#you dont even want to know about bottle branch au

[deviousfatestudio]

First au of mine is of course bounty hunter au.

basically the only thought process I have is after failing to do family harmony they really just went “fuck it we ball” but ball as in murder.

Family motto: the family that kills together, stays together!

JD is the leader of course but he’s way more laid back about it. Of course he is he can easily vent his frustrations now! He’s very protective of his baby brothers. Also he treats himself to nice things and his brothers love that for him. JD is the one who can hunt anyone down in a forest environment and the best tracker, Branch is second and his little protege.

Bruce and Floyd are the manipulators of the group one with attractiveness and the other with emotions.

Clay is the one who thinks out the traps and all possible ways it could go wrong. He, of course, manages the finances and finds their targets. He’s serious but also best at torture and having fun with it.

Branch is the Jack of all trades. He learned from the best after all! Master trap maker like clay while being a manipulator of both charm and emotions. Of course he’s a top notch tracker like his oldest brother too!

Poppy: I support family rights but also family wrongs

[wtf-is-sleep-even]

MODERN/DND AU

(short thing i wanted to write cause you guys seem to like AU's more than i thought. Human AU, they play DND* *quick note i dont really know exactly how DND or TTRPG's work but i know theres a storyline mechanic and im using that to my advantage)

It really was an accident, truly. Jedediah didnt even know what DND was up until half a year ago, one of his best friends teenaged kid, Nicky, had picked up a kick for table top rpg's, Jed thought it was stupid at first but tagged along just to be sure there was enough players, he did care for the kid, he was like his nephew, he just didnt expect how much fun it would be. An hour and a half in and he was bored out of his mind, another hour in he was coughing up his lungs he was laughing so much! it was nice to spend time with his friends like this, and it made the kid happy, so he kept going.

it's just make-believe, a game of pretend, but the feelings he felt were real, anxious at the next battle, frustrated at the confusing (but clever) puzzles, the surprise and humor at a funny encounter, the second hand embarrassment for when one of his friend's characters made a fool of themself, and, the love. Jed knew that he felt something different for Octavius, at first he thought he hated the guy, but day after day it was made known that he actually loved him.

and of course, he had to be in the same DND group as him, classic, whats even funnier is that in-game, their characters are married, something about appeasing a court in the faewild, it didnt matter much because just a few weeks after that, Octavius asked him out on a date. They've been a couple ever since. But the group doesnt know that, they've made jokes here and there but it never crossed any lines, Jedediah didnt tell anyone out of fear first, Octavius didnt tell anyone because nobody asked much, he told people casually and it wasnt much of a problem after, so they never told the group.

Jed wasnt afraid anymore, so why not take a chance?

it was one of the calmer sessions in the games, still walking carefully in case of any curses that reside in the lands. "Its an awfully inviting clearing, the trees shift and stir, the birds chirp and sing, a foggy mist settles over the sides dimming the lights to reveal fireflies dancing in the air, but hiding any way of escape, what do you do?" Nicky narrates, hes gotten so much better at it, instead of the stumbly, stuttering sections of small text and strained, hidden voices of characters he was trying to play, he was bold and steady, the picture flowing seamlessly into the next "can i look to see if there are any traps or illusions?" Ahkmenrah asks, one of Jed and Larry's best friends from highschool, both of them were happy to see him again

"roll a perception check, add a disadvantage because of the fog" Ahk rolls his D-20 "uh, 17" Nicky nods, looking over to gloss over the page of his notebook "you spot a beartrap at the side of a fallen tree, its clapped around one of its branches, reaching out to touch the outside of the clearing, it seems that its real, but it doesnt feel like wood, it feels like a stone pillar, the area isnt an illusion, but not everything is right" they nod, one of them in the group, a guy named Lance that Ahk dragged along (who Jed totally didnt wanna punch because Octavius remarked on his eyes, no way) advanced forward and saw a shallow grave in the dirt, they all came to see it

"is there anything at the bottom?" Oct asked, Nicky smiled, bad sign "there is! a small wooden chest, there isnt any locks on it, it seems you can just open it like you would with any other box" Octavius hummed, Jed tried to ignore how the sound gave him butterflies "i take the box!" lance announced, Nicky describes how he takes it, opening it up to reveal a bottle with a note in it and a sharp dagger, obsidian blade with a willow wood handle, Octavius opted to inspect the dagger for any inscriptions or engravings

"you take the dagger in your hands, it feels heavier than any steel or even obsidian that you've ever held, in the handle it reads "with love, My dagger" everyone was confused, another puzzle, woo boy. Ahk tried to figure it out but just got nowhere, Octavius asked if there was anywhere you could put a dagger, "the stone alter shines slightly, there seemed to be a slot in it, but the air around it seemed that whoever did this, would pay a price" Octavius debated for a second before saying to insert the dagger, his character was met with a faewild curse

"you fall over, completely unconscious before you even hit the ground, a faewild curse passes over you, you shall be alseep for until you find a kiss of true and pure love, y'know like that one disney princess, sleeping beauty or snow white, i cant remember, but yeah" the group chuckles while Octavius states that this couldnt have ended worse, suddenly Lance pipes up "arent Gaius and Smith married? would Smith be able to wake him up or no?" Nicky passes Jed a D-20 "roll"

Jedediah rolled "12" Nicky laughed "alright yeah, Smith kneels down to check whats wrong, feeling the compelling urge to kiss Gaius, he gives him a kiss on the lips and suddenly Gaius's eyes flicker open, hes awake but has a disadvantage on all persuasion and strength rolls" the two others laugh, not thinking that would actually work when Jed smirked, the fun of DND was mostly that they got to act out what the characters do, right? he shrugged "alright"

Jedediah grabbed Octavius's face, pulling him in for a kiss, Octavius was shocked by the sudden affection but melted into it quickly, closing his eyes and pulling the other by the collar of his shirt. The table went into absolute chaos, they didnt expect THIS, Octavius pulled away with a smile, Jed chased his lips, connecting them again for another kiss "ALRIGHT BREAK IT UP BREAK IT UP!!" Ahkmenrah and Nicky yelled.

yeah, Jedediah likes DND nights

[requirings]

do you have any reddie fic recs?

BOY DO I! gosh these are gonna be so hard to choose so i’m gonna try to limit myself to just 10 fics

(not in order by preference)

Like a Bullet in the Back (honestly one of my fav works of literature i’m not joking)

There are literally so many good excerpts from this fic, it was hard to choose just one <:I

I love you. I’ve loved you so god damn long I can’t remember when it began. Do you remember, Eddie, that you were born the day before I was born? Five weeks premature. That’s you, Eddie. As if you couldn’t wait to meet me. And it doesn’t work like that. It never works like that. Nobody meets someone when they’re eight years old and knows I will love you forever. But I did. I did know. I didn’t know that I knew but I did.

Husband and Husband (THE CUTEST FIC younger losers, 5ish yrs old)

Richie is so overcome with happiness that he can’t do anything but run around the kitchen, whooping with joy. Eddie sits at the kitchen table, watching him and giggling uncontrollably.

Not Quite Young (i swear i didn’t know rants before reading this fic)

The laughter around Eddie felt like it was a million miles away. Everything about the way Richie talked to the way he walked around the stage felt unbelievably, achingly familiar, and yet Eddie was still clawing through his memories as if trying to string together fragments of a dream. Maybe this was a dream. He closed his eyes for a second, trying to ground himself.

Is This Thing On? (pwp vibrating butt plug)

"You look so good," Eddie says in that same low tone, the one that seems to resonate in time with the vibrations slowly taking Richie apart. "This is so hot, watching you get all worked up when you can't moan or touch yourself or beg for me." Richie grips his drink so hard he thinks his fingers might go straight through the glass bottle. "Son of a bitch," he hisses, and drains half the beer without taking a breath.

Soak Up the Sun (pwp richie’s ass is sunburnt and sensitive)

“You can’t have my dick right now, babe,” Eddie says, circling again, pressing down against his center until Richie is straining upwards, trying to push back onto his finger. “And whose fault is that?” “Ugh, mine,” Richie groans, pressing his face into his forearms. “Because I didn’t put on sunscreen. Is that what you wanna hear? I’ll never forget the sunscreen again, Eds, I promise, if you could please just— ohh.”

Adult Friends (i usually don’t read au’s but this one’s funny!)

Except, Richie hadn’t known Eddie for years and years. They’d only just met. The first time Richie made Eddie smile, he thought, oh. That’s something. And that night, when they were clutching their stomachs and Eddie was grinning at him, red-faced and whimpering and wiping tears from his eyes, Richie thought, oh. Oh, this man is beautiful.

Now What I’m Gonna Say May Sound Indelicate (stellar inner monologue)

Richie knows he’s funny. He self-aggrandizes to the point of parody, but he always has. For every beep beep the gang dished out, he got twelve laughs. Eddie never really wanted him to shut up, even when he was telling him to shut up, even when his jokes were really stupid. Even when he was hunched over his phone at the airport, waiting for YouTube videos to buffer while Richie gargled out some truly pathetic ghost-written jokes, Eddie never closed the window. He wanted to keep hearing Richie talk, like he was waiting for something.

Take My Hand, Take My Whole Life Too (short but sweet)

“But I’m okay?” He can’t help but make it sound like a question. “Tell that to my fucking brain,” Richie croaks. But his eyes are open now and he’s staring at Eddie like he’s trying to commit him to memory. Eddie lets himself smile, his cheeks dimpling, because if this is the image of him that Richie is going to think of to ascertain that Eddie is real and alive, blood still pumping through his veins, then he’ll give him this: proof that Eddie is happy.

Richie Tozier Settles Down (this one is the best media pov fic)

Like, if you want these roles, you’re going to have to put on a disguise. You’re going to have to work really, really fucking hard to put that disguise together.” Tozier, in the years that followed, would fill his routines with references to girlfriends, and go on pre-arranged, intricately choreographed dates with women. He was not out as gay, even to his close friends.

i said i was gonna add 10 but uhhhh honestly a lot of my bookmarks are just. fics that i dont remember what they’re about. and it really doesn’t help that the summaries and tags don’t allude to the plot. fic authors.... please........... tell me wtf is happening.

so! instead i will recommend a stan/pat fic! (it’ll eventually have reddie but the fic is on a hiatus rn)

Tooth & Crow (great inner monologue; unsettling but in a good horror way)

Outside in the tree the great bird rubbed its wings against its sleek body. Then it startled. A crow, ink-feathered and lean, alighted on the branch above it and spread its own black wings darker even than the night. The crow said, “Maturin, maturin,” and the owl leapt clumsily out of the tree as the crow shouted after it: “maturin, maturin,” a hoarse thing that continued long after the owl had gone and the man in the room at the end of the hall had gone away again to another place distant and strange.

[lunatens]

felix felicis (ii)

word count: 2.6k

part ii/iv

genre, fluff, harry potter au

pairing: hufflepuff!felix x ravenclaw!reader

a/n: here’s pt. 2 finally!! i had a hard time feeling inspired to write for this lol, but i got some ideas and wrote a whole bunch today so here it is!!

edit from october 2020:

just a disclaimer, this part includes w**jin as a very minor character, as i wrote it in july 2019 before things happened. if this bothers you by all means dont read it, but i won’t edit him out because it is still a part of the story i wrote!

“are you sure i look okay?” you ask, turning to your small audience consisting of seungmin, woojin, and chan in the ravenclaw common room (as a ravenclaw prefect, woojin was hesitant to let your Gryffindor best friend in, but you were able to sway him with promises of helping clean the common room for a week). 

“yes, y/n, for the billionth time, you look great,” chan reassures you. 

“really, we have no reason to lie—we’re your friends, we want to help you get ready for your da—“

“it is NOT a date, seungmin,” you cut him off, holding up a finger. the three boys stare at you; seungmin raising his eyebrows as he peers at you over his book, chan smirking at you, and woojin with a blank expression. “first of all, he said some of his other friends are gonna be there, not just him. and second of all, i’m just curious to see how he’s so good at literally everything and the only way to do that is to get closer to him. besides, i don’t have any hufflepuff friends, so maybe it’s time i branch out a little,” 

“is there something wrong with your current friends?” chan asks, feigning hurt and placing a hand over his heart in shock. you give him a look. 

“yes, none of them have told me my hair is a MESS,” you grumble, leaning closer to the mirror to fix it the best you can. 

“accio pin,” you hear chan mumble. suddenly he’s behind you, pressing two tiny metal hair pins into your hand. “hey, it’s really gonna be okay. you can relax and take a break for a bit; hanging out with a cute boy is not gonna kill you.”

“i don-“

“y/n, i’m your best friend,” chan says, placing his hands on your shoulders to look at you reassuringly—it’s a small gesture, but you really appreciate it. “i know what you’re thinking sometimes more than you do, you can’t hide your feelings that easily from me. believe me, there’s nothing wrong with liking felix, other than the fact that i’ll finally have something else to tease you about,” he says, almost ruffling your hair but realizing you might hex him for it. 

“i don’t like felix,” you mutter, although it’s a little less convincing this time. he rolls his eyes, and you giggle at him, feeling a little more relaxed. you pull chan in for a quick hug, mumbling a quiet thanks before pulling away to leave the common room. 

“don’t stay out too late, you know the rules!” woojin calls after you, and there’s a chorus of “be safe” and “we’ll miss you!” and “use protection!” (you hear a dull thwack followed by a groan from chan at that last one) after you as you leave, a smile on your face. 

~

“y/n!!” felix calls as you walk over to where you were meeting him, his face lighting up at your approach. you smile and give a shy wave, looking around a little. 

“where are your friends?” you ask. felix’s cheeks burn red at your question. 

“oh they uh.. they couldn’t make it. things came up, you know how it is. is..is it still okay to hang out..?” he asks, and it’s hard to stop yourself from spontaneous combustion at felix’s awkwardness. 

“no, yeah, it’s still okay,” you say with a small smile. felix lets out a sigh of relief and beams back at you. 

“okay, cool! cool. well, there’s lots to do today so let’s go,” he says, and you follow him as the two of you head off to hogsmeade. the awkwardness fades away as you get to know each other on the walk to hogsmeade—you find felix is actually really interesting and thoughtful and funny, and he has a lot of wild stories to tell you. you find yourself laughing, blushing whenever you accidentally bump into him as you walk. it’s not too long before you reach hogsmeade, surprisingly empty despite the fact that it’s a weekend.

“ooh, let’s go in here! i still owe you those chocolate frogs,” felix says, taking your hand as he pulls you into honeydukes. both of you smile at the shopowner, cheeks rosy from the cold (although you suspect the sudden contact also has something to do with it). there’s a few other customers milling about the store, but it’s fairly quiet. 

“they’re over here,” felix says as he pulls you towards a little display of the frogs. “jeongin collects the cards, so i’m here a lot to get them for him,” felix tells you as he picks up a couple of the little boxes. “how many do you want?” he asks—he’s already got about 5 in his arms, and he’s reaching for a sixth. the whole stand is starting to wobble precariously, like a giant jenga tower ready to collapse. 

“uh—“ you start to point this fact out to felix, but it’s too late; the frogs seem to fall in slow motion, little boxes scattered over the floor. 

“oh my,” felix says, burning with embarrassment. “sorry!” he calls to the shopkeeper, who’s glaring towards you two at the back of the store. felix starts placing the frogs carefully back how they were; you sigh and cast a small spell, watching the frogs fly back to their places with a small smile towards a sheepish felix. 

“thanks,” he mumbles, 7 frogs clutched in his arms. 

“i guess you aren’t always luc—“

“ooh look! someone dropped a sickle!” felix says, excitedly picking up the silver coin and holding it out to you. “what were you saying about luck?” he says cheekily. 

“it’s just a coincidence, felix, you aren’t lucky,” you grumble, remembering why felix was so annoying. he shrugs, too happy with finding money to care about your comment. 

felix pays for the frogs, apologizing again for the mess and receiving a free peppermint toad from the shopkeeper (god knows why, but it only irritates you more—although you can’t complain too much when felix slips it into your bag with all the frogs he bought you). 

you open the door and are met with a gust of cold wind, causing you to scrunch up your nose and close your eyes. felix laughs at the face you make, and you shoot him a glare (which doesn’t do much). 

“don’t laugh at me,” you whine, giggling as you shove him lightheartedly, which only makes him laugh more as you walk down the quiet streets of hogsmeade. a noise from behind you startles you both, and you turn to see what’s there only to be met with silence and an empty street, save for madame puddifoot sweeping outside the door of her tea shop (she gives the two of you a friendly wave; you wave back and keep walking). 

“felix, can we go in here?” you ask excitedly as you walk by scrivenshaft’s quill shop. you don’t give him a chance to answer before you’re already eagerly darting though the door. 

“oh, hi y/n! what a pleasure to see you,” mr. scrivenshaft welcomes you, kind eyes smiling at you from behind round glasses. 

“did you get any new arrivals??” you ask excitedly, and he chuckles softly as the two of you converse about the latest stationary products. felix looks curiously at the shelves filled with bottles of ink, feathery quills, and rolls upon rolls of parchment. as he admires the various items on the shelves, he can’t help but be amazed at listening you babble excitedly with scrivenshaft—how someone could be so fascinated with such a mundane thing, felix doesn’t know; he’s got one worn down quill and whatever spare ink he can find, usually pestering his friends for parchment; he doesn’t recall ever even glancing through the window of this shop before, let alone actually going inside. seeing the way you light up as you talk about various thicknesses of parchment makes felix want to live in here, though, finding a sudden comfort in the dusty air that smells of wood and fresh ink. 

“see you later!” you call as you guide felix out of the store, a gentle hand to his elbow. 

“what?” you question; felix is staring at you with a strange look on his face. “is my hair messed up? chan tol-“

“oh, no, your hair looks fine! it’s..really pretty actually,” felix says, snapping out of his daze and looking down at his feet shyly. 

“oh...okay,” you say, short circuiting a bit at the compliment. 

“did you find what you were looking for?” felix asks, changing the topic. 

“oh, i did! i got a couple extra quills i can lend to chan, and some new ink—this one’s got a plum tint to it, it’s going to look so nice for my notes in potions class, and then there’s the new quills he has in stock...i’ll have to save up for one, they’re a little too expensive.” felix listens in awe as he watches the way your fingers, red and numb from the cold, fumble as you open the ink to show him. you dip your pinky finger into the ink slightly to show him. 

“see?” you say as you hold it out for him to see, bubbling with puppy-like excitement. he wants nothing more than to take your hand in his or squish your rosy cheeks or tousle your hair, but he keeps these urges inside as he smiles and nods at you. 

~

you continue walking down the cobbled road, chatting and window shopping and occasionally saying hi to people you know. you catch felix’s breath hitch as you pass by the quidditch shop; felix presses his face and hands against the window, his hot breath fogging up the glass. you do the same, trying to see what he’s looking at. 

“wow, look at those gloves!” he says, tapping the glass in the direction of the gloves. your gaze slides from the broomstick display over to the wall of gloves, easily spying the ones he’s pointing at, as they seem to be the newest, most expensive pair. 

“they look...nice?” you say. your knowledge on quidditch equipment is admittedly quite limited, which shows when felix laughs at your attempt. 

“they’re the best quality out there, they’d be so nice to have…”

“do you wanna go in and try them on?”

“what? oh no, no; my hand me down pair will work just fine, i’ve gotten used to the hole in the thumb,” he says dejectedly, and when you glance at the price you realize why felix is so hesitant. 

“it’s okay, you’re already a great quidditch player anyways,” you say, trying to comfort him as you tug on his sleeve to lead him away from the window. 

“come on, let’s go for some hot butterbeer—i could really use some in this weather,” you suggest, and felix gives one last longing look over his shoulder before following you to the three broomsticks. 

~

butterbeer in your bellies and full of giddy happiness, you and felix begin the trek back to the castle. the sun is starting to set now, and it’s getting even cooler outside. your breath leaves your mouth in puffs of billowing frost as you and felix quickly walk along the path. 

“youngjae’s gonna be so mad if he catches me out late again,” felix says, and you’re laughing with the exhilaration of possibly breaking the rules. 

“again?? wow felix, what a rebel,”

“well, he’s only caught me once...have you ever been out past curfew?”

“no, because i’m a good student and i don’t want to deal with woojin’s endless teasing and scolding.”

“we’d better hurry then,” felix says, looping his arm through yours and speeding up. you’re walking along the edge of the forest when you hear a rustle in the bushes, followed by hushed whispers. 

“homenum revelio!” you shout in surprise, pointing your wand towards the bushes (you don’t even realize you’re clutching onto felix’s arm, your heart racing from fear and his from your touch). 

“...jisung? changbin?” you question, lowering your wand. 

“hyunjin, minho, what are you guys doing?” felix asks. the four boys come clambering out of the bushes. 

“oh, you know, we’re just hanging out! having a good time!” jisung explains. he grins over-enthusiastically at you, supported by nodding from the rest of the boys. 

“hanging out..in the bushes..”

“ah yes, well you see-“ 

“chan asked us to spy on you,” changbin cuts in, earning a sharp elbow to the ribs from jisung. 

“i see,” you say cooly, making a note to yell at chan later. 

“what about you two? i thought you were busy,” felix asks, turning to hyunjin and minho. 

“uh, we were busy…. and then we saw these two sneaking after you two and decided to join them,” hyunjin explains. 

“what kind of friends are you??” felix says with a sigh. “well, me and my new best friend y/n have to get back to the castle, so we’ll see you later,” he says, although he still doesn’t sound too upset. you and felix turn and begin walking again, wordlessly as you try to comprehend what just happened. 

“i can’t believe they were spying on us!” you eventually blurt out. “chan’s just nosy,” you say with an annoyed huff. 

“i know, i can’t believe my own friends lied to me! i know there was no way they were too busy studying, they never study! i don’t know why they’d cancel on me just to come spy on us anyways though..” felix says with a tone of confusion. “we had fun anyways though, right? well i mean, i had fun at least, it’s okay if you didn’t though,”

“felix, today was the most fun i’ve had in ages. i guess you were right; there’s more to life than studying and schoolwork,” you say with a shy smile. “don’t let that get to your head,” you warn. felix laughs, and the sound makes you forget about how cold the air is for a moment. 

“you know, you’re not so bad after all, lix...maybe..we could be friends? wouldn’t that throw everyone for a loop,” you comment. you look over to see felix beaming widely at you. 

“yeah, i’d like that. you’re really cool, you know. maybe i can show you some more fun things other than books sometime--today was nothing,” felix responds, and you nod enthusiastically. 

“i’d like that!”

“cool!! great! we should go watch the gryffindor vs. ravenclaw game coming up, i can actually explain things to you and you can watch instead of having to take notes for once?”

“...okay, fine. i’ll give quidditch a try. only if you cheer for ravenclaw though,” you tease. 

“anything for you,” he says, and your heart melts. “goodnight, y/n, see ya!” he calls as you part ways to your respective dorms. you sneak into the ravenclaw tower, grimacing when you see woojin sitting on the couch, arms crossed beside seungmin (who hasn’t seemed to move since you left). 

“you’re late.”

“i’m sorry woojin!! it’s just-“

“i’ll allow it this one time,” he says with a sigh. he can’t hide the smirk on his face from seeing how excited and happy you are, knowing all too well the reason behind your joy, and he’s not about to ruin your night by getting you in trouble. 

“thanks woojin, goodnight!” you say, racing up to your dorm and flopping onto your bed. your mind is buzzing, replaying moments from the day, unable to get felix’s laugh and smile out of your head, and you think maybe being friends with felix isn’t such a terrible idea after all.

[click here for part iii!]

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

chapter 11.5 -- okay, 12, it’s chapter 12, fine, fine. I should stop trying to predict how long my chapters will be. I’m always wrong. the Fae AU keeps escaping all my predictions. it’s fine. it’s cool. 

[Beginning] [Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

It is not, as Apollo expects, the worst road trip he has ever been a part of. Trucy likes to sing along to the radio – she has a surprisingly good voice – which stops Clay from starting up his usual road trip tradition of bellowing out “Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall” and seeing how much he can get through before someone slaps him. Trucy claimed shotgun, as “the woman with the magic map”, meaning Apollo is shunted to the back with Ema, who upends her bag on the floor to pull from it a jumbo-sized pack of Snackoos and offer a handful to him.

“None for us?” Clay asks, pouting in the rearview mirror.

“Backseat privileges,” Ema replies.

Trucy cranks the radio up as a familiar guitar riff begins.

If it’s extortion, it works; she and Clay have not finished the first verse, Trucy’s almost-operatic interpretation running up against Clay’s off-key warbling, before Ema is shoving the Snackoos up between their seats, offering a trade of chocolates for an end to the car-vibrating force of Guilty Love.

“Not a fan?” Clay asks.

Ema groans. So does Trucy. “Don’t get me started,” Ema says.

“Yeah, please don’t,” Trucy adds.

“He’s a pretentious fuckin’ diva who—”

Trucy begins yelling out the chorus to the song over the second verse emitting from the radio.

They are all still arguing – Ema berating Clay’s taste in music while Trucy moves into an attempt to sing My Boyfriend is the Prosecution’s Witness to the tune of Guilty Love and Apollo tries to turn the volatile atmosphere anywhere else – when the song ends. Trucy shushes everyone, violently, smacking Clay on the arm and then flailing back at Ema, and turns up the radio. A DJ is in the middle of saying something.

“—announced today on their social media. While fans are disappointed, no one can say that the break-up comes as a surprise, after the sentencing of guitarist Daryan Crescend for murder in July, and the three months of, ahem, radio silence that’s followed. And earlier this week, leader singer Klavier Gavin’s brother was indicted on a second count of murder – I can’t say I blame him for maybe wanting to duck out of the spotlight. Gavin’s brother was previously charged in April, for—”

Trucy changes the channel. A commercial for a local furniture outlet doesn’t help break the awkward spell fallen over them. “Yeah,” she says, after a full minute, during which time they discover their new channel is a country music channel. “No real surprise.”

“Brother and bandmate,” Clay says quietly. “Hell of a year.”

“Hell of a six months,” Apollo says. And he was there for all of it – he was there for more of it than Klavier ever was. Klavier wasn’t there in April, not when Kristoph fell, not when any of them could have had any idea what was ahead. How much magic would surround them.

“If my older sister had been convicted of murder, I was gonna crawl into the dirt and die,” Ema says, “so I’m with the fop on that one, actually.”

There is a worrying lack of hypotheticals in the second half of Ema’s scenario. No “would have”s. Like she was where Klavier is, but the trial had a different outcome, and the frozen expression on her face, her eyes gone blank, she looks like she has caught up with her own words. Said too much. Apollo doesn’t know much about her as a person, her life before failing the forensics exam, how it was that she knew Mr Wright, but he can sympathize with that fear of having given away too much, turned the conversation down a path that should stay blocked off.

“You have a sister?” Trucy asks, turning around in her seat. “You seemed kinda ‘only-child’ to me.’ “Yeah,” Ema says quietly. “Older sister. Her name’s Lana. We don’t… talk much.”

Apollo doesn’t know why the name feels like it strikes something in his brain, the way Ema’s did when she first introduced herself.

“Oh.” Trucy visibly wilts. “Sorry.”

Ema shrugs, slumping back against her seat, her arms folded. “It happens,” she says. Her eyes are glazed over, settled in Clay’s direction. Her mouth quirks in the beginnings of a smile. “She took me to the Space Museum once, not long after it first opened.” The wistful smile has grown a little larger. “Back when I didn’t know what kind of scientist I wanted to be, so I wanted to go everywhere, and she was like ‘Ema I’m not taking you to the fucking tar pits again, how about space?’, and—” She shakes her head. “Sorry. Your jacket got me thinking. Do you work there or something?”

And that is the question that Clay most likes to be asked, that or literally anything else ever about space, and that is the end of any of them getting a word in edgewise – but while Apollo’s heard it all before, Trucy has questions galore, and Ema sits forward, slowly losing the pretense of not being enraptured.

-

They have driven for over two hours by the time Trucy directs them to pull of the highway at an exit that tells them there is nothing for them that way but another 38 miles until Kurain Village. “Is that where the Fair Folk live?” Ema asks dryly, in her voice none of the nervousness that people tend to have. Apollo hasn’t spoken much with her about magic, doesn’t know what she thinks – but, well, she knows Phoenix. That’s clue enough that caution comes secondary.

“Not really,” Trucy says. “They just named it that. It’s part of our world. Sometimes some of the fae do show up and hang around, I think – Maya tried to convince Daddy to move out here, once, apparently, but he wouldn’t leave the office.”

“Who’s Maya?” Apollo asks. Sometimes he realizes how little he knows about Phoenix’s personal life, too.

“Daddy’s friend. She’s – wait, stop! Here! Turn down this road here!”

“This is not a road,” Clay says, hunching over the steering wheel. “This is some dirt, off the road, not even in the shape of a dirt road.”

The car groans as Clay turns it off of the asphalt into the dirt. Trucy pops open the door and stands, holding herself between the door and the car roof and turning her face to the sky and the no-longer-distant mountains looming above them. She says something, muffled, and points into the trees. “We’re close,” she says, ducking back inside the car. “Let’s park and go – we’re close.”

“Park right here?” Clay asks, raising a doubtful eyebrow.

“Barely anyone comes this way,” Trucy says. “Like, one bus, except I’m not even sure if this is on its route. It’s fine.”

“I’m more worried that this is some sort of sacred ground that we’re stomping on,” Clay says, but he turns the key and then smacks his head against the top of the wheel. “How much are we going to regret just walking out there?”

“Probably we won’t,” Trucy says. She flings the door open and jumps out, stretching her arms up into the air. “C’mon already!”

“So what are we doing now?” Ema asks, crumpling the Snackoos bag back into her bag and tumbling forth from the car like a liquid spilled. “Just walking into the woods until we find treasure or a bear?”

“We do have a map.” Trucy waves it at her. “But yes. That’s what we’re doing.” She lowers the page halfway to her side and then stops, tilting her head back. “I’ve been here before,” she says. “Grandpappy and I – sometime – sometime after my mom died.” She takes a few slow steps toward the treeline, her movements uneven, as in a daze. “It was just the two of us. And we came here, and we buried—” She spins around, eyes wide, looking at all and none of them. “We buried his grimoire.”

Without another word of warning, she dashes into the woods, sending them scrambling to catch up to her. It’s colder here than in the city, though Apollo didn’t think they went up too far in elevation. Leaves thickly coat the ground; do they hide rings of flowers beneath them or do those in their magic break through? They finally reach Trucy when she, focused on her map, walks straight into a tree and takes some time to properly reorient herself.

“Do you know why here, of all places?” Apollo asks. “Is it because of the mountains, and he was…?”

He stops. Does Trucy know what her grandfather was? Phoenix didn’t say. Of course he didn’t.

“He said this is where he landed,” Trucy replies, crunching a leaf beneath her foot. “He said he fell, and this is where he landed.”

“Was he—” Clay’s sense, that question that they all know they shouldn’t ask, that question that Apollo has asked again and again anyway, wars against curiosity, against more than wanting to know – needing to know, to understand what is Trucy’s family. “Was he, erm, one of – Them?”

He can’t even bring himself to offer up one of the epithets. This close to the mountains, Apollo isn’t sure that he could bring himself to speak of them plainly like he has learned to.

“Yeah,” Trucy says. “But I’m human. Don’t worry.” She flashes a grin, one of her usual grins, but it is tempered by the speed with which is vanishes from her face again, replaced by a frown of concentration. “I think we must be close, but not quite yet.”

“Hey, Trucy?” Ema asks. She pushes a branch out of the way and it snaps back to nearly strike Clay in the face. “Not to pry, but – if your grandfather was one of the Fair Folk, are you the changeling, or was it your mother?”

Trucy stops.

“Wait,” Ema says. “Not a changeling – that’s the fae child. The human kid, the one swapped out. Is there a word for that?”

“I don’t think so,” Trucy says. She hops over a log. “I don’t think there’s a name for people like that.”

She doesn’t answer the first question. Maybe she doesn’t know, either.

“When you say you buried it,” Apollo says, aware that there is nothing subtle about this lifeline he is throwing to pull her away from questions best left avoided (am I a child stolen away, raised by the fae? Did they take me from the life I should have had?), “have we come all this way to be foiled for want of a shovel?”

“Oh fuck,” Trucy says.

“Hey!” Ema barks, her sharp rebuke the manifestation of that urge Apollo feels to scold her for that. “Language, young missy!” She folds her arms across her chest, her glare a fond one. “Where did you learn that?”

“My daddy’s a card shark,” Trucy says, countering Ema with a smug grin of her own.

“I thought he was a piano player,” Clay says.

“Only because you’ve never heard him play,” Trucy replies. “Easy mistake to make.”

“Considering it was all magic that hid the map,” Ema says, with nary a pause to acclimate everyone to the idea of throwing the conversation back past that latest sharp turn, “wouldn’t it be magic to hide it again, logically speaking?”

“Where’s the logic here?” Clay asks. Ema snaps a twig off a bush and flicks it at him. “And I mean, if it’s just covered up with some illusion, couldn’t anyone stumble into it?”

“Maybe it takes the map, too,” Apollo says. “Or maybe only a Gramarye can unveil it.”

He steps up onto a tree stump, like the extra five inches can grant him some kind of special insight or a better view in the forest of brown. Then he is falling, the wood rot giving way beneath his foot, a sharp jolt running up his leg from the twist of his foot. “Shit!”

Trucy winces. “Ouch. Poor Polly. I—”

“Apollo,” Ema says, very seriously, but somewhat muffled by her hand over her mouth. “Move. Move right now.”

“What?” He sits up, dislodging his foot from the stump, and looks about himself. The forest floor of dead leaves has cleared, as though by a strong, concentrated wind, revealing browned dead grass encased by a perfect circle of blue flowers. “Oh. Oh shit.”

Without an ounce of grace, still on his hands and knees, he scrambles and rolls his way out of the faery ring. “So according to the map,” Trucy says, and above his head Apollo hears the flutter of the paper, “I think we found it.”

“Only a Gramarye, huh,” Clay says dryly.

“That was only supposition!”

“So who’s gonna stick their hand in a rotten tree stump?” Ema asks, producing a flashlight from her bag and shining the beam down into it. “I volunteer Trucy, because she’s wearing gloves, and is our Gramarye.”

Trucy kicks up the leaves on her approach, searching for hints of another ring around the stump, more than just Apollo’s that sits adjacent to it. “If I get bit by a squirrel and get rabies and die, it’s your fault,” she says, kneeling down next to the stump and brushing her hair back to peer down into it.

“Statistically, your chance of getting rabies from a squirrel is negligible,” Ema says. “That shouldn’t be your worry.”

“What should I worry about, then?” Trucy asks. “Can you bring the light a little closer?”

“Bats, racoons, foxes, feral cats and dogs, and right now, probably non-rabies Fair Folk curses, since we’re fucking around by a ring.”

“I’m still concerned about bears,” Clay says.

“I’m not,” Ema says. “I’ve already got my plan, which is to trip you into its path.”

“General ‘you’, or me, specifically?”

“You specifically. Nothing personal, though. I just know Trucy and Apollo better than you.”

“This is way heavier than I thought,” Trucy says, falling off-balance and dropping something dark and rectangular. “Oof! Okay. Okay. We got it!” She lifts it up onto her knees, a thick book with a black cover and a character emblazoned in flowing purple script on it. “I knew I remembered this.” Her voice is quieter as she opens the book and flips through the rough-edged pages. “Grandpappy’s grimoire.” She closes the cover again, reverently, and keeps it balanced on her legs as she turns back to the stump. “Light again, please. I thought I saw something else.” Trucy has her head nearly in the hole, which can’t help her with her light situation, and she sits back and plunges her hand in again. “Yep! This is a – a funny-looking magatama?”

She holds it up, the blue stone sparkling in the flashlight beam, but also seemingly with its own interior glow, and Apollo gasps.

Three sets of eyes turn to him.

“That’s a mitamah,” he says, and to his own ears he sounds like he’s choking, but he feels like he’s choking too, and maybe the others don’t notice but he doubts it. “That’s someone’s soul.”

Trucy drops it into the leaves.

“What?” Clay looks suspicious – Trucy looks horrified. “How do you know?”

(“There’s no reason to give away your soul,” Dhurke told them, sternly, the sternest he ever got. “Never.” And then they tried to argue, to come up with reasons, because of course they did, and he hugged them both close. “You’ll make great lawyers someday, always looking for reasons and other ways, but this one – promise me. Nahyuta. Apollo.” He prodded each of them in the chest. “Don’t let someone else get their hands on your soul.”)

“The tail of it is different.” Apollo picks it up, brushing off the dirt and leaf particles that cling to it, and points to the longer, squiggling protrusion that extends from the loop. It doesn’t fully connect like a magatama, either, more like a hook than a circle.

It feels warm in his hand, humming through his fingers and up into his ears. It reminds him of the office – familiar, but disturbing, because there is no reason that it should feel so familiar and comforting.

“Could it be your grandfather’s?” Ema asks.

“Wouldn’t that mean he’s still alive?” Clay asks. “Is that possible?”

“It couldn’t be,” Apollo says. If he stares at the mitamah he thinks he can see flecks of gold within the blue, like stars on a constellation chart. “The Fair Folk don’t have souls like we do. They can’t sell them or manifest them like this.”

“Is that why they want human souls?” Ema asks.

“How do you know?” Clay repeats.

Apollo’s heart has stoppered up his throat.

“It makes them stronger,” Trucy says softly. “When they buy names, or souls, it makes their magic stronger. But this – this can’t be that.” She hugs the grimoire up to her chest. “It can’t just be that.”

“Should we just… put it back?” Ema asks. “Someone’s probably looking for it, right?”

“It’s been seven years and no one has come before us,” Apollo says. The humming isn’t as steady now, seems more like a song, and familiar, damned familiar. “No, we can’t just leave her here.”

In the silence, even the song seems to stop. “What?” Apollo asks. Their three sets of eyes are on him again, even more piercing, Trucy’s wide and Clay’s narrowed and Ema’s narrowing too.

“‘Her’?” Ema repeats. “Why ‘her’?”

“I…” Apollo swallows his heart. “I don’t know, but I… I know?”

“I don’t think you should be holding that in your bare hands,” Clay says.

But the alternative seems to be dropping her in the dirt again, and Apollo’s fingers curl tighter around the stone. He can’t do that, either. Trucy unties her scarf from around her neck and silently passes it to him, letting him wrap the stone up in the red fabric and then cradle it close again. The song thrumming in his ears ceases. “I guess we should take it to Mr Wright and ask him if he knows what to do,” Ema says. “He’ll know what to do with it. Her?”

Trucy’s gaze is unfocused, her head slowly drifting away from the horizon back toward the stump. “Trucy?” Apollo asks. “Are you okay?”

“He wouldn’t do that,” she says. “Just buy up someone’s soul all for himself. He wouldn’t. There had to be some other reason. It wasn’t just power, there had to be a good reason.”

(“There’s no reason,” Dhurke said. “Never.”)

“He gave me magic, as a gift,” Trucy says. “He was a good man.” She looks up at Apollo, blinking her blue eyes furiously. “Wasn’t he?”

-

It takes them another forty-five minutes to stumble out of the woods and find Clay’s car again. Ema makes everyone nervous talking about the odds of them stumbling across a body decomposing in the undergrowth – “I have zero desire to ever get caught up in one of your murder investigations,” Clay says, picking up a branch from the bushes and brandishing it like a baseball bat – and bears. The two of them are at least doing a good job of filling the silence left by Trucy, uncomfortably quiet, walking in a trace. Apollo tugs her by the arm out of the way of trees. He could put the mitamah in his pocket but hasn’t, has kept it held close to his chest.

The story that Phoenix spun of the Gramaryes is gnawing at him. A woman, on the bad end of a deal with Magnifi – Apollo doesn’t want to think about the possibility.

(Trucy must be thinking about the possibility, mustn’t she?)

She crawls into the back seat of the car, depositing the grimoire in the middle, and Ema makes a mad dash for the front seat, leaving Apollo to sit on the other side of the grimoire, separated by it from Trucy. The only time she speaks is to call Phoenix and ask him if he is at the office – he is, because she directs Clay to go back to the office.

It is a long, quiet ride home, some subdued conversation between Ema and Clay about their fields of science rising over the country music still on the radio. Trucy taps Apollo’s hand and beckons him to hand her the mitamah. She takes off one of her gloves and weighs it in her hand with an ever-deepening frown until she wraps it back up and passes it back to Apollo.

Ema shouts “Yellow car!” and hits Clay on the shoulder. He hits her back and tells her that she needs to specify no punch-backs next time.

-

Phoenix is sitting on the floor leaning against the couch with two notebooks and a stack of papers spread out in front of him, the coffee table shoved to the side, a pencil in his mouth and another tucked behind his ear, when they stagger into the office. Apollo is mediating an argument about the merits of Eldoon’s for a late lunch – Ema does not want to brave it, while Clay wants nothing more than to do so. Phoenix does not look up.

“Hey, Daddy,” Trucy says wearily.

His head snaps up, dislodging the pencil behind his ear. “What’s wrong?”

“You always complain about your back hurting, and now look what you’re doing.” Trucy’s words sound forced through a smile. Phoenix’s frown deepens. He watches Trucy walk past him to deposit the grimoire on his desk.

“We went looking into the envelope you gave her the other day,” Apollo says. “The real last page.”

Phoenix doesn’t look back from Trucy right away. “A full expedition team, huh?” he asks, raising one eyebrow as he looks over Ema and Clay. “Who’s this?”

“Er, oh, yeah. I’m Clay Terran. Apollo’s roommate.” Clay points with his thumb at Apollo, even though they all know there is only one Apollo that they know. “You’re Mr Wright, yeah?” He doesn’t do a good job of feigning enthusiasm.

“I know that look,” Phoenix says, standing with a wince and an audible crack of some of his joints. “That’s the ‘I’ve heard about you and it’s nothing good’ look.” He lets Clay splutter for a full two seconds before he grins crookedly and adds, “That’s fair.” Almost immediately, his expression flattens out to something stern and almost entirely foreign. “Trucy,” he calls. “What’s wrong?”

“We found my grandfather’s grimoire,” she says, sitting on the desk and holding it up, only for it to slip from her hands and crash to the floor. “And Polly has the other thing that was with it.”

Apollo unwraps the mitamah.

Has he ever seen Phoenix surprised? The man spent seven years an unbeaten poker player, and this past half-year absolutely inscrutable to Apollo’s eyes. There is nothing controlled in his reaction; his mouth falls open and his eyes go wide, turning blue immediately and staying blue, horror apparent in how they linger on the mitamah. “Oh,” he breathes. “That is – yeah.”

He reaches forward with trembling hands and scoops up the scarf spread across Apollo’s hands. He holds it cradled close, too, his free hand cupped beneath the one holding it, prepared to catch the stone should it slip, but still not having touched it with bare skin. “So,” he says. “The ‘source’ of Magnifi’s magic – that grimoire, and this soul.”

“But,” Trucy says, “that…” She stops. She chews on the inside of her cheek. Mr Hat, the wisp, is visible, bobbing frenetically around her shoulders. “It’s…” Her shoulders slump. “Do you know what to do with that, Daddy? Is there a way to know what person a soul belongs to?”

“Not from looking only at the mitamah,” Phoenix answers. His eyes still hollow blue when he turns them back to Trucy. “I am not particularly familiar with mitamahs, honestly, but I’ll look into it and see what I can do to get it back to her.” He takes the stone in one hand and offers Trucy her scarf back. “If the fae who has possession of a soul is still alive, they can just give it back – not that many are willing to, mind – but since he’s dead – well.” He shakes his head. “Thank you, though. For helping Trucy, and bringing this back.”

It’s a firm end to the conversation, not that Apollo knows what more to ask about a soul. Ema, though, is frowning, her arms crossed, her mouth twisting like she is puzzling out something. “We were gonna go get noodles at Eldoon’s,” Apollo says. “If – if you wanted to come, Trucy.”

“Oh!” She looks surprised, like she hadn’t expected to be addressed. “Um.” Her heels bounce against the desk. “Thanks, but I’m okay.”

Her hands, curled around the edge of the desk, shine red. Apollo doesn’t even need that to know she’s lying.

-

“We all agree she’s not okay, right?” Clay asks.

They were silent for a block down from the office, Ema not even complaining about losing the Eldoon’s battle. (Apollo was prepared to tell her that she didn’t have to come, but she had attached herself to them without a cursory protest.)

“Definitely not,” Ema says. “I guess she doesn’t want to believe that her grandfather was the double-dealing type of Folk – which, I’ve read the case file on his death, I’d believe that about him in a hot second. There’s nothing worse than a blackmailer like that. Also.” She plants herself firmly in the sidewalk. Apollo and Clay both bump into her. “None of us referred to the mitamah as ‘she’ or ‘her’, right? Like you were, Apollo.”

“None of us but Trucy even talked about it,” Apollo says. Clay nods. “Why?”

“Because Mr Wright did.” Ema’s forehead creases. “He said he would ‘get it back to her’. He wasn’t even touching it, was he?” Apollo shrugs. Ema shrugs too. “He knows something. More than he said.”

“He always does,” Apollo says.

They reach Eldoon’s, and Ema says that it’s weird to see the stand without a corpse attached. The look that Clay gives her makes her and Apollo both laugh. Once they have their noodles, they walk another few blocks to People Park and find a bench not far from where the noodle-stand crime scene once stood. Apollo has learned to be grateful for the mouthfuls of broth that taste of so much salt to sting. It feels a little more like safety, like salt across a doorway.

He starts to say what he’s thinking, that Trucy might be worried that the mitamah is her mother’s, or at least he is, but the words die on his tongue, shriveled by the salt. He doesn’t feel right to tell Clay and Ema about Trucy’s mother’s death, when he has no idea if Trucy knows or not. Phoenix has made him the guardian of family secrets that aren’t his and something about that feels wrong. Maybe necessary in some way, to understand the case, to understand what happened with Kristoph, but still wrong.

Instead, he helps Ema explain to Clay her earlier comments about Magnifi and blackmail. You can’t refuse, and we both know the reason why – Trucy can’t know he did that. She seemed to idolize him. What a hard way to fall.

He’ll text her tomorrow, Apollo decides. Check in, see how she’s doing.

(There’s probably someone else he should check in with, too, the events of this week all considered.)

[httpheh]

the office au

Warning: mention of recreational drug use.

This is a snippet of the office au inspired tomione. In a way. Pls dont murder me. I know its bad.

Hermione swore she has been doing the same thing for the past four hours. Maybe three, minus the number of “bathroom breaks” she took in order to pass his table.

And no, she is definitely not stalking the new IT guy, because he’s a fresh graduate and is currently paid more than she is. And not because his gray-blue eyes are distracting enough to begin with, his hair tousled in a way just right for him to look like he was a cut-out version of Tom Hughes, straight out from the latest edition of Vogue.

She heard herself swore under her breath, her right hand trying to move the cursor on the beat up work computer. She has more figures to work on in order to turn in her sales report early, which has been a habit ever since she discovered the spacy rooftop garden this otherwise dingy old office building has, complete with an aesthetic and out-of-the-world feel to it.

Different day, same shit. Same ol’ Slughorn, a man whose addiction includes coffee and his subordinates kissing his ass, something she has been doing unconsciously for the past five years working under the man. She wasn’t sure on whether to like or despise the man; he was a wonder himself. Most of the time so full of himself and borderline obnoxious, it baffled her how he got awarded as the best Salesman three times in a row, and now the Regional Manager of the Sussex branch.

Her fingers hit “Send”, and Hermione finally exhaled the breath she didn’t realize she was holding. She stood, cleaning up the mess she made on her table as fast as she could, leaving Parvati Patil, her desk-mate/colleague with her mirror and eye-lashes extension.

She usually went on the rooftop for her coffee break, Harry smoking and Ron chugging on a bottle of rum, complaining and talking about random shit like, the economy. Recently, Harry has been thinking of investing on bitcoin, and Ron has felt a bit left-out of the conversation as she rambled on the most recent figures and stuff.

Luckily, they will always have something to complain about. Nosy colleagues, a boss whose a bit of a prick and loves partying, and of course, that fresh graduate.

“That fucking prick showing off again today, ‘Mione?”

A puff of smoke filled the air. Hermione laughed, shaking her head.

“His table is on the other side of the fucking office, Harry, thank heavens. Wouldn’t want to be near His Majesty when he started going on and on on how superior he is and how lucky we are to be graced by his presence.”

Okay, she was exegeratting. The fresh graduate is actually a nice lad; straight out of Oxford, wears any suit like a fucking couture, and not to mention, is always seem to be coding on his own Macbook air.

“Your excel equation is missing the absolute value sign, that’s why the figures aren’t what they are supposed to be.”

She could still remember how posh he sounded. When did he actually got to her cubical? He looked like he was just stopping by, glancing at her screen and pointing out the error she has been looking for ages in a glance. His tone was polite and light, like he had known her for years. And she resented how friendly he sounded when he glanced at her with an underlying condescending look written all over his face.

She remembered herself hitting the keyboard keys a bit too hard, eager to prove him wrong. When the graphic lines turned down, relief gush over her stomach, with a pang of dissatisfaction.

He glanced at the screen, a small smile of victory on his face, before nodding politely and proceeding to going on his own damn business.

“Earth to Hermione!”

She was snapped back out of her memory lane, taking Harry’s cigarette and inhaling long and deep.

“I heard he had a reputation back in Oxford.” Harry quipped.

“Does he do cocaine?” Ron asked.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “God’s sake, Ron. Not everybody does cocaine.”

“Everybody does, ‘Mione.”

“I didn’t!”

“That’s because you’re Hermione Granger.”

“I didn’t too!” Harry supplied. Ron eyed him in false disapproval, “Bloody liar. A hundred pounds bet he was a dealer.”

“For the love of fuck, are our lives so depressing that we started betting on whether a fucking fresh graduate is a dealer?”

Harry snorted, “Watch out or face the wrath of the lioness.”

“Besides, Lovegood is transferred to the London branch. I’m running pretty low on supplies here.”

She took a deep breath. “Once again, Ron. I know you’re an adult free to make your own decisions—“

“I get it, ‘Mione. Okay? I’m clean now.”

It’s always relieving to hear that word. Clean. For once, she felt like she did something. She helped a friend through hard times, and she succeeded.

Her walk down the emergency exit back to her cubicle was a long, winding one. She stopped a few times to check on her phone, scrolling through instagram and her messages, nothing significant going on.

“Are you always this fucking daft, Malfoy?”

She stopped on her steps. No one talks to Malfoys like that. They work in Malfoy Inc. for fuck’s sake, disrespect would meant a kiss goodbye to your paycheck.

“I’m sorry. It is my fault.” She identified the voice as Draco Malfoy, the heir of the corporation.

“How many times should I remind you, that only my orders matter. Not your father, not even your grandfather. Do you understand, Malfoy?”

“Yes.”

She heard a click on his tongue. “Yes what?”

A moment of silence.

A grunt resonated across the emergency corridor, followed with a thud.

“Yes what, Malfoy?”

“Yes, Sir.”

It took her long enough to identify the owner of the voice. The same voice as that day—

She raised her brows.

New day, same shit. But she felt like more interesting days are coming. Especially with a mystery to solve.