#you hear a passing conversation (dash commentary)

[hellochara]

- Tag dump!

[moonstruckme]

summary: your roommate James plots to befriend a shy you

part 1 │ part 2 │ part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │ part 11 │ part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 1k words

The apartment is loud and messy when you come home, and James immediately feels bad about it. You freeze in the door like a doe in the woods, a few of his friends pausing their conversations to greet you from where they’re scattered haphazardly about the living room. 

You give a terse smile and beeline for the stairs. You’re wearing your work clothes, dirty and rumpled from a long shift, and it doesn’t escape James’ notice that you’ve bypassed the kitchen in your hurry to get to your room. You seem to have an aversion to being witnessed. He makes a mental note to check that you’ve eaten later. 

“Oh, do you work at Rizzo’s?” Lily asks you, evidently recognizing the uniform. You stall halfway up the stairs, and James suppresses a smile at your obvious reluctance. 

“Yeah,” you reply, voice even quieter than usual. 

“My friend works there.” Lily’s friendly demeanor is unphased by your timidity. The two of you have met before, like you’ve met most of his friends, in passing. “Do you know Mona?” 

You nod, easing up a bit. James wonders at the fact that you’ve lingered as long as you have, but then he notices Sirius noticing you, and he prays his friend doesn’t say anything to make you regret it. 

“Yeah, we’ve worked some of the same shifts,” you say. “She’s nice.” 

Lily grins at the confirmation. James braces himself as Sirius angles his head. 

“What do you do there, lovely?” 

The endearment instantly flusters you. Your shoulders tighten and your hand flexes on the banister as though to keep yourself from bolting. “I’m a host,” you say. 

“That’s nice.” Sirius’ grin is intentionally disarming, lopsided and flirtatious. You look as though you’re not sure what to make of it. “I’m sure it makes for good business to have the pretty girls welcoming customers.” 

It’s your last straw. You mumble something about it being nice to see them and all but dash up to your room. James hears your door shut with a soft click. 

Sirius frowns. “Skittish thing, isn’t she?” 

“Tosser.” Remus pulls him roughly against his side, rolling his eyes when Sirius wraps his arms around his boyfriend’s torso sulkily. 

“I was paying her a compliment.”  

“She’s just shy.” James doesn’t know why he feels the need to explain you, exactly. Your diffidence is fairly obvious now, but he still feels a bit guilty for thinking you just hated him when he first moved in. After knowing Remus for so long, he thought he’d be able to tell the difference between shyness and standoffishness. Now apparently he feels responsible for liaising between you and his friends. “You knew you were going to embarrass her, prick.” 

The conversation turns to Sirius’ tendency to verbally prod at those with quieter demeanors, which he denies vehemently and Remus corroborates with pointed looks but not much commentary. 

Once they’ve gone, James goes up to your room with a sandwich. The door is cracked but he knocks anyway, waiting for your quiet “come in” before he pushes it the rest of the way open. 

“Figured you might’ve missed dinner,” he says by way of greeting, going to set the plate down on your bed. 

It takes effort not to let his eyes roam the room. He can see in his periphery that your desk is cluttered but neat and your walls covered with pictures and art. An effect of your reticence is that, aside from what sort of shampoo you use and how often you need to restock the milk in the fridge, James knows very little about you. He knows you’re a good roommate. You’re clean, you don’t bicker about the thermostat, and you haven’t even seemed cross with him for eating the rest of your oreos (which he’s going to replace, seriously, as soon as he remembers to go to the store). You’re quiet, obviously, but along with that you seem kind. 

Honestly, it makes him a bit uncomfortable that you don’t seem to want to be friends. James is only human; he likes being liked, even more so by nice girls with pretty smiles, and it seems crucial that he be liked by nice girls with pretty smiles who he shares a living space with. If you’re going to brush your teeth using the same sink as somebody, you should be on good terms. James believes this. 

And though he hasn’t had to work so hard for friendship in some years, he is diligent. He thinks he’ll bring you around yet. 

Evidence of progress: the happy-surprised look in your eyes when you spot the sandwich. 

“Thank you,” you say, a tender sort of bemusement lining your words. “You didn’t have to do this.” 

“Well, if you’ve actually missed dinner, you probably ought to eat something more substantial,” James hedges. He pushes his luck, sitting across from you on your bed. “I don’t want to be an accomplice to your snacks-for-meals agenda.” That wins him a small smile. “But I do feel bad, keeping you from your own kitchen because I have friends over.” 

Your eyes flit away at the last bit. You take a hearty bite of your sandwich, chewing to avoid a reply.

“You should know, you are actually paying rent for the whole apartment,” he says, “not just your room.” 

You look chastened as you swallow, but you wave him off. “I would’ve gone down to get something later,” you say airily. “I didn’t want to infringe on your time with your friends.” 

“You?” James actually laughs. “Never. Trust me, we see plenty of each other. They could probably use a fresh face.”

You roll your eyes. It’s a ploy to keep from looking at him, he’s certain of it. “Well, regardless, you shouldn’t worry about it. I wasn’t starving.” 

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” Your mattress creaks as James stands. Some of the stiffness to your posture eases, and he wonders if you’re relieved to see him go, but you look up with another small smile. Pretty. 

“Thanks for the sandwich,” you say. 

“You should really have another one,” he replies, grinning back because of forces beyond his control. He starts backing out of the room. “Do you want me to make it? Actually, don’t answer that. I’m making it.” 

Your quiet laughter follows him down the stairs. 

[etherealeddie]

Fragile Memories

Eddie Munson x GN!reader

Summary: First sleepover with Eddie. A pinch of weed and a dash of horror movies, all tied together with a splash of nostalgia.

CW: Use of weed, a bit of angst, mention of rough childhood and home life. Let me know if I missed anything!

 Authors Note: This is the first piece of writing I’ve put on here since my One Direction phase/obsession so bear with me here! Big thanks to @phoenixwwitch​ for beta reading this for me and reminding I am, in fact, very midwestern at times.  

Word Count: 948

Hanging out with Eddie isn’t new. Spending time together is something you guys do almost every single day. 

But spending time alone? That was foreign. No Steve complaining about Robin, no Robin complaining about Steve, not even Dustin around to complain about both Steve and Robin. 

Having a horror movie marathon together only made sense since everyone else hates them. Although you're not sure if it’s because they’re afraid of the fictitious serial killers, or they’re just annoyed by yours and Eddie’s constant commentary on which one of you guys would and wouldn’t survive each film. 

It doesn’t take long for the film to be long forgotten for snacks and conversation. Something about the atmosphere of your basement and his cheap weed being passed back and forth really brings out the chattiness in both of you.

“I’m surprised you and Harrington even get along. He’s so uptight.” Eddie says, as he shoves a slice of pizza in his mouth. His table manners were nonexistent for as long as you’ve known him, not that you really care about that. 

“He’s really not that bad, yah know. We’ve been friends for a while, he just doesn’t get to be carefree all that often.” You reply, taking a sip of your drink.

“What do you guys even do when you hang out? I really can’t picture him sitting down for a movie night and smoke sesh like this.” 

“It’s usually me, him, and Rob. We just chill and talk mostly, sometimes we smoke, just not too often ‘cause his parents freak out.” You say, taking the joint from his outstretched hand.

“He just always seems so stressed. It’s tiresome.” Eddie responds. You know he doesn’t necessarily mean it in a callous way, he’s just never been good with words. 

As you finish off the weed, Eddie and you just continue to ramble back and forth about anything that comes to your minds. He lets out a small groan and you look over to see him pulling his hair out of the low bun it’s been in all night. 

“Sorry, having it up all day is giving me a headache.” He says while putting the scrunchie on his wrist. It sits oddly on his arm with his chunky rings and leather bracelets in contrast. 

“Y'know, Steve always has me play with his hair when he seems troubled. He says it’s the best relaxer.” You know it’s a statement, but you’re hoping he can read the open-ended invitation.

“You callin’ me troubled, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, smirking at the implication, though he knows that’s not what you meant.

“Considering you’ve ranted about school and whether or not you’re going to graduate this year, I’m calling you stressed at the very least.” You reply with a chuckle. 

He laughs as well, getting up from the couch and moving to the floor in front of you. 

Once he’s comfortable, you gently pull all of his hair out from around his neck. It’s much softer than you were expecting. Although it’s a running joke that Steve cares so much about his hair, Eddie clearly takes care of his too.

You run your fingers through his thick curls, combing out any small tangles you come across. You seem to have run out of banter, and his eyes are glued to Freddy Krueger on the tv, so you retreat into your own thoughts. 

It’s when you start massaging his scalp a bit that you hear the first sniffle. Immediately freezing, you ask, “I’m so sorry, did I pull it too hard or something?” 

You lean to his side, waiting for an answer. When he turns to answer, you can tell he was trying hard not to make a sound. He starts fidgeting with his rings and mumbling.

“No- no it’s fine. It’s actually really nice I just... I don’t think anyone has played with my hair like this since my mom died..” He responds, not looking you in the eye.

You knew Eddie’s home life had been rough. He’d mentioned it a few times, and you’d met Wayne before. You knew his dad was in prison and his mom had passed, but you’d never asked too many questions. You didn't want to pry in front of everyone on a topic that would upset him. But now you were here alone and he was being vulnerable. 

“God, I’m so lame. First time we hang out alone and I’m sobbing on your floor. I can go home if I ruined movie night.” He says quickly before you can even untangle your hands from his curls.

“No, not at all. I can stop if you want... Or I can continue and we can talk about it. Whatever you want, Eds.” You say giving him a reassuring smile, hoping he wants the latter. 

He looks you in the eye finally, taking a deep breath. His glassy brown eyes showing more emotion than he ever liked to. He reaches across the coffee table in front of him to the other joint he brought with him.

“I think talking about it might actually be nice… But I’m going to need this first.” He says with a small chuckle.

You continue the small massage to his head, taking the occasional break to smoke. He goes on to tell you a lot about his mom and how much he misses her. You never pressure him to tell another, and you never interrupt. He seems to get more excited about each new one he remembers, and you can’t help but smile and just thank the gods that you agreed to this movie night.

“Steve is right. This is relaxing.” He says with a small laugh.

[literallybyronic]

hi! your post abt polari in the sandman popped up on my dash, and while i haven't watched the sandman at all, i do have an interest in polari. do you have any resources you'd recommend for someone wanting to learn about the history? books, documentaries, whatever. a lot of the stuff i've found is the same surface-level information, but i'd love to dive a bit deeper, especially its usage diachronically. thought i'd ask since u seem knowledgeable. thanks!

Hope you don't mind, but I've put some Sandman-specific commentary at the bottom as I've had several people in the tags of that post asking stuff as well so it's easier to just make one response to the whole thing and link to it. I'm also not by any means an expert, I learned of Polari initially from 70s-80s UK tv comedies and then learned a bit about it studying linguistics in general. Unfortunately there's not as much material out there as one would hope, being that while in use it was mainly a sort of under-the-table thing used so someone who heard a snippet of your conversation couldn't immediately clock you or what you were saying, and when being gay became legal/less stigmatized it fell out of fashion because it wasn't necessary. But if you want truly thorough academic sources, particularly that analyze its roots, Paul Baker is the man you want. Polari: The Lost Language of Gay Men and Fabulosa! The Story of Polari, Britain's Secret Gay Language are about the history of it, and Fantabulosa: A Dictionary of Polari and Gay Slang has a lexicon of Polari and other LGBT-specific terminology (mostly 20th cent. IIRC) Now, if you want to get hold of these works you'd likely have to find them in a library or purchase them. If you know of a site that offers discount or free uni textbooks, you may find it there as well- I know I have seen these sorts of sites floating around tumblr but I don't remember them off the top of my head. If you want something completely free and easy to grab, I found this paper (UofM dissertation) which seems like it has a decent, fairly detailed overview of the language as well as details of some of the initial linguistic sources of various bits & pieces of it- it has many different bits from different sources like thieves' cant, carnivallers' cant, yiddish, romani, italian, latin, sailing slang, cockney rhyming slang, it's a bit of a mixed bag. If you want to hear full Polari in conversation, Putting On The Dish is a short film almost entirely in Polari. Note that full Polari is near-unintelligible unless you know it- this video is a presentation on Polari that breaks down Putting On The Dish line by line into modern layspeak so you can get an idea of what's actually being said in the film.

Now, while full Polari went very quickly out of fashion after the decriminalization of male homosexuality in England in the 60s because it was no longer necessary to avoid arrest, certain specific terms and bits of slang were carried through into mainstream gay and drag culture in the latter half of the 20th century and the populace at large were made aware of them via pop culture- duck/ducky among them. Which is why throwing it haphazardly into Hob's speech is an issue if you don't know the etymology- if you're not a granny talking about her grandchildren in an old fashioned way, but a young (appearing) man talking to another man in casual conversation, it's extremely camp. It would be something like having him go around calling people "hunty" today, minus the AAVE connotations. Could he get away with it today, in the 2020s? Sure, although it might come off a bit strange for a younger guy to be throwing out nigh Dame Edna levels of old-fashioned queenieness. But during the 80s, during the renewed backlash against homosexuality that occurred during Margaret Thatcher's term and the passing of Section 28 and the AIDS crisis? Not so long after decriminalization, but long enough that the entirety of Polari slang wasn't a secret anymore, long enough that everyone knew what it meant when you used that sort of language, even if they couldn't parse just what you were saying? The decade in which you can find "ducky" used as a homophobic slur on BBC One in one of the most popular britcoms ever made? Not so much. Sure, it wasn't arrest worthy anymore. If you were out in pop culture/performing arts circles, or even among college students, likely no one would bat an eye. But if you wanted to keep your respectable establishment job teaching children of conservative parents and not have whatever the 80s UK equivalent of One Million Moms was breathing down your neck trying to get you fired "for the children", it wasn't something you would do unless you were very sure you were safe being out in that particular company and that it wasn't going to get back to your employers. So, while I'm not saying DON'T use it, I'm saying, be aware of its context in the 20th century in general, and in that time period (1970s-1990s) specifically, its potential to be used as a stereotype and/or slur, and when and how it would be no big deal to use it and when it would be potentially dangerous.

[alldayangst]

lovebug (Tom Holland)

GIF is from gaybuckybarnes here on Tumblr. You can access my masterlist here. This was written for @worldoftom’s lolbrosgetsicktoochallenge. The prompt I had was: ‘Tom self diagnoses himself as sick. He’s got all the symptoms. He’s speechless, over the edge and just breathless. He never thought he’d get hit by the ‘love-bug’ again’. Inspired by the song Lovebug by Jonas Brothers!

A/N: Y/N is an assistant director on Cherry in this fic. This has a lot of Cherry (the movie) references but most are explained if you haven’t seen the film. Such as, it was filmed in Cleveland and Morocco, directed by Joe and Anthony Russo. Some scenes in this fic borrow from the movie & I’ve linked clips from the film if you’d like to listen/watch along. WC: 4K.

“Yeah, Mum, I’ve just got like the sorest throat at the moment.” Nikki’s picture cuts in and out on a scrambled screen on the South side of London, her husband’s hand periodically reaching out for her, rubbing her shoulder, then leaving the frame almost as quickly as it came in. Even through the low quality, the pixels dashing about his screen, Tom can make out his mother’s brows knitting together and can’t remove the feeling of utter guilt when he sees her grow redder and redder out of anger, concern and confusion for her son. “But I’ve got Harry here with me.” Harry waves from behind his brother, his trusty mug swapped for a Phoenix Coffee Cup in his spare hand, just to get a taste of the States.

Tom reckons that's why he’s sick. He barely drinks coffee on the other side of the pond, and would bet good money that an at home PG Tips would beat America’s swankiest coffee joint any day. But now, he’s betrayed his usual routine and his body’s all out of whack and his throat is hoarse, he’s breathless even at times.

Harry shoots his mum a half smile to comfort her, but he doesn’t know what it's like to be a mother, and his and Tom’s mouth both form an ‘O’ when Nikki begins to type so hard her screen jolts and Tom swears she’s put a dent in it. “You know what? I’m going to give them a piece of my mind, Tom! They’re overworking you!” Nikki looks intensely to find her baby boy in drug-addled eyes and his jungle of curls on his newly shaven head. She guesses it becomes easier when Tom pushes his face halfway into the screen and pleads like the child he’ll always be to her, “Please, please Mum! I can’t have any days off. Under any circumstances, I need to finish this film!”

Tom turns to his younger brother for help. “Tell her, Harry!”

And as little brothers do best, Harry spills the beans as soon as Tom’s phone is in clutch. “Tom’s fallen in love with the first A.D., Y/N.”

Nikki immediately loses her frown, knowing how love can knock Tom off his feet and blow all the wind out of him. Tom’s father, Dom, re-enters the frame to match Nikki’s grin. He never misses an opportunity to tease. “Oo, caught a case of the love bug, have you?”

Harry has to whip the phone around to dodge Tom’s protesting arms reaching for it again. “Don’t listen to Harry. I’m not in love. I just like Y/N.”

“A lot.” Harry mutters. Tom’s family doesn’t budge any further, knowing how bad Tom was hurt after his last relationship. They weren't sure when the love bug would come back to bite him again. So after they all shared a knowing look, Harry handed Tom his phone back. “I’ll keep you updated. Bye, Mum.”

It all started five weeks ago. Tom, at 24, was beginning to feel like love was trudging up a high hill he couldn’t come down from, where every beat of heart was feeling like an ache on an open wound.  Tom had yet to meet a lover to prove distance makes the heart grow fonder, finding himself in six month long entanglements and illusions of love before things inevitably went sour.

He’d say, perhaps, you were the closest thing to the real deal. The problem was, he didn’t know if you liked him back.

“When life was beginning, I saw -”

“When life was-”

“When life was be-fuck!”

“When life was beginning, I saw you.”

Tom could make a picture book out of the day he first met you. He remembers how your hair looked that day, the speckles of genuinity in your eyes, how your ear-to-ear smile seemed to be a mirror because every time he saw you from then on, he brandished the same beam. He recalls how his eyes went low as he dropped his script to his lap and stared at your lips, so soft and kissable, as you repeated his words back to him: “When life was beginning, I saw you.” Then you chuckled softly as Tom waited patiently for his head and his heart to return to him.

“I’m sorry. I’m dyslexic. I have a bit of trouble reading.”

“It’s cool, I'm the first A.D. That’s what I’m here for.”

You rubbed your hands on the back of your trousers, your mic jostling in your back pocket as you attempted to rid yourself of your nervous, sweaty palms.

“I’m Y/N.” You reached out for a shake only for Tom to cough loudly into his own hand. 

“Fuck! I’m so sorry! That wasn’t me trying to get out of your handshake. I- I-.” Tom looked at his hand for it had failed him for the first time in his life. His hand that had helped him up during handstands, being his crutch through cartwheels and backflips, but had decidedly run out of luck to be on the receiving end of Tom’s monstrous cough impending a handshake with someone his eyes just couldn’t look away from.

You laugh again. Your laugh sounds like melody, Tom muses. Awestruck, he wishes he could play it again, repeat it like a radio hit and never wash himself of the feeling he got when he heard your laugh for the first time.

“It’s all good. I’ll see you around.” You disappear from his trailer, likely on a venture to your own, when Joe and Anthony block his view of you walking away.

Anthony and Joe take on the ghost of you in Tom’s room, “Tom! The man, the myth and the legend!” Joe comes behind him to rub his newly hairless head. “We’re so glad you agreed to do this movie!” 

“Bummed that you’re not coming to the Browns game tonight, though.” Anthony remarks, throwing a football at Joe who sets it in his lap.

“Harry and I, we’re British, mate. We play football with our feet.”

Joe doesn’t know it then, but his next words are the beginning of the end for Tom. He rubs on his football and looks Tom in his eye when he poses, “It’s a shame ‘cause the whole crew’s going. First day of filming celebrations.”

“The whole crew?”

Anthony mumbles an ‘mhm’ as he picks up a framed photo of Tom and RDJ sitting pretty on Tom’s dresser, posing like father and son.

Tom’s usually self assured when he’s on set, but he’s hesitant to say this next improvised line. His voice trails off as he speaks. “Including Y/N?”

“Y/N?” Joe queries, with a smile that’s half scary and half comforting, and the butterflies in Tom’s stomach are begging him not to fuck this up and suddenly every second a word is not spoken feels like hours have passed and he might have ruined things before they’ve even started, gosh he just met you and-

Tom tries to play it cool. “I don’t- they’re cool.” Tom coughs again. “I mean, I don’t really know them but Y/N seems cool I guess.”

Anthony and Joe smile at each other, scrambling to exit. “Whole crew’s going, baby!” Joe beams.

“Please don’t tell Y/N I asked!” Tom shouts before they’re out of earshot.

“Yeah, yeah. Anthony, go long!”

A few hours later, Tom was sitting next to an unamused Harry, you on his left, foam fingers pointing every which way. 

“Are you a big football fan?” Tom asked, imposter syndrome creeping up on him. He had the best seats in the house, but knew not a thing about this sport he’d come down to watch. Meanwhile, crew and crowd alike sat themselves around you guys, cheering leaving throats raw for days to come and a tussle for a foam finger between Joe and Anthony leading to hundreds of sugary popcorn shells scattered on the stadium floor.

“I mean, I wouldn’t ever turn down the option to look at Odell Beckham Jr. Are you?” you replied.

Tom looked over to his brother who sat with his chin in his hand, lips pulled into a thin straight line as his rusty curls were blown about from the wind of brown and orange flags flown from fans behind him. “We could learn to love it.” Tom flashed you a toothy grin, unsure of where to guide the conversation next. He knew for sure that he wanted to keep talking to you, but his ego began putting up a fight, eager to show himself off if you’d have him in any way. Tom sighed. “Truth is, we have no fucking clue what’s going on.” Tom could hear the commentary about a player reaching the end zone, but they were all just words that went into one ear then came straight out of the other.

You giggled. “I have no idea either. We could make up our own rules if you want.”

Tom likes the way you think. He also likes the way you speak. He loves the way you laugh.

“You have a beautiful laugh.” 

You covered your mouth. “Oh, fuck, I hate my laugh!”

“I’d make you laugh a thousand times if I could.”

You pointed to the jumbo screen as Mayfield made a touchdown, unable to stop laughing from sheer nerves as you felt Tom’s hot, burning haze on you. An advert for Cleveland’s Own Phoenix Coffee flashed on the screen as you spoke. “We’ll make our own rules. Every time we see the quarterback pick up the ball, we’ll cheer.”

By the end of the night, Tom is speechless, breathless and over the edge of his chair in faux excitement and anticipation of the quarterback receiving the ball once again. 

“Another coffee?” The service worker asked.

“Yes please!” You and Tom both say in unison, pumped as the quarterback began circling around to collect the ball in open arms.

The footage of the game is cut abruptly as the camera points to a confused, solo Harry; Anthony and Joe are seen at the edge of the frame whispering suggestively and pointing towards Tom, the camera eventually capturing the superstar who looks back up at his own reflection. Poorly green screened hearts flood the screen and the camera pans to include you in the frame too. Tom looks on in horror when he realises what’s going on and how it could be too late, and turns to you.

“I promise I didn’t know this was going on. We don’t have to.” Tom panics. 

You hear him loud and clear, that you don’t have to, but your heart and eleven thousand people are telling you to kiss him otherwise. “Oh well. We should just do it.” you murmur, the bright pink ‘KISSCAM’ logo flashing in and out.

It doesn’t take more than a moment for the gap between you and Tom to close, for your face to get lost behind his, his lips pressing against yours, eyes closed, trusting each other to share your air. This was probably the first thing that night worth cheering for, howls and whistles erupting around you. 

Tom doesn’t understand American football, but he thinks that the best seats in the house could be anywhere next to you.

Harry’s on the phone to his twin brother, Sam, when you and the rest of the crew make it back to the hotel later on. “-Yeah, and Tom spent half the night with the first A.D. cheering and screaming at fuck all.”

The Cleveland Browns lost that night, but Tom remains none the wiser. He stood in the doorway as Harry continued to relay his day to Sam. “Oh, and Tom, Mum said to give her a call, eavesdropper.” He flicks Tom’s reddening nose before closing the door.

A week and a half later, Tom reckons that's why he’s sick. He never has the time anymore to attend ‘real’ football games back home, and he actually understands the game back in Britain. But now, he’s cheered at almost every given opportunity to impress you stupidly, and his chest and voice is suffering as a consequence.

You and Tom walked onto set with your pinkies intertwined, growing closer and closer by the minute, but Tom doesn’t miss how Ciara’s boyfriend visits set every day for her, doesn’t miss how they rub their nose together in this lovey-dovey affection he wishes he could bestow upon you.

The scene wasn’t working.

The crew was beginning to grow restless and Tom silently became more frustrated as the minutes went by and he was unable to get his lines right. He remembers how a week ago, it felt so easy. You were there to correct him when he stumbled upon his lines and you picked him up so effortlessly, a twinkling smile on your face. But then? Then you were different. Your eyes were scrunched up behind the lens of the camera and you were mumbling something to Anthony about how the sun was due to go down in Ohio soon so you needed to hurry along.

“Alright.” you announced. “Take five!”

And Tom was thankful, Ciara perched upon a swing for the scene they were filming, Tom dwindling the rope of the swing under his finger as her boyfriend approached her once again. “Hey dude, are you okay?”

Ciara looked at Tom with the same concern, hands finding home in her boyfriend’s nest of hair. “Yeah, Tom, are you okay?”

Tom coughed into his hand. “Yeah, guys, I’m good.”

“I think you’re coming down with a nasty cough.” Ciara muttered.

“Yeah. It’s you guys. You’re too cute. You make me sick.” Tom laughed humourlessly for a short while, wanting to be that adorable with someone, maybe not anyone, maybe just with you someday. Then Tom shook his head, a bitter feeling in his throat as he yawned. “It’s the Browns game. I was yelling and screaming every time a quarterback got the ball. Of course I’m a little unwell. I’ll be good as new in a few days though.”

Ciara already knew Tom wasn’t playing a man with the healthiest of habits, but she worried that Tom was getting this bad this early. “Maybe you should talk to the first A.D. about reducing shoot days from five to three?”

Tom didn’t like the prospect of seeing you less. “Yeah.” Harry had a clapperboard between his hands, leading Tom’s eyebrows to furrow as his brother yelled something about it being take 13. “Maybe.” 

Harry resumed to a new position in your chair, with you taking Harry’s place right across from Tom, a coffee waiting for him when the scene was over like Harry always did. Ciara’s boyfriend left the frame to watch supportively on the sidelines.

“Lights. Camera. Action!” Anthony called. “Time is money, you guys! Let’s try to get this one right this time.” 

They’d been over this already twelve times today.

“Hey, I’m really happy you’re here.”

Ciara read her line back. “Why’s that?” 

Tom could hear whispers of the crew, the sound guy glaring at them in case they were picked up in the scene, and he knew it had something to do with the fact that he couldn’t for some reason get the next line out all day. And that reason, unbeknownst to everyone, was because Tom couldn’t say something he didn’t mean - feeling like his heart was locked in a cage for which only you had the key. He looked past his co-star, Ciara, and up at you; feeling so close but you were far away, leaving him all day without anything to say. And overcoming his speechlessness and breathlessness, even in just that moment, he ran his hand over the rope to say, “Cause I like you. A lot.”

Ciara and the rest of the crew broke into a wide smile once Tom finally spoke his next line, but the only person Tom was focused on was you, who wasn’t smiling, but mouthing his words back to him.

Ciara breathed, “Shut up.”

And Tom’s sure to look you in the eye when he says, “I really do.”

When the filming for the day is said and done, Tom makes a beeline for you across the greenery. You hand over his coffee to him, “It’s a little cold now, but a warm hand is holding it.”

Tom quirks an eyebrow. “Are you inviting me to hold your hand?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“You swapped jobs with Harry, I saw.”

“Yeah, well. It’s good he gets to grips with the job now. You know, in case anything changes.” You pulled your phone out of your pocket. “I should probably give you my number. In case anything changes.”

“Oh no, yeah. Your number is?”

“216-XXX-XXX. Speaking of changes, I heard you’re trying to get your days reduced.”

“You were eavesdropping?” Tom looks at your face that bears no trace of guilt. “You’re just like me!” He pulls you close.

“Tom, if what happened today is because you’re working too much, I’m happy to reduce your time.”

“Nah, nah.” Tom sniffles, rubbing his nose on a jacket probably worth more than your life. “I’m just a bit sick, s’all. I’ll be fine.”

Two weeks pass and Tom’s no better. With the Cleveland game nearly a month ago, Tom has nothing to blame and as first A.D., you’re obligated to reduce his hours. Tom’s on the phone with his mother when you approach his trailer. 

“Don’t listen to Harry. I’m not in love. I just like Y/N.”

“A lot. I’ll keep you updated. Bye, Mum.” 

You’re so quick to skip happily back to your trailer that you miss Harry calling out to his brother, he’s his protector now that his mother was countries apart. “Tom?” Harry starts.

Tom mumbles an ‘mhm’, hoping Harry would make it quick as he sees you FaceTiming him. If only his mother could see him like this. He’d get to call her tomorrow and tell her he’d called you for the first time yesterday, he could hardly wait to utter, 'I've finally found the missing part of me’. Harry sighs as the FaceTime ringing is relentless. Tom’s eyebrows threaten to meet in the middle of his face as he clutches onto his phone.

“Tom.” Harry begins. “Y/N is giving up assistant director.”

Tom’s really not sure where Harry gets the source of his information from, but he’s sure this isn’t true. He thinks you’d tell him before his brother if you were leaving the film behind, leaving him behind.

The film is due to move filming to Morocco soon, and Tom’s well aware that not all film crew joins them when production moves abroad, but to Tom, you’re an extension of this movie universe. And Tom refuses to leave the memories of you in this filming cycle. “How’d you know?”

“I’m taking over.” Tom’s screen lights up with the glow of your call, and as bright as it is, as bright as you are, as bright as your smile surely is on the other end of the phone call, Tom’s in his deepest darkest feelings wondering how he fooled himself into thinking romance could go right for him this time. 

He’s going to Morocco. You’re not. You’re funny, smart, promising, beautiful. You’ll find someone good for you, a better pair by the time he’s back.

“That doesn’t mean it won’t work out, man.” Tom sulks in his bed, the light from your constant calls bleeding through his bed sheets. “I just wanted to warn you.” Tom nods, screaming into his pillow. Harry decides that’s his cue to leave, a glimmer of light from outside seeping through the crack of the door as Harry escorts himself. Tom musters all his might and courage to reluctantly answer your phone, the ear-to-ear grin he knows so well greeting him once again.

Suddenly, he forgot how to speak. Hopeless, breathless, couldn’t you see that?

“Tom?” You call out his name a few times before cutting straight to the point. “Do you like me?”

Tom shifts slightly but not enough to show that he’s alarmed. “Huh? Yeah, I like you.”

He sits up, but doesn’t reciprocate the outrageous smile you wear like a heart on your sleeve. Tom’s eyes are sunken, dark circles forming under his eyes where he and his disturbed character become one. You suddenly remember why you shouldn’t have run away so fast, perhaps Tom was overworking himself. He continues, “But I’m an emotionally unavailable hopeless romantic. So I wouldn’t waste your time on me.”

Tom can’t help the hurt in his heart when he sees your smile drop so suddenly, knowing it was earnest. “Tom, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying, life is unfair. And I’m gonna quit while I’m ahead. We wouldn’t work out. And I like our friendship now. We should stay that way.”

You’re not convincing when you nod rapidly, not letting Tom see your face as you play with your fingers to avoid his gaze. “Yeah, I agree.” You’re much less convincing when the last frame Tom caught of you was a shot of tears dripping down your face, as three rings followed you. Tom’s screen went black in your absence, and Tom falls asleep with eyes even redder from crying, and he wonders when he’s gonna shake this sickness.

It’d been a few days since Tom had got his shots to allow him to go to Morocco. He sat opposite the doctor on set, a coffee cup placed on the desk between him.

Tom reckons that's why he’s sick. Shots always have their side effects, and he’d taken multiple shots in one day. And now, he specifically asked for you to hold his hand during the process, Harry branded in a glinting jaw-drop, only for you to leave directly after. 

“I’m speechless, constantly feeling over the edge, breathless.” Tom explains his symptoms to the doctor. “At first I thought it was because of that stupid football game, then all the coffee I’m drinking, now I don’t know if it’s the shots. I feel like shit, doc.”

“I know exactly what you’re dealing with.”

“What?”

“Lovebug.”

Tom stares at the doctor in utter bewilderment. “You figured that out based on my symptoms?”

“I figured that out based on the puppy dog eyes you gave for your first A.D. when they left without a word.” The doctor begins to laugh softly, but Tom is unamused. How is he supposed to shake this illness after completely ruining your relationship? How is he supposed to mend your bond after talking so recklessly, so emotionally? “Tom, I’m not here to be a fairy godmother, I’m being strictly medical. At a certain point, what you feel in your mind affects your body. So I prescribe that you talk to Y/N and say everything you need to say.”

And while that seemed easy enough, Tom’s ego was at work again, and Tom was feeling far too bruised and wounded to speak to you first. Surely if you cared enough, if you liked him back, if you were willing to be distanced, you would reach out first.

It seems Tom’s pride had forgotten that you already did.

“I heard that this is the exact shit that happened in Cleveland, and he couldn’t get the line out.” Tom hears the whisperings from behind the camera, the amount of familiar faces in the crew dwindling after the change in location. He doesn’t respond. He waits for someone to take five. And when no one throws him a bone, he asks Harry to.

“Alright, everyone take five.”

“Someone get this kid a fucking coffee, he’s always on edge.” Joe instructs.

“And you think giving a kid in twenties coffee is taking him off edge?” Anthony chuckles.

Tom doesn’t care whether or not he gets the coffee, rocking side to side. He’s got all the motion for this role, but he feels nothing. All he felt was for you.

“Here.” Harry sets a Moroccan mint tea down next to Tom, hoping it would calm him down. When Tom takes a few sips, the look in his eyes is less pleading, and everyone’s ready to rumble, this being the last scene of the day.

Harry feeds Tom the line. “Baby, are you seeing bad things?” Tom is seeing bad things. A life without love, a life without you. Unable to contain it all, Tom turns his frustration into laughter. “Why are you calling me baby for, man?” Tom has this ear-to-ear grin but even he feels it's not as innocent, as genuine as yours. He never knew a smile so wide could be so full of pain.

“I have an idea.” Harry saunters off to collect his phone. “Don’t stop rolling the cameras.”

When Harry comes back, there’s sounds of shifting erupting from his phone. “Hi, Tom.” 

Tom didn’t know it would be so bittersweet to hear your voice again. He wasn’t sure if he should put walls up again or if twice was the charm. Even if you worked out in the short term, whose to say Tom wouldn’t get hurt again? And Tom wouldn’t want to hurt you.

“Are they taking good care of you out there? I don’t think I took good care of you.” Tom doesn’t say anything on the other side of the line, so you continue. “I’m not a good A.D. if you’re always sick and tired, and I didn’t want to see you any less, which was selfish of me, so I didn’t change your schedule.” You sigh as you admit why you left. “When you asked, though, I swear I was gonna do it, but then I heard you liked me, and I got carried away. I had to remove myself from the situation to do what’s best for you. Do you understand me? I did it for you.”

“I, uh, I got a diagnosis.” Tom stumbles.

“Oh my gosh, are you seriously sick?”

“I’m speechless. Over the edge, breathless.” Tom laughed dryly, finally feeling like he can choose an ending.

“What did they say it was?”

“Lovebug.” Harry smiles softly at his brother.

Your laugh is like nectar entering Tom’s ear.

“I might just love you way too much, Y/N.”

“Are you sure you’re doin’ okay?” Tom tries his best not to sound dejected that you didn’t say it back, knowing he’s already felt the brunt of this heartache already.

“I just miss you, that’s all.”

“I miss you too. I love you.” Joe stops recording, and Harry lowly whispers ‘take.fucking.five.’ as he and the crew creep away from Tom’s new found love scene. 

“Anthony, can I borrow your phone?” Harry begins to type Nikki’s number as soon as Anthony gives over the phone. “Mum, Tom just told the first A.D. he’s in love with them so guess who’s out of a job?”

Tom knows why he’s sick. He used to feel like love was trudging up a high hill he couldn’t come down from, where every beat of heart was feeling like an ache on an open wound. Tom had yet to meet a lover to prove distance makes the heart grow fonder, finding himself in six month long entanglements and illusions of love before things inevitably went sour. But now, Tom has found you.

[kedreeva]

I think another thing about the “don’t comment, talk in the tags” etiquette that newer (or at least joined since tumblr removed horizontally nested reblogs) folks are missing for context is just how absolutely A W F U L the reblog feature was.

You know when people use the indent feature like this?

Now imagine you are scrolling your dash and you come to a post where 8 of these bars are nested horizontally across your screen and there is a vertical line of single-character-width text on the right hand side that takes you a full 2 minutes to scroll down through before you get to the 9 in-comment replies that pushed the original post into that vertical line, and all of those comments are just “this!” or “louder for people in the back!” or something with actually no real merit to any conversation. Comments that are attempting to agree with the post but have only served in ensuring that literally no one is going to take the time to read the post at all ever again without going to the OP and removing all of the commentary (if they bother to do that much). And that was just text!! It used to shove images off the center line and into the margins, potentially messing up your browser’s scroll alignment.

So inane comments, at one point in time, actually physically destroyed a post’s functionality.

THAT is why it was considered rude to comment in the reblogs instead of the tags.

The PROBLEM is that Tumblr FIXED that problem. Now if you add something in a reblog it leaves the original post completely intact, and adds a section below it with your reply completely intact. It extends a post a little bit, and it still may not actually add anything to the conversation, but also it’s not destroying anything significant.

but... the culture of saying “this is RUDE so don’t DO it” developed because people responded to social pressure to be polite more quickly and thoroughly than they did to the much more reasonable community health plea of “hey can you see how when you respond it messes up the post, maybe try to avoid that so we can read stuff.” So the people who are new, or who have forgotten Tumblr’s terrible roots, parrot that it is “rude” to leave comments aloud on posts when, in fact, it’s not really the same issue anymore. And people who hear that for the first time, without seeing any obvious reason WHY it should be rude, assume that it is because it’s somehow established as rude to interact directly (much like barging into a RL conversation without invitation) or “distract” from the main post... but that’s not the case. They’re just hearing an echo of past user aches and pains.

So, anyone telling you it’s Rude to leave comments outside of tags is either old or ignorant or snobby, and you should leave reblog comments all you want. It's your blog and you're allowed to add what you want to stuff you put on your blog. If they don’t want to pass it on, they can go a post above yours and get over it.

[sirisuorionblack]

James the mother hen

James Potter x Hufflepuff!Reader

Requested - dude hi!! could you maybe do james potter x hufflepuff reader where the reader plays quidditch and gets hurt during a gryffindor v hufflepuff game and he feels really guilty about it and is really overbearing because he wants to help her feel better? or maybe just a sick day fic where james is helping her lol i’m just a sucker for mom friend worried james. thank you!!

Warning - Minor injuries

Authors Note - This is my first time writing in second POV so, sorry if its not great. Hope you like @riddikulusweasleys! 

“Hey, prongs, look who is coming,” Sirius dragged his syllables at the last word, looking at his best mate with a wide smirk on his face. 

James looked up from his single piece of toast - healthy breakfast before quidditch, he said when the rest three of them gawked at him - to Sirius, who was wiggling his eyebrows then across the great hall to spot you in your mustard quidditch robes, grinning as you walked toward him. 

Remus chuckled at his best friend whose hand immediately flew to his hair, making them even messier and adjusting his glasses, “Your drooling, mate,” 

“Well, I have every right to drool seeing she is my girlfriend,” James said cheekily, his focus slightly faltering from you towards his best friends rolling their eyes. 

“Hello, Mr Potter,” you greeted him, smirking.

“Hello, Ms (L/N),” he said, chuckling. 

“You two are weird,” Sirius muttered, looking between the two of you in disgust although his eyes held a shine.

“You're just jealous, pads,” Peter mumbled. 

“Hey!” Sirius glared at him and soon engaged in a nasty conversation that may or may not have cost the pumpkin juice. 

“You ready for the match?” you asked James, raising your eyebrows and smirking slightly.

James’ stomach suddenly churned anxiously. Now the matter is - he loved quidditch, he loved it more than anything but it was particularly hard for him to play against Hufflepuff ever since you became the captain of the quidditch team a year ago. You had always been a part of the reason why James loved quidditch, your moves and flexes made him much more drawn to you -smitten as Sirius would say- and one of the multiple reasons he finally mustered the courage to ask you out the start of the term.

You knew it, you knew how James felt playing against you, it was rather tough to play against...loved ones? Never have either of you actually muttered those three words to the other.

“Yeah,” James said, his voice cracking in between. 

You smiled softly, and winked, “Your gonna rock it,”

 The two of you after the conversation in the great hall only met at the quidditch pitch. 

“Shake your hands,” Madam Hooch said, motioning you and James to do so.

 A smile on both of your faces as your handshake was more than friendly compared to any other handshakes on the field. 

 The Hufflepuff and the Gryffindor teams were high up in the air, clenching the broom handles, waiting for the quaffle to release because this, after all, would determine the quidditch cup for the year.

Madam Hooch’s whistle echoed through the air as the quaffle was thrown to the players. The whistles and hollers of the crowd were so much that it almost made the players anxious. 

 “The Gryffindor captain first caught the quaffle. You're doing great Jamie boy!” The commentary was given by, of course, Sirius. He was appointed as the temporary commentator after the previous one had a major injury after very strict instructions given by Professor McGonagall. 

“Mr Black,” McGonagall warned. 

“Alright, alright. Minnie is getting mad,” he quickly added, “Oh, look at that. (L/N) has the quaffle, she is flying to the goal. Now, come on, let your boyfriend win, will you?”

You flipped him off with one hand as you flew through the forthcoming Gryffindor team players, diving and serving. 

“Woah! Hufflepuff scores one goal!” Sirius glanced at the parchment before him, “1-0, Hufflepuff to Gryffindor, very bad performance lions, I expected more,” he shook his head as though in pity.

“Mr Black, you're demotivating the players!” McGonagall warned.

“Sorry, Minnie,” Sirius apologized, not so apologetically, “Now, the quaffle is back with the Gryffindor chaser! Yay!”

You dashed to the chaser, circling around them and with one calculated, gentle push the waffle was back to your hands.

“Alright, ladies and gentleman can we give a big round of applause to my best friend’s one day, to be wife,” Sirius asked looking at the crowd expectantly and for his satisfaction, the crowd roared. 

Both James and you came to a halt on your brooms, a dark pink blush on your faces as the crowd roared even louder. But someone in the Gryffindor team had realised it was the best time to knock the quaffle out of your hold.

It was a great idea, you must give that to the red flash that passed by you but the way execution was worst. As the player swished past you, there was a harsh gush of wind and the player missed and had hit you on your elbow evidently knocking you out of your broom. Holding on the broom with one hand you dangled off it, trying to climb back on. 

As though it all were perfectly timed, a loose bulger was aimed at you by Merlin-knows-who and you lost the only balance you had that held you in the air.

The air around you felt colder as the blank spots danced dangerously before your eyes. Your boyfriend’s terrified face was what you saw last before losing your consciousness. 

 “Mr Potter, please stop fretting,” Madam Pomfrey said to James who paced before your bed nervously in the hospital wing, “Nothing is wrong with her,”

“Except?” He insisted.

“Except her ankle is broken,” She said calmly. 

“Broken!?” 

“Her ankle, Mr Potter!”

“It's still broken!”  

“Potter, if this continues I might ask you to leave the room,”

“When will she wake up?” James asked, ignoring Madam Pomfrey's threat. 

“‘M wake,” You mumbled and coughed. James rushed to your bed with some water. Madam Pomfrey sighed and left James to take care of you. 

“You alright?” James asked, taking your face in his hands and scanning every inch of them for him to admire and memorize your beauty with the reason as “checking for injuries”. 

“Yes, James, calm down,” You chuckled. 

“You scared me, did you know that?” James asked, sighing, "I'm sorry,"

"Why are your sorry?" You asked, placing your hands above his.

"I should have caught you or done something instead of Dumbledore at the final moment doing the spell," he looked down, pulling his hands out of your grip and holding your hands.

"James, you couldn't have done anything and it's okay. I am alright now, look," you pointed to your ankle that was heavily wrapped in gauze. 

You heard through your half consciousness Madam Pomfrey say to James that although Dumbledore had performed the charm to stay you afloat but you had hit the ground and broke your ankle.

James winced, "I'm going to ban whoever did that from the team,"

"James," you warned, "This is a game and that happens,"

He sighed, "I feel guilty, you know." He leaned towards the bedside table, fetching the blue potion Madam Pompfrey instructed him to give. 

“Mhm, figured it out,” you smirked.

“Drink,” James said, seriously and rolled his eyes.

You scrunched your nose in disgust looking at the blue semi-liquid potion, “No, that's-”  

“I don't need to hear it, just drink,” James said, looking at you pointedly. 

“Later?” You knew it wouldn't work but it was worth a try nonetheless.

“No,” he narrowed his eyes, “Come on, love, just gulp it,” 

With your nose still scrunched, you glanced at the potion warily. James sighed, moving closer to you and pressed his lips to yours, “Please,” he mumbled against your lips.

You huffed but obliged. Downing the nasty drink and trying not to distract yourself from the bitter taste, you pulled James once again into a kiss. 

After pulling away, James chuckled and blurted, “I love you,”

Both of your eyes widened in shock. You were the first one to regain your composure and grinned at him, “I love you too,”

“Well, it's about time!” They heard a voice very much like Sirius yell, crashes, grunts and then three people running. 

You chuckled, pulling James closer to you, “You're not gonna walk for another month with that broken ankle of yours,”

And true to his words, James carried a blushing yourself to the classes almost every day, you werent complaining though.

[edasnest]

Might you have any Raeda headcanons you'd be willing to share?

Oh shit I didn’t see that you sent this to me until now oh man.

But you better believe I’ve got some Raeda headcanons >:D

[Spoilers for Eda’s Requiem and Knock Knock Knockin on Hooty’s Door! Also a little bit of a character study regarding those eps lol]

Raine is constantly in awe of Eda. Eda’s desire to learn every kind of magic and buck tradition and societal norms sometimes leaves them breathless. When they were young, Raine always admired Eda for the clever pranks she’d pull using different kinds of magic despite being in the potions track. They also admired Eda’s boldness when it came to standing up for herself and her sister.

Eda found Raine to be interesting considering they were in the bard track despite their stage fright, but once Eda watched them perform and saw how they’d lose themself in the music was, no pun intended, magical. They had a fierce grip on Eda’s heart and she didn’t know why; she was fascinated by Raine and made it her goal to be best friends with this oddly shy bard (which she achieved pretty quickly).

After Eda’s curse caused her to unintentionally disable her dad, she was terrified of what it would mean if she was caught off guard like that again. So she started putting up walls. No stressful situations, no hard conversations, no sudden bright lights or loud sounds that she wasn’t the cause of. If she could be in control of her surroundings, she could control the Owl Beast. The elixir she’d discovered that could keep the curse’s side effects at bay helped maintain her sanity and her chill demeanor, but Raine was able to tell she was always slightly on edge. Raine knew about the curse; after Eda had transformed on the Grudgby field the first time everyone had been talking about it, but they didn’t know the extent of it. Everyone just said she’d turned into a monster and then fled; but what kind of monster?? But every time Raine tried to get more information about it, Eda would brush it off and change the subject. It broke their heart watching Eda brush off something that was clearly bothering her, and eventually it all came to a head. She was lying more and more often to Raine and they just couldn’t take it anymore. What happened to their best friend??? Why would she lie to them????? It was maddening and all the frustration and aching in their heart became too much. They needed to focus on something other than Eda. They weren’t nearly as bold as Eda, even after all these years, so they joined the Bard Coven in order to start teaching and building a career for themself. They’d happily welcome Eda back if she’d just tell them what was going on. But it never happened. Burying themself into their work and then, eventually, into the BAtTs helped keep the heartache at bay, but only sometimes.

Eda and Raine caught glimpses of each other as the years passed. They’d spot one another in the market or Raine would see a flash of unmistakable ginger hair dashing around a corner; sometimes they’d hear Eda yelling at some Coven guards and quietly hope she’d make her escape. Eda would occasionally see posters advertising a performance starring Raine; she’d either buy a ticket or sneak in just to listen to them play again. She could never stay for very long though because listening to them play made her heart hurt so much she’d be at risk of turning into the Owl Beast. Raine grabbed one of Eda’s wanted posters and keeps it hidden under some other paperwork in their desk, pulling it out sometimes and going over every detail of the artist’s rendition of her. One day, a new wanted poster came out - this one with a weird skull dog now part of the image and the bounty having increased significantly. Raine would always smirk whenever they saw the new version, although they were alarmed the first time they saw her drawn with all-grey hair. When had that happened? They weren’t that old yet, right??

The day Eda saved the BAtTs and figured out Raine’s secret was maybe the best day Raine had had in years. Their best friend was talking to them again, helping them with their plot. Raine didn’t bother pushing Eda about the last 20 years; their last conversation proved enough that Eda didn’t like it when people pried. But Eda had become not just older, but so much more kind and open. To a degree that sort of shocked Raine. When they asked Eda if she had nothing to lose and Eda took their hand, it was like they’d gone back in time. As if they were both 20 again and daydreaming about a world they’d create for themselves where covens weren’t there to shackle witches down and stage fright didn’t exist; where Eda’s curse never happened and they could stay there on that hill forever.

Eda of course was warring with her own emotions during all of this; she was under the impression that everyone in her life was leaving her again. And not because she was pushing them away this time, but of their own volition. She got her big sister back only for her to go back home to their parents after just a few weeks. She overheard King talk about leaving to find his dad and her apprentice - the first person to ever break down all of Eda’s defenses and show her how to love again - was constantly working on ways to go back to her own home. Eda would be left with Hooty and Owlbert and absolutely nobody else and that hurt so much more than she cared to admit. So when Raine showed up in the town square with their BAtT mask on, using their magic to turn some coven guards into bumbling fools, Eda was a little shell-shocked. The first person to leave her of their own volition was right there in front of her and needed help. So she helped them. And when she became invested in their plots to free wild witches, she felt like she was a teenager again, plotting out pranks with Raine in her secret shortcuts room at Hexside, blushing at every interaction they had because even after all this time, Raine was still Raine. Her Rainstorm. It was like she was starting over, like the last 20 years had faded away, except they hadn’t. Because Luz and King were competing in a race that she needed to be there for. Her past and her present were all different types of painful but finding Raine like this again gave her so much hope! Until she realized she wouldn’t see the end of that race, not if it meant stopping Belos. And she was ready for that, ready for the pain to just stop already, but Raine wouldn’t let her.

Losing Raine again was so much worse the second time. But what they said stayed with her and Eda needed to get back to King and Luz. So when she got back and discovered they’d lost, of course her first thought was to help them. Anything to take her mind off of what she’d just lost. And when King announced that he wasn’t leaving at all, he was legally changing his name? She was “stuck” with him forever? That was too much and she just couldn’t hold it in anymore. Someone wasn’t leaving her. In fact he was legally binding himself to her. No one was leaving, at least not any time soon. Eda definitely still cried more that night after King and Luz had gone to bed.

In the future, Eda and Raine agree to start from scratch: Eda explains the curse to them in detail, all the things she’s learned about it over the years and specifically with Luz and King and Hooty’s help. She explains that Lilith was the one that gave it to her to begin with and why (Raine is appalled like???? Raine specifically worked with Lilith in that last year before they had been made head of the Bard Coven?? And Lilith showed maybe irritation at best at the mention of Eda, so like?? What the fuck???). Eda also explains how she’s come to accept the curse as something that’s part of her and the history the Owl Beast has that she got a glimpse of which is super intriguing to Raine. Also Harpy Eda was a thing which was maybe the most surprising part of it all.

Raine in the meantime tells Eda about their time working their way up the ranks of the Bard Coven, how they met each of the BAtTs and recruited them, the façade they had to maintain to stay on track to become the head of the Bard Coven (something that greatly impressed Eda given Raine’s history with being an awkward actor).

Eda introduces Raine to Luz and King to which both of them start shooting rapidfire questions at them and overwhelm them pretty quickly. Eda has to shoo the two away before Raine just bursts out laughing, saying something about how they’re definitely Eda’s kids (all of them blush while Raine is laughing). Luz is just as fascinated with Raine’s Bard magic as Eda was when they first met and the similarities between the two are striking. Raine tells Eda as much later on and Eda begins gushing about what a great apprentice Luz is and everything she’s done during her time on the Boiling Isles.

They fall easily back into dating once they reconnect properly and everything’s calmed down a little - Raine will still be humming a piece they’re working on and suddenly grab Eda and begin dancing to the tune, Eda laughing the whole time and making their heart soar. Eda will still play with Raine’s earring when they’re cuddled up together just chatting. Raine will start asking Eda again for her opinion on musical pieces they’re working on and Eda will make suggestions along with some jokes or snide commentary. They both still love watching the clouds overhead on their hill, sometimes playing music, sometimes just holding hands.

Raine loves watching Eda interact with Luz and King. They love watching how easily Eda loves them and how much she’s changed since they first broke up. Once they’re alone together, in a moment total admiration for how far they’ve come, Raine tells Eda they love her. Eda immediately kisses them and starts crying, repeating Raine’s words back to them and mumbling about how she’ll never let Raine leave ever again.

A canon Non-binary love interest to a main character that uses They/Them pronouns??? In my kids cartoon???? It’s more likely than you think.

Anyways I fucking love Raine and I love how much Eda and Raine love each other and I can’t wait to see what ends up happening with Them™️

[kitkat1003]

Tower Tales

4: Turns out, they can get sick of each other

AO3 Link

@asilcorner YEET

Time passes and it’s maddening.  Yakko keeps a calendar, but there’s no point in trying to know how long they’ve been trapped in here when they can’t even tell if they’re sleeping at night or day.  They don’t know how long an hour is, a minute, month, a week, a day.  Not by heart.  So, for a while, they have to guess.

Yakko eventually makes a clock, sets a time, makes their day as normal as he can, starting the hour at a random time and suddenly dinnertime is 5:30pm instead of just sometime before bed, even though they can’t tell if it’s even close to 5:30pm outside.  It doesn’t matter if it turns out they aren’t following the sun, the sun has never followed them, so fair’s fair.  Besides, why stick with the world’s set of rules when those rules act like this is fine, that them being trapped is fine?

And hey, what’s a little madness?  Who cares, right?

The tower becomes a lived-in space.  The first two floors become living room areas, bedrooms, kitchen, bathroom.  They never can be certain on the decor, and it changes daily, weekly, hourly, but that’s fine, because the idea of everything repeating, like the days have no difference between them makes Yakko want to curl into a ball and never straighten out.

The third floor is left mostly barren, because that’s where they practice their toon powers.  Wakko has a penchant for bombs and offensive weapons, Yakko finds he can pull a pen out of anywhere and anything, and Dot has an affinity for her mallet, as well as fashion.

She likes to tailor, on occasion, and bribes Wakko to be her model for it by letting him perform songs via burping after dinner—she doesn’t mind the sound, it’s really the smell that makes her hate the whole thing—and Yakko starts being able to pull out random books from his hammerspace.  They’re typically books he likes, thank god, but sometimes they’re just confusing.  He likes Dr. Dolittle, though it is a bit silly, and the idea of talking animals being strange doesn’t make sense to him, being animal-like himself, but at the least it’s an interesting series with many books to go through.  He likes Winnie the Pooh, too, and the Velveteen Rabbit is surprisingly sad, but at least it’s a change of pace in comparison to the happier children’s books he reads.

He ventures to more adult focused books, like The Great Gatsby, which is depressing but also an interesting commentary of the time, and the Murder of Roger Ackroyd by Agatha Christie.  He actually reads through that one a couple times, to go back and find the clues Miss Christie left for the reader, and he finds it utterly fascinating.  Who knew that someone could write like that?  Leaving little pieces that only come together to make something when the last piece is found.  It’s like a blank puzzle that turns on when you finish it.

Dot likes to read with him, pulling out a magazine about the daily fashion news or parties.  He doesn’t know what Playboy is, but the moment it appears in her hands he rips it away and throws it in the fire.  She evidently sees enough just from the cover, because she doesn’t argue.

He occasionally reads to Wakko and Dot.  Typically before bed—he regrets ever reading the Velveteen Rabbit to them, because Wakko didn’t sleep for a few days after.   He tries to get Wakko to read with him, but Wakko seems to find learning anything in a standardized way quite difficult, and all it took was one semi pointed comment from Dot about it to keep the boy from even trying, shame painting his cheeks the red of their nose.  Yakko considers talking to Dot about it, but he doesn’t want to further embarrass Wakko by bringing it up, and it’s hard to be secretive in a small space.

So he lets it go, because they have plenty of time—too much, too much to ever fill, and sometimes all they can do is sit and hope for it to move faster because boredom makes them dull and he hears Dot cry into her pillow some nights because she’s not as quiet as she thinks she is and he sleeps so lightly he can barely call it rest—and continues to play and have fun and learn new things.  He gets an atlas, one day, and memorizes the names of all the countries, hums out a melody, learns rhyme schemes.

And when he starts up a tune, they all fall in line.  That’s the thing—while he and Dot learn the normal way, Wakko seems to be able to do just about anything when he stays out of his own head.  Which is odd, because Wakko doesn’t talk too much, so he must be in his head plenty.  Perhaps, then, the line between thinking and doing is so wide that when he tries to both everything gets jumbled.  Because when they burst into song, Wakko dances and prances and creates lyrics like a pro, whether they’re singing about nothing at all to complex philosophical concepts, with a plethora of large words that if Wakko tried to read he would trip and stumble as they were slanted stairs.  Occasionally, Yakko will ask if Wakko even knows what they’re singing about, only ever curious, and Wakko can talk his ear off about it all.  Yet, when Yakko brings him into a classroom setting, Wakko’s face goes blank, and no comprehension of anything Yakko says ever shows.

Clearly he has a grasp on the English language, clearly he’s smart—Yakko could never think his brother stupid, because no stupid person could build a second floor without any plans, could follow jokes and make his own quips on occasion that send him and Dot into laughing fits, could pick the perfect moment for a physical joke in the middle of a conversation; no way that Wakko is anything close to stupid—but the moment it’s a classroom type setting all of that goes out the window.  Is it the motivation?  Is it the material?  Is it him?

Yakko has to figure this out, but at least he doesn’t have to figure it out soon.  He has time.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They aren’t perfect, despite the look of them, despite how they’re drawn to be.  They can’t be expected, forced together 24/7, to not get into petty squabbles.  And they are petty.  Dot hates sharing the bathroom with ‘gross boys,’ hates it when they play during dinner, Yakko hates it when they’re making too much noise during his reading times, when they complain too much, Wakko grumps about when they eat something he was supposedly saving, or throw something away he thinks he could eat (a.e. a banana peel, a watermelon rind, moldy bread, etc), or when they talk too softly or too fast, as if they don’t want him to be able to listen.  It’s never anything too bad, and they get over it within the next few hours, but sometimes it builds.

For instance, Wakko is going stir crazy.

Dot and Yakko can tell.  They don’t mind sitting still on occasion, given the right persuasion, but Wakko is a mile a minute of movement, everything twitching and tapping, tail swishing back and forth and wagging when he’s excited.

There’s only so many times one can run around a small space before they get bored.  Only so many months one can spend exploring and doing the same things with little variation 

“Ugh, there’s nothing to dooooooo,” Wakko whines, flopping onto the armrest of Dot’s chair.  She and Yakko are reading the same book, they’re going to discuss it when they’re done.  It’s a fun blend of their skills and likes-talking about reading.

“There’s plenty of things to do!  Why don’t you read a book with us?” Dot suggests, and maybe it’s a little mean, but it’s more out of ignorance than cruelty.  It’s been what feels like a few months since she saw Wakko struggle, how could she have known that he’d written off reading entirely.

“You could read to me,” Wakko actually perks up at his own suggestion, like a lightswitch flipping on.  Yakko doesn’t mind it at all, and is about to volunteer when Dot raises a brow.

“Can’t you read yourself?” She shoots back, and Wakko deflates, before he crosses his arms, on the defensive.

“I don’t need to,” He says, and Doll rolls her eyes.

“If that was true, you wouldn’t want someone to read to you,” Like usual, her words are sharper than his, but she makes one mistake.  “You can’t just refuse to learn forever.  What are you going to do when you get into the real world?”

Dot is trying to hope.  She trusts that, someday, they’ll escape.  Doesn’t matter how long it takes, they’ll still escape, because she trusts their family, and she trusts their growing abilities.

But Wakko...well, he isn’t quite so positive, at the moment.

“We’re never going to the real world!” He shouts.  “I know what forever means, I’m not that dumb, and that’s how long they’re keeping us here,” Dot is taken aback, but Wakko is a roll, frustrated and ashamed and angry, and Yakko is cut off by his next spitting sentence.  “And the worst part of it is that I’m stuck here with a stuck-up jerk like you!”

“Wakko Warner!” Yakko stands, and he doesn’t typically raise his voice like this, not angry, but that was uncalled for, and Wakko—

Wakko flinches.

Yakko falters, Dot’s eyes are already teary, and Wakko dashes off, vanishes up to the second floor before anyone can stop him.

Yakko attends to the sibling that is close by, because Dot is upset and angry and hurt, so he soothes her tears.

“Why would he say that?” She asks, confused.  “Did he mean it?”

“Of course not—he’s just not handling this as well as you are.  You picked reading up way faster than he did.  He’s been struggling with it, and with all...this,” he gestures to the tower.  Dot sniffles.  “You do have a habit of saying things that make you sound high and mighty, your majesty,” He adds, with a grin, and Dot giggles a little, wiping her eyes.

“Sorry,” She says, and he shrugs.

“Not me who needs an apology, sis, but I appreciate it anyway.  Let’s give Wakko some time to calm down, kay?” He picks her up and smiles.  “I don’t know what chapter you got to, but I have some thoughts on the 5th one.”

She grins back at him.

One down, one to go.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They find Wakko curled up in a ball on the couch upstairs, face hidden from the world and back facing the outside.  Dot comes over quietly, soft steps toward the tense coiled spring that is her brother.

“Didn’t mean it,” He sounds very...defeated.  “I’m sorry, Dot,” He sniffles, and she still can’t see his face.

“It’s okay,” she responds, because staying mad never helped anyone anyway.  “I shouldn’t have been so mean about it.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t know it was so hard.”

“It is,” Wakko finally turns to face her, and his face is stained with tears.  “I can’t get it to make sense in my head—and you got it easy.  Maybe I am stupid,” He turns to face her, sitting up and curling his knees to his chest, and the last phrase is muffled by his knees.

“You’re not!  You’re better at building things than I could ever be!  Words can be hard, though.  It took me a bit to get it.” 

He looks over at her, shyly, as if searching her face for any sign of a joke.  She remains resolute, and sincere. “Really?” 

“Yeah!  Hey, maybe I could try and teach you.  Yakko’s a real lazy teacher,” She jokes, and Yakko takes that as his cue to walk over.

“I take offense to that,” He responds without heat, before looking over to Wakko, who shrinks under his gaze.  The action makes Yakko want to disappear—how could he make his own brother scared of him?

“Sorry for scaring you, Wakko,” He tells him, hoping Wakko accepts the apology.  

“It wasn’t you-it was just,” Wakko is quick to reassure Yakko that he wasn’t scared of him, because he wasn’t, and knows that Yakko would never act in a way that should make Wakko afraid of him, he just was scared because “You’re tall,” He finally finds the words, and Yakko blinks.  “The execs who didn’t like us, they were tall, and they shouted a lot, and I was thinking about when we were out and I was already upset and it just happened, but you’re not scary,” He gives Yakko a shaky grin.  “How could someone even be scared of you?”

“Hey,” Yakko takes mock offense, but a weight lifts off of his shoulders.

He shuffles over, and takes the hat off of Wakko’s head to ruffle his hair.  Wakko reaches for it with sweater paws, standing on the couch to grab his hat back, and the tense air starts to dissipate.

Wakko yawns.

“I’m tired,” he mumbles, rubbing at his eyes.  Yakko settles down on the couch, between him and Dot, and lifts Wakko into his lap.

“Guess it’s naptime, then,” He leans back, hands behind his head.  “Dot?”

She’s already curling up against him.

Eventually, Yakko manages to get horizontal, Wakko and Dot curled up together on top of him. Slowly, he lets out a sigh of relief and sleeps.

The next day, he finds Dot and Wakko at a new dining room table, both hunched over a piece of paper.  Wakko looks very confused, and a little frustrated, but Dot goes over the same letter sounds over and over as if it were the first time, and that type of relentless explanation manages to get through the mental blocks Wakko sometimes has.

“So, the ‘c’ makes a cuh sound, ‘a’ makes an aay sound, so what’s that word?” She points.

“Ca-Catch?” Wakko tries, and Dot cheers, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

“You did it!” She says, and Wakko brightens like the sun.

“Faboo!” He responds, and the exclamation is so startling that Dot starts laughing.  Wakko joins in, and Yakko is chuckling to himself all the way to the kitchen.

Within two months, Wakko joins their book club.  They make matching t-shirts.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Yakko loves his sibs, he really does.  They’re basically the only reason he stuck around for so long. They need him.

But sometimes, he doesn’t want them.

Little siblings bicker and it gets real grating.  He just wants one day, one, where he doesn’t have to deal with a stupid argument!  Is that so much to ask

He feels like he never gets this petty over the small stuff.  Aren’t there more pressing things to be upset about?  He doesn’t expect his siblings to be friendly to each other all the time, but would it kill them to resolve their own issues?  Especially when they’re as small as whose mallet is whose(they’re identical) or where a furniture piece should go(when it’s going to be moved within a week anyway, because they’re always changing the format of the tower).  If Wakko’s hat is better than Dot’s flower.  How the kitchen silverware should be organized, even.  Yakko can’t see why it matters

He can’t even get peace now, trying to get through the book they’re in the middle of in their book club.  Wakko and Dot had sped ahead one day when Yakko was making dinner, and now he’s trying to catch up, but he can’t because they’re having another shouting match.  They’re hunched over a fashion magazine, trying to figure out what?  What dress looks cuter?  Wakko, apparently, picked the wrong one, and now Dot is upset, and now he’s upset because she’s upset at him, and it’s just so much.

Eventually he snaps.

“Alright, that’s it!” He shouts, and Wakko and Dot look up from their squabble-about what dress looks cuter, off all things. “I’m going upstairs, and you two deal with each other for a few hours, because I can’t.” He runs a hand down his face and sighs, grabbing his book and disappearing to the second floor, not even bothering to see their reaction.

And you see, you’d think he’d like the peace and quiet, but two hours in and his ears keep twitching, aching for the sound of silly conversation and laughter and pattering feet.  Sure, they’re annoying, and they squabble over silly things, but Yakko is paranoid at heart because the background sounds of them messing around is somehow relaxing, because then at least he knows that they’re there, that they’re safe.  Silence is uncertainty, silence means he’s alone, and he keeps subconsciously searching for their noise, to know that they are, and in turn he is, safe and there.  He thinks he might be a little too used to them, because without the ambient noise he can’t focus.  

Four hours later, and he comes back down, and is greeted to an armful of new books he definitely didn't make, and they don’t look published.  They look more like...picture books?

“We made them for you!” Dot says.

“I did the pictures, and Dot wrote the stories,” Wakko adds.

Yakko’s heart is so full it feels like his ribs are cracking.

“What a couple of authors you are!” he laughs, and they follow him all the way back to his chair.  He sets the books in a stack on his lap, picking up the first one and opening his mouth to read aloud as Dot and Wakko sit on the armrests of the couch, eagerly awaiting his narration and reaction.

Yakko thinks he got pretty lucky with his sibs, even with their petty arguments, smiling down at the pages and reading the books through.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dot loves her brothers.  She does.

But they’re gross.

Well, not gross, but certainly not clean.  They make messes and forget to clean them up.  And it’s not that bad, Dot doesn’t mind cleaning.  Wakko builds them things, Yakko takes care of the meals, cleaning is just part of her chores in this whole situation.

It reaches a limit, and she hits it when she watches Yakko spill marinara sauce all over the ground and then do nothing about it.  Wakko slips in it and the two just laugh it off, but the sauce splatters everywhere, and she has to clean that, and—

“Ugh!” She stomps her foot in frustration, and Yakko and Wakko turn to her, confused.  “You two are disgusting!  I have to clean this all up later, and-ugh!” She turns on her heel and heads upstairs.  She slams the hatch door to the second floor shut, and Wakko and Yakko wince at the sound.

“Is the second floor specifically for upset people now, or is it just a really lazy plot device?” Yakko snarks, and Wakko blinks.

“Should we clean this up?”

“Yeah, probably.”

She comes down an hour later, because she skipped dinner and though she doesn’t have a food issue she’s used to eating with her siblings, and she walks into a sparkling clean kitchen.

“This is a once a year affair,” Yakko says, as she stands there shocked.  “Maybe thrice if you pay us.”

“I ate a bar of soap,” Wakko says, and bubbles come out of his mouth.

“You two are ridiculous,” Dot says, and she can’t help the grin on her face.

She hugs them till she hears something crack.  Probably Yakko’s back, with how tense her eldest brother is.

It’s halfway to filthy by the end of the week, but she can tell they’re trying, and that’s enough.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

So yeah, they get sick of each other.  They have petty and not so petty squabbles, but no matter what they end up in the same place.

Curled up near each other, blankets pulled close so that the edges of the bed are barren.  Yakko always talks in sleep, Wakko drools and kicks, Dot will shift from time to time and grab at air, or anything in grasping range, but they won’t wake up, because despite those annoyances, together they feel safe.

And that’s what family is for, isn’t it?

[spacesuitsforemergency]

Everyone Loves Jaime Reyes

Word Count: 2.2k

Requested by @lina-lovebug: Jaime Reyes x Bucky Barnes daughter! Reader? And when they finally meet, Scarab is like, "Jaime Reyes, your heart rate has increased" "Jaime Reyes, he wants to kill you"

A/N: loved this prompt so I made this a short oneshot! Bucky is literally my favorite person to write as a dad (Music Meister is a close second tho)

“Jaime, you have got to chillax, dude.” Tye watched as his friend paced back and forth in front of the tv. “And move, I’m trying to watch the game.”

“This is a little more important than football, Tye!” Jaime snapped, running a hand through his hair.

You were on your way to his house, along with your father. And your father was the Winter Soldier, Bucky Barnes. The man with a huge metal arm that could probably kill someone with his thumb. Jaime’s parents were cooking in the kitchen, his sister was over at her friends house, and he called up Tye for moral support. And oh how helpful he was being, as usual.

“Okay, but stop pacing, you’re driving me nuts.” Tye rolled his eyes. “You need to calm yourself. It’s just the Winter Soldier. It’s not like it’s...I don’t know, Doctor Doom.”

“But it’s the Winter Soldier! He used to be an assassin! His best friend is Captain America! He’s an Avenger, hermano! What do you mean ‘it’s just the Winter Soldier’?!” Jaime grabbed Tye’s shoulders and shook him.

“Jaime, let’s not give Tye whiplash, please?” Jaime’s mother calls from the kitchen. “I’m off the clock, I will not be setting any broken bones tonight.”

“Sorry, mami.” Jaime sighed, smoothing out Tye’s shirt.

“Anyways...just act like you always do, everyone loves you.” Tye motioned for Jaime to get out of the way of the tv. “And maybe take a deep breath before you pass out.”

Jaime nods but doesn’t take the deep breath.

‘Jaime Reyes, your heart rate is dangerously high. I suggest following the Tye Longshadow’s instructions.’ Khaji Da piped up.

“I told you no side commentary today! What part of that do you not understand?” Jaime hissed at the Scarab.

Tye raised an eyebrow at Jaime, honestly worried about his friends sanity. He knew Khaji Da was probably talking Jaime’s ear off right now, but the dude needed to calm down. Meeting girlfriends parents was always nerve wracking, so it was reasonable for Jaime to be slightly panicked about meeting an Avenger.

Jaime jumped when his phone buzzed, and quickly dove for it. He picked it up, reading a text from you.

“They’re five minutes away!” Jaime shouted to nobody in particular, dashing down the hall to the bathroom. He checked his hair for the millionth time that day, wanting to look perfect for you. He took a few deep breaths, finally heeding Tye and Khaji Da’s words. He ignored Tye yelling at the tv and his parents cooking, just trying to remain calm. That didn’t last long, when he heard the doorbell rang.

“Jaime, that’s for you!” His father shouted down the hall.

“Should I get that or can you handle not going into cardiac arrest?” Tye asked from the couch as Jaime rushed to the door.

Jaime took one more breath, before slapping a smile on his face and opening the door.

“Y/N! Hi, mi rey!” He smiled happily, temporarily forgetting about the giant man behind you. He leaned down to kiss you on the cheek, then stepped aside. “Come on in.”

“Hi Mr and Mrs. Reyes!” You wave to them. “Hey Tye!”

“Sup?” Tye nods in acknowledgement, not taking his eyes off the football game.

“Hi Mr. Barnes, I’m Jaime.” He holds out his hand to your dad. He looks him up and down slowly, before finally, and very firmly shaking his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Jaime.” He says quietly. His eyes are narrowed at the boy as if he were suspicious of him, and his mouth was twisted in a frown.

“Dad, be nice.” You say through your teeth. You had told your dad to go easy on Jaime, and to try and not give him a heart attack. Your dad was always kind and gentle with you, but it was a completely different story with any of your boyfriends. You loved Jaime and wanted this relationship to work out, so you warned your dad to not scare him away.

“I am.” He muttered, eyes wandering to the tv. “What’s the score, kid?”

“Cowboys are loosing 13-22!” Tye shouted angrily, crushing an empty soda can in his hand. “And it’s the last 3 minutes!”

“Told you your team sucks.” You snicker, then laugh harder at the glare you receive.

“I’m gonna watch the rest of the game.” Your dad tells you, then glared at Jaime until he’s sitting on the couch.

‘Jaime Reyes, the Bucky Barnes has hostile intentions towards you. I suggest we neutralize him.’ Scarab says.

“We’re not killing anyone, Scarab!” Jaime whispered.

“Ignore him.” You tell Jaime, in deference to your dad. “He’s a big Teddy Bear, he’s just a little...”

“Terrifying?”

“I was going to say overprotective, but that also works.” You giggle. “Don’t let him scare you. I promise by the end of dinner he’s going to love you.” You give him a reassuring smile, along with a kiss on the cheek.

“Jaime, will you come help set the table?” His mom asks from the kitchen.

“Coming, mami!” He rushed over. You follow and help him set down plates and silverware, despite his mom insisting he’s got it.

“Oh come on!” Your dad and Tye both groan at the tv, as the game ends and the team lost.

Your dad introduces himself to Jaime’s parents in the kitchen, while Tye joins you two in the dining room.

“Your dads cool. Even if he’s a Colts fan.” Tye says as he plops down in his seat, not offering to help finish setting the table. “What are you so worried about Jaime? He’s chill.”

“You’re not dating his daughter.” Jaime mumbled as you giggled.

“Got me there, man.” Tye leaned back in his seat.

You all sit down for dinner, your dad easily has a nice conversation with Jaime’s parents. Jaime listens to every word his parents say, signaling to stop if they start to talk about something embarrassing or stupid he’s done.

From your point of view it’s going really well. Your dad and Jaime’s parents easily start chatting about...whatever it is adults like to talk about. You watch as Jaime’s hands shake nervously as he eats, and his eyes are darting between his parents and your dad as they speak. Tye’s not paying attention, digging into his food as if he hadn’t eaten in his life.

“So Jaime, do you play any sports?” Your dad finally turns to him.

“Uh...I’m on the basketball team, yeah.” Jaime nodded, stuttering as he spoke. “Used to play baseball too.”

“Basketball, nice.” Your dad nodded in approval. “You any good?”

“Jaimes on varsity.” You smiled.

“He’s a star point guard.” Mr. Reyes smiled. “We’re very proud of him.”

”And what grades do you get?”

“Straight A’s, sir.”

“Do you have a drivers license?”

“Um...yes.”

“You don’t sound sure about that.”

“I’m sorry, Uh...I have my drivers license sir.”

“Mm hm. Have you had a job yet?”

“Dad!” You hiss at him, giving him The Look™️. Mr and Mrs. Reyes look between the three of you, actually trying not to laugh. They both get that a father can be protective of their daughter, so they understood all the questions directed towards their son.

You and your dad narrow your eyes at one another, as if challenging each other. Jaime makes eye contact with his parents, shrugging. Then Bucky glares down at the kid, making his eyes widen in fear.

“Can somebody pass the pico?”

You all slowly turn to Tye, who apparently didn’t realize the tension in the air between your boyfriend and...everyone. He looks up from his plate expectedly, raising an eyebrow at everyone.

“What?”

“Oh por el amor de Dios.” Jaime shook his head as his mother passed it over, then smacked her sons hand. “Ow! What?”

“Cuidado con lo que dice.” She mumbled to him.

“Am I missing something?” Tye asked.

‘Kill the Tye Longshadow. He is too stupid to allow to live.’ Khaji Da folds Jaime. He bit back his response, but didn’t let the Scarab activate the armor.

Dinners quiet after that, awkward tension now in the air. Jaime got even more anxious, worried that he completely ruined it and that your dad truly hated him.

‘Jaime Reyes, your mate is growing angry. I suggest you calm her.’ Scarab alerts him.

He looks over and noticed you glaring at your dad, both of you raising your eyebrows at each other as if you were telepathically communicating. Your fists are balled up in your lap, and he discreetly places his over yours under the table. You loosen one hand and intertwine your fingers with his, slowly cooling off.

‘Jaime Reyes. We should annihilate the Bucky Barnes. He will get in the way of your companionship with your mate.’

“Stop.” Jaime whispers as quiet as he can, but everyone could hear it in the tense silence.

“So...who’s up for dessert?” Mr. Reyes stands up, taking some of the empty plates.

“Allow me.” Your dad clears his throat, taking the rest of the plates and following him to the kitchen. Mrs. Reyes gives an awkward smile before following them. You look at The expectantly, but he doesn’t take the hint to leave and just pulls out his phone.

“Khaji Da, I told you not today!” Jaime scolds the Scarab. “Man, I’m totally blowing this, aren’t I?”

“No you’re not.” You reassure him. “I’m gonna talk to him again, I told him to knock off interrogation mode.”

“Are you sure?” He asked, still not quite believing that he’s making a good impression on your father.

“Positive. You’re on varsity basketball, I’m surprised he hasn’t asked more about that.” You rubs his shoulder. “Try to bring that up again, he loves sports.”

“Ooh, and tell him about the big win last season.” Tye smacked his arm, not looking up from his phone. “And tell him how you stole the ball from me.”

“For the last time you passed it to me, it’s not my fault I happened to make the wining shot-“

“Hey!” You snap your fingers. “We don’t have time for your saltiness, Tye.”

“I am not salty.” He grumbled, but you both ignore him.

“Just keep up the sports talk, it’ll be fine.” You tell Jaime.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Jaime!”

“I’m just making sure!”

He shuts up when he sees the parents all coming back to the table, setting down plates of chocolate cake for everyone. You thank Mrs. Reyes before beginning to eat, nudging Jaime to tell him to start talking. He shook his head and shrugged, not really knowing how to start up the conversation.

“Hey dad, did you know Jaime scored the winning point for the tournament last season?” You clear your throat.

“Really? That’s impressive.” Bucky perks up. “How’d it go down?”

Jaime excitedly tells him (in much detail) about the last minute of the game and how him and Tye scores the winning points. He’s smiling and motioning around as he answers your dads many questions about it, and you feel better about this dinner now. You think it’s really cute when he talks about something he’s passionate about, so you catch yourself gazing at him.

“Well maybe you two can come down to the Avengers Compound, and Y/N and I can put you punks in your place.” Your dad grins and lightly punches Jaime’s arm. “If that’s okay with you, Mr. and Mrs. Reyes.”

“Jaime’s a superhero, I think some basketball will do him some good.” His mom stands up to take her empty plate to the sink, ruffling Jaime’s hair as she passed.

“Mom!” Jaime swatted her hand away, smoothing our his hair that he fixed for hours.

“Cool, can’t wait to crush you two.” Tye piped up, finally putting away his phone and opting to cross his arms.

“You wish, Cowboys fan.” Your dad scoffed.

“Oh yeah, Colts fan? We’ll see about that.” Tye challenged.

“No more football talk at the table.” You scold them.

“Well, we have to get going.” Your dad announces. “It was so nice to meet you.”

“You as well, Mr. Barnes.” Mr. Reyes smiles and shakes his hand.

You follow your dad as he says his goodbyes, give your boyfriend a kiss, then leave with him.

“So? Do you like him?” You ask your father as you get into the car.

“I actually do like this one. He’s polite and respectful.” He nodded as he started the car. “Sorry for grilling him back there, I didn’t realize I was doing it.”

“It’s alright. You liked him and that’s what matters.” You grinned.

“No, you like him and that’s what matters.” He corrected you.

“I love you, daddy.” You lean over to hug him.

“Love you too, babydoll.” He half hugged you. “Now get off I have to drive.”

You giggle and pull out your phone to text Jaime; He likes you! He says your polite and sweet!

Jaime reads the text and sighs in relief, thankful that the weight was lifted off his shoulders. Him and Tye were in his room now, preparing to play a new video game that just came out.

“Is that her? What’d she say?” Tye asked as he turned on the XBOX.

“He liked me.” Jaime set his phone down and picked up his controller. “Thank god, I thought I was gonna die.”

“Drama queen.” Tye mumbled.

‘Jaime Reyes, the Bucky Barnes still seemed to have hostile intentions towards you. I insist that we kill him.’

“Khaji Da, I am not telling you again!”

[brooklynislandgirl]

📝 for the answering of applicable questions, please!

~Quietly, in the Lower Garden District~

~Colour~

The man behind the counter is ready to reach over and strangle her. She can see it in his expression, so put upon by each time she shakes her head and asks if she can have another sample made. She almost wishes he would try, he'd lose more than the hour that she's been at this. That might be uncharitable of her but the man reminds her of the kind of person who, when not wearing his little vest, is exactly the kind of person who sees Beth and Anakin walking down the street together and curls a lip, makes passing commentary to other middle-age white guys. Too poor, too weird, too questionably ethnic to suit them. The kind of person who would walk faster when it got dark, or would lock up before they could make it to a door. There's more of those than either one of them care to acknowledge, and the irony is almost delicious. Except that sometimes Anakin cannot help but to be very aware of that kind of prejudice and it really takes another chunk out of his self-confidence.

"Allow me to explain again," she says softly, in crisp and enunciated haole. "I said I want a very specific shade of blue. A hint of royal with a tinge of cadet number five. Then mix at the edges a touch of Prussian and just enough Turkish Steel to give that depth soft edges. Then overly sky atop it all. Or better yet, please find me a customer service specialist who can, in fact, understand what I am looking for because clearly? You're not it." That might be her fault, she does want to paint the living room the exact shade of Anakin's eyes.

~Song~

She doesn't play as well as Andy could, and she would never be a singer though she enjoyed it maybe because it was more about intent than execution, one of the few things that held true in absolute. And sometimes neither one really mattered when he folded himself up like an envelope just so he could rest his head against her chest and instead of plucking strings, she only ran fingers through his hair. He closes his eyes and she focuses hers across the back yard. Beyond the pool and past the grass. Colours blur and fade and there's a ripple of dissonance within the Tapestry to make a boundary between what is solid and inflexible and what is hidden in a space outside of the Tellurian. Words they don't use in every day conversation. She isn't quite singing now instead humming a tune that would reveal more than maybe they're ready to dive into. Other words they don't use, either. Her palm comes to rest on his brow as tender as she knows how. The other reaches around him to tuck one of the knitted blankets around him. He doesn't seem to mind the combination of warmth between herself and the acrylic, is maybe the only other person who could be cold in anything else less than 80 degrees and 90% humidity. It takes an infinite amount of patience, skill, and mana to redirect the rain to a different part of the city. He'll forgive her weariness even if he doesn't understand why she will go to bed early, sleep in late. And that's okay. He doesn't need to know. It's better if he doesn't, it would spoil the gift. 'Cause I'm gonna make this place your home.

~Scent~ The balcony door is open letting muggy air move sluggishly in through the French doors. Beneath her the bed is a little too stiff for comfort. Her laptop almost too warm as it rests on her thighs and only serves to remind her that she should probably get out of the charcoal grey suit she's wearing. She closes the screen and pulls her glasses off, raising them so they rest in her hair. Takes a sip of the wine she'd bought at...some store she won't remember the name of... but that came recommended by the bellhop.

She didn't have the forethought before leaving for Baton Rouge to steal borrow something to bring along. For reasons that she didn't want to explain because there's no very polite way to explain she's grown used to having him sleep beside her. That there's something soothing that comes wafting up from his skin the closer he gets, arm wrapped around her, leg half thrown over. At the end of a day there's his natural chemistry that mixes with clean laundry and cigarette smoke, something sweet and spicy from his preferred night cap. Sometimes there's blood. Sometimes the distinct smell of wood or metal from something he's working on for himself, the kind of tinkering that seems to bring him peace like nothing else can. There isn't an exact name for it but she can recognise it at a thousand paces. It makes her want to burrow furtively into his chest cavity and find some way to live inside of that newly hollowed out space. Maybe just thinking about it was all she needed. Maybe it's some new kind of magick trick. Regardless, she'd managed to doze off just long enough to be startled when the door of her hotel room clicks shut and he's there. Pulled out of her day dreams and turned into flesh. With exactly the kind of apologetic grin she's become as familiar with as she is the smell of him. "Guess, I jus' couldn't sleep." And she knows there's more going on behind the sheepish look, and the way he stands at a polite distance away, maybe waiting for permission. She doesn't say a word. Only turns down the previously pristine other side of the bed before slipping from hers. The white silk blouse hits the floor seconds before she disappears into the bathroom.

~Meme~ She eyes Anakin. Looks at her phone. Back and forth for five solid minutes before she just starts giggling. Which turns into a laugh.

~Sound~ It's those little sub-vocalisations that get her. Every near guttural groan, every single one of those breathless whimpers that cling to the edges of her senses soft as cobwebs or hard as thunder. There are so many layers between them, so much context to be drawn from even a half of a sigh. They are a siren song even if she doesn't know what rocks he wants her to dash herself on.

~Setting~

She cringes. "I don' wanna tell ya." He's helping her work on a psychological profiling assessment that's required of her continuing education class, which is all part of her professional development. But she's worried because it's going to sound incredibly racist, coming as it is not from a white-passing woman of colour but one of incredible privilege who absolutely knows what it's going to sound like. But she cannot resist the look of self-accusation and anxiety that creeps into his micro-expressions and doing anything else would feel incredibly dishonest. Something she doesn't want to foster in him. "Somewhere 'round sunset. Da bayou waddah look like it on fire. Dere's some soft Zydeco music goin' on in da backdrop. Air's hot an' heavy like steam 'tween lovers an' if ya real quiet, can hear da bayou jus' come alive wi' oddah souls. Dere's pirogues bobbin' along, an' you can smell some ono grindz cookin' somewhere. Spanish moss all hangin' down from cypress an' willow trees. A mixture of old spirituals an' dat beautiful, melodic pidgin dat get spoke down dere...I know is nevah really li'dat.... also make me t'ink of witch blood an' Mokole dat pass as gators... all dem ghosts an' da kine ya nevah can put ya finger on but dat give ya chicken skin jus' t'inkin' 'bout..." ~Fashion Style~

Clothes litter her floor. Flung without a care to their resting places. Some on the edge of her bed or the arm of a chair. Suits and jeans and tee-shirts. Undergarments and socks. Like some small hurricane exploded out of the closet, just with less water. There's sarongs too. Luau shirts that just aren't him. Shoes too. Finally, she steps back and examines her handiwork. A frame work of satin boxers that will caress the most delicate parts of him without bunching or pinching. An accent of which are picked up in the suit lapels and bow tie. White shirt, black buttons. Silver cuff-links. Socks that are thin as a Friday night prayer, and absolutely voluptuous Paolo Scafora oxfords in a blue so dark they look black at first glance, polished to a mirror gloss. Dior and Stefano Ricci. Famous labels from famous houses of style.

If the gala wasn't required...Anakin wouldn't be seeing the light of day and there'd be very different reasons the clothes would be laying scattered about.

But she kind of also misses that scruffy plain, slightly tattered tee-shirt and skinny jeans even she would have a hard time getting up past her own hips, and questionably aged converse. Aesthetically speakin, Anakin is ever clothing designer's wet dream and she has never wanted to be a circular scarf more in her life. "Wow. Jus'....wow." ~Feeling~

"Belonging."

It's all she says before she kisses him. Softly and sweetly, a little wet from a stray tear that slips down between their lips. Admitting this is admitting that maybe, just maybe, she loves him, too. Which puts a countdown on everything. Which means that he's going to find the wherewithal to leave her and to take with him every that makes her feel even the littlest bit real. She doesn't know if she'll survive the loss, so it's best that she make the most of it before he goes. ~Animal~ "If you were one dem changing breeds? You'd be a were-fossa. Dey are dese medium sized ....well. Dey kinda look like cats, but also...dey don't. Related to da civet but also like...mongooses. Mongeese? Wha'evah. Dey from Madagascar. Da Malagasy got kapu of a kind an' actually are sorta afraid of dem, an' wi' good reason...dey carnivorous ay-eff." She glances over. "Don' laugh! Dey beautiful an' rare an' I really like dem a lot. An' I'm not gonna tell ya any more about dem. Gonna make a new animal, an' call it a' Anakin." There is every possibility that she will do this. Some day.

~Holiday~ Christmas. It will always be Christmas. Not the lights and snow and carollers, though there's plenty of that to go around. Not the chill and dank air, not the interminably long night, not even because of gifts. It's not a childhood of Santa surfing or canoeing, and it isn't sandcastles and malasadas left by the lanai doors from Hawai'i, either. Maybe it's a touch of the peace and goodwill often associated with the season, and how he came to find her when he needed her the most. But if she had to give just one reason, it's that he brought her back a sense of wonder that she'd thought was lost when her world had shattered. He took something terrible and turned it into something beautiful. That isn't an ordinary, every day kind of magick and she doesn't know how she will ever be able to express her love and gratitude for him.

"Wha'ya t'ink about mebbe da Bahamas dis year? Get out of da city for a lil while, I promise I won' make ya go for da beach."

~Season~

When Beth thinks of seasons, she thinks of it being a mainland phenomenon. Her own islands only really have two: Kau from May to October, where everything is beautiful and averages about 85 degrees give or take, and Ho'oilo from November to April when the best tides bring in the biggest waves. It's only cooler by about ten degrees. Which is maybe why she always feels so cold so far away from home. And why she likes it here so much. She knows other places have as many as six seasons, broken up into more agricultural and solar tied patterns of weather and climate and sometimes even just spiritual nature. But taking all of Anakin into account, she would have to say... "Monsoon. It's da time of life-giving rains. But also it can be dangerous for the same reason. Cool but lingers along your skin. An' it's somet'ing I keep wi' me always, waitin' for it."

[juniperwindsong]

Necessary Monsters (1/16)

Summary: His first instinct is to pull her flush against him, and his second is to push her away to disguise his desire for the first. Neither seem appropriate for the setting and Felix settles for reaching a single arm around her to pat her back carefully.

No one at Hogwarts, staff or student, can remember a more heated build-up to the Quidditch Cup. The final match may be between Slytherin and Gryffindor, but the tension has set the entire school on edge. Even the professors have been caught playing sides. McGonagall has neglected to assign homework to Gryffindor the week leading up to the match, and there's a rumour Snape has excused the Slytherin team from Potions classes to fit in extra, secret trainings. 

When the long-anticipated day finally arrives, students begin filing into the stands before breakfast to ensure they have decent seats, and by mid-morning there isn't an empty space anywhere. The stadium itself seems to vibrate with the collective anticipation.

It does not escape the notice of the more observant older students that the spectators appear to be evenly divided into crowds of red and green. Some people sport both colours simultaneously. A match like this would usually show the rest of the school united against Slytherin, the seats filled with red and gold and roaring lions. But enthusiasm for Slytherin is at an all-time high. Its Quidditch team is enjoying a popularity the house has not seen since before the first Wizarding War. For once, the palpable tension has little to do with which houses are playing and more to do with the players themselves. 

Because it isn't just Gryffindor versus Slytherin, it's Weasley versus Windsong.

Both sixth years and captains of their respective teams. The former commonly believed to be the best Seeker ever trained at Hogwarts and the latter famous for her aerial acrobatics and ability to play any position with ease. Efforts by the opposite houses to knock each out of the running has forced both to travel with an entourage for the last month. An entourage that more often than not includes each other as it's a well-known fact that Charlie Weasley and Juniper Windsong are not only Quidditch rivals, but close friends.

The teams walk onto the pitch to tumultuous applause, the two captains coming to face each other on either side of Madam Hooch. They're surprisingly close in height, and the grins they flash at each other, hidden from most of the spectators, are genuine, if competitive. They shake hands, the teams mount their brooms, and the sound of Madam Hooch's whistle is drowned by the roar of the crowd as the players soar into the air.

The game begins, and Felix Rosier isn't sure he's ever been so nervous in his life. Which is ridiculous, he tells himself. He's faced down furious, fire-breathing dragons; why on earth should something as silly as a school Quidditch game have his heart thumping violently in his chest?

He grips his knees tightly as he watches the Slytherin Chaser identified as Skye Parkin by commentator Murphy McNully tear off down the field with the Quaffle. She performs a complicated little flying manouevre that confuses the Gryffindor Keeper and earns the first goal of the game. The stands erupt. Felix realizes he's dizzy from holding his breath. He exhales forcefully and reminds himself that he's not invested in the outcome of this match.

"Relax, friend, what will happen will happen. What can we add to the match by worrying?"

Felix cuts his eyes across to the young man next to him. It's been a few years, but he recognizes the disheveled hair and unshaven chin of recently graduated Slytherin Quidditch Captain, Orion Amari.

"I'm not worried," Felix insists.

Orion nods. "A healthy perspective."

The crowd roars again as Skye Parkin approaches the Gryffindor goal posts at break-neck speed. Murphy McNully's magically amplified voice carries smoothly across the noise.

And will we see a second Slytherin goal in as many minutes? Parkin shoots and - No! Blocked by brand new Gryffindor Keeper, Oliver Wood!

"The new Gryffindor Keeper is well balanced, is he not? Skye will have to alter her tactics to get past him," comments Orion sagely.

Felix merely grunts in response. His focus is on the pitch, though his eyes aren’t following the progress of the Quaffle.

"You are Felix Rosier, aren't you? Slytherin's prefect from a few years ago?" Orion asks.

Felix gives a short nod.

"I heard you were in China studying dragons now?"

"Peru," corrects Felix tersely.

"Ah." Curiousity peeks through Orion’s unflappable veneer. "You know, I cannot remember ever seeing you at a Quidditch match before. Even when you were at school."

Of course, Felix thinks, it would be just his luck to be stuck beside the one person in the entire stadium more interested in conversation than the game.

"I never cared much for Quidditch. Waste of time, really," he says brusquely, hoping the former Captain will be offended enough to stop talking to him. But Orion merely nods again, face impassive.

"Everyone is entitled to their opinion. Although, yours makes it all the more unusual for you to be here."

Felix sighs. "It's an important match for... Slytherin," he says, before turning on Orion abruptly. "You've graduated as well, Amari. What are you doing here?"

"Showing support to my Quidditch family, of course," Orion replies. "We may graduate from school but we never graduate from our friends." He turns to inspect the progress of the game. "And, as you said, it is an important match. Especially for the new Slytherin captain."

Felix's heart stutters, but before he can respond the people around them are on their feet. McNully's commentary can just be heard above the renewed screams of excitement.

And Weasley dives! Is that the Snitch there on the ground? Could this match be over before it truly begins?

Everyone in the stadium, Orion included, is watching Charlie Weasley dive toward the grass below. Everyone except Felix, who closes his eyes, too nervous to look. One shaky breath, then two. The spectators burst into a mix of delighted cheers and disappointed cries.

Foiled! By the brilliant beating of Windsong and Lee!

At the sound of her name, Felix's eyes automatically. Just in time to catch a glimpse of Juniper Windsong swooping by the stands where Felix sits, as she takes a victory lap around the stadium. Felix’s stomach does a pleasant flip, and he has to fight to keep his face straight. 

Everything from Juniper's wide grin to her perfect posture is exceptionally confident as she controls her Comet 260 with only her knees, both hands wielding her Beater's club. Squinting, Felix can just see Barnaby Lee opposite her across the pitch. Together, the two of them keep possession of a Bludger, hitting it back and forth to each other rapidly. Then, with a casual-looking flick of her wrist, Juniper sends it hurtling toward an unlucky Gryffindor Chaser. The Chaser dives out of the way of the Bludger, leaving the path to the goal posts wide open for Skye Parkin to score again.

"They make quite the team, do they not?"

Felix can just hear Orion's voice under the cheers and applause. He purses his lips tightly, but Orion continues as though he hasn't noticed.

"Such an easy rapport. It is indicative of true harmony both on and off the pitch. Perhaps more teams should consider choosing Beaters who are romantically involved."

"They're not romantically involved,” corrects Felix hotly. "Not anymore. They broke up last summer. They haven't been together all year."

"Interesting," Amari murmurs. Felix feels the younger man's eyes on him, but he keeps his gaze steadfastly forward.

The Slytherin Chasers make their way up the pitch in possession of the Quaffle. Felix recognises Skye Parkin's attempt to set up some sort of Quidditch play. He isn't sure of its name or its purpose, but he feels certain it does not involve a second Slytherin Chaser snatching the Quaffle away from Skye at the last minute causing a scuffle in mid-air. A Gryffindor Chaser nearby takes advantage of the confusion and swoops down on them from above. The Chaser nicks the Quaffle and tanks off down the pitch before Skye can gather herself. The red and gold waves in the stands stamp their approval.

Orion shakes his head. "That Chaser is not working in harmony with his fellow players."

Felix's eyes narrow at the offending player. "That's Marcus Flint. He's been driving Windsong mad all year. Doesn't want to take orders from a girl, apparently."

Madam Hooch's whistle rings through the Stadium calling for time out. Juniper Windsong and Skye Parkin land hard near the Slytherin goal posts, Skye ranting at the captain before her feet are even on the ground. Felix is too far away to hear any words, but it's obvious from Skye's wild gesticulations toward Marcus Flint, who has landed nearby, what the conversation concerns. Felix's jaw begins to ache, and he realizes he's been gritting his teeth.

"You know quite a bit about the inner workings of the team for someone who does not care for Quidditch," observes Orion, watching Felix instead of the players on the ground.

Distracted by the sight of Juniper now berating the sullen-looking Flint, Felix answers, "Juniper mentioned him," without thinking.

"I see," Orion says. "I did not know you were so close with our resident cursebreaker."

"We...write.” Felix’s cheeks redden in spite of himself.

"Peru is a long way to come to support a pen friend." Orion's tone is unassuming, but the heat continues to spread down Felix's collar.

"I happened to be in the country," says Felix defensively. "And, as she mentioned being nervous about the game and I had some time on my hands, I thought I'd stop by. That's all."

Orion makes no further comment as the Slytherin players return to the air. Felix steals a quick glance at his pocket watch, fervently hoping the match will not last much longer.

His hopes are dashed as another hour passes, Slytherin in possession of the Quaffle nearly the entire time. Felix is grudgingly impressed by Skye Parkin's performance. She whips between the Gryffindor players as easily as if they were training dummies, although Flint continues to be a thorn in her side. Juniper is forced to fly between them more than once to stop their in-fighting.

Usually Felix would be bored to tears by now, but he can't keep his eyes off Juniper as she flies expertly about the pitch. The way she manages to keep track of the entire game at once, occasionally calling out plays or advice to her team, all while flicking Bludgers at the Gryffindor seeker is fascinating to him. Felix knows admittedly little about Quidditch strategy, but even he can see Juniper's goal is to prevent the Weasley boy from catching the Snitch at all costs. She and Barnaby Lee shadow the fiery red-head about the pitch. No matter how fast he flies, the Gryffindor Seeker cannot seem to shake the Slytherin Beaters.

The fourth time Charlie Weasley spots the Snitch, the little gold ball is fluttering near the same stands in which Felix and Orion sit. Felix has a perfect view of Juniper as she bats a Bludger directly at Charlie's outstretched hand. In the split second he withdraws to avoid breaking any fingers, the Snitch disappears. Juniper grins cheekily at the furious Seeker, and Felix's stomach somersaults again.

Well folks, we're an hour in, and the score stands at 160 points to 40 for Slytherin! Seems like Gryffindor's usual strategy of relying on a quick win by Weasley just isn't working for them this time! Felix can detect a note of glee in McNully's commentary.

Tensions in the air have reached a fever pitch, and Felix has to stop himself from wringing his hands visibly in his lap. Marcus Flint seems to have elected himself Slytherin's enforcer.  He abandons any attempts to score in favor of knocking into Gryffindor players who fly too close to Skye Parkin. The third time he does this, the unfortunate Gryffindor Chaser nearly falls from her broom, and Madam Hooch calls a foul. Felix watches Juniper fly right up next to Flint, grabbing his Quidditch robes by the collar and speaking fiercely into his face. Felix wishes he were close enough to hear what she's saying. He can guess, from the way Flint yanks his robes from her grasp and flies off angrily, it isn't encouragement. Felix runs his fingers through his hair nervously.

Play resumes as the Gryffindor Chaser shoots a penalty shot and scores. The cheers from the crowd have only just begun when a collective gasp ripples through them. Charlie Weasley rockets upward, lying flat against his broom for extra speed. At the far end of the pitch, Juniper hits one Bludger and then the other frantically at the Seeker who manages to dodge both.

"It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter," Felix mumbles under his breath as Weasley stretches his arm above his head, fumbling for the tiny gold ball.

Out of nowhere, Marcus Flint smashes into the Gryffindor Seeker's side, knocking him from his broom entirely. Weasley doesn't fall far before his arm is caught by a teammate, but the Gryffindor fans in the audience howl in outrage.

Foul by Slytherin Chaser Flint! There's Madam Hooch's whistle and it's a penalty shot for Gryffindor - but wait! Looks like Slytherin Captain Windsong has called for time-out.

The green-clad players swoop toward the ground. Felix watches Juniper stalk over to Flint, anger in her every movement. In spite of the distance between them, Felix fancies he can hear Juniper shouting at the rogue Chaser, who bellows right back. Flint is a good head taller than his Captain, broader as well, but Juniper squares up against him undaunted. She points a furious finger across the pitch to the changing rooms. Flint shakes his head, lips moving rapidly. Their argument lasts one tense minute before Flint, snarling, shoves Juniper away from him, hard.

Felix is on his feet without realising, blood pounding in his ears. He's not alone. The stadium around him appears to have exploded. Down on the grass, Barnaby Lee and another Slytherin player drag Flint away from Juniper, herself now restraining a shrieking Skye Parkin. Some primal instinct orders Felix to get to the pitch to assist, the fact that there's nothing he can do having no bearing whatsoever. It takes all the self-control he possesses to force himself to return to his seat.

Madam Hooch lands in the middle of the fight, blowing madly on her whistle. Felix's eyes widen as he recognises Snape crossing the pitch toward the scuffling team, as well. There's a few minutes heated discourse between the Slytherin Head of House and his Quidditch Captain before Juniper breaks away, breathing hard. She holds a swift, secret conversation with Skye, their heads bent close together, then she hands her Beater's bat to Madam Hooch and signals her team to remount their brooms. All except Flint. Felix watches, mouth hanging slightly open, as Snape escorts the furiously railing Slytherin boy back across the pitch and into the changing rooms.

And it looks like Windsong has booted Marcus Flint from the Slytherin team and is taking his place as Chaser! Slytherin will now be one player short for the most critical match of the entire year! A bold move for the new captain.

"Can she do that?" Felix asks, stunned, as the team waits for Madam Hooch's whistle to resume play.

"If she has done it, then it can be done," answers Orion mystically.

Felix brings a hand up to trace the long scar running down the side of his neck. He feels ridiculously helpless. He wishes vainly that he had never come to the match. If he'd had any idea how stressful Quidditch could be, he would simply have caught up with Juniper afterwards, and spared himself this torment.

The game begins again in earnest, and if Slytherin had a monopoly on the Quaffle before, it's nothing compared to now. Between Skye and Juniper, the Gryffindor Chasers barely have a glimpse of the ball. Slytherin gains another 30 points in less than ten minutes.

And Slytherin is now up by enough to win the match even with a Gryffindor Snitch capture! One has to wonder how this will affect Weasley's strategy...

It's obvious even to Felix that the Gryffindor Seeker has slowed his incessant circling of the pitch.  Presumably, he’s waiting until the Chasers score more points, but it seems unlikely Gryffindor will ever catch up. While Oliver Wood manages to save about one in three shots at the goal posts, the Gryffindor Chasers cannot manage to wrest the Quaffle from Skye and Juniper. Although, Felix thinks he can detect a slight lag in the Slytherin Chasers' movements. He wonders if the lengthy game hasn't begun to tire them.

At 300 points up for Slytherin, the spectators begin to be restless. The buzz of scattered conversations can be heard amid the regular cheers.

"Is this a typical length for a Quidditch game?" Felix directs the question at Orion, and the young man gives his enigmatic smile.

"There is nothing typical about a Quidditch match. Each is unique," he replies knowingly, before adding: "This one is rather long, though."

Sudden shouts in the crowd around him cause Felix to look up. He’s in time to see Weasley dive once more, just in front of his stand. As Felix watches, Barnaby Lee zooms forward, Beater's bat poised to aim a passing Bludger at the Seeker, but a shrill whistle distracts him before he can execute the attack. Half the players on the pitch, and Felix in the stands, follow the source of the noise to the Slytherin Captain. Juniper hovers near a goal post, shaking her head frantically at Barnaby.

Felix furrows his brow, confused. "What, does she want Weasley to catch it?" he asks incredulously.

Orion's smile blossoms into something less mysterious and more genuine. "Charlie Weasley is a good friend of Juniper's. Perhaps, she wants his team to lose with dignity."

Felix's face twists in distaste. "Or perhaps she just wants the game to be over," he argues, as Charlie snatches the golden blur hovering just above the ground.

"That too," Orion agrees, and the stadium around them erupts.

Supporters of both sides are screaming and crying. Felix finds himself on his feet with everyone else, caught up in the wave of adoring Quidditch fans applauding uproariously. He watches the Slytherin team hit the ground, brooms forgotten as they reach for each other in a giant, scrum-like embrace. Felix realizes the back of his robes are soaked through with sweat as though he too has been flying nonstop for hours.

Students swarm from the stands like locusts to surround the new Hogwarts Quidditch champions. Felix is just considering whether or not to attempt pushing through them when he catches sight of one lone, green-clad figure moving against the crowd. Juniper forces her way through the ecstatic Slytherins to the end of the pitch where the Gryffindor team has landed, slightly more subdued. Charlie Weasley's bright red hair is visible even from high in the stands. Felix can make out the Gryffindor's reluctant grin as he extends a hand toward the approaching Slytherin. Juniper ignores it. She pulls the short, stocky boy into a tight hug, and Felix's stomach, writhing nearly non-stop for the entire match, suddenly turns to lead.

Beside him, Orion says into his ear, "So, what do you think of Quidditch now?"

Felix scowls, unable to rip his eyes away from the spectacle below him.

"Absolutely pointless," he grumbles.

-

In spite of her scene on the pitch and its obvious implications, Felix decides it would be a phenomenal waste of time to have endured such a painfully long match without seeing Juniper after all, so he joins the throng traipsing from the Quidditch Pitch to the Hogwarts' dungeons. Although it has been a few years, Felix is sure he's never seen the Slytherin common room so crowded. It's impossible to see to the wall opposite, the room is so tightly packed with cheering, jumping bodies. He's certain there aren't this many people in the whole of Slytherin house. Sure enough, Felix catches a glimpse of Penny Haywood and another Hufflepuff girl with spiky pink hair passing out Butterbeers and talking animatedly.

"What in Merlin's name are Hufflepuffs doing here?" Felix mutters to no one in particular.

"Quidditch has a way of bringing people together." Felix rolls his eyes hugely as he recognizes Orion's mellow voice from beside his shoulder. "As does Juniper Windsong."

Felix bristles but says nothing. It's true, Juniper's friend group has always been diverse. It's a trait he usually admires in her, but Felix isn't well-disposed to her inter-house friendships just at present. He has only a moment to brood over this, however, before enormous arms grab him from behind and lift him off his feet.

"Felix!"

He recognises the enthusiastic voice of Barnaby Lee. The muscular boy gives Felix another hard squeeze before lowering him back to the floor.

"Nice to see you too, Barnaby," Felix gasps, winded by the rib-crushing hug. He straightens his robes and glances around self-consciously. Quidditch team members are filing in behind Barnaby, and Felix's heart skips a beat as the crowd around them gives an enormous cheer. But it's only Skye Parkin entering the common room with the Quidditch Cup held above her head.

"What are you doing here?" asks Barnaby excitedly. "I didn't know you were back from China!"

"Peru," Felix corrects, attempting to scan the players behind Barnaby as casually as possible. "And yes, I arrived today."

"Just to see us play?"

Felix fixes his gaze on the extremely tall, well-built young man in front of him. Barnaby has grown-up significantly since the last time Felix saw him, but he hasn't lost any of his boyish good-looks. Felix recalls Orion's comments about Barnaby and Juniper from the Quidditch match, and his already bad mood continues to sour.

"No, of course not," he replies curtly. "I've applied for a transfer to the Romanian Reserve. My interview is next week."

"Wow! That's amazing!" Barnaby's face is full of awe, which soothes Felix's temper very slightly. "But... how did you know we had a match today?"

Felix repeats his now practiced excuse. "Juniper mentioned it in her last letter, and, as I was in the country in time, I thought I'd drop by."

"So, she doesn't know you're here? C'mon, she'll be so excited to see you!" Barnaby grabs Felix by the wrist before he can reply and wades into the sea of bodies, pulling the former prefect in his wake. Felix is careful to stand as close to Barnaby as possible to keep himself from being swallowed by the crowd. He isn't usually bothered by cramped spaces. He's spent the last three years in a variety of tight quarters. But something about the heat and noise and sweat from the excited bodies around him makes him feel dizzy. He closes his eyes, allowing Barnaby to drag him forward, and so he hears Juniper before he sees her.

"Look, I warned him all year. If he wasn't going to be a team player then he wasn't going to play on the team."

Felix’s eyes snap open automatically. A cluster of people in festive green face-paint block his view, many of them busy loudly protesting Juniper's words.

"Weasley would have caught that snitch without Marcus! He saved the game!" says one petulant voice.

"That's how Slytherin plays! It's about doing anything to win!" insists another.

All pretense of nonchalance abandoned, Felix cranes his neck over Barnaby's shoulder. He’s just able to glimpse the back of Juniper's head. Her hair falls in waves, much longer and more kempt than he remembers.

"Look, no one wants to win more than I do!" she argues, and Felix swears he can actually hear her smile. "Well, except maybe Skye."

There's an outburst of appreciative laughter from her audience.

"But cheating is a cop-out," Juniper continues. "It means someone else is really better than me and I couldn't beat them on my own. I told Flint, I wanted us to win because we were the best or die trying, but cheating to make that happen is just the same as losing."

"Yeah, and it's nothing to do with the fact that it's Weasley he knocked about," says a sly voice from somewhere in the crowd.

The outcry around her is divided into loud cheers and raucous laughter, but Barnaby's voice cuts through them.

"Juniper! Juniper, look who's here!"

Barnaby steps aside just as Juniper's head whips around. Her eyes widen in recognition as they fall upon Felix. He has a split second to worry whether he should keep his face neutral or attempt a smile, before she flings her arms around his neck, dragging him into an eager embrace. Felix's first instinct is to pull her flush against him, and his second is to push her away to disguise his desire for the first. Neither seem appropriate for the setting. He settles for reaching a single arm around her to pat her back carefully.

Juniper pulls away, leaving her hands resting on his shoulders. She's grown quite a bit if she can look him in the eye while doing that.

"You're here! I can't believe you're here!" she babbles excitedly, her face transported by her wide smile. She laughs giddily and hugs him again, and as Felix inhales that familiar aroma of lavender and something else he can't identify, all his ill-feeling evaporates.

However entangled she may be with anyone else, Barnaby Lee or Charlie Weasley, it's suddenly as meaningless to him as Quidditch. Her scent, her arms around him, her body pressed up against his, all confirm for Felix what he's suspected for the past year: he's in love with Juniper Windsong. And he's come back to Hogwarts with the express purpose of telling her so.

-

Read Chapter 2 | View all stories on the Masterpost

[equiplocket]

They can’t believe they had to miss the duels because the multimuse isn’t done. For shame.

[fanfiction4thesoul]

My Happiness is with You Part 1

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader

Word Count: ~3.5

Warnings: Language; full on troupe

Summary: It’s the holidays which means it’s time to visit your parents. And Roger gets to come too.

A/N: Hello again. This has been in my drafts for a while. Figured I would post it. To be honest, I’m not sure how happy I am with this. So let me know if you like it, or I might just let it die. Thanks to any and all that comment/like/reblog!

“Yes, mum, I’ll be there. No, I promise I won’t be late. Yes, I have the time written down. Yes. Yes.” You sigh as your mother keeps going on and on about the holidays. She called just to make sure you had everything right before tomorrow. It was probably more because she liked to stick her nose into everything. 

You hear Roger chuckle as he gets up from the couch, having listened to your half of the conversation for the last 15 minutes. He pinches your bum as he passes causing you to squeak in surprise on the phone. 

“What was that? Are you alright (Y/N)?”

Glaring at Roger does nothing but make a cheeky grin appear on his face before he disappears around the doorway. 

“Yes, mum, I’m fine. Look I’ve got to go but I’ll talk to you later.”

“Wait! One more thing. You’re bringing your boyfriend, right? Ryan was it?”

“It’s Roger mum. And yes, I told you he’d be coming along.” You frown. Your mum is normally really good with names. 

“Great! Last thing, I promise. Ellie will be coming too! Won’t it be great to see your sister? And of course Richard as well.”

Oh yes. Seeing Ellie and Richard will be simply delightful. The prodigious first born with her dashing husband to boot. 

Just as you were about to respond, Roger comes back through the kitchen with two bottles of beer in his hand. He waves one in your face before moving to sit back on the couch. 

“Yeah it’ll be fantastic mum. I’ll see you then. Bye!” You hang up the phone without waiting for a response. Groaning, you move back to the couch with Roger, taking the offered beer before settling next to him.

“Your mum giving you trouble?” Roger asks as he tucks you closer into his side. 

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” You take a large pull of beer. Setting it on the coffee table, you move to snuggle into Roger’s shoulder. “Are you sure you still want to go?”

“Not in the least. But they’re you’re family. I have to meet them right?”

You and Roger had been dating for quite a while now. You met back when Queen just formed at one of his gigs and hit it off. The expected one night stand turned into a two night stand that just sort of never ended. Well, until Freddie basically smacked you over your heads and asked what the fuck you were doing. 

Now here you were, living together though not alone. You moved in with Roger and Freddie over a year ago. While Queen was starting to do well with the sales of their first album, none of you could afford to live on your own. But that was fine with you. You adored Freddie, even if he was a shitty roommate sometimes.

“I’ve told you, you don’t have to meet them if you don’t want to.” You try to reassure Roger. Even though you’ve been together for a while now, you don’t want to scare him off with the prospect of your parents. Lord knows your mum just might.

With the holidays rolling up, your mother planned a small family get together that was supposed to be just you, your parents and your brother, Tom. He was on holiday from his first year at uni, so you’re excited to hear how he’s been making out. Out of the two of your siblings, he was easily your favorite.

Roger originally wasn’t supposed to come, but he told you a couple weeks ago he wanted to meet your parents. “No, love, I’ve got to meet them. I’m just a little nervous.” Looking up, you can see worry in his clear, blue eyes. He sets his empty bottle next to yours, avoiding your gaze.

“Where’s the confident rockstar I fell in love with? I didn’t think you’d be afraid to meet my parents.” You brush your hand across his cheek, gently turning him back to face you, wondering where this insecurity came from.

“I don’t know if you noticed, love, but I wasn’t exactly a one-woman kind of person before I met you. I never had to meet a bird’s parents. And I’m definitely not the type of guy parents want their daughters to bring home.”

Roger certainly had a point. With his long hair, smoking, drinking, and passion for the drums, he can seem like a parent’s worst nightmare. But you’ve been lucky enough to get to know Roger and see past the mask he puts on for the world. 

You’ve seen him patiently take care of Freddie while he was sick and being an even bigger diva than usual. 

You’ve watched him get excited over the release of the latest book in the series he’s been reading. 

You’ve seen all his soft smiles and the tender gestures that make up Roger.

“I think you’re exactly the type of person I want to bring home. And if my parents can’t see that in the few days that we’re there, it’s their loss.” Bringing him down, you kiss him sweetly. He responds immediately, molding your lips together.

When you pull away, he leans his forehead against yours for a moment. “Okay. We’ll see how it goes.” He gives you one more quick peck. “Now let’s get back to the movie. You’ve already got me emotionally invested in these characters so I need to know how it ends.”

Laughing, you rearrange so you’re curled up in Roger’s lap, head resting against his neck. 

Tonight's date night for the two of you. And by god does that make you sound like an old married couple. But you’ve been so busy the past few weeks with the holidays, you’ve barely been able to spend time together. 

So you both insisted on having a night to yourselves before you shove off to your parents’ place. Luckily, Fred was out of the house, so you and Roger could watch shitty movies and cuddle on the couch without Fred’s suggestive commentary. 

When you first met Roger, you thought he was very rigid. Sure he was suave with any woman he came into contact with. But he always seemed so aloof, both physically and emotionally. Of course, he had no problem with bold gestures to flirt, or anything to do with the bedroom. You just never took him for a touchy feely kind of guy. 

Boy were you wrong. Once you got together, he loved to touch you.

A hand on your hip to bring you closer or an arm around your shoulder as you sat together. Anything he could do to idly touch you, he would. His absolute favorite though was holding hands. He’d swing them between you while you walked, bring them into his lap, plant kisses all over your hand. You think it has something to do with all his excess energy.

Not that you minded. 

So it comes as no surprise to you that by the time the movie is over and you’re halfway through the next, you’re both stretched across the couch in a mess of limbs. 

You’re almost asleep on top of Roger’s chest, mostly because he’s gently running a hand up and down your back soothingly. His other arm keeps you pressed against him, as close as you can possibly get. Just before you can doze off, the door bangs open and the lights flick on. The light easily passes through your closed eyes, causing you to scrunch them up. Roger groans and you feel him throw an arm over his eyes.

“Hello, darlings! How are you this fine evening?” Freddie barges in. Squinting through your eyes, you can see him shedding his many layers of clothes he wore against his bitter cold. Fred sure knew how to ruin a moment. 

“We’d be a hell of a lot better if you knew how to make a quiet entrance Fred.” Roger moves his arm to glare at him, using his other to hug you impossibly closer. 

“And where’s the pizzaz in that?” Fred moves to the kitchen and you hear him put the kettle on. “Have you two been here the whole night? What happened to date night?”

“Well, it looks like it just ended,” Roger grumbles, though you doubt Freddie hears him. Sighing, you snuggle into Roger, willing the soft atmosphere to return. 

Fred drops something in the kitchen and yelps. 

You let out a groan filled with resignation. You know it’s time to get up and actually go to bed. You’ve got a long trip tomorrow and you both need some rest. Though Roger protests when you move, he follows you down the hall to your room. You get ready for bed in comfortable silence. Taking off your shirt and shorts, you rifle through Roger’s clothes before you find your favorite shirt of his and pull it on.

Collapsing into bed, you close your eyes again until you feel Roger’s weight beside you. He guides you to him so you can cuddle into his side. Just as you’re about to fall asleep, you hear him whisper, “I really hope you’re right about tomorrow, love.”

Trees blur by as Roger speeds down a back road, only a short distance from your parent’s house. He’s nervous. He fiddled with the radio for half an hour before you told him to knock it off. Then it switched to tapping out random rhythms on the steering wheel. You finally lit up a cigarette and passed it off to him. 

For the rest of the trip, you and Roger have managed to to go through half a pack. It definitely helped with his jitters (and yours too, if you’re being honest) so you can relax and talk. Roger finishes off the last cigarette, tossing it out the window before rolling it up, cutting off the frigid air. 

Before he can start tapping away again, you grab his hand and bring it into your lap, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “It’ll be fine, Rog,” you tell him. He gives you a small smile in return just as he pulls onto your street. You feel your own nerves jump a little. 

Once he parks, you get out and he quickly follows joining you at the front of his car. He takes a second to pull your coat tighter around you. “You muppet, were going inside! Quit fussing.”

“Oh shut up,” he says. You laugh as he bring you in for a tender kiss. “Can’t help it,” he sighs and offers you his arm. “C’mon, love. Let’s go meet your parents.” His smile is brilliant as he guides you up the drive to where your family waits. It’s the special smile he reserves only for you and it makes your heart swell even further. It gives you hope that he’s gotten over his worries. You’re so happy with Roger. Every day you’re reminded of why you love him so much. 

You just hope your parents can see that. Well, more like your mum.

Before you can even reach the front step, the front door is thrown open. “(Y/N)!” Tom yells. He races forward and tackles you in a hug, forcing you to let go of your grip on Roger.

“Tom! It’s so good to see you!” you laugh out. When he relinquishes his hold on you, he has a huge grin on his face, partially obscured by his shoulder length, dark hair. “You grew your hair out! It looks very rockstar,” you say, fiddling with the ends. 

He swats your hand away, “Yeah. Figured I could get away with it now I’m at uni. Mum still had a fit, though.” He shrugs his shoulders. His eyes flick over to Roger who has been watching your whole exchange with a fond smile. You’ve told him numerous times how close you are to your brother, so he knows how excited you really are. “And who’s this?” he drawls, “The beau mum’s been talking about?”

“You bet I’m the beau,” Rog grins, extending his hand, “Roger Taylor.”

Tom squints his eyes as he shakes hands. “I feel like I’ve heard that name somewhere before.”

Roger opens his mouth to answer, but your mum’s yelling interrupts him, “Thomas! Will you let them in the house for God’s sake!”

Tom just rolls his eyes. “C’mon, before she shits a brick.”

You grab Roger’s hand again and lead him inside with Tom. The rest of your family is spread about the kitchen. 

“(Y/N)! You finally made it,” your mother exclaims, though she makes no move to hug you. Your father gives you a smile, though, before bringing you into a bear hug. Pulling back, he gives you an eye smile. Always a man of few words, your father likes being in the background and leaving your mother to take the lead.

When he sits back down at the table, you’re brought to the attention of your sister. Ellie is sat at the table as well, Richard leaning against the wall directly behind her. “Ellie, Richard,” you say. Ellie just gives you a nod and looks away while Richard doesn’t even pay you any attention. 

“Well, (Y/N)? Are you going to introduce us to your boyfriend or not?” Your mother asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Of course,” you pull Roger a little forward with you, giving his hand a squeeze, “Everyone, this is Roger. Rog, this is my mum, dad, Ellie, her husband Richard, and you already met Tom.”

Roger puts on his most charming smile, “It’s a pleasure to meet you all. Thank you for letting us stay with you, Mr. and Mrs. (Y/L/N).”

“Oh none of that. Call me, Charlie,” your dad says.

“...You can call me, Beth,” your mother adds hesitantly. You quickly dart your eyes to your mother and wait. She looks a little uneasy, but doesn’t say anything more, making you breathe a sigh of relief.

Your father is quick to invite you and Roger to the table where supper is just about to be served. You have to squish onto one side with Tom to all fit, but that just means you and Roger get to sit closer together. Tom catches everyone up on how he’s been doing at uni, the friends he made, the classes he’s taking. Your mother scolds his hair choice and you watch her gaze shift to Roger slightly before returning back to Tom. Roger must notice though, because he squeezes your thigh under the table. 

It’s strange and a bit worrisome. Your mother has always expressed a certain type of dislike towards what she considers the “unruly” people. You thought she might mention some of those comments in passing humor before warming up to Roger. But her quiet demeanor is unusual. And unnerving. You’d have to try and talk to her alone some time.

A moment passes before your mother brings up Richard’s law firm and so dinner digresses into mind numbing lawyer talk that no one actually understands. You can tell Roger is trying to be polite. He looks attentive as he listens to Richard, but his wandering hand tells you otherwise. He keeps it tame, though, only caressing your thigh and playing with your hands. 

When Richard finally stops talking and there’s a small lull in conversation, your father speaks up for the first time, “I’d like to know more about you, Roger. If you don’t mind.”

“What would you like to know, sir? I’m an open book,” he says, leaning back in his chair and putting an arm around the back of yours.

“What are you studying?” your mum cuts in.

“Right now, I’m going for biology.”

“Right now?”

Roger shifts a little, “I used to study dentistry, but I was quick to find out I’m not cut out to be a dentist.”

Though your father asked to know more about Rog, your mum takes over the conversation. She asks him everything from where he grew up, to his previous schools, to where he works. Then she starts throwing in her snide comments. 

“Oh, you lived in Truro? I heard the city’s architecture is atrocious.”

“I bet you had some interesting people at your stall in Kensington Market.”

The more questions she asks, the more comments she makes. And a pit forms in your stomach. She’s keeping everything cool and calculated. Like she’s gathering evidence for a trial. You knew she wouldn’t like his appearance at least. Not with his long hair and stylish (if outlandish) fashion. But this is not how you scripted it in your mind. She was supposed to make some faces, maybe, that you would brush off. Then she would start to like Roger once she got to know him. 

She wasn’t supposed to do...this. 

You’re sure Roger knows what your mother is thinking, if the furrow between his brows is anything to go by. His answers, that started out extremely polite, now hold a soft edge to them. He counters her comments with an easy breeze, as if he’s not being subtely insulted. He’s waiting for something. 

You can see Tom watching this ping pong match with a little worry showing on his face. Ellie and Richard’s face give nothing away. “Wait, wait, mum,” Tom interrupts, attempting to save you and Roger. “How’d you meet (Y/N)?” 

“We met at a bar my band was performing at. Hit it off and the rest was history.” There it was; his ace. A hit back at your mother. Roger smirks, tongue in cheek looking completely satisfied as he waits for your mother’s response.

You watch with a small smile as Ellie finally frowns. Just as your mother goes to open her mouth, your dad speaks up, surprising you. “Oh, you’re a musician. That’s quite a talent. What instrument do you play?”

Roger looks just as surprised as you, but kindly replies, “I mostly play drums and backup vocals, though I can do some guitar as well.”

“What did you say your bad was called?” Tom asks.

“When I first started in uni, it was Smile. But we changed lead vocals and bass so now we’re called Queen.”

Tom slams his hands on the table causing you to jump. “I knew I heard of you before! The guys on my floor wouldn’t stop raving about Queen, wondering when they were gonna come back to play. I’ve heard your album a hundred times thanks to my roommate.”

Roger gives him a genuine smile and explains how the band sets up gigs and that they might be headed back towards his area in the near future. While they talk, your mum is silently stewing at the head of the table. She catches your eye once, and you just stare back, not sure how you’re going to deal with this.

Supper finally ends and you and Roger help Tom clear the table and do the dishes. Your dad makes a move to protest, but your mum quickly shuts him down and ushers everyone else into the sitting room. Tom and Roger joke around while you work, seemingly forgetting the tense atmosphere from before. You’re glad they get along above anyone else. When you finish the dishes, you shoo Tom in with the rest of the family, saying you’ll be along soon. 

He doesn’t get very far before he turns around. “Don’t let mum get to you, (Y/N). Or you either, Roger. Just make sure you’re happy.” He says the words lowly so no one else overhears. You sigh as he walks away. When did he become so mature?

Bundling back up in your coats, you lead Roger outback into the cold air. He quickly lights up a cigarette, leaning against the railing of your deck. He takes a deep drag before passing it off to you. You mimic his position. After a few moments, he asks, “Are they always like that?”

You hum. “Like what? Pretentious as fuck?”

He snorts a laugh, “Yeah.”

“Only my mum and sister. And Richard by default I guess. My dad just quietly goes along with everything. Tom’s the only outspoken one.”

“Besides you, right love?” He gives you a soft smile around the cigarette.

“Yeah...besides me.” Roger passes you the last of the cigarette, coming to stand behind you. As you take the final drag flinging away the butt, he wraps his arms around your middle pulling you back against his chest.

“I’m… sorry. About my mother. I don’t know why she’s being like this.” You feel so shitty about how she was behaving. Roger doesn’t deserve that.

“Hey, you’ve got no need to apologize for her, love.” He speaks in your ear, nuzzling against you. “I’ve heard it all before. From my own parents, no less.”

You sigh, “Still. I’m sorry.”

Roger hums, kissing a line up your neck. When he reaches your ear again, he pauses. “You’re happy, though… right love? With me?”

You whirl around in his arms, looking up at his startled expression. “Of course I’m happy with you! Don’t ever doubt that.”

He smiles and brings you in for a long kiss. “I don’t, love. Not with you. I love you. So long as you’re happy, I don’t give a damn what anyone else thinks.” He murmurs, still brushing his lips against yours.

You just bring him back, pressing yourself as close to him as you can possibly get, conveying as much love as you can into the kiss.

[keeroo92]

Crimson Tide Ch7

Chapter Seven - Transit

Enjoy!

---Reader---

Your shoulders relaxed in V’s grasp as the ache in your head faded away. The pain kept getting more powerful and each episode left you feeling wrung out like a towel. At the very least, whatever was happening to you had yet to last longer than a few minutes. Terror still dominated your mind, but you took solace in the discomfort's brevity.

Maybe I have a tumor or something. Maybe I’m going crazy.

Maybe I’m already crazy.

The rapid pounding of your heart began to slow and you took a deep breath, exhaling heavily as the last twinge of pain dissipated. You opened your eyes and blinked, the light a shock after being closed for the past few minutes. You were still outside in your mother’s yard, so it couldn’t have been too long. V would’ve moved you otherwise.

“It’s gone again,” you whispered. V pulled away to gaze at you, his concern evident as it always was. You gave him a smile, hoping it would reassure him, but he didn’t budge. He tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear and you leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hand on your cheek helping center you further.

“It’s getting worse,” he said. You nodded and reached for your water, taking a sip to gather your thoughts. He took your left hand and stared at it thoughtfully, weighing his words before he continued.

“I think it has to do with the portals.”

You sighed and set down your glass. “It does seem related. Maybe we should try checking Dante’s library?”

He smirked and his emerald eyes rose to meet yours. “You read my mind, little fox.”

The poet helped you rise, guiding you back to sit in one of the wicker chairs from where you’d fallen to the ground. At the sound of approaching footsteps, you turned your head to see your mother returning. She looked a little calmer, but she still toyed with her hair anxiously as she sat down with a sigh and dropped her hands.

“I’ll be staying with your grandmother for a while. She says hi.”

Relief flooded you; your mother would be out of danger. You weren’t close with your grandmother, but she lived over six hours away and it should be safe there.

“Okay. Say hi to her for me,” you replied. V dropped your hand and stood, stretching his shoulders with a soft grunt. He gestured toward the main road, indicating how it was now early afternoon. You’d been gone for hours, and you needed to return to the group soon.

“We should head back. Are you good, mom?”

She nodded and the two of you rose to hug. You inhaled her scent and allowed it to ease some of your worry away. There was something about the aroma that made the world seem less scary, a gentle reassurance that you weren’t alone. The feeling of home reminded you painfully of your childhood and you hugged her tighter, absorbing as much of the comfort as possible with so many worries swirling in your mind.

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” she whispered. You released her and stared earnestly into her eyes, heart aching as you saw the tears waiting to fall.

I’m so sorry, mom…

“I promise. Everything’s going to be fine.”

I hope.

---V---

The lull of the bus sent you straight into a doze, the bitter tang of cigarettes and sweat barely making you pause. V found it distasteful, but there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. He sat stiffly, your head resting on his shoulder as you napped. Your mother’s parting words to him echoed in his mind as he watched your eyes twitch in a dream.

Protect her.

The poet sighed softly, trying not to move too much. What was he risking, by not asking you to stay behind? Would you die if you went to save Nero and Dante? Would he? What if your health got worse and something trapped you in Hell where there were no hospitals, no doctors or even a band aid?

He couldn’t let you die. He wouldn’t.

You can’t possibly be thinking of making her stay behind.

V mentally rolled his eyes at his companion.

You know, in most cultures it’s considered rude to eavesdrop.

What do I care? Listening to you think is the only entertainment I got! No cable in here!

I’ll get right on that.

A low purr and the echo of a rockslide sounded at his sarcastic response and he smirked. It was occasionally entertaining to have three separate beings share his mind, though it became crowded at times. He had the ability to block them out, but other than a few intimate settings it seemed excessive.

The point remains – she is ill. It’s too risky.

Yeah, good luck keeping her from trying to save Nero.

V cringed. It would be a difficult conversation. He’d need to plan carefully, pick the right moment. Be strategic and tactful, approach the issue with logic, so you might see reason. He huffed in frustration as no immediate solutions came to mind.

Doesn’t matter when or how you say it; she’s not gonna like it.

If you’re going to offer commentary, at least try to be helpful.

My advice? Keep your mouth shut. She’s going, and there’s nothing short of hiding her in the basement and throwing away the key that’ll stop her.

V sighed. This might be more troublesome than he thought. Griffon faded into the background as he continued his musings, the mouthy demon having said his piece. The blocks passed by in a blur as the bus rolled on and before he had time to make any progress, it had reached the stop closest to home. He tugged the cord overhead and whispered your name gently to wake you.

“We’re here, love. Wake up.”

You blinked your bleary eyes open with a grunt, crinkling your nose adorably. V’s heart warmed, renewing his determination to keep you safe. The bus creaked to a full halt and he led you off as you yawned. The bus stop wasn’t far from the manor, and within ten minutes the two of you were stepping through the front door. Inside, Lady sat at her computer typing furiously. From the stressed look on her face, V knew no portals had formed since she’d arrived.

“I’m going to go train for a bit, we can visit Dante’s tomorrow,” you murmured, giving V a quick peck on the cheek as you stepped away.

I suppose I’ll work on the new bedroom, then.

He rolled up his sleeves and turned around to head back to the exterior of the house, trying to focus on finishing the drywall by dinner instead of his worries.

---Reader---

You heard Trish training as you neared the familiar room, her low grunts mixing with short blasts of yellow light that flashed through the hallway. She gave you a tight nod as you drew your sword, beginning your warm-ups as she practiced. The motions soothed your troubled mind and you let out a deep breath as you focused on honing your skills.

You finished warming up quickly and joined Trish’s sparring session in the open center of the room. As you approached, you noticed her movements seemed off somehow, slower than usual as if something was distracting her.

“You okay, Trish?” you asked her kindly. She met your eyes and the look of agitation on her face solidified your worries.

“I’m all right. Let’s get to it.”

You didn’t believe her, but lowered yourself into the standard guard position anyway. Trish smiled ferally and attacked, her blade a blur as you struggled to counter her speed. She had no mercy, slicing and lunging with such rage on her features she resembled a demon. You cursed as her attacks forced you to step back, putting your spine against the wall.

She dashed forward, her blonde hair a tornado as she closed the gap with a grunt to slash at you with a dagger. Her path of attack was obvious, no tactical thinking apparent and you blocked it easily. Caught off guard, Trish paused and you countered with an upward slice of your own, expecting her to dodge as she always had.

But your blade sank into the meat of her forearm, drawing blood as she staggered. You dropped the sword to the floor and rushed over to her, already shouting apologies.

“Trish! Are you okay? I’m so sorry, let me take a look at it!”

Something’s definitely off with her, she’s never taken a blow like that before.

She held her bleeding limb out for your inspection, her jaw clenched as you took stock of the damage. It was shallow, to your relief. You wouldn’t even need to stitch it closed. Still, you dropped her arm and retreated to bring the first aid kit over. Trish sat in annoyed silence as you cleaned the injury, barely making eye contact as you wrapped it in gauze.

“Ok, you’re good. Again, I’m really sorry,” you said. She stood and continued practicing, her eyes challenging you to join. The two of you fell into the familiar pattern of attacking and defending in turns and you tried to ignore the concern niggling at your mind for your friend. You lost track of time as you sparred, too focused and worried to notice the hours ticking away until the clatter of approaching feet stole your attention.

“GUYS! Guys, we got another one! Let’s go!” Lady’s thrilled voice shouted from the hallway. You beamed at Trish and helped her grab the spare swords kept in the training area, dashing out to the main room to learn how far you’d be traveling.

You skidded to a stop when the hum returned, intense and focused like a scalpel performing brain surgery. With a startled gasp you dropped the tangle of blades, hands rising to rub at your throbbing temples.

“What the hell, Y/N?” Trish cried behind you. The pain crystalized, driving deeper into your skull and she stared in confusion as you crumpled to the ground, unable to respond. It felt like someone was taking an ice cream scoop to your brain and you retched, spilling foul-smelling bile onto the hallway floor. V came running as the others finished preparing the van, and together he and Trish carried you to the couch in the van.

“What’s wrong with her?” Trish asked. You wanted so badly to reassure her, but all you managed was a weak groan as V settled your head in his lap.

“She’s been hearing a humming sound, accompanied by pain. We think it has something to do with the portals,” V replied. He stroked your hair and gripped you tightly as Nico started the van. Trish’s voice sounded distant, almost as if she were underwater as she replied, and you withdrew inside yourself, hiding from the agony behind a wall of blank incoherence.

 For the rest of your life, you wouldn’t be able to recall the journey to the portal. All you knew was the pain between your ears, and how much you fought it for control of your own thoughts. You failed at every turn.

The next time you processed your surroundings, you found yourself still in the van with V, the Tris and Lady on their way out the door as he continued stroking your hair and cradling you gently. Nico and Kyrie sat in the front, their eyes mirroring V’s concern as they watched you recover. You blinked as a flash of bright colors and unending light crossed your vision, but it dissipated so quickly you couldn’t discern any details. With its passing the pain vanished without a trace.

“Are you all right now?”

You raised your head and nodded, carefully standing a moment later to head outside. V’s hand on your wrist held you in place and you stared at him with a questioning expression. He swallowed and looked at the floor as he spoke, unable to look you in the eye.

“I… I think you should stay behind.”

He can’t be serious.

Nico and Kyrie frowned but didn’t speak, staying out of the obviously approaching argument. You glared at V, about to retort when he continued.

“You aren’t well and we don’t know why. We don’t even know for sure that Dante and Nero are still alive, let alone if we’ll find them. We might be gone for months. What if your condition worsens? What if it overcomes you during a battle? You could die.”

The undeniable urge to lash out, to fight surged through you. You blinked in disbelief – V wanted you to sit at home and wait like some kind of helpless idiot while everyone else went after your best friend? No way. He knew you’d never do that! Just thinking about it made you shake with rage. How could he suggest such a stupid idea?

How dare he?

“I’ll stay with you. The others should be able to handle anything they find well enough,” he concluded.

You almost slapped him, clenching your hands repeatedly to suppress the desire. He dropped your wrist as you seethed in anger but didn’t retract his words. It took a moment for you to calm yourself enough to face him, but you saw red again as he reached out to lay a hand on your shoulder. You blocked his touch with a dismissive gesture, knocking it off course with ease.

“Don’t. Don’t touch me right now. I can’t – we don’t have time for this!” you snarled. V visibly flinched at the venom in your voice but you were too angry to feel guilty.

And without another word, you opened the door and started running, straight at the portal with tears prickling at your eyes. It opened again behind you as V followed, but you had too much of a lead on him and he couldn’t stop you. He cried your name, but you didn’t turn. You only ran faster, determined to cross. Lady and Trish were eliminating a pair of Caina and as you streaked forward, the roar of the engine returned as Nico turned the key in the ignition.

Come on! Just a little farther!

You watched as Trish and Lady stepped into the yellow light. The portal flashed gold and they were gone. Nico’s van roared past you and you heard the mechanic’s shout of exhilaration as the front bumper made contact. Another flash and it disappeared, Nico and Kyrie on the other side. Your heart pounded painfully fast as you forced your feet to move even faster.

“Y/N, wait!”

No. I’m not turning my back on them.

A low roar echoed through the air, and out of the corner of your eye you saw Shadow turn to face V with a snarl, her opinion clear. Griffon appeared a moment later, his voice reaching you as you dashed away from his master.

“Run, little lady! You’re almost there!”

A hurtling object descended from on high and you swerved to dodge Nightmare’s comet as it struck the asphalt. It materialized rapidly and inclined its head as you passed in an approximation of a bow. You returned the gesture as you ran by, hoping it understood your gratitude.

“Damnit, STOP!” V shouted, but you didn’t pause for an instant.

You closed your eyes and sprinted through the portal, the yellow glow flashing so bright it burned through your lids. The ground beneath your feet vanished and you were weightless, suspended between two worlds in a thick plasma. You couldn’t breathe; there was no air. It was the most terrified you’d ever been and you couldn’t even scream.

And then it was over, a solid surface materializing under your feet as you completed the crossing. The second you opened your eyes, nausea overcame you. A kind hand held your hair back as you retched violently, your stomach expelling what seemed like everything you’d ever consumed.

---V---

He watched helplessly as you vanished, his arm still stretched out to stop you. Breathing was impossible as the portal flashed, taking you to the Underworld despite his best efforts. V turned on his three friends with a murderous glare, and even Nightmare shrank away at the pure rage in his emerald gaze.

“I warned you, Shakespeare. There was no stopping her,” Griffon commented, landing on the massive golem’s shoulder. V pinched the bridge of his nose and huffed, grappling his anger into submission.

“Yes, you were right. All I can do now is follow her and do what I can to keep her safe.”

Shadow purred her approval and he released his hold on the three summoned creatures, an enormous cloud of black shards flitting to settle on his skin and hair. He gripped the handle of his cane tightly, taking comfort in its familiar shape in his hand as he stepped closer to the portal.

Don’t think, just keep walking. This time will be different.

Yet his mind brought up the past anyway, reminding him of his time in Mundus’ prison and all the torture he’d endured. He felt the cold tendrils piercing through his flesh, heard the clatter of the Yamato as it fell from his grasp and broke. Smelled his own blood leaking from his wounds.

Done with the drivel yet?

V grimaced, shaking his head to rid himself of the vision. He wasn’t that person anymore, he never would be again. This time would be different. Mundus was dead, what could he possibly need to fear?

Other than losing you…

He forced his reluctant feet forward, his eyes fixated on the glowing portal as he snarled at it.

Let me save you from that weakness…

His jaw clenched as he heard the echo of Mundus’ taunts in his mind.  His vision darkened as he remembered being encased in demonic energy, his pitifully trembling arm reaching desperately for the Yamato as he was erased.

You need neither ego, nor memories.

V growled and took another step, pushing through the recollections and embracing the pale light as it flashed around him. He closed his eyes, trying to keep his wits about him during the crossing but unable to do so. The oppressive energy, the silence and taint of demonic power were too reminiscent of Mundus for him to ignore. His arms flailed, reaching out for something, anything to hold onto.

But he was alone.

You’re never alone, Shakespeare. We got ya.

Shadow and Nightmare chimed in their agreement, and the aching loneliness and isolation gripping V’s heart eased. He focused on his bond with the three demons, taking it as a refuge from the pain of memory as he waited to complete the journey. He envisioned himself wrapping the thick tendrils of their power around himself like a cocoon, concealing himself from any foe until he prepared fully.

And then, his feet touched down. He was through. He gasped heavily, drawing in a massive lungful of breath as he fought back a wave of nausea. It was nothing, a trifle. Unworthy of his attention, he must focus on finding you.

Still, he found himself bent over and heaving bile onto a patch of bright orange grass.

Damnit.

“There you are V! Ah, here, let me…” Lady cried from somewhere nearby. Her hand lifted his hair out of the path of his expelled stomach contents and he tried to grunt his gratitude, but only another gob of filth escaped his mouth.

“Let it out, Trish was the only one who didn’t blow chunks,” Lady murmured kindly. She rubbed his back until the heaving stopped and he was able to rise to his full height again.

Where’s Y/N?

He scanned the area, giving the brunette a quick nod of thanks. There was Nico and Kyrie, next to the van. Trish was to the left, her eyes trained on the horizon.

Ugh, appalling…

The myriad of colors was blinding, the cacophony too disorienting to make sense of easily. What demon would shape their realm this way was beyond him, but he sincerely hoped they were long dead for their crimes against perception.

There you were, arms crossed as you came out from behind Nico’s van with an irritated frown. You walked right past him without a word, joining Trish on the hillside. V’s heart sank. He’d expected you to be angry, but it was much worse to encounter it face to face.

I must make amends somehow. Even though I was right.

Yeah, maybe leave that part out when you apologize…

Obviously.

Trish turned and walked to the group. V sympathized as he saw her cheek twitch; he knew what she was fighting. He felt it too, through his link with his three friends.

“There’s something down there, we need to go check it out,” the blonde announced.

Nico cracked her knuckles and climbed into the driver’s seat and V sighed as he stepped into the van, already bracing himself to endure her insane driving.

[mzargentum]

The Stormsender’s Daughter | Chapter VIII | What Happened To You?

Chapter VII | Chapter VIII | Chapter IX

Word Count: 1,872

Warning: Violence, abuse, gore, death

The bruises.

They never went away.

Two.

Four.

Seven.

Entire limbs would be covered when you were near me.

But I knew.

I knew what was happening to you.

You didn’t want to tell me.

You didn’t want to admit that even the brightest of them all could feel pain.

You wanted to give me something to believe in.

I believed you deserved better.

I knew it.

I was going to see to it.

Free you from the filth that hurt you.

One way...or another.

No matter how hard he screamed...

No matter how much he bled...

*ring ring*

*ring ring*

“You gonna take that?”

Prae didn’t answer. She just stared at the screen as the device sang in her palm.

Eirenne was starting to get fed up. He called her every hour nonstop and would blow up her phone if she didn’t answer once.

No matter what she was doing or who she was with.

Plus, the bruises were multiplying. Eirenne rarely saw them nowadays, but Prae was giving and returning less hugs. Distancing herself from people to keep from touching them.

She winced at nearly every motion.

Constantly complained about being in some sort of pain. Frankly, it was infuriating the silver haired princess.

And it needed to stop.

“No...no, it’s fine. I told him where I would be today”, Prae finally replied declining the call, slipping it back into her pocket.

“Okay”.

As they returned to their studies...

*ring ring*

*ring ring*

“Ugh, come on, man!!”, the Tenebraen princess slammed her fist down on the table, rolling her eyes in annoyance.

“I know, I’m sorry”, Prae scrambled for her device. “He’s enthusiastic”.

“He’s a pest!” Eirenne shouted breaking down her friend’s defense. “Honestly, what is so important that he has to be in your ear 24/7? He doesn’t even care that you’re in school most of the day!!”

Prae averted her exhausted gaze from her friend’s teal iris’ to her phone.

“His voice is probably plastered in your head by now. He can wait a few more hours”.

“Yeah...yeah...you’re right”, Prae agreed. Her voice heightening, seemingly, along with her mood and shutting her phone off for good.

“Attagirl”, Eirenne teased her friend ruffling her short, fluffy hair, sending cute little giggles floating from her throat. “Besides, I saw you first. It’s my turn to love you”.

“Yeah...he’ll be fine. He can wait a little while”, Prae affirmed as she plopped her cellular into her bag.

Finally, things were back to normal.

Days went on and Prae seemed to be back to her completely cheery self. Their conversations went back to being 90% Prae rambling like usual and Eirenne providing snarky commentary when she felt it was needed, entertaining and annoying her friend at the same time.

It was how it should be.

They were both happy.

“Uuuugggghhhh, why do we have to study during study hall anyway?”, Eirenne complained as the girls made their way to the school library.

“You’re kidding, right? That’s probably the laziest question you’ve ever asked me”, Prae judged her friend’s sluggish manner.

“It’s not like you need to study anyway, you’re doing just fine”.

“Well, duh, I know I don’t”, Prae triumphantly beamed as they sat down. “But if you don’t graduate with me and I have to hear you bitch and moan about having to take all of your classes over again, that’ll give me a permanent headache”.

“Thanks”, Eirenne chuckled.

“I mean, you do realize you have to pass math to graduate, right?”

“Unfortunately, I’m aware that I have to know how to multiply 2 and 7 to be considered a functioning adult”, the silver haired teen sarcastically joked.

“What is 2 times 7?”

“27″.

“...I can’t help you”, Prae shut the textbook in defeat sending Eirenne into a fit of laughter before being shushed by their classmates around them at the other tables.

“Shut up, stupid”, Prae whispered also in a small laughing fit. “You’re gonna get us in....”, Prae’s eyes suddenly widened and as she stared behind her friend, “...trouble”.

Confused, Eirenne turns around to see a young man dressed in black and red outside the window behind them, staring intensely at Prae.

He was a rather dashing young man from what Eirenne could see.

Fair toned skin, amber eyes, short and nicely combed.....maroon hair?

Wait...no. It can’t be...

Eirenne’s body stiffened. Her palms grew sweaty. It couldn’t be him...it’s been years.

How could he have found her? But....he didn’t seem to care for the silver haired girl rather than her innocent jade eyed friend.

“Who’s that...?”, Eirenne asked with gritted teeth, balling up one of her fists.

“My boyfriend”, Prae replied, evident fear in her voice.

Still bitterly staring at Prae, the man made his way to the back of the building.

“Um...I should go see if he’s okay”, Prae stammered as she stood from her seat.

“Wait, are you serious?!” Eirenne loudly whispered. “Did you see the look on his face?”

“It’s fine”, Prae reassured her worried friend, “he’s probably just a little bitter about me ignoring his calls. I’ll just set this straight and be right back. No sweat”.

“Really. No sweat”. Eirenne was clearly unconvinced.

“I promise. I’ll be back in a second”, the jade eyed girl smiled toward her friend before sneaking toward the bathrooms in the back of the building.

It couldn’t have been him...he was too young. His hair was much shorter...his clothes looked less...lived in, but that stare...those eyes. 

Regardless of who he was, Prae was afraid...she was never afraid of anything...and what kind of coward would Eirenne be if she allowed anything to happen to her best friend?

Once the librarian retreated into her office, Eirenne silently followed her friend down the corridor to the bathrooms.

They were under construction due to foundation problems. Part of the girl’s bathroom had caved in on a student some time ago killing her.

Because of overcrowding, they were in the process of adding showers to the bathrooms, but because of the incident production had been delayed for some time.

The light flickered, but it was mostly dark. The walls had cracks for days as well as the floors and ceiling. There had been multiple cave ins around the sides of the hallway leading toward the bathrooms. Looked like no one had even bothered trying to fix it.

As Eirenne approached the bathrooms, she noticed the floors coated in water and the closer to got to her destination, she could hear voices coming from the girl’s bathroom.

Not wanting to cause alarm, she crept closer to get a view of the two of them standing by the showers...

“Stop lying to me...”.

“I’m not, sweetie, I promi-AGH!”

Eirenne lightly jumped upon hearing the slap to Prae’s flesh. Her blood beginning to boil one thousand degrees a second.

“Don’t give me that, you little whore!”

“I’m not lying to you! I’ve been here all day, you can ask Eir-egh! Gghk!”

“I’m not asking that little freak friend of yours shit”, the vicious character growled with his fist clasped upon Prae’s throat.

Desperately pawing at his wrist, tears began to stream down her fair cheeks.

“Please...I can’t breat-AH!”. A shriek sailed from her lungs as her back was slammed against the linoleum wall.

“Good”, the man hissed glaring down upon Prae. His amber gaze shifting to a lustrous gold. Like a viper squeezing the life out of his helpless prey.

“Beg for me to let you go...”.

“Please...”, Prae pleaded as he tightened his grip. “I...I can’t...breathe”.

“Yeah, just like that...”, the man hissed. “You’re gonna show me what you’re really worth alive...You filthy whore...”, the young man licked his lips before unbuttoning his shirt.

“..Pl-please, no...I-I won’t ever ignore your calls again...I swear..”, Prae helplessly whimpered as the man yanked her panties clean from her body, emitting a pained cry from the innocent Prae.

Eirenne, paralyzed at the end of the shower, began to lightly pant as her overheating blood shifted to a black. The pain keeping her to her knees as she watched her friend abuser in action...had he ever done this before?

Prae would’ve told her....wouldn’t she?

A sudden sizzling caught the attention of the silver haired girl as the white gloves coating her hands began to burn away revealing her blackened hands.

The daemonic energy within their contents infecting the rest of her body, taking over her mind, making her lose control.

With all her might she fought to keep her head....don’t lose control....don’t lose control...don’t lose...

All went silent as the young girl clasped her eyes shut....her heartbeat bursting through her eardrums.

The only other distinctive sound...

...was the clinking of metal...

...from a belt.

“RRRAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!”

A monstrous roar echoed throughout the room, before...

“AAAGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!” A blood curdling scream from the jade eyed girl upon the hand perturbing from her boyfriend’s stomach.

The man looked down toward the intrusion of his abdomen before returning his gaze to Prae whom was still in his grasp. 

Regurgitating blood upon her face before shakily turning to see the fanged teen, black veins pulsating throughout her face.

Her blackened daemonic stare paralyzing him.

“You can rot with the rest of them...”, the daemon girl growled before pulling her arm back to where her hand was within his wound.

Shifting her hand upward, his violent screams pulsated through the bathroom as Eirenne inched her way through his body, her arm intruding the his internal anatomy until she reached his heart.

Clutching onto the cardiac organ, squeezing it, a field of electricity wrapped about it, sending violent jolts throughout ripping it to shreds. 

The pulsations causing him to finally release the mortified Prae whom was now trapped to watch him gag on his own crimson. 

Blood seeping into the cracks of the linoleum below.

Once she was released, Eirenne withdrew her arm from his body causing him to crash to the floor upon his knees in front of the tearful Prae. 

Clinging to life by a thread, he slowly reached for the terrified girl just before the daemon girl summoned a telekinetic force field in the center of his brain, instantly expanding it sending shards of blood and brain throughout the entire bathroom.

Finally, sending him collapsing dead to the floor...

All that was left...was Prae.

On the floor, panting in fear, in front of her abuser’s mutilated corpse...

...and her best friend...finally realizing the truth...

“...t...that was...lightning...y...y-your hands...”.

Her stuttering voice began to soothe Eirenne back to her normal state.

Her eyes and veins returning to their proper hue...

“...you...you look just like her...Eirenne....”.

The silver haired girl merely stared at her friend, panting vigorously...

“...you’re...”.

“...the Pythoness...”.

A sudden shriek startled the girls. Abruptly turning around to see the librarian dash from the bathroom screaming for help down the corridor.

The frightened bloodstained girl sent a telekinetic pulse through the side wall.

“EIRENNE!!!”, Prae shouted toward her friend to no avail.

She had to get home.

The secret was out...

Muerlinian Zephyr was in Tenebrae.

The Pythoness was reborn.

Tagging: @digitalkanvas @insomniasix @aquathemermaidstripper @glacian-apocalypse @a-new-recipehhh @dizzymoogle @prettyprompto