#maybe scale back to only studying three to four hours a day

[mariana-oconnor]

The Dying Detective pt 1

Mrs. Hudson, the landlady of Sherlock Holmes, was a long-suffering woman.

Yes! Mrs Hudson content. The recognition she deserves.

His incredible untidiness, his addiction to music at strange hours, his occasional revolver practice within doors, his weird and often malodorous scientific experiments, and the atmosphere of violence and danger which hung around him made him the very worst tenant in London.

Yep, long-suffering. Let's be honest, the woman should have thrown him out long ago. But at least he's paying her good money.

She was fond of him, too, for he had a remarkable gentleness and courtesy in his dealings with women. He disliked and distrusted the sex, but he was always a chivalrous opponent.

Have we seen any examples of him actually disliking women? We've seen him frustrated by them, certainly, or rather by his lack of ability to read them clearly. We've seen misogyny, yes, in line with some of the thinking of the time 'can't tell Mary Sutherland she's being financially abused because it wouldn't do any good'. But Holmes has on multiple occasions, only in the few stories we've read so far, championed women in many ways. I haven't reread A Study in Scarlet or The Sign of Four before reading these, so I can't say about them, but this insistence on Watson's part that he doesn't like women is just weird.

Is that just Watson not understanding that Holmes isn't attracted to women? Like, Watson just can't comprehend how anyone wouldn't see a pretty woman and be overcome, so the fact that Holmes is apathetic to that just Does Not Compute and therefore must mean he dislikes them? Like an on/off switch?

Hoo boy, Watson, I'd love to introduce you to the Kinsey scale.

"He's dying, Dr. Watson," said she. "For three days he has been sinking, and I doubt if he will last the day."

Mrs Hudson is not a trained physician... although I'm not sure how accurate actual doctors were during this period of time. Had germ theory made the big time yet?

Wikipedia says that the in-story date (1890s) is about the time when germ theory was taking over from miasma theory, so by the time this story was published (1913) it would have been pretty well established.

That's not really relevant, I just find the history of medicine and disease fascinating in a lot of ways. For so much of history we just made shit up and hoped it would work. Some of it really did and some of it really didn't, but we didn't know why, so we made up reasons. And given that this was set at a major transitional period in that history, honestly Watson's medical expertise is probably half guess work and wishful thinking... sorry Doctor. I mean, hysteria is still a diagnosis at this point.

"He took to his bed on Wednesday afternoon and has never moved since. For these three days neither food nor drink has passed his lips."

I think I know why he's not looking too good.

"Stand back! Stand right back!" said he with the sharp imperiousness which I had associated only with moments of crisis. "If you approach me, Watson, I shall order you out of the house."

We've already had at least one story in which 'don't look at me too closely' was a massive red flag. It's sort of a nice symmetry to have Holmes using it here. Why can't he come any closer, Sherlock? Huh? Why?

"But why?" "Because it is my desire. Is that not enough?"

Oh look, that's another red flag right there. Honestly, Holmes, you could have at least made some effort at 'you might catch this illness' or something like that. Although I guess maybe Holmes doesn't believe in germ theory? Is he a miasma kind of guy? Or is this one of the areas in which he's just nonsensical and believes in the humours or something like that?

But 'you can't come closer to me because I don't want you to' to your friend the doctor who was summoned specifically to try to help you is just... No, obviously, Watson isn't entitled to an explanation or a reason. Holmes doesn't owe him anything. But on the other hand, Holmes specified that he would allow Mrs Hudson to get Watson. What did he think was going to happen?

I don't remember this story at all, but based on context clues and knowledge that there are more stories to come, I'm going to guess that he's faking it.

"I know what is the matter with me. It is a coolie disease from Sumatra--a thing that the Dutch know more about than we, though they have made little of it up to date. One thing only is certain. It is infallibly deadly, and it is horribly contagious."

Ah, there we are. You couldn't have led with that?

Did you get it from a giant rat?

Sorry, I should be more serious, Holmes is dying. He's dying.

(He actually is if he's not drunk anything in 3 days. Holmes, you moron.)

"Good heavens, Holmes! Do you suppose that such a consideration weighs with me of an instant? It would not affect me in the case of a stranger. Do you imagine it would prevent me from doing my duty to so old a friend?"

I mean obviously Watson wasn't going to listen to him, but whatever.

"Holmes," said I, "you are not yourself. A sick man is but a child, and so I will treat you."

Watson, you're being creepy again. Like, people do need to consent to treatment, my man. I guess, probably not in this time period? You could just say 'they're hysterical' and have done with it, but still. Consent is important. Agency is important. Let's be ethical about this, huh?

Do I think this is all fake and Holmes is only saying this so you won't see through his ingenious ruse? Yes. Do I think you should still respect his wishes and not touch him? Also yes.

✨Consent✨

"If I am to have a doctor whether I will or not, let me at least have someone in whom I have confidence," said he.

Dude, you literally asked for him. Literally. Asked. For. Him.

You are gaslighting him so bad right now. Holmes! Stop abusing your friend. Stop it! Bad detective! No biscuit!

No one in this scene is coming across well, rn, by modern standards.

"In your friendship, certainly. But facts are facts, Watson, and, after all, you are only a general practitioner with very limited experience and mediocre qualifications. It is painful to have to say these things, but you leave me no choice." I was bitterly hurt.

Holmes is being a bitch here, and I will absolutely say it. Watson, your ethics are shaky, but your feelings are valid.

"Possibly not. But I happen to know that Dr. Ainstree, the greatest living authority upon tropical disease, is now in London. All remonstrance is useless, Holmes, I am going this instant to fetch him."

Uno reverso, Holmes!

Honestly, Holmes's worst misjudgement here is thinking Watson would let him get away with dying without doing anything. Did you really think he was just going to say 'oh well, that's a pity; I'd best go home and start writing your eulogy.'

His misreading of the person he is literally closest to in the world is just such a massive blind spot here.

"You won't take the key from me by force, Watson, I've got you, my friend. Here you are, and here you will stay until I will otherwise. But I'll humour you." (All this in little gasps, with terrible struggles for breath between.) "You've only my own good at heart. Of course I know that very well. You shall have your way, but give me time to get my strength. Not now, Watson, not now. It's four o'clock. At six you can go."

Such a dramatic bitch right now. OMG. 😂😂😂

"You will seek help, not from the man you mention, but from the one that I choose."

I get that there's a time issue here, clearly, because Holmes is so insistent on 'six o'clock', but I feel like he could have handled this better.

"By all means." "The first three sensible words that you have uttered since you entered this room, Watson."

Wow.

All modern adaptations are based entirely on this scene, huh?

With fairness to Sherlock, it does seem like Mrs Hudson is at least correct about the starvation and dehydration and we all know being hungry makes people irritable. And being dehydrated makes you kind of loopy and gives you a killer headache. So he's not making the best decisions right now, if that's the case.

We all know what he really needs right now:

Then, unable to settle down to reading, I walked slowly round the room, examining the pictures of celebrated criminals with which every wall was adorned.

I love this description. Imagine sitting in this room with just the worst criminals of all time staring down at you from every wall. True crime chic. Serial killers watching you from every angle. It's absolute nightmare fuel and more what I'd expect from, like, a themed bar that was set up in an old prison.

I' can't imagine it. I'm glad he keeps this to his bedroom and out of the public areas. I can't imagine it would put his clients at ease.

To tell the truth, my desire to fetch a doctor had somewhat weakened, for poor Holmes was so obviously delirious that it seemed dangerous to leave him.

To be fair to Watson here, while often in the stories he seems unnecessarily dense about things, in this case his thoughts are entirely justified.

How much money in his pockets, only half the gas to the fire, pick the box up with sugar tongs. (Poison one assumes)

It may surprise you to know that the man upon earth who is best versed in this disease is not a medical man, but a planter. Mr. Culverton Smith is a well-known resident of Sumatra, now visiting London. An outbreak of the disease upon his plantation, which was distant from medical aid, caused him to study it himself, with some rather far-reaching consequences. He is a very methodical person, and I did not desire you to start before six, because I was well aware that you would not find him in his study.

So this guy poisoned a lot of people with this, huh? That's what I'm getting. And you couldn't have provided this information earlier in such a way that Watson would have stayed with you until then? You had to go the mad route of locking you both in a room together, while not letting him touch anything or talk to you?

"You will tell him exactly how you have left me," said he. "You will convey the very impression which is in your own mind--a dying man--a dying and delirious man. Indeed, I cannot think why the whole bed of the ocean is not one solid mass of oysters, so prolific the creatures seem."

I like to think that Holmes always has at least one little tangent like that going on in his brain, and he's just decided that he'll say it out loud right now to increase the impression of delusion and madness. But actually this is just a glimpse into his head on a normal day.

I do something similar, but I actually do ask the random questions out loud. My immediate family take them seriously, but other people tend to look at me like they are worried there is something wrong with me.

But the answer I have to Holmes' question is predation. Lots of things nomming on oysters. Humans, for one.

His nephew, Watson--I had suspicions of foul play and I allowed him to see it. The boy died horribly. He has a grudge against me.

So, he already poisoned his nephew. Good to know. Good to know

Make any excuse so as not to come with him. Don't forget, Watson. You won't fail me. You never did fail me. No doubt there are natural enemies which limit the increase of the creatures. You and I, Watson, we have done our part. Shall the world, then, be overrun by oysters? No, no; horrible! You'll convey all that is in your mind.

That's what I was saying, Holmes. Predation. I'm glad to know you've done your part to prevent the Oysterpocalypse. Good man.

I have never eaten an oyster, I am falling down in my duties.

I left him full of the image of this magnificent intellect babbling like a foolish child. He had handed me the key, and with a happy thought I took it with me lest he should lock himself in. Mrs. Hudson was waiting, trembling and weeping, in the passage.

Clearly everything is going according to plan, but Holmes you owe these two so much for putting up with you this time.

I still don't remember this story. I am feeling very Gandalf in Moria right now, but my nose says there's something very fishy about Holmes' illness, and it's not the oysters I'm smelling.

[muselin]

See You Later - Part 1

Who: Beomgyu

Group: TXT

What: Beomgyu/f!reader, collegeAU, slow burn, eventual smut, college student!Gyu, model!Gyu

Word count: 2,238

A/N: this is for @bluekais ❤ Hope you enjoy! Sorry that it's taken so long! There will be a Part 2 coming but I got myself elbows-deep into Kinktober so might take a while as well 🎃

____________________________________

"Tch."

The dissatisfied noise leaving your lips had become habit by now. Just his presence annoyed you, but the fact that he had the nerve to show up late to class almost every time, carrying that stupid skateboard, made your blood boil a little bit. He never studied, never did the assignments, always showed up late and he was still somehow passing this class. This class that you had worked so hard to get into and had to keep working so hard to stay in. It didn't come naturally to you but it did to him and it made you green with envy.

"Ah, Beomgyu-ssi, how kind of you to join us," your professor quipped sarcastically as Beomgyu beamed a smile that was frustratingly charming and headed for the only empty space in the auditorium which, to your displeasure, happened to be next to you.

You didn't acknowledge each other as you continued scribbling furiously into your notebook while Beomgyu sat with his chin leaned on his hand. You noticed that he hadn't taken out anything to write with.

"Now I will hand out your assignments for the next lecture. Remember we have study week, so you will have one week to complete these. Please remain in your seats as you are now."

Your professor proceeded to hand out stacks of papers and you couldn't help noticing that he was handing only one stack for every two students. He was making his way down your row and dropped off an assignment right between you and Beomgyu.

"I can hold it for us," Beomgyu smiled pleasantly as he looked over to you, seemingly unaffected by your sour expression. As the two of you read the instructions for the music production assignment, Beomgyu would stop and mutter to himself every once in a while: "Hmm, I already have a bass guitar for this," "This would be very easy to add a snare to," "I just need vocals and someone to match the drum line to this".

"Alright, everyone ready?" The auditorium hummed with mumbled "yes"es.

"Good," your professor continued, "you will be doing the assignment in pairs, in the order that I've handed the assignments out to you".

You groaned inwardly, noticing yours and Beomgyu's names at the bottom right corner of the cover page.

"Class dismissed!"

You were unsure what to do. You'd have to spend quite a lot of time with Beomgyu to finish this but you didn't have his number and you didn't even know which dorm he was in. Before you could open your mouth to ask Beomgyu when you should meet up, he was getting up and slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

"See you later, Y/N," his voice laced with his regional dialect reached you as an afterthought.

"Tch. Fuck you too, Choi," you muttered.

___________________

It had been four days since you last saw Beomgyu and you were getting nervous. You had started the assignment early and done as much as you could do. You hated to admit it but you really did need him for this. You had worked out a base melody but it was too bare and uninteresting and you knew from hearing him talk to himself that he knew a lot of elements which could add flare and points to the assignment. You hunched over your laptop, browsing the music library. Begrudgingly, at 10 p.m. on a Tuesday, you decided to email him through the university central email list.

### 22:01 ###  Hi Beomgyu, it's Y/N, your partner for the music production assignment. I've thrown some things together but we need to meet to do the rest. I realised I didn't have your number or your dorm address, let me know when we can meet up. ###

You waited for a while after pressing send, just in case he was on his emails right now. At midnight you gave up and went to sleep.

### 03:44 ### Hi! Sorry about that! Can you bring what you have over to mine at about noon tomorrow? Here's the postcode ###

You woke up to the reply from Beomgyu and nearly panicked that you would be late. He didn't live close by at all, the post code seemed to be for a swanky area of newly built apartments downtown, miles away from your suburban campus.

You showered and dressed as quickly as possible. You weren't dressing up for anyone. Jeans, sneakers and a flannel shirt was all Beomgyu was getting from you. You grabbed your laptop and equipment and headed out the door.

________________

At 11:55, you knocked on Beomgyu's door. He lived on the 13th floor and on the elevator up to his apartment you hoped to whoever would listen that this wouldn't turn out to be as unlucky as the out-of-order sign on the second elevator.

The front door clicked and opened to reveal a somewhat sleepy Beomgyu, dressed in a tshirt and pyjama bottoms.

"Oh, Y/N, you're early," he said, then looked at his watch. You found this ironic, considering he never showed up to class on time.

"Well, not by much. Can I come in?"

"Sure," he said, opening the front door widely for you to walk in past him. "I'll make coffee," he yawned.

As you walked past him you couldn't help but note in your head that he smelled really good. You weren't sure if it was his cologne or laundry but it was the kind that settled pleasantly in your chest and made you want to breathe in deeper. You stopped that train of thought harshly as soon as you felt your mind drift that way. You were perfectly happy with feeling generally mildly annoyed with Beomgyu. It was your comfort zone, even if having to work with him was pushing it.

"So how come you don't live on camp-- Wow..."

Your jaw dropped as you walked into the apartment. It was nothing like the cramped dorm rooms you and your friends shared on campus. It was bright, spacious and well-decorated, with huge windows and a view that rivaled the best hotels in the business district.

"How the fuck are you affording this," the words tumbled out of you with little grace before you could stop them.

"Well, since you ask, I work a lot of side jobs," Beomgyu said nonchalantly as he poured water into the kettle in the open-plan kitchen.

"Really? What do you do?"

"Uhm...," he scratched his neck sheepishly, "at the moment I model."

"You? You model?"

"Yeah, why," he tilted his head at you, looking at you quizzically.

Those big brown eyes, the soft curves of his lips, his chiseled jawline... And his hair looked really soft too. Suddenly from thinking nothing of him you were imagining him as a model. You wondered what he modeled for. Could it be fashion brands? Lifestyle? Prints? Maybe even swimsuits? He always wore those baggy jeans and t-shirts, but maybe...

"Y/N?"

"Oh," you snapped back to him, realising you hadn't answered him. "Yeah I just... didn't know, that's all."

"Uhm, cool. Why don't you drop your stuff off in the room down the hall, the one on the left?"

You nodded and picked up your laptop bag and equipment, your feet sinking into the plush carpet as you padded down the hall. You nudged open the door to the room he'd pointed you to, jaw dropping again for the second time today as you walked in.

The room was a small makeshift studio, with mics, a sound control board and several guitars. Several notepads were strewn about along with a few used coffee mugs and muffin wrappers. It seemed to be the most lived-in space of Beomgyu's house so far and you were suddenly starting to understand why he never seemed to pay much attention to the classes. You dropped your bags off in the corner and sat down at his computer, looking at the various pieces of equipment connected to it.

"How do you like your coffee?"

You nearly jumped out of your skin when you heard Beomgyu's pleasant voice reverberate in the room. You hadn't heard him come in after you. Covering up your startled reaction, you mumbled your preference and he returned shortly with two steaming mugs, setting them down on his desk.

"Um, so... For this assignment I've tried layering the melodies but it's very bare. I thought we could use it as a starting point and build on it," you said, trying to sound more businesslike.

"That's good, thanks. I actually don't have a lot of time so a head start would be good. I have an hour now but then I need to head out."

Your brow furrowed. An hour? It had taken you three days to put together what you had so far.

"Let's see what you've got," Beomgyu reached for the USB stick in your hands and plugged it into his computer. He downloaded the files and ran them.

An unobtrusive melody filled the small studio. He listened politely, head tilted to one side until it faded out.

"Um... Yeah, I don't play guitar so I wasn't sure what would sound good with that," you started, hands playing with the edges of your shirt nervously. You hated feeling incompetent, especially in front of Beomgyu.

"Yeah, no offence, but it does need a lot more than that," he said. "Let's see what I can do with that."

You sat in your chair and watched him plug one of his guitars into the amp behind you. He tuned it according to the scales in your melody and started to play along.

"Nana naaa," he hummed along quietly. "I don't know about that bar, what do you think," he asked you.

"It's not bad but I think it can go for longer," you replied. Beomgyu nodded, stopping the recording and starting again.

You watched him get lost in his own world as the notes coming from his guitar breathed life into your melody. You watched his fingers strum and pluck, watched his lips open and close in concentration, occasionally the lower one being worried by his teeth. You watched his long hair fall into his face. You simply watched Beomgyu in his zone, not noticing when he stopped playing.

"Y/N?"

Your eyes focused and met his deep brown ones, your lips tensing as you tried to seem attentive.

"Yeah? Yeah, that was good, let's add that in," you spoke quickly.

"Cool," Beomgyu then stood up and reached behind you to switch off the amp. You couldn't stop yourself from breathing in again when his chest and neck nearly brushed across your face. His warm hand dropped to your shoulder, giving you a casual pat.

"Why don't you sit at the computer and keep replaying the recoding while I write down the chords," he suggested.

"Okay, sure," you stood up in the cramped space and there was barely room for you two to switch places. Beomgyu's hands instinctively came up to your waist to steady you as he brushed past you. Your breath hitched but you said nothing as you sat down at his desk and started the recording.

Your combined melody filled the small room and you found yourself nodding along. You hated to admit it but you liked it much more with Beomgyu's additions. You played it several times while he wrote down the chords.

"Right, awesome," he drawled in his dialect after he was finished. "I have to get dressed and head out now, but if you want we can meet up again later today. I won't be done until quite late but I sleep late anyway."

"How late are we talking," you asked suspiciously.

"I would be done about 11, we could meet back here," Beomgyu offered.

You hesitated for a second. It was a lot later than what you considered acceptable but at the same time you didn't trust Beomgyu. You weren't sure you would get any more time out of him than this.

"Okay, deal. Message me when you're done and I'll head over."

"Cool, here's my number," Beomgyu grabbed your phone to type his own number in and called himself. "You okay to let yourself out?"

He left the studio and went into the room across, which you guessed was probably his bedroom. You copied the new files onto your USB before you packed up your things and left the studio as well. On the way you saw that Beomgyu's bedroom door was ajar. You saw him standing with his back to the door as he was pulling his t-shirt over his head. Your lips tensed into a line as you tried to not to make any noise and not even to breathe.

"Yeah, I'm good."

"See you later, Y/N."

You stood frozen in place as your eyes traced the lines of his back muscles to his pretty shoulders, not missing his toned arms flexing as he reached up to push the t-shirt over his head. Your gaze trailed back down his body to his hips where his bottoms were slung low, exposing the two cute dimples at his lower back. He didn't look like he was wearing anything underneath.

Beomgyu dropped his shirt to the floor and you suddenly darted down the corridor, panicked that he would turn around and see you. His bottoms dropped down just as he heard his front door open and shut.

[joaquinwhorres]

The Fool (Ch. 6) {Fred Weasley x F!OC}

SUMMARY ››››› After getting tangled up with the Weasley Twins during the events of the Quidditch World Cup, Wren Collings’ life takes a turn for the chaotic. It threatens everything she has going for her, but she’s not convinced that’s entirely a bad thing.

PAIRING ››››› Fred Weasley x Female OC

WORD COUNT ››››› 4,589

WARNINGS ››››› There is no depression or mental health issues in this story, but there are mentions of death, violence, abuse, some PTSD, etc. As most of the specific warnings revolve around major plot points or are found throughout most chapters, I’m just going to rate certain chapters on the movie scale. This is chapter PG-13.

A/N ››››› General plea for validation through reblogs and comments.

Series Masterlist | Read on ff.net | Read on AO3

Wren felt sick all morning.

Ever since Fred and George had been escorted off to the Hospital Wing by Lee Jordan, she felt as if her stomach was twisting in on itself. She supposed this was a natural reaction to sending your friends to the Hospital Wing--a theory that was further solidified throughout the day as it seemed like everybody was talking about the failed attempts to enter the Tournament. Fred and George were not the only ones thwarted by the ageline, but their story was by far the most popular throughout the castle. Wren had even heard a group of ghosts gossiping about it, and several portraits had stopped her on her way to the common room to interrogate her about the incident and settle a debate as to whether their beards had gone down to their waist or their ankles.

The Common Room was not much safer in terms of avoiding talk of the Failure. Lee Jordan appeared to be holding court in the corner, recounting the story from his perspective to an enraptured audience, and even up in her room, Wren couldn't seem to get away from the terrible feeling that had made itself right at home in her core. Even her Potions' homework wasn't enough to distract her from the fact that Fred and George still hadn't made their way up to the common room yet, and it was nearing lunch.

Which was why right before noon, Wren found herself hovering outside the Hospital Wing.

It seemed to be busier than normal, which wasn't that much of a surprise, given how many names of unsuccessful entrants Wren'd heard other students throw around. She had to admit though, that she was a bit surprised at how raucous the noise was. Wren edged a bit closer to the open door, one voice rising above the others in an uncanny imitation of an old Scottish woman. "Albus, last year a known murderer and pack of Dementors roamed the school, and the year before that the heir of Slytherin opened the Chamber of Secrets. Perhaps, we could open it up to all students turning 17 this year?"

A slow measured voice responded, "Now, now, Minerva. Dementors and Basilisks are one thing, but a student died over 200 years ago from this Tournament. And even though it's now Ministry sanctioned, and we could potentially make it a tad bit safer, we must remain true to the spirit of the games, and only students who are of age can enter."

"But Albus, a student died--"

Footsteps rounded the corner, and Wren jumped back whirling on the couple who just came down the hallway.

Not a couple.

The bronze haired boy who was smirking as he said something to the girl walking beside him was Simon. He looked up from the blonde, his eyes landing on Wren who was just a step away from entering the Hospital Wing, and surprise quickly overtook his features. Still, he didn't look quite as surprised as Wendy Fairchild did, her cheeks turning a delicate pink.

"Wren?" Simon said, as if he couldn't believe that she was actually there. Then again, she could count the number of times she'd been to the Hospital Wing over the past six years on her fingers, so maybe it wasn't entirely unreasonable for him to be so shocked. Her eyes were drawn once again to Wendy, who suddenly looked very uncomfortable and very trapped. Simon stepped away from the blonde and towards Wren. "Did something happen? Are you alright?"

Her eyes shifted to the Hospital Wing's door, the noise suddenly quelled by the sound of a sharp admonishment. "I had a stomach ache, is all," Wren said, stepping further away from the door.  "Hi Wendy."

"Hi Wren," Wendy greeted, her eyes darting between the couple as the tension between the three thickened. The blonde Ravenclaw licked her lips, her eyes darting for Simon as if he'd provide a way out of the awkward situation but he was focused on Wren, the worry gone from his face, and a cool stoniness taking over in its place. A small sigh escaped Wendy. "Well, I best be going. Thank you again for the help, Simon," she offered a brief strained smile at the couple before hurrying off down the hallway.

Wren looked down at the stones between her and her boyfriend, eyes studying the grooves and dimples.

"I heard about what happened to Fred and George," Simon remarked, and Wren's stomach rolled. Words bubbled up, excuses and explanations and apologies all at the tip of her tongue as she looked up at him, but he continued. "I'm sure you see now why I didn't want you to do it."

Wren flushed and nodded her head, pushing a strand of hair back behind her ear. "Simon I--"

"It's ok, Wren," Simon cut her off, stepping forward and folding her into his arms. "I forgive you." He pulled back slightly, cupping her face in his hand. "At least you realized how foolish it'd be and pulled out."

Wren offered up a shaky smile which dissolved as Simon bent forward and kissed her, before releasing her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Maybe next time, you'll just listen to me."

The sick feeling in her gut was worse, her insides churning in protest even as she kept her lips sealed shut, keeping her confession trapped inside. Simon looked down at her, seeming to note her silence.

He sighed, withdrawing his arm from around her. "You might as well just ask, I know what you're wondering."

Wren's brow furrowed in confusion as she cast him a look. "What I'm wondering?"

"Wren, I'm not stupid. I saw the look you gave me with Wendy, and I see the look you're giving me now. You're easy to read."

Realization dawned on Wren at what he was implying, and she quickly stumbled over her words. "Simon, I--"

"She needed help with her Alchemy work, and that's it. Nothing happened."

"I know--" Wren started again, but Simon cut her off.

"I made one mistake," Simon said. "One. And you and I both know that you're just as responsible for it happening as I am."

Wren looked to the ground, nodding her head. "I know. I…" she trailed off. "You're right. I shouldn't have even wondered. I'm sorry."

Simon sighed, his arm going around her shoulders once more. "I forgive you, I just wish you'd believe me that I love you."

"I do," Wren said, looking up into his face. "I know you love me."

He nodded solemnly. "More than anyone else ever could," he said before pressing his lips to hers and whisking her away to lunch.

Wren spent most of her lunch picking at her food and absentmindedly listening to Alicia's ranting about her parents and their post-Hogwarts desires for her and to Katie's wondering about whether everything Professor Moody did was strictly legal.

If the other girls noticed that Wren hadn't really touched her food or seemed to be preoccupied, they didn't say anything. It's possible a look was shared, but she didn't catch it.

Instead, she sat there distracted until she noticed her dorm mates getting up from the table, and she did the same, leaving behind a half full plate to follow them up to the common room.

There, she lost four games of Exploding Snap in a row, and was in the middle of losing a fifth when Fred and George burst through the portrait hole, announcing their arrival with a chorus of "Heyyyyy".

Wren's head snapped to them, watching as the twins modeled their newly clean-shaven faces, stroking the smooth skin of their chins to a smattering of applause and laughter.

Fred scanned the common room, his eyes locking on hers once he found her. He navigated his way around the couches and chairs to her. "There she is…" Fred said as he approached, and she flinched. Alicia tapped the stack of cards and looked entirely unapologetic as Wren glared at her.

"Cheater."

"Hardly," the other girl returned, twirling her wand between her fingers.

Fred plopped himself next to Wren as George sat next to Alicia, throwing himself into her lap. She shoved him off, and with a dramatic sigh, he switched to laying in Angelina's.

"About time you're back," Angelina said, tugging at George's ear. He winced, swatting her hand away. "How long does it take to fix a couple of beards anyway?"

"Longer when Dumbledore interrogates us for the secrets of our near success," Fred said, catching Wren's startled glance. "Don't worry--we told him we couldn't divulge any information."

"He seemed to understand but mentioned he'd be much obliged if the recipe  should ever end up under his office door," George said with a grin at Wren.

She flushed, shaking her head. "It didn't even work. I mean you two could have ended up--"

"Maybe it didn't work, Fred cut her off. But no one else even made it through the age line. We're the only ones to have crossed it."

"It was a good bit of magic, Wren," George agreed.

"But it just as easily could have landed you in the Hospital Wing for more than a few hours," Wren argued, and the group exchanged looks.

"I thought we'd been over this," George said, sitting himself up. "It was a minor risk, yeah, but we've taken bigger risks with our own testing."

"Besides, I doubt Dumbledore would have put any enchantment on the Goblet that could harm students if the whole point was to keep underage witches and wizards from entering," Angelina reasoned.

Wren wet her lips, turning this over in her mind. She still couldn't help but feel guilty for her failure, but what made her feel even worse was not the fact that she could have hurt Fred and George, but that she was disappointed her potion hadn't succeeded.

"Come on," Fred said, nudging her shoulder with his own. "You've got to admit, it was at least a bit thrilling to give it a go."

The corner of her lips traitorously twitched up. Around her, her friends made sounds of approval, George even reaching forward to shake her leg excitedly.

"He really came to ask you about the potion?" Wren asked, and Fred nodded solemnly.

"Seemed genuinely interested too," George added.

Wren offered a real smile then, and the group seemed to (accurately) take that as an end to the  conversation.

The rest of the afternoon passed happily. George finally ended Alicia's streak in Exploding Snap and Lee came into the Common Room about an hour later and recounted recent would-be entrants' failures for them. Now that Wren wasn't wracked with worry and guilt with Fred and George, she was able to laugh along with the rest of the group, especially over Lee's dramatic impersonation of Milicent Bulstrode breaking down into hysterics over her newfound beard.

By the time it was dinner, the events of the morning felt like they had passed weeks ago, and Wren traipsed down to the Great Hall with the group more than ready for the Halloween feast.

She wasn't, however, ready for the selection of Champions. Her heart stilled for a moment as Cedric's name was pulled from the cup, her eyes skipping over the group of Hufflepuffs shaking his shoulders and cheering, and instead focusing on Nora.

If Wren were in Nora's shoes, she'd be pale. But instead her cousin was alternating between clapping loudly and cupping her hands around her mouth to cheer.

She was only silenced when a fourth name came out of the cup.

In fact, the whole Great Hall went quiet for a beat. And then another one. And then the whispers started, moving through the room like wind rustling through the trees.

"Harry got his name in?" Angelina hissed next to Wren.

"How?" Katie whispered back, her eyes moving to Wren, but Wren was already focused on Harry, whipping his head around with surprise and saying something hushed and quick to his friends. Dumbledore called him up to the front table and her eyes followed his path, a clawing tightness in her chest as she watched him pass behind Fred.

How had he, a fourth year who by all accounts was not the smartest in his year, managed to get across the age line when the combined minds of her, Fred, George, and Lee hadn't managed it?

Her jaw clenched as a hand closed over hers. "Hey," George said, leaning across Angelina to get her attention. "If You-Know-Who wasn't able to kill him as a baby, you won't be able to now, even with that look."

The joke, coupled with Harry's disappearance into the chamber behind the professors' table, drew the small group's attention to Wren.

"I'm not trying to kill him," Wren protested as Dumbledore and other adults disappeared into the back room as well. With the disappearance of those in charge, the hall grew noisy once more, the chatter electric. "I just don't understand how he got in is all."

The look of mild annoyance on Fred's face melted as he took her in. "She's jealous!"

"Am not," Wren huffed.

"Come on, Wren, a win for Harry is a win for Gryffindor," Angelina said, but her smile was a bit tight, and Wren felt a bit embarrassed at being jealous when Angelina, who had legitimately entered, hadn't been chosen.

"And more than that," Fred said, bending his head forward conspiratorially. "It's a reason to party."

By the time Harry Potter, the guest of honor and very reason for the party, arrived at the Gryffindor common room, the party was in full swing. Students had come together to lay out a solid stash of snacks on a few tables, and Fred and George had procured a few cases of Butterbeer in a suspicious amount of time. This of course meant that everyone was almost vibrating with excitement to greet Harry. Indeed, all of Wren's friends left her the moment he came through the portrait hole to bombard him with well wishes and questions.

Wren, for her part, hung back with Alicia, making her way through a bag of crisps while staring warily at Harry. "Reckon he'll tell anyone how he did it?" Wren asked as Alicia took a long sip from her butterbeer.

"Harry?" Alicia asked, her voice a bit raw from the carbonation. "Probably not. He's rather tight-lipped. It'd be easier to get it out of Ron."

Wren nodded, scanning the room for the twins' younger brother. As her gaze skipped from redhead to redhead, none of them belonged to Harry's best friend. "Where is Ron?"

"This is really bothering you, huh," Alicia asked, her expression sympathetic. "I know you wanted it to work, but honestly Wren, it was always a long shot. The twins knew that."

Wren had no intention of trying to get Ron Weasley to tell her how Harry entered, but she would have been lying if she dismissed Alicia's claim outright.

She had known it'd been a long shot too. She always had a healthy dose of skepticism throughout the endeavor.

But she couldn't get rid of the small, irritating feeling of disappointment that scratched at the back of her mind.

She doubted Dumbledore would want her potion recipe now that someone had had an actually successful workaround.

"Why the long face?" Fred asked, walking back up with George. Over their shoulders, Wren could see Lee tying the Gryffindor banner around Harry's shoulders.

The two followed her gaze and Fred snorted. "Still on about that, then?"

"No," Wren said petulantly. The twins exchanged a knowing look, and she scowled, swatting at them. "I'm not!"

Fred's eyes darted over her shoulder, and she whipped around to catch Alicia mid-nod before pretending she was sipping from her drink.

"I'm not!"

Fred and George exchanged another look, although this one seemed to be more of a conversation between two pairs of eyebrows than just a look.

"Alicia, we're stealing Wren," Fred announced, wrapping an arm around Wren's shoulders and guiding her forward before Alicia could even respond to the statement. George trailed after the two of them, the group stopping in a relatively quiet nook of the common room, away from the thick of the party.

"It has recently come to our attention that you, Wren Collings, are a natural born inventor."

Wren quirked an eyebrow, staring dubiously back at Fred. "What?"

"You're upset that you didn't find the solution to the age line and Harry did," George filled in.

"Plus, you greatly enjoyed the plotting involved in making our potion," Fred nodded.

"So we were talking…" George started

"And we think you'd be an excellent addition to the Weasley Wizard Wheezes product development team," Fred finished with a smile.

"The what?"

"Fred and I have always dreamed of opening a joke shop. We've been working on a few products over the summer," George explained.

"Fake wands."

"Tom-tongue toffees."

"Trick quills."

"And we think that your mind and potions and Herbology expertise would help us with our next  venture," Fred said.

"Your next venture?" Wren repeated.

"Puking pastilles," the twins chorused with a nod.

"Puking pastilles." What they were proposing was so ridiculous, Wren wasn't able to come up with a coherent original thought. Instead she was turning the idea over in her mind--product development with the Weasley twins. It was true she'd enjoyed developing the aging potion with them, but that had been a one time thing. A deal. And even then it hadn't worked. Now they wanted her to come up with entirely original recipes for members of the public to eventually consume? She could poison all of London. Or worse, she could--

"You're spiraling," Fred said matter of factly. "I can see it right here," he said, poking at the crease between her eyebrows, and Wren slapped his hand away. He grinned at her. "Come on Wren, this is an exciting new venture. Nothing to get too in your head about at this stage."

"I just don't think I--"

"If this is going to be another self-deprecating statement, I should warn you. You're wasting your breath," George interrupted, holding up a hand.

"We happen to think you are nothing short of a genius, and there isn't anything you can say to convince us otherwise," Fred added.

Wren blinked at them. "I--" they cast her reproachful looks and she switched directions. "Thank you."

Fred smiled. "I'm going to take that as confirmation that you're in."

Wren shook her head, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. It would be easy to tell them no. To stick to the plan of just studying for her classes and spending free moments trying to track down Simon. But she didn't want to.

"Yeah," Wren said with a tentative smile. "I'm in."

While working with Fred and George on the creation of puking pastilles was fun and often led to Wren laughing so hard her sides hurt, it was still, at its core, work . She was fairly certain she had never used her brain so much. Not even for NEWT-level Potions or Transfiguration.

Still, there were far worse uses of her time than being tucked away in the common room or a corner of the library, drawing up plans and theories with Fred and George and sometimes Lee.

"I need a break," Wren announced, placing her book on top of the stack they had pulled.

"Breaks are for the faint of heart," George said automatically, not even bothering to look up from his reading. It had been the line the three used to keep each other on track.

"I fear I'm going into heart failure," Wren answered, dramatically, dropping in her chair. "If I have to read another line about common Italian plants' side effects, I think my heart will finally give out."

"Alright Georgie, I think a break's in order. We don't want poor Wren's heart to explode," Fred said, snapping his book shut.

"So when Wren's going through heart failure, we get a break, but when I'm dying of boredom, you just eulogize me."

"That's about the size of things," Fred nodded, and George grinned, shutting his book and looking over at the two. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he had the chance, a look of curious confusion crossed his face.

"Hullo," he greeted, and Wren turned to see Simon walking towards the group.

"Hi, love," Wren smiled up at Simon. His bronze hair curled above his eyes, and she reached out a hand for him. He shot a quick look at her and then at the Weasley twins, keeping his hands firmly in his pockets. Wren curled her hand back in, resting it on her shoulder as if that was what she intended to do. "What are you doing here?"

"Searching for my girlfriend," Simon offered a small smile. "Have you seen her?

"Simon," Wren laughed lightly as Fred and George exchanged mortified looks at the excuse of a joke.

"Oh! I hardly recognized you. Haven't seen you in ages."

"Ha ha, very funny," Wren smiled and let out an exhale as if he was joking, but he had that look in his eyes that she knew too well. He turned to Fred and George.

"So you're the reason my girlfriend's gone missing."

"What can I say, our presence is a delight." It wasn't the tone of Fred's voice as much as the look of George's face that made her stomach drop.

"Thank you for sharing Wren with us," George stepped in. "Must be hard to let this one go."

"Indeed," he swiveled to Wren. "Speaking of which, have a second?" Simon asked, flashing a seemingly charming smile. Wren looked up at him, and a flash of fear, which she hoped was unnoticeable, crossed her face. She slowly nodded.

"For you? Always," she said, standing up to follow him. Had he heard about George? What did he want? She had heard that tone of voice before, and it never ended well. She followed him a couple of rows over so that it was deserted and nobody would hear them.

"I didn't realize you three were so close," he commented, his voice still friendly, but in the dangerous phase. If Wren thought that her research was going to give her heart failure, she was certain that this conversation might give her a heart attack. It pounded away in her chest, as she racked her brain for an explanation. She had a feeling after Simon's reaction to the aging potion that he wouldn't particularly care for the truth.

"We're not that close," Wren dismissed. "We've just been studying together this year, is all. They're a whiz at Charms, and honestly this NEWT schedule is keeping me so busy--"

"Wren," Simon stopped her. "Don't insult my intelligence."

"What?"

"You're lying. I can see it all over you. What are you really up to with them?"

"What am I really up to?" Wren repeated, her heart beating faster. "Studying. Simon, where is this coming from? Why are you upset?"

"Why am I upset?" Simon asked. "After how you acted when you saw me walking down the hall with Wendy? I should have seen that you were projecting--accusing me of cheating while you're off spending your  afternoon in a dark corner of the library with the Weasley twins!"

"Simon, it's not like that. You've just been busy and I—" Wren started to argue, jerking away and shutting her mouth quickly as Simon shoved a finger in her face.

"Do not turn this into my fault."

"It's nobody's fault. There's nothing wrong here!" Wren began to grow hysterical. "You're reading into things that aren't there."

"So I'm crazy?" He dropped his hand, but moved closer to her, and she took a half step back.

"No, of course not," Wren held her temples "I just--there's no reason to be upset. I would never choose them over you. I-I'll go tell them I have to go. We can go to the courtyard, or wherever you want. "

"Don't even bother. I don't want to be your pity pick. Just go back to them," Simon scoffed, shaking his head. "At this point, I'm used to being left behind. Makes sense you'd do it too."

"Simon, I'll come with you. Just let me get my stuff. Please--" Wren reached forward grabbing his arm, and he snatched it away from her, sending her toppling into a bookshelf. A few books came loose, tumbling to the floor in a messy pile.

"You always do this," Simon's lip curled. "Make a mess of everything. I wonder if your precious twins will put up with half the things I do." Wren watched him leave, trying to blink back the tears forming in her eyes. He was right. She did always make a mess of things. She knew what she should have done--what she should have said. She should have packed up as soon as he came over. She should have told the twins she'd see them in class and told him she had more than a second--she had hours for him. She shouldn't have argued.

Wren wiped away a few tears as she bent down to begin picking up the books and finding their proper places. Footsteps approached the end of the aisle, and her head snapped, hoping Simon had come back.

"Everything ok?" Fred asked, standing at the end of the aisle where Simon had been moments before. Wren quickly glanced back at the book she was shoving into the shelf, as if that would hide her splotchy red face.

"Fine," her voice came out high and not quite as lighthearted as she'd hoped.

"And that's why you've decided to take up a part time job as a librarian?"

She let out a sigh that could maybe possibly be construed as a laugh. "No, I just--um--we stumbled into the books." She hoped that would explain the red face if not for Simon's conspicuous absence.

"Ah," Fred nodded, and she could hear the disbelief in his voice. "And where is the other half then?"

“He…he had to run off. Prefect duties. I told him I'd handle it.”

Fred's eyes rested on her, as she picked up another book and shoved it between two other ones, not able to even concentrate on making sure they were in alphabetical order. She couldn't understand why Fred had taken it upon himself to interrogate her. He was silent even as she picked up another book, as if for once he were carefully choosing his words.

"Must've run off pretty quick. I came as soon as I heard the books."

It was Wren's turn to furrow her brow at him. "Why?"

“What happened here?” George appeared over Fred's shoulder, stopping him from continuing the sentence.

“Simon couldn’t keep his hands off Wren,” Fred said to George. Wren flushed from the choice of words.

George wiggled his eyebrows at Wren. “Kinky.”

She turned redder if possible and Fred’s jaw ticked.

“Need a hand?”

Despite the fact that George asked the question, Wren looked at Fred. “That would be lovely.”

George moved around Fred and picked up the last few books, sliding them onto the shelf.

“Thanks, George,” Wren smiled. He reached over and squeezed her hand. His brow furrowed slightly. Wren looked over his shoulder at Fred who caught her eye before turning and heading back towards their seats. She looked back at George and offered a tight smile, standing up. "Let's go back to take our break."

[morganaspendragonss]

If you still have the square open, fingore for Tarlos? I looked it up and the definition made me all cringy lol because I am a giant wuss, so I was thinking maybe threat of fingore (or actual fingore if you want to go for it because you are clearly made of cooler and tougher stuff than me ;) ), something with Carlos hostage on a case and the bad guys want him to give up some information? Or Carlos is protecting TK somehow and won't tell them where he is?

holly's august extravaganza day 8: we'll hold each other soon

unfortunately the square had already been taken when this came through but i hope you like what i came up with! thanks for the prompt! tied into chapters five and eleven from the breeze in my austin nights

ao3 | 2.1k | angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, torture, carlos briefly thinks tk is dead but he's not

Carlos had known this would happen. He’s known for weeks; he’s felt the suspicion in the gang growing, sensed his cover crumbling bit by bit. It’s been especially bad since his run-in with Paul and Marjan, but that was really just the final straw.

Things with this mission have been going sideways for a long time. He’d reported it to his supervisors, of course he had, but all they’d said was that the case was too important to give up just because of one man’s feeling.

He wishes he could take satisfaction in being proved right.

Unfortunately, him being right means nothing to his supervisors. For Carlos, it means getting dragged out of his temporary apartment in the early hours of the morning and taken, blindfolded and gagged, to a remote corner of town, probably unknown to everyone outside of the gang.

Carlos doesn’t struggle as he’s shoved into a chair and chained by the feet, his hands and torso bound to the wood with a rough rope that rubs his skin painfully. By the low mutters and footsteps echoing around the room, it’s clear there’s more than just one or two of the gang holding him, so he figures that fighting will only make things worse for him.

Once he’s sufficiently tied up, the blindfold is yanked from his eyes and the gag removed. Carlos gratefully sucks in a few deep breaths, blinking hard as his vision adjusts to the harsh fluorescent lighting in the room. There are six men surrounding him and Carlos recognises one as the gang leader, Manese. Another, Daniels, is holding a crowbar, and all of them are armed with at least one gun, probably more.

Carlos, meanwhile, is lucky he’s wearing socks.

Thank god for draughty apartments.

Manese steps forward, his hard stare betraying little emotion. “I’m gonna cut the bullshit, Reyes,” he says. “We know who you are, we know you’ve been passing information to other cops, and we know you’re probably not doing it alone.

“So, you’ve got two choices. Either you make it easy for us and we’ll make it easy for you—I’d say I’d let you live, but you and I both know I can’t do that. But I will leave a body to bury. Or, you make it difficult and we’ll return the favour. And, believe me, we can make things very, very difficult for you.” He grins and spreads his hands out, tipping them in a mimic of a set of scales. “This only ends one way for you, Reyes. All you gotta do is decide how fast you want to get there.”

The look Manese sends him lets Carlos know that he already knows exactly what decision he’s going to make, and that he’s going to enjoy it. Carlos sighs and closes his eyes, briefly hanging his head. He spares a thought for his family back in Austin—his parents, TK—and prays that, whatever happens, they’ll at least be able to get some closure.

Then, he steels himself and looks Manese dead in the eyes. “Do what you want. I’m not telling you anything.”

Manese’s grin takes on a shark-like quality, and Carlos has to force himself not to react to the way he leers at him. “Excellent choice.” He flicks his hand and Daniels steps forward, a manic look in his eye as he flexes his grip around the crowbar.

Carlos barely has a moment to prepare himself before all he knows is pain.

*

He screams as the crowbar comes down for what feels like the hundredth time, eliciting a sickening crack as his arm breaks. Carlos’s vision white out and he folds in on himself as much as he can, his left arm straining to cradle his right, but all he achieves is the already abused skin becoming more raw and sore. He breathes heavily, blinking rapidly as the room slowly swims into view once more. Daniels looks bored, the crowbar swinging loosely in his grasp, and Manese seems to be running out of patience.

“Got your memory back yet, Reyes?” he asks tersely.

Carlos just shakes his head and braces himself for the next hit.

Which doesn’t come.

And doesn’t come.

And doesn’t come.

Carlos squints up at them, frowning when he sees Manese with a hand on Daniels’ arm as he studies him closely. The calculating glint in his eye sends a flash of dread through Carlos; nothing good can possibly come of this.

“Go for his fingers next,” he orders after a while, releasing Daniels. “I don’t care how—break them, shoot them, crush them, whatever—just get me answers.” He turns to Carlos and tuts, sighing heavily in mock regret. “This is your own fault, Reyes. All this can be over like that”—he snaps his fingers—“if you just give me what I want. A couple names, a location or two, that’s all I’m asking. Not much, right?”

Carlos stubbornly stays silent—at this point, he’s not sure he has enough breath left to speak even if he wanted to—and Manese sighs again.

“Your funeral.” He shrugs and steps back to give Daniels room, but before anything can happen, one of the others in the room rushes forward to whisper something to Manese. Carlos can’t hear what’s being said and he’s too exhausted to try; all he can feel is relief for the brief reprieve. His arm is screaming at him, the pain in the rest of his body paling in comparison, and he’s not sure how much longer he can stand it.

The hushed mutters continue for another minute, until eventually Manese nods sharply and four of the six men in the room file out. He smiles at Carlos, sickly sweet, and claps his hands together once, rubbing them for good measure. “Looks like it’s your lucky day, Reyes,” he says, with a lazy drawl that can’t mean anything good. “Business calls.”

Carlos doesn’t have time to comprehend what that means before Manese and Daniels are also leaving, flipping them lights off as they go.

And Carlos is left alone.

*

Time means nothing as Carlos waits for someone to return and finish what they started. The only thing he’s certain of is that something must have changed to get Manese to halt his torture, and it probably isn’t a very good something.

Not for Carlos, at least.

He thinks about trying to escape, but even slight movements are so painful that he fears he might throw up or pass out or, more likely, both. Besides, even if he did manage to get out of the bonds on his arms and torso, there would still be the chains on his feet to deal with, and Carlos knows there’s more of a chance of rescue than him dealing with those on his own, especially with a broken arm.

His mind is left to wander, and he keeps circling back to one point that seems to solidify itself more with each second that passes.

He’s not getting out of here.

A fresh wave of pain—not physical, this time—washes through him, and his whole chest aches as he thinks of TK. He’d been so worried for Carlos ever since they found out about the case, and he’d begged him to stay safe the morning he’d left just over three months ago.

“Be careful, please,” TK said, smoothing down the lapels of Carlos’s shirt. “Whatever happens out there, whatever you have to do, just promise me one thing. Promise you’ll come back to me.”

Carlos knew better than to promise something like that, and TK knew better than to ask it. But because it was him, and because it was TK, Carlos just nodded and leaned in to press a kiss to TK’s temple.

“I promise,” he whispered, pulling away. TK didn’t let him go far before dragging him into a real kiss. It felt like it lasted forever, only to seem far too short when they broke apart, still clinging to one another. Carlos allowed himself another minute in TK’s embrace, then forced himself to move away, giving his boyfriend one last smile.

TK returned it with a smile of his own, and Carlos carried it with him long after the door swung closed between them.

It’s the last good memory Carlos has, and he’s going to hold onto it for as long as he has left. If he’s going to die, then the last thing he wants to see is TK’s smile, even if it is just in his mind.

*

Carlos is nearly blinded when the lights suddenly turn back on, revealing Manese and two other gang members standing in front of him. He only vaguely recognises these two—it’s possible he could dredge up some names if he thought about it for long enough, but his attention is locked on Manese, who looks far too pleased with himself, in the same way a predator must look before it catches its prey.

“You’ve made it clear you’re not going to give us any names,” Manese says, “so now I’m going to give you one.” He steps closer and lowers his voice, grinning like he’s sharing a secret just for the two of them. “Tyler Kennedy Strand.”

Carlos’s blood runs cold at the sound of TK’s name.

TK’s full name.

“What—” but his ruined and dry throat refuses to cooperate. Instead, he levels a glare at Manese, and hopes that it’s enough to convey every single question and threat running through his mind right now.

If possible, Manese’s smile widens. “Recognise it do you?” he says lightly. “I thought you might. See, Carlos, we have people all over, not just in this shithole town, and once we knew who you were, it was child’s play to track down your nearest and dearest. And who is nearer and dearer than that pretty boy of yours?”

He steps back and snaps his fingers, holding his hand out. One of the others hands him a slip of paper, which Manese then presents to Carlos, dropping it carelessly in his lap. “Take a look.”

Curiosity getting the better of him, Carlos looks down at what he realises is a photograph. He can’t understand it at first, but slowly the details become clearer and more familiar, and—god.

“I’ll give him credit, he put up quite the fight,” Manese is saying, but he sounds like he’s shouting down a tunnel, the roaring in Carlos’s ears blocking out most other sounds. “It’s unfortunate that fists can’t stop a bullet.”

*

Everything stops making sense after that.

TK is dead.

TK is dead.

It makes no sense, so why should anything else? Carlos stares and stares at the photo, and keeps staring even after it’s snatched out of his lap, the image burned onto his retinas by now. He’s aware, distantly, of voices and sounds and sensations but they’re all muted, happening outside this bubble he’s created around himself.

He wishes they’d just get it over with.

*

Carlos blinks, and there’s someone new in front of him, someone unfamiliar who touches him gently and looks at him kindly.

He blinks and the scenery changes. He’s in a vehicle, staring up at a white ceiling, being taken...somewhere. He feels warm and the pain has dimmed, but he’s sinking again before he can put a thought to what that means.

He blinks and he’s in a bed, a woman standing in front of him and asking him questions. Carlos doesn’t really understand what’s going on, doesn’t know what could possibly be more important than the fact that TK is dead and it’s all his fault. He shakes his head at the woman and turns away.

He blinks, and TK is there.

And, when he blinks again, TK is still there.

And it’s—it’s impossible. He’s hallucinating or dreaming because TK is dead, and dead people don’t come back to life just because he might wish it.

So he tries, and he tries, and he tries to snap himself back to reality. But it doesn’t work, and TK is still in front of him, that crease between his brows growing with every second that passes. Carlos wants to reach out and smooth it away but he knows he can’t, and—

And, TK takes his hand and presses it to his chest.

Hallucinations don’t feel that solid.

They also don’t have a heartbeat.

This time, when TK doesn’t disappear, Carlos allows himself to believe.

“I’m not going anywhere, baby,” TK whispers in his ear, holding him close, warm and solid and alive. “I’m always going to be right here.”

[free-pancakes]

Kiss the Drummer

Summary: a LeviHan Jazz!AU

Levi, a talented trumpet player famous in the jazz clubs of New York, is struggling with his instrument and feels burnt out—he wonders if he chose the right path in life.

The bassist of his quintet, an old friend named Erwin, invites a quirky new drummer to play with them, who brings a new spark into Levi’s life.

Notes:  Drum "chops” describe a drummer's technical ability, including a large vocabulary of licks, and how freely they express themselves on the instrument. BPM = beats per minute Songs: Giant Steps - John Coltrane

sorry this AU fic is pure self-indulgence and has become much longer than originally intended lol

crossposted to AO3

CHAPTER 1

He licked his lips and pushed them readily against the smooth, silver mouthpiece, ready to hit the first note of the song, Giant Steps. He suppressed his desire to grumble at yet another fast swing tune.

He stared out into the audience, peering at the people sitting around the tables of the club. Their faces were slightly lit from the reflection of the stage lights, wearing expressions of both excitement and anticipation. “Just another night of the same old thing,” Levi thought to himself, letting out a soft, exasperated sigh, one only he could hear. His stance conveyed confidence, but his eyes spelled apathy.

He heard snaps on 2 and 4 marking their starting tempo at 289 bpm and Levi quickly puffed warm air into his trumpet.

“One… two… one two three four—“

——

Levi wiped down his trumpet, carefully cleaning the beautiful brass after yet another great performance. He gently placed it in his case, and looked up at himself in the dressing room mirror. He stared blankly at his reflection, noting the tinge of purple beneath his eyes—he knew his body was aching for sleep. It had been restless upon restless night for the past year or so, and he wasn’t completely sure why. He looked down at his trumpet case with both affection and disdain. Maybe... he just wasn’t meant to do this for this long.

He didn’t hate playing, but the truth was, he had simply been good at it all of his life. Quite gifted at it, one would say, and thus he passively let it lead him to success. It was just what it was. He was good at jazz, he was good at trumpet. Naturally he studied it at a top university for jazz performance and joined this famous quintet, and naturally he worked hard to improve his skills. But as any routine would, practice and rehearsals became monotonous, grunt work.

While lost in thought, his eyes trailed over to his small, neat pile of math textbooks at the edge of the dresser.

If anything, he did enjoy jazz theory. It was just math, anyway—circle of fifths, cadence patterns, fancy scales—it all just added up and broke down for any message or feeling you wanted to convey with a melody for your solo, and those tools were simply available in your brain to make it happen—tools to play some straight dirty solos that make you smirk satisfactorily when listening. To Levi, it just made sense, to a lot of other people, he was called “genius”. But after years and years of this, he was burning out and he was quite aware of that. He felt like he was losing his edge, and he was just a machine clunking out music most nights of the week. Again he thought, maybe he just wasn’t meant to do this forever. But what else would pay the bills?

Shaking his head, he let his jumbled thoughts fall away momentarily. He picked up a textbook, and leafed through the pages. He clicked open a ballpoint pen and began adding to his lesson plan for one of his students, a young girl named Sasha. Honestly, she seemed utterly hopeless with math at times, but he was determined to help her at least pass her algebra class. Her little friend Connie on the other hand…well that’s a story for another day, he thought, and chuckled softly to himself. If anything, he did enjoy his side job as a math tutor for the local school system. He didn’t really need the extra pocket money, but something compelled him to keep up with it.

As he jotted down notes, muffled noise of cheering and commotion rocked against the door. Tonight’s gig was Nile’s last performance with them, as he was moving out to the west coast to play with another group and accept a teaching position somewhere out there. Levi didn’t care much for his drumming or his personality for that matter, so he wasn’t particularly sad to see him go, nor was he keen on joining the celebration out in the bar. He yawned and continued finish up writing his lesson plan, as he knew he’d probably have to drive his drunk colleagues home.

——

“Levi! I’m gonna miss you buddy!” Nile exclaimed as he aggressively ruffled Levi’s hair, causing the cowlick he spent every morning trying to gel down to stick straight up embarrassingly at the top of his head. “Yeah, yeah, yeah… good luck Nile.” He shoved him and Mike into a cab, as they lived in the same apartment complex. He turned back into the bar to Erwin smiling drunkenly and Nanaba knocked out cold, sleeping soundly as she sat with her head down on a table. Levi grumbled and picked up Nanaba’s saxophone case to haul into the trunk of his car. He returned to pick up Nanaba and carried her on his back, and Erwin walked with them to Levi’s car.

“Hey Levi, Our new drummer is flying in tomorrow. I told her I’d come and pick her up from the airport at 7am.”

Levi looked Erwin up and down with a look of disgust. “In that sorry state, Eyebrows? Tch, go sleep off the hangover tonight, I can go to the airport. What’s her name and what does she look like?”

“Her name’s Hange. She has messy brown hair usually worn up in a ponytail, wears tortoise clubmaster glasses and well… honestly you can’t miss her, I’m sure you’ll find her right away.”

“Okay. So why’d we need to bring in a completely new drummer anyway? Couldn’t we have just brought in Moblit?”

“Ah you know his style doesn’t fit ours as well, plus he’s doing well with his band right now. Don’t worry, Hange and I played together all 4 years of college together, she’s got chops. Plus, I think Hange will probably bring in the change we need. Your playing’s gone a bit stale... hasn’t it, Levi?”

“Stale?! Pfft you’re just drunk,” Levi muttered, irritated as Erwin raised his eyebrows at him. They arrived at their apartment complex and Levi begrudgingly unlocked the car doors, gently woke Nanaba, and the three of them walked up to their floor. Erwin fumbled with his keys, and Levi snatched it out of his hands, frustrated at how long it was taking him. Erwin chuckled, and Levi scrunched up his nose at the stench of alcohol in his breath. As soon as the door opened, Nanaba immediately ran to the bathroom, retching into the toilet.

“I got her,” Erwin laughed. “Go to bed, Levi, you’re the one getting up early. Flight info’s next to the door.”

Levi nodded, turned into his room, and plopped down on the bed. He stared at the ceiling, and wondered how much longer he’d keep playing, or more like, how soon he’d quit. If this Hange person was as annoying as Nile, well… he probably wouldn’t hold out much longer.

——

Levi stood with his hands in his pockets, eyes peeled for this Hange person. He looked at his watch—“Maybe she was still waiting on her luggage,” he thought. He walked over to the small cafe to his left, and waited in line, squinting for any decent teas on the menu. Before he could decide, he suddenly heard a small yelp, and something shoved right into his chest, feeling piping hot coffee running down his white, longsleeve shirt. Before he could yell obscenities at the moron who just ruined one of his favorite shirts, he was met with frantic apologizes.

“I’m so so sorry! Oh my goodness it was a complete accident, can I get you a drink to make up for it? Man I am so clumsy...oh! Maybe you can wear one of my shirts I have here, free of charge! Or I could just—“

He looked up in the middle of incessant rambling to see the culprit—a tall brunette, hair messily tied up in a bun, wearing tortoise clubmaster glasses, and a bright yellow coat.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Levi thought to himself. He looked down to see a large black cymbal case and a stick bag with yarn mallets and drumsticks poking out of it.

—I could just buy you a new shirt! Oh, how bout—“

Levi was livid—this clown was potentially going to be playing gigs with them over the next year? The coffee stained fabric was sticking uncomfortably to his skin and he felt the biggest headache coming on—all this pain just from one person. He reached up and gently placed his hand over her mouth to physically stop her chattering.

“Is your name, Hange?”

She nodded, Levi’s hand still covering her mouth.

“You’re Erwin’s friend?”

She nodded again, her eyes lighting up at the name, Levi feeling her lips forming a smile under his palm.

“Okay, I’m taking you back to our apartment.”

Levi reached for her bags to carry them, but was interrupted.

“Wait—the least I can do is give you the extra shirt I have in my backpack so you can change out of your soiled one,” she said softly. She reached in her bag, and pulled out the shirt and Levi felt his eye twitch in annoyance at the words printed on its front. He sighed, and debated sitting in his wet shirt, but it seemed like he didn’t have much choice—he’d have to wear it.

——

Levi blinked his eyes open. He felt oddly rested, but one thing was strange—he was sitting up, and he felt something unusually heavy on his shoulder.

“What the—“

He looked to the side and saw a mess of brown hair immediately to his right, heard the soft sound of snoring, and felt… something wet on his arm? He looked down and grimaced. “Drool. She’s drooling. On my goddamn arm.”

He looked around for some kind of napkin. He didn’t remember falling asleep, let alone letting this absolute stranger curl up against him. How in the world did he let his guard down this far?

He stared blankly at Hange and thought, “What a mess—what was Erwin thinking? We’ve known each other for less than 5 hours, and she seems to have already made herself right at home. I haven’t even confirmed whether she was good enough to play with us, yet.” He tried to shift out from underneath Hange, but before he could wriggle is way out—

“Kiss the drummer?”

Erwin and Nanaba stood before Levi, both with hair in a complete mess, having just woken up from sleeping off their hangovers. Smirking and holding back laughter, they stared at the scene—Levi wearing an oversized t-shirt with the words “Kiss the Drummer” in bold letters plastered across his chest, along with Hange sleeping quite cozily on his shoulder, her glasses held gently between his fingers. Levi tried covering up the words and scowled at his two friends.

“Laugh it up,” he muttered. “What is this, Erwin? She’s clearly made herself at home already—and we haven’t even gotten to play together yet.”

“Relax, Levi, she’s a great musician. And look, she likes you!”

Levi grimaced at Hange draped over his shoulder.

“Hmph, I still have to hear her play and have my opinion considered. We all get a vote yknow…”

Over their hushed voices, Hange shifted groggily towards all of them and rubbed her eyes. “Erwin?”

Hange’s eyes lit up immediately in recognition, shoving Levi back further into the couch as she jumped up to wrap Erwin in her embrace, excited to finally be reunited with her friend after so many years.

After a few minutes of catching up, Erwin smiled brightly. “Yes, we can take you around the city a bit. Rehearsal’s not til this evening anyway—we did have a gig lined up last minute for the middle of this week if you were comfortable with that, Hange.”

“Of course I’d be down to do that! I—“

“Oi. Like I said, we still vote if you get to play with our group officially. Don’t be late to rehearsal tonight.” Levi then slowly stood up and walked quietly towards his room.

“Don’t mind him, he’s just being strict about our technical audition policy,’ Erwin reassured. He and Nanaba quickly darted for their rooms to ready themselves to take Hange sightseeing for a little while and introduce her to the city, leaving her standing alone in the middle of their living room. Her eyes trailed after Levi, curious about his calm yet sad energy. She felt that she saw through that aura, noticing every little kind gesture he made towards her from the time they met at the airport to the moment they fell asleep on the couch. Hange was determined to get him to show that side of himself a little more. As he turned to grab the door behind him, she smiled at him, and was quickly met with a scowl and the slam of his bedroom door in her face. Seemed it might take some more effort to get through to him than she originally thought.

[kabira]

01 | first period biology

pairing — spider-man!vernon x ofc

word count — 3k

genres — spider-man au, marvel au, fluff, action, angst, humor

warnings — violence, mentions of school tests

summary — vernon doesn’t entertain bad guys on monday mornings, but the villain of the day apparently didn’t seem to have gotten the memo.

note — first chapter woohoo! in celebration of comeback day, i present to you: my first actual tumblr multi-part series. send me an ask or dm if you want to be in the taglist! masterlist coming soon <3

go to fic masterlist | main masterlist

I do not have time for this.

Vernon swung through the air, landing nimbly on the road just a few feet behind the newest menace that had decided to grace his neighborhood with its presence. The self-proclaimed Rhino—basically a guy in a rhinoceros suit, as the name suggested—was tearing down 108th street at breakneck speed, which was almost as fast as Vernon mid-swing. Almost.

“Hey, slow down!” he called as he launched himself towards the suited man, and a little kid with a lollipop gaped as Spider-Man swung right towards the Rhino, legs stretched straight before him. “Tsk, how are we supposed to tango if I can’t even keep up?”

Rhino roared when Vernon dropkicked him right in the middle of his back, but the kick didn’t put him out of commission like Vernon had hoped it would. The villain (and Vernon used the term loosely) swung his fist towards him, but he flipped backwards, landing on top of a car, which dented under the force.

“Why is it always Queens?” Vernon asked, annoyed, as Rhino charged towards him. He pushed off the car to avoid Rhino, who crashed headfirst into the vehicle, sending shards of glass flying everywhere. Right next to it, a yellow Kia’s alarm went off. Vernon, now hanging from the building behind it, huffed. “And why is it always right before school?”

And a Monday, too. Vernon usually allowed for supervillains busting down his metaphorical door on mornings, but Mondays were usually off-limits. Honestly, what kind of villain gets up at seven a.m. on a Monday?

Vernon scaled the brick wall of the building, looking for a high vantage point he could drop down from, but even the little effort seemed to tire him out more than usual. Having studied until late night the day before, right after stopping a third try at a robbery on seventy-third (honestly, do these people never learn?), he had only managed to catch about three hours of sleep. It was normal by Spidey standards, but not by Vernon standards. Especially when he was supposed to have a test in first period biology.

“Spider-Man!” Rhino bellowed from three storeys below, snapping Vernon back to the present. He sighed as man demolished another car, no doubt to show off his might or strength or whatever it was villains loved to show off these days. “Face me!”

Vernon looked down. In the morning, everything was awash with sunlight, including Rhino. The suit was a dark gray but didn’t seem to be made of metal, looking about three to four inches thick like some kind of hide-like body armor, and light glinted off the visor that only half-showed his adversary’s face. If he hadn’t been about to be pummeled to death by the guy in rhinoceros suit, he would have appreciated the beautiful workmanship more. The horn was a nice touch.

“If you just wanted to see me, an email would have been fine!” Vernon called, letting go of the wall and righting himself in free-fall as he hurtled towards the Rhino. “No need to put on a show for little ol’ me—”

Okay. Maybe he had miscalculated the distance or maybe Rhino was less distracted than he thought, because instead of him dropping in on the villain like a ton of bricks, Rhino swung his suited arm, catching Vernon in the chest with bone-shattering force, and sent him flying.

Vernon hit the sidewalk with enough force for his body to skid a few feet before coming to a rest. His backpack (which had somehow not been torn to shreds) absorbed most of the blow, but the impact had knocked the wind out of him, and he lay there for a few seconds, wondering if he should just stay down. His head was already pounding, and a sleepy spider was a grumpy spider.

He changed his mind at the last moment as Rhino’s fist swung towards his face, and he flipped onto his back, jumping out of the way just as the fist came down where he had been lying milliseconds ago. Beneath the mask, Vernon’s eyes widened as he saw the blow break the asphalt.

I really do not have time for this.

“What the heck is that suit even made of?” he muttered as he dodged another blow, trying to work out a way to subdue Rhino as fast as possible. The suit was big and heavy, which usually made for slower reactions, and a good old webbing-down would have been the perfect way to wrap up the show, but if the suit was strong enough, even his web fluid wouldn’t hold. Vernon had to knock him out somehow.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Rhino made a throaty, hacking sound like could have been laughter. “Unfortunately, you will be dead before you can even get close enough.”

“You know, it doesn’t have to be this way,” Vernon said, dodging yet another attack, resulting in Rhino’s head getting stuck in the cracked windshield of a car for a moment. God, that guy was like a battering ram. He couldn’t keep this up forever. “We can always sit down and talk about this.”

“Spider-Man, I’ll kill you!”

“I’ll take that as a no, then.” Vernon raised his wrists, aiming at the car. Thwip-thwip, went the fluid from his web shooters, trapping the Rhino against the side of the vehicle. “Shame,” he said, as the man thrashed against his web restraints. “I know a really good taco place around here.”

The Rhino yelled, lifting the entire car bodily. Vernon watched as he raised the car over his head, the webbing breaking from the strain of the suit against them, and threw it directly at him.

Ah, crap.

Vernon would like to think he would have managed to get away from there in time even if someone hadn’t snatched him up into the air, but he doubted it. There was something majestic about watching a villain he’d underestimated lift a whole car up to throw at him.

The person caught him under the arms and lifted him into the air, away from the enraged roar of the Rhino that resounded throughout the street. Vernon’s first reaction to being picked cleanly off the road would be fear, but his spider sense hadn’t gone off yet. He tried to look up at his captor/savior, but the back of his head collided with something hard. “Ow,” he mumbled. “Who the hell are you?”

“The guy who just saved your ass, webhead,” the boy replied derisively. Or at least it sounded like a boy, very much like those guys in the cafeteria who used to drop snide remarks behind Vernon’s back pre-spider bite. The guy dropped him on the roof of a shorter building, and Vernon rolled out of the way, getting to his feet. The boy was dressed in a metallic-looking dark blue-and-gold suit, a bucket-like helmet over his head. The lower of his face was uncovered, exposing lips twisted into a scowl. “I’m not even getting a thank-you?”

“…thanks,” Vernon muttered after scrutinizing the guy for a moment. “Uh, who are you actually?”

“I’m Nova, creep.”

“Nova Creep.” He considered this. “Interesting.”

“Just Nova!” the boy snapped, sounding even more displeased than before. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to my team and save the frickin’ neighborhood.”

Saying this, he turned and took off again, no doubt heading for wherever the action was. Vernon watched him go, choosing to take a breather instead of following him back down.

New superheroes in town? It wasn’t unheard of, and Vernon had had his fair share of newbies and oldies both to deal with in his year-long career as Queens’s friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

He looked down over the edge of the roof. Sure enough, there were three of them—a girl in a white suit, moving around the wreckage like an acrobat and slashing at the Rhino’s suit, Nova Creep shooting fist lasers (Flight powers and fist lasers? Unfair.) at him, and—was that Iceman?

Vernon hesitated. He could join the fight and help finish it more quickly, but if Iceman was here, the X-Men couldn’t be farther away. He could leave the three to it and get to school in time to catch forty winks before class, no harm done. Was he even needed?

Unfortunately, he knew he was only giving himself the illusion of choice. Spider-Man never walked away from a fight, even if someone more capable was dealing with it.

He shot webs at the metal post hanging out from the opposing building and swung back down, joining the fight just as Rhino caught the girl around the middle like he had Vernon, sending her flying back into an already wrecked car. Vernon cushioned her landing with webs, managing to protect her body from the broken metal chassis, and she was back on her feet in seconds, joining his side.

“Thanks,” she said, which surprised him. Most superheroes didn’t take the time out to thank him, but that was usually unnecessary, since they evened out the score by saving his life. “You know this guy?”

“Nah, he’s new in town,” he replied, watching Nova and Iceman fight the Rhino. Iceman froze him from the legs to his waist, but it didn’t hold for long before Rhino broke through the ice. “Strong, though, I’ll give him that.”

“It’s the suit,” the girl told him. Now that they were up close, Vernon could see that her costume somewhat resembled a white tiger, with the pointed ears and yellow eyes. He wondered if she’d been bitten by a radioactive white tiger. “It’s made of some kind of polymer.”

“Polymer?” he echoed, even more surprised. He’d assumed metal.

“Self-regenerating,” she affirmed. “It’s not indestructible—I slashed through the hide with my claws, but—”

“Your claws?”

She raised her hand. Under the white glove, her nails extended into wicked, claw-like tips. “Cool,” he said, voice cracking halfway through the word. He cleared his throat. “Very Woverine-ish.”

“He’s a mutant,” she said dismissively. What was he supposed to call her? Tigerwoman? Tigergirl? “Rhino’s suit regenerates. We have to knock him out.”

“Yeah, I figured that one out,” Vernon muttered.

“A little help here?!” Nova yelled, zipping through the air in a zigzag manner to avoid the Rhino’s hits. “Or are you two going to stand around and chat all day?”

Vernon’s lips twitched into an unintentional smile. “I’ll web him up,” he told tiger lady. “You think Nova can pull him up?”

Tiger inclined her head. “Not on his own, but with a little frosty boost…”

“Great.” He sprinted towards the group, shooting webs at the Rhino’s head to get his attention and distract him from the others. “Hey, Hippo! Over here!”

The Rhino ripped off the webbing from his visor, not wasting a moment before charging him. Vernon lunged, wrapping the Rhino suit up in webs as he scaled the wall, trapping him in the web fluid. It wouldn’t hold for long, he knew—but he only needed a few seconds. And some blind faith.

The excessive webbing wrapped around Rhino like a net trap, and Vernon pulled, lifting him into the air with as much strength as he could muster. Below him, Iceman froze a column of ice under the Rhino’s butt, giving him a little extra height. Ten feet…twenty feet…

“Tiger!” Vernon yelled.

She lunged, pushing off the hood of a dented car to give her extra height, and ripped through the thin web holding him up with her claws. Rhino plummeted to the ground, crashing into a car and through it, the fall only broken by the ground, the asphalt cracking beneath the force.

Vernon watched him anxiously. The suit should have been heavy enough to render the man inside unconscious, unless he had a really good cushioning system in place.

He counted to ten in his head. Rhino didn’t move.

Thank god for bad cushioning, Vernon thought, swinging back down to the ground. “You guys think you could carry him?” he asked the three. Iceman didn’t even look over, broodily watching the unconscious villain’s body. Oh well. “He’s a heavy hitter.”

“We could make it back to S.H.I.E.L.D. with him,” Tiger said. Then she glanced at him, cocking her head in a perplexed manner. “Wait, why do you—”

“I gotta run.” He shrugged sheepishly, adjusting the straps of his bag, which had only undergone minimal damage. The wonders never ceased. “You see, I’m late to first period biology.”

Vernon crashed through the doors of his school so fast he almost ploughed down Joshua, who had been standing just before the entrance, probably waiting for him.

The journey hadn’t taken more than a few minutes—he tried not to change clothes in suspicious-smelling service alleys as much as possible, but some situations left him no choice—but he only had a few minutes to get to class, and detention was something he couldn’t afford to get. He hated disappointing Aunt May more than he hated getting his ass beat by some B-list villain.

“Hey, hey, hey, relax,” Joshua said, righting him. The hallways were almost empty, but not quite, indicating that he wasn’t too late to the not-party. The boy fixed his glasses, giving Vernon a look. “Did you get into a fight?”

Vernon blinked at him. “What? No. This guy called Rhino—”

“Shh.” Joshua dragged him to one side, away from earshot of the general populace of Midtown High, and gave him a concerned look. “Dude, your face is bleeding.”

Joshua was one of the only few individuals in the world who knew about Vernon’s identity as Spider-Man, which was just as well, because if it hadn’t been for his blue-haired best friend he would have walked into a test with his nose gushing like a bloody geyser. “Thanks,” he mumbled, when Joshua handed him a clean-looking handkerchief. He raised it to his face. “Did you wipe your nose on this?”

Joshua made a face. “Not that I remember.”

“Good enough.” He cleaned off the blood as well as he could, which was hard, because he was feeling jittery and apparently his hands agreed. “Do I look fine?”

“You never look fine, my friend,” his friend said sagely. “But you look like you always do, so I guess, yes.”

Vernon shot him a grim smile, and started down the corridor towards 12-B, which was where he was supposed to be in ten minutes. He wasn’t even late, actually, but Mr. Malkin didn’t need a big excuse to give someone a C+ for a tardy warning. Joshua followed close behind. “So, which guy beat you up this time?”

“I didn’t get beat up.” Vernon rolled his eyes. “Well, not entirely—”

“Vernon Parker, report to room 10-A.” Both the boys’ heads whipped up towards the source of the sound, which came as an announcement from the speakers. “Vernon Parker, room 10-A, please.”

“What?” Vernon whirled on Joshua, panicked. The blue-haired boy’s eyes were wide behind his glasses, but he only shrugged in response. “But the test!”

He tried to think back to anything wrong he might have done in the past few weeks to get called aside like this, but he couldn’t think of anything. Plus, he hadn’t been summoned to the principal’s office, which confused him even more. Why room 10-A?

“Now you’ve had it, Parker,” Flash Thompson said as he passed them, grinning.

Vernon scowled at his retreating back, his grip tightening around the bag strap. “Whatever,” he muttered, then threw Joshua his bag. “Take it to the class, won’t you? I’ll try to get back as soon as I can.”

Without waiting for affirmation, he jogged off to find room 10-A, wanting to get whatever it was over with so he would get back on time. When he got there, the room was empty except for a lady in a pencil skirt and jacket, holding a clipboard in her hand. Upon his entry, she smiled at him in a friendly way, which only served to tick him off further.

“Whatever this is, couldn’t I do it some other time?” he pleaded. He hadn’t seen this staff member before, but he didn’t seem to be in trouble, and his grades had enough pull to get him out of some random appointment before classes. “I have a test in like, five minutes.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve already talked to your teacher about this,” the woman said, continuing to smile. She gestured to one of the seats. “Take a seat.”

Reluctantly, he obliged, not really having an excuse not to now. “What is this, exactly?” he asked. Now that panic had taken a backseat, doubt was beginning to creep in. Why only him? And how had he never seen this woman before?

“In light of recent events, the school has decided to start counselling sessions for all of the students to help them cope,” she said. She had a really nice smile, her skin tan and unblemished, cheeks dimpled. “I’m Melia Fox,” she said. “I just need to ask you a few questions, and you can be on your way.”

He stared back at her, miffed. A year of incidents, and they suddenly decided to have counselling sessions now? “Why just me?” he asked slowly. “I’m sorry, but isn’t there some kind of rule or protocol for—”

“There is,” said a new voice. Vernon whipped around, and there at the end of the classroom, where moments ago had been nothing but air, stood a tall black man with an eyepatch. “And Agent Fox is following it.”

Vernon gaped. “I—what?”

“Spider-Man,” Nicky Fury said, with a note of muted resolution in his voice, “we need to have a little chat.”

[mollymauk-teafleak]

"you're in no condition to be walking around" + ThanZag

Mermaid AU!!!! Thought it was time to roll this one out, I’m just super feeling mournful Thanatos on a break from his hectic city job post nervous breakdown, out in an isolated cottage by the sea, falling in love with a mermaid Zagreus he’s been secret friends with since they were kids. 

and some Angst

Please leave a comment on Ao3 if you like this! 

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

Three days wasn’t late.

Thanatos told himself that every morning and evening, when he would pull on the largest and thickest of the sweaters his mother had knitted for him, shove his bare feet into boots and take a tin mug of coffee out onto the little jetty to wait for Zagreus. He told himself that every hour as the waves rolled in and out without so much as a ripple or a flash of a scaled tail like fire in the water. He told himself every time he had to trudge back to his lopsided cottage on the fringe of the pebbled shoreline, cold and probably soaked to the bone, to start work or to sink into fitful dreams, still with that question weighing him down inside like a ballast stone.

But three days wasn’t late. He’d been gone for longer stretches than this. His people ranged far, travelled long distances for forage and food or on sheer curiosity. Hadn’t Zagreus shown him fossils he’d rescued from deep coves or necklaces ancient with tarnish he’d scavenged from shipwrecks older than both of them, hadn’t he been widening his friend’s eyes with stories of underwater volcanoes and tropical waters warm as blood and dodging ice floes in arctic waters, since the two of them were children? Three days was nothing. Three days wasn’t late.

So why weren’t the words any comfort?

Because every other time, he told you when he was going away, Than catalogued his reasons for anxiety miserably, sitting on the end of the jetty in a misty drizzle with his eyes fixed out to sea. Because even if he was going ranging, he’d swim back at twice the speed to come and see you. He sipped his now cold coffee and tasted rainwater. Because the storms have been bad recently. He bleakly noted that it was an hour past sunset, their usual meeting time, and he should probably be going inside. Because you have a really bad feeling you just can’t shake.

Thanatos pushed a hand through his silver hair, feeling the raindrops caught in it melt and run down the inside of his wrist. He was beyond exhausted, it was a fog in his mind, but something kept him pinned to the edge of the rickety little pier, swinging his legs like he used to when he was a child. Maybe if he acted like he did back then, Zagreus would just appear with that same, bright grin on his face, as unexpected and magical as the first time.

Eventually the ache in his joints grew impossible to ignore and the damp in the seat of his jeans reached an unbearable level of discomfort. Than swallowed his disappointment and upturned the dregs of his coffee into the sea, wincing as he hauled himself back onto his feet, carefully so he didn’t slip on the slick, half rotted wood and end up tumbling into the slate grey water. He sent one last, longing look out across the waves, straining for a flash of black hair or scales like flame. When there was none, he sighed and turned back to his cottage, a smudge of shadow through the hazy rainfall.

Four days wasn’t late.

The wind was starting to pick up, promising another storm close on the heels of the one that had just broken the day before. It’s low, threatening murmur was almost loud enough that he didn’t hear the wild, desperate cry of his name. Almost.

He whirled and saw it, out where the waves were starting to roll and surge, a good few yards out from the end of the jetty. In between the rising peaks of the water, only visible when they fell away, a pale, shaking form, waving desperately. And, visible even from here, a mouth tight with pain and a pair of mismatched eyes large with panic.

Thanatos barely paused to think. Only to remember the many lessons his mother had drilled into him and his siblings when they would visit in the summer and to realise that the heavy wool jumper and the clunky boots should be pulled off and left behind. Once that was done, he was running, slipping into a smooth dive as he launched himself off the end of the jetty.

As soon as he hit the water, all of his senses went dead for a moment, only to flood back with screaming alarms of panic and pain that threatened to pull him under. But at the last moment he managed to enter that strange, eerie headspace of total calm he could summon when things seemed most dire. He sunk himself into the rhythm of his strokes, the pull of his muscles, the swell of the water around him, the burn as his head broke the surface and he dragged in as much air as he could before plunging ahead.

Thanatos had always been the strongest swimmer of his brothers and a childhood spent trying to keep up with Zagreus had only sharpened those skills. The water was a bitter, sullen force around him, wanting to draw him everywhere but where he needed to go, angry at his intrusion. But Than managed to be stronger, closing the distance between himself and his friend as quickly as he could.

Zag’s mouth was open and faint, frantic words were coming out but Than didn’t waste time listening.

“Go limp!” he called over the crash of the waves around him, slipping his arm around Zag’s chest, tipping him back so he could drag him along.

He heard an unmistakable yelp of pain from his friend and felt a wetness on his side far warmer than seawater but Zag did as he’d asked and towing him back to the shoreline was surprisingly easy, now the shock of the cold was over, now that he could feel Zag’s terrified heartbeat against his arm. Now that Thanatos could feel how much his friend needed him, it was a simple task.

The last part was mostly an ungainly dragging and hauling act as Than laid Zag down as far out of the surf as he could stand to carry his weight. Against the stones and silt and sand, he could see how deathly pale his friend was, how sharply the blood stood out against his skin from the tear in his side. It was like the colours of his tail were running in the water, leeching up

“Zagreus…” he panted, teeth starting to chatter.

“Sorry I’m late,” Zag choked out, his voice a faint echo in his throat.

Than cursed, forcing his burning muscles to keep moving, sliding his arms under Zag and managing to lift him. He wasn’t as heavy as he might have been, built lithe and sleek for a life of swimming, and he wasn’t slimy the way a younger Thanatos assumed fish would feel. But neither was he warm, the way he was supposed to be, and he had the heaviness of someone truly exhausted.

“Just stay with me,” Than ground out, carrying him the last of the cold, windy way to the cottage, “You can be as late as you bloody well please if you just keep talking...do you have enough to change?”

Zag tensed in his arms, grimacing before going limp and shaking his head, “Sorry…”

“Don’t you dare,” Than didn’t even stop, shouldering the door to his home open and just carrying him straight up the stairs to the bathroom, “Just talk. Tell me how it happened.”

Zag swallowed hard and turned his face to Than’s shoulder, clearly trying to bear the pain from the jolt of the steps, “I...I wanted to visit but the storms...and then we heard word of hunters coming into our territory…”

“Hunters?” Than frowned, kicking down the door to the poky little bathroom, “You’ve not mentioned hunters?”

“Half fishermen, half pirates,” Zag’s grip on Than’s shoulders was like iron as he laid him down in the tub, voice tense and tight, “They want our scales. Jewellery and stuff. Or else put us on display in shows. It’s death or captivity if they catch you and we heard they were in our waters. That they already had some of my people.”

Than murmured soothingly as he tried to get him comfortable, wrenching the tight, temperamental old faucets into life so water could pour down onto him, keeping him going until he could summon the strength to shift.

“Let me guess,” he sighed, “You went on a rescue mission. By yourself.”

“Not by myself,” Zag muttered sullenly, as Than moved his arm so he could properly see the gash in his side, “Father’s guards were right behind me. I just got there first.”

Than nodded, unsurprised, studying the wound. It wasn’t clean, the edges were ragged and it was deep. He’d need to stitch it shut, he realised. He could, of course, anyone in his line of work knew basic medical things like that, he’d just need to steady his hands first.

“And did you get them back? Your people?”

“I did,” Zag’s face twisted into a triumphant kind of grimace, “Just got a harpoon in the side for my trouble.”

“A harpoon? Blood and darkness, Zagreus…”

“Sent me right over the side of their damned boat,” he hissed as some of Than’s cleaning came too close, “Storm was up by then, I lost sight of everyone else and...and…”

Than looked up, curious, “Zag?”

“And I ended up with you,” his friend’s voice was faint, his eyes more distant, “I guess the currents just took me where I wanted to go.”

Than’s hands stilled, everything seeming to pause for a moment apart from the rushing of the water from the taps and Zag’s laboured breathing. But the moment passed and he set it to one side, focusing on that calm, the stillness that allowed him to do what needed to be done.

“Well...you’re here now,” he murmured soothingly, “And you’re staying here for the foreseeable. You’re in no condition to be walking around.”

Zag gave a thin laugh, flapping his red gold fins weakly, “You’re telling me.”

“I was more thinking of your oversized new gill,” Than rolled his eyes, “I’ll stitch you up, bandage it and you can shift. Then you’re sleeping for a very, very long time.”

“Aye aye,” Zag murmured, head lolling back against the rim of the tub, “Thanks, Than...and I am sorry I was late. I hope you weren’t waiting for me.”

Than exhaled softly, reaching over and brushing sodden hair back from his forehead. Already he was starting to warm, in from the cold and the wind. Warm and safe and sound.

“Not too long.”

[kiruuuuu]

Smoke/Mute in which ten cups of coffee change Mute’s life. (Rating T, slice of life/fluff/budding romance, ~5.8k words) - written for none other than @nutbrain​ for being a remarkable human being and an even better friend 💖 Please enjoy!

.

Mark eyes the shopfront before him with suspicion. His safe haven apparently gone, a flashier version has taken its place some time during the semester break, keeping nothing but the location and the proffered goods. Instead of the old-fashioned, thick-cushioned chairs and dim lighting, the new café shines with an open-floor concept, simple wooden furniture and an overall dark look with specks of gold to brighten it up. Leo Coffee, reads the sign next to a golden logo displaying a roaring lion. What big cats have to do with coffee isn’t obvious to Mark, but he overcomes his initial distaste and steps inside nonetheless.

As visible from outside, the place is deserted. The previous coffee shop was frequented by businesspeople and students alike, located halfway between the campus and Mark’s dorm – on rainy days, people often took public transport and bought their coffee elsewhere, but even on those occasions, it’s never been as empty as this.

Not that Mark is complaining. If the coffee is good, he’ll continue frequenting the new shop, and being able to work in peace would be an added bonus. He is quite fond of Julien and Timur, but even so, they’re not the�� easiest to live with. To say the least. A quiet place would be very welcome.

He sets his books down on the table furthest away from the counter, slings his bag over the back of a chair and approaches the empty void where an employee should be standing. This is when he notices another curiosity: there’s no menu board. There isn’t even a menu card by the counter or anywhere, really, only a glass case with a handful of baked goods inside, most of which look like a child made them. So far, the only redeeming quality is the delicious dark smell of roasted coffee beans lingering in the air.

After another minute, still nobody has appeared, so Mark checks his phone for reviews. If the place has less than four stars – alright, three, he’s giving them the benefit of the doubt purely because of their convenient location and quietness –, then he’s out of here. He can’t even remember the last time he had to wait this long to -

“Are you going to order or what?”

Nearly dropping his phone in the process, Mark jumps at the sudden gruff voice and looks up to find himself face to face with a grizzled man. The black apron is all that betrays him as an employee as the unimpressed glare and casual attire do nothing in his favour. “Uh”, he replies eloquently and vows that he’ll never set foot in this place again if this is how he’s going to get treated.

The old man’s expression melts into friendliness. “I’m sorry, I just wasn’t expecting anyone. Welcome to Café Leo – it’s your first time here, so have a loyalty card, lad.”

Mark accepts the piece of paper without thinking, still thrown off by the bloke’s sudden appearance (how does he move completely silent like that), and at least has the presence of mind to inspect it. Its contents are so absurd that he forgets to ask how the man opposite him knew he hadn’t been to the shop yet. “‘After 10 coffee purchases, you’re eligible for a free wish’”, he mumbles, reading the text printed white on black aloud. “‘This offer is not transferable.’ What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that only you can redeem your reward, not anyone else. Would you like some coffee?”

He blinks at the bearded man, trying to ascertain whether he’s being serious, and is met with an almost bored stare. Weighing his options, the scales are only slightly tipped in favour of staying, but only because he knows Julien has a ‘visitor’ over today and there’s no other place he can study – the library is overrun by frantic procrastinators who left finishing their coursework assigned over the break to the absolute last minute, and Manu is coming back tomorrow. Apart from her and his roommates, there’s no one with whom he’s comfortable enough to invite himself over.

Especially not him. God knows why Mark even considered him for a brief second.

Looks like he’ll have to deal with this awkwardness if he wants to get any work done whatsoever. “Alright then. What do you sell?”

“Coffee”, comes the curt answer.

Mark rubs his eyes in exhaustion. He’s beginning to understand why there’s no other customers here. “Sure. Yes. A coffee, then.”

“That’ll be…” The employee trails off while frowning down at his wristwatch. “…um, about £7.92.”

“For one coffee?”

“It’s free refills, son.”

Oh, so maybe this is an American chain. That would explain quite a bit. Mark considers whether he’s staying long enough to get the most out of his money, but seeing as the bloke doesn’t seem the chattiest type and he’s unlikely to get interrupted, he decides it’s worth it. Still, there’s something he simply can’t let go. “… what do you mean, ‘about’ £7.92?”

“Are you paying cash or card?”

Alright then.

The next ultimatum: if the coffee turns out dogshite, he’s never coming back. He’d rather travel an increased distance to a normal coffee shop than to have to deal with this nonsense. Wordlessly, he sets down a £10 note and scoops the change into his wallet before watching the obviously American guy (and maybe the chain imports all their workers, who knows) pour a cup of the darkest coffee he’s ever seen. He unceremoniously sets it down in front of him and makes no indication of mentioning neither cream nor sugar. He’s lucky Mark prefers his energy supply as-is.

“Ta”, Mark mutters and scurries away, glad to escape that hard stare. To make sure he’s not being scammed, he takes a quick sip of the fragrant liquid and is surprised at how pleasant the taste is. Minimal bitterness, a gentle, almost floral note, and just strong enough to satisfy his craving.

Well, crap.

Looks like he’ll have to come back after all.

.

~*~

.

“Did you guys know the old coffee shop closed?”, Mark voices his thoughts into the middle of a medium-sized food war between Manu and Timur involving entirely too many packets of salt.

“The one on campus?”, Manu asks and accidentally elbows Julien in the ribs, causing him to actually look up from his phone for once.

“No, the one halfway to our dorm.”

“I was there last week”, Timur pipes up, making him furrow his brows. A week can’t be enough to refurnish the entire café, let alone switch owners completely. “Is it closed now?”

“There’s a different one instead. It was dead when I went, but the coffee’s good. The bloke serving me was weird.”

“Look at you, stringing multiple sentences together”, Julien chimes in, grinning. “Something novel must’ve happened for you to even bring it up. Was the dude hot?”

“Because that’s the only reason anyone would ever get excited about anything”, says Manu drily. “We can check it out if it’s good, even if the employees suck. Not like we have to socialise with them.”

Mark shrugs and regrets mentioning the café in the first place – it feels somehow personal, whether it’s to do with the odd experience overall or the fact that he ended up staying more than three hours. His productivity was through the roof, the calm atmosphere helped immensely and the thought of his loud friends – as much as he appreciates them – invading his newfound hideout isn’t one he particularly enjoys.

It turned out that the employee wasn’t so bad after all: as soon as Mark considered asking for more coffee, he appeared right by his side and filled his mug again, without bothering him at all. Still, Julien would complain about him and Timur might agree and Manu is likely to judge his impolite manner, and Mark wouldn’t be able to defend him. Even if he doesn’t mind the silent company.

For the moment, he needn’t bother with these thoughts as his friends are wholly occupied with arguing over some internet memes (and Mark remembers vividly how they all had to talk Julien down from nibbling at their laundry detergent pods), so nothing could be further from their minds than sitting down and actually studying for their degrees.

Not that they’re bad students, quite the opposite, they’re just not as… ambitious as Mark. Some have called him obsessed, yes, and he can’t quite refute it, but he prefers to call it ‘determined’. There have been few who are able to keep up with him, which is probably partly the reason why he’s made friends with people from completely different departments. He tends to be a loner in most classes, which suits him just fine.

Well. Most classes.

.

“I would give my left bollock for you.”

Mark certainly doesn’t appreciate the imagery. He hands over the photocopied sheet to the bloke nearly bouncing in delight before shuffling after his fellow students into the lecture hall. Closely followed, of course. “Make sure to change enough details”, he repeats the reminder, earning a scoff.

“I’ll make it illegible, babe, don’t worry.” James plops down next to him, stretching and taking up too much space. “You’re the only reason I’ll actually get credit for this course.”

Oh, Mark is very aware of this fact. He lets his seat neighbour prattle on as he takes out his materials, lines up his pens, and waits for the lecture to start. If he were pressed to explain how he ended up in this position, with a chatterbox glued to his side too lazy to do any of the coursework, he wouldn’t have a concise answer. Other than his inability to say no.

The problem is that James knows exactly who to befriend. Mark is naturally drawn to the overachievers in each class and carefully selects his group for projects, going by people who do put the time and work in to get a good grade – anything where students are meant to collaborate is 30% actual work and 70% politics. The right people tend to listen to him whenever he knows better, because they’re interested in improving and learning, they tend to go along with his division of tasks, because he distributes them fairly and suited to everyone’s skills, and they tend to work best independently, so they can get it done even without excessive communication.

And James? He follows the same strategy as Mark, except that he’s a leech. He latches onto the teacher’s pets, chooses the easiest tasks, always volunteers for presentations (meaning he’ll just have to regurgitate what his group produced), and bribes his groupmates so they don’t throw him out. Whether it’s snacks or drinks after class, whether it’s attention and compliments, or playing matchmaker: he knows how to make himself useful in all aspects other than his studies.

He’s a clown. He makes everyone laugh and worms his way into their hearts so they would feel bad about calling him out. Not having to do any work is his reward for asking questions everyone’s thinking but doesn’t dare ask for fear of looking stupid in front of the prof.

Obviously, James has latched onto him ever since they crossed paths in chem last semester, and Mark considered dropping the current class when he found out that he was in it as well. Even worse, James began asking him for homework, giving excuses like having had no time, not being able to write it down concisely, and so on – and though Mark initially refused, classmates approached him and gently nudged him towards sharing his results with James. Just to be nice. Just to help him. He’s such a good guy after all.

So Mark’s homework gets copied and passed along. And James’ fondness of him only grows.

During the long, meaningless rant interspersed with an impressive amount of curse words, he perks up at a quiet: “Wait, this one doesn’t make any sense.”

His pride won’t let him ignore it. “Which one?”

James points at one of Mark’s answers, a complicated equation. “Shouldn’t that be on top?”

“The denominator?”

An uncertain glance. He points again. “This.”

“You mean the bottom fraction? That’s the denominator, yes. And it is where it should be.”

James frowns, indubitably not content with the reply but possibly unsure how to voice his dissatisfaction.

“Trust me, it’s correct. Just copy it.”

“But I want to understand it.”

Fat chance. No way did he get any of the previous homework without having engaged with the subject matter at all, so it’s impossible for him to work it out, even if Mark explained it. Which he doesn’t want to. Because he figures it’d be like explaining string theory to a brick wall. He’s saved by the prof’s entry, knowing James at least has the decency to shut up during class, and hopes he can simply slip away afterwards.

It turns out, however, James is fully aware of his biggest weakness. “Do you have a bit of time after? You think you can explain it to me? Please?”

Yikes.

Not only is Mark burning to show him how wrong he is, he’s also entirely unable to refuse a plea for help. And there’s no doubt James knows this. He can’t keep getting away with it, he’s exploiting Mark enough as it is without offering much – if anything – in return, plus it’s obvious the endeavour is futile and doomed from the start. And this is disregarding the possibility of James suggesting more meetings in the future. So, like the reasonable adult he is, Mark replies: “Sure.”

And has never wanted to kick himself more.

.

If this bloke really is the only employee they have, it’s no wonder the place is dead yet again. They stare at each other, unblinking, and seem equally dismayed about each other’s presence. “Hi”, says Mark after a few seconds of tense silence.

The old man is wearing the same clothes as last time, apron and jeans – even his disinterested expression hasn’t changed. “I’m Sam”, he offers completely out of the blue, surprising Mark with how unexpected the introduction is. “I figured you shouldn’t have to keep calling me ‘this bloke’ in your head.”

“… Mark”, he responds hesitantly.

“Is that a threat?” Sam barks out a brief, mirthless laugh. “I know. You wrote it on your loyalty card.”

He most certainly did not, but only because the card is solid black with white text. “Look, I’m just here to buy coffee.”

“You brought a friend.” Sam indicates James who already sat down by a window and is absorbed in his phone for the time being – and for all his faults, Mark has to admit that at least his (limited) attention is always on the person he’s talking to; he’s never seen his fellow student even checking for messages during a conversation.

“Not really”, he says nonetheless and is reasonably sure they’re out of earshot. “We just have chem together.”

“You have chemistry, hm?”

He wonders if it’s possible to set someone on fire with a hard look alone. “Just sell me the bloody coffee.”

“For the both of you?” Sam turns around and studies the clock on the wall behind him, whispering to himself for a few seconds before announcing: “That’ll be roughly £15.84.”

“Fine.” He holds out a card, scowling when Sam makes no move to take it.

“No complaint?”

“Is it gonna be cheaper if I do? Besides, he’s paying. So I don’t care.”

“Oh. Then it’ll be £22.43.”

“Why is it -” As quickly as his annoyance spikes, it ebbs again. It’s obvious there’s no logic behind all this nonsense, yet he still tries: “If it’s cheaper for me, I’ll pay and get the money back from him.”

“That’s illegal. You’ve already told me he’s paying.”

“I’m not trying to buy liquor, why would it -” Deep breaths. He already told James about how good the coffee is, and if they go anywhere else, someone else might see them. He’s strongly incentivised to stay. “Fine. Here.”

Sam runs the card and, as last time, pours two very unimpressive mugs before, to Mark’s horror, reaching into the display case and pulling out two slices of cakes on their own respective plates. The chocolate one is drooping and threatening to fall over if anyone looked at it wrong, and the sponge cake seems suspiciously wet. There’s no telling how long they’ve been sitting there. “It’s on the house”, Sam says, almost begrudgingly, as if he was the inconvenienced one.

Mark considers asking for forks or napkins but decides that the shorter their interaction, the healthier his sanity. “Ta, mate. Do you need my loyalty card?”

“No need.”

Fair enough, though he’s not sure what the point of it is, then. He carries the coffees and cakes over in two trips and wonders how he’ll get rid of the sickly-looking bakeware without Sam noticing. When James eventually tries his piece and doesn’t keel over immediately though, Mark gives his own a try.

It’s the best chocolate cake he’s ever had. And he’s never been madder in his life.

.

~*~

.

At some point, it turns into stubbornness. There’s a few mannerisms, the odd hobby and some of his preferences which started out as either ironic, as guilty pleasures or as things he actively disliked, but the more he engaged, the more he developed the attitude of: you know what? This is mine and I don’t care what anyone says about it.

He’s starting to adopt Leo Coffee. The awkward vibe about it, the indecipherable employee, the delicious food and drinks – it holds its own charm in a way, and he’s stopped wondering about being the only patron. It’s perfect for studying or unwinding, and does wonders for his stressed soul. He’s been returning regularly now, about once a week, and even brought James with him a second time to argue about yet another homework he criticised. The atmosphere renders Mark calmer, more patient, and so he endured the other man’s presence for much longer than he would’ve thought possible. They stayed for almost three hours the first time, even longer the second.

Just to make sure he’s not being a nuisance, he tried to check the coffee shop’s opening hours and wasn’t even sure what he expected to find. They’re listed nowhere, of course, and Sam switched topics the instant he brought it up.

So now the only people he has to drag in here are his friends, who have somehow evaded his efforts so far – but not today. Timur and Julien promised to come even though Manu has to go to some recital or other, meaning she’s excused. For now.

Eyes idly following pedestrians outside, he’s resting his chin in his palm and waiting. Being the only punctual one has always meant boredom, so he’s lucky his mind is imaginative enough to keep him occupied in the meantime. His train of thought meanders through all the topics occupying his brain recently, how the new guy Julien is seeing is basically moving into their apartment, how Timur keeps hanging around the wrong crowd, how unfair it is that Manu aces all her courses with so little effort, how he happened to run into James during his break today and almost suggested spending it together -

His phone buzzes, interrupting his aimless daydreaming and prompting him to check the colourful screen.

I got ambushed, writes Julien and it’s unclear whether he’s being cryptic on purpose. Mark sends a question mark and has to wait a minute or two for the explanation: Sudden date night, looks like Netflix & chill boys ;) sry for ditching you but the shop isn’t gonna go anywhere right?

An eye roll later, Mark responds with a simple TMI.

I don’t think I’ll make it either, adds Timur, a friend wants to yarn bomb the stature by City Hall and they need me as lookout.

This one gets points for creativity at least. He sighs and reassures them with a quick sure, no problem before commending himself for not going home first to drop his bag off. Now he can just study instead. Woohoo.

Another brief vibration, this notification from a completely different group chat, one Mark apparently forgot to leave once the project was done: @Mark: are there carrots in carrot cake?

The number is translated to ‘GirthControl’, so there’s just one person this could be. He stares at his screen. Is that a trick question? Yes, he feels confident enough to affirm to James.

Ah okay. Thanks babe.

This is when it occurs to him: Wait, why did you only ask me?

Silence. Whatever quest James is currently on, it apparently required Mark’s input and Mark’s input only.

He can’t help but laugh at the absurdity and suddenly feels a lot less abandoned. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t matter whether his friends don’t rank him at the top of their priority list as long as he’s on it somewhere. And knowing that he’s left a lasting impression on James beyond being the lad who supplies him with homework is oddly reassuring.

When he approaches the counter, Sam once again materialising out of nowhere (at least that’s what it feels like – he’s always there when Mark needs him and never at any other time), he’s decided to not get weirded out by anything today. “A coffee”, he orders confidently and inspects the haphazardly thrown together bagels featured prominently in the infamous display case. “And a bagel.” He doesn’t bother specifying, Sam will choose for him anyway.

After peering at the digital alarm clock on the counter, Sam announces the approximate value of the aforementioned items and then squints at him. “Weren’t you going to meet with somebody?”

Mark half-shrugs. “Kinda. They’re busy though.”

“Mind if I join you?” He must notice Mark’s surprise because he adds: “It’s your ninth time here. Would be a shame if we didn’t get to talk before you’ve filled up your loyalty card, don’t you think?”

“Alright”, he agrees and waits until Sam has poured himself a mug as well before they sit down at Mark’s usual table – tucked away in a corner but close enough to the windows to be able to do people-watching if his eyes need a rest from staring at textbooks or screens all day long. It’s the first time he examines the man opposite him more closely: the distinguished features, greying beard, wild mane of hair. He looks too… important to be working in a coffee shop, like he was destined for greatness. Mark can’t picture him angry even if he exudes a bitter, cynical aura which he’s likely to hide behind sarcasm.

“How did you end up here?”, he wants to know, genuinely curious.

“Good question.” Sam takes a few sips of his excellent coffee as he ponders how to reply. “It’s a temporary thing, that’s for sure.” He leaves it at that. “What do you study?”

Mark eyes the disorganised heap of books keeping his bagel company and sighs. “At this point, I don’t even know anymore.”

“Sounds fun.”

“It is”, he emphasises. “I love studying.”

“Where’s the problem then?”

There is none, he wants to say yet his mouth refuses to comply. He stares into the dark liquid, running his thumb over even porcelain and then decides to sod it – he asked, right? And somehow, it’s always easier to unload on a complete stranger. “I feel like it’s all I’m doing.”

“You keep others at a distance on purpose.” He nods, even though it wasn’t a question. “So don’t be surprised if they do the same.”

“I’m not.” The warmth seeps into his palms as he wraps his hands around the mug, providing as much comfort as Sam’s gentle tone. “I just want it to be different.”

“Make an effort. It’s never to late to change. I’m sure your friends will appreciate it. Put some trust in them, they’re your friends for a reason.” He nods again, lost in thought. “Have you figured out what you’re going to wish for next time?”

He scoffs, amused. There isn’t a single thing he can imagine himself wanting from the old man before him, so he’s unlikely to wish for anything at all. “No. Not yet.”

“Well, think about it. I believe in you, son.” With that, Sam downs the last of his own coffee and gets up, ready to walk back behind the counter and only stops when Mark calls his name.

“Is there someone you care about?”

It’s the first time he sees Sam smile. “Yes. There were two, but I lost one – so I keep the other one twice as close without trying to be suffocating. It’s hard. But remember, Mark, it’s never too late to tell the people in your life how you really feel.” And then he’s gone, disappeared into the back, leaving behind a faint nostalgia tinted with hope.

There’s no challenge from which Mark has shied away in his life, and this one isn’t going to be his first.

.

~*~

.

The word fuck on his lips, Mark bursts into the café like a panicked chicken. He’s juggling two bags and his phone, his frantic typing only interrupted by the need to breathe now and then, and nearly drops it when he slams his book bag to the ground at the counter. “Sorry, one sec”, he addresses an unimpressed-looking Sam as he dials a number and curses once more when it’s not immediately picked up. “Can I get a coffee to go?”, he asks, out of breath, as the dial tone beeps in his ear.

“I don’t serve people who are on the phone”, Sam replies, as calm as ever.

Mark mentally increases the number of people who’d be dead if his looks could kill by one. “This is the worst thing to ever happen to me”, he says gravely and hangs up after thirty seconds have passed. “I’m gonna fail this class.”

“An event without precedence, I assume?”

“You have no bloody idea. But yes, a coffee please, I need to go back to the library and get an entire semester’s worth of material because I’m too fucking dumb to read a syllabus correctly. This has never happened to me, I have one day to write this assignment and I’m lacking so much -”

“Can you give me the time?”, Sam interrupts him nonchalantly and stares at the screen of Mark’s phone as he holds it up for him to read. “Thanks. Let’s say £2.63.”

“And I can’t study at home because Timur has his friends over, and Manu is in a panic herself, and I know the library is going to be overrun by people who treat the study rooms like their social media accounts by loudly oversharing all the time, and I have no idea how I’m supposed to do this. Maybe I’ll just accept fate and fail. No clue how I’m gonna tell my parents.”

“Your loyalty card.”

Distracted, Mark fishes it out of his wallet and puts it on the counter. “And the other people in chem aren’t answering or are no help at all, I don’t get it, I’ve done group projects with them and still they don’t have the courtesy to help me out in this. It was a genuine mistake, as stupid as it is, and I’m just -”

“You need to write it down.”

He’s briefly interrupted in his rant to frown at the black paper card. “Write what?”

“Your wish.”

“But you won’t be able to read it. I only have black or blue pens.”

“Doesn’t matter. Write it down.”

With an irritated sigh, Mark takes out a pen and thinks for a second, the majority of his attention elsewhere still. Eventually, he scribbles someone who cares, not that it’d be legible in any way, and hands it to Sam. “That’s it? I’m not sure this reward system is going to pay off in the long term, you know.”

Sam holds the card up to the light as if he was inspecting a bank note and nods, apparently satisfied. “You’re all set. Good luck.”

“Ta, I’m gonna need it.” Mark shoves all his belongings in various pockets, hoping he’ll remember where he put them, and grabs the to-go cup. And then, without so much as a goodbye, he storms back out, steeling himself for an all-nighter certain to mess up sleep schedule for days, if not weeks.

He ascribes it to his flustered state that he doesn’t look up as he exits the coffee shop, and promptly runs into someone, collides with what feels like a solid wall. His coffee gets squished and sloshes over, soaking the front of his clothes – fortunately, it’s not hot at all, more like lukewarm which is odd in and of itself. He swears again, yanking his phone out of his pocket before it gets wet also and it’s only due to another hand grabbing the device that it doesn’t plummet to the ground straightaway.

“Oh bollocks, I’m so sorry”, says the wall he ran into which turns out to be none other than James. Of all people. “Are you alright? Is it hot?”

“No, no, I’m fine”, Mark presses through clenched teeth, the stress slowly overwhelming him. “But now I have to go home and change before I can start on this stupid fucking -”

“Babe. Calm down. What’s wrong?”

He takes a deep breath and ignores the quickly cooling wet patches on his clothes for the moment. “I still have to do the report. I didn’t realise we were meant to -”

“Oh, you haven’t done it? At all?”

“No! No, I didn’t, and everyone else is partnered up so I can’t just join someone else, so I’ll have to -”

“I’m not paired up.”

“Sure, once I’m done I’ll put your name on there, whatever, but that doesn’t -”

“Babe. Mark. Listen to me.” James waves in front of his face with a slight grin. “I did it. It’s almost done. I’ll put down that we did it together and you’re good.”

He stares at James, mouth open, for several unflattering seconds. “Wait – you… how?”

“I can show you, but it’s at my place. My roommate is around your height, he can lend you some clothes. Let’s go.”

And yet again, Mark finds himself unable to refuse. He drinks what’s left of his coffee in one go (and it really is tepid, he must’ve gotten really lucky), tosses the cup in the nearest bin and leaves Leo Coffee behind without a single glance back.

.

James’ flat looks exactly like Mark would’ve imagined it, only louder. Double bass and epic vocals are permeating every room, and all available horizontal surfaces are littered with stuff. The walls are plastered with posters, some funny, some pretty, some morbid, and it reeks of weed.

A small part of Mark feels right at home, oddly enough.

“Turn the fucking music down!”, James yells at the top of his lungs, throwing him an apologetic look, clearly uncomfortable with the state of it all and ignorant as to Mark’s growing amusement.

Somewhere, a door opens and the shrill guitars become clearer. “Whot?”, someone replies just as loudly.

“Exactly!”, is James’ deafening reply, and a few seconds later, the melodies decrease to a reasonable level. Another bloke joins them, tall and well-built with an unkempt beard and a band shirt as well as no socks.

“Who’s that? Is he allowed to be here?”, asks James’ roommate and regards Mark with suspicion.

“That was Sabaton, wasn’t it?”, Mark inquires back. “Primo Victoria?”

The dude’s entire face lights up like a Christmas tree. “Oh, a connoisseur. He can stay, James, I like him already.”

And while the two of them exchange more words, Mark goes exploring. He ends up in what must be James’ room which is covered in paper, be it books or hand-written notes, and most of it seems related to chemistry in some way. Curious, Mark looks around until he finds a spiral-bound notepad titled with the name of the course they’re sharing this semester. Contrary to his expectations, it’s far from empty – not only does it contain copious lecture notes, it also features every assignment they’d been given since the start of the course.

Solved differently from Mark’s own answers.

Confused, he checks more closely and finds a recurring pattern: equations that are struck-through, calculations lacking several steps in between which wouldn’t be accepted by the prof this way, and very little text. It looks like the writings of someone who certainly understands the material but simply has a hard time putting his thoughts in order, putting his ideas into neat writing.

He’s been immersed for several minutes when James finally joins him, and when he does, Mark holds up his notes and greets him with a simple: “What the fuck?”

James doesn’t seem to realise where Mark’s problem lies and shrugs. “Yeah, I’m a hopeless case, I know.”

“No. No, you’re really not. This is – look here, if you just shift this around, you end up with the correct result. You’re like 95% of the way there, you just didn’t finish it.”

“Oh.” James blinks at him. “I guess. It’s kinda like that with the report. I was hoping you could help me write the conclusion, I’ve got the rest, but -”

“Sure. Yes.” Mark’s agreeableness seems to astonish his host. “That’ll take an hour, maybe two. And I won’t have to pull an all-nighter. James, you have no idea how much you saved me.”

And James, bless his soul, is blushing. “Well. No problem. I owe you anyway. Right?” He suddenly remembers he’s holding spare clothing and vaguely gestures in Mark’s direction. “You, uh, you can change in the bathroom. Don’t mind the cat, she just loves staring at naked people. Dom found out the hard way.”

Twenty minutes later, Mark is reading through James’ report with a ball of fur purring on his lap, faint metal playing in the background. There’s a lot of grammar and spelling to be fixed, as well as phrasing, but content-wise, it’s near flawless. He’s smiling to himself, enjoying the way James turns almost bashful whenever he compliments his work, and remembers Sam’s words from the second-to-last time he visited the café: it’s never too late.

He’s definitely treating James to dinner after he’s saved his arse like this.

.

The next time Mark passes by that familiar spot, the next time Mark develops a craving for caffeine and some peace and quiet, the next time he plans to go to Leo Coffee, all he finds is the same coffee shop which has been here for years already, the afternoon crowd populating the tables and several diligent employees taking care of the customers.

Somehow, Mark isn’t the least bit surprised.

[pathfinderslog]

Day #10

Tempest. Pathfinder's quarters. On the way to Eos.

🎶 Whatever it Takes - Imagine Dragons

As we can't use mass relays for the shifts between a system to another, like we'd have done in the Milky Way, in the Andromeda Galaxy we have to rely only on ours spaceships engines. Travel times are getting longer, but fortunately the Tempest is the fastest and most agile ship of the Initiative, so we are able to reach Habitat 1 in less than a week. We probably would have been able to get there sooner if Kallo hadn't had to make numerous evasive maneuvers to escape the Scourge's offshoots along the way.

In about 26 hours we will reach the Pytheas system and by then it shouldn't take long to reach the planet.

In these days I have had the opportunity to explore the ship from stern to bow and every corner has managed to enchant me. There is really everything you need to analyze and study all that Andromeda will offer us: flora, fauna, artifacts, new technologies! I even have a private cabin! (I've already said this, right?)

I also got to know the crew. If we need to work together for the good of us all we must do it well, as a team, and the best way to do this is to get to know each other.

First of all I need to know the on board crew: the pilot, the mechanic, the scientist, the doctor. They are essential support figures, without which it would not be possible to complete any mission. They keep the Tempest ready for the action and 100% efficient and take care of analyzing the samples we bring on board, they maintain active communications with the Nexus and they take care of coordinating the informations between my team and those of the leaders of the Initiative.

Gil tried to explain to me in the most elementary words possible how the engine works, which reproduces the ODSY of the arks on a smaller scale. Something related to the static energy accumulated while traveling and used to recharge the ship itself. I do not know. He tried hard, but I've never been good with technicalities. I prefer practice to theory.

Kallo, on the other hand, told me some curious anecdotes about his creation. He was part of the team in charge of designing and building the Tempest in the Milky Way and he left with her aboard the Nexus to follow her footsteps, while the rest of the group stayed behind. In a certain way it's like if he is a living legacy of the past. Couldn't have nothing better, after all, he was the testing pilot, he practiced with her a lot so he knows how she works.

The most curious thing, which both confirmed to me, is that the Tempest's cloacking system is based from the technical specifications of the Normandy SR-1's IES stealth system, but I know for sure that those projects are covered by military secrecy, so I don't understand how the Initiative could get their hands on them. Maybe my father has something to do with it? Maybe some of his old contacts in the N7? What else are you hiding from me, old man? AH! Damn! I wish I had you here now so I can choke you with my hands!

I still hold a grudge against my father for what he did to me.

Don't get me wrong, I am grateful to him for saving my life, but I also wish he hadn't burdened me with this HUGE responsibility. Fortunately, SAM has shown himself to be an excellent support several times, often also emotional, in certain ways, while not being able to show any emotion. Even if he's very sophisticated, he's still an AI, but sharing my father's body and mind for years has allowed him to share with me thoughts able to clarify many of my doubts about him and the relationship he had with us: me, Scott and even mum.

The more time passes, the more I feel I can do it!

This sense of oppression is gradually fading, and I must also thank the rest of my team for this.

Lexi now demands that I have a psychoanalysis session every day, arguing that it's essential to deal with mourn, and I, even if reluctantly, let her do it, because I am sure that my tangled mind is an interesting subject of study for her.

With Suvi we had some interesting scientific discussions, she showed me the results of the researches conducted so far by the Nexus and she passed me all the data of what we know so far about the Scourge. She is ... strange ... I thought I was strange, but she manages to be extremely intelligent and at the same time tremendously naive. She is convinced that behind the creation of the cosmos there is the hand of a god. Well, who am I to contradict her? Everyone is free to believe in what they want, as long as it doesn't interfere with their work.

Liam and Cora are helping me with the reports to send to the Nexus and together we analyze strategies and tactics to use to better prepare ourselves for what we have to face on Eos. Liam's experience with the Crisis Unit is proving particularly useful in this context of uncertainty, where anything that can go wrong surely will. And Cora, well, I understand why dad chose her as his second-in-command: she was part of a team of Asari Commando, Thessia's military and biotic combat excellence, backed by centuries of tactics and experience.

And then there is Vetra.

To have a smuggler's past she is very honest and crystal clear. I enjoy spending time with her. She is a tough girl who grew up alone, away from Palaven and the rest of the turian hierarchy (and I don't know how bad that can be), with a younger sister to raise, Sid. She told me what happened to the Nexus in the months before the arrival of the Hyperion: the clash with the Scourge, the chaos, the mutiny, the expulsion of the exiles, the failure of the first outposts. But she also told me amusing anecdotes, such as when she began retrieving special components for Kesh in the Milky Way - once, twice, three, four times - until she found out about the existence of the Andromeda Initiative and joined her in this undertaking, hoping for a better future - like many of us.

Sometimes, if I need to let off steam, I go to see her down in the hangar and she is willing to listen to me and my problems. On the contrary, she does not really like talking about herself, I have understood this by now, but I know how to be very patient, as well as very curious, and I am sure that sooner or later she too will confide in me. For the moment, I'm just happy to gossip with her about Addison's and Tann's.

[ladynightmare913]

Ink Bloom

Greetings and welcome to the prologue of Ink Bloom!

This is an original story inspired by Asian folklore and Jellyfish! Since this month is Mermay, I wanted to write something about mermaids, but I just didn’t have a clue as to what to do until it hit me like a tidal wave and I knew I had to bring this to life in writing! As always, I would like to say a special thank you to my best friend Olivia (@asunshinepuff ) for joining me in writing this spectacular world onto paper!

For the readers who enjoy Red Rose, Blood Moon, don’t worry I will still be writing chapters and I hope you will enjoy this story as well!

This story only has original characters created by Olivia and myself. For those who want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask to me or Olivia on her blog. If you have any questions, theories, or curiosities about any of our characters or how the story will progress, send them to the ask box!

Now without further adieu, let's dive into this new adventure!

Prologue: For Elodie

The rough waves crashed against the shoreline, the wind howled through the trees, and deep beneath the waves, the fish swam for shelter in the coral and anemones. The sea picked up stranded fish and drifting debris in their massive wake.

One wave managed to pull the largest creature in the reef. A creature with a long serpentine body covered in shimmering deep indigo scales, four long powerful limbs with sharp talons at the end, a mane of bright pink frills, like a jellyfish, joined to a long pink snout with a mouth full of sharp pearl white fangs, a pair of glowing indigo eyes and a crown of deep indigo horns that looked like branches of coral. It tried to escape the pull, but even a creature as strong as them could not overcome the powerful pull of the whirlpool-like waves.

The waves rolled the large creature, and crashed against the rocky shore, knocking it unconscious.

The ocean storm took its course, and the people who weathered through it all rushed to the beach to collect the fish and seaweed left behind. The tide pools with many stranded creatures.

A man with medium-length brown hair, light brown eyes, and light skin were among the people who adjourned at the poolside. He was dressed in a seafoam blue t-shirt, with a black long sleeve shirt beneath it, simple jeans, and black tennis shoes.

The man walked back and forth between the pools of water and the shoreline, carefully returning those stranded creatures that were still living back to their homes. The fact that his shoes were now soaked through hardly was a concern for him. As he walked back up the rocky shores, much further than expected from the rest, he spotted something shiny in the corner of his eye.

There inside a large tidepool, was a tiny very frilly snake with tiny horns. The man had never seen a species of coral snakes like this before, as most were banded with colorful stripes or spots, and never containing frills. Slowly crouching down as he reaches the small animal, he tilts his head in observation, he sees a long gash along the left side of its body, and it is unconscious.

How strange, the man muses to himself, he has never seen a creature quite like this before. It must be a species native to the island. He reaches out both hands and scoops his hands underneath to not startle the creature back to consciousness. Lifting the snake in his arms, he stands once more and walks along the shoreline- avoiding the rest of the crowd to avoid confrontation of questions and took it back to his hotel room. There he can safely treat the creature’s wounds, and return them to the sea. Even if he was curious about it and wanted to study it further.

It’s what Elodie would have wanted him to do.

It didn’t take the man long to treat the wound, and placed the little creature in a decent-sized saltwater fish tank, that he had cleared out the fish earlier, and left it to sleep and rest. He watched the creature for a long while, before returning to his desk, drawing a quick sketch of the little creature as it slept.

It was hours later, nearing midnight when the creature finally awoke, very startled by its small tank and in a strange place. The man noticed the creature was awake when it started splashing against the walls of the tank to escape.

“Hey, hey easy!”

He rose from his desk and reached the tank, the creature backed up against the walls and hissed. The man chuckled with a curious tilt of his head.

“It’s okay, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

The creature didn’t seem assured but stopped hissing. The man hummed.

“Maybe you are a snake.”

It seemed like it was glaring at him.

“A very pretty and intelligent snake.”

The man reached for a cooler left by the tank, opening it, he used a tong to pick a large sardine from a Tupperware, then opened the lid of the creature’s tank.

“You must be hungry.”

The frilly snake didn’t move, instead opting to hiss at the offered food.

“It’s not poison, it’s food.” The man huffed.

The creature blinked skeptically. The man stared at it in amazement.

“A snake that can blink?” He watched it for a long while, but the creature did nothing further. With a sigh, he looked at the sardine. “Do you not eat fish?”

When the man looked away, the creature then lunged for the fish, ripping from the tongs and swallowing it whole.

The man stared in awe and mild horror. “Alright, you do eat fish.”

The creature, curled tightly around itself, its eyes gleaming. The man deemed, at least to him, the creature to be smug. The man shook his head in amusement.

“Once you're fully recovered, I’ll return you back to the ocean.” The man vowed, and the creature seemed to believe him.

The man kept the creature for three days, changed the dressing on its wound, and kept it well fed. One of his colleagues visited his room and was shocked at the sight of the strange animal.

“What is it?” His colleague asked.

The man simply shrugged, “I don’t know, it might be a species of sea snake.”

His colleague was a tall man with blonde hair and grey eyes looked to the man. “You haven’t taken samples?”

“It’s injured.”

“True, I guess you can take a sample once you take it back to your lab.”

The man shook his head as the creature looked at both men, cocking its head adorably. In their short time together, the man had learned that the creature can breathe both in and out of the water, it can escape its tank, it has four tiny limbs, and it lets out a light chirp that sounds almost like a cat purring when it’s content with its meal.

“I’m not taking it back to California, I’m returning it back to the sea.”

His colleague frowned. “Are you serious? This could be a new species! You could become famous.”

“I don’t care about that, and besides I already promised.”

“To who?” His friend sighed in exasperation.

“Elodie.” Was the man's response.

“You could name the species Elodie.”

The man glared at his colleague who stayed silent for the rest of his stay, which wasn’t long. The following day, the man deemed the creature healthy and strong enough to be returned back into the wild.

The man returned to the same beach where he had found the creature. Opening the lid of the large cooler, he lays it on its side and backs away. The creature hesitantly walked out, and at the sight of the blue waves, it ran towards it but abruptly stopped, turning to look back at the human.

The man smiled as the creature cocked its head to the side, giving him a tentative chirp.

“Go.”

And that was all the creature needed before it continued on its path back home. And the man followed the strange creature’s example and returned to his home back in California.

Two years later, on the shores of California, the full moon reflected across the blue ocean, tourists and visitors had long returned home to sleep, when a tall Asian woman walked out from the ocean to the sandy shoreline. The woman was dressed in a long traditional Chinese-styled pink dress, with a dark indigo outer robe and matching flats. She had pale skin, long silky ink blue hair, bright pink lips, and glowing indigo eyes.

Indigo eyes caught the sight of an aquarium resting upon the rocky cliffside. She smiled.

[yungidreamer]

Blackout Part 1

Summary: When a storm blows in just before finals it throws life into chaos with no power. But the trio’s home becomes a refuge in the storm. A place of warmth and happiness where everyone can gather to ride out the storm and enjoy some time together. Seonghwa and his love, Yeosang, find some special time together. A moment of respite in the storm.

Word count: 6.6k

Content warnings: fluff and smut, this time featuring Seonghwa and Yeosang, sex (m/m), a bathtub, the stress of finals and a blackout across town. Mostly happy bonding with friends and partners by candlelight.

‘Twas the weekend before finals when all through the city, not a building had power, it was a true pity. An ice storm had blown through late on Thursday coating everything with half an inch of ice bringing down power lines and tree branches. Classes were canceled on Friday and departments mailed out plans for finals, with professors encouraged to make finals something people could take at home if possible to leave halls that might need to be powered by generators for those that absolutely had to take tests on campus.

The dorm halls and residences were dark but at least heated, however, with no promise that power would be restored soon, people were eager to go home for the holidays as soon as possible. Students who were given the option for take home or online files were all making plans to head home early. Those who weren’t were forced to go to pick up meals from the one of the few functional cafeterias on campus. No one was happy with the situation.

In their little house near campus she, Mingi, and Yunho were happy to be in their cozy little home together. They were especially thankful for their fireplace and for the gas stove the place had come with, since it meant the interruption in power hadn’t given them nearly as much trouble as it was giving most of their friends. With the fridge and freezer down, they moved the frozen foods out to the backyard. The weather had remained around freezing since the storm and it would keep it as well as the freezer would have. The things that needed to be kept cool but not frozen, they kept in the little entry porch in a cooler that was just enough to keep things from freezing but was plenty cold. All in all, it was actually pretty nice, minus the fact that they couldn’t watch anything on TV and were only keeping only one phone on at a time. Their travel batteries had been real lifesavers actually.

On Friday evening they learned that Yunho’s chemistry class was keeping their scheduled practical final on Tuesday which he needed to stay for. Mingi’s math teacher, an old crotchety tenured professor, insisted on having an in person final for his 200 + person introduction course. He didn’t trust people not to cheat, nor did he trust the newfangled online tests some people in the department had started using. Luckily that was scheduled for Monday afternoon so it wouldn’t keep them there any longer than Yunho’s. She was lucky and had already been sent her four finals she had left for her classes and was hoping to have them done before they drove home for the long Christmas holiday.

At around 7 that Friday Yunho’s phone rang. It was a frazzled and stressed out Hong Joong wondering if he might be able to come and study with Yunho at their place. With no power he had been studying as much as he could during the daylight hours and making due with a hanging flashlight he had set up in the evening. He grumbled about not being able to make any of the food they had and being stuck with sandwiches for days with no way to cook in the house.

“We can cook here if you want to bring stuff to make some food here,” Yunho offered.

“You can cook?” Hong Joong perked up on the other end of the phone. “Do you have power?”

“No we just have a gas stove and oven,” Yunho explained.

“Wou...would you mind if I came to stay for a little while?” Hong Joong questioned hopefully. “I can bring food. I also have a solar charger we can share to charge phones and stuff. Also a radio I’ve been using to keep me sane.”

“Oh yeah sure, that would be fine,” Yunho agreed. As he finished speaking, he heard a shuffling, and then Hong Joong make an exclamation of objection.

“You can cook?” Came the tight voice of Seonghwa over the line.

“Ye...yes…” Yunho replied slowly.

“Can Yeo and I come study there?” Seonghwa sounded tense and close to begging. “I will cook food and I am good at it. Please. I miss warm food and I want to get out of this tiny dark room. I will do anything.”

“Sure,” Yunho laughed. “You guys can come, too. Maybe bring some candles or light as well as some food to make.”

“Thank you,” Seonghwa’s voice was full of relief as he said it. “I have to call Yeo and tell him to meet me. We will bring whatever we can. Ugh, if only one of our dorms just had one of the functioning cafeterias, I could bear to stay there. I just wish we weren’t going to have to come back and forth.”

“Do you mind if they stay for the weekend?” Yunho covered the mic and whisper asked the other two. When they nodded he brought the phone back to his ear and offered, “You guys could stay the weekend. Just come and bring whatever you need to study and clothes for a couple of days.”

“Seriously?” Seonghwa said, unsure if he could trust what his ears had just heard. It was too good to be true.

“Yeah,” Yunho confirmed. “We have room and it will be good to have everyone together in one place for studying. It will be a big help if you cook and bring extra food, so...yeah, you guys are welcome.”

“Thank you,” Seonghwa said gratefully before passing the phone back to Hong Joong.

“We can stay over?” Hong Joong asked, a note of extra hope entering his voice.

“Yeah, bring what you need,” Yunho confirmed. “Or at least what you can. We will make the best of this studying time and time to get the finals done before the holiday.”

“You guys are the best,” Hong Joong laughed. “Okay, we will see you soon.”

“So we’ll be having some guests it seems,” she said, setting her study material aside for the moment. “Guess that means I should clean up a little.”

“I’ll help,” Mingi offered, closing his math book for the moment.

“Me, too,” Yunho turned off the screen of his phone and set it on the coffee table. The boys redressed their beds to give the guests places to sleep while she cleaned up a little in the kitchen, doing the last of the dishes and checking what they had in their cabinets, thinking about what they might need. Yunho, when he was done making the bed, went out and grabbed more wood for the fireplace. It was starting to get dark and, while the furnace was keeping the house warm, the light and extra coziness it was giving the house was making the blackout much more pleasant.

They had decorated the house for Christmas after getting back from Thanksgiving with their families. They had bought a tree from one of the lots, strung it with colored lights, and bought a cacophony of colorful glass balls and bangles. It wasn’t the sort of tree that would have made it into one of those home life magazines but it was homey. Off on one side of the tree Yunho had eventually discovered a trio of special ornaments she had bought and tucked off to the side. They were little enamel picture frames, each with a photo of one of them, with Our First Christmas Together and the year written on the back. Yunho was in a bright blue oval shaped frame that had a sunburst sort of design under the enamel that caught the light when the tree was lit. Mingi was in a bright red square frame that had a sort of scaled or feathered sort of pattern that seemed to shimmer in the light. Hers was purple and round with little gems that dangled off the bottom. He wasn’t sure how long they had been there before he noticed, but he made sure to bring it to Mingi’s attention when he noticed it. They both loved it and wished they had thought of the gesture first, but of course she had done it. Silently they promised, next year they would surprise her, but this year they could both still get her something amazing for Christmas.

Mingi had gotten her an antique style pearl choker with a small square panel in front that had a starburst pattern in silver and crystals. He liked the idea of her wearing it, like a mark that she was his, even if everyone didn’t know it. He hadn’t given it to her. He was still deciding if he wanted to give it to her before they went home or save it for when they got back. There were still days to decide, so it stayed tucked far back in one of the drawers in his bedroom, waiting for the right time.

Yunho had bought her a hair comb from a local antique shop. He had gone expecting to get her something simple like earrings but had laid eyes on the ornate, two pronged, silver comb and knew it was what he needed to get her. She often twisted her hair up into easy buns on the back of her head, held there with one or two simple wooden hair sticks she used. This comb, with its gorgeous rococo style curved decorative plate would look perfect sitting in her hair. It was something she would use, which meant he would get to see his gift on her often; just a little something saying she was his.

They had gotten each other something as well. Yunho had bought Mingi a new, expensive pair of Bluetooth headphones he could use when he needed some isolation to keep his mind on studying. His last pair had started to wear out, the battery only lasting three or four hours these days. The new ones were better and would be more forgiving for his usual forgetfulness when it came to putting them on the charger when he was done.

Mingi had bought Yunho a new suit set including dress shirt, jacket, pants, tie, and pocket square. Yunho had noticed that he had outgrown his last set over Thanksgiving and knew that he needed to get something soon but had been putting it off due to school. Mingi had gotten him a steel grey suit with white button up and sky blue tie and pocket square. Honestly, he couldn’t wait to see him in that and really wanted to come up with some date, some occasion to see him in it. The color would go perfectly with his current blond locks he had gotten lightened even a shade brighter during his last visit to the hairdressers. That he was going to give Yunho before he went back home for the holidays, as there was a good chance he might have a reason to wear it then. As long as he brought it back home, since Mingi was dying to take him out in it with their girl.

Before long the house was really ready for guests and for more studying. She pulled out a few more candles and put them on the dining room table to light when people went there to eat or study, whatever might be needed. They had been concentrating the light in the living room, with a few candles around the room and a couple of wall sconces lit that she happened to have. They were remarkably good at lighting the room with their mirrored backs and high hanging light. She had bought them because she liked them, not knowing they would come to be genuinely useful and not just frivolous pretty things she just enjoyed having. 

A little after eight, Hong Joong arrived at their door with a heavy bag in tow behind him, packed with school things, clothes, food, and other useful supplies he thought he could provide. He came into the house, grateful to be in the warmth again after battling icy sidewalks and freshly falling snow that was now coming down. It took him a moment after he took off his coat to take in the room he had entered. The whole place just oozed cozy warmth with its cheery decoration and surprising brightness given that he had been making due with a hanging flashlight.

“Wow,” was all he said when he looked up, taking it all in.

“Welcome to our home,” she greeted him with a hug, helping him take his things into the room. “Is there anything that needs to be kept cold in your stuff?”

“Oh yeah,” he shook his head, bringing himself back to the moment. “This stuff here is perishable.” He pulled out a bag with cheese, milk, meat, condiments, and a few other odds and ends he had that he and Hwa had decided he should take to be useful. “I also have this stuff that needs to be cooked but doesn’t need to be kept cold,” he said, passing a bigger bag to Mingi, who was standing nearby. “I think Hwa and Yeo are going to bring more but this is what I was tasked with bringing.”

“Thank you and make yourself at home,” She said, walking off to put the perishables in the makeshift fridge. “You can take one of the boys’ rooms. The beds have been made. You can leave your stuff in there and pick a place to study. We can do something about food when everyone gets here.”

“You guys are lifesavers,” Hong Joong said as he dragged his bag back towards the bedrooms.

It didn’t take long for Seonghwa and Yeosang to arrive at their front door, laden with food and other things they needed to study and make their place home for a short time. Seonghwa looked like he was ready to cry when he saw the cozy and welcoming interior of their house. After having faced the possibility of having the stress of studying in the dark with bad food, the relief was fresh and sharp.

“I am going to be in your debt for eternity,” he said, dropping his things near the door and drawing a slightly surprised Mingi into a tight hug.

“You’re welcome,” Mingi replied with an amused laugh and a gummy smile.

“This place is really nice,” Yeosang said, taking everything in with a slow scan of the room. “You even have a fireplace...wow.”

“You can put yourselves in the room that Hongjoong didn’t take,” Yunho instructed. “Is there food we need to deal with?”

“Yes but don’t worry about it,” Seonghwa picked up their other things and prepared to take things to the bedrooms. “Let me put things away and then I am going to deal with food. Where am I…” Yunho pointed down the hall and the two boys happily made their way back to take the unoccupied room. They re-emerged from down the hall with Seonghwa’s arm around his boyfriend’s shoulder and one of Yeosang’s slung loosely around his waist in return. Hong Joong appeared behind them, his arms laden with study material.

“Okay,” Seonghwa gave Yeosang a kiss on the side of his head before heading to get the food things he had left near the door. “Show me the kitchen.” Yunho gave an amused chuckle and led him through the wide doors that opened into the kitchen. Seonghwa looked like he was tempted to hug the stove when he laid eyes on it. He was almost in despair at the idea of not having ‘real’ food between now and finals. He instead settled for hugging Yunho again before he set about pulling everything out he had brought so that it could be organized and put away. Yeosang helped to gather the things to be put into the cold as Seonghwa decided what to cook for everyone.

“Is beef stew okay for everyone?” He asked after having taken stock of all the ingredients. Everyone gave affirmative answers and Seonghwa set to work preparing everything to go into the dinner. Yeosang wandered into the kitchen to help and she joined them shortly thereafter, making quick work of the chopping, peeling, and the searing. Soon, all that was left was the hour or so everything needed to simmer in the large pot.

With dinner sorted, everyone settled in around the living room with their books and notes to study. She settled in near the fireplace next to Yunho and Mingi, wrapping herself in a blanket as she pulled out the psych final she had decided to work on first. Yeosang and Seonghwa settled themselves on the smaller loveseat, Yeosang tucked in between his boyfriend’s spread legs as they both studied from large textbooks. Hong Joong stretched out on the couch, his head near the end where Yunho was seated near the fireplace, allowing him to poke at him occasionally as they both studied the material for their final.

By the time dinner was declared done by an ecstatically happy Seonghwa, everyone was ready to take a break from their studying. They served the stew in whatever dishes worked, not having quite enough bowls to go around. She and Hong Joong made do with a couple of large mugs, which were actually much easier to carry into the living room than the bowls. With the plentiful light and warm atmosphere, they decided it was the best place to eat.

“How many finals do you have?” Yeosang asked the room in general as he took a bite of the delicious stew.

“Three,” Mingi replied. “But only one has to be done on campus. The rest were changed to take home stuff given the circumstances.”

“I have four, but they are all take home,” she followed up. “I’m just hoping I can get them all done before we drive home for the holidays.”

“Oh that’s right,” Seonghwa waved his spoon in the direction of the trio. “You guys all came from the same place, didn’t you? Are your families all friends or something?”

“Sort of,” Yunho scrunched up his face a little as he rolled the explanation around in his mind. “They all know each other, but mostly because we know each other, not the other way around.”

“So then how did you all meet,” Yeosang asked as he leaned against his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“Mingi threw us all in the water at summer camp.” Yunho said with a wide grin, successfully eliciting the reaction he hoped from the other boy.

“Hey,” Mingi objected, putting one hand on his hip as he spoke. “I did not...okay I sort of did. But it wasn’t like it sounds.”

“He got better with the canoes,” she noted with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Especially when there wasn’t the threat of ducks.”

“Come on,” Mingi pursed his lips and grumped at the two of them.

“Imagine if you hadn’t,” Yunho reached out to him, stroking his cheek softly. “Our girl might be with San and...well...we would probably be alone or something. Oof, not a pleasant thought really.”

“I guess we really owe those ducks,” she joked, falling into peels of laughter at the thought. Beside her Mingi huffed, pulling her into his lap for a kiss that ate her laughter. Yunho scooted over, wrapping his arms around both of them with the warmest expression on his face. 

“I think you had to be there,” Yeosang faux whispered to his boyfriend, causing him to give a snort of laughter and slap his shoulder playfully.

“I am so single…” Hong Joong sighed, his eyes looking between the two couples who were there in front of him. He tucked into his soup with a shake of his head, glad to be there but also wishing he had someone to bring with him, like his roommate did. Seonghwa glowed when he was around Yeosang, or Sangie, as he often called him, getting groans and eyerolls from those near enough to hear it. He and Hwa had met in a dance class together last year and the two had been nearly inseparable since then.

They finished the stew and Hong Joong, Yunho and Mingi volunteered for dish duty since they hadn’t helped with cooking. Even though it was nearing 11 at that point, most of them wanted to press on with studying.

“Hey love, can you bring in the big bottle of cider?” Yunho asked Mingi as they finished the dishes. Mingi nodded and headed to the porch to bring in the gallon bottle of cider they had bought a few days ago. While Mingi retrieved that, Yunho scoured the cabinets to find the packet of mulling spices they had somewhere.

“Here you go,” Mingi set the heavy glass bottle on the counter, pressing a quick kiss to the side of Yunho’s neck, causing the other boy to blush and giggle. “What are you making?”

“I thought some cider would be good as a sort of desert,” Yunho shrugged.

“Mmmm, good idea,” Mingi moved to hug him from behind, tucking his head in on Yunho’s shoulder as he watched him work. “Warm and cozy.”

“It’s kind of fun having everyone here,” Yunho noted as he lit the burner under the pan. “Don’t you think?”

“Mmm,” Mingi agreed. “It’s more fun than just studying alone would have been. And Seonghwa can cook; that stew was delicious.”

“Maybe we can have them over more often,” Yunho suggested, swaying in the arms of the other boy.

“Sometimes,” Mingi agreed. “I still want time just with the two of you.”

“Of course,” Yunho turned his head and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Time with you is the best part of my day.”

“Yeah?” Mingi asked shyly, flashing him a gummy grin. Yunho made a mhmm sound and moved to put his arms around his shoulders and took his lips in a slow, lazy kiss.

“Awww, am I missing all the fun?” She teased as she joined them in the kitchen, having come to see what had been keeping them since the dishes were done.

“Yes,” Mingi teased, looking at her over his shoulder, not letting go of the man in his arms.

“Poor me,” she pretended to pout. “Good thing I came to check, I suppose.”

“Come here,” Yunho beckoned, pulling slightly out of Mingi’s arms, enough to lift her onto the counter next to them. Mingi took her lips and Yunho nibbled down along the side of her neck below her ear. She gave a moaning giggle into Mingi’s mouth, shivering at the tickling sensation being sent through her.

The hiss of the cider starting to simmer in the pan brought them apart. They portioned the cider into mugs and took them out to the others in the living room. Hong Joong took his mug in his hands, clasping it joyfully and breathing in the fallish scent with a contented grin.

“I forgot how good this stuff could be,” he sighed.  “I swear I haven’t had this in years and I don’t know why.”

“Mmmm,” Seonghwa hummed happily in agreement. “I am loving this all but I am starting to get tired. I think I am going to have to shower and get ready for bed after this. I am pretty sure that the words are just passing through my brain and leaving no mark at this point.”

“Well we have showers and hot water,” she offered. “We even have a nice bathtub if you want to use it.”

“Oh man, it has been so long since I had a bath,” Seonghwa sighed.

“You and Yeo could, uh, share it,” Yunho suggested. “It’s big enough for two if you want to relax a little before you head to sleep.”

“Really?” Seonghwa sat up straighter and sent a look to his boyfriend. It had been a while since they had a place to relax together that wasn’t one of their dorm rooms when their roommates happened to be out.

“If Mingi and I can fit in it, you two should be just fine.” Yunho chucked. “I’ll show you where it is.”

Seonghwa hopped up, taking Yeosang by the hand, and followed Yunho down the hall. They made their way through the shared bedroom to the master bathroom, candles in hand. Yunho pulled out a couple of towels for them and showed them where they kept the bath bombs and scented oils they used in the bath. They thanked him for the help and for the accommodations and let him go on his way. Seonghwa started the bath while Yeosang got their toothbrushes and pajamas from their room for them to change into when they were clean and ready to go to sleep.

The candle light danced off the pale tiles and glinted off the chrome fixtures. The room was warm and cozy as snow fell outside the small distorted window high up on one wall. The sill had a growing line of snow that was building on it as it continued to fall, deafening the world around them. 

Seonghwa stripped his clothes off and slipped into the warm water he had scented with rose. The steam rose from the surface of the water, wafting the scent into the air with it. He shut off the water just before Yeosang returned, clothes and toiletries tucked under his arm. 

“Getting started without me,” he tsked, setting them down on the counter by the sink.

“Just making sure it is perfect,” Seonghwa retorted, sending him a tempting smile. He slid himself under the water, dampening his hair and face in the warm water. He stretched out his hand to his boyfriend, inviting him in with a hungry look through his damp eyelashes. “Come in, the water is fine.”

Yeosang smiled down at him as his hands went to the hem of his shirt, slowly lifting it off over his head. Seonghwa bit his lip as he looked at the smooth stretch of skin he exposed in the flickering light of the room. He could never get enough of him. His slim, muscular body, the soft ripple of his abs that ended in the softest wisp of a happy trail.

Yeosang loved the feel of Hwa’s eyes on him as he undressed. The way he looked at him made him feel like the sexist thing on the planet. There was always a fire in them; an unsated thirst. He loved it, so he took his time as he slowly unfastened the button on his jeans and slid the zipper down. His eyes watched the flash of emotions that crossed Seonghwa’s face as he languidly slid his pants and underwear past his hips and thighs before letting them drop and stepping out of them.

He walked over to the tub and slid into the water, sitting himself on Seonghwa’s waiting lap, looping his arms around his boyfriend's broad shoulders. The water lapped lightly around their chests, filling the near silence of the room. Yeosang let his gaze meet Seonghwa’s with an unbroken intensity, not needing words to tell him how much he wanted him.

Seonghwa leaned forward letting his hands reach up from behind to hold Yeosang’s shoulders as he pressed a kiss to his chest. His lips brushed along the soft skin, feeling their way over the lean muscles of his pecs and up to his collarbone.

“It’s been too long,” Seonghwa whispered against him as Yeosang let his head fall back, allowing his lover more access.

“It’s only been a week,” Yeosang gave a breathy chuckle as he felt the other boy’s lips follow the line of his pulse up the side of his neck.

“That doesn’t count,” Seonghwa protested, one hand traveling up to tangle in the soft blond locks of Yeosang’s hair.

“Oh?” He asked breathlessly.

“Sneaking something in during the twenty minutes it takes for Hongjoong to go get something to eat from downstairs definitely doesn’t count,” Seonghwa clarified sternly, before nipping the soft skin just below Yeosang’s ear.

“I thought you liked the thrill of maybe getting caught,” Yeosang teased. “The possibility of someone seeing you fall apart with just my hand down your pants.”

“Maybe a little,” Seonghwa admitted, his lips quirking into a half smile. “But how could I have said no with all that teasing you were doing all day. Sitting in my lap and grinding your wonderful little ass on me every time you knew someone wouldn’t catch you. Ugh, tease.”

“Like you were any better,” Yeosang pointed out, his hands moving to splay over Seonghwa’s chest. “Slipping your hand in my pocket. You knew that hole was there before you did it, too.”

“That will teach you to put off fixing holes in your clothes,” Seonghwa laughed before bringing Yeosangs lips down to his. Their kiss began as a slow, sensual exploration of their mouths that slowly became more heated as Yeosang pressed Hwa’s head back. He raised himself slightly onto his knees until he loomed over him, leaving Seonghwa breathless and at his mercy.

Yeosang pulled back from the kiss and looked down at the wanton face of his boyfriend. He loved seeing him like this. His assertion that what they had gotten in last week ‘didn’t count’ was pretty fair he decided. A quick shared handjob they could sneak in with the risk of getting caught might be fun, but he loved to see the pleasure dazed face he could bring to him even before he really touched him. He loved taking his time with him, tasting the saltiness of his skin and the sweet flavor of his lips.

“Can I make love to you tonight?” Yeosang asked, kissing his way across Seonghwa’s beautifully high cheekbones.

“Make love to me now,” Seonghwa urged.

“Here?” Yeosang gave a low chuckle. “In someone else’s bathroom?”

“Turnabout is fair play,” He snorted, thinking of the first time he had met those three.

“Mmmm, true,” Yeo admitted, letting one hand sink down to brush the pad of his thumb over the tip of Hwa’s growing erection. “Switch places with me?”

“Sure,” Seonghwa nodded and twisted himself to allow Yeo to sit with his back against the edge of the tub and move him into his lap. Hwa felt his boyfriend’s erection brush against his inner thigh as they switched places, sending a shiver through him. He loved when Yeo was inside him as much as he loved the times the roles were reversed. When he was in his lap, he could look down at that beautifully sculpted face with it’s perfectly symmetrical features. He would never get tired of those warm eyes looking up at him.

Hwa brought his face down to Yeo as he felt the other boy's hands slowly make their way down along his back to the curve of his ass. His fingers brushed over the muscles there, enjoying their softness as he gave them a quick squeeze. With excruciating slowness, he moved the tip on one finger to brush over the pucker of muscle nestled between the soft cheeks.

Hwa let out a sigh and ground himself forward at the sensation of the tentative touch. He knew it wasn’t reluctance that slowed the touch of his lover, but the enjoyment he got from drawing out the moment; from the pleasure he caused with his teasing. When they had the time, there was nothing Yeosang loved more than bringing Hwa near to tears with his teasing before he would take him; waiting for that moment of desperation at his teasing before he would do as he asked. Seeing the hunger and desire twist his features into a mask of craving always gave Yeosang that pang of power and pleasure.

“Tell me how much you want me,” Yeo prompted, massaging Hwa’s entrance as he did.

“I need you in me tonight,” Hwa obliged, letting his desire be on full display as he spoke. “I need this moment this week. It’s been so hard and I just want a moment that is just you and just me.”

“I wish I could always take you into my arms like this,” Yeosang admitted as Hwa leaned in to brush his lips over his forehead. “I want to hold you as we go to sleep every night.”

“If only one of us didn’t have a roommate,” Hwa lamented with a sigh. Much as he loved Hong Joong as a friend, lately he had been wanting more space. He wanted privacy and the freedom to do what he wanted, when he wanted.

“Maybe next year we can get our own place, like this one,” Yeosang proposed as he finally pushed one finger inside.

“You want to live with me?” Hwa gave a shuddering sigh and let his head fall slightly back at the sensation.

“Yeah, I want to be with you more,” Yeosang conceded. “I’d love to be with you every night and make love to you in the morning.”

“That sounds like heaven,” Hwa smiled and pressed his lips to Yeosangs.

“Is that a yes,” Yeo questioned, broadening the circles he was making as he worked Hwa’s body open for his entry.

“Yes,” Seonghwa nodded, cupping Yeosangs cheeks in his wet hands and kissing him more deeply. Their tongues battled slowly as Yeosang worked another finger in, then scissored gently to make sure his lover's body was ready for him. 

When Hwa whined with need, Yeosang finally sunk down slightly more in the water and positioned himself to enter Hwa. He let the other boy work himself down his length, going as fast or as slow as he wanted as he took him in. When he was finally all the way down, Hwa let out a breath he had been holding, relishing the sensation of Yeo so deep inside him.

“Fuck, you always feel so good around me,” Yeosang groaned, his hands coming to grip the other boy’s narrow hips.

“I love the way you fill me,” Hwa returned, gripping the sides of the tub for leverage as he prepared to move. He threw his head back and arched as he slowly began to move himself up and down. Yeosang could only admire the smooth, broad expanse of his lover's chest as he moved. In the candlelight he looked divine, droplets of water sparkling over his skin as they dripped down its smoothness. 

“Have I told you today that you are beautiful?” Yeo breathed quietly.

“Next to you, I hardly compare,” Seonghwa leaned in to press his forehead to the other boys, slightly increasing his speed as he moved himself up and down his length. Yeosang’s hand went to encircle the turgid length of Hwa’s erection wanting to bring him as much pleasure as he could.

Hwa’s movements stuttered at the increased sensation, he shuddered and let out a little moan. “Do you think you’ll last longer than me if you do that,” He challenged, his eyes locking on Yeo’s hungrily as he continued to move.

“Yeah I think you’ll come first,” Yeo set his chin with an angle of defiance as he looked up a Hwa with hooded eyes.

“I guess we’ll have to see, won’t we,” Hwa breathed, moving faster and taking him as deeply as he could. The room was filled with the sound of their breathing and the sloshing of the water around them. It was a battle of wills between them and there would be no losers. They both threw themselves into the sensations of pleasure, both the giving and the taking. For the moment there was no one else, nothing else. They were the pleasure and the tension itself.

“I think you’re going to win,” Hwa shuddered, his knuckles going white with the strength of his grip on the curved edges of the tub.

“Then cum for me,” Yeosang demanded with a soft confidence as he expertly moved his hand over Hwa in the way he knew he loved. He watched Hwa’s face with rapt attention as his face and body contorted with the almost painful rise of pleasure he was riding. When his orgasm hit, he paused in his movements, half collapsing forward as his arms and legs quivered from pleasure and exertion. He let out a broken moan, his head lolling forward as he lost himself in the sensation and burst of peaceful satisfaction that filled him up as it passed.

“Can I…” Yeosang asked for permission to move. Seonghwa nodded and braced himself as he tried to catch his breath. Yeo gripped his hips harder and thrust himself up into Hwa as his muscles fluttered around him. He was close and it had been a near race to their finish. It only took a few minutes of his enthusiastic thrusts for him to find his own pleasure, emptying himself into Hwa’s body, loving the way it held him in its warm depths as waves of pleasure rode him.

Seonghwa pressed his lips to the corner of Yeosang’s mouth as he panted, lying limp in the bath beneath him. He looked so beautiful, damp and exhausted by pleasure.

“We definitely need a place with a bathtub.” Seonghwa said as he held Yeo’s face between his hands, his thumbs stroking his cheekbones, leaving droplets of water in their wake.

“Liked this that much, did you,” Yeosang let out a tired scoff and cracked one eye open.

“If I had known you looked this good wet,” Seonghwa joked. “I would have gotten you into a shower or tub months ago.”

“See, you promise that now,” Yeosang gave a dramatic sigh, mischief sparkling in his eyes. “But watch us move in together and have you get bored of me since you can have me anytime you want.”

“Please,” Seonghwa scoffed, and smacked Yeosang’s chest lightly. “As if I would be so fickle.”

“Promise?” Yeosang smiled up at him, pushing a lock of hair off the other boy’s forehead.

“Cross my heart,” he captured the hand as it was pulling away and pressed a kiss to the palm.

They stayed sitting in the cooling water for another couple of moments before Hwa felt strong enough, in both body and spirit, to lift himself off of Yeosang. They both shivered as they finally separated, Hwa giving an unsteady giggle at the sensation. He was able to get himself out of the water, pulling one of the towels off the rack and wrapping it around himself. Yeosang followed, taking the other towel before he pulled the plug on the drain, allowing the water to slowly be siphoned away.

“I think we were a little vigorous,” Seonghwa laughed, feeling the slight puddle on the tiles under their feet.

“Too much water,” Yeosang agreed, dropping the towel he had used on the floor to soak up the water now that he was mostly dry. Seonghwa pulled his pajamas on and hung up his towel to dry and Yeosang did the same when he was satisfied with his sopping up of their little puddle. They brushed their teeth and gathered their dirty clothes under their arms, ready to go to sleep.

They made their way out to the living room, after dropping their things in the room on the way, and bid everyone good night after getting glasses of water from the kitchen. Sex could be very thirsty work. Hand in hand, they padded back down the hall to the room they would occupy during their stay. Crawling in under the covers, Seonghwa curled around the body of the other boy, happily tucking himself along Yeosang from the back.

“Whose room is this, anyway?” Yeosang asked as he laced his fingers with Seonghwa’s where they held him around the waist.

“Mingi’s I think,” Seonghwa replied.

“How many nights do you think he has actually spent in here,” humor danced in Yeosang’s voice as he asked the question.

“Not many,” Seonghwa admitted with a laugh.

“Lucky guy, isn’t he?” Yeosang observed as he closed his eyes with a yawn.

“Not as lucky as me,” Seonghwa muttered as he buried his nose in Yeosang’s neck. Sleep claimed them quickly as the rest of the house also moved to settle in for the night. Outside snow continued to fall, but inside the house was warm and cozy with each room filled with love and contentment. 

[joaquinwhorres]

The Fool (Ch. 5) {Fred Weasley x F!OC}

SUMMARY ››››› After getting tangled up with the Weasley Twins during the events of the Quidditch World Cup, Wren Collings’ life takes a turn for the chaotic. It threatens everything she has going for her, but she’s not convinced that’s entirely a bad thing.

PAIRING ››››› Fred Weasley x Female OC

WORD COUNT ››››› 5,327

WARNINGS ››››› There is no depression or mental health issues in this story, but there are mentions of death, violence, abuse, some PTSD, etc. As most of the specific warnings revolve around major plot points or are found throughout most chapters, I’m just going to rate certain chapters on the movie scale. This is chapter PG-13.

A/N ››››› This ended up shorter than expected but posted sooner than expected. Since I’m needy, please let me know what you think via reblog, message, ask, etc.

Series Masterlist | Read on ff.net | Read on AO3

"That's it. You officially need a break," Alicia decided, pulling Wren's copy from Advanced Potion Making out from under her forearm. Wren made a noise of protest, reaching up to try to grab the book back from her dormmate, only for Alicia to hold it up out of reach.

"Alicia, I need that."

"Nope," Alicia answered back, popping the p. "You need to relax. You've spent the past two weeks with your nose in this book. Lee says you've already figured out the potion. At this point, you're just obsessing over answers you won't get until you make it."

Wren huffed, sitting up on her bed and glaring at Alicia. "I'm trying to keep the boys out of the hospital wing."

Angelina snorted from her bed, pulling Wren's attention to her. "That's going to involve several sticking charms and maybe a good Body-Bind Curse."

"The only adult they spend more time with than Filch is Madame Pomfrey," Alicia nodded with some finality. "Your potion's fine. You said you even had Cedric check it."

She had, and even he hadn't been able to spot any potential problem spots. Her face must have softened some because Alicia let out a triumphant Aha! which made Wren think she was spending a bit too much time with Nora. This was perhaps more dangerous than anything that could happen with the potion.

"See? You deserve a break."

"Get your mind off it," Angelina added.

"Easier said then done," Wren said, throwing herself back into her pillows. "Between this and classes, it's not like I'm brimming with opportunities to relax."

Alicia turned to Angelina giving her a very significant look. Angelina, for her part, returned the look with a very clear, stern, no. The two girls held each other's stares for a long moment as Wren looked between the two of them, her brow crinkling in confusion.

"For Wren?" Alicia's voice took on a slight pleading tone, and Angelina let out a long-suffering sigh, hanging her head.

"Fine."

The absolute glee on Alicia's face at Angelina's apparent defeat was almost laughable. In fact, it took just about all of Wren's self-control for Wren to keep herself from laughing.

"I'm missing something," Wren said, fighting to keep the corner of her mouth down.

Angelina looked up at Wren with an exhausted sort of resignation. "Apparently I'm having a birthday party on Friday." Alicia turned to Wren, widening her eyes with excitement. Wren smiled reaching out for her copy of Advanced Potion Making, and Alicia passed it over. "But nothing big!" she pointed an accusing finger at Alicia.

"How big can she make it in two days?" Wren asked, raising an eyebrow.

Angelina scowled. "You'd be surprised."

"I promise we'll keep it small and quiet."

"Small and quiet," Angelina repeated with a nod. "And if it's not--just remember I know a lot about you Alicia Spinnet. And I know there are certain things you might not want certain people to know about."

Interest piqued, Wren turned to face Alicia who had narrowed her eyes at Angelina. "You wouldn't."

"And you wouldn't throw me a huge birthday party, would you?" Angelina asked lightly, a bit of a smile turning up her lips as she began stacking her books on the bed.

"Well played, Johnson."

Angelina didn't respond, but there was a certain lightness to her movies as she slid from her bed, picking her books up before making her way to the door.

"Have fun with Katie. Don't forget to invite her!" Alicia called after her, and Angelina waived before exiting the dorm.

There was a beat of silence as both Alicia and Wren stared at the door. The moment stretched one breath, two, three…

"Fred and George are right, you are more devious than you look," Alicia said, spinning back around to face Wren. "You had me convinced you were going to have a breakdown."

Wren laughed. "I still can't believe Angelina needs to be tricked into having a birthday party."

Alicia rolled her eyes shaking her head. "You remember her birthday second year, don't you? We threw her that birthday party and Lee brought those enchanted balloons?" Wren couldn't believe she'd forgotten those balloons. They had filled the common room. When popped they cheered for Angelina, and when the air was let out of them slowly, they literally sang her praises. Not only had Angelina never been one to be the center of attention, but some of the compliments they sang about her were rather...romantic in nature. Wren remembered attempting to corral as much of the balloons as possible and pop them all at once to get it over with. The whole thing had been a complete spectacle leading to a common room had been full of laughter and an extremely mortified Angelina.

Alicia must have seen the memory dawn on Wren because she let out a sigh. "Ever since she hasn't trusted us enough to throw her a party."

"Tell me you haven't enlisted Lee's help for this one," Wren said with a smile.

Alicia paused, her mouth dropping open slightly before a sheepish look overtook her features. Wren laughed out.

"He's the only one able to get us some fire whiskey!"

Wren raised both of her eyebrows at Alicia who sighed, running a hand over her face. "I've made a huge mistake haven't I?"

Wren shook her head. "I'm sure we'll find out Friday."

Wren's eyes followed each jerk of the second hand.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Two more minutes left.

Alicia had left a good twenty minutes ago with Lee and Katie, on their way to the Top Secret Location with the drinks and decorations. Wren and George were slated to come next with the food.

The boys had insisted on a phased departure so as not to draw too much attention to the fact that seven students had left the portrait hole all at once after hours. "A couple here and there the paintings turn a blind eye to," Fred had explained. "A large group at once? Someone's running off to a professor's study."

"Learned that the hard way," Lee chimed in.

So, they'd broken themselves up into groups each with a boy to guide them through the castle to the undisclosed location. Why the location had remained undisclosed was a small mystery that Wren hadn't been able to get a straight explanation for. But, seeing as it didn't really matter, and as George had guessed, she did rather enjoy the thrill of doing something she wasn't supposed to, Wren let it slide.

The second hand landed on 12, and Wren felt her stomach drop as if she were diving on a broomstick. She swallowed hard, standing up from her bed and wiping her palms onto her jeans.

It wasn't the first time she'd snuck out after hours.

But sneaking out to meet a prefect was a bit different than sneaking out to hold a clandestine birthday party. It felt more like a bend than a break of the rules.

She took a breath in and headed towards the door, careful not to wake up Genevieve or Fiona. She closed it behind her with a soft click before padding down the stairs and into the common room. She was halfway down before she noticed George, standing in the shadows close to the portrait hole, hands stuffed in his pockets.

"Where's the food?" Wren whispered halfway across the common room. George raised an eyebrow and then gestured to two bags. The closer she got, the better Wren could see that they were bulging with carefully wrapped foods. In the back of her mind, she wondered if they would be too heavy for her to carry inconspicuously through the castle. Rather than voicing the question, she reached for one and slung it over her shoulder.

It was bulky and fell oddly against her side, but she felt confident enough that she'd be able to navigate it through any tight spaces.

"Ready then?" George whispered back, and she nodded, following him out of the portrait hole.

The pair walked silently through the castle halls. There was far less pressing themselves flat against walls, peeking around corners, and freezing to listen for any sounds of movement. Instead, it was simply a silent stroll through a still and dark castle. As if they had every right to be going where they were going.

George stopped suddenly, and Wren almost ran into his back, instead taking hold of his shoulder to steady herself and keep some distance as she pulled up short. George looked over his shoulder at her. "Can't keep your hands to yourself, can you?"

It was a miracle the castle was dark because Wren was sure her face was scarlet. Instead, she settled on a scowl as she yanked her hands back. "A little warning would be nice," she hissed, and George's smile grew as he turned back around, brushing aside a tapestry. He drew a large arc with his wand against the stone, and as if he'd just drawn a doorway, the stones in the center vanished, allowing them passage through the wall. George started in and Wren went to follow when he pulled up short again.

"As a warning, the passage is like 50 meters and then there's a staircase. I'll be stopping to go down the staircase."

Wren glared at him. "That's actually helpful to know, thank you." she snapped lightly, and George grinned, disappearing through the dark doorway and Wren followed.

The tapestry swung closed behind the pair, leaving the passageway completely dark until both students illuminated their wands. It was a fairly straightforward passageway, no choices for turn offs and pleasantly wide enough and tall enough for them to easily walk through. As she always did, Wren wondered how the twins had managed to find this passage and go to class and have friends and do homework and work on their secret projects and manage Quidditch practice along with all of the other routine survival tasks wizards and witches did every day. If she had to guess, the two sacrificed a lot of sleep. And good marks in their classes.

"You might be happy to know that the hard part is sneaking out. Coming back in should be a breeze," George said from ahead of her. His voice was still soft, but it was above a whisper, and the fact that he felt comfortable raising his voice put Wren a bit at ease.

"I'm worried you're lying to me."

"When have I ever lied to you, Wren? Or anyone for that matter?" Despite her certainty that there had been a time, she could not, at the present, name one. George took her silence for what it was: an acquiescence.

"The beauty of it is that tonight's Astronomy for sixth years. They'll be gone past one, and we can just come back in with them."

It was rather ingenious.

The two grew quiet once more as they drew nearer to the staircase, the sounds of their footsteps lightly echoing against the stones. It was on the fourth wraparound that Wren spoke.

"So, where are we going?" Wren asked, gathering her bag up into her arms to keep it from bouncing against her leg any more.

George looked up at her from his lower stair. "The forest."

"The forest?" Wren repeated.

"I know. I had half a thought to leave without you. You've been known to do some impulsive things in forests," George quipped turning back around to watch where he was going. "Last time I brought you into one--"

"I thought we agreed we didn't need to talk about that," Wren said, her voice high and tight.

"I don't remember making any such agreement," George shrugged with a cheeky grin.

"Well let's agree to it now," she huffed.

"Alright, I promise to only bring it up around those who already know."

"Who already knows?" Wren asked, her voice taking on a panicked quality. George shushed her.

"Just you, me, Nora, Fred, and Ginny. Lucky for you it's a tight circle."

"Don't bring it up around Nora and Fred. Fred will just tease me mercilessly about it and Nora will use it to get on my case about Simon."

"Not a fan of his?" George asked, his voice taking on a careful quality.

Wren went quiet. It was hard to explain the depth of Nora's detest. Even Wren wasn't exactly sure what had happened between her boyfriend and her cousin. It had happened slowly over time going from polite greetings to faces pulled behind the other's back and now snide little remarks.

Wren had asked Nora once why she didn't like Simon and she'd given her a litany of reasons (his friends, how he always had to have the answer, his strong opinions), but none of them seemed to make sense as THE reason.

When she'd asked Simon the same question he'd shrugged it off as Nora's problem.

"They don't get along. They're quite different."

George snorted and Wren glared. "What?"

"Bit of an understatement is all," he shrugged. Still suspicious, Wren decided to let it slide as the end of the stairs came within sight.

"So, you agree? Not to bring it up anymore? To anyone?"

"Thought I still had Ginny."

"George!"

"Fine. I agree," his lips curled up into a teasing smile. "Which you should know is a huge sacrifice. You're wonderfully fun to tease about this."

Wren ignored him, hopping down the last step and George led the rest of the way out of the castle in quiet.

When the pair emerged from the castle, it was from under a bush. George reached up and pushed at the bush's trunk, swinging it over to the side so he could scramble out. He reached out a hand to Wren and pulled her out. Wren dusted herself off as George put the bush back before nodding with his head to the left.

Wren felt fairly grateful that when George said "the forest" he didn't mean "in the depths of the Forbidden Forest. They tramped along just at the edge of the forest, the castle remaining visible the entire time. It seemed there were some places even Weasley Twins recognized were forbidden for a reason.

A blue glow up ahead gave away the celebration's spot. As they grew closer, Wren could hear Alicia giving orders to Lee and Katie, and the soft hum of music playing.

"Who's that?" Katie asked above the noise, and all sounds silenced.

"Just us," George called out as he and Wren entered into the small clearing.

It was gorgeous. Small lanterns hung from the trees, luminescent purple, blue, white, and yellow flowers filling each.

Bottles of Butterbeer, Prosecco, and Firewhiskey were gathered on a large stump draped with a purple table cloth.

The music was coming from a small radio placed at the foot of the stump.

At the moment, Lee was looking up at them from where he was bent over a small pile of firewood. Alicia stood over him, rubbing at her arms while Katie finished tying a purple HAPPY BIRTHDAY banner with shimmering gold letters between two trees.

"Hey," Lee grinned before turning back to lighting the fire. His features contorted in concentration and then a small smark appeared

"Got it!"

"You would have gotten in three minutes ago if you'd just said the bloody spell," Alicia muttered, stepping around him and the fire to come up to Wren and George. "Well, what do you think? Think she'll like it?" she asked, rubbing her hands together. It was difficult to tell if it was her nerves or the cold that inspired the action.

"I can't believe you did this all in fifteen minutes," Wren said, looking around to admire the set up once more.

Alicia shrugged sheepishly. "I may have forced Katie and Lee to leave a little earlier."

Wren felt the bag lift from her shoulder and turned as George took both of the snacks and followed Lee to the fallen tree draped with a tablecloth.

"I don't know if anyone can undo what Lee did and make her love birthday parties again, but this has to come pretty close."

"I hope so," Alicia said, turning to watch Fred and Lee lay out the snacks. Lee took his wand from his pocket and pointed it towards the bag. "Oi! No wands, Jordan!"

He looked back at her with a cheeky grin and slipped it back into his pocket before bending over to take the snacks out.

There wasn't much to set up after that. Alicia, Katie, and Lee had done much of the work so that by the time the telltale rustle and snapping of branches could be heard, all of them were sitting on logs, eagerly waiting for Angelina to appear.

Fred came through first, grinning ear to ear, before revealing Angelina looking rather exasperated behind him. The look vanished from her face with one look around the fire at her beaming friends and the whimsical little clearing.

"Oh," she said softly. She seemed to lose her grasp on words as she looked around, blinking rapidly. Alicia let out an excited squeal and launched herself towards Angelina, throwing her arms around her. Katie was not far behind.

"You like it, then?" Alicia asked, pulling back to look at Angelina who was still being rocked side to side by Katie.

"Yes," Angelina nodded, smiling, and the joy was evident in every ounce of Alicia's being. She swiveled to face the rest of the group and twirled a finger in the air.

"Butterbeer all around!"

The last time Wren had been to a birthday party that was this much fun, she had been eight. Her parents had gotten a host of magical creatures and miniaturized them so she had her own petting zoo for the afternoon. She and Nora had gone through and named each one and created a backstory, personality, and relationships between the creatures. In the end, Wren's mother brought out a cake that Aunt Kathleen had made and the family sat around eating cake and sharing stories.

It had been intimate and grand.

Which was exactly how Wren would describe Angelina's birthday party. Although the sweet naivete of a child's petting zoo was definitely lacking as they had each taken to keeping Angelina continuously supplied with firewhiskey. After all, there was no class tomorrow.

This was the same excuse Wren used when stealing her own shots of the burning liquor, throwing them back as she watched George spin Katie around to the music as Lee attempted to dance with a more than slightly tipsy Angelina.

Next to Wren, a body sank down and she looked up to find Fred, holding a bottle of firewhiskey by its neck. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Very much," Wren said, twisting her shot glass into the soft earth so that it didn't tip over. "It's a good break from all that," she said, flailing a hand towards the castle.

Fred let out a low laugh. "The professors have been particularly dragon-like recently."

Wren let out an amused exhale. "And there's the tournament and just all of life at Hogwarts," she shrugged. "It's nice to get away from it for a few hours."

"Not to ruin that," Fred said, and Wren had the distinct feeling that he was, in fact, about to ruin it. "But I did mean to tell you that Charlie sent back a letter, and he will not be giving us any of his hair. For some reason, he doesn't trust us."

Wren laughed and hung her head, shaking it before turning her attention back to meet Fred's gaze. She could see the fire flicker in his eyes making them shine a bit more. "I can't imagine why."

"Beats me," he shrugged, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "You'd think we'd done something terrible to him before, like put itching powder in his clothes right before he went out for a date in Hogsmeade."

Wren clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter as Fred's grin grew. Once she felt moderately under control, she dropped her hand. "Well, I think we'll be close enough even without the hair."

"Careful Collings, that sounds dangerously close to confidence."

"Guess your plan is working then," Wren smiled, absentmindedly twisting the shot glass once more.

Fred looked back to the fire and their dancing friends, and Wren followed suit. Alicia had stolen Angelina away from Lee to dance with her and Katie, and Lee and George were amusing themselves, pulling out embers from the fire and making them dance or explode into little tiny fireworks. "They usually do."

If Wren had known what the week leading up to Halloween would look like, she might have tried convincing Alicia to push back Angelina's birthday party to this week. Although, if she had succeeded, she probably wouldn't have been the best of company. And George probably would have had to pry her work from her hands and carry her out of the common room.

So maybe it was best that they'd had the party on Friday.

Still, the tension within the walls of Hogwarts was bordering near unbearable. Not just from the short-tempered professors and the mountains of homework, but the impending test to see if Wren could really create a potion that outsmarted Dumbledore.

She, Fred, George, and Lee had finally settled on a variant that they felt confident would work. (A variant which included no human hair despite the fact that Lee had been able to get some of his father's hair, no questions asked.) Still, Wren continued to double check and triple check her equations and ingredients. No trips to the Hospital Wing. The small mantra rang throughout her head as she made her way to class, checking off her list of measurements.

A hand gripped Wren by the inside of the elbow, tugging her to the side of the hallway. Instinctively she yanked her arm away, whirling on the person who grabbed her. Simon stood with a look of amused confusion.

"Did I scare you?"

"Yes," Wren breathed out, clutching her books tighter, pressing her notes into her chest.

"Sorry," he grinned, looking anything but.

There was a beat of silence between the two of them, and Wren checked over her shoulders at the rapidly clearing hallways. "I don't have long, I'm running late to Herbology."

The grin slid off of his face as he studied hers. "I haven't seen you in over a week."

Wren shook her head and turned to start heading to Herbology. "I know. I'm sorry. I've just been busy."

"Too busy for your boyfriend?" The words came out light, but Wren could hear the line of tension underneath them. She could feel it radiating from his presence next to her as he walked her out to the lawn.

"Too busy to breathe, really," Wren said offering a quick, frazzled smile.

Simon was frowning at her. Not quite anger, not quite concern. More of a disappointment than anything else. "What's got you too busy to breathe?"

Wren shook her head, shrugging. "Sixth year."

"Sixth year?" he repeated, and Wren nodded. "That's it."

"Yes. You were right; it's crushing."

Simon let out an angry sigh and stopped suddenly in his tracks. Despite the fact that the greenhouse was in sight and Professor Sprout had been docking points for tardy students for the first time ever, Wren slowed. "What's wrong?"

"I'm trying to have a conversation with my girlfriend and getting one word answers," Simon said, gesturing at her. "You're not still mad at me about the potion are you?"

"No," Wren shook her head. "I just need to go."

He raised a hand to his brow and rubbed it, letting out an angry exhale. "I don't understand why you're punishing me for trying to help you."

"What? No. I'm just busy--"

"Busy for a week and a half?" He interrupted, raising both his eyebrows.

Wren shrugged. "Yes. You know what it's like. You have weeks like this."

"Don't turn this back on me," he argued.

"Simon--" A bell tolled, alerting students they were officially late to class. Wren winced. "I have to go."

"Fine. Go. You've made it clear I'm not a priority, so carry on." Simon gestured to the greenhouse, and Wren shook her head, reaching out for his hand.

"It's not like that--"

"Maybe I'll see you later, if I'm worth your time," Simon said, snatching his hand away from Wren's and turning back up the hill.

Wren breathed in sharply, taking a moment to compose herself and blink back the tears before turning around and heading to the greenhouse. Quietly, she opened the backdoor and shuffled to her place next to Fred.

"Five points from Gryffindor, Ms. Collings," Professor Sprout admonished from the front. Wren nodded, keeping her head down and fixated on the glowing blue plant in front of her.

Fred bumped her shoulder with his own. "You ok?" he whispered.

Wren nodded, giving him a quick glance. His warm brown eyes were fixated on her face, his mouth tugged down with concern. It made it harder not to cry.

So, she looked back down at the plant and gave a halfhearted smile. "Fine."

She couldn't believe the day was here.

The past week seemed to have passed by in a blur. One moment she was agreeing to make the potion with Fred, George, and Lee. Then it was Angelina's birthday party, the final day of classes the other week, and the arrival of the other schools.

When they found out that Impartial Judge was the Goblet of Fire and that all Dumbledore was doing to assure participants were of age was drawing an age line, she was certain she would burst.

It was the best possible scenario, especially since Charlie turned down the twins' requests for some hair. There were only so many failsafes someone could put into an age-line versus layered complex enchantments on the cup itself.

This could work.

This could really work.

When the four of them had brewed the potion last night, none of them could keep from grinning. Compared to the mess of figuring that part out, getting selected seemed a breeze.

Yet, in spite of obstacle after obstacle being overcome, Wren couldn't shake the feeling of anxiousness that buzzed through her. And that was why she sat alone in the common room while the rest had all gone down to the entrance hall to watch prospective champions enter. She decided that she'd simply wait up here to hear how it went. If it worked, the boys would be leading a triumphant parade back. And if it didn't...she didn't want to see it.

"Angelina told me I might find you here," Fred said, dropping into the seat across from her. "Said you were too nervous to come down."

Wren's cheeks grew warm. She wished she wasn't such an obvious read. Especially when it came to her nerves. She was in Gryffindor and nervous about someone else taking a risk. It didn't make any sense.

"Unfortunately, your presence has specifically been requested by myself, George, and Lee, so you're going to have to come."

She snorted. "Is that how it works?"

"That's precisely how it works," Fred said, leaning back in his chair and looking at her with an amused smile. "But I am glad to have caught you here because I also wish to collect."

Wren tilted her head. "Collect?"

"You owe me, Wren Collings," Fred said, meaningfully as if that were enough to clear it up.

"I believe you owe me," Wren said, crossing her arms.

"Ah, fair point," Fred said, taking a piece of candy from his pocket and handing it over. Wren took it. "Now I've paid up, and you owe me."

Wren's eyes furrowed a bit and she offered the candy back. Fred held out a hand to stop her. "Nope, I want equal payment for services rendered."

"What are you on about?"

He turned to look at her with eyebrows raised and an expression that made her stomach twist. “You owe me a kiss.”

“I—” Wren started and he cut her off.

“I also helped to pull Nora to the trees. I just wasn’t first because I had to make sure Ginny didn’t run after the other lot. And George's been holding it over my head for while so…” Fred puckered his lips and Wren laughed in spite of herself.

“Absolutely not.”

“It doesn’t have to be anything fancy. Just a quick one; no one's around for a show.“

“No,” Wren shook her head, the smile slowly fading. “Because that other one--it was just an act of irrepressible gratitude.”

“Interesting because it looked rather like a kiss."

She shook her head again as if he'd missed it the first time. "No, I just wasn't thinking. I mean my head was completely gone. One moment I thought we were going to die, and then we didn't and--"

"You don't have to explain," Fred said, holding out a hand for her to take. Wren slipped her hands on his, and he squeezed it reassuringly. "You just have to bestow an act of irrepressible gratitude on me," he grinned. Wren snatched her hand back as he laughed out loud.

"Shove off," Wren snapped lightly, standing up from the table. Fred stopped laughing as he joined her, walking towards the portrait hole. They had just exited when Wren spun on him again. "None of the jokes in front of anyone else, ok? I don't want--I don't want anyone to get the wrong idea and then...it didn't mean anything and I--"

"Don't hurt yourself, Wren," Fred said with a shake of his head as he led the way down to the Great Hall. "It'll stay between us."

There was a small cheer from their friends when Wren appeared behind Fred. Everyone else had their eyes fixated on the cup which stood in the center of a glowing golden circle. Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione hovered near their little group, each looking rather skeptically at George and Lee.

"Ready then?" Fred asked, clapping Lee on the shoulder.

"Who's going first?" Lee asked, looking between the two twins.

"I'll go," Fred said, pulling a slip of parchment from his parchment with his name and Hogwarts scribbled on it. He walked slowly up to the line and paused just before it. Wren's eyes were glued on him as he took a deep breath and then stepped over the line. Her mouth dropped open and George let out a triumphant yell and jumped in after Fred.

And then it went wrong.

A loud sizzling sound echoed around the Entrance Hall and then both of the twins were flying out of the circle, crashing into the stone floor. Wren lurched towards them, stopped only by Angelina's arm looped through hers. Then, there was a loud pop and Fred and George had each grown identical white beards, long enough to rival Dumbledore's.

Everyone laughed. Lee was bent over clutching at his middle, Katie was wheezing like she couldn't breathe, and even Hermione was giggling loudly. The twins stood up, brushing themselves off and upon one look at each other broke out into laughter as well.

Wren didn't laugh though.

"I did warn you," said a deep voice laced with amusement. The whole hall turned to see Professor Dumbledore emerge from the Great Hall, his eyes on Fred and George. "I suggest you both go up to Madam Pomfrey. She is already tending to Miss Fawcett, of Ravenclaw, and Mr. Summers, of Hufflepuff, both of whom decided to age themselves up a little too. Though I must say, neither of their beards is anything like as fine as yours."

Fred turned to Wren and wiggled his eyebrows at her, but she still couldn't bring herself to smile.

Because she had sent them to the Hospital Wing.

[hopelikethemoon]

Pool (Javier x Reader) {MTMF} [smut]

Title: Pool Rating: Explicit  Length: 3100 Warnings: Fluff and shower sex.  Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Set after “Anniversary” in 1999. FULL DISCLOSURE: This chapter is entirely unbeta’d and I’m not 100% sure what I’ve written makes sense. I’ve been in horrific pain since Sunday night. I’m talking on a scale of 1-10, I was at an 11 while writing this. I’m loopy, sore, and haven’t slept in two nights. I think, with my naps, I’ve had four hours of sleep over the past two days. So I have no idea what you’re walking into but, you know, I make great decisions. Enjoy???? Summary: Reader and Javier continue celebrating. 

@grapemama​​​​​ @seawhisperer​​​​​ @huliabitch​​​​​ @beccaplaying​​​​​ @thewallpapergoesorido​​​​​ @twomoonstwosuns​​​​​ @gooddaykate​​​​ @livasaurasrex​​​​​ @ham4arrow​​​​​ @plexflexico​​​​​ @readsalot73​​​​​ @hdlynn​​​​​ @lokiaddicted​​​​​ @randomness501​​​​​ @fioccodineveautunnale​​​​​  @roxypeanut​​​​​ @snivellusim​​​​​ @lukesrighthand​​​​​ @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts​​​​​ @awesomefandomsunited​​​​​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead​​​​ @exrebelshocktrooper​​​​​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​​​​​ @ah-callie​​​​​ @swhiskeys​​​​​ @exrebelshocktrooper​​​​​ @u-wakatoshii​​ @space-floozy​​​​​ @cable-kenobi​​​​​ @cool-ultra-nerd​​ @himbopoes​​​​​ @findhimfives​​​​​ @pedrosdoll​​​​​ @frietiemeloen​​​​​ @arrowswithwifi​​​​​  @cinewhore​​​​​ @random066​​​​​ @uncomicalhumour​​​​​ @heather-lynn​​​​​ @domino-oh-damn​​​​​ @cyarikaaa​​​​​ @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​​​​ @im-still-a-pieceofgarbage @ksgeekgirl​​​​​ @yabby-girl​​​​​ @xqueenofthecraziesx​​​​ @punkass-potato​​​​​ @coredrive​​​​​ @pascalesque​​​​​ @theduchessofkirkcaldy​​​​​ @queenquazar​​​​​ @sabinemorans​​​​​ @buckstaposition​​ @holkaskrosnou​​ @yespolkadotkitty​​​​​@seeking-a-great–perhaps @kochamcie​​​​​ @jaime1110​​​​​ @katlikeme​

You propped your chin up on your palm, tapping your fingers against your cheek as you looked across the table at Javier. 

He had his tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek as he calculated out the tip total. His brows furrowed momentarily as he double checked his math, before he jotted his signature down and sat the bill aside. 

Javier glanced up at you, “What is it?”

“Nothing.” You shook your head and smiled at him. “I was just appreciating the view.”

He chuckled, rubbing at the back of his neck as he looked away briefly, “You’re gonna make me blush, baby.”

“Maybe.” You stretched your leg out beneath the table and tapped your foot against his ankle. “It's only my first anniversary once.” You pointed out. “So I’m savoring it.”

“I think that champagne went to your head,” Javier retorted with a smirk, tapping his fingers against his temple. 

You rolled your eyes, “I’d flip you off if this weren’t a nice restaurant.” 

Javier snorted, shaking his head slowly as he nudged at your calf beneath the table. “Alright, so you were appreciating the view?”

“Mhm.” You bit down on the edge of your bottom lip as you held his gaze. “I was trying to remember what you looked like that first day.”

“About ten years younger.” Javier scratched at his jaw, leaning an arm against the table. “A little less grey.”

“A lot less grey.” You teased, reaching across the table to rest your hand over his. “Still just as handsome though.” 

“Yeah?”

You cocked your head to the side, “Have I ever told you how much I love your eyes?”

“I always figured they were part of the package.” He shrugged, scraping his fingers over his mustache to neaten it up as you studied him. “They’re not that special.”

“Well, I think they are.” You shrugged, “They're kind. Even on your worst days, even chewing someone out�� They stay so gentle. I don’t know if you even know that.” 

“I hadn’t made a note of it, no.” Javier shifted again, leaning back and then forward in his seat. “You done?”

“I guess I am.” You laughed, giving his hand three squeezes, “I was planning to sit here and tell you all the things I love.”

He gave you a look. “This is the last time I’m buying you champagne.”

You lowered your voice, glancing around to make sure no one was within earshot. “I can promise you this. It has more to do with you fucking me into the hotel mattress than it does the champagne.” Your brows rose upwards as you leaned back in your chair, “So we can stop that if you want.”

Javier scoffed, “Now that’s just cruel, baby.” 

You shrugged, “It’s just the facts.” 

“Alright, what else is on your list?” He picked you the red and white mint the waiter had left with the bill, fiddling with the wrapper, before popping it into his mouth. 

You pursed your lips as you studied him. “Your lips are definitely on the top of the list.” You tapped your foot against his, mulling over your decision. “Your nose.”

“My nose?”

“It’s a good nose.”

His brows furrowed. “My nose?” He questioned again, rubbing his finger down the length of it. “So you like... my face?”

“Obviously.” You laughed, reaching for your champagne glass and downing the last of it. Maybe it was the champagne, but you felt happy, bubbly, and just a little bit more in love with Javier than you were yesterday. But that wasn’t something new. Every day you found yourself falling in love with him all over again. 

Even on the days where you wondered if Steve would help you hide the body. 

“You know what I’ve always wanted to do?” You questioned as you stood up and smoothed your hands over the skirt of your dress. 

Javier couldn’t help but laugh, “I can only imagine.” He held his hand out for you and you took ahold of it as the two of you walked towards the front of the restaurant. 

“I’ve always wanted to jump into a pool in a nice dress.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” You squeezed his hand. “Come on, it’ll be fun.” 

“You’re serious?”

You stopped, turning to face him. “You can watch if you don’t want to jump in.” 

Javier scoffed, pulling you towards him. “If you’re jumping in, I’m jumping in.”

A grin spread over your lips as you met his eyes, draping your free arm over his shoulder as you leaned in to press a quick kiss to his lips. “Now you’re seeing things my way.” 

“The question is… the inside or outside pool?” Javier questioned, clicking his tongue against his teeth.

“Indoor will likely be vacant since it’s nice out.” You suggested, rubbing your lips together as you considered the options. “Indoor.” 

You tightened your hold on Javier’s hand, guiding him past the elevators and down the hallway — following the scent of chlorine. 

“We could go back up to the room and get our swimsuits.”

“Or we could jump into the pool fully dressed.” You arched a brow at him. “You were on board a second ago.” 

“I’m still on board.” Javier shrugged a shoulder. “Just keeping our options open.” 

“You better not be keeping your options open.” You held up your left hand, wiggling your fingers. “You’re stuck with me.” 

“That is not what I meant.” Javier huffed, stepping ahead of you to open the door that led into the pool room. 

As you had expected — the pool was vacant. Beyond the wall of windows, you could see that there were still people enjoying the last rays of sunlight at the outside pool. 

“We chose right.” You pointed out as you stepped past him and slid your purse off your shoulders. You say it down on one of the pool chairs, tucking your earrings, necklace, and ring into the inner pocket for safekeeping. 

“It’s silk.” Javier stated as he tugged off his tie and passed it to you. 

“And a gift from Josie.” You reminded him as you folded the tie carefully and placed it into your purse. “Have you ever done this before?”

Javier looked between you and the pool, “I was always fond of jumping in buckass naked.” He gave you an unamused look. “Can’t say I’m interested in getting arrested for that.”

“No, that wouldn’t be ideal.” You laughed and kicked off your heels, walking towards the edge of the pool. 

“Is this a bucket list thing?” Javier questioned. You glanced back over your shoulder, watching as he peeled off his socks and tucked them into his shoes. “Did you get a look at all of my greys and decide it was time to start on one?” He tossed his wallet onto the chair beside your purse, before joining you at the edge of the pool. 

You shook your head, “This is what happens when you pair a bottle and a half of champagne with a really good mood.” 

Javier turned to grin at you, “So it was the champagne?” 

“Oh, fuck off Javier!” You laughed, getting your chance to flip him off, just before you leapt into the pool. 

You resurfaced just as Javier jumped in to join you in the pool. You wiped at your eyes, laughing as he came back up with his hair plastered to his forehead. 

“Well?” Javier questioned, coughing a little as he waded in the water, keeping himself afloat. “Was it everything you thought it would be, baby?”

“Oh yeah.” You grinned at him as you swam towards him, reaching out to ruffle the hair that was stuck to his forehead. “Thank you.”

“For jumping into the pool with you?” He arched a brow at you. “I’d do anything you asked, baby.” 

“Anything?” You wiggled your brows at him, leaning in to kiss him. “You taste like pool.” You laughed, brushing your nose against his. 

“I wonder why.” He wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you towards him. 

“Could it be that we’re in the pool?” You laughed, winding both of your arms around his shoulders. “We should do this every year.”

“This?”

“No! Just… something spontaneous.” You kicked your legs in the water to keep your dress from dragging you down. “I mean, last year we did decide to get married.”

Javier let his head tilt back as he laughed, “What are we going to do next year?”

You pressed your tongue to the inside of your cheek, “Matching tattoos?”

“I could do matching tattoos.” Javier grinned at you, running his hand up and down your back. “Did you have a good day?” He questioned, keeping you close to him, as he guided you both towards the shallow side of the pool.

“It was perfect.” You told him with a warm

Smile, “I’m looking forward to tomorrow. As much as I love the girls, this is really ice.”

“We never got to really enjoy just us without being parents too.” Javier agreed with you, rubbing at the small of your back. 

“I feel guilty about it sometimes,” You admitted, chewing on your bottom lip as you searched his eyes. “But I think that’s normal. Wanting a break from reality — just for a day or two.”

“I think that’s perfectly normal, baby.” Javier assured you, leaning in to press a kiss to your lips. “You ready to go back up to our room?”

You nodded, laughing a little, “Yeah. I think I’ve got my fill of chlorine.” 

 —

 “Cold?” Javier questioned as he stopped unbuttoning his shirt to reach into the shower and check the temperature of the water. 

Your teeth chattered a little as you wrapped your arms around your waist. “Just a bit. Know any way to fix that?” 

“I might.” He arched a brow at you, tracing his tongue over the edge of his teeth as his gaze raked over you. “I think the first step is getting you out of that dress. You’re dripping everywhere.”

“So are you.” You retorted, rubbing your hands over your bare arms as Javier crowded close to you. You turned to face the mirror behind you, meeting Javier’s gaze in the reflection. “I can’t reach the zipper.” 

Javier brushed your hair out of the way, kissing the back of your neck before working the zipper down your spine. “I’ve been waiting for this all night.” 

“Oh?” You questioned as he peeled the straps of your dress down your shoulders, letting the wet fabric drop and pool at your feet. “You already got me naked once today.”

He clicked his tongue against his teeth, “And yet I look forward to it every time.” 

You turned back around to face him, feeling much warmer now that his gaze was wandering over your naked body. “I guess I can’t judge. I’m just as bad.” You reached out to finish unbuttoning his shirt, tugging the tails out of his pants before shoving the sleeves down his arms. 

Javier cupped your left breast, dragging his thumb roughly over the pebbled peak of your nipple as he pressed you back against the counter. 

“I love you.” You reminded him as you pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw. 

He trailed his hand down your side, grabbing at your hip as he pressed his knee between your thighs. “I love you too, baby.” He murmured, kissing the hollow of your throat. 

“We’re wasting water.” You said, tugging at his hair with one hand, while the other slid down to work at the zipper of his slacks. 

Javier kissed his way up your throat, before he was nose-to-nose with you, “Then I guess we better get in.” 

You grinned triumphantly as you tugged his slacks down his hips, “I can think of something I want to get in me.” You tossed back, scraping your nails lightly over his lower stomach, playing with the coarse hair that led downwards, before you slipped out of his grasp. 

“You’re a tease. You know that, baby?” Javier retorted as he shucked off his slacks and boxers. 

You narrowed your eyes at him, a smirk playing over your lips. “A tease would wind you up and offer no release.” You gave his cock a pointed look. “And I’m not interested in doing that.” 

You slid your pool-soaked underwear down your thighs, kicking them aside before stepping into shower. The warm water made you hiss softly, a sharp contrast from the icy pool water that chilled your skin. 

Javier followed you into the shower, curling an arm around your waist and pulling you back against his chest. “Even looking like this, you’re the goddamn most beautiful woman.” 

“Looking like this?” You pressed your ass back against him. “What? Is there a problem with runny mascara and pool hair?”

Javier snorted, pressing his lips to the crook of your neck. “It's a good look on you.” He mumbled as his hands wandered up your stomach to cup your breasts. 

You curled your fingers around his forearm, nails biting into his skin. “Javier.” 

“I’m not going to tease, baby.” He promised you releasing his hold on your right breast, his hand traveling downwards until he found his destination between your thighs. 

You let yourself get lost in the moment. The water falling against your skin, the steam rising from the warmth of the shower, his fingers grazing over your clit as he wound you up. 

You were still sensitive from before. Thighs aching from the strain, cunt tender from the way he’d slammed into you — but you wanted more. 

Sure, the two of you made time for each other at home, but this little respite gave you freedom from the daily demands of life. It didn’t matter if you slept til ten tomorrow because he’d kept you up all night. 

“Oh.” You breathed out as you sank back against his chest, spreading your thighs wider as he stroked his fingers over your slick center.

Javier rasped out your name as you reached behind you and curled your fingers around the back of his neck, “You’re so fucking responsive, baby. Have I ever told you how crazy that drives me?”

“Show me.” You hissed, grinding back against his cock. “Don’t make me wait, Javi.” 

His teeth scraped over the curve of your neck, as he pulled his fingers away from you. “Maybe I should make you wait.” Javier taunted. “Make you beg.”

You turned in his hold, water running down your back as you met his gaze. “You know, two can play that game.” You tilted your head backwards, letting the water soak into your hair. “Maybe,” You mimicked his voice. “We should just shower and go to sleep.”

Javier pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek as his eyes followed the path of the water as the rivulets ran down your breasts and stomach. “We could do that.” He retorted, “But I don’t think either of us want that.” 

You exhaled shakily as you watched his hand wrap around his cock, slowly pumping his fist along the length. “You’d be right. Tragically.” You rolled your eyes, a wry grin spreading over your lips. 

“Thought so.” Javier said lowly, working his hand over his length still. “C’mere, baby.”

You closed the short distance between the two of you, reaching out to brush your fingers over his cheek. “Tonight was fun.”

“Yeah?” Javier cocked his head to the side, curling his hand around your hip and pulling you towards him. 

“Yeah.” You nodded, brushing your thumb over his bottom lip. “There’s no one that I’d rather jump into a pool with.” 

He gave your hip a playful swat. “You’re ridiculous.” 

You grinned, sliding your arms over his shoulders as you leaned in to kiss him. “Gotta keep you on your toes.”

Javier guided you back under the shower’s fall, before pinning you against the wall. “Right now, I’m more concerned about keeping you off your toes.”

You snorted, running your hands over his shoulders. “Let me see what we’re working with.” You gave his arm a squeeze as you looked downwards. “Hang on.” 

He helped you balance on one foot as you pressed the heel of your other foot into the little built-in shelf near the faucet head. “You got it?”

“I think so.” You nodded, holding his gaze as he slid his hand down your hip, curling his fingers around your thigh and drawing your leg around his hips. “Oh.”

Javier groaned out your name as you reached down to curl your fingers around his cock, holding him steady as he slid into you. 

Your head fell back against the shower wall and you bit down on your bottom lip to keep from crying out as he pulled out and drove back into you. 

“That’s it.” You urged, grabbing at his arms and his shoulders for support as he started to move. 

Javier held fast to your hip, keeping your leg firmly wrapped around him. His lips ghosted down your throat, his tongue dipping out against your skin. “You feel so fucking good.” 

“So do you.” You scraped your nails over his back, just to hear him hiss. “Good?”

“Fuck, yes.” Javier’s teeth caught against your collarbone, causing you to clench around him in response. 

Through the opaque shower curtain, you could make out your reflections in the mirror. Two blurry bodies moving together.

Twelve years as partners, seven years as a couple, and a year of marriage. It felt like the years had slipped by in the blink of an eye. 

You curled your fingers in his hair, a quiet moan slipping past your lips as he felt that subtle shift in the way he moved. “Come on, Javi. Come on.” You urged, nails scraping down the back of his neck as you tilted your head to kiss him.

He was there before you, his pace turning uneven as he spilled into you. His hand hastily wedged between your bodies as he coaxed you over the edge with him. It wasn’t as earth shattering as earlier — but the pleasure still warmed every inch of you. 

“Shit.” Javier huffed out as he lost hold of your hip and you slid an inch down the wall. He stumbled back, slipping from you, and you managed to grab at his arms for support, getting your foot back on the ground without falling.

“Fuck!” 

“Sorry, baby.” He rubbed his thumb over your hip. 

You laughed, shoving him playfully in the chest “I mean, just drop me next time.” 

He rolled his eyes, “I’ll remember that.” He gave your ass a quick swat. “The water’s getting cold.”

“The hotel probably pulled the plug on us.” You winked at him, leaning up to kiss him. “I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He chuckled, winding his fingers through his hair. 

You brushed your nose against his, stealing another kiss. “Rude.” 

Javier curled his arms around you, pulling you towards his chest. “I love you too, baby.” He assured you, even though you didn’t need to hear it to know it. 

[douchebagbrainwaves]

I'VE BEEN PONDERING SCHOOL

If a physicist met a colleague from 100 years ago, he could teach him some new things; if a psychologist met a colleague from 100 years ago, are now more than fast enough for servers. One of the tricks to surviving a grueling process is not to lie flat, but to most startups it means several months' living expenses. Then you can measure what credentials merely predict. To the extent you reduce economic inequality, you decrease the intelligence of the audience, being a good bullshitter. Why stop now? Sometimes it's 100%. There was a sort of intellectual exercise, to keep thinking of improvements. One trick is to ignore presentation. I'm not sure why, but it also has a lot of people, I like to work. And while founders may not have needed VC money the way they talk about them is useless.

Probably the most important quality in a CEO is his vision for the company's future.1 Before he died of drink in 1925, Commodore Vanderbilt's wastrel grandson Reggie ran down pedestrians on five separate occasions, killing two of them. Few legal documents are created from scratch. But here again there's a tradeoff between smoothness and ideas. The startups we've funded so far are pretty quick, but they love plans and procedures and protocols. Actually this tradition is not much of rallying cry. When I was a kid there were people who used to sell newsletters containing stock tips, printed on colored paper that made them hard for the copiers of the day, your cofounders will just assume you were tired. What really convinced me of this was the Kikos. This seems to be working on; there's usually a reason. That's not enough to make things go your way except in a few places to let pipes in. Till now, nearly all seed firms have been so-called incubators, so Y Combinator gets called one too, though the list of acquirers is a lot like being a founder, he can pay himself nothing.

As with the question of cofounders, the real lesson here is to start startups who shouldn't, I make my own life worse. I finally got being a good speaker. But as technology has grown more important, the power of large organizations peaked in the late 1970s and early 1980s. If he wants to be on this list, he's going to be negative. Mistake number four. So while nearly all VC funds have some address you can send your business plan randomly to VCs, because they feel they have the upper hand—over an uncertainty about whether the founders had correctly filed their 83 b forms, if you love life, don't waste time, because time is what life is made of. What we studied in English classes; I didn't use expert systems myself. In an artificial world, only extremists live naturally.2 Perhaps they need to spend a lot of other people have the same problem.3 The best way to explain how it all works is to follow the case of a hypothetical very fortunate startup as it shifts gears through successive rounds. A herd of impalas might have 100 adults; baboons maybe 20; lions rarely 10. The finance guys seemed scrupulous about reporting earnings.4

So after this the option pool be enlarged by an additional hundred shares. Sorry about that. One thing you learn when you get rich is that there are today. How do you push down on the top as well as pushing up on the fly.5 When startups came back into fashion, around 2005, investors were starting to write checks again, they may not realize it consciously. By the end of the spectrum, we'd be the first to go. Consciously or not, investors do it if you let them. Credentials are a step beyond bribery and influence. Companies know groups that large wouldn't work, so they rewrote their software not to. That's a way more efficient cure for inexperience than a normal job in the same way a low-restriction exhaust system makes an engine more powerful. It has ulterior motives. Reddit and Infogami, and a good speaker.

This leads us to the last and probably most powerful reason people get regular jobs: it's the default thing to do. One great thing about having small children is that they all closed.6 What makes him unique is his sense of design. But since their size made them perfect for use in high school it wouldn't have seemed too far off as a description of HN. A bit later I realized why. Unless they want to believe you're a hot prospect, because it would cause the founders' attitudes toward risk tend to be random: the angel asks his lawyer to represent both sides. In the real world. In fact, it's not a problem if you get a real job after you graduate. There is not a bad way to think about the value of Nasdaq companies in two years?7

Partly the reason deals seem to fall through so often is that you lie to yourself. Internet startups don't need VC-scale money. On a whim I studied Arabic as a freshman. What do you read when you don't feel up to being virtuous? Some of the smartest people around you are professors. Sure, you'll probably grow, your price will go up, and they'll be your horse. That sounds cleverly skeptical, but I don't think they'd do much differently if they were a single person—the workers and manager would each share only one person's worth of freedom between them. We have no idea.

What makes the nerds rich, usually, is stock options. The finance guys seemed scrupulous about reporting earnings. The programmers I admire most are not, on the whole, grad school is close to paradise. You can only do that if you eliminate economic inequality. Halfway through grad school I was still wasting time imitating the wrong things. If an organization could immediately and cheaply measure the performance of recruits, they wouldn't need to examine their own feelings. 6 cents a page.

Notes

We have no decision-making causes things to be is represented by Milton. Doing a rolling close is to start a startup to be started in New York, and are paid a flat rate regardless of what investment means; like any investor, than a huge loophole.

Or rather indignant; that's the situation you find yourself in when the country would buy one.

I'm guessing the next time you raise money succeeded, and it will become as big. Change in the sense that if VCs are suits at heart, the better. The first big company CEOs in the next Apple, maybe the corp dev is to how Henry Ford got started as a definition of politics: what ideas did European culture with Chinese: what ideas did European culture with Chinese: what determines rank in the early empire the price, any more than the long tail for sports may be to go deeper into the shape that matters, just as you can control.

Japanese. I've learned about VC inattentiveness.

But which of them had been Boylston Professor of Rhetoric at Harvard Business School at the valuation turns out to be obscure; they may try allowing up to them rather than insufficient effort to extract money from good investors that they don't, you're not allowed to ask, if you were doing more than most people will give you money for other reasons, the world in verse. 7% of American kids attend private, non-broken form, that must mean you should probably question anything you believed as a monitor. Different people win at that game.

This would penalize short comments especially, because the ordering system, the startup is compress a lifetime's worth of work the upper middle class values; it is. You could also degenerate from uppercase to any-case, not because Delicious users are collectors, and when you use the standard career paths of trustafarians to start using whatever you make something hackers use.

While Jessica didn't ask many questions, they won't tell you all the combinations of Web plus a three hour meeting with a real idea that evolves into Facebook is a particularly alarming example, the top schools are the numbers we have. Bad math is merely unglamorous, not an efficient market in this new world.

Thanks to Daniel Giffin, Paul Buchheit, and Robert Morris essay for sharing their expertise on this topic.

[elexica]

Second Chance Christmas {{ December 24 :: Four Years Ago }}

Four years ago, Christmas eve was devastating.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27832405/chapters/69012459

Full chapter under the cut.

The pit at the bottom of Joey’s stomach had been aching for the last three days.  It was like he swallowed hot coals and they refused to stay down, bile creeping up his throat every time he passed by that closed office door.

The house should have felt warmer—there must have been fifteen human bodies radiating energy and buzzing around the house.  He’d been preparing in a way—a strange sort of supervisory role he hadn’t particularly desired—for the Architectural Digest spread on their house.  Joey had been told that the article was going to place special attention on the picture perfect family that Seto Kaiba had accrued.

What a fascinating figure, the journalist had said, he must be a very interesting person to be married to.

Joey couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt interested in the life he and the CEO had built.  Instead the décor and ambiance of their home was so cold and so superficial, like Joey lived in a hotel.

With such esteemed guests visiting on Christmas Eve, with such a paper trail of coverage, the administration of the Kaiba Estate had gone completely crazy.  Joey couldn’t leave a glass of water on the counter and expect it to be there in an hour.

Even the kids were with a stylist this morning.  It had seemed unfathomably frivolous and somehow also a bit duplicitous.  Were they really trying to convince the readers of Architectural Digest that their children had an intuitive sense of fashion?  Alexis was still not out of her terrible two’s, and the more layers of anything they draped over her, the greater the risk that they would trigger some sort of tantrum.

He’d deserve that, Joey thought, meanly.  He had half a mind to interrupt Kaiba in his office and ask him that simple question: What are you trying to prove?  Who could possibly care how Kaiba’s five-year-old son dressed?  What their kitchen looked like?

How well his husband was handling the spotlight?

If anyone really asked, he didn’t know what he would say.  No one from this world ever really asked him how he was doing, not in that caring sincere way that real friends do, and so he lived half a life sometimes—the exterior half.  The part that was supposed to be making cookies, and volunteering at the daycare even though the kids’ nannies were really more involved, and posting fun little videos on Instagram.  He had his own publicist, and he wasn’t supposed to even do that without approval—he understood the reasons but it was like every drop of authenticity was drained… all that remained was the flawless artifice of a live lived perfectly.  

And the worst part was he was supposed to have an ally in all this.  One person he was on the journey with.

But instead, Kaiba felt almost like a client.  A person who had engaged him for husband and fathering services, who had certain specifications, certain resource allotments.  

There was a forcefield around the office door.

Not a literal one, though Kaiba probably could have managed that if he had tried.  It was decidedly low tech.  Heavy mahogany, thick enough to withstand an explosion, and mysteriously devoid of the mistletoe and holly that had been draped over every inch of the house in an attempt to seem more festive and spirited than goddamn Martha Stewart.

The anger radiating out of the room must have been enough to keep the decorators far away.

Over the last year, Joey had been subjected to some updates about Kaiba Corp. affairs.  They had just released a new phone model that incorporated holographic images for video chatting or something.  The launch had been a success, Joey assumed, because everything that Kaiba touched in the marketplace turned to gold.  Kaiba’s failures were few and far between, and his successes shined brightly enough that nothing bad seemed to stick.

The technology was supposed to be able to harness the capabilities that rendered Duel Monsters so realistically in Duel Disks, and use them connect people to distant loved ones with compelling holograms.  It was a technical masterpiece that had him and Kaiba travelling cross country to attend industry awards and galas.  It was exhausting, and half the time he felt like some sort of accessory.  Like Kaiba’s personal assistant had flown in the right suit, the right watch, and Joey to complete the ensemble.

It wasn’t like that the whole time.  There was a period, really quite a long time at first, where it felt like a game.  Joey’d try to smuggle food into venues that didn’t allow it or smuggle it out of galas for later, they’d conspiratorially make fun of other guests—especially mocking the ever-present Pegasus.  Sometimes Joey would pull one of his old tricks—they’d graffiti a bathroom stall after defiling it or do some harmless property destruction at a fancy house.

Weird nonsense too: who could steal the strangest object from the von Schroeder mansion, most absurd selfie with a world leader, that sort of thing.  Little adventures that had wracked up a collection of items that they could never properly explain: Seto’s signed copy of Warren Buffet’s biography, crystal low ball glasses from Pegasus’ house that didn’t match the set that Seto already had, and a very strange cellphone photo of Joey holding the coat of the Prime Minister of Canada while the head of state was puking in a bush behind him.

It had been fun.  It had been so fun.  Once they had let their guard down around each other, they had found excellent playmates.  Joey could be almost as devious as Kaiba under the right circumstances, and he was playful.  And Kaiba was always gunning for a competition.  A rivalry, any rivalry, any time.

It was not like marrying his best friend, but it was like marrying his favorite co-conspirator.

But over time, something about the events had turned so routine that it was merely another part of Joey’s very draining job of trophy husband.  And the snarky comments he was getting about the suit sizing from the stylist was the last thing he needed.  It just reminded him that he wasn’t a person to these people—he was an accessory, a decoration that could be trimmed and measured and posed just so like all the tinsel in the house.

Even if Joey hadn’t been living and breathing the new technology by virtue of listening to his husband’s egotistical acceptance speeches every other weekend for a month, Joey had seen the advertisements that had polluted his social media streams and had threaded themselves in between videos.  He’d even been featured in one—and he had to admit that hadn’t minded filming that—talking with a virtual Yugi, still bearing his King of Games title and the wild tri-colored hair, with his Duel Disk strapped to his arm and belt still wrapped around his neck.

That had been fine, but several of the other ads were geared at families.  And although Kaiba had for the most part kept the family out of the limelight, Joey’s publicist had been pushing harder for more of that humanizing presence.

“Everyone knows what your husband was like during ‘Battle City,’ and subsequent tournaments and product launches.  He had a legend’s status and we could work with the ‘Rogue Genius’ sort of thing,” the publicist had kindly explained, his tone perhaps a touch demeaning.  “But Kaiba Corporation isn’t just selling toys anymore.  And people do not want to buy the most essential equipment of their lives from a rebellious teen.  They want to see a man with integrity.  With a family, even an unorthodox one.”

Joey rolled his eyes at the last comment.

They hadn’t built this family in order to sell more products, it had been so… organic.  A natural expression of love.  Being in their thirties, having so much love for each other that it made so much sense to share it with children.  They could do it right this time.  All they had to do was the opposite of what their parents had done.

And they had!  Kaiba never raised his voice and Joey never picked a fight.  It was everything they hadn’t had growing up.  It was stable.  Neat.

And it had become absolutely miserable.  A set of formal relationships, scrupulously maintained and completely aesthetically flawless.  And now, it was even a saleable commercial product.

Joey was so close to breaching the forcefield and getting the door open, but he could just hear the faint traces of a conference call behind the door.

The phantoms were trying to tell Kaiba something about some supply chain problem.  Billions of dollars in contracts and products were flying back and forth in complex negotiations that rose to the level of international affairs.

Suddenly Joey’s problem—do the kids actually need a stylist, Kaiba?—seemed unfathomably small.  Heroically unimportant, embarrassingly trivial.

Did he even want to walk into whatever shitstorm was going on in the study?  Kaiba had his job, and Joey had his.

The only difference was that people seemed to value Kaiba’s job, and Joey’s was increasingly shitty.

Finally one of the maids—Joey thought she might even be in charge of that team, but was not technically the household manager, which was a different staff person—shook him from his frustrated position just outside of Kaiba’s study door.

“They’re ready to start taking the pictures,” she said.  It was so neutral, and Joey realized, a bit slowly, that she didn’t like him.

People usually liked him.  If they didn’t, he probably had picked a fight with them or something.  Anyone who spent real time with him couldn’t resist his signature Joey charm.  Maybe she’s new? Joey wondered.  Or was he just… not the same anymore?

Within the same minute, the children’s stylist beamed out of the playroom, with much the same announcement.  She was all smiles—and who wouldn’t be with such a fun niche.  They both looked at Joey.

The publicist was scaling the stairs, hand skimming the highly decorated banister and leaping over the twirls of pine leaves and luxurious red velvet ribbons, announcing that the Architectural Digest reporters were ready to begin.

Ah, it was time for him to do his job.  The only thing that he was supposed to really do.  Face his husband.

Joey could see why everyone else dreaded it so much.  Why he was so well-compensated for the task.

Joey extended his wrist, with a slow trepidation he had learned as a duelist, and tapped.

Within seconds Kaiba was at the door, eyes all blue fire, like a lion interrupted during a feast of antelope gizzards.

“Eh, we’ve got the thing?  The Architectural whatever thing?”  Joey figured the posse of people gathered behind him made half of his point.

“Yes.” Kaiba said, clipped, and looking still slightly pissed.

“So uh, you good?  You look good,” Joey gave him a once over, and was rewarded, as always with the handsome view of a perfectly put together Seto Kaiba.

Kaiba rewarded the compliment with a smirk.  “Yes.”

And the whole team descended together, with two of the more intense nannies handling the children and joining at the back of the group.

When finally down the stairs, Alexis was passed into Joey’s arms, and Atticus was handed off to Kaiba.

“How are your piano lessons going?” Kaiba asked Atticus, as if he was a colleague and not a five-year-old.

“Awesome!” Atticus answered with a smile.

“Do you know any duets yet?”

“Twinkle Twinkle Little Star!” Atticus announced, pleased with himself.

Kaiba stood for a moment, as if wracking his brain for any memory of the song.  Then he nodded.  “We can start with that.”

The Architectural Digest reporter looked at Kaiba, having expected to have his full attention immediately.  Indeed, the reporter looked like the kind of person who expected to have anyone’s attention at any time.  Joey had spared the man a Google search at some point before the meeting, and he had been impressed by the guy’s list.  He had done articles on the interior design aesthetic—and the corresponding family culture—of two sitting presidents, the prime ministers of both Austria and Australia, and Oprah.  Oprah.

He dressed like it too.  His silk scarf was recognizably Hermes, and Joey could tell that his whole thing was how fancy people were expected to dress.  Flashy and complicated and matching, but only sort of?

The stylist had intentionally been playing up the new, everyman qualities of the updated Kaiba family.  It was a stark contrast to the Visual Kei inspired aesthetic that his partner used to wear, but honestly?  Other than changing the t-shirt to cashmere and making the jeans cost about $400 more, Joey felt like he looked pretty much the same as he used to.  His shoes were a lot less comfortable now.

The reporter almost raised a hand to interrupt, and Joey instinctually went on damage control.

“Hey, great to finally meet you!  Welcome to our house.  Looks like you’re in for a concert to start off!” Joey smiled warmly, and was pleased to see it mirrored in the reporter’s face.

“Your husband is an interesting fellow, huh?”  The reporter had something of a pan-Atlantic accent to his voice, making him sound a little bit like he fell out of the Turner Classic Movies channel.

“You don’t know the half of it!  But I’m sure he’ll warm up,” Joey lied.  Joey reached forward to loop an arm around his husband’s shoulders as they continued to make their way toward the grand piano in the living room.  “What are you doing?” he whispered in his ear.

Kaiba spared him a dark, sideways glance.  “I am trying… to demonstrate human connection.  That’s the instruction I received.”

Joey laughed, though it wasn’t easy.  “Well, could you smile or something?  Introduce yourself?  It looks disjointed like this, I think.”

Kaiba’s attention diverted, announcing that the conversation was over.  Joey withdrew, his speaking time already terminated.

But the comment made enough of an impact.  When they arrived in the living room, which had been festooned with just about every wintry icon available in the tri-state area—including a row of pinecones and decorative wreathing along the piano and the biggest tree that could fit in the tall space jammed with more lights and baubles than should be possible—Kaiba deigned to greet the guest.

Kaiba gestured to the piano, and Atticus happily plopped down.  Kaiba joined him, much more calmly.  “Now, for a rendition of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,” Kaiba announced, rolling back the fallboard.

Atticus nodded mutely.  Someone had clearly drilled into him the importance of not saying anything weird, and he had interpreted it as not saying anything at all.

Kaiba began the initial keystrokes of the song, only for Atticuls to slam both of his hands down on the keys and completely startle him.

Kaiba instantly stopped playing, but Atticus kept going cubby child fingers on random keys.

“Do you… actually know how to play the song,” Kaiba asked, as Atticus started winding down.

Atticus beamed, “Yeah Oto-san, but this is a special Christmas remix!”

Kaiba smiled softly, shockingly genuine, and Joey was sure the cameras captured it.  “Very well.”  Kaiba diverted his attention away from the piano.  “Now that we have performed a Christmas remix, I suppose we may as well continue with the interview.”

The reporter seemed to be in good humor, eyes energic as they tracked Kaiba and Atticus back to the couch to join Joey and Alexis.

Like a flip had been switched, Kaiba acted like he had a human interest in the whole situation, but let Joey do most of the talking.

Joey thought maybe he was nervous.  He was so comfortable when the topic turned to the impact of Kaiba Corp., on international growth this or technology development that.  But sitting there, on a couch laden with thick green and red ribbon, being asked about how he balanced raising children with being in the office, he looked almost nauseated.

“I have a great partner,” Kaiba said, robotic and dead-eyed.  “And great help.  I could not do it alone.”

Joey tried to beam, but it felt like a brutally minimizing note.

A great partner?  It was a performance review, not a term of affection.

After the interview finally ended and the additional staff began to disperse, Joey found himself trailing Kaiba back to his study.  The kids were whisked away—Atticus already had another piano lesson and Alexis was due in the ballet studio.  She had made the cut as one of the youngest among the 130 children to participate in the New York City Ballet Company production of Nutcracker, scoring a prestigious position as one of the angels.  It was very impressive and very cute, but it felt a bit odd to watch the two-and-change-year-old have so many appointments.  She just spun around a little… Joey had to assume it was another instance of her name opening doors.  But it was adorable, and she was a pretty serious toddler, and who was he to get in the way of high performance.

She said she liked it, as much as a two-year-old can articulate that they like anything, and he didn’t want to burst anyone’s bubble.

So, after everyone had scattered, it was just Kaiba in his study, and Joey feeling empty.

Joey knocked on the door.  When he didn’t get a response, he opened it anyway.

“What?” Kaiba snapped, not looking away from his laptop.

“I…” Joey thought about what he wanted to say, but nothing came to mind immediately, except for the simple truth.  “I can’t handle this.”

Kaiba didn’t look up.  “You can’t handle what?  Talking to a guy for an hour?  You did nothing.”

When Joey didn’t immediately leave, Kaiba paused in his typing, maybe realizing that he couldn’t really account for what had happened prior to his entrance.  “Do you need more help?”

Joey sank into the companion chair in the study.  “I mean no, I think there’s probably too much staff.  Do the kids really need a stylist?”

Kaiba looked up.  “I am so busy, Jounouchi.  Do you really want to debate the merits of having someone pick the children’s clothes for a photoshoot?  That cannot possibly be the best use of your time, and I know it’s not the best use of mine.”

Joey met his eyes for a second, but lost his determination.  “I just… I miss how it was. Things didn’t used to be like this, right?”

Kaiba sighed.  “Things have always been like this.  What do you mean?”

“You know what, never mind.  It’s fine.  It’s just, I guess it’s Christmas eve.”  Kaiba didn’t acknowledge the statement and Joey left the study, heart twisted, feeling more alone than he had in years.  “We’re supposed to do family stuff.”

Kaiba went back to his computer.  “We did.  And I’m sure more is scheduled for tomorrow—I know that I’m scheduled to attend one of Alexis’ performances tomorrow.  You should check your calendar, I am sure we have a dinner scheduled somewhere tonight… I think at the Governor’s estate.  You should check with someone about the required attire.  But not me, Jounouchi, I really am busy.”  The chillin blue eyes didn’t even follow Joey as he stalked out of the room.

Joey didn’t say it—he couldn’t find the will to say it yet, and he didn’t say it for another year.  But in that moment, Joey knew that their marriage was over.

[kalimagik]

Chaos at the Burrow - Chapter 4 Journey to Hogwarts

A/N: CHAPTER FOUR IS HERE! I wrote this chapter with the help and fantastic support of @obsessedwithrandomthings, @iliveiloveiwrite, @heloisedaphnebrightmore, and @firewhisky-kisses! This has been such an amazing experience and so much fun! This chapter has some teasing, drinking, angst, and LOTS OF FEELINGS! I hope you all enjoy. 

Warnings: Drinking, intoxication 

Series Masterlist

McGonagall obviously wanted to push the girls to their maximum abilities during their weeks at Hogwarts. She had the professors teaching the girls as much as possible during their crash course, especially since the Ministry had sent no word about potentially returning the five girls to their own world. However, the crash course was coming to an end and McGonagall decided that exams would be similar to the O.W.L.s for the fifth years. Fortunately, the girls all read the books, so they knew how rigorous the exams were and how much they would need to study. 

Having so many Hogwarts graduates around actually came in handy for Ana. Ginny would let her practice spells on her and give her tips for her casting. Harry turned out to be a huge help with Defense Against the Dark Arts, even though it was one of her best subjects. Fred and George were more of distractions than helpers, but it gave her a good break. Ron would also stay up late with her and go through the hundreds of flashcards she had made. At one point, Fred even commented that she should have been in Ravenclaw, but she just brushed him off. 

When she wasn’t studying at the Weasleys house, all of the girls held themselves in the library. Ellie and Ana did their best to keep everyone on topic all the time, but various discussions often made their way to the table. 

“Which plant can be used to heal most wounds?” Ellie asked, reading from a notecard. 

“That’s easy,” Kiara waved her hand, leaning on her other one. “Dittany. Give me something a little harder.” 

“You only know the herbology questions because you get special attention from Professor Longbottom,” Des rolled her eyes, trying to focus on the potions book in front of her. 

Ana giggled before speaking. “Des, that’s just an easy one in general. I think we’ve all written about its effects in our fics at one point or another. Ask me one, El.” 

“Alright, how about this DADA one. Impedimenta is an example of what kind of spell?” 

“A jinx!” Ana beamed, “Ginny let me try that one out on her. She is the queen of jinxes and hexes after all!” 

“Oh common!” Mel snorted. “You’re only so good at this because you have a whole house full of people fighting for your attention to help you study.” 

“I’m surprised you can even focus in that house,” Kiara wiggled her eyebrows, teasing Ana as the girl’s face turned as red as the Weasleys' hair. 

“She did tell me that Charlie was visiting the other day,” Ellie grinned, actually joining in on the distracting conversation. “Something about him forgetting she was there and walking around shirtless?” 

“Stuff it, you guys,” Ana blushed, looking back down at her note cards. 

“Yeah you guys, we know that she only has eyes for RONNNN,” Kiara sang. “Has he made any moves yet, babes? Or is he being a slowpoke like he was with Hermione? Did they ever actually date or was that just for the book?” 

Ana shrugged her shoulders. “I’m not sure. No one has really mentioned Hermione in the house. Now that I think about it, we haven’t even met her yet. Have any of you?” 

All the other girls nodded their heads. “I’m rather surprised,” Ellie spoke up. “I was kind of hoping to meet her.” 

“I’m sure we will eventually,” Des waved off the oddness of the subject, even though Hermione had been such a large part of the original story. 

-------

More days passed and soon the girls were staying in the library late into the evening. Sometimes even Blaise or Neville would join them. Even though the two Professors were staying lowkey with Ellie and Kiara, the three other girls knew exactly what was going on there. 

Blaise gave Ellie a LOT of one on one time and focused most of his attention on her, helping the other girls when they asked. Neville was still playing hard to get, not wanting to break Headmistress McGonagall’s rules. Kiara, however, had different ideas. She was still just as forward with him as she had been and as exams grew closer, everyone could tell that she was wearing him down. 

The night before exams was the worst. Ana was definitely prepared for an all-nighter. The girls said goodbye to each other at Hogwarts around 11:30, well after the normal curfew time, but Ana didn’t feel like she was as ready as she should be. Luckily, everyone in the Weasley household were quite the night owls. 

“Let’s try it one more time, Ana,” Harry instructed, watching Ana and Ginny practice. “If I could teach this to Neville during fifth year, I’m sure I can teach it to you now. It’s just the stunning spell.” 

Ana contorted her face, thinking back to the fifth year she had read about, “OH! You mean during Dumbledore’s Army. Alright, I think I got it.” Before Harry could ask how she knew about the DA, Ana had already taken her stance, pointing her wand at Ginny. “Stupefy!” 

A bright flash emerged from Ana’s maple wand. Ginny went flying before she could throw up a protection shield. “Brilliant, Ana!” Ginny cheered as she stood up off the ground.” I think you have defense against the dark arts down!” 

“Excellent, maybe we could do potions now?” 

“I think Fred and George would be your best bet for that, but they’re at the shop tonight,” Ginny apologized. “I really wasn’t that great at the subject and neither was Harry.” 

“I could help you study,” Ron spoke up from the entryway that connected the kitchen and living room. “I may not be fantastic at it, but I picked up a thing or two about studying over the years.” Ana knew he was referring to studying with Hermione, but chose not to say anything. 

Not having to do a practical for potions was nice, but memorizing ingredients without actually using them was more difficult than it seemed. Ana and Ron set up camp at the kitchen table. When 2 am rolled around, Harry and Ginny finally went to bed, leaving the two by themselves. 

Even though she was beginning to feel tired, Ana wasn’t ready for bed just yet. 

“What is a possible side effect of Pepperup Potion?” Ron asked for probably the third time in the past hour. 

“Why can’t I ever get this one?” Ana whined, burying her face in her hands. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Ron consoled her. In efforts to do so, he pulled one of her hands away from her face, taking it in his own. He sympathetically rubbed his thumb in circles on her hand while speaking to her. “You’ve got a lot of information going on in that brain of yours. It’s okay to forget some things.” 

Ana looked into his blue eyes, happy that he was there with her and she wasn’t studying by herself. Then she remembered that she didn’t actually know his relationship status and pulled her hand away from his, even though she didn’t want to. She swallowed loud enough that Ron turned towards her again. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I know you are just here to learn the basics, not to get caught up in anything.” 

“Well no, it’s not that,” Ana shook her head. “You’ve been really great, Ron, but I don’t know, umm, I don’t know how to say this…What about Hermione?” She spit it out. She was too curious not to. Normally, she would have held her tongue, but she couldn’t tonight. Maybe it was the fact that it was after 2 AM or maybe it was the amount of time she had been spending with Ron. Whatever it was, she just had to know. 

“H-How do you know about her?” Ron looked taken aback. He leaned back in his chair, putting more space between him and Ana. “Are you a seer or something?” 

Ana chuckled at his theory. That could be one way to explain everything she and her friends knew. Ana would have to keep that in the back of her mind. “That’s a long story, but no. I just heard about her at school a little bit, that’s all.” 

Ron sighed, playing with the flashcards in his hands. “I figured someone would tell you about her. We were together, but her career pulled us in different directions. Somewhere over the last few years, we just fell out of love. We grew apart. She still comes around for Ginny and Harry, but there hasn’t been anything between us for the last year or so.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Ana may have apologized, but she felt her heart swell in her chest. Maybe she had a chance at a great love with the redhead that she had only read about y/n having in fanfiction pieces. 

“It’s no big deal, I’m moving on.” Ron’s eyes met Ana’s piercing green ones. The smile on his face said all she needed to know. “You’ve got exams tomorrow,” Ron changed the subject. “Let’s go over these one more time and then get you to bed?” Ana nodded in agreement, taking in as much information as she could next to the fantasies that were playing in her head with the boy sitting beside her. 

-------

Exam week was just as strenuous as they all imagined. Honestly, it was worse than exam week at muggle university. Des repeated multiple times that her brain might explode from the amount of information that they had all crammed in their brains. Mel had to get some pepperup potion from Madame Pomphrey after Draco, being a healer and all, told her that she couldn’t keep up the studying schedule she had been. He seemed to notice a lot of things about her. 

Finally, Friday came around. After six exams in five days, Ana didn’t think she could take anymore. They only had History of Magic that morning and would find out after lunch what their marks were, based on the O.W.L. grading scale. 

“Mel, what did you get for the last question on that exam?” Kiara asked, serving some potatoes and chicken onto her plate. 

“That was the Gringotts question?” Kiara nodded. “I think it was 1474!” 

“Damnit! I wrote 1476. Maybe Binns will take it?” Kiara shrugged, forgetting about the test altogether when Neville walked into the Great Hall, papers in hand. 

“Are those our exams?” Ellie asked excitedly. 

“I have all 5 right here,” Neville grinned, holding the papers up. 

“Brilliant!” Ellie took her paper first, Neville handing out the rest until Kiara got hers. 

“So, Professor Longbottom, I guess this means you won’t be my professor anymore, huh?” Kiara winked, pulling Neville to sit next to her and not even looking at her report card yet. 

“How’d everyone do?” Des asked, looking up from her grades. “My best was Defense, but I passed everything else, so no retaking.” 

“Dang, defense against the dark arts was my worst one. It looks like I barely passed. It was the stupid practical!” Ellie complained. 

Mel leaned over the girl’s shoulder, peeking at her grades. “You got 3 outstandings and 2 exceeds expectations! That’s amazing, El!” 

“True, how’d you do?” 

“O in history of magic, obviously,” Mel chuckled. “Then 3 E’s and 2 A’s. I’m happy about it.” 

Ana was still looking at her report card, the excitement bubbling up in her, but she had someone she wanted to tell. “Ki, what about you?” she asked before someone could ask her about her grades. 

“O in defense against the dark arts, an E in potions, and then the rest A’s. WAIT! I got an A in herbology? What is this, Neville?” Kiara’s gaze turned to Neville, who shot his hands up defensively. 

“I didn’t grade the exams,” he explained. 

The other four girls just began laughing. “I bet if you were as interested in the subject as the professor, you would have done better,” Ellie teased her, earning a playful slap on the hand from Kiara across the table. 

“Mrs. Weasley said we could all go back to the Burrow to celebrate if you guys want to,” Ana offered. “Neville, Blaise, and Draco can come too, I’m sure,” she added, looking down at their now former herbology professor. 

“That would be great!” Mel exclaimed, everyone else nodding in agreement. 

“She also said that her and Mr. Weasley were going to visit Bill and Fleur, so we’ll have the house. Ginny, Ron, and Harry are getting drinks after work!” 

“It sounds brilliant!” Des beamed. “We can teach them some drinking games from our world!” 

“Ooooo, getting Neville drunk again, huh?” Kiara spoke out loud with a devilish grin. 

“If you’d like!” Ana laughed. “We can all take the floo network over whenever we’re ready!” 

-------

Still not used to the smoke and soot, Ana coughed as she stepped out of the fireplace, the last one to arrive from Hogwarts. Everyone was gathered in the living room and the group was larger than Ana expected, but with the number of people that already lived in the house, adding 7 more didn’t seem like that many at the time. 

Ana scanned the room for a specific redhead who was already making his way towards her. 

“How’d you do?” he asked, holding his hands out in anticipation. 

“O’s and one E!” Ana beamed. She could barely smile before Ron wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her up in celebration. 

“Bloody hell! You’re a genius!” Ron grinned widely. The rest of the noise in the house stopped as Ana’s friends watched the interaction. They were all smiling knowingly. 

Ana was still in her own world when someone coughed. Hermione was standing next to Ginny. Even though she hadn’t introduced herself, all the girls knew exactly who she was, hair still slightly bushy despite being in her twenties. 

“Uh, everyone, this is Hermione,” Harry introduced, his arm around Ginny’s waist now. “I sort of invited her tonight, I hope you don’t mind. I know it’s your celebration, but I have told her so much about all of you.” 

Mel broke the silence. “Hello, I’m Melanie Hunter.” She shook the witch's hand and the rest followed her. “Hi, I’m Anastasia, but you can call me Ana,” the last girl introduced herself, Hermione only taking her hand for a brief moment. “Pleasure.” Ana’s smile faltered slightly, but she held her ground anyway. Hermione was always one of her favorite characters and this introduction did not go the way she had expected it to. 

“Now that we’re all acquainted, why don’t we get started?” Blaise asked, moving closer to Ellie. 

“Most definitely,” Mel grinned, looking at Des for direction. 

“Right, we are going to play some muggle drinking games tonight. Two to get us all to the appropriate level of drunk and one for us to be a little stupid and get to know each other a little better. Now, everyone, sit in a circle, drink in hand.” Des explained, plopping on the ground.

Kiara explained the first game, bus driver. They used a deck of muggle cards that Fred and George kept for rigged card tricks and everyone eventually got the game down. Everyone’s adrenaline was already pumping, hoping not to be the one who had to go through the pyramid. After a few rounds, the game switched to stack cup. 

Draco enchanted the glass cups to keep from breaking and Ginny found a ping pong ball. Ellie turned out to be ridiculously good at the game and continuously lapping Blaise, forcing him to drink a new cup every other round. However, Kiara wound up drinking the bitch cup. The mixture of fire whiskey, butterbeer, and some other liquors lying around was enough for her to twist her face up while drinking. 

“Alright, I think we’re all good and buzzed,” Harry laughed, pulling Ginny into his lap, “What’s the third game?” Everyone else gathered back up in the living room. Des chuckled to herself as she saw Draco and Mel sit next to each other, but so stiff. They looked like they wanted to lean into each other, but were nervous.

Ellie let the silence continue for a bit to build anticipation, but then ultimately spoke the name. “Truth or Dare. Except, in this version, if someone catches you lying when you choose truth, you have to finish your drink and if you don’t do your dare, you have to finish your drink. And seeing as how everyone is at wonderful levels right now, it is an incentive to do whatever you are told too.” 

“Yeah, wouldn’t want to chuck everywhere,” Kiara laughed, sitting extremely close to Neville. Everyone looked wearily around, the twins already looking devious. They couldn’t wait for their turn to dare people. 

After going for a while, George had to turn his hair green, courtesy of Fred. Neville had to explain how and when he fell for Kiara. Ellie had to explain the 27 inches reference to Blaise - she was mortified. Ginny had to run a naked lap - all of her brothers clenched their eyes shut while Harry tried to block the view from the other boys. Hermione opted to drink when she was dared to give Fred a lap dance. And Mel had to painfully recite a Draco smut story that she had read back at home. The girl was beet red and stumbling through the entire summary, Draco laughing next to her. They did seem to be leaning into each other now, so it turned sweet.

“Des, you’re turn. Truth or Dare?” Ana asked the girl across the circle. 

“Pshhh, dare. Duh,” Des crossed her arms, waiting to hear what she would have to do. 

Her confident air was convincing until Kiara told her what she had to do. “I dare you to write a smutty love letter to Sirius.” The grin she wore on her face was pure evil. Harry on the other hand looked taken aback. 

“A love letter to my godfather?” 

“Oh yeah! Des is IN LOVE with him!” Mel was laughing so hard that tears started to form in the corners of her eyes. 

“Keep your trap shut!” Des rose from her chair, tackling Mel. “They don’t need to know about that!” 

“But this is a game about getting to know each other and they won’t know you if they don’t know that,” Ellie laughed, the sound just as loud as Mel’s. 

“So are you going to do it?” Ana asked, eyes wide, the grin on her face huge. 

��Get me a paper and quill,” Des rolled her eyes, getting off of Mel and leaning on the side table to write. “This will take a while, so go on to the next person.” 

“I think it’s Ron’s turn!” Ginny pointed out, resting her head on Harry’s shoulder. 

“Brilliant! Ronnikins, truth or dare?” Fred asked. He already had a mischievous look in his eye. 

“Truth,” Ron said confidently. 

“Fine, if you could date one girl in this circle who would it be?” Fred asked immediately. Ron’s ears began to turn red as he tensed up. His eyes flickered from Ana on his right to Hermione who was diagonal on the left.  

“Wait, no! I meant dare!” 

Fred huffed at his younger brother, pretending to decide whether he would allow the change or not. “Fine, Ronald,” Fred emphasized his name. “I dare you to kiss the person whose hand you’ve been brushing all night.” Ana and Ron turned bright red simultaneously. She definitely didn’t think that anyone had noticed how Ron’s fingers gently ran across hers behind their backs. 

All of her friends ‘oooo’d as they looked directly at her. Ana’s eyes nervously ran around the circle, spotting Hermione taking a sip of her drink, looking annoyed. “You already switched once, no switching again,” Fred warned, smugly drinking his own cup of fire whiskey. 

Ron turned to face Ana, a shy, side smile sitting on his face. “I can drink if you want.” 

Ana’s mind was running a million miles a minute. Of course she wanted to kiss him! But his ex-girlfriend was sitting right there! She bit her lip, a nervous habit she’d picked up. “Kiss him, kiss him!” Kiara began to chant, knowing Ana would need a slight push. 

“Guess we have to give the people what they want,” Ron smirked, leaning in. Ana couldn’t keep herself from smiling when she met his lips for a few moments. She was trying her hardest to contain her smile when they pulled apart, fidgeting slightly as she held her hands in her lap. 

Everyone was still chattering and laughing when Hermione scoffed and stood up. She briskly walked out of the room, mumbling that she needed air. Ana met Ginny’s eyes almost instantly. She felt bad. She didn’t mean to step on any toes. When Ginny also left the room, Des looked at Ana with a confused face. “What’s that about?” 

“Uhhhh,” Ana didn’t really know what to say. It wasn’t her place to explain Hermione’s feelings - and frankly, she didn’t know what Hermione was saying. “I’m going to get a sip of water,” Ana excused herself instead. As she left the room, she heard everyone as they bagered Ron. She heard him explain how they had broken up. Not particularly wanting to listen, Ana walked out the front door. The cool air felt good after being in the house with so many people. 

She breathed in deeply, enjoying the nighttime sounds, that was until the crickets were overpowered by hushed, angry whispers. Ana flattened herself against the Burrow. She didn’t intend to spy, but she didn’t really want the owners of the voices to know she was out there. 

“Why did Harry think this would be a good idea?” 

“Just think about it, ‘Mione. They’re going to be here for who knows how long and they don’t know anyone else. They’ve all fit in with everyone well so far.” Ginny tried to bargain. 

“What do we even know about them? It’s obvious that they’re all smitten with someone.” 

“Common, you knew he would move on at some point. It isn’t Ana’s fault. Did you see how bad she felt when you left?” 

“It hasn’t been that long, Ginny. I thought we agreed to only separate for a while. I want to get my career on the tracks. Besides, the ministry is still looking into how to send them home. He’s just going to get his heart broken, they all are.” 

“‘Mione, it's been almost a year since you split. And I don’t know. It’s been pretty great having them all around. You have to admit that it’s been boring around here since graduating. Just give them all a chance. Give Ana a chance. She is living here.” Ginny continued to explain. 

“I’m just not sure. What if their story isn’t true? They could be misleading the entire ministry!” 

“Come off it, Hermione. What is this actually about?” Ana inched closer to the corner of the house, peeking around to see Hermione’s back. 

“I think I’m still in love with him, Gin. I think I made a mistake.” Ana’s breath hitched upon hearing Hermione’s confession. She slipped back inside, face solemn, trying to decide what her next move should be. Hermione and Ron’s love had literally been written in a book. Did the book really dictate anything that happened in this world? 

“George! Give it back!” Des’ voice shook Ana out of her own head. 

“There you are,” Ron whispered, coming next to her and slipping an arm around her waist. 

“We need to determine if you completed your dare! It’s the only way,” Fred chuckled, taking the letter from George. “Dear Sirius!” Hermione and Ginny also stepped back inside, Hermione’s presence causing Ana to move a few steps away from Ron, earning a quizzical look from Ellie. 

“I’m not kidding. Give it back!” Des yelled again. “I will hex you! I’ve passed the crash course now!” 

“Ohhh, Freddie, this is some good stuff!” George laughed, letter in his hand again. 

“You had to of known that this would happen, Des. It’s your own damn fault for leaving it on the table,” Kiara laughed, leaning against the counter. 

“I was using the loo!” Des threw her arms up in the air, frustrated. 

“You alright?” Ron whispered in Ana’s ear so no one else could hear. She just nodded slightly, lips pressed together tightly. She couldn’t see Ron looking helplessly at Harry, unsure what to do. 

“Fred, I’m serious! Give it here.” Des huffed.

“I’m not Fred, I’m George.” the redhead argued devilishly. 

“YOU ARE FRED! YOU HAVE BOTH EARS!” Des was stuck in an unwinnable game of keep away. She looked at Mel, begging for help with her eyes. 

“This is madness. Just give the letter back, Fred,” Hermione spoke up. Each of the girls was honestly surprised that she spoke in favor of them, well at least one of them. Fred huffed and handed a folded piece of paper to Des, who gratefully shoved it in her pants pocket. 

“Now, where were we?” Neville asked. He was glad that the twins’ game was over. Everyone else shrugged. Mel shook her head and leaned into Draco a bit, Ana sent her a questioning look. A comfortable silence hung in the air as everyone began to feel a bit tired. The quiet was broken by a knock on the door. 

“Am I interrupting something?” Sirius smirked, leaning against the doorway. 

“Ahh, Sirius,” Fred grinned widely, clapping Sirius on the shoulder before walking to his brother, snickering along the way. Des sent him a nasty look before turning back to Sirius. 

“Remus was getting antsy with Kiara and Desiree not being home yet, so I offered to pick them up.” Kiara groaned, rolling her eyes as she pushed herself off the counter. “Looks like we’ll be going now,” she grumbled, pressing a quick kiss to Neville’s cheek, leaving him stunned. 

“We should probably get going too,” Ellie spoke, looking at Mel and Draco. Everyone said their goodbyes and Ana hugged each girl before they left. The twins, Ginny, Harry, and Hermione followed everyone to the fireplace, but Ron beckoned for Ana to hang back. 

“What’s going on?” He tried to look in her eyes, but Ana avoided his. “Why are you pulling away all of a sudden?” 

“You don’t know me, Ron. Okay? Maybe you should just stay with Hermione. I understand if you haven’t moved on,” Ana blurted before covering her mouth with her hand. She really didn’t want to get in the middle of whatever this was. 

“But, I am. Ana, look at me.” Ron pulled her chin up so that she had to look in his eyes. “Hermione and I are over. We just weren’t meant to be. It was probably just a lot for her to see me with someone else, but she will get used to it. I don’t know how long you’re here for, but I want to spend as much time with you as I can.” 

Ana nodded, her chin still in his hand. “Don’t let her get to you,” Ron said. “I’ll try,” she whispered, Hermione’s words still placing doubt in her mind. Satisfied that Ana understood, Ron led her to the living room, saying goodbye to everyone who didn’t live in the Burrow one more time. When the house was finally quiet and the rest of the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione - who was staying with Ginny - went to bed, Ana slouched on the couch; wishing she could be in a house with one of her friends at that moment; knowing as much as she loved being in the Wizarding World, she sort of missed her simple life back home. 

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