what the answer is supposed to be. And yet apparently there's a new mystery. 

Only I bet this new mystery is going to end up just as dissatisfying as “What is Lapis’s backstory?” or “How are we going to find Malachite?” or “How are we going to resolve The Cluster?” or “How will Beach City recover and her people deal with overwhelming change and trauma of an unnatural disaster?”

This shows up in other ways such as the not taking care of the Rubies when they have a ship. Or the fact that Homeworld keeps taking its sweet damn time in order to take care of the Crystal Gems and Earth even when it keeps on being a hostile instigator in the lives of the gems.    

And I think Fusion Cuisine is emblematic of this fault with regards to character stories and showing that statement about character over grand plots as a poor excuse. They will create a situation that literally doesn't require any crisis which won’t be treated or result as one. The family just needed basic common sense or respect, even between strangers, and then they won't follow through on the natural consequences of the family’s disrespectful lies or dangerous actions. 

And underlying this is a sense of- I don't know-  condescension or virtue signaling? On one level the Crewmiverse really do follow through on the implication that yes Steven has a queer family. On the other it feels as if they've set up the Maheshwarens as strawman that they've spent the rest of their appearance just being someone in order to goof with. I still claim this due to the fact that Dr. Maheshwaren is treated as if she's overprotective or crazy because controls her daughter media consumption; when connie lied to her (twice) regarding her experiences and activities with STeven and his family.  She lies about taking dangerous lessons from a person who partook in an assault of her daughter and has expressed bigoted opinions of her race -as in the human race- for months. This disobedience, to make Connie a fighter, is Justified because the story made Dr. Maheshwaren too damn stupid to notice not only does her daughter not wear her glasses anymore but that the three limbed candy colored being with no heartbeat is a gem Fusion and Connie saves her from it.   So the resolution is Connie NEEDS to be a sword fighter for the growing dangers of the Cluster.

 only we remove that as a valid point 

 For a show that keeps purporting being about togetherness, the cast herding and other things kind of put that as a lie. And Fusion Cuisine is an exemplary of this. It exists for a lot of reasons, but the number one thing it ends up doing is helping justify this sense of distance between humanity and the gems and completely ignoring ways in which they can come together and be understood.  Or conflict and come to resolution and understanding. So the character conflicts and development feel artificial or low stakes or superfluous and the plot and combat and Magic feels as if its always being sandbagged for these meaningless character beats.

 I think the show is going to lose me.    And I don't think there's any big thing that it can do now to convince me. It's spent so much of the goodwill and belief from its initial run and set up.  It has undermined all of it set up when it's actually gotten anywhere. I no longer trust the show to turn out to be well. At least in a way that I think will be satisfying for when they pull another “wait until you see the payoff for this” move AGAIN. And I suspect it's going to keep misfiring in ways while implying that it's so damn clever. 

There's just something incredibly artificial about Lars being captured with Steven and effectively telling all of his emotional issues that I feel like they have not been appropriately Illustrated despite multiple character Focus episodes.    And given the track record on how long it takes to actually engage with plot points or how they can be unsatisfying-ly resolved and then put out the way until they are unsatisfying-ly resolved is also bothersome. 

I was kind of okay with the end of The Cluster but I also understand how that could frustrate some. But one way that I can agree it was bad is we effectively spend all this time setting up the end of the world and the resolution of The Cluster basically put it out of mind and hasn't been Revisited or had any further effect.  The only lasting consequence has been the Turning of Peridot.[and according to some that’s been flattened to irrelevance too] 

So that meant that The Cluster basically existed so that that way we would have something in order for Peridot to oppose to justify her becoming a good person. Which reminds me of how they handled Marty and Sour Cream and Yellowtail and so I'm really really uncomfortable about them trying to go “oh, we're going to be all about character don't be all about the magical Destiny b*******.” only characters remain thin and ignorant and nothing but potential fodder

  Maybe I'm just in a really nasty mood[edit- looking back I was]. But I will say this; I think after this much time the show has set up its relationship with the audience and I think it's made me distrustful and doubtful of its reliability. I don't want any more promotional material. I don't want any more interviews covering for stuff not in the show. I don't want any more teases. I want an actual story executed on the screen in a satisfying manner.    And honestly I think what with the relative Circle walking season 4 and the reintroduction of more complications about mysteries about Rose and more drama about Steven feeling sad and more “Steven is going to have to introduce Humanity to this alien-person” as his own life seems as divorced from Human Experience as possible. 

The artifice of the show is coming out. It's much like how some can't take Game of Thrones seriously anymore. It makes sense to kill off the characters that they have killed off but there's no more emotional investment and we’re getting more and more sense that all of this is a bunch of Sensational nonsense.

[salted-barbed-wire]

Lessons to be Learned

Oh God. New series. @alexispoo made me do it. (Thank you for the idea and everything. I love you.) Hope you enjoy. CHAPTER TWO WILL BE POSTED LATER TODAY! I started writing and just kept going and it was getting entirely too long. I cut it in half. You’re welcome.

Summary: School AU. 18 yo reader is attending a school where Dean Ambrose is her creative writing teacher and AJ Styles is her principal.  Warnings: None... yet. Fluff

TAG LIST: @i-kneel-for-king-loki @straight-outta-the-asylum @ridingmoxley @geekoftv @paradoxical-opheliac @ambrosegirlforver @wrestlingnoob @m-a-t-91 @livingthestrongstyle @lip-sync @princess3733 @nickysmum1909 @ambrose-asylum-ft-mitch @shieldlovereve @jubaleelovehate @xstylesxclashx @the-geekgoddess @stardustmoonlightflower @ashleyvc88 @cesaros-smile @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @alexispoo

Master List:

CHAPTER ONE

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”

I bit my lip as that low, husky voice read the lines of Shakespeare’s eighteenth sonnet. He leaned against the front of his desk, one leg crossed over the other, holding our thick text book with one hand. His other hand was pressed against his chest, middle finger drumming against his collar bone keeping rhythm.

“Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough Winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer’s lease hath all too short a date: Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm’d; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;”

Mr. Ambrose looked up from the book and pulled the glasses off his face. His blue eyes peered around the room at my classmates. My heart fluttered as his gaze lingered over me. I looked back down at my book quickly, praying he didn’t notice I was paying more attention to him than the actual sonnet.

“Now, class, who wants to take a shot at dissecting this section of the sonnet?”

Everyone was quiet. Most of my peers weren’t really interested in creative writing. They were all just taking it for the grade. I, however, loved it. Reading and learning about the greats like Poe and Shakespeare, then trying to write our own works in their likeness; it was something I’d do for the rest of my life. It was just a plus that my teacher, Mr. Ambrose was so hot.

I remember when I first saw Mr. Ambrose, I thought he was the shop teacher and was lost. He’s so gruff looking, always wearing tshirts and jeans with those work boots. Not to mention his unkempt hair and beard. I sighed, What I wouldn’t give to run my fingers through those messy curls. I fiddled with the hem of my red and black, plaid uniform skirt. Maybe while his fingers wandered over me?

“(Y/N)?” My teacher’s voice boomed.

I looked up from my book, thoughts almost shaken away as I looked at Mr. Dean standing in front of my desk. His arms were crossed over his chest, book in one hand. I could feel heat spreading across my face.

“Day dreaming again I see?” He peered down at me, blue eyes giving me an icy stare.

“I-I’m sorry, Mr. Ambrose.” I stumbled over my words. I could hear my classmates giggling behind me.

Ambrose sighed, “I suppose you were too busy to analyze the lines from the sonnet we just read?”

I shook my head, “No, sir. I could do that.”

He placed his glasses back on his face, one eye brow raised, “Go on then.”

I took a deep breath to calm my nerves. “Well, sir, the opening line poses a simple question which the rest of the sonnet answers. The poet, Shakespeare, compares his loved one to a summer’s day and finds them to be more lovely. The poet then discovers that love and the subject’s beauty are more permanent than a summer’s day because summer is subjected to the change of seasons.”

The class was silent. Mr. Ambrose stood there, looking me over in shock. Does he really not understand that I know what I’m talking about?

“Was that not the answer you were looking for?” I asked.

Ambrose smirked, “Not the answer I was expecting, I suppose. I’m impressed.”

“I have an A in this class and have aced all of your tests and you’re just now impressed?” I leaned back in my chair. A twinge of anger caused my words to leave my mouth before I could stop them. “I guess I’ll go back to daydreaming then, unless you want to continue to try to embarrass me in front of the whole class.”

The students behind me snickered again, a few let out little ‘Ooo’s knowing that I was about to be in trouble.

“Well then, Miss. (Y/L/N). I believe I’ll be seeing you after school today in detention. You can do all your day dreaming in there.”

“Detention?” I gasped as the bell rang.

“Class dismissed. Your homework is written down on the white board.” Mr. Ambrose told his class.

I watched everyone go, “Mr. Ambrose, sir,” I slung my bag over my shoulder and got up to meet him as he sat down at his desk. “I didn’t mean any offense by what I said-“

“Save it, Miss. (Y/L/N). I’ll see you at the end of the day. You may have good grades but you need to be taught a lesson.”

-----

“Detention?” My best friend, Alexa cackled, “You, (Y/N), got detention?”

I gave her a glare, “Just because you get detention at least twice a week.”

“I’m rubbing off on you.” She nudged me. “So how’s it feel to get punished by your favorite teacher.”

I bit my lip and blushed again.

“That’s so hot.” She fanned herself.

“Miss. Bliss!” A southern drawl yelled at my friend.

Alexa and I stopped dead in our tracks. We turned to see our principal leaning against his office door frame watching the both of us. His dark chestnut hair framed the electric blue eyes stared us down.

“Yes, Principal Styles?” Alexa tried to bat her eyes at him.

“I’ve told you several times; I can tell when you’ve been rolling that skirt and all uniforms must be at the knee.”

She huffed, “Ever girl here rolls their skirt except, (Y/N).”

“And I tell every girl except (Y/N) exactly what I’m going to tell you; go to the bathroom and fix your skirt to the appropriate length, immediately.”

Alexa gave me a look that screamed, Help me out here!

“Miss. (Y/L/N),” Principal Styles rested his hand on my shoulder. “How about you explain to your friend here, the uniform standards?”

I looked between the two of them. “I- uh..”

“Perhaps you’d like to demonstrate, then?” His hand put a little pressure on my shoulder. I knelt down in between him and Alexa. “Do you see, Miss. Bliss? (Y/N)’s skirt touches the ground when she’s on her knees. I’m willing to bet yours doesn’t. Now shuffle off to the restroom and fix it before I decide to write you a one way trip to detention… again.”

Alexa huffed and rolled her eyes as she turned to go to the bathroom. Mr. Styles held out his hand to assist me as I tried to stand.

“Thank you, (Y/N). I’m glad I have at least one good example in this school.” He gave me a sideways smile. “How is your day going?”

“I-uh… um.. Well I actually got detention today.” I looked down at my feet nervously.

“Detention?” Principal Styles exclaimed. I felt him shift and he stood in front of me, resting both of his strong hands on my shoulders. “Who do you have detention with, darlin’?”

‘Darlin’? I chewed on my lower lip, “Mr. Ambrose gave me detention. I spoke rudely and out of turn.”

Mr. Styles crossed his arms in front of his chest, “I’ll have to have a talk with Dean… I mean Mr. Ambrose. I can’t imagine my star student doing such a thing.”

“But I-“

The bell rang interrupting my words. “Run along to class now, Miss. (Y/L/N). Don’t want to be late.” And he turned around back into his office.

What’s gotten into my teacher’s today?

-----

The clock ticked by slowly as I sat there twiddling my thumbs on my desk. This is the worst. How does Alexa keep getting detention after she’s had to put up with this? My eyes wandered to Mr. Ambrose who was grading tests. His shaggy, dirty, blonde hair was down and nearly falling onto the desk. I couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him.

His curls on top of his head are so cute. The was his reading glasses almost fall off his nose. I wonder what he’s thinking. Does he even notice I’m sitting here in front of him? Doubtful. He hardly seemed to notice that I was passing his class with flying colors. I couldn’t help the small sigh that escaped my mouth.

Mr. Ambrose looked up at me. I quickly looked around the room to avoid his gaze. The panicked look and flushed cheeks were still probably noticeable.

“Is there something on your mind, Miss. (Y/L/N)?”

I gulped, unsure if I should really try to saying anything. “Detention is pretty empty today.”

Mr. Ambrose stood up from his chair and took off his glasses. “That’s because you’re the only student of mine that decided they wanted to mouth off today.” He walked around to the front of his desk and crossed his arms over his chest, “Besides, there are some… issues I think we need to address.”

“Issues?” I gulped. I was never one for being in trouble. I had always been the good girl. I was the girl that did her homework, studied for her tests, never cheated, never lied, but somehow I was in trouble with my favorite teacher.

“It’s about your homework I gave you last week.” He started.

“Did I not do it right?” I asked.

Mr. Ambrose hesitated, “No you did.” He then looked me up and down. “I have it right here on my desk. Shall I read it to you?” He picked up the piece of paper that was mine and placed his glasses back on his face. “Love is beyond time. Love is endless and boundless. There are no margins or limits. Who should be blocked by time to pursue their love?” He continued to read my lines as he walked to the door and shut it. “If one deserves love, should we be kept apart because of age?”

I could feel the heat on my face return as he turned and looked at me from over the top my paper. Something in my belly churned a bit.  He waited for me to say something, but I couldn’t. He knows I wrote that for him.

Mr. Ambrose walked back over to his desk and set the paper down and his glasses, “I don’t think I should continue. Do you?”

I shook my head.

He sighed, “Miss… (Y/N) who is the object of your poem?”

My heart was racing. The disbelief of finally being confronted with my fantasies was going to get me kicked out of my favorite class. “I don’t know.” I finally managed in a whisper.

The classroom was beginning to spin. I looked down at my desk and felt the tears start to well up in my eyes. He really does like shaming me, doesn’t he? I hurt all over. The sound of his footsteps drew closer to where I sat. I didn’t want to look at him.

“I think you do know, and you just don’t want to tell me aloud.” He whispered back.

I closed my eyes, just wanting to wake up from this nightmare. I have to be dreaming, right? This can’t be real. He can’t know how I feel. Why did I think it was okay for me to write that? Why did I think it was okay to turn it in to him? It’s not like he hasn’t been taught how to analyze prose. He’s done it for years! It’s his job!

Mr. Ambrose’s hand reached out to my face. His fingertips lightly pressed against the bottom of my chin, forcing me to look up at him. “(Y/N),” his voice said my name soothingly. “How old are you?”

My eyes widened, “Wha- Wait, What?”

His thumb brushed my cheek, “How old are you, love?”

My breath hitched as the warmth of his touch sent shivers throughout my body. “I’m eighteen, sir.”

The side of Mr. Ambrose’s mouth twitched up into a smile, “An adult.”

Hesitantly, I nodded, “I try to be, sir.”

“Then, as an adult, there is something I need you to do for me.”

Those blue eyes were beginning to look like the ocean on a stormy day. I was terrified, yet, excited. “What is it?”

“I need you to tell me to stop if you’re uncomfortable but promise me that whatever happens in here,” He looked me up and down. “It must never leave this room. Do you understand?”

I nodded.

“You have to use your words, love.”

“Yes, sir. It won’t leave this room.”

His grin widened, “Good girl.”

[theclaravoyant]

AN ~ Surprise, @unlessimwrongwhichyouknowimnot! I actually got you for BOTH Secret Valentines! (And you’re also my 100th AO3 fic!! Happy Valentines Day to me too!) I hope you like it :D

Prompt: Aro!Jemma and Ace!Fitz in a queerplatonic relationship celebrate Valentine's Day in an unconventional way

If it’s love, and we decide that it’s forever no-one else could do it better. If it’s love, and we’re two birds of a feather, then the rest is just whatever. - If It's Love, Train

Read on AO3 (~2800wd). FS, light T, est. rshp.

Birds of a Feather

In a grand hotel room, two tangled figures stumbled through the doorway, wrapped up in each other’s arms. Gold stiletto heels heedlessly crushed the luscious carpet beneath them as a jewel-pink dress dropped to the floor, and lengthy, sensuous legs kicked up around the trousers of a fine Italian suit. As the two lovers collapsed onto the bed together, the music swelled and the camera panned up, and it became clear that this director did not intend to cut to black.

Jemma felt a flush down the back of her neck, and opened her lips a little to catch her breath. At the same time, behind her, Fitz made a quiet humming sound of discomfort. Jemma smiled with tight lips, as amused as she was irritated by the interruption. She snuggled deeper into Fitz’ chest, shifting lower, and took her eyes off the screen at last to roll over and peer up at his face.

“Sorry,” Fitz murmured. “I know I promised I wouldn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t,” she pointed out. “Technically.”

He sighed.

“It’s just –“ a fruitless handwave at the television. “I mean, really? They’ve known each other what, an hour? And that’s where they go?”

Jemma laughed.

“No-one’s doing anything wrong, Fitz,” she assured him. “They’re just having fun!”

Fitz screwed up his nose.

“Doesn’t look like much fun. I mean. That looks like more fun.”

Jemma followed where he pointed, to see that somebody had just been shot, and was falling dramatically backward into the swimming pool.

“Really?” Jemma pressed. “You’d rather get shot than have sex.”

“Well I was talking about the bit before that, with the swimming, before all hell broke loose, but –“

“Okay, so you haven’t completely lost it -”

Fitz rolled his eyes.

“You’re great,” he insisted, “and there are plenty of things it is better than. Y’know. Cleaning the shower drain. Setting rat baits in the attic. Dissecting a frog.”

“You threw up last time you dissected a frog.”

“My point exactly.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“We’re missing a perfectly good gunfight. Oh brilliant, here comes Miss Legs. Naturally, she’s going to have to fight in her underwear, of course.”

“Now I’ll admit that’s a little ridiculous, but she can fight remarkably well.” As the character vaulted over the bonnet of a car only to have her opponent throw her into a trash can and send her sprawling over the sidewalk covered in garbage, Jemma winced. “Oh, that poor stunt double.”

They returned their attention to the movie after that, but the banter continued. Together they poked fun at poor special effects, melodramatic one-liners, and flat tropes. Fitz explained or guessed at how various explosions and fight damage had been constructed. Jemma lamented and promised herself, for the fiftieth time, that she would learn martial arts one day. Maybe krav maga. The human body was truly a remarkable contraption.

“Well this human body’s getting remarkably uncomfortable,” Fitz returned. “I’m getting a drink. Want one?”

“Water, please.”

Jemma nodded, and yawned as she stretched herself out and climbed out of the nest she had created for herself between the couch and the cushions and Fitz. He disappeared to the kitchen and she to the bedroom, where she changed into a loose top and took off her bra. When Fitz returned with the water, he looked tired enough to collapse, like a switch had been flicked and all of a sudden he was struggling to keep his eyes open. Jemma hummed sympathically.

“Working hard?” she purred as he slumped onto the bed, eyes closed and forehead creased, limbs tensed with frustration.

“Coulson just emailed,” Fitz murmured, a silent groan in his expression. “They’re upgrading to a new model after all, so half the coding I did today is out the window. At this rate I’m going to be another week on this bloody thing."

“You shouldn’t check your emails before bed,” Jemma scolded gently. “Aside from the effects of screen brightness on sleep, there hasn’t been a day this week it hasn’t put you in a foul mood.”

Fitz grunted, wishing he had taken her advice, but read them he had and in a bad mood he was.

“Go to sleep, babe,” Jemma insisted. “You can deal with it in the morning.”

She crawled onto the bed beside him and snuggled into his side, letting one arm drape over his chest. She hummed softly and breathed smoothly until she felt the frustration drain from his body. Fitz’ own breathing evened out eventually and Jemma realised she’d lulled him to sleep on top of the covers. She slipped off the bed and retrieved a heavy fleece from the lounge, which she pulled over him, and then she snuck back into her place, careful not to disturb him as she stuck her feet under the covers.

Knees drawn to her chest, back against a stack of pillows and the headboard, Jemma looked down at Fitz’ soft expression and floppy hair and smiled tightly. He was working outside both her jurisdiction and her expertise, so he didn’t often talk about this particular project with her and she was unsure what to do to help him most of the time. And today was an especially unfortunate blow. He’d thought he’d finally been done with this project, and with the difficulties and secrecies that it entailed – hence an afternoon of lazy strolls, cooking, and amusingly predictable movies. After all the work he’d done so far and thought he’d put behind him, another week might as well have been another month, another year, another decade to his tired mind, and his heart that hated not sharing with her.

Jemma sighed. It seemed she had just as much of a penchant for putting herself in a mood before bed as Fitz did. She pulled her biomedical journal prints out from under her tablet to distract herself, but her eyes refused to train themselves on the words. Her brain refused to let go the thought that there must be something she could do, should do, would do for him. What was in a week’s time? Valentine’s Day. There must be loads of things to do on Valentine’s Day. Restaurants would be open, cinemas would have extra showings, events would be on all over the place.

So it was decided then, she thought to herself as if she could bargain with her own brain. She would arrange a nice day out for them on Valentine’s Day, to celebrate at last and to get his mind off that blasted project and to allow him to share with her whatever he might have felt he’d been lacking or needed to make up for. Surely, with that framework in mind, she could cast aside the journal reading and just go to sleep, ready to start planning proper when it was more appropriate.

Or.

Or, she could shuffle down under the covers and stare at the roof, and her mind could start buzzing with suggestions, and her heart could leap in her chest at the good ones and at the thought of being able to bring Fitz some peace. She could, in short, lie restless for a good few minutes and eventually give up on the attempt to sleep altogether and instead, do what she did best – plan.

-

“Is the blindfold really necessary?” Fitz asked as Jemma guided him by the shoulder down into the passenger seat of the car, a week later.

“Not strictly, but I didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

“Surprise? I thought we were going to a restaurant, y’know Italian or something nice and romantic and then go to a movie, and then a hotel room after that with candles and rose petals everywhere…”

Fitz trailed off, grinning. He could feel Jemma’s glare through the blindfold.

“Oh please,” she huffed. “You know me better than that. Besides, if I have to hear one more terrible pun or even worse love story or watch those waiters moon-eye at us like they did last year, I’m going to vomit.”

“Hey, you love puns!”

“…Yeah, alright, maybe the puns aren’t too bad.” Jemma rolled her eyes as she moved the car into gear and started driving. Fitz was alert, looking around and listening. Trying to figure out her surprise.

“You’re not going to see it coming,” she insisted.

“Well of course I won’t, I’m wearing a blindfold, aren’t I?”

Jemma guffawed with laughter, and had to remind herself to keep her eyes on the road. Fitz grinned victoriously beside her and continued trying to map out where they were. He was terribly unfamiliar with the area, and after a while, they pulled out onto a long, straight road without much traffic and he lost track of how long they were on it.

“Still think you can pick us, Lassie?” Jemma teased. Fitz crossed his arms.

“We’re somewhere in New England,” he grumbled. “And I don’t appreciate the reference.”

Jemma shrugged. “It was either that or Skippy.”

Suddenly, Fitz bolted upright and slapped the car door excitedly.

“I smell the ocean! Right? We’re going to the seaside, aren’t we?”

“’The Seaside’.” Jemma laughed. “You’re so British!”

“You’re Britisher!”

“I bet I am, Mr ‘second grade math’.”

“Excuse you Little Miss ‘footy squad’.”

“We have footy squads!”

“Oh, 'we' do now, hm? And when did you suddenly get an interest in the Dons exactly?”

Fitz cut himself off when Jemma cut the engine and stepped around the car to open his door. The banter had successfully distracted him from a cacophony of sounds: money jingling, children screeching with laughter, and the unmistakable crank-accordion sound of carnival music. When Jemma finally pulled his blindfold away, she stepped aside to reveal a small fair set up on the jetty and grassed area near the beach. The water shone, a dark but luminescent backdrop for the coloured lights and flapping flags that announced festivity with the humble pride of a small town.

“What do you think?” Jemma asked, trying to get a read on Fitz’ stunned expression.

“I – um – why?” Fitz spiralled as he walked through the entrance, his eyes trained on the triangular penants flapping in the breeze above his head, and the stars far beyond them.

“I wanted to get away from it all,” Jemma explained, following him into the fairgrounds and guiding him out of the way of incoming strangers as he looked around, awestruck. “You away from that bloody project of yours and us away from the base for a while – and not to mention away from all that awful Hallmark tripe. It took me a while to find something interesting but then…I found this! I would’ve run it by you first but like I said, I didn’t want to ruin the surprise. Do you like it?”

“Jemma!” Fitz gasped. “I love it! Fresh air. Space. Fairy floss!”

He grabbed her face, as if to kiss her, but got distracted. He ran past her instead, to a truck offering fairy floss, popcorn and deep-fried potato spiral

“What’s a deep-fried potato kebab?” Jemma wondered, trailing him, and catching up just as he accepted an armful of food from the vendor. A tub of popcorn, a stick of fairy floss, and two of what could only have been the potato spirals. They were, in all, potatoes, cut somehow into a spiral and deep-fried onto a kebab stick. Simple, self explanatory, and unashamedly bad for you. Of course.

“What?” Fitz asked, when he saw her staring. “It was a long drive.”

They walked around the grounds and ate and talked, and in all honesty the simple fact of fresh air was enough of a gift to last them both all night. Jemma became increasingly gladder that she hadn’t caved in the end and chosen a restaurant; it was such a rare opportunity to be out of the base, and out of a city, without having to look over their shoulder all the time. The quiet life, she thought to herself, was underrated.

With occasional assistance from Jemma, Fitz polished off most of the food he’d bought initially in a fairly short span of time, but once he had a hand free, he held Jemma’s funnel cakes willingly and with great restraint as she engaged in some of the carnival activities. She tested her strength on the hammer, and both of them laughed when she barely managed to reach halfway. In the real world, she’d have jumped on the sensor instead, but a game was a game. She tried throwing balls into the clowns’ mouths and did a surprisingly good job, eventually winning a small stuffed seal made of gold and green fabric, which she gave to a passing child later in the night. When they got to a booth for shooting cans with a BB gun, Fitz jumped at the chance.

“Okay okay, this one’s mine.”

“My hero!” Jemma feigned a swoon, and took her funnel cakes back as Fitz made an enjoyably macho show of taking the gun and preparing himself. He was a good shot, but this was a carnival game. A notoriously difficult one at that. At least the attendant seemed to be getting a laugh out of his grand performance.

Fitz managed to down two cans. The attendant applauded, his eyebrows high, impressed. He gestured to the row of choices Fitz had for prizes, and Fitz picked out a larger-than-life daisy made of some sort of felt-like material, with a smiling face sown in where the seeds would go and wire in the stem, for posing.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Jemma,” he said, presenting it to Jemma as seriously as if it were a bouquet full of roses.

“Oh, babe, you shouldn’t have!” she crooned, stroking its petals as if it were as sweet and fragile as a lily.

“Ah, the lovebirds,” the attendant called, applauding again. “I’ll give the lady three shots for free, eh? My little Valentines gift to you all.”

Jemma grinned, and passed off her funnel cakes and the precious daisy to Fitz. She picked up the gun and fired, fired, fired, and the attendant howled and clapped his congratulations when three cans tumbled from their stand.

“The highest score all night, Ma’am,” he congratulated her. “Have your pick of anything on the board!”

-

Eventually, they retired to the beach.

They walked for a while, until the sounds of the carnival had faded into the distance and the soft roar of the lapping waves took over. Fitz sat, and brushed a patch of sand beside him so that Jemma could adjust her skirt and sit too. It was a graceful practice oddly out of place, as Jemma had the cartoonish daisy wrapped around her arm like it had grown there, and Fitz had a monkey with absurdly long arms and Velcro for hands hugging his neck, and the most recent phase of dinner consisted of a corndog each, and an absurdly large cup of ice-cream they were sharing.

Jemma sighed in satisfaction as she looked out across the sea, where it reflected the shimmering silver moonlight.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Fitz,” she murmured, nuzzling into his shoulder. It was cold, and she’d left a jacket in the car, but she preferred this method of keeping warm.

“Thanks for bringing me here, Jemma,” Fitz replied. “It was very inventive of you. I had fun.”

“And you got to show off.”

“And I got to show off.” Fitz laughed.

“You’re a great romantic sap, you know that?” Jemma teased. “Defending my honour against those nasty stacks of tins.”

“They were looking at you funny, I swear.”

Jemma laughed and rolled her eyes. “Next year, I’m buying you a sword.”

“Really?!” Fitz jumped, and almost sent Jemma’s corn-dog flying.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Jemma promised.

Fitz stuck his now-empty corndog stick into the sand and adjusted his position so that he could put an arm around Jemma’s shoulders.

“Aren’t you cold?” he wondered, looking at all her bare skin. Jemma shrugged.

“Not with you.”

Fitz snorted. “And I’m the romantic sap.”

Jemma batted her eyelids at him.

“Would the sap like to get my jacket from the car? Pretty please?”

“Always.” Fitz kissed the top of her head and leapt to his feet, and Jemma hurried to pull the ice cream out of reach of a flurry of sand he kicked up as he headed up the beach and back to the car. When he returned with a jacket and a picnic rug, Jemma salvaged the ice cream once again and they set themselves up for a long and beautiful night under the stars.