#the back of the book has water damage from my tears

[ode-to-fury]

If I ever meet Robin Hobb I’m fighting her for the emotional pain she inflicted on me in those last fifty pages of Assassin’s Fate

[tinydefector]

Marine Centre 7 - Merformers AU

Word count: 2k

Warnings: mention of dead animals, eating dead animals, attempting to court/filrt.

Masterlist

Perv

Next

_____________

Big blue had been avoiding them the best he could while at the centre, staying at the bottom of the cove or out in the deep water of the sea so that he wasn't near them. 

 But all the other oceanides began to get very friendly towards them, following them up and down the sea line and around the walkways around the marine centre.  

Angelfish trills, surfacing from the water cooing as he tries to get their attention. "Hi Angelfish, I'll talk later. I'm trying to find Big blue” they hum with a smile as they continue walking towards the cave.    

Cherry shoulder-checks him aside. Calling out himself He waggles his fins as he pushes himself up onto the sand a little, using his hands to drag himself.  “Cherry! No,no you just got out of quarantine, don't you damage your scales again!” They nearly shout while trying to shoo him back into the water. 

As Rodimus makes another persuasive overture, the three Oceanides continue calling and thrilling as if trying to get their attention but they were set on a mission they wanted to find Big blue. They had books that they wanted to read to him, to help him be able to speak a little more or just be able to ask more questions from the food they eat to oceanide ways. 

“What has gotten into you three my God, you're acting like pups” They chuckle only to hear Bee call out. They would know that call anywhere. “Bubba!” The little yellow pup calls out. “Yes hello baby!” They call back. 

 The little pup zooms through the water, spitting out a mangled blend of little melodies and little words. "No! Cuddle, cuddle!" He huffs puffing up as he chases them. “You can cuddles in a little sweetheart.”  

Firefin seems just as persistent to stop them from going to the cave. Beaching himself in their part, blocking them. They let out a sigh realising they weren't going to escape the three adults and pup. “Fine, fine guess I'll sit here then” they huff out and sit down in the sand. 

Bumblebee is quickest to zoom over, trilling excitedly as he uses the waves to wash himself up closer to them as he wiggles and drags himself into their lap. They grab out one of the books of fish holding it out for Babybee to see. The other three almost crowd around to inspect what they have. 

“Fish, Fish” the pup shouts. “Yes bubba, fish, gonna point out them and you nod if you eat them” they coo while pointing to the fish, making a motion to their mouth, doing a head nod and shake to try and make sure the oceanides understood what they were asking.   

 

Cherry jabs at a pufferfish photo, then to Angelfish who shoves him away with a playful hiss. Bumblebee trills happily from his perch, little hands pointing at fish as he peers at them. “Do you like Flathead?” They hum only for the little one to nod vigorously. The other three seem to be playfully fighting between each other over an answer. 

Firefin rumbles thoughtfully. He nods slowly at them, he then points to the lionfish and makes a low snarl at it. “yea i know you don't like the Lionfish, the Sharks seem To once they are dead.” They continue pointing to another one, this time an Eastern Wirrah. “What about this one?” 

At the next indicated fish, Angelfish perks up. Cherry nods eagerly. As they continue to go through the book making doen fish that they liked and didn't, Bumblebee babbles as he points at other fish, crustaceans and shellfish excitedly. 

But it's their heads snapping to the side as Shimmer beaches himself with a kill. “Holy shit, holy shit!” They shout pulling Babybee closer as they watch Shimmer rip into the seal carcass. His head snaps towards them as blood runs down his mouth and chin before he goes back to eating. Shimmer lazily tearing into a seal carcass on the sand. The pup coos excitedly at the gory sight, wiggling out of their arms and quickly splashing his way over.  

__________________________

"Hello gorgeous!" Rodimus trills, only for Bluestreak to surf closer to them. "Come swimming with us again please?" He calls out only for Sideswipe to shoulder-check him aside. " Ignore this fin flicker, you can do better. Name's Sides - I'll show you a way better time than any landwalker." He waggles his frills eagerly. 

As Rodimus makes another persuasive overture, Sideswipe cuts in flamboyantly. "Forget these two- I'm the best you'll find in these seas, sweet thing!, come on you have see me at my lowest" 

Rodimus elbows him aside. "The they're not interested in guppy talk."  

Their displays only grow more elaborate as the softone strides unresponsive past, oblivious clicks drowned out by youthful cry of Bumblebee. The little pup zooms over spitting out a mangled blend of songspeak and soft word phrases. 

But Rodimus presses ever closer, blocking their path. “Come on, you had no issues talking with me after Optimus took off” he nearly whines. The softskins let out a sigh realising they weren't going to escape the three adults and pup. So they sit down in the sand. Close to the water so that Bumblebee could move closer. 

The group lets out a noise of success. “finally we can actually spend some time with you!” Sideswipe laughs as he moves closer, watching curiously as they pull out strange looking boxes. But as they open it the oceanides see the images of fish. 

Bumblebee, trilling excitedly as bright illustrations capture his fleeting focus. Sideswipe and Bluestreak crowd close as well, "Ooh, look - it's you, Blue!" Sideswipe jabs, pressing his claw at a  picture of a pufferfish. Bluestreak shoves him away with a snort. "Frag off, your ugly mug is Not!." 

They let Bumblebee curl up in their lap while pointing to a fish. And making a 'to eat' motion before waving their hand in the direction of the three like a question. Before doing a head nod or shake. Sideswipe catches on first, snapping his dentas. "Eat it? Frag yeah we do, looks tasty!" 

Bluestreak elbows him. "Spongebrain, they're asking if WE eat it, not if YOU would." He turns a questioning gaze on the humans. "yes we hunt those" he nods along as they point to different ones. At the next indicated fish, Bluestreak perks up. "Oh, those? Fat suckers are a real treat, their meat just falls off the bone. We'll chase those gutbusters all over the reef given a chance." Sideswipe rumbles while admiring the different fishes.

Sideswipe nods eagerly. Rodimus nods too, he then points to the lionfish and makes a low snarl at it. “Those firefish are nasty, we don't eat them, they make us very sick” he informs only for the softone to make a noise in understanding. 

He points to others, fielding answers. "Groupers are yummy. Lobsters if we're lucky, fast buggers though. Any big fish, deep fish.  barracuda, Mahi Mahi, sunfish, even marlin if it's a big feeding party."

As the softone continues pointing to others as the boys nod or shake their heads over which ones they eat. Bumblebee babbles as he points at other fish excitedly, “yummy, yummy!” He coos which earns a laugh from the others. “ yea pup they are yummy”

The smell of blood has their attention as Sunstreaker drifts onto the sand with a seal that he is ripping into and eating. The metallic scent draws Sideswipe's attention downbeach. "Hey, looks like Streaker's found himself a feast." The others follow his gaze to see Sunstreaker lazily tearing into a seal carcass on the sand. 

Bluestreak clicks his dentas, eyeing the dripping prey. "Not a bad catch, solo this time?"  Rodimus' fins flick approvingly. Sunstreaker licks a lingering gaze to their softone. Bluestreak snaps his dentas jealously. "Showoff, look he's got them interested now!"

"Always got to one-up us, eh Streaker?" Sideswipe whines. "Can't you let the rest of us wow someone for once?" Sunstreaker just huffs, blood dripping from his chin. "Not my fault if you clownfish can't land a catch to save your sorry shells. At least I get results." He flicks gold and silver fins in a taunting display.

Bumblebee swimming over to Sunstreaker. Cooing softly as if to ask if he could try the seal with him. The little pup is very polite as uses his big wide eyes up at him, Sunstreaker had a soft spot for the pup reminding him of his own pup sunstorm bumblebee's plea proves effective, as his big puppy eyes always did. With a smug quirk of his lip, Sunstreaker tears off a choice strip of seal meat for the eager little pup. 

"Here you go, squirt. Maybe you'll finally fill out that scrawny frame with a real meal." He ignores the others' jealousy as Bumblebee trills his thanks around the treat. As he lets the pup have his fill of the seal while he eats. 

Bluestreak scoffs. "Look at that, he's stolen the pup's affections too..." Sideswipe tries to stop the soft one from following Bumblebee down to the seal carcass. "Don't pay them any mind, sweetspark. I'll hunt something for you." He calls out as a promise. 

Bumblebee eagerly devours his seal chunk with Sunstreaker's watchful gaze. When the pups caretaker edges closer, Sideswipe whines pathetically. "Don't do it, you'll only encourage his displays! Gorgeous, come back - I'll prove myself a far truer catch." 

But their noisemaking falls on deaf ears as their human carefully approaches the feeding pair, wary yet curious. Sunstreaker lets them near without hissing, merely flashing bright patterned frills at them in invitation. 

A challenging smirk curls his lip components. "See something you like, landwalker? I'm always up for another hunt if it means claiming a worthy prize." The others can only whine and fawn, outmatched by the golden mech's sheer audacity. 

"What are you doing?" Drift asked, popping his head up to watch the younger Oceanides. Bluestreak huffs. "We're trying to win favour, prove ourselves to the landwalker. But Sunstreaker keeps showing off as usual." 

Sideswipe nods fiercely. "He only does it to make us look bad. If he'd frag off maybe one of us could get a real connection going."

Rodimus vents softly in amusement. "Optimus already tried a fin show, but I doubt Sunstreaker will get them that easily." Sideswipe titters. "Can you blame him? The way they doted on Bee, of course he got all showy!" 

Drift shakes his head in amusement before taking off again. 

"No way, Optimus!," Bluestreak insists. "I mean look, they're still not even reacting to us" 

Sideswipe nods eagerly. "Bet his display freaked them right out, Wonder how far south he hauled his sorry tailfin..."

“I'm telling you Blue, He got so worked up while Ratchet and I were at the caves, fins and frills All flared out as he made a little call to them. And beforehand I was asking him if they were his mates. He said something to them in their words and they got very shy” Rodimus says to him.

"How would you even mate one?" Sunstreaker shoots back at them.

Bluestreak hums curiously. "I don't suppose landwalkers mount the same as we do? No tail, slit or pelvic fins in sight." 

"Frag if I know." Rodimus says defensively. 

Sunstreaker fans his fins and frills at them again, a soft little rumble leaves him as he puts on the show, the softskin looks at him and smiles as they talk and praise Sunstreaker in the language he can't understand, but they do make a whistle noise at him. He smirks triumphantly as the landwalker's praise. Bluestreak scoffs jealousy. "Fragger thinks he owns the surf with this showboating" 

A deep rumble echoes off the waves and it has Bumblebee looking up and calling out to his Sire. Even the softones attention flicks to the large Oceanide as he hangs back in the deeper water. Optimus was still keeping his distance from them after his flare up. 

Sunstreaker falters his display. "Well frag me, Papa Prime's making his presence known out there..." Bumblebee trills excitedly at his sire. “Papa, Papa!” he calls out to him.

____________________

Photos of what the Oceanides look like for those who haven't seen Megatron is the next one I'll be working on.

____________________

______________________

Let me know if you would like to be added to tag list (tagged for every fic)

Taglist

@angelxcvxc

@saturnhas82moons

@horizonartist980

@murkyponds

@buddee

@bubblyjoonjoon

@chaihena

@pyreemo

@lovenotcomputed

@mskenway97

@delectableworm

@cheesecaketyrant

@ladyofnegativity

@desertrosesmetaldune

@stellasfallow

@coffee-or-hot-cocoa

@shinseiokami

@tea-loving-frog

@aquaioart

@daniel-meyer-03

@pupap123

@dannyaleksis

@averysillylittlefellow

@rosielecktor

@shurushurubanban

@wosemoose1

@strawberrydutchling

@azuragalaxya

@dumpster-fae

@simp-sentral

@smallestapplin

@starscreamloverfr

@doodle-dongs

@askcookieanon

@aerisvirtue

@horizonartist980

[mikichko]

part of adoptive parents!ghoap x reader cw: mentions of abusive childhood, parents, and scars from said abuse. a/n: wrote this instead of doing my chores :) (i cried)

simon learns the hard way that there's no handbook on being a parent.

sure, the parenting section of bookstores is always full of colorful quippy books on tips for developmental stages. but, there's no handbook for the actual process of becoming a parent. you can make a step by step guide on how to get a child through teething, sleep training, and even potty training but not how to endure the emotional transition of becoming a parent.

there's no book on overcoming fear, trust he's looked. just ones that give lists of things to have ready before a child arrives. simon has it all ready. has finalized the color palette of the boys' room, painted the mural himself, even had price build the frame for the bed himself. meticulous little details carved into the wood that he hopes his future son will love. but material things only cover a small aspect of what a child needs.

no matter how ready he is in that aspect, simon can't shake the terror that the thought of fatherhood brings.

it's everpresent, simmering just below the surface of his skin, silencing him and dulling the days where it agitates itself into a rolling boil. he's been acquainted with fear, the feeling isn't fully foreign but simon cringes nonetheless. because fear feeds the voices, and the voices love to make simon suffer. they always have.

fear drives him out of his marital bed, slipping away from johnny's pliant warm body in exchange for the still, cold air of the living room. he keeps the light off, guided by the beautiful cascade of moonlight that filters through the windows. settles on the couch, underneath the gentle light, as he inspects his marked palms. it's hard to see the scars in the moonlight. they're not large, not like the ones that warp the skin on his arms or the ones on his back.

no, these are defensive scars.

and simon can still feel the blow that delivered them. a stored memory with a sick interactive feature activated on these cold nights. a boy never forgets when his father beats him, he thinks, it's something he carries. and although this simon isn't sixteen, that scrawny bruised body shed long ago, he's still a boy. even when time erodes his memory, picking at any loose bits, the pain will persist. he'll never truly forget.

bathed in moonlight, he's left to wonder what right he has to be a father. the only fatherly hands that have landed on him had been violent. tearing at him until even fresh water made both his skin and eyes sting. til the violence invaded his dreams, forcing him to spend the rest of his night in a shallow rest, until he was eighteen. years spent with his ears perked, waiting for the creak of the fifth step, the indicator that he had to fight again. how was he meant to make a proper home for a child when he had only ever known a shattered one?

it doesn't take long for johnny to find him. he does every night, of course. the cool air invading where simon had previously occupied, alerting johnny to his absence. simon's silent call that johnny always responds. he never asks, knows the brunette well enough. understands that simon's palms are a testament to the damage that's been inflicted on him. the evil he's been subjected to.

simon doesn't have to speak of it, but he does. on a dry starry night in urzikstan, comms off and johnny as his sole observer, he verbalizes his fear of becoming a father. not now, this is not the proper line for a good father, but sometime in the future.

johnnys’s seen firsthand the kind of terror the masked man can inflict. how easily his hands can break bones, turn necks, and knock someone from this life.

but those are the hands of a tool. an asset. not the hands of a man. those are ghost's hands, not simon's.

johnny has seen simon, truly. has seen how he handles the robins that perch on his index finger, mistaking its girth for an incredibly still branch. has seen the softness in which he handles the tabby street cat they feed from time to time. fingers barely touching her coat as he strokes her forehead, soothing her until she’s calm enough to eat. seen the man he becomes when he’s holding gaz and price’s little girl in his arms. body stiff and eyes wet as his arms engulf the bundle of pink whose tanned hand grabs at simon’s too big finger. when she grasps, she doesn't even manage to wrap her finger around it completely, she coos nonetheless. it's easy to spot the love swirling in his honey eyes as he looks down at her.

johnny presses himself up against his husband, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. his hand rubs at his back soothingly and his forehead presses against his temple. they sit for some time, both illuminated by the light from the celestial body, until johnny finally feels simon relax. his husband returning to him from the turbulent tides of his mind. the man that johnny knows will make a great father.

sometime in the future, with zach sprawled across his chest, curls tickling the bottom of his chin, simon will remember this. will remember the moonlight, the pain, the fear that gripped him, and the scruff that grounded him again. he'll laugh, as gently as possible to not disturb the dinosaur covered boy, before tucking the memory away.

it'd be easier to laugh then, with zach in his arms. with the adoration he feels for his boy warming him fully, it'll be easier to forget the cold tides that pulled him away that night.

it's true, they don't teach you how to become a parent, it's not something you can encapsulate in a book. simon doesn't think he could verbalize the emotions that well up when he looks at this boy, his son, in a way that would do them justice. if there are they evade him.

this boy, his boy, who softens him around the edges, pulls fondness, care, and love from places he hadn't even known had any left.

[bower-quinn]

My sweet summerchild

"You and Eddie have been best friends for years, and nothing and no one can tear you apart. But somehow, something has changed. [cw: vomiting] [fluffy, feelings, friends to lovers]"

Chapter 1: The Secret

It’s a Friday like any other in rainy Hawkins. The day drags on like chewing gum, but Eddie Munson knows that the wait will be worth it. Every Friday afternoon, when the bell rings for the last period, Eddie, Steve, Dustin, Robin, and you gather in the old, dusty clubroom of the school, which serves as the headquarters for the Hellfire Club. Here, amid the smell of old books and the flickering light of candles, you dive into the world of Dungeons & Dragons, where heroes and monsters collide and imagination knows no bounds. The latest campaign isn’t going as smoothly as Eddie would like, since Steve, the newcomer to the group, has absolutely no idea what he’s supposed to do.

„So, can I decapitate the ogre with my sword now?” he asks, and almost everyone groans in annoyance. Except for you, you just laugh softly and respond with angelic patience, „I have the sword, Steve; you have a broad axe.”

„So I decapitate him with my broad axe!”

More groans.

„Harrington,” Eddie leans forward and stares intensely at his best friend, „if you say ‘decapitate’ one more time, I’ll kick you out of the campaign.”

Steve looks him straight in the eye.

„Decapitate.”

„This kid is driving me crazy,” Eddie sighs and sinks back into his chair.

„Just roll for how much damage your initial attack does!” you suggest, pointing to Steve’s dice.

„My sweet summerchild has much more patience with you than is warranted,” Eddie grumbles. The way he says your nickname makes everything inside you melt.

Steve picks up a die, rolls it, and stares at it for a long time.

„And? Did you roll a one?” Dustin asks, clenching his teeth.

„A twenty!” Steve looks around the table, „is that good?”

„That can’t be true!” Eddie jumps up, stands behind Steve, and stares at the dice.

„The bastard actually rolled a dirty twenty!”

„Who’s the bastard here?” Steve mumbles, but Eddie just chuckles and winks at you.

Those stupid butterflies that have been fluttering around lately are flapping around in a panic. You don’t know exactly when it happened, but recently you’ve felt your feelings for Eddie change. You’ve been friends for what feels like centuries. Best friends, even. Just for that reason, you would never dare to bring up these feelings. Sure, you and Eddie talk about everything—except the fact that you suddenly find his lips attractive. That would ruin everything.

„Well,” Eddie says loudly, pulling you out of your thoughts, „Sir Harrington raises his broad axe with a shout, hurls it at the ogre, AND,” he makes a dramatic pause, „hits it right between the eyes.”

You all cheer, and Steve looks prouder than he wants to admit.

„Robin,” Eddie points to her, „what are you doing?”

„My sorceress casts Fireball!” she rolls, „a six.”

„Although a lot of flames go astray,” Eddie says, „you still burn the ogre pretty well. He dies before he hits the ground.”

„FINALLY!” Dustin roars.

„Kamala approaches the ogre,” you say softly, and Dustin falls silent, „she pulls out a bottle of holy water and anoints the ogre’s head. She says a small prayer for his soul and then returns Sir Harrington his sword.”

„Heaven,” Dustin says, „it’s an ogre!”

„Every creature deserves an anointing!” you say, and the sparkle in your eyes makes Eddie smile. What you don’t know is that he had to keep himself from staring at you throughout the session. How the candlelight reflects in your hair, how you laugh at his jokes, how you patiently explain everything to Steve. All of it nearly drives him to despair. He yearns so strongly for you. For your physical and emotional closeness. He’s never wanted anything more. But for the sake of your friendship, he does nothing in that direction. Everything remains in his imagination.

„I think,” he says, looking away from you, „that’s enough for today.”

„But it’s only been two hours!” Dustin sighs in disappointment.

„Already two hours!” Robin exclaims in surprise, „Heaven, no wonder it smells like farts in here.”

„That was Dustin,” Steve says, and Eddie chuckles as Dustin makes a horrified face.

You look at your watch and realize Eddie is right.

„Shit, I have to go!,” you say, grabbing your bag, „I promised to be home on time. Otherwise, I’ll get a broad axe to the forehead.”

Eddie stands up, spreads his arms, waiting for a goodbye hug, but you just wave quickly and disappear. Eddie stands there with his arms raised like an idiot.

„She’s gone,” Dustin says, and Eddie’s head snaps toward him.

„Oh, shut up, dumbass.”

„I’m just saying,” he shrugs, „you can put your arms down.”

„Seriously,” Steve says quietly as he gathers the figures, „you’re acting like a little kid.”

„Do you have something to say, Harrington?” Steve asks.

He just shakes his head. Robin looks at him and rolls her eyes.

„I thought you were going to talk to him!”

„Not now,” Steve hisses back.

„About what?”

Eddie crosses his arms in front of his chest and stares at his friends.

„About,” Steve says, „how you’ve been in love with [y/n] for months.”

Eddie bursts out laughing, but his friends can tell it’s a fake laugh.

„Me? In love? Nonsense.”

„Seriously?” Dustin looks at Steve, „do you mean that?”

„Yes?” Steve looks at him confused, „I thought even you, dimwit, would have figured that out by now!”

„No?”

„Hello!” Eddie waves his hands to get their attention again, „She’s my best friend! Nothing more! I don’t know where you guys get the audacity—”

Steve, Robin, and Dustin look at Eddie but say nothing.

„Okay, fine,” his feigned indignation collapses, „I’ll admit it. How long have you known?”

„Six months,” Robin says.

„Five months,” Steve says.

„I told him,” Robin says, and Steve nods.

„Eh, and why didn’t you tell me?” Dustin asks Robin.

„Because,” Steve answers instead, „you’re just an immature kid.”

„Let me remind you,” Dustin glares at both of them, „that unlike you two, I have a girlfriend.”

Robin looks at Steve.

„There’s something to that.”

„I really hate to interrupt your coffee clatch,” Eddie says in a deep voice, „but this isn’t about you.”

„When is it ever,” Steve mutters.

„You have to swear to me,” Eddie points his finger at each of his friends, „that you won’t say a word about this. Swear it, or I’ll haunt you in your dreams!”

„What a terrible thought,” Robin murmurs, „but I and the two fart-heads here swear it!”

Eddie nods curtly and tries to hide his red face behind his curls. Apparently, he isn’t as mysterious as he always thought he was.

Chapter 2: A New Hope

You notice that Eddie is unusually nervous in the following days. Whenever you touch him, he flinches and laughs oddly. Even your hugs seem to be avoided, kept to a minimum. Even these small touches on your arm have been turned off.

Maybe, you think in fear, he’s realized that you have feelings for him. It’s uncomfortable for him, so he’s keeping his distance. That’s the only explanation that makes sense to you. Shit, you think, when did he figure it out?

It’s infinitely embarrassing for you because the tiny hope that he might feel the same has now died. Dead, buried, and decayed.

You try to act normally around him, not showing any signs of your feelings. But every smile, every word, even when he just says your name, makes something inside you wither.

Steve, Robin, and now Dustin watch Eddie as he helplessly tries to flirt with you without actually flirting with you. More than once, Robin has to kick Steve hard in the shin to keep him quiet. But you don’t notice. You’re too absorbed in your own confusing feelings and thoughts.

When Eddie laughs a little too loudly at one of your jokes and then accidentally spills his peas, Dustin whispers to Steve, „Does she really not notice?”

Steve shakes his head almost imperceptibly.

„You didn’t notice either.”

„I just thought Eddie was acting weird.”

„Hey, you idiots,” Robin hisses angrily, „can you talk any louder?”

„Someone has to tell her!”

„Over my dead body!”

Eddie, you, and Robin look at Steve, who is staring at Dustin. Apparently, he hasn’t noticed that he’s speaking loudly.

„Is there a problem?” Eddie asks with a threatening tone, giving the two of them a meaningful look.

„No,” Steve says, still staring at Dustin, „Dustin just realized that his D&D character has the gift of silence.”

„Hm,” Dustin says and looks at his food.

Everything seems strange to you. Your friends constantly whisper and stop immediately when you approach. Your heart grows cold. Do they all know about your crush? Are they all making fun of you behind your back? Sadly, you look down at your food, not noticing how longingly Eddie is looking at you. When Steve sees Eddie’s gaze, he rolls his eyes and opens his mouth, but Robin kicks him painfully in the shin again.

Even days later, Dustin finds it hard to keep Eddie's secret. Although the others don’t believe he’s capable, he has a strong intuition. He senses that something is different about you. That you seem sad, more closed off, and thoughtful. Even though he can’t be sure, he suspects it has something to do with Eddie’s behavior toward you.

The others, especially Eddie, don’t notice it. Eddie is far too busy acting like the biggest idiot on the planet in your presence. The more you pull away, the louder he becomes. What a fool.

It makes Dustin thoughtful, and he wishes he could do something to change the situation but doesn’t know what.

„Ouch,” he says as he bumps into you after school.

„Oh, I’m sorry,” you immediately reply, „I didn’t see you!”

„I was lost in thought,” Dustin apologizes.

„So was I,” you respond.

„What were you thinking about?”

A quiet sigh escapes your lips.

„Oh, just complicated stuff. You know, feelings.”

Dustin takes your hand and leads you to a bench in front of the school building.

„I’m pretty sharp,” he says, his grin disarming, „and I know a thing or two about complicated. Wait, you look different than usual.”

You smile slightly, feeling a gentle blush creep onto your cheeks.Top of FormBottom of Form

„You look nice,” he comments.

„Thanks, I hope he likes it too.”

„He?” Dustin’s eyes widen. „You have a date? With whom?”

„With Jason,” you answer.

„Jason,” he repeats tonelessly.

„Jason,” you roll your eyes, „you know, tall, blonde, basketball player.”

„Basketball player,” Dustin repeats again tonelessly.

„Dustin, are you okay?” you ask, noticing how pale he’s become.

„Not okay,” he says. What you don’t know is that he’s already stopped listening to you. In his mind, he sees Eddie’s sad face.

„Should I walk you home?”

Your concerned tone snaps him out of his thoughts.

„No,” he laughs awkwardly, „it’s fine, just a shock that you have a date.”

When you raise your eyebrows in offense, he adds, „A date with Jason, I mean. I didn’t know you were into guys like that.”

„I’m not,” you sigh softly, „but I have to move on, you know?”

Dustin blinks in surprise. „Move on? What do you mean?”

„Well, you know,” you groan in frustration, „when you’re into someone who isn’t into you. You have to move on.”

„So,” Dustin asks hesitantly, „are you into someone else?”

„That’s right, Sherlock,” you grin, but Dustin immediately sees the sadness in your eyes.

„And who is it?”

His inquiry is so sincere and non-intrusive that it makes you laugh.

„That’s private!”

„Come on!” he wiggles his eyebrows, „if it’s Steve—”

„Oh my God,” you almost scream with laughter, „Harrington? Jesus, he takes longer in the bathroom than I do!”

„Then who is it?”

Your laughter dies down and you look at Dustin. Actually, if you’re moving on anyway.

„Okay,” you clear your throat and lower your voice, „it’s Eddie.”

„Eddie,” the toneless repetition again.

„Yes, Eddie. You know him. Dark curls, dark eyes, makes us suffer in DnD.”

„So,” Dustin summarizes, „you’re going out with this dimwit Jason because you’re actually in love with Eddie.”

Hearing it put that way makes you blush.

„Yes. He clearly isn’t interested, and I can’t keep running after him. But,” you look at him seriously, „you have to swear you won’t tell anyone.”

„But—” he starts, but you interrupt him.

„Swear on Suzie’s life.”

„I swear,” he says curtly. He wrestles with himself about whether to tell you about Eddie’s feelings. But he too has promised not to say anything.

„But—” Dustin starts again, but he doesn’t know how to continue without revealing Eddie’s secret. „Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean—what if—what if Eddie does have feelings for you?”

You laugh softly, but it’s a sad laugh.

„Dustin, Eddie is—well, Eddie. He’s my best friend, and I’m sure that’s all we’ll ever be. And that’s okay. I don’t want to risk our friendship.”

Dustin wants to argue, wants to tell you that you’re wrong, but he knows he promised Eddie to keep his secret. But now the situation is more serious than he ever expected.

„I know you think you’re doing the right thing, but—”

You interrupt him with a gentle smile.

„It’s okay, Dustin. Really. I appreciate your concern, but I need to do this. Maybe it will help me gain a bit of clarity.”

You check your watch.

„Sorry, I have to go. Jason and I are meeting in half an hour in front of the movie theater. See you then.”

You stand up and walk away, not seeing how Dustin watches you go and then starts running.

Chapter 3: Run Boy Run

Dustin isn’t running for his life, but for the happiness of his friends. Eddie’s trailer isn’t far, but far enough to push the not-so-athletic Dustin to his limits. Over and over, his body cries out for a break, but he keeps running.Eddie has to know… he has to know now… Dustin repeats in his head as he races through the streets of Hawkins. When he sees the rundown trailer in the distance, he speeds up even more. He can’t let you end up in someone else’s arms when Eddie loves you.With stitches in his side and a painful chest, he finally arrives at Eddie’s place.

„Eddie!” he pounds frantically on the trailer, „For heaven’s sake, Eddie!”

Eddie opens the door with a cigarette in his mouth.

„Jesus, Henderson,” he says, looking at him, „are you okay?”

„No,” Dustin gasps, clutching his chest, „but… that’s… irrelevant.”

He gasps for breath, leaning on his knees.

„Kid,” Eddie comes outside and stares at Dustin, „do you want a drink?”

„NO!” Dustin shouts, having to cough once.„It’s… about… [y/n],” the coughing turns into gagging.

„Is something wrong?” Eddie grabs Dustin’s shoulders in a panic, „Is she hurt?”

„No… date.”

„She has a date?” Eddie asks wearily, releasing Dustin, then grins maniacally, „Good for her. With whom?”

„Jason,” Dustin gasps.

„JASON!” Eddie yells and bursts into loud laughter. If Dustin weren’t on the verge of passing out, he might feel fear. „That’s wonderful! Jason is gorgeous and everyone loves him!”

He slams his fist against the trailer with full force.

„Jason,“ he repeats. His voice is deep, almost a growl, and his eyes are dark with anger.

„Eddie,” Dustin gasps, turning left once and vomiting loudly.

„Heaven, Henderson!” Eddie’s manic state is shattered by the vomiting. „That’s disgusting.”

„That doesn’t matter right now!” Dustin turns back to Eddie and stares at him.

„Listen to me, Eddie. You have to go there and stop it!”

„Why should I?” a sad expression crosses Eddie’s face. „She obviously knows what she wants. And it’s not me.”

„Eddie,” he grabs his friend by the shoulders, „listen to me carefully. You need to run there now. You have to!”

He tries to burn the information into Eddie’s brain without speaking the entrusted secret. He would never put Suzie’s life at risk.

„Dustin,” Eddie starts again, but Dustin interrupts him through clenched teeth.

„Eddie, I know you’re not the brightest bulb in the lamp, but please, for God’s sake, JESUS, Eddie. I’m trying to tell you something, put two and two together.”

You can clearly read in Eddie’s face how his brain is ticking. And then it seems to click.

Without another word, Eddie wriggles out of Dustin’s grip and takes off running.

„You have to go to the theater!” Dustin shouts after him, and Eddie gives a thumbs-up over his shoulder.

Dustin laughs loudly, cheers, and watches until Eddie’s figure disappears on the horizon. Slowly, with a sore hip, Dustin makes his way home.

Eddie runs. Faster than Dustin, and it feels to him as if he is actually running for his life.

You stand at the movie theater, looking around and waiting for Jason. By now, he’s five minutes late and you wonder if he will even show up. But then you see a figure running towards you in the distance. You raise your hand and smile slightly. Strange, you think, it almost looks like Eddie. The wild, flailing hair and the strange way of running, a bit like a duck. And then you see that it is indeed Eddie.

„Eddie!” you call out in surprise as he reaches you. „What are you doing here?”

„Henderson,” he gasps, „said—”

„WHAT did that little stinker say,” you snap, „Eddie, everything he said—”

He interrupts you by placing his hands on your face and gently kissing you. You feel his rapid breath, but yours is just as fast. And you haven’t even been running.

He moves his lips softly against yours, and your hands find their way to his neck, playing with the curls there. When he pulls away from the kiss, you stare at him dazed.

„If Henderson lied, I’ll kill him,” Eddie murmurs.

„Who’s Henderson?” you ask. Your mind has no room for any more thoughts. It is completely occupied with Eddie’s eyes, his lips, his scent.

„Small, curly hair, very good at keeping secrets,” Eddie smiles lovingly at you, „so he didn’t tell you anything?”

„Telling me what?” you ask.

Eddie grins wider and kisses you again. You don’t even notice that Jason has stood you up. You’ve completely forgotten about the movie theater. The evening will end in Eddie’s trailer.

[reriart]

Mending A Torn Heart [Astarion x Reader]

Hello everyone, it's been a while! I finally have a new laptop so I can start writing again. I hope you'll like it and if you have prompts for other Tav/Durge x Astarion, feel free to drop one in the ask box!

Please remember that English is not my native language.

TW: +18 MDNI, Tav have female genitals, but you can decide their gender, fluff, angst, penetration, PiV, improper use of spell, blood drinking, depression, mention of parent's death.

Words: 2,487

Tav fails to mend their blouse, so Astarion offer his help.

You can read it on AO3 too.

"Ouch!" you murmur, bringing your index to the mouth, sucking on it to stop the bleeding and the burning sensation.

During the evening, you've been trying desperately to sew up a tear on your worn blouse, but never in your life have you picked up a needle and thread - it was something your mother usually did. As a result, every attempt to fix the damage fails miserably.

"Damn it!"

Tears begin to peep, but you try to push them back. It feels foolish to cry over something so frivolous, and, especially, you don't want others to see you like that. You bend your head and shoulders downward, sighing and hoping they don't see your eyes glistening. When you look up to check, you realize that only Gale and Astarion are left. You were too focused to notice whoever was there before.

"My fellow bookworm, I think I'll go to sleep," Gale says. "I don't deny this is a conciliatory reading for a good sleep."

Astarion remains with his eyes fixed on his book. It has a worn cover, but in the vampire's graceful hands, it looks refined and antique rather than ruined. His free hand caresses the rim of the pewter cup beside him, which you are sure contains no water.

"The books you read always tend to do that," the elf replied. "You should try something that isn't fiction for women of a certain age."

"My pale friend, I don't know if you've noticed, but our book choice is limited to what we salvage among burned houses and dead bodies. At least until we get to Baldur's Gate, there is…"

Astarion rolls his eyes. "Good night, Gale."

The wizard sighs, getting up and disappearing into his tent. You lower your eyes and turn back to your torn blouse, biting your lip to keep from huffing.

"Are you going to spend all night poking holes in your fingers like you're squeezing a porcupine, or are you going to ask me for help? You're making me thirsty."

Swallow. Well aware of Astarion's supernatural nature, it had occurred to you that he could sense even a droplet of blood in the air, let alone … well, many droplets.

"Can you sew?" you ask, tilting your head.

Astarion snorts, setting the book down on the floor and getting up with the grace of a cat. He stretches his back and smooths his clothes. "Of course I can sew. Everybody should know how to do it. It's, you know, essential."

Guilt settles in your stomach. Does he always have to be so straightforward? You look first at him, then at the blouse, where two small red patches keep company with the gash in the fabric. "…damn, that won't come off."

"I am sufficiently knowledgeable about blood and tailoring to tell you that yes, those stains will come out," he mutters, sitting next to you. "Let's solve this first. Give it to me," he orders, motioning you with his hand to hand him needle, thread, and whatever else.

You do as requested and move closer to him, still trying to maintain some distance. The terror that he will hear your heartbeat running at full speed or that he might use one of your pitted fingers as a drink restrains you from getting any closer.

"Gods, it looks like a goblin tried to fix it," he comments, huffing and pulling away the thread you tried to patch it with. "How is it possible that you don't know how to sew? Did you grow up in the middle of a forest?"

"I didn't - no one ever taught me. Mom was usually doing this, but she died when I was still quite young. This is one of her clothes, the only one I have left, actually. I don't want to throw it away," you confess, looking at your toes sticking out of your crossed legs.

Astarion looks up at you, then looks down at the lake and clenches his jaw. "I can understand that. I have … something that's been with me for a long time, too, and it's ruined, just like your shirt."

His attention returns to the gash.

"It's too dark to teach you now, I can see well but you can't. I'll sew it, but you'll have to learn to do it yourself. I'm not going to mend your whole backpack," she comments, passing new thread through the needle, and then bringing the cotton flaps closer together. His fingers, long and nimble, move confidently, but they tend to linger on the traces of blood. When he finished, he cut off the excess thread with the dagger he always keeps attached to his belt. "Here you go. For the stains…"

He interrupts his sentence when he sees you with your head resting on his knees, in a vain attempt to hide and make yourself small. The elf is about to say something but interrupts himself. "Is something the matter?"

You mutter a "no," but your body betrays you and you clam up even more.

A hand, cold as a piece of ice, rests on your shoulder, making you wince and look up at him. His red eyes, now a wine-colored hue because of the poor light given by the bonfire, stare at you.

"Despite my years off duty, I'm still a magistrate. I know if someone is playing games with me, and you look like you're not telling me the truth."

Your heart skips a beat.

Between his direct gaze and stern tone, that feeling of guilt that hovered in your stomach before only increases.

Your eyes wander and for a second they make contact with him, and you are certain that the elf can feel your temperature rising and your blood flowing faster.

It's not a surprise that your feelings for Astarion have intensified, but your courage has always been equal to your skill for sewing: non-existent. That's why you are a healer. You don't even have the guts to fight. Confessing your feelings to him is a greater challenge than escaping from an owlbear using slippers on a road full of mud.

You reach out, shyly, to your shirt, which Astarion holds in his free hand. He hands it to you, and immediately you bring it to your chest, hugging it like a plushie. "Thank you."

His eyes become soft, and round. A bitter smile crosses his face, making wrinkles that you were not aware of appear. "You feel less lonely when you hold it, don't you?"

You swallow, surprised by his words, and give him a confused look. "How do you know?"

You see him hesitate for a second, and then in one fluid movement, he gets up and disappears into his tent.

When he returns, he is holding a dirty blanket, which at first glance would appear to be black, but could also be gray or blue - the light is too dim to identify its color - and he sits down next to you, this time almost completely erasing the distance between you.

"This is all that's left of when I was alive," he confesses, caressing the folds of the fabric. "It was in the grave with me when I was turned into a vampire.

I never dared to fix the holes in it. I'm scared…"

"…that it will lose its meaning," you reply, finishing the sentence. "That's why I was afraid to fix the shirt. Beyond the fact that I can't sew, it's just that…"

Your words are interrupted by his lips. He reaches out to kiss you with a snap impossible to predict, one hand clutching the blanket, the other cupping your right cheek. He tastes like wine. You widen your eyes in astonishment, but you immediately surrender to it. The thought of him kissing you has kept you company on so many nights…

It is surprisingly sweet. You always imagined that a kiss from him would be sensual, full of perverse desire, but instead, it is caring. His fingers descend to the nape of your neck, bringing you even closer to him, while your hands abandon the shirt on your waist and search for his curly hair.

An eternity and an instant pass at the same time.

Astarion's wet mouth leaves you without, however, moving too far away. His eyes seek yours and your foreheads touch gently. "Your sad eyes have betrayed you since the first day I met you, darling. Your loneliness is familiar to me. I am an ultracentenarian vampire. Everyone I knew, except Cazador and my brothers, is dead."

You caress, with trembling fingers, his alabaster skin. He does the same, concentrating the touch of his fingertips on the bluish veins that decorate your neck.

He bites his lip and sighs, appreciating the beat of your heart.

This time you take the lead, kissing him. He groans as his hands slide up and down your body, masterfully avoiding any dangerous zone of it. You open your lips just enough for his tongue to begin exploring you.

In the blink of an eye, you find yourself lying on the ground, blouse and blanket safely beside you, away from the fire. He towers over you, but he is very different from when he feeds on you - a gesture deliberately offered to him after discovering his secret - he is gentle and wary in his movements. He rolls his hips and his name escapes your lips as you feel the erection press against you. "Astarion…"

"Can I stay with you tonight?" he asks, foreheads touching again.

There is a note of desperation, of pleading, in his trembling voice. The white hair, previously carefully combed back, now dances before his very own eyes, giving him a younger appearance.

You wonder if it is the effect of the wine he drank in Gale's company or if he is sincere. If it is just a way of manipulating you for an easy night of sex (and blood), taking advantage of your fragility.

However, there is something that slows down your thoughts, your paranoia, and that is his sad look. His hands are shaking, as is his breath (and to think, you were sure he didn't need to do that) now teasing your skin.

You both want to end the agonizing scream, the black shadow that envelops you when everyone rests.

That aching loneliness that slips silently under your skin. That constant thought of being nothing to no one, of dying without anyone noticing.

And, nourished by that thought, you freed both from your clothes. You don't even notice. There is urgency and sweetness at the same time. The vampire's icy, marble skin gradually warms as he enters you and gasps, blinded by the desire to become one with the one on whom he had set his gaze from the first moment. Deep, precise movements arch your back, leaving marks on his back. Slowly, you let go. Stress and sadness seem just a memory as your eardrums beats in your ears, following the rhythm of your heart. Astarion kisses you, licks you, inhales your scent, holds you under his body, then rolls onto his back to have you on top. He guides you as you abandon fear altogether, his hands explore your chest, his teeth tease your neck.

The first time you climax, you see him fight against his whole self. He growls against your ear as he leads your orgasm with slow thrusts and he whispers your name. You try your best not to scream, but it's hard when the man you've wanted for months is giving all of himself to you. You hear a rustling coming from a curtain - Shadowheart's, perhaps - and you fear the worst.

Near the point of no return, he struggles out of your warm, soft body, so different from his own, picking you up without explanation and carrying you to his tent with no effort. He leans you between the pillows and then searches for something in what you think is his backpack; being an elf he will surely be able to see something, but to you, almost everything's black. You feel him approaching you again, entering you in one fluid movement, this time without holding back moans.

"Come again for me, my dear." You hear him unfurl a scroll and whisper something - a spell of silence- then a flash of purple light breaks the darkness, allowing you to see his profile. He pleads you, lifting your legs onto his shoulders. You almost run out of breath from the position, as his erection kisses the depths of your body.

You tilt your head, offering your neck. Astarion licks your veins, stroking them with the tip of his nose and growling against your skin as his nails sink into your soft hips. "I-I don't know if I'll be able to stop." Teeth scratch the first layer of skin, making it burn, and you know he is fighting against his nature.

You stroke his hair, bringing his face against you. "I'll stop you if it happens," you reassure him. What you feel next is something you felt before: a stinging, similar to the needles that pierced your skin just before; then the languid liquid heat loosens the muscles in your shoulders. You arch your back and he begins thrusting again, drinking in your life. You scream his name, your vision goes white. You suddenly feel a new sensation: pulsations, slow and enveloping. Astarion's dead heart rises in you, thanks to the warm, sweet blood. Your movements become ungainly and desperate, and you realize he's close. Although you're almost out of energy, you won't stop him. A second wave of pleasure hits you, this time accompanied by the liquid desire that Astarion pours into you, distorting your name, unable to withdraw his teeth.

Perhaps it is thanks to the tadpoles, but your thoughts merged. The pleasure soars to the point of knocking the air out of your lungs, but it is what happens next that leaves you breathless for real.

Like a spell, you see yourself from Astarion's point of view: when he first saw you, then when he saved you several times from various enemies. In the heat of battle, you often lose sight of what is happening around you. But he has always been your shadow. You see him watching over you at night, unable to rest. And he sees you, your surreptitiously cast glances, your silent healing spells when you saw him exhausted from being feedless, moments in battle when you can't offer your blood. He moves his teeth away from your artery, but not his mouth. He drinks again until the movements of his hips become slower; then he licks the skin to let it heal. One last long, deep thrust, accompanied by equally languid licks, pushes the hot seed into your womb.

You kiss it and the metallic taste of blood teases your tongue. "You have never been alone."

"Neither have you, Astarion. Neither have you."

[hp-hcs]

I just had a Crazy thought. Idk if I’ve EVER read a Ton Riddle x ftm Reader before and now I’m CURIOUS. Pls （＾ν＾）

yk, i dont think i’ve ever seen one either 🤨 which is some BULLSHIT if you ask me

ANYWAYS i have no idea what this is but yk i actually finished something so that’s pretty girlypop. also GODDAMNIT i need more tom using 40s slang

phoenix tears (chapter three of phoenix tears) — 40s! tom riddle x ftm! dumbass! granger! reader

he’s babygirl i don’t make the rules

problem solving by creating more problems, a case study by harry potter and y/n fr

glad to see all of the ftms have found my acc, i love all of y’all mwah

TWs: ‘40s era homophobia; couple of outdated homophobic slurs; i guess tom misgendering reader? but he like, doesn’t even know what being trans is so-

requests? please? i beg??

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“What’s this?” You pulled a wrinkled old book out of Harry’s trunk, sitting down on the wood floor of his dorm, crisscross applesauce.

The cover must’ve once been very fine leather, but it was now warped with water damage and age. The pages were brittle and seemed liable to disintegrate at the lightest touch. But the most prominent part of the book was that there was a charred black hole right through the center.

“Huh? Oh- Tom Riddle’s diary. His very first horcrux,” Harry glanced up at you from where he was also sat on the floor, desperately trying to organize all of the shit that was in his trunk to begin with.

“Is it dangerous?”

“Nope, not in the slightest.”

You opened the cover, the leather creaking and cracking under the slightest pressure. You were surprised to find that the diary was completely blank inside. You flipped through a few more pages; nothing. It was totally empty.

Unless Tom Riddle had only written in the center of where the odd, charred hole was. Which was, y’know, pretty unlikely.

“How’d you destroy it?”

Harry frowned to himself, trying to decide if Runes homework from two years ago should go in the keep or throw away pile. “Basilisk fang. Has Ginny seriously never told you?”

You shook your head, eyes wide. He grinned at you, handing you a stack of various important-looking documents mixed in with past homework assignments to go through, and immediately dove into his story of shallow teachers and secret chambers and blood on the walls.

You gaped at him in awe as he finished his story. “But wait- if Fawkes’ tears were all you needed to like…heal and not die, would the same work on the diary?”

Harry paused, looking up at you. “That’s…a good question.”

“Think we should try?” You asked. “Maybe Teenager Tom could talk some sense into Adult Tom?”

Harry seemed to genuinely consider it before shaking his head. “Ach, but Hermione would kill us.”

Your shoulders dropped and you frowned as you think about your sister. “But…she’s at the Burrow tonight, remember?”

“Well,” Harry said slowly, still on the fence. “If Hermione’s not around to scold us...”

~~~ “This was a terrible idea this was such a terrible fucking idea-”

The diary smoked and hissed, writhing around on the floor. The book flapped open, the pages ruffling around and fizzing.

Scrambling backwards, you clung onto Harry, praying Slughorn wouldn’t walk in. Or worse, Filch.

You’d snuck into the Potions classroom after curfew, hidden under Harry’s invisibility cloak, with the intent of finding phoenix tears. After going through Slughorn’s potion cabinet, you'd found the vial all the way in the back. Which, of course, had led to you two deciding to test your theory about the diary right then and there.

The diary suddenly made a pop noise, like someone cracking bubblegum. It then stilled all of its movement, lying open at the center of the book, when a dark liquid, ink, began seeping out from it. The ink pooled around the book, turning all of the pages black and heavy.

You mentally cursed the stain it would leave on the flagstones.

The diary then erupted with a bright light, rattling against the floor with the exertion of whatever magic it was using.

Harry pushed you back behind him, forcing you to sit down and throwing his invisibility cloak over you, then pulling out his wand. Taking an offensive stance in front of where you were hidden, he waited, every muscle in his body coiled like an animal waiting to lunge.

The light seemed to grow thicker, like honey, and started taking a corporeal form. Then just like that, the light vanished, and the form—a person, by the looks of it—crumpled on the floor in a rather undignified heap.

The person staggered to its- his feet.

Tom Riddle, you thought, holding your breath.

God, he was pretty.

He started laughing, seemingly unaware of neither you nor Harry’s existence. “O Lord and butter, now we’re cooking with gas!”

You blinked. All of that was English, but not a single word of it made sense.

How old was Tom Riddle?

Harry took a tentative step forward, hiding his wand behind his back. “Are…you alright?”

Tom whirled around, startled by the sudden voice. He looked Harry up and down appraisingly before a wild grin spread across his face. “All reet? A schnook done brought me back!” He laughed rather maniacally, eyes gleaming. “What’s your name then? I oughtta thank you.”

Harry’s lips thinned. “We’ve met before, Tom.”

Tom’s eyebrows raised. “We…have?”

Wordlessly, Harry pushed up his fringe.

Tom drew in a sharp breath. “Potter.”

“Riddle.”

“So what, you’ve brought me back to kill me again?” He sneered. “There’s no basilisk around to save you this time, Potter.”

When Tom took a step towards Harry, you gasped quietly—evidently not quietly enough though, because Tom’s head swung around towards you.

He stared straight at you. You held your breath again, praying that he’d go back to threatening Harry, or something.

Instead Tom stepped closer to you, mumbling a quiet Revelio. He smiled and leaned down, tugging the cloak off of your head.

“Well well well, what’s this? A spook?” He pulled the cloak off of you completely, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Hm. Well aren’t you a bit of a scrag, cookie?”

“I’m…sorry…?” You questioned, baffled. “I don’t speak old.”

Tom’s eyes narrowed. “You’re a bit plain and homely, doll,” he said with a mock-apologetic look on his face. “In the nicest way possible.”

“Aw, shucks,” you said dryly. “I was worried the genocidal maniac who’s killed a bunch of our friends might think I’m unattractive.”

He raised an eyebrow at your sarcasm, looking you up and down again. “Ah. Or are you a swish?” He asked, tilting his head. “Can’t quite tell.”

“A swish?”

“You know, a queer. One of those.”

You cringed. “Harry, make him go back in the fucking diary.”

“Did I hit a nerve, doll?” Tom asked with a smug smile.

“Not really, but I have a feeling that if I have to deal with your ancient ass any longer, you will.”

“Ooh, well ain’t you got moxie, little thing? Tell me, you a dame or a fella?”

“Ah yes, the two genders,” you mumbled under your breath, causing Harry to snort and cover his mouth with his hand. “I’m a uh…‘fella’.”

“You sure look like a gal to me.”

“Yeah, and you sure look like an asshole to me.”

Tom’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, I see. You’re a mudblood, aren’t you?”

“Lot of sass coming from Mr. Pureblood over here.”

Tom took a striding step towards you, his teeth gritted and his fist raised.

“Wow, resorting to Muggle fighting? Wouldn’t expect that from you, Thomas Marvolo.”

His cheeks flared red with anger. “I oughtta-”

“It really sucks being made fun of for your blood status, doesn’t it?” You asked casually.

Tom paused.

He took a step back.

“All reet. I’ll admit, you got me there.”

Harry scowled. “Look, we wouldn’t have brought you back unless we had good reason. And Old You is now indiscriminately killing Muggles, which seems like a pretty fucking good reason, if you ask me.”

“Ah. Yes. That does seem to be an issue,” Tom acquiesced. “But why me?”

“We figured you could reason with Old You?” You jumped in. “Or at the very least, you’re the least corrupted; you have the most soul left.”

Tom shrewdly glanced between you and Harry, then back at you. “What do I get in return?”

You shrugged. “I dunno. What do you want?”

“Not to go back into that damned diary,” he said vehemently. “Never again.”

You glanced over at Harry. He shrugged. “We can try…?”

“Hipper dipper,” Tom replied dryly. “Where do we start?”

~~~

“Well that’s a barney old game the old coot’s been making you play, huh?”

“You’re just saying words,” Harry mumbled, resting his chin on his hand as you all sat at one of the Potions classroom tables. “Not a single part of that was comprehensible.”

“He basically just said that you’re fucked,” you shrugged. “You’ve been doomed to die since you were born. Dumbledore’s been raising you like a lamb for slaughter.”

Tom looked at you, surprised. “Well…yes.”

You rolled your eyes. “Smarter than I look, Thomas.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I’ll stop as soon as you you stop calling me a fairy.”

He furrowed his brow. “Why’s that bother you so much?”

“It’s a fucking slur, Thomas. This ain’t the forties, or whenever you’re from; people are allowed to be gay now.”

Tom froze, eyes wide. “W-what?”

“Yup.”

“Well, cut off my leg and call me shorty,” he murmured, amazed.

“Wait’ll he finds out you’re trans,” Harry mumbled, snorting.

You elbowed him in the side, rolling your eyes.

“Trans…?” Tom questioned.

“We don’t have that much time, Thomas. Focus up.”

“Natch, all reet,” he shook his head. “Are we ready then? Plan all set?”

You nodded, a sly grin spreading across your face.

“Let’s go fuck some shit up.”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

chapter four

[marigold-hills]

Dunes & Waters, part 14

PART 1 • PREVIOUS PART • NEXT PART

Even with magic, it takes a couple hours to clean up the office. It’s almost a miracle, but nothing important is damaged. With the exception of the little glass figurine they weren’t able to fix back together, everything is just as it was. Privately, Remus thinks the room was long overdue a good clean up – there were notes scattered about from scholars who’d long moved on from whatever they were researching there, and even the books couldn’t remember when they’d been alphabetised.

Remus thinks to wait. To give them both time to regroup and recuperate, but something tells him that right now, Sirius needs to feel needed. To have something to do other than smoking with a cat and failing at crossword puzzles. He’s a hurricane of energy, even when his magic isn’t going haywire, and he’s been stuck in that tiny cell with nothing to do and no one to talk to for months.

There is a trapdoor, hidden under the rug and with a separate enchantment only Remus and the curator knows about. Remus fixes it open and pulls out the Box.

“What’s that?” Sirius asks, because the Box is wrapped in a shaggy brown blanket.

Remus puts it on the desk. “This is your job.”

Underneath the blanket is brilliant gold, etchings inlaid with lapis lazuli depicting Wepwawet and Anubis facing one another. There is no lock, no trick, no puzzle to get it to open.

“It was found in Segin al-Kom during a muggle expedition in the late eighteen hundreds,” Remus explains, “then lost in the British Museum’s storage until someone tried to open it and the Ministry had to get involved. Poor bastard is still at Mungo’s, the rest of the workers had their memories wiped.”

“How did you come upon it?”

“Kingsley was the Auror sent to retrieve it. He knows of my research - we’ve worked together in the past – and thought I could know something about it.”

“But you don’t?”

“No. No clue. But here,” he points behind the ear of Wepwawet, where tiny blue crystals form a constellation, “this is-”

“Lupus. I know. And this one is Aquila. With Alshain in red.”

“That’s obscure knowledge.”

“Well. Not to me.”

It’s a sore topic, clearly, Sirius’ face scrunching up at the nose in a way that’s too adorable to be good for Remus’ heart.

“Great. You’re ahead then. Figure out how to open it, if it even opens. There is something loose inside if you shake it, but -”

And Sirius, because he’s impulsive and reactionary and impatient, shakes it, immediately getting a doze of electric shock.

“But that. Next time maybe let me finish my sentence. Save yourself the pain.”

Sirius, clearly embarrassed, grumbles something in response and smooths his hair out. “Had to check for myself.”

Remus leaves him to examine the box. He has his own things to get on with and he will do so, damn it, just as soon as he can tear his eyes away from Sirius’ fingers carefully tracing lines and patterns on the surface of the Box.

NEXT PART

@tealeavesandtrash

@moon-girl88

@hoje--aqui

@cocoabutterandbooks

@onion-sliced-apples

@prancingpony42

@digital-kam

@remoonysiriusly

@sweetstarryskies

@a-sunset-outside-my-window

@procrastinatingstuff

(let me know if you do/don’t want to be tagged!)

[hannahssimblr]

At the house, I am conscious of the mess. Nobody has made an effort to clean up properly for weeks, and now dishes and miscellaneous bits of rubbish litter every available surface. The bins are full. Tangles of chargers and cables pile up on the table, and water damage has well and truly set in on the oak flooring under our feet. The same patch of floor that Evie’s hair is dripping on now, but while it’s too late to save it, she might as well add to it. 

“Wow, this is a beautiful house,” she says, and I have to check her face to see if she’s taking the piss out of me. She looks genuinely charmed. I frown.  

“I’ll get you a towel downstairs.”

As we descend to the living room, I find myself holding my breath. It seems even dirtier than the kitchen there, and I wonder how and when this happened, how it is even possible. Yet here we are, and it is. I pray there are clean towels, at least let there be clean towels…

Oh, thank God. 

I hand her one from the hot press. It is old and scratchy, and likely a victim of my mother, back when she used to dye her hair at home, evidenced by the big, bleached patches all over it, but at least it’s clean. I show her the bathroom. 

“Feel free to take a shower if you want to. The water is hot.” As it constantly is, because I turned it on at the beginning of the summer and found the system so complex that I never risked turning it off again. I’ll be hearing about it when my dad gets the bill, but that’s an issue for September. 

Evie peeks in. “You don’t want to go first?”

“No, go ahead.”

As soon as I hear the hum of the shower, I pounce into action and tear into my bedroom. I yank all the dirty clothes off the floor and fire them into my already heaving hamper, then kick a pair of shoes under the bed, followed by a mucky football and some art magazine Jen thought I’d like, but I never read.

There are chocolate wrappers on the floor. What kind of creature am I? Was I sitting on the floor at some point, feasting on a family packet of dairy milk bars, or did these just fall out of my pockets? I rush around, picking them all up, then reach the wastepaper basket to find it full. I curse under my breath and yank the bag out, tying it in a hasty knot, then carry it and the two handfuls of coffee mugs strewn about the place up to the kitchen. There is nowhere for them to go, so I shove the mugs into the sink and toss the bag on the floor. 

She’s showering for ages. Good. 

Next, I tackle the bed, straightening out the duvet and pillows, which are, mercifully, clean. I could tongue-kiss the past version of myself that ran them through the wash two days before. To make extra sure, I give them a good, long sniff. They still smell like detergent. The clean clothes from that same wash go from the armchair to the wardrobe, and books on the bedside table. The tennis racquets… they’ll be fine, leaning against the wall. When I step back and examine my work, I determine that it’s barely passable, but time is surely running out, and she can’t shower forever. The dust on the floor can stay another day. 

Lastly, I toss my sweaty clothes onto the pile and peel off my sodden shorts. Once I have changed into something clean, I carry all the laundry out and heave it into the washing machine, right by the door of the bathroom. Evie hums tunelessly in the shower, and for a moment or two, I stand and listen. I wonder whose shower gel she is using, and shiver inexplicably at the idea of her choosing mine. 

I arrange myself in a casual position when she comes back into the room, hanging out on the end of the bed. She’s rosy from the hot water, and her hair lies flat against her head, so straight and fine that her ears poke out the sides. 

“You don’t have to wear the same wet t-shirt,” I inform her. “I can put your clothes in the dryer.”

She pulls at the hem and looks down at those two, damp, triangular patches. “It’s okay,” she shrugs. “They’ll dry on me.”

“You can leave all your wet stuff on the floor. I’ll sort them out after my shower and I’ll just find you something else to wear.”

“But I won’t fit in your clothes.”

“You’ll fit in a t-shirt, won’t you?” I saunter over to my wardrobe and lift a t-shirt from the stack. It’s old, and has a hole in the armpit, hence it’s permanent relegation to the beach house wardrobe, but like everything else in this house in its current state, it will suffice. 

“Thanks,” she says. I leave her to change and head for the shower. 

“What are you looking at?”

She jumps and turns around. I’ve caught her nosing around and looking at my notice board. She points at it. “Your ticket to a music festival.”

I hesitate, trying to gauge whether Claire has blabbed to her about what I said or not. “Oh yeah, are you coming?”

“I don’t know.”

“You should. All of us are heading up to it.” I pull a pair of socks out of a drawer and plonk myself onto the bed to put them on. 

She sits with me. “I’m not sure. It’s kind of a bit complicated.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah,” she hesitates before deciding to divulge. “Kelly and Claire are in a big fight about it. Claire wants to go, and Kelly doesn’t want to, even though it’s Claire’s eighteenth birthday the same weekend. It’s… it’s all a bit silly if I’m honest.”

I frown. “She doesn’t want to celebrate her friends’ birthday in a fun way?”

“No, it’s more than that. It’s that she doesn’t want to hang out with Shane for the whole weekend. She’d be too embarrassed to. She’s weird about that kind of thing.”

I should proceed with caution. I say, “sounds a little selfish to me.”

“Kelly’s a complicated person. I think she means well, she just… isn’t great at expressing herself. She gets angry at people instead of telling them how she feels in a normal way.”

I could talk a lot of shit about Kelly Healy, but I‘ll save it. I know that teenage girls’ friendships are strange and nuanced in ways my brain will never fully comprehend. Things never seem to be simple enough to just end the friendship. It must drag on for eternity until one of them is irreparably damaged in its wake. “So what, she’s forbidden you both from going to the festival?”

“She hasn’t said that we’re forbidden.”

“But you’re not going because you think she’ll be angry with you.”

“Pretty much.”

“So what about Claire? It’s her birthday.”

She groans. “I know. I hate this. I hate when people are fighting, and I feel like I’m in the middle of it. I don’t know what the right decision is.”

Tell me about it. “The thing that you want to do more, that’s the right decision.”

“I knew you’d say something like that.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Something wise.”

I laugh. If only I could take my own advice. 

She heaves out a sigh and slumps over her knees. “I can’t talk to either of them about it. Kelly is impossible, and Claire hasn’t been around. I’ve barely seen her at all since they fought. I don’t even know where she’s been.”

I blink. “Oh, she’s been here.”

“What?”

“Yeah! I thought you knew. She’s been coming here every day for ages.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“And did she tell you why?”

“No, I didn’t ask. I thought it was just to hang out with Shane.”

“With Shane?” She straightens to look into my face and I grin.

“Yeah, they’ve been hanging out.”

“Go ’way.”

“I don’t know exactly what’s happening, but they hang out a lot, go for walks together and watch TV in the living room. I usually just leave them alone, but…” I tap my nose.

“Oh, I knew it!” She throws herself back on to her elbows and shakes her head. “I wonder what this is going to mean for Kelly.”

“Kelly can grow up. She doesn’t have a say.”

“Ugh. I know. It’s just impossible not to worry about it.”

“Evie, how often do you let that girl live inside your head? Forget about it. Let Shane and Claire deal with her.”

“Okay, I’ll try.”

It’s not lost on me, the juxtaposition between this conversation and the one I had with Alison this morning. These two girls are only a year apart in age, and yet somehow their lives oppose so diametrically. Am I the same boy with them both, or have I somehow split in two? How can I be worrying about Alison and all that she’s been through, while hours later coaching Evie through friend drama? I know the turmoil and stress is real for her. I can tell by the things her face is doing, how she nibbles on her lip, the way her brow furrows, but I am comforted by it, by how simple it is. Maybe it would be good for my soul to spend more time with Evie. 

Regardless, I move on from this specific theme and bring the conversation back to where it began. “And as for the festival, I think you should come.”

“Hm.”

“Will you?” She doesn’t answer, so I assume she hasn’t heard me. I nudge her. “I want you to come. Will you come?”

“You want me to?” She echoes, like she doesn’t exactly believe it.

“I do.”

“Okay then.”

Perhaps someone else would find it worthwhile to read into the fact that she seems to want to do everything that I do, but I’m not really that bothered. I’m just glad that she agreed for the sake of herself. I suspect it may be a rarity for her. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

Corresponding LG Chapter [2]

[windvexer]

hello! another little question on tarot if i may.

when i read more casually my readings were usually very relaxed and with simple meanings, accurate with by the book meanings but not super specific. as i become more ambitious i became super motivated to learn all the nuance i possibly can, its an interesting journey but.. doesnt seem to work in practice. i always knew it but everyone and their mama will always have interpretations that can seem stupid to others, even among experts in the field. question is how do you deal with that?

Im seeing that as my study deepens and Im working with Apollo to achieve that, some interpratations that are organically coming up and rooting themselves in my practice can seem just straight up weird to some people. how do i deal with that? have you experienced that? everyone seems so Agressive about their interpretations being the proper ones.

Listen to me.

Listen to me.

You must engage in the most batshit methods of reading tarot. You must design your own systems of reading with all the glee of a young boy throwing rocks off an overpass. You must read tarot so bizarrely that it makes you feel like a mad scientist.

You must decide for yourself every rule and ritual which makes tarot "work," and you must develop methods of reading that hinge upon destroying those ideations. You must make vehicles of meaning, drive them as fast as you can down the freeway of tarot, and crash them at full speed into brick walls. You must laugh at the fiery destruction you have wrought, and you must sprint all the way back to the launch pad to begin building something else.

They will be Aggressive with you over what the cards really mean? They are fools. They do not know the depths to which you can tear apart their petty systems. They think the extent of tarot perversion is choosing the wrong meaning for the card. They think this because they have mistaken the surface of the water for the depths of the ocean.

They think the height of tarot discourse is whether or not it's okay to not memorize card meanings. They think tarot is a pretty sea turtle languidly drifting in a sunny reef.

Go down in that ocean and dredge up the most horrifying bulbous-eyed god-defying pale abomination you can find. Map out new depths of horror. Make friends with the purely absurd. Perform atrocities with tarot and hang each one around your neck like the badge of honor it is. Crack tarot's spine and drink from the fluid that drips out. Become a monster, do you hear me?

And when they smirk at you because they think they know better words to tape to the Knight of Swords, you will open your mouth and say the most dumbfounding shit that person has ever heard and blast them with a ray of psychic damage so severe it will make them question if they should keep reading tarot lest they be associated with someone like you.

"Well akshually, knight cards do the queen's bidding, so in this case-"

"Haha, yeah! Once for a couple of months I worked exclusively with a system where the four knights were the rulers of the deck. I divided up the major arcana cards between the knights as their servants, but since there's one card left over, I incorporated a system where one of the four knights was the 'ruler' of that reading. Then I laid out all four knights as signifiers and dealt the entire deck between all four knights and the reading was based on which omens were collected under the ruling knight."

"Haha, yeah! Once for like two weeks I assigned all the court cards to be my favorite anime blorbos and I read from a restricted deck that only used court cards and major arcana. I'd draw one major arcana card to be the battlefield setting and then two court cards. To resolve the reading I wrote fanfiction about the characters fighting and whichever character won would decide the outcome of the question. It's actually how I got started using creative writing as a form of exploratory divination!"

"Haha, yeah! One weekend I decided to find out what would happen if I read in such a way that sword cards could 'kill' other cards in the deck, and the Knight of Pentacles ended up getting 'killed' like three times that weekend and ever since then it's always coming up in readings about sadness and depression, isn't that weird?"

"Haha, yeah! Well today I'm reading with a system where I meditate until a recurring character from my dreams appears and asks me to possess one of my tarot cards, and today No-Eyes the Whale asked to possess that knight card, so that's why I'm not using your meanings."

Do they challenge you? They cannot challenge you. Are you not shuffling right? Are you getting scolded for not fOcUsInG enough when you shuffle? Look them in the eye and say something so deranged they will think about it for the rest of their life.

"Haha, yeah! I remember the last time I used those meanings, it was so fun. I got drunk, shuffled my tarot deck, and laid out piles of three cards around my house, sight-unseen. For the next three days I kept running into these little three-card readings hidden everywhere, but funnily enough, they all ended up being past-present-future readings of the ten second timespan when I picked up the cards. I even predicted getting the phone call about losing my health insurance!"

"Haha, yeah! I actually decided to re-assign every single card to my custom twelve element system, so I don't see the same divisions between the suits as you do. Look, this card is the element pearl! Pearls are an element, I decided a couple of months ago. It's a really long story but it helps explain what happened to No-Eyes."

"Haha, yeah! I don't use intuition to choose cards out of a lineup. I turn them all face up and select all the cards that I think are the most likely ones to show up in the reading. Then, I go through the entire deck and match every single card with it's polar opposite. Then, I put the deck face-down and flip cards over. If I flip over a sword or a wand card, I exchange my chosen card with its opposite, but if it's a major arcana card I keep both my chosen card and its opposite."

"Haha, yeah! I don't shuffle. Like, at all. Once I'm done with the reading I put cards on the bottom of the deck and then just draw new cards from the top of the deck."

"Haha, yeah! I mixed all my decks together and sorted the superdeck into piles of every elementally aligned card. In order to resolve questions I have a yu-gi-oh duel with myself."

Eat the tarot. Consume it whole and raw. Tear away at it until you fear there is nothing left, and then go back for more. Each time you eat its heart, it will become refined before your eyes. Assist the tarot in shedding its decrepit cloak of meaning. Rescue it by killing it. Rend tarot in your hands like a child ripping at crafting clay.

And if you destroy it well enough, and for long enough, it will be reborn in your hands as it was meant to be: glimmering and pure, whole and new, ineffable and eternal, your dearest friend,

and so shiny and smooth that no meanings at all can stick to it.

That is what you do with people who get Aggressive about what the cards really mean.

[jantostolemyheart]

Fic #1

Title: Please Don't Go

Fandom: Good Omens

Characters: Crowley, Aziraphale, Metatron, god

Pairings: Crowley/Aziraphale

Status: complete

Crowley followed Aziraphale as the angel left his book shop. The demon's eyes were wet, and they noticed their angel's eyes were glistening with unshed tears as well. A strange thing they noticed - Aziraphale was tracing a finger over his lips. Was he trying to feel the fading sensation of when Crowley's lips were pressed to his?

They followed Aziraphale as he got closer to the elevator that would take him back to Heaven. Just as he reached for the button...

"Angel, wait! Please-!" An anguished voice rang out. Suddenly, the angel felt himself wrapped tightly in familiar arms from behind, a face with features he knew so well pressed into his shoulders.

"'Ziraphale, don't leave me-" Crowley whispered. "Please. I need you-"

Metatron glared from next to the elevator. "Aziraphale, we haven't got all day," he said in a falsely polite and saccharine voice. "God is going to be waiting for you."

The longer Crowley held tightly to Aziraphale, and the longer Aziraphale stayed quiet, the more irate Metatron got. They had been standing like that for nearly fifteen minutes. Metatron was impatient and getting violent. It started to do things to separate the two. Crowley let out a scream of rage and pain as the first projectile narrowly missed hitting Aziraphale. They spread their wings, wrapping it completely around their Angel.

The projectiles and various other destructive items flew past them both, some hitting Crowley. They gritted their teeth and did not make even one sound to indicate the amount of pain they were in. There were some burn marks and parts where their skin was steaming with a small bit missing from salt and holy water hitting them with the projectiles.

A figure no one had seen before appeared. No one but Metatron, that is. "Shame on you, Metatron! This is not what I told you to do! I did not create Aziraphale for the purpose of abandoning who he loves, or for being head archangel. You are now sentenced to the seventh circle of hell for the rest of eternity with no chance to get out," she fumed. Her voice was a normal volume, but so powerful it seemed to resonate everywhere. May whoever crossed her be pitied, for no one went against the will of God herself when it came to her Angel and Demon.

The moment God appeared, the attack stopped. And as soon as she finished berating and punishing Metatron which happened faster than the pair could comprehend, Crowley felt a hand on their shoulder. They jumped.

"It's alright, Crowley. I'm not here to hurt you," she reassured them. "Let me heal you? Metatron did quite a lot of damage..."

As soon as Aziraphale heard that, he got really worried. "Oh, Crowley-" He brushed his thumb over a salt burn, causing the demon to hiss in pain. "I'm so sorry, my dear, I never wanted you to get hurt..."

"Angel, I'd protect you no matter what. No matter the cost to my life, or my heart."

Aziraphale's face reddened in shame. That last comment stung, but he knew Crowley was right - the demon always had protected him, no matter the cost to themself, and now they were paying a hefty price. And not just physically. There was only one thing to do - he had to repair the damage he had caused and hope that Crowley would at least forgive him, even if they couldn't be together anymore.

"Crowley, I-"

"Angel-" Crowley cupped Aziraphale's cheek as God continued to heal the broken demon. "You don't have to apologize. I understand. The call of Heaven is too strong and I'm not enough to keep you here. It's okay, I understand." They dropped their hand from Aziraphale's face.

The angel caught Crowley's hand in his own. "No, Crowley. You deserve an explanation. Perhaps you could forgive me after I explain, but if not, I will live with that and accept it."

He took a calming breath and squeezed Crowley's hand gently, and when Crowley held tight, he took it as a good sign. "What happened was-"

*flashback to the conversation between Metatron and Aziraphale*

Metatron stared at Aziraphale. "So, Mr. Fell, here is what is going to happen. You are going to come back to Heaven with me, and serve as a proper angel."

Aziraphale stared back. "But my shop- I can't leave it! And Crowley - what about them? I can't just up and leave Crowley, they'd never come to Heaven with me! Besides, why would I leave them, when they're the most important person I know, and they are what's most precious to me!" Aziraphale's words hung in the air for a few moments before Metatron spoke again.

"Aziraphale, Aziraphale, always the fool with the biggest heart. See, that's going to be your downfall. In fact, I'd already say that you began your own downfall by telling me what you value most. Which means I have leverage over you. So. You can either come back to Heaven with me and serve as a proper angel, or I will erase both you and your "precious" demon from the Book of Life. Which means that neither of you would have existed. Could you do that to them? To your "precious" Crowley? Could you hurt them like that? Would you throw away six thousand years together to have never existed just to avoid going back to Heaven?"

Aziraphale was shocked and contemplated Metatron's words. "Fine, I'll do it. I'll come back to Heaven. But you better not harm Crowley, or nowhere in Heaven, Hell, or Earth will be safe from my wrath. I guarded the East gate to Eden. And I am knows as her strongest soldier, not for nothing."

*return to present*

Crowley was silent. God had retreated now that Crowley was healed.

They looked at their angel, and then pulled Aziraphale as close as possible, wrapping their arms and wings around him.

Aziraphale was not expecting this reaction from the demon, but he held tight to them. It was then that he let his tears fall.

"I'm so sorry, Crowley-"

"Shh, Angel, it's okay. You were forced to make a choice that you never should have." The pressed a soft kiss to his hair, running a soothing hand up and down Aziraphale's back. "It's okay, Angel."

Crowley continued to hold Aziraphale like that, until his tears stopped, and the angel stood up straight again.

"Crowley?"

"Yes, Angel?"

"You were always enough for me." Before Crowley could speak, Aziraphale kissed them softly. He kissed them long enough that they could pull away, or kiss back and feel the emotions he was putting into the kiss.

"Ngk-" said Crowley. They were taken by surprise. But as soon as their brain caught up, they cupped Aziraphale's cheek once more, and returned the kiss.

Aziraphale pulled back for a moment, and whispered against Crowley's lips. "I love you."

"I love you, Angel," they whispered back, kissing him deeply this time.

[6-atlas-6]

Curse

(An AU where Lasko and his listener met each other when they were 13)

Warning: mentions abusive parents

Word count: 1075

Lasko slowly blinked opened his eyes, immediately recognizing the familiar feeling of a headache coming on. How long had he been asleep? He looked out the window to see that it was already dark outside. Lasko weakly pushed himself up and slid out of bed. As soon as he stood up he started falling over, having to catch himself on his bed post. How long has it been since he last ate something? It didn't really matter. He rubbed his eyes feeling the dried tears under them. Was he crying? He was. He remembers now.

He had accidentally broken something else with his... Curse. He didn't know what else to call it so he just used the term his mom used. This time it was worse. It was something expensive his father had bought for his mom. She had barged into his room, slamming open the already damaged wooden door. Lasko snapped his head up from the book he was reading. She just started yelling and screaming, snatching the book from him and throwing it across the room. Lasko just stared at the wall blankly trying to tune out the screaming. He didn't know how much time had passed before she was done, telling him that her and his father were going out to dinner before leaving his room.

Great. There was no food left in the fridge. All that was in the pantry was either empty boxes or expired food. Probably why his parents were going out for dinner. Whatever, he didn't feel hungry anyways. He laid down in bed and curled up. He hated the silence. The screaming. The breaking. The doors slamming. The yelling. The fighting. It was all he could hear. He covered his ears with his hands and curled up tighter into a ball. He hadn't even noticed he was sobbing when he finally fell asleep.

Even after his nap it seems his parents weren't back. He thought about falling back asleep to try and combat the hunger but he wasn't tired. It was too quiet. The silence made everything in his head too loud. Maybe he should take a walk. Even if his parents came back home they wouldn't notice he was gone. He stumbled downstairs to the door and walked outside. He didn't have a destination in mind he just wanted peace. Even the sounds of cars and sirens and whatever else was on the streets were more comforting than quiet.

Lasko found the sound of running water comforting. He walked up to a big fountain in the middle of the park he had just stumbled across. It was dark and he only had the faint light of the street lamps, so he didn't notice the other person sitting by the fountain until they spoke and said hello. He snapped his head to the left to look at the person, saying hi back before looking back down at his hands.

"are you okay? It's none of my business but it looks like you were crying." The stranger spoke out of nowhere, startling Lasko. He answered saying he was alright, still staring down at his hands. He was trying to focus on the weird feeling in his stomach. He thought it was just the hunger but it's more than that. It's like he can feel something in himself but he can feel something from this other person at the same time. It felt weird. He didn't like it.

The stranger stared at Lasko for a couple seconds before speaking again. "Do you also have magic?" Lasko was taken aback. He stared at the stranger wide eyed with furrowed brows, stammering trying to come up with words he didn't have. He was scared. Did he accidentally blow something away in front of someone again without noticing? What did they mean by magic?

The stranger noticed Lasko's discomfort and reached into the water. Lasko paused his stammering in curiosity of what they were doing. The stranger pulled their hand out of the water and the water followed their hand. The water formed the shape of a fish in their hand. The stranger held their hand out to Lasko.

"You don't have to be scared. See? I can do it too." The stranger smiled gently. Lasko stared at their palm. It was so beautiful. They kept twisting the water into different shapes, each one more impressive than the last. He couldn't believe it. There was someone like him. Someone his age. Well, it may have been water and not air but it was close enough for him. Lasko smiled.

He had only ever seen magic when he used it himself. He had only ever seen magic as a curse. He had only ever seen magic as something that made him a monster. The thing that caused his silence to turn loud with his mother's screaming. Yet here he was, staring at this random person he had just met. The person that was staring and smiling at him so gently. The person that was holding art made of water in their hands. The calming sound of running water accompanying it.

Lasko didn't know what to do except stare. Stare as this stranger explained what they were doing, how they were controlling their magic. The stranger took his hand, pausing to make sure Lasko didn't want to pull away. Lasko felt the familiar feeling of... "magic" on his fingertips. He was scared. Terrified he was going to hurt this person. The stranger noticed his fear and squeezed his hand tighter, encouraging him to let it out. Lasko felt the feeling grow before he saw the leaves near his hand on the fountain fly up into the air. The leaves carried by the wind forming a heart just over his and the strangers hand.

It was the same thing the stranger was doing but it wasn't water. It was air. It was his magic. It was beautiful. Lasko only smiled at the stranger, beaming with joy. The stranger laughed before hugging Lasko. Lasko was startled by the sudden movement and the leaves fell, right on top of their heads. They both laughed as they pulled away looking at the leaves now stuck in their hair.

Lasko was laughing. He can't remember the last time he did that. He was laughing. This gentle person was laughing. He was happy and it was his curse that caused it. It was his magic that caused it.

~End~

[quotedfictions]

To Stop a Flame

Synopsis: Y/n uncovers a raging Diluc, the usually calm and stoic vision holder on the verge of lighting his family home ablaze. To stop the flame, the female reaches into her troubled waters to help her lover.

Themes: Genshin Impact, fire and water, romance, angst, fluff, emotional distress

Warnings: Profanity, Violence, Arson, Adultery

Word Count: 837

During your journeys home, you'd always wonder if your lover ever felt emotions to the point where they were visible, but you'd never thought the first time you would see it would be a time where he was angry and out of control, luckily, we weren't breaking anything. The two of you were in his library, and he just started tossing books at the other wall; at first, every thump made you jump, but as it went on, all you could do was stand there. Currently, diluc was at the window, attempting to cool himself off, but it didn't seem to be working. "Diluc, dear, do you feel any better?" You asked quietly, weary that you could set him off again, not wanting him to throw the books any longer. "If not, we could go outside, and I can set up some training dummies and maybe take it out of them?" you asked, being very cautious with your tone and wording.

Unfortunately, your offer didn't work, and your question was answered with a fierce glare in your direction. "Y/n, I would like for you to leave; I'd like to be left alone" Diluc's tone was firm and demanding. Although you've heard him use this tone with you before, this time, it wasn't a demand to leave for your safety as a vision holder yourself; it was a demand for your presence to be removed, making you quite upset that he'd instead through books and damage the property then talk about what's making him so angered. You step out of the room at his request, but only when you hear glass shatter do you rush back in to see a broken lamp with raging flames. "Diluc!" You yell, his eyes filled with rage.

"Get out, y/n!!" He yelled at you, and you slapped him across the face in your anger, tears forming in your eyes. "What the hell is going on, Diluc!? What is this bullshit? What in the hell is making you so angry!" you screeched at him, putting out the flames he created. "You! You are! You and your little adventures with Kaeya! Why are you bringing him into our room when I'm not here? Why are you abandoning me for him? That cold bastard is seducing you away from me!" Your eyes widen in disgust at the thought of sleeping with kaeya, let alone kissing him; you'd much rather see him sleep with the strange women you see him with when he's drunk. "Me? With kaeya? What on earth are you talking about, love? Every time he's been here, it's been for healing because barbara isn't at the cathedral!"

Diluc scoffed, throwing a ball of fire at you, dowsing it instantly; you walked over to him and looked him directly. "What in the hell has gotten you so worked up that you think I'm having an affair with your annoying brother?" The male looks at you, seeing the seriousness in your eyes as you speak to him, your tone soft but still agitated by his accusations and attitude towards you. "Jealousy, mostly, and grief mixed with frustration." He was blunt, but you could tell it was the whole truth. "That made you angry enough to attempt setting the house ablaze and accusing me of having an affair?" The red-headed pyro user nods, ashamed of how he treated his beloved fiancé.

You place his hand on his cheek, caressing it softly as you watch him relax into your hand. "I know the anniversary of your father's death is hard; I may never know the pain of losing my father, especially that young, but I am here for you. These past weeks have not been easy on me either, Diluc. Still, at least I had the self-control to take my anger and frustration out on training dummies provided by Jean or invasive slimes by the river." it doesn't help that we have to plan a wedding and handle rowdy customers. At the same time, Charles is sick, but next time you get like this, talk to me, don't throw books, burn the house down, or accuse me of things I would never do to you." Diluc's expression fills with regret as he places his hand on your waist, frowning on his lips.

"I'm sorry, Y/n, I'm so so sorry…" He places his forehead against yours, finally relaxing, the anger that was once there vanishing. "I love you; I didn't mean to accuse you of such awful things" You smiled softly, giggling softly at his regret and apologetic tone. "Oh darling, it is alright. Let us go get some water and discuss this over lunch, alright?" he nods, kissing the side of your temple before stepping back to pick up all the books he threw, and Adaline cleaned the broken glass from the lamp. Shortly after the study was cleaned up, Diluc joined you at the table for lunch, and even though it was meant to be about your feelings, the lunch turned into a beautiful at-home date.

The End

[fandomficsnstuff]

Witches And Wizards - 24

(Warnings: Some fluff, confused fluff and some more fluff!)

Note: I once read parts of a fic where the reader has magic and goes back in time, meeting Merlin. I sadly can’t find it anymore. Also Fred didn’t die in this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ophelia felt like weights were tied to her eyelids, as though opening them was a tough battle that she felt herself constantly on the verge of losing. She opened her eyes to look around, the pain had lessened, as she knew it would, except a small blanket was over her leg to keep her damaged leg warm, even though she was in front of a fire. On the large table stood a plate with different kinds of food and a goblet of pumpkin juice, a pillow was under her head and her skin didn’t feel as sticky as she remembered it to be before the sleeping draught helped and she passed out. She lifted her eyes as her head felt too heavy to move, looking above the fireplace, frowning at a small picture in a frame that stood on the mantle, placed with care and love, positioned so she could look at it whenever she wanted from wherever in the room. She forced her body to move and she finally managed to convince it to sit up. She groaned quietly at the ache in her body but she stood up anyway, using the fireplace to keep herself steady despite the warmth that made it feel like it was burning her when she stood so close to the flames. She picked up the picture in the frame, letting herself fall back down onto the couch as she looked at it. Her fingers gently ran over the picture in the frame, over the sweet face of her mum, holding her in her lap when she was just a toddler, her grandmother beside her and in the corner of the picture, a carpet with a mark burned into it, stomped out before it could consume the whole thing and turn it into ash. Tears began to form in her eyes and she looked around, her neck feeling stiff and she got out her wand, pointing it at her cane and it flew right at her. She caught it before using it to stand, putting the picture back on top of the fireplace mantle and she walked around the couch, towards the right staircase to the second floor where her bedroom was and she waited once she used the eagle to quickly get up there, her wand out and she used the hand holding it to push the door, which had once been dressing panels but the Room changed it to walls and a door, open ever so slightly, frowning at the figure she saw inside.

She recognised him by the ears immediately. He was watering her Niffler’s Fancy that Professor Slughorn had given her as a welcome gift when she became a teacher at the start of the year, knowing the gift would be well received with love, he remembered her skill at potions but especially how her ingredients were always of the highest quality when she’d grown them herself. She put away her wand and pushed the door more open to study him. Her room was filled with plants while her living room was filled with books, the two of them separated, her bedroom enchanted so it’s ceiling looked like it was made of glass, just like the main Room, except in here green plants were hanging around it as it looked like a greenhouse and she knew by the lack of daylight that it was night, since it cycled depending on what time it was outside, just like the glass ceiling in the main Room and the windows. She also noticed that her Alihosty had another one standing next to it. In fact, some of her plants had an identical one standing next to it, only more trimmed and not as well kept. “Are you planting your own plants in my room, Professor Emrys?” she asked calmly, a small smirk forming on her lips as he jumped at her voice, spinning around, looking like a Niffler that had been caught going through the jewelry box. “N-No, they’re-... they’re not mine” he admitted and she frowned, her smirk growing a little “so you’ll have me take care of a stranger’s plants, then?” she asked and he nervously rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, the other still holding the bottle that held water in it for the plants. “No…”

“So they’re not yours and they’re not someone else’s?”

“Right.”

“Are you giving them to me?”

“More like returning” he admitted, much more at ease now as he put the bottle back on the small ceramic plate made for it on a small shelf. Ophelia frowned as he walked closer, a brief chuckle leaving her “returned? These aren’t my plants…”

“They are… I-I’ve tried to keep them proper, you know, like you did. You know, trimming them and such…” he admitted and Ophelia walked over to one of the ‘new’ plants, reaching for it, examining it with a frown “I don’t know what you’ve been drinking, Merlin, but these aren’t mine. These leaves should be trimmed diagonally, not like this” she offered the insight quietly and softly, making Merlin smile at her fondly “I’ll remember that next time if you disappear on me again” he mumbled to himself with a smirk, studying her as she turned around to frown at her “what in the name of Merl-... what are you talking about?” she corrected herself, Merlin smiling briefly before walking out of the bedroom, returning with a bag that made Ophelia’s eyes widen. In his hands were the bag she always had with her. It was a little damaged and looked like it was centuries old but it had been patched up and kept as intact as humanly and inhumanly possible. “That’s-... h-how-... Merlin’s Beard!!” she nearly yelled in shock as she walked towards him, her eyes on the bag and Merlin grinned. “You’ve got to stop saying that” he stated with amusement and her head snapped up to look at him. Her heart raced for some reason at that sentence. She studied him before frowning, looking away from him with a look of confusion borderlining on fear on her face. “I think I’d like to be alone, for now, Professor Emrys” she muttered hesitantly, as though no longer trusting herself… or him.

The possibility that she didn’t trust him made his heart ache and shatter, his smile and all signs of joy were gone and he put the bag down on a chair in the corner of the bedroom. “R-Right! Yeah, sorry I just-”

“No, no I didn’t mean it like that! I just-” she sighed with a frown, continuing to keep her gaze away from him and his heart mended a little at her words “I just… m-my leg, it pains me and I’d like to be alone when this happens” she lied smoothly, Merlin nodding despite the fact that he knew it was a lie. “I didn’t mean to-... I didn’t-”

“It’s alright, Merlin” she stated softly with a very faint smile, barely noticeable, like the tears in her eyes, but he noticed. He nodded and turned around, leaving the living quarters and the second the door shut she let out a shaky breath, eyes closing, a few tears running down her cheeks when she did. Her eyes returned to the bag and she carefully hobbled over, hesitantly picking it up. It was old. Far older than she remembered. Perhaps it was a copy? She opened it, sitting down in the chair Merlin had placed it in, staring into the abyss of the bag and hesitantly, very hesitantly, she stuck her arm into it, looking away when her arm began to obscure her view into the bag, fumbling her hand around as it brushed up against several things until-

She pulled out a large book that she recognised, tears once again forming in her eyes and she hesitantly let her fingers run over the old picture of her, Hermione, Harry and Ron, a faint smile on her lips as she opened the book. The picture that usually was the first to be seen was gone and she smiled, remembering it’s place on the fireplace mantle. She continued through the book, smiling sadly at each picture, having missed them more than she thought was possible. At the very end was a picture she didn’t recognise. At least she thought she didn’t. It wasn’t of anyone she’d ever met before. It was faded and not as well taken as the other pictures, but it was still obvious that one of the people waving back at her was Ophelia. With a healthy leg. She was smiling like she hadn’t done before the war, in a way that was lost to her. At least that’s what she thought.

Next to her stood an old man, her brows furrowing, her fingers grazing over the picture as it moved, smiling up at her and she felt the same sense of comfort as when Merlin talked about the person who had supposedly taught him all he knew. She thought she’d have trouble remembering the name but it was like it was carved into the deepest walls of her memories.

Gaius.

The man in the picture, smiling and waving at her, was Gaius. For some reason, it made sense. Looking at him, smiling up at her, it felt a bit like seeing someone dearly loved after years apart… she felt the same sense of comfort as her mum, her grandmother, her uncle… Molly Weasley… the same comfort they provided

Gaius’ clothes in the picture, and the surrounding furniture and bottles and books, felt familiar to her, like a home away from home. She couldn’t help but smile a little, tears nearly running down her cheeks and onto the picture and she had to put the book away to wipe away the tears so they wouldn’t ruin anything. She sniffled a little before picking the book back up, wiping her nose a little as she carefully slid out the picture. She studied it with a warm smile before instinctually, for no real reason that she knew of, flipped it around, as though she knew something was on the back of it. And she was right. A small, faded, smudged out message, wishing someone a happy birthday, the name long since smudged and faded, unreadable, but it somehow made her smile even more, faded two and a half hearts were left after the name that was smudged out, the handwriting was so old and smudged that she couldn’t see if she recognized it or not, yet she had a feeling that she did, for some strange reason that she’d forgotten about. It was obvious that the picture hadn’t always been in the book, it was a new addition from what she remembered of the book before she lost it. It’s corners were faded and bent back and forth, a tiny hole in the left lower side of the picture, some of it torn out but overall, aside from how old it looked and felt against the pads of her fingers, the paper on the back almost yellow, it was well taken care of. Treasured by whoever had placed it in the book after years and years of carrying it around. Carefully she slid the picture back into the small holding frame, a smile on her lips as she carefully closed the book, hearing it’s cracked spine creak a little as she did and she smiled, placing it on a nearby table, making sure it was safe where it was, unaware of the added pictures past the page of Ophelia and the stranger, Gaius, waving up at her and seemingly having a bit of fun with each other.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Merlin was quiet as he walked into the office near the greenhouse classrooms, looking around at the plants, big and small, harmless and poisonous, some harvested ingredients standing proudly in massive amounts, ready to be given to Professor Slughorn to be used in whatever way he deemed fit. At the end of the room was a large round table, a chair behind it and a woman sat in the chair, something in front of her, which he’d come to learn is called a ‘newspaper’. She had flipped through almost the entire thing, a pencil in her hand, the end of it against her lips, teeth biting down around the end as she held the pencil, brows furrowed as she stared at the page, her cane resting against the table, next to her. He hadn’t ever really gotten a good look at her cane. It had a silver wolf’s head for a handle, the cane itself a dark navy blue, the end of it fitted with a small flat footing of something soft that without a doubt helped keep the cane steady when weight was put on it, since the cane slipping at such a moment wouldn’t be ideal.

“Of course! ‘Butterfly’. God, I’m stupid… and blind” she half-joked to herself and scribbled something on the paper in front of her, smirking as she began to scribble some more before frowning again, muttering under her breath as she grabbed her wand and pointed it at something in the paper before picking her pencil back up again, shaking her head a little “fuck” she muttered and Merlin couldn’t help but smile a little. He remembered when they broke into Camelot after Morgana took over and took Uther as prisoner. They had just gotten into the room with the Cup of Life when that word was uttered by her upon seeing the several undead soldiers standing between them and the Cup. “Professor Black? What are you doing?” he asked softly but she still flinched, her cheeks filling with heat and she cleared her throat awkwardly “Professor Emrys! I-... uh… it’s-... nothing…”

“Is that the Daily Prophet?”

“No, actually, it’s-... a-a muggle newspaper…”

“Muggle? Interesting” he muttered and walked over, Ophelia sighing heavily, leaning back in her chair, gesturing to the newspaper with a certain aggression that Merlin found extremely cute “I have a friend who bought me this because I wanted to learn how to do anagrams… except I’m horrible at it” she admitted with burning cheeks, Merlin smiling a little at her as he stood beside her, leaning down to study it “you’ve done really well. I don’t know why you think you’re not good at it” he encouraged but she groaned “no! I’m horrible… I don’t know half of these muggle words… I didn’t grow up with muggles after I turned eleven and even then I barely went to school… I was bullied so much I skipped and missed classes so I don’t know anything…”

“I’d say you know a lot judging by this. Perhaps you know more than you think… if you’d like, I could help you? I grew up around muggles quite a lot…” he admitted sheepishly and she looked at him like he was sent from God “would you? Please” she encouraged and he smiled, pointing her wand at a chair from the side of the room, pulling the chair over next to her and with a swift wave of her wand, Ophelia made another pencil, giving it to him with a shy smile. “Do you know what an anagram is?” she asked and he hesitated before shaking his head a little, making her chuckle “it’s alright, I didn’t either. Of course Hermione knows, she knows pretty much everything” Ophelia muttered the last part to herself “alright so, it’s about taking these words and sort of making a new word out of it, but it has to be a real word. Like… it’s easy to start at the ones with only two letters. So, let’s say you see one with two letters and it spells ‘NO’, that makes it ‘ON’, see? And you continue to do that, it’s why it’s easier to start with the ones that have only two letters. The letters have to match up, you can’t write an A if the words it’ll cross with doesn’t have an A in it where you want to put it, and you can’t just make up your own words. Now, this large picture here? The sentence in it? It’s sort of the final word you have to get from it’s letters and it’s usually insanely long or something like that. Also, even though the words you have to work with have spaces in between, no spaces! It has to be one word, all of it. Did I explain it right?” she asked hesitantly and Merlin nodded with a smile “I think so” he stated softly as he looked at her and she grinned, his heart melting at the sight and she leaned over the paper once more, studying it, thinking Merlin was doing the same but he couldn’t help but just-... looking at her…

After centuries with only a fading picture, he was like an addict, finally getting his fix, his chance to admire her with the utmost devotion that she deserved. “I think… I-I think this is supposed to spell ‘bicycle’... right? See, the C would fit there and the L would fit under this, right?” she asked, looking up at him and he quickly pretended to just have lifted his head to look at her, instead of having admired her all this time and he looked at the paper, nodding, “see? You don’t need my help-”

“Hold your brooms, Merlin, I’m far from done yet” she quickly said with a laugh before looking back down at the paper “there’s still a lot of words here… imagine if the wizarding world made these. I’m not saying I’m a master of every single thing in our world but it’d be much easier to decipher…” she added in a more quiet voice, brows furrowing again and he once again admired her, the paper and anagram long forgotten in his mind, everything was blank except her… she was just as beautiful as he remembered, every small detail, the curve of her nose, her nose bridge that he knew she secretly hated for being ‘too bulky’ when it was nothing short of perfect. He was sitting on her left so he could see her blue eye, just as enchanting as he remembered it and he found that after all these years, that picture didn’t do her justice, especially since it was in black and white and grey. Nothing could do her justice. Nothing except sitting here with her, in the classroom office that was empty except for the two of them, sitting close together with Ophelia hunched over the paper, gnawing at the end of her pencil whenever a certain word vexed her. This moment right here made all the centuries of wait and worry worth it.

[revvywevvy]

I finished redesigning my Mario S/I!!!! She's gonna go by Basil now! ^^

[Her full name being Basil Chervil Clemens. Only Peach is allowed to call her Chervil though-]

More info abt how she gets to the Mushroom Kingdom under the cut plus a sketchy comic <3

Okay so- after seeing stuff abt the Mario Movie and how they're going the isekai route, I thought it'd be a fun route for Basil! So, Basil's a bit of a paranoid loner who lives alone, making a living off of graphic design for companies, as well as commissions for fun on the side. She's just chilling at home one day, drawing, when out of nowhere a loud commotion occurs.

She goes to investigate it, and upon entering the bathroom, her jaw just fuckin drops.

Lo and behold, there's a whole-ass warp pipe in her bathroom. Thing demolished her toilet and water pipes and has her left completely confused, mind-boggled, angry and extremely anxious. In a panic she runs to her phone book, flipping through it trying to find a number for emergency plumbing services while also searching on google for advice. Eventually she finds a number for 'Mario Bros. Plumbing Service' and seeing as they are listed as sometimes being available for emergency appointments, she takes a shot and calls them.

Upon connecting with one of the brothers, Luigi, she explains her situation in a panic, rambling and almost in tears because 'holy fuck the bathroom's completely ruined and I have no idea what to do help-'. Luigi is sympathetic to her situation and gets his brother, and they go to her home to check out the damages. Basil scrambles to get dressed and be presentable for the company, all the while having a bit of a breakdown over this giant pipe in her flooding bathroom. She lives in an apartment complex in New Donk City, on the bottom floor, so luckily she's the only one effected by the warp pipe's presence.

When Mario and Luigi get there, they're let in by a frazzled Basil, who's fiddling with her tablet pen. She leads them to the bathroom, and they're both baffled and confused at the presence of this pipe, as well as the destruction caused by it. Neither brother knows where that pipe could have come from, or what it was for. All they knew was it was causing major problems for her plumbing and water. They got to work inspecting the damages, asking for Basil's input every once in a while since, well, it was her bathroom after all. She knew the layout best. At one point, Basil put her pen back in the pocket of her top, before approaching the pipe as the brothers inspected it.

She asked a few questions about their theories about the pipes, but the three of them hadn't a clue what this pipe's purpose could've been. Curiously she propped herself up on some of the rubble of her bathroom, peeking into the pipe. She waved the brothers over, pointing out how spick and span it was... it was spotless! Shiny, spotless, no imperfections in sight. They were all confused, but that confusion quickly turned to panic and terror when Basil leaned just a little too far forward. Suddenly, the pipe sucked her arm in. She shrieked, horrified, but before she could further react, the pipe pulled her entire body into it. Mario and Luigi freaked out as well. Mario was quick to grab hold of Basil's ankle before she was fully taken by it, and Luigi held onto Mario for dear life, trying to keep him steady so they could try to get her out safely. It was for nothing, though, because not only was Basil sucked into the pipe; but Mario and Luigi were yanked inside of it as well!

After what felt like forever of them all screaming in panic whilst being warped through the green pipe, they were finally spat out on the other side. The brothers helped Basil up, and they all looked around. They had no idea where they were, and they were all a panicked mess. Well, okay, just Basil and Luigi. Mario seemed a bit more composed, at least. He began to investigate the place, Luigi and Basil quickly following behind him lest they be left behind. They would soon discover what strange new land was upon them now: The Mushroom Kingdom. At first they just wanted to try and get home. Instead, an adventure would await them, hindering their ability to get home. There were much more important things that would happen soon.

One thing after another happened, and before they knew it, Luigi was kidnapped by some giant beast of a man, who called himself Bowser, King of the Koopas. He initially attempted to take the Princess of the Mushroom Kingdom, Peach, but she fought him off. Bowser opted to take Luigi instead, planning to blackmail the Princess with his safety. The Power Stars would be handed over, or the green man would get it.

At that point, one thing was certain: he needed to be stopped. So, Mario, Basil, Princess Peach, and one of the many Toads from the kingdom who'd offered to assist, all departed to rescue Luigi from King Bowser.

Quickly in, Basil realized her tablet pen was still in her pocket. Upon pulling it out, she realized that the warp had changed it. It had become some sort of wand. She could draw on the air with it, creating strokes with different textures, elements, and powers. All of which could be effected by a number of Power-Ups scattered about the Mushroom Kingdom. Basil didn't see herself as the heroic type, but with this new realization, she decided to give herself a chance. She'd use this newfound ability to help Mario, Peach, and Toad. All four of them together would save Luigi, they were certain of it.

[notatrott]

“Drive faster you fucking idiot, they are trying to kill us!” 

   Why did I get in the driver's side? I have never driven before and I don't think the panic I'm feeling is helping. Leon is right though, somehow they are gaining on us on foot. 

“Instead of stating the obvious, why don't you guide me?” I am having trouble focusing on the road with all of this adrenaline and my dog barking in the bed of the truck. 

    As I drive I can see familiar parts of the town, toppled and burning. Under other circumstances I'd be saddened by this but my mind can't even begin to process what has happened here. I can only wonder if anyone I know survived this massacre.

    “Turn left up ahead,” Leon yells “I think we can make it to Abner's with enough distance to get to safety.” 

    That sounds like a great plan right now. Abner was a doomsday prepper, that loon definitely has a bunker, he might even have guns we can take, not that they would be much help.

   “Char, when we pull up to his place it's up to you to grab the dog. I will have to run in and find the door for us. Do you understand?” 

   “Yes, I got it. How is your arm?”

   “Don't worry about my arm, just focus on getting there.”

    Leon is always like this. When Dad died, he wouldn't be honest with me on how he felt. They spent twenty years together but I didn't see him shed a single tear. He isn't emotionless, I've seen him cry during mildly sad parts of kids movies. I just don't know how you could love someone like that and not be visibly upset for even a moment after their passing. 

   “Pull in to the right, get ready to jump out.”

    Blaze has stopped barking now, that must mean those things are far enough away.

  “Blaze, let's go boy. Up up.”

   Leon has already busted through the door, it looks like he kicked it. 

   “Found it! Back here Charlotte, in the living room, through the bookcase!”

   Running through this place, it doesn't look like it's been targeted. Everything in here is intact. The walls look scratched up, but no structural damage or signs that it caught fire. 

   “C’mon Blaze, go get Leon.”

   The bookcase looks like Abner never once read a book. It definitely was only put in to hide something. This place smells like ocean water.

   Passing the bookshelf I see Leon standing by an open hatch, like that of an old submarine, coming out of the wall. The wheel is rusted all over but the rest of the door looks brand new. The walls of this tiny hall leading to the hatch look like this house was built around a massive boulder and this hatch leads into it. Who the hell would build around a fucking rock? Abner was pretty crazy so I guess it's not worth it to question. 

   Blaze jumps through the hatch into darkness as Leon is waving at me to run in. There aren't any steps up to the door and it's at shoulder height. I can hear things outside getting close. I better jump in quickly. I sprint as fast as possible and dive through the opening and I hear the door shut behind me and hear the wheel turning. 

“LEON!!!!!! NO, LEON!!!!!!!” 

  I hear muffled screaming and then silence. They got him. They fucking got him. Why didn't he jump in? Why did he leave me? I can't do this. I panic when my shoe gets untied. WHAT THE FUCK ARE THEY? WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED HERE.

  I seem to have passed out at some point while hyperventilating. I can't see anything at all down here, but I can hear Blaze panting in front of me as he slowly walks forward. The hatch has no way to open from the inside that I can find. 

   “Blaze, get back here” I whisper. He isn't listening though. Typical stubborn mastiff.

I don't have any options though. I will follow him. Even if there were lights down here I don't think I would be able to see. It feels like my eyes are swollen shut from my tears. 

 After what seems like hours, Blaze has led me to what I think is a door with a window just above my eye line. There isn't enough light coming through for me to see where I currently am. Blaze is quietly whining and pawing at the base of the door. Now on my tiptoes looking through the small window. “What the fuck?” It's the basement from the house we were attacked at. “H-h-how could…. This doesn't make…..”

   I hear someone

“Charlotte, get Blaze and get down here quick.” Is that Leon? How? “Here are the keys, you are driving”  

   Hold on, this already happened. What is going on?

  “But I've never driven before. What are you doing? "

"I can't drive with these injuries, I'll tell you how to do everything. We have to go now though, through the bulkhead door.” 

   The door isn't opening. I'm pulling the handle and it won't budge.

   “LEON! LEON WAIT! THEY ARE GOING TO GET YOU! LEON!” I scream and scream but they don't seem to hear me “PLEASE, LEON! YOU NEED TO LIVE!” 

   Leon and me? They both leave, exactly how we did earlier. A head is peeking out from the inside door. A pale white face with an unnatural smile of black teeth starts scanning the area. Are those what we're chasing us? It starts to move into the basement but I can see its body. It's neck is, how is it that long? It is extending its neck all the way down the stairs and is looking around. I start to duck down so it doesn't see. Wait, it sees the open bulkhead door. Its neck is retracting back up the stairs fast. Three of them sprint down the stairs like gorillas and charge out of the basement. 

“Ahh” I tumble forward as the door now flies open.

What the fuck is going on?

I don't write, this is probably shit

[hallhaley23]

I open my eyes and it’s still night. I just wake up this time, there's no nightmare which is nice for once. I'm glad not to wake to the remnants of my scream still thick in the air and Charlie rushing in to stand guard and pat me back to sleep. I blink into the barely there moonlight creeping across my mostly black room. I sit up and see through my window that moonlight lights up the falling snow that glitters as it falls and I settle in knowing that I’ve made it to another season without Edward; it doesn’t feel like a reward though.

I watch the snow and relish in the eerie and magical quiet that permeates the world around me and I do the thing I do so well but recently it makes me feel crazier than ever: I think.

I need things to be different; I need to be different. I’m hoping that in December I will be able to figure out how to make that happen because I’m starting to become desperate to find some sense of normalcy. I need to figure out how to finally let go of Edward. I feel myself still clutching on to any part of him even though I know he has made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t want me. He said it plainly to my face as he left me in the woods, and for some reason I have been delusional enough to not buy it; but I need to now.

I see Edward everywhere I go, like a shadow version of himself watching me, and I need him to be gone. I need to not want his ghost or any other part of him haunting my life. I need to have this silence without the tainted familiarity of Edward Cullen.

I know it’s me not wanting to believe or accept that the story of Edward and Bella is over, but as I sit in the silence and solitude of the first day of December, the snow lit up by the pale moonlight and making each flake look like diamonds falling from the sky, and I finally give myself permission to settle into closing the book; let the period be a period and not a semi-colon, the final coda realized and the notes cease to play.

It’s over. Let it be over now.

I let it settle onto my chest and instead of it feeling like a fresh wound, it feels like an ache when something is finally healing; new skin starting to grow over the damage. No one tells you about how uncomfortable the healing process is; you only really learn about the pain of the wound. The healing though, that is the hardest part of it all, because it takes time, resilience and patience; learning to not scratch at the scabs that form or tear the sutures back open accidentally.

So I will learn how to be gentle with myself as I go into December; let the scar tissue form without restraint or reservation.

I’ll begin by accepting the fact that Edward is gone and it’s officially over; and I need to be okay with starting at a new genesis of my life.

I couldn’t go back to sleep so I trudge down to the kitchen, grab the coffee pot from the machine and start to make coffee before Charlie wakes up.

My eyes slide to the clock on the stove as the green numbers light up and flicker 6:10 am; only another two hours until I have to be at school. I put water into the reservoir and add the coffee grounds to the filter, press the on button and sit by the window to watch the snow.

I mindlessly fidget with my flip phone that I usually leave down in the kitchen to charge. I’m not used to having a cell phone so I’m constantly forgetting it. Charlie insisted on me having one after all the bullshit with the vampires happened a few months ago and I started acting like a walking corpse. I suppose it’s endearing to see how much Charlie worries about me, and wants to protect me. I realize that letting go will also mean that things will be easier for him too, and that bolsters some of my effort a bit.

The phone buzzes, making me jump and drop it on the kitchen table, it lands with a louder than expected thud and I look at it like it had just come alive. I flip it open and see a message from Jacob…

…you up?...

When did you get a phone?

…Charlie had Dad get one for me a few weeks ago, cool right?...

Now I realize Charlie has looped Billy and Jake in on the Bella surveillance. I think I find it more amusing than frustrating though if that makes any sense.

Why are you awake right now Jake?

…I have reasons…since you’re up too, I got a question for ya...

K

…would you come with me to a holiday party on the rez? As a friend obviously...

I don’t know Jake.

…think about it, but then say yes, ok? It’s next Friday…

K.

I snap the phone shut.

Did I really want to go to a Christmas party? The immediate answer was, “absolutely fucking not,” but it was Jake and I know he just wants me to get back to regular life; but also isn't that what I'm supposed to be trying to do right now? Find a new normal after everything?

Plus I'm 18 year old, there's probably some kind of written rule that I should probably go to at least one stupid party. I think the one saving grace is there might be drinking. Scratch that, there will be drinking and I will make sure of that. Maybe I can see if Charlie has a flask somewhere.

So before I lose my nerve and before my overtly depressed hyper rational side starts to get loud, I flip the phone up again and start texting.

Send me address Jake, I'll see you there.

***

“You’re going where?” Charlie asks, as I slip on my coat over my gray hoodie and freshly cleaned blue jeans, then toe into my snow boots.

I swallow down my bile as the words come out, “the mall.”

“For what?”

Dammit Dad, don’t make me say it out loud, “Jake invited me to a Christmas party,” I watch his face shift further into incredulity as I continue, “and I don’t have anything to wear that's nice-ish.”

“You’re going to the mall…to shop…and buy clothes?” he asks, one of his bushy eyebrows arching up nearly into his hairline.

“I know how it sounds Dad,” I say as I grab my keys to the truck and his eyes follow my every movement.

“Well, do you need me…to um…come with,-”

“God, no Dad, please, I’m fine by myself,” and as soon as I say it he visibly relaxes; the more time that goes by with Charlie, the more I realize how alike we are. I smile at him and say, “would you feel better if I called you when I got there and when I’m on my way home?”

“That’d be great Bells, just so I know you’re safe,” he says, but between the lines of his statement it says, “also so I know you aren’t in another state chasing your ex-boyfriend and nearly getting yourself killed.” Needless to say, I still feel bad about hurting Charlie the way I did.

“You got it,” and I give him a playful salute as I go through the front door and get into my car.

***

I hate the mall; but the mall during the newly minted Christmas season is fucking terrible, add to all of that being there on a weekend and it’s my own personal hell. I’m trying to unwind the anxiety and frustration of the high volume of people, traffic, noise, and the general overstimulation of it all as I drive through the trees of the La Push reservation to get back home. The snow stopped falling not too long ago and the snow plow had cleared the road which made my anxiety a little less tight in my chest as I drove on the winding roads lined by snow coated trees.

I round a sharp corner and I slam on my brakes, my back tires locking up and the truck slides on the icy road as it comes to a stop sideways in the lane. My heart is hammering in my throat, my eyes wide as I take in the tall and muscular frame of Paul Lahote standing in the middle of the road. As soon as I realize I’m in one piece and I haven’t killed anyone or my truck, I feel the flash pan anger ignite through my body. I wrench open the door and charge up to Paul, thick plumes of steam billowing out of my nostrils as I approach him.

“What the fuck, Paul?! I could have killed you!” I yell, seeing that he is not wearing a shirt and the surface of his skin is…steaming. What?

“Are you okay?” he asks and I think I might have emotional whiplash.

“No I’m not okay!” I scream and then continue, “why…why are you out here?” Also why are you mostly naked and steaming?

“I…I wanted to talk to you,” he says quietly, almost sheepishly and my breath is still heaving, causing more clouds of steam from my nose and mouth to fill the small space between him and I.

“Maybe call? Or like, come see me at my house instead of nearly causing an accident?” I say, moving to get back into my car. His eyes follow me as he stands idly in front of the truck as I slide back into the driver's seat and shut the door, “you getting in or what?” He hesitates for a few seconds and then opens the passenger side door and sits down; his long muscular legs barely fitting into the cabin as his knees nearly touch his chest. I didn’t think my truck was that small, but maybe I didn’t realize Paul was that huge.

I gingerly step on the gas and begin to right the truck’s position back into the lane, the gentle rattle of the chains sound on the pavement as I accelerate slowly. We are about half a mile down the road and I’m beginning to feel myself finally calm down; I also realize it’s warmer than usual which is weird since the heater barely works. I look over at Paul, his head is propped up on his hand, his elbow on the window, and he looks perplexed.

“What is so important that you nearly killed us both?” I say, removing my gloves and hat, curiously starting to get overheated all of a sudden.

His eyes flitted over to me and he straightened up, taking a breath, “you saw, didn’t you?”

A flash of him as a giant silver wolf exiting the break room crosses my mind; how could I not have seen you? “Yes,” I say, briefly looking over to him and he stares at his knees.

“No one can know, Bella,” he says, his voice low with a hint of something I wasn’t really sure of.

“I’m pretty good at keeping things to myself, Paul,” I say, I think about the vampires and the importance of keeping their secret from the world first; but then I think of the past few months that I’ve been struggling, not reaching out to anyone, apart from Jake, but I never really brought up Edward or my feelings. Come to think of it, I didn’t talk to anyone about that…ever. I was the picture next to the definition of "suffer in silence," screaming nightmares aside.

He looks at me again and he rubs the top of his thighs, “I can’t really...talk about this openly with many people, apart from others that are…um,” he hesitates and as I turn briefly to see his face, he looks like he’s grappling with something in his mind, like a word he couldn’t think of or he was fighting against himself to say what he needed to say.

“What? Other werewolves?” I say trying to see if maybe that helped him out, because I assume there are others. Just like he had made sweeping assumptions that were frustrating but generally true about the vampires and Edward.

He looks at me and tips his chin with the slightest of nods, “I'm limited in what I can actually say to you,” he says and he winces like he’s in pain and that throws me a bit.

“Are you okay?” I ask, surveying him a little more, even though I’m trying to keep my eyes on the road, he’s making it a challenge.

“I’m fine, it’s just…not easy to have this conversation right now,” he says and he winces again like he has a headache and he rubs his temple.

“Is that all that you needed to say?” I ask, my eyes sliding back to the road.

“No,” he says and his teeth clench together, the muscles in his jaw ripple with tension, “I…didn't mean to act the way I did yesterday. All of this is new and I’m…adjusting so to speak.”

Was that an apology? “I imagine changing into a wolf has a longer adjustment period,” I say quietly.

“Why aren’t you more scared?” he asks, looking over at me and now I feel like I need to shrug out of my jacket as I start to feel the sweat accumulate on the back of my neck.

“I don’t know,” I say, pushing my jacket behind the seat, “are you going to hurt me?”

“I don’t…I don’t know,” he whispers in a low voice and I’m not sure what that means.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” I ask, “do you want to hurt me?”

“Not in the way you’re thinking,” and he winces again and I am thrust into a whirlwind of confusion.

“What does that mean?” my voice is a bit higher now, so I take a deep breath and quickly gather my thoughts. “I think your answer should be pretty straight forward,” my eyes sliding to him now, “do you or do you not want to cause me physical harm? Should I be scared of you, Paul?”

“No,” he says finally, “no I don’t, Bella.”

“Okay, then I don’t see a reason to be scared if you don’t plan on hurting me,” I say, feeling a sense of relief; what did “not in the way you’re thinking,” mean?

“But what if I do and it’s an accident?” he asks, his eyes meeting mine briefly and they’re warm and for a minute, they almost look vulnerable…I feel my resolve soften slightly.

“You can’t really plan for accidents, that’s why they’re called accidents,” I say. Of course, this is all very easy for me to say since I’m human and he’s a werewolf.

“I guess,” he says and he still looks perplexed and anxious, that pulse in his brain seems to really be giving him trouble, or whatever it was.

“If I was worried about every accident that would cause me physical harm, I would never leave my room or realistically, my bed,” my eyes are doing a dance between the road and him, “but life has to move forward; risks aren’t going to go away just because you’re scared to face them.” A flash of Edwards' face tears through my mind and that familiar ache sears into my chest and even though it hurts and I hate it, at least I got a chance to experience it I guess. Even if it was just me falling for someone who would never love me as much as I loved them, I experienced it and I am learning to live through it.

I feel him watching me now, as I keep my gaze fixed on the road, scattered snowflakes falling as I drive up to the first stop light into Forks.

“Do you need a ride home?” I ask, realizing that I’ve been on autopilot this entire time heading back to Charlie’s.

“No, I’ll get home fine, just drive,” he says quietly.

“What, you’re just gonna run home all the way to La Push from my house?” I laugh and as I look back at him, his full mouth is in a tight line, “you’re not actually gonna do that, are you?”

He doesn’t answer but his eyebrows go up as he gives me an affirmative look.

“How..” and I shake my head in disbelief, pulling up to the street to Charlie’s house.

“I can’t…say anything,” he says quietly, and then even quieter than that, he says in a low whisper, “yet.”

Yet? And I feel like I need to just relinquish whatever curiosity I have for another day. I don’t know what his deal is, but it seems like he has a migraine; probably from running around partially naked in the snow like a lunatic, werewolf or no.

Charlie’s car isn’t in the driveway as I pull up. I’d have the house to myself for a few hours to decompress my eventful afternoon. I grab my bags from the back of the seat, along with my coat. The heat of the cabin dissipates quickly after I’m out into the biting cold, so I shrug back into my jacket.

I walk up to the front door and Paul follows after me, I turn around to him walking up behind me. I’m on the top step and he stands at the bottom of the steps and we’re eye level and I can see the masculine angle of his face shadowed with facial hair, the wide almond shape of his eyes framed by long black lashes and messy dark hair. His full lips part slightly as he looks at me squarely in my eyes and I feel my stomach do that all too familiar flip.

And then he does something that I wasn’t expecting, he gently tucks my hair behind my ear, his index finger sweeping gently along my jaw and I feel every nerve in my body tingle and spark with electricity, my cheeks flushing with heat.

“Someday I’ll tell you more Bella,” he says as I feel the radiant heat from his body like a space heater and I wonder…

“You’re so hot,” I say looking at the steam that is billowing from his skin.

“Uh, thanks,” he says the side of his mouth arching up in a playful crooked smile.

“No I mean…” and I put my bare hand on his chest…and two things happen: the first is I feel that he is extremely hot, feverish, well over one hundred degrees Fahrenheit, the second is the intense electricity that shoots up my arm and into my body at the contact. He looks at me touching him and his eyes flash with something I don’t understand entirely, but I think…I think I might be feeling it; heat blooms low in my belly and my heart starts to punch my ribcage and I exhale through gently parted lips, the plume of steam from my exhale brushing across his face.

He steps forward, crowding into me and I drop my items, losing my footing slightly as he puts one of his hands in my hair and steadies me by wrapping the other one around my waist. He pushes me up against the door, pulling my hair back slightly, forcing my face up and he puts his forehead to mine; the tip of his nose sweeps along my cheekbone, and my breath hitches as I feel the lightest brush of his lips against the curve of my neck where he inhales deeply and then places his lips against the soft shell of my ear. I feel his hips press into mine, the pressure doing something inexplicable to me and somehow my heart beats even faster as I feel the thick length of his erection against my thigh. My whole body is trembling, tingling, burning, every part of me is on fire and I want to combust, be consumed in the flames.

“I want…” he whispers and I realize my hands are still at my sides and I want to, no I need to do something with them, to touch him; so I glide my hands along his bare arms, sweeping featherlight over his copper skin somehow leaving a trail of goosebumps against his searing flesh, my fingers drifting over the hills and valleys of his toned musculature. My hands slip around the back of his neck, my fingers threading through the short length of his dark hair. I pull his head to me and he steps away from me. The cold air is like an unwelcome wash of freezing water to my body and his absence feels like an insult or an ache to my senses.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, feeling like I stepped over a boundary I didn’t know was there.

He is walking backwards away from me and I hate it. Why is he not touching me anymore? What did I do?

“Not your fault,” he says softly and he turns and runs towards the line of trees at the far side of the house, the snow falling in earnest now and I’m left feeling like I’m stranded, my nerve endings still on fire but now I’m burning alone and I hate it.

I'm burning alive and left alone, again.

When will I ever fucking learn?