#HEX: WELCOME TO THE EMPTY MIND (no spaces)

[habitual-creatures]

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[bonesxbows]

Drowning A Star (Flare Varleon X Reader)

My Masterlist

The techrot has receded in a section of the Mall, exposing an old bar area that the newer members of the Hex had "taken over" for themselves. A space which you gladly take advantage of. Drinks and all. Maybe it gets a bit out of hand, but who can blame you with the amount of pressure you're under? You learn to stay far, far away from the rest of the Hex when you're deep in a bottle, for nothing if their comments and side looks that definitely don't help. Except Flare. Who seems to find a different way to help you deal with your situation without outright telling you "no".

(WARNINGS)

Descriptions of depressing thoughts

Descriptions of stress

Drinking/overdrinking/binge drinking

Descriptions of a drinking problem

Heavy descriptions of guilt

Wanted to try something a little different to work through a personal problem I've been having recently. I have unfortunately also fallen for the unavailable David Bowie frame😭 Can't we all be friends Lizzie? come on!!

Anyyywayyy ty for reading, comments and likes are highly appreciated. Let me know if more Flare content would be welcomed :)

Banners by @strangergraphics

“Pour me ‘nother, Vel.” 

Your words were coming out half-slurred. Alcohol working through your system in tsunami-like waves. Your head nearly lolled to the side as you leaned down onto the bar, arms sprawled out in front of you. Your insides sloshed around, your mind turned into a blissful turret of fuzzy nothingness. Your eyes threatened to close whenever you blinked. 

“You sure that’s a good idea, little buddy?” Velimir asked about as gently as he could. Distracting his hands with wiping down the bar in an attempt to procrastinate on your request. 

You slammed your empty glass down against the wood. “I didn’ ask for your opinion, Vel. Jus’ another drink.” 

He sighed. “Sorry, buddy, but I think you’ve had enough for one night. Can’t give you any more.” 

Irritation flared deep within your nerves, but somehow you still kept your cool. Enough to not start a fight, at least. Velimir is your friend, you reminded yourself, despite your inebriated state. “Fine. I’ll take myself elsewhere, then.”

He knew when it was best to let you go, let you settle down before saying more to make the situation worse. You huffed and hopped down from your stool with more dramatic effort than necessary, stomping out of the bar with your feet practically dragging underneath you. Though you tried to hide it with every step. 

Keys to the storage room had become a nuisance as well as a blessing in disguise. You hated the task of sorting out the team’s inventory and stockpiles, but now it gave you the opportunity of somewhere to grab a bottle of liquor besides the round bar with Velimir’s parental eyes on you. 

Glass and cans clinked together as you carefully roused through the boxes and crates, trying to find something both appealing and not half empty. It took not but a moment before your fingers clasped around the neck of a suitable bottle. One where the cap came cleanly off of when you smacked it against the storage shelves at just the right angle. 

The liquid burned the back of your throat as you stepped out of the storeroom. Though you had long since become numb to the taste after about the fourth round. You took another sip, the glass hitting against your teeth as you tripped over your own feet mere steps from the backroom. “Fuck.” You groaned out, feeling the ache spread through your jaw. You took another sip anyway to dull the growing pain. 

“Plan to drown your sorrows that way, sugar?” 

You heard them before you saw them. They stepped out from the shadows not three seconds later, heels clicking off the Mall’s linoleum and glitter dancing on their skin underneath the haunting lights. 

Your eyes flickered back and forth from the bottle in your hands to the frame standing in front of you. You couldn’t help but huff. “Felt like the right option. The only option. Why? Come to try and cut me off, too?” 

“Not unless you wanted me to.” Their voice was calm, smooth, jokingly sarcastic, with a small smirk growing across their face. It made you want to relax. Urged you into a state of mind that called for peace by their side. Did they always have that presence? Or was it the alcohol talking? 

You dropped your gaze down to the unlabeled drink in your hands. Your fire for arguing died within you along with the blazing words on your tongue. You heard their heels clicking, and soon their pointed protoframe’s feet came into your view. You felt their metallic hand against your face rather than seeing it. Their half-techrot-infused palm warm and smooth against your skin. “Come back to your cradle with me, darling?” They asked you as they gently tilted your face up to meet theirs, your gazes instinctively meeting. “You don’t have to be alone right now.” They added softly. 

You sighed, drooping your head and resting it against their chest with a small thud, too dizzy from the alcohol running through your system to care about all of the sharp angles and points poking off of their frame. “...Okay.” You reluctantly replied. Your grip tightened around the bottle in your hand as they walked you back to the abandoned clothing store, though Flare made no move to ever remove it from your grasp. 

The stairs were the trickiest part, the buzz of the liquor settling into your vision and messing with your balance. But they made sure you never missed a step, holding you upright with metal-tipped hands placed on your hips, guiding you in a semi-straight line. The glow echoing off of the void-touched door almost made you want to throw up. You groaned and screwed your eyes shut, forcing out the moving lights that wanted to burrow into your skull. Your fingers loosened around the glass still in your hands, nearly dropping it as your muddled mind struggled to focus on more than one task at a time, but Flare was quick to swoop in and catch it before it shattered onto the floor. 

You peeked open your eyes once you realized what had happened, your response time noticeably late to the situation. You let out a meek apology, one that they quickly shook off. “It’s alright, angel. Don’t worry about it.”

You gnawed your lip between your teeth as their reply reverberated around in your skull. Their hand found its home in yours as they led you into the backroom. Slowly, watching your every step to make sure you didn’t trip over your own two feet. The bottle was discarded onto a nearby table. You made no move to retrieve it. Somehow, the juice inside was long forgotten to your tongue by now. The thought of it no longer seemed appealing. 

Not when they were here with you. 

You let them shepherd you up the stairs, each step more difficult than the last, but they kept you steady with a burning warm hand placed on the small of your back. You could feel the bright flames pulsing right beneath their metallic fingertips even through your clothing. It would have been an uncomfortable heat if the constant reminder of their presence wasn’t a welcome reminder, currently. 

As soon as the nearest couch came into view your body practically began to act of its own accord, separating you from Flare’s touch as you nearly collapsed head first into the cushions. You heard them chuckle softly behind you as your body collided with the soft surface with a mild thump. 

“Everything hurts, Star.” Your voice was weak. Barely registerable past the muffled noise created by the layer of pillows enveloping your head. But they still heard you. Every melancholy, liquor-laced word made it to their ears. The sweet song of your voice now replaced by a worn-out record. Scratchy. Tired. Skipping pieces of itself as it ran around in dizzying circles. 

“I know the pain, darling.” They told you. You could hear their heels clicking off of the wooden floor. But the aching memories hidden behind their tone was lost on you in your inebriated state. You felt the couch sinking next to you as their calming presence overwhelmed you again, their warm fingers finding their home on your back once more. “Though you know, I never took you for a heavy drinker.”

Whether it was a joke or not, you couldn’t tell. You turned your head to face them. Their red and green hair seemed to glow like firelight underneath the spotlights that lined the ceiling of the backroom; framing their face like a ring of fire halo. “Yeah, well…I didn’t know I was either til recently.” Your tongue slurred your words without you even trying. 

“You wanna talk about it?” They asked. Though it was more of an opened-ended question than a full-out demand. Their hand found your hair, fingertips entangling in the strands gently as your mind tripped over their words. They didn’t rush you in your response. Not once. 

“I…” You sighed, flipped your head to look anywhere but at them. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.” 

“Let your emotions take you to the beginning.” They said simply. You felt tears prick at your eyes from their words alone. The tips of their fingers slowly working a mesmerizing spell into the back of your scalp. So you tried to oblige. As best as your murky mind could, anyway. 

“It’s all so much, Flare.” You dug your blunted nails into the couch underneath your hands. They frowned at the mention of their name. They rarely heard it fall from your lips, the former usually replaced with some form of a nickname, unless it was a serious occurrence. “I just…I can’t handle this all. I can’t. I don’t care what Arthur says. I’m not strong enough. I never was. I don’t know why they trusted me so much. I’m nothing compared to them. I…I’m…” You gulped in air as you struggled to hold back a sob, choking on your own cries. Tears overflowed from your eyes. You attempted to blink them back. Futility. “I don’t belong here. One fuck up and the whole team comes crashing down. Do you know what the pressure of that feels like? ‘Weight of the world’ my ass, understatement of the year.” You brought your fist up to slam it against the couch cushion, but stopped just short before your curled-up fingers could make contact. Unfurling them instead to halfheartedly slap your open-faced palm down onto the soft surface. “I’m an outsider. A drifter.” You scoffed. “The team holds me up on some sort of pedestal, like I have all of my shit together. Little do they know.” 

Flare was silent for far too long, their fingers working through your hair absentmindedly as they absorbed all of your words, piecing together a response. You turned to bury your head against their thigh, metal scraping against your skin as the silence was too much for your now raw heart to bear. Your emotions were floating through the air, swirling in front of your eyes like dark clouds, threatening to reach out and down your throat, twisting what was left of your heart strings and choking you out at any moment. Unless someone reached out and cut the head off of the serpent. 

“You don’t need to belong, angel.” They spoke. You could feel their metal exterior flaring up with heat, radiating off of their body as their emotions intensified. But they kept their cool for your sake. “Who told you to carry all of this on your own, anyway?” They rubbed small comforting circles against your back as they continued. You peeked your head up just enough to look at them with a curious gaze. Their eyes immediately met yours. Bright pools of shining molten yellow, golden sunshines staring into every crack worn into your soul. “Drop a part of it on my shoulders. Let me help you carry this, angel.” You lost their gaze again, focusing on some distant piece of something across the room. Your face felt cold without their ever-present heat. “Don’t let it drive you to drink. I can’t…” They sighed, somehow at a loss for words. But nevertheless, they continued. “I won’t lose you like that.” 

A deep frown was carved into your face. Eyes brimming with tears that threatened to spill again. Their words had torn a crack in the flimsy walls that you had erected. One small fracture that allowed the darkness to creep in and slowly ooze into your thoughts. You let it. 

Their last sentence had struck something inside of you. Pulled at your heartstrings as if their chitin-tipped fingers were plucking at Lizzie. I won’t lose you like that. How much more turmoil were you putting them through, after what happened with their band? Were they worried about losing you, too? Had you made them worry? What had you done?

You let out a choked sob. You didn’t realize it had slipped past your lips until it was too late. Tears were streaming down your face in rivers, leaving salty trails in their wake. As soon as they heard the sound they pulled you up onto their lap. But you refused to look at them. Their hands found your hips, rubbing soothing circles on your skin with the tips of their clawed thumbs. 

“I…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…to…” You sputtered out past your half-silent cries. 

One of their hands shot up to gently grasp your chin. Hot metal against your cheeks that gained your attention and made you take a deep breath in. “Hey,” They said softly. When you still refused to look them in the eye they guided your face until your gazes were forced to meet. A contented smile curled around the colors painted across their face, despite the frown that insisted on being etched into yours. “There’s my pretty star treader.” They cooed as they dragged a finger lovingly down your jaw. 

You huffed under your breath. Your words failing you now that their burning golden eyes were staring into yours. “Talk to me, instead of reaching for a drink. Can you do that? Or try, at least?” They asked you, a slight bargaining tone laid over their words. Soft. Reassuring. A pleading look behind their eyes that begged you to reason with them. In some way. 

All you could do was nod. “...okay. I…I don’t know if I can promise anything, but…okay.” 

They leaned forward just enough to place a barely-there-soft kiss on your lips. A whisper of their makeup left smudged onto your bottom lip, just enough of a smear to tease a smirk from their face. “That’s my angel.” Their claws crawled up the back of your shirt, their fingers drawing calming shapes against your skin near the small of your back. You felt your stressed nerves begin to calm from the soothing heat radiating off of their fingers. Like controlled fire, dancing right underneath your skin, knowing exactly where to go, where to touch, to make your emotions seemingly melt away.

[kookygranger]

Is This Desire?

Firefighter!Steve Harrington x Witch!Reader

Love isn't always enough. Steve disagrees.

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, angst, reader gets in a verbal fight with steve, witchcraft, reader is a town outcast, fem!reader, no upside down/no hawkins au

Word count: 2.4k

Author's note: That’s it for this little series! I’ll still be thinking about lover boy Steve and his witchy gf (me) for the rest of the summer while I down sweet iced tea, so please send through any questions, ideas or PJ Harvey lyrical prompts if you’d like me to turn them into blurbs! 

Series Masterlist

Chapter Five: To Lift Above

It began with small incidents.

A look from strangers, as you’re buying a loaf of bread and that peanut butter Steve likes at the grocery store in town. One that judges without even knowing you, deciding you’ll always be a subject in the rumour mill.

Whispers as you walk past people in town, hand-in-hand with their golden boy.

How could he be with her? He must be under some love spell. She keeps him trapped up in that house. He’s always with her, following her around like a lost puppy. She must’ve hexed him.

Steve Harrington would be better off without that witch.

After your uncle died and you were employed by the library you spent a lot more time in town, but ultimately you still kept mostly to yourself. You may have felt restricted growing up in that house, but it was a safe space – certainly now after you’d transformed it into a proper home and Steve had brought light to the darkest corners of it.

And when the glares and slights got too much, you could retreat. Find solace in your books and soft cushions, in the perfumed garden full of life and forgiving nature.

But Steve, enamoured as he was, would find you time and time again. You didn’t think much of it at first, more than happy to welcome him into your space where he fit in just perfectly – like he always does. But the whispers eventually wore you down.

Maybe he was spending too much time away from his life. Maybe he should be having drinks after work with the rest of his colleagues, playfully pestering Robin at the bar instead of being curled up on the couch eating takeout because you couldn’t handle going out.

Maybe he should be dating a normal girl that wouldn’t turn him into a town pariah. That wouldn’t drag him down to her level.

After Steve’s close call, you watched over him in that hospital bed. The wheels turning all night, small incidents only fuelling the fire.

Steve Harrington would be better off without you.

You knew he wouldn’t back down easy. He would disagree of course, probably even change your mind with that charming smile, so you had to be smarter. You had to take his ability to fight back, fight for you, out of the equation.

Then the opportunity presented itself in the form of a spell.

It had been a couple of weeks since the incident, Steve recovering under your blankets as you played nurse, using his injury as a way to keep some distance. And as much as it pained Steve, he thought that’s all it was. He thought your refusal to turn cuddling into anything more and the faraway look in your eyes that hardly ever met his anymore was a symptom of the scare you’d endured. That you were still spooked and just being overly cautious of his wellbeing.

It wasn’t until he came across an open spell book one day in your library, after hobbling downstairs to find the novel he’d bookmarked while you were out, and noticed the matching ingredients gathered on the desk around it, that he finally realised where your mind had been going.

You call for him an hour later, when you come home and find the bed empty upstairs. He hears your feet padding around the house until your head peaks through the library door and you spot him sitting on the chair at your desk.

“What is this?”

You step into the room. “What do you mean? I thought we had that discussion about my books. I’m a witch remember.”

He hates the bitterness that word seems to hold on your tongue. Like it’s a slur rather than a gift. Like you could ever be anything other than a miracle.

“Please don’t condescend me.”

You falter, a frown creasing your face. “I wasn’t trying to–I’m sorry.” He watches you shrink in on yourself when your eyes flicker between the book and surrounding evidence. “I just think it would be for the best.”

“What exactly?” His hand brings the book closer to him, eyes scanning the contents before landing back on you. “What are you planning to do with a memory-wiping spell, huh?”

He’s angry, and you know he’s already worked it out. But he needs to hear you admit it.

“I was planning to make you forget me, Steve.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, scared to initiate this conversation you were trying desperately to avoid.

His jaw clenches, and when his voice comes out steady, you know he’s trying his hardest to still be soft with you. “Can you please explain to me why on earth you would do that?”

Your eyes squeeze shut at the first sign of burning, head tilting upwards to avoid a spill over your lash line. You take a deep breath in, confessing on the exhale. “You shouldn’t be with me. You deserve someone else, someone–better for you.”

“I disagree.” You hear the chair creak as he stands up and your head snaps down, body instinctively ready to reach out to him in his injured state before you stop it. “That person doesn’t exist. Next.” He gestures for you to continue, so dismissively that your blood begins to boil. “What are your reasons?”

You huff, “My reasons? How about the fact that you can’t walk down the street with me without getting dirty looks! How about when you miss out on spending time with your friends from work or going out with Robin because you’re stuck here hiding with me?”

“Stuck? How am I stuck? You realise I can make my own decisions, right? That I choose to be here with you because I want to. It is the best part of my day. Coming home to you. Waking up with you beside me. I don’t give a shit, what any of those small-minded people think.” His arms gesticulate so passionately you’d be concerned about his injured rib if you weren’t so preoccupied with getting your own point across.

“It isn’t enough.”

Steve’s shoulders deflate, he could feel his heart shattering. “What do you mean?”

“You’re giving up too much Steve.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think I am. Besides, even if I was, I’d give up everything for you. I love you.”

You bite your lip, tears finally spilling over, hot on your flushed cheeks. “You think this is love?”

He frowns, “What else could it be?”

“Lust. Desire.”

He scoffs, “I know you don’t believe that. You’re just scared.”

You shrug, taking a step closer to him. “Maybe I am. Shouldn’t that mean something?”

“Yeah, it means that this is real.” He mirrors you with a step forward.

“Okay, then. What if it is love–”

“If?” He scoffs again, hands finding his hips in defence.

“Is love really enough? It can’t always be.”

“What else is there too it?”

“Many things Steve.” You’re almost whining, begging him to see your point of view.

“I don’t get it. Of course it’s enough. There’s no point in existing without you.” He steps closer again, bridging the gap with a gentle but grounding hand on your arm.

“You did before.”

“No,” he shakes his head, “It was nothing like this. And it wouldn’t ever be the same without you.” His free hand reaches up to wipe the tears off your face. “You’re scared I get it.”

You sniffle as you lean into his touch. “Aren’t you?”

“I was to begin with. I never knew I could love so intensely, and it scared me. The thought of messing this up,” he shakes his head eyes burrowing into yours, a crease in between his brows, “but not having you at all is a way worse fate. I’m standing here because I love you, and nothing can take that away. Not even your spell. You can’t make me forget how I feel.”

You laugh wetly, softening as you turn pliable under his touch. “Are you trying to undermine my magic Steve Harrington?”

He embraces you fully for the first time in weeks, nuzzling into your hair and kissing the side of your head. “I’m just tryna’ say you can’t control how other people feel. And you sure as hell can’t keep me away.”

Your arms reach around his torso and you cry into the warmth that is him.

“Steve.”

He grips you a little tighter, “I love you.”

You bury your face in his neck, voice muffled but full of conviction. “I love you too.”

***

Halloween 1993

The crinkling of plastic is what alerts you to his presence. He stops mid-chew when your head snaps up from the paper bag you were grabbing another packet from, hand literally caught in the candy jar.

“Steve!”

“It was just one.” He defends through a mouthful of chocolate, backing away from the plastic bowl of sugary treats. You walk over with a bag of lollipops and he smirks, leaning on the kitchen counter. “I think you’ve probably got enough to treat the whole town baby.”

You sigh, and pop the plastic bag in your hands, tipping its contents into another bowl. “I just don’t want to run out.” You mumble as you crinkle the empty packet in your hand before throwing it in the trash, but Steve still hears it. “Don’t need to give them any more ammunition to the egg the house.”

Steve frowns and you offer him a strawberry lollipop from the bowl before he has a chance to say anything. He grins, unwrapping the clear plastic over the candy quickly, smile never leaving his face as he sucks on his prize. An exaggerated pop and a corny line leaving him, “Mmm, almost as sweet as you.” Before he kisses your shoulder.

“Steve.”

He chuckles as you look away from him, burning up under his attention, squeezing your hip. “What? Where’s the lie?” Another kiss to your cheek, sugary sweet and you’re giggling like a child with a bag full of candy.

You’d dressed in your witchiest attire for the first Halloween without your uncle in this house. The first Halloween with Steve in it.

You wanted to let the people of this town see that there was nothing scary lurking in between the lavender and chamomile flowers. Just the tacky decorations you’d spent half a day putting up. You’d even dusted off an old, pointed hat you found in the attic belonging to one of your ancestors. Steve couldn’t hide his surprise when you’d come downstairs looking like a character from a children’s book. “Thought I’d get in on the joke.”

As the evening bleeds into night, and you still haven’t been visited by a single one of the children you can hear screaming and laughing beyond your garden gate, your hope of them taking your olive branch deflates.

You take your hat off, quickly wiping a tear away as you move inside and Steve’s heart breaks. Why won’t they give you a fucking chance? They don’t deserve you.

He bounds down the street, imaginary chain mail and armour glinting under the setting sun and finds some familiar faces in the fathers on his crew. He’s clapped on the back and welcomed into their circle, one of the older men asking the cause of the frown etched on his defiant face.

“It’s my girl, she’s a little upset that no one’s stopped by to trick or treat. I know it’s out of the way, but she’s done up the whole front of the house and it looks awesome. Even got full-sized candy bars, which I told her was too much.” He waves in the direction of your house.

“Full-sized candy?” A child dressed in a pirate costume runs up to the group. “Dad, can we go there?”

“Of course. Let’s go to Steve’s.”

When the door thuds shut behind Steve you don’t look up from your position on the couch, instead sinking in further and soaking up any stray tears with the sleeve of your dress.

“Baby, where’d the candy go?”

“It’s in the kitchen. Help yourself.” Your voice is small compared to Steve’s boisterous shout as he locates the goods.

“Thought you said I couldn’t have any.”

You shrug even though he can’t see it, “S’not like we need it.”

The doorbell chimes as he makes his way back through the house, grinning. “I don’t know about that.”

You shake your head, “It’s probably just some kids daring each other to ring the door.”

Steve thinks you look a lot like the little girl in the window as you sit there hugging your knees, his mind flashing back to the bats and screams and your warm presence. He thanks whatever higher power might’ve brought him to your house that night, even if it was just Tommy Hagan’s misguided machismo.

His voice is gentle, “Why don’t you come help me get the door.”

“Steve–“

“Baby, c’mon. Just trust me.”

You huff because you know you’ll never not trust that smile and follow him to the front door. When it creaks open to a chorus of high-pitched trick or treats, it takes you a second to register what’s happening. You blink when a little girl tells you she likes your costume, taking in the group of children on your doorstep with open arms holding out candy-filled bags and the parents giving Steve a wave from the bottom of the porch steps. A smile takes hold of your face, one of the brightest Steve has ever had the privilege of witnessing and you spring into action. You dish out handfuls of candy to each child, who squeals out delighted thanks and compliment every one of them on their costume.

Steve holds the bowl for you, rubbing a soothing hand up and down your back the whole time until the children bound back down the front steps and he waves to their parents. An older gentleman smiles your way and thanks you and you return the sentiment as they all head off back down the garden path.

When the door closes on their excited chatter, you pull Steve in by his shirt collar for a deep kiss. His free hand resting on your waist when you lean back and whisper.

“Thank you.”

He’s dusted pink like it’s the first time your lips have ever met, his hand reaches up to your face, thumb swiping across your cheek that was sticky with tears just moments ago.

“I love you.”

[moonlightspencie]

First ever request on Tumblr but Can you do one where like the reader is a hunter as well but she doesn’t make that obvious so when Dean keeps asking her questions she threatens to stab him and he says “ You’re not really gonna shank me, are you ?”

oooh a first request?!? so freaking exciting. hopefully this lives up to expectations in any way :)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!Reader (kinda hehe)

Warnings: talks of death (aligning with usual supernatural stuff), this is a comedy to be honest, [“what do you have?” “a knife!!!” “no!!!!”]

send requests here!

—————

Dean walked into the near-empty bar, ducking under the tape at the door. He looked around to see one woman standing near the body, and her full attention now seemed to be on him. She looked official.

“Hey,” Dean started. “I’m, uh, Agent Plant. You are?”

“Agent Jones,” she stated curtly.

“I thought this was a closed scene? Cops outside put up a fight when I tried getting in.”

“Special privilege.”

“Anything new?” he asked, walking closer to her.

“Not so far.”

“You mind if I check around the space? See if any, uh…”

“Go for it.”

He nodded, looking at the bar first. It seemed like it was going to be a witch situation, so he started looking for hex bags. He was near the end when he turned back to her as she examined the body.

“Has anything strange been found? Any weird coins or…?” he trailed, watching her face.

She narrowed her eyes. “No.”

“No small bags or anything hidden around the room?”

She stared at him for a moment from where she was crouched.

“What would be in these bags if they were found?”

“Uh, you know… There’s been some scenes that could be connected. They had small animal bones, some other weird—”

“Alright,” she mumbled, standing abruptly. She pushed him into the wall, a hand on the handle of her knife, “How the hell do you know any of this?”

“I- I don’t…” he started with wide eyes.

She pulled the blade. “You a witch?”

“No! No, I’m not a—” he stumbled over words as his eyes widened further upon seeing the knife. “Uh, you’re not really gonna shank me, are you?”

“How do you know so much about what’s happening here?”

“I’m trying to help,” he said, raising his hands in surrender.

“Help how?”

“I’m a hunter!”

She paused. “What’s your name?”

“Winchester. Dean Winchester.”

Realization dawned on her face as she withdrew her knife. She watched him closely, not moving. As she opened her mouth to speak, an even taller man walked into the room.

“Is everything good here?” he asked, looking between the other two.

“I assume you’re Sam,” she said quietly.

“Yeah.”

She nodded. “Well, damn.”

Dean smirked as she lowered her arm from where it rested against his throat.

“If you wanted me against the wall, you really could’ve just asked, sweetheart.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I won’t hesitate to stab you next time you say something like that.”

She looked between them, annoyance still thrumming in her veins. She huffed a sigh as she sheathed her blade again.

“It is a witch. I just don’t know how they killed this particular person,” she said. “You’re welcome to help me, but keep in mind this was my case first. I’ll be outside.”

They watched as she left, mumbling under her breath about the “freaking Winchesters” showing up to her case. The boys looked at each other as she walked out the door.

“That was kinda hot,” Dean said finally, letting out half a laugh.

First Sam laughed. Then, upon realizing they were on a literal witch-hunt, he serioused.

—————

dean winchester taglist:

@deanwithscissors @hyunjaebaby @simp4olderm3n

[kohanayaki]

.:Time and Time Again:. (Marauders Era x Reader) Ch 4

Snape looks back on your days at Hogwarts, how your friendship came to be, and how it came to end.

LINKS:   CH 1   CH 2    CH 3   CH 4  CH 5   CH 6   CH 7   CH 8

___________________________________________________________

Ch 4  .:Budding Feelings and the Beginning of the End:.

Severus Snape had made a lot of mistakes in his life, and seeing you again after all these years was forcing him to relive every single one of them.

He stared blankly at the wall in front of him, shrouded in the darkness and grim silence of his empty house. He never thought he'd see you again, and certainly not under these circumstances. When he'd laid his eyes on you in the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld place he couldn't believe it. He, much like the rest of the Order (except for Molly, apparently) assumed you wouldn't be at these meetings any longer. After James and Lily were murdered and Sirius was thrown into Azkaban, you'd left London and headed to New York under the Ministry's alliance with MACUSA, hoping to help bridge the gap between muggle-borns and purebloods in America. He knew you had been back to meet Harry a handful of times, but he also knew that being in this city brought up painful memories for you, so he was as stunned as anyone else to see you standing there in the doorway, greeting them as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

He could see that traveling had been good for you. He'd heard through the Hogwarts circuit that you were back on auror duty across the world, taking special assignments from Dumbledore and the Minister for Magic himself. You seemed like you were doing better, but when you turned to smile at him he could see the hesitation and the sadness that brewed behind your eyes, likely his doing.

He desperately wanted things to go back to what they were before—

Before he'd ruined it. . .

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   1974  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Alright students,” Professor Slughorn said as everyone finished filing inside the room, “today we're going to be pairing off into new partners for the upcoming project.”

Groans and nervous chatter flooded the sound space immediately, no one very thrilled with having to work with someone new out of their control. You cast a glance over to Lily who looked equally displeased. You liked being her partner, you both excelled at the subject and worked really well together.

“Yes, yes, I know,” Slughorn said, waving the complaints off, “However, I am going to be giving you the luxury of choosing your own partners this time, but everyone—”

The energy in the room instantly shifted, everyone shoving around people to get to their friends.

“—keep in mind, if I see any slacking off or trouble brewing in these new partnerships I will not hesitate to rearrange them!”

Slughorns's words were completely lost among the commotion as people paired off before you could even get your bearings. Snape stalled as he stared at you from across the room; Lily had already been dragged away by Mary, and his brain was trying to work out how to ask you to be his partner.

Suddenly an arm was slung over your shoulder and you turned towards the new presence in surprise. You looked up to see Evan Rosier, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows and his Slytherin tie loose around his neck.

Oh, sod it, Snape cursed internally. He was too late.

“Wanna partner up?” Rosier asked, a crooked grin gracing his chiseled features, “It'd be my honor to have the smartest Potions partner in class, not to mention the most attractive.”

You rolled your eyes at the praise. Evan was your friend, and he was nice to look at, but if he thought that you would be willing to do all the work for the both of you in exchange for some cheap compliments, then he had another thing coming. You locked eyes with Snape from across the room

“It would be your honor,” you smirked up at Rosier, “but I already have a partner, sorry.”

It took Snape a few seconds to realize what you were doing, but once he snapped out of it he made his way towards you. You almost chuckled at how robotic he looked as he did, clearly shocked.

Rosier looked between the two of you and rolled his eyes.

“Suit yourself, sweetheart,” he said, letting you go and pushing you lightly in Snape's direction, “but if you change your mind, you know where to find me.” He sent a wink your way that left Snape's blood inexplicably boiling,

“Thanks for that,” you grinned, “and just so you know, I would have chosen you even if he didn't come up to me, so don't get all pouty about it, okay?”

Severus just looked at you blankly. Even after four years it was frightening how well you were able to read him; for a moment he was scared that he'd accidentally projected his thoughts to you, but he wasn't anywhere near that level of legillemency yet. He wanted to say something that had some semblance of gratitude but settled on:

“Whatever.”

To which you just laughed and dragged him to your now shared desk.

You really were something else.

“Now then,” Professor Slughorn addressed the room, “today we will be beginning the new unit on toxic concoctions, starting with the Draught of Living Death. If you would all turn to page ten of your books, we will get started presently.”

You turned open your book and Severus did the same. As he did, you noticed that nearly every page was covered in small notes littering the margins, with some of the instructions circled, crossed out, or modified. You were hardly surprised, Snape had been pouring over this book since last year when he'd stolen it from a fifth year Slytherin who'd been speaking poorly of you (that last part you were unaware of).

You turned your attention to the directions, reaching over to preheat the burner so your cauldron would be hot enough by the time you began. However, as soon as you lit the flame with the tip of your wand, your cauldron shot up into the air, hitting the ceiling with a loud BANG! before crashing down back onto your table, breaking several of the glass instruments that were settled there.

Your face burned embarrassment as everyone in the room turned to look at you in shock.

“Snape, (L/n),” Slughorn said, surprised, “whatever happened?”

“I. . .” you began, not knowing what to say, “I don't know, I'm sorry, Professor.”

“Quite all right,” he said uncertainly, restoring your table and equipment with a wave of his wand, “just be sure whatever that was doesn't happen again.”

“Of course,” you mumbled, trying to ignore the snickering around you. If you noticed the way that it stopped as soon as Snape sent a deathly glare at the culprits, you didn't show it. You reached down to grab your cauldron, noticing that the bottom was dusted in some sort of orange powder. As you turned it over, a note fell out of it.

You're welcome, (L/n). Sorry I couldn't be there for the fireworks~

J.P.

“That sneaky little, ugh,” you crumpled the note, growling in frustration.

“What is it?” Severus asked, peering over your shoulder to glance at the paper. However, as soon as you tried to show it to him it vanished in your hands in a wisp of glowing embers. You turned to look at Severus who was still staring at you expectantly.

“It was Potter,” you rolled your eyes.

Anger flashed in Severus' eyes before confusion replaced it momentarily.

“But that was your cauldron, not mine. Why would Potter want to mess with you?”

And now the anger was back again. Snape was used to Potter’s crew targeting him; bullying and suffering through minor hexes had become an everyday occurrence, but when he imagined them doing anything to you it was enough to make him see red.

“Ah, well. . .” you trailed off, deciding that telling him you'd yelled at the group of Gryffindors: 'if you jerks want to have a go at Severus you're gonna have to get through me first!' was a bad idea.

“I sort of, maybe, kind of. . . started it?” you said. Severus raised a brow at you. “Look, Potter was asking for it, okay? It was about time someone messed with him for a change. And besides, it was hilarious, even Lily got a kick out of watching that broom hit him in the head.”

Severus chuckled at that, a hint of pride welling in his chest at yours and Lily's shared distaste for the Potter boy.

“But that was the last straw,” you declared, grabbing a Sopophorus bean from the bowl in front of you and a knife to cut it as per the instructions, “I'm sick and tired of him acting like he's better than everyone else,” you said, stabbing down with your knife for emphasis. The Sopophorus bean jumped as you did, sliding out from under your blade and skidding across your cutting board. You huffed as you grabbed it again, placing it back down and holding it in place. “And he walks around with that little posse of his like he runs this school!” You brought your knife down again, moving your fingers at the last second, but the bean still managed to slip away, trying to bounce back into the bowl.

“This means war!” you seethed, grabbing the runaway legume again, now at your wit's end, and crushing it in your fist. It stopped jumping as the beet-red juice of the plant dripped down your arm, and Severus looked at you with a small smirk on his face.

“Well, that's one way to do it,” he said.

“Shove off,” you said playfully, throwing the bean in his direction. He dodged it easily, his smile growing.

“No, really,” he said, almost more to himself than you as he scribbled out the word 'cut' and replaced it with 'crush' in his notebook, “you might be better at this than you let on.”

You blushed at the unexpected compliment, backhanded as it was.

“Excuse you, I happen to be fantastic at Potions,” you said, grabbing another bean and avoiding his gaze.

“Right, that's why your cauldron exploded.”

“That was sabotage,” you shot back.

“I was talking about last week,” Severus said cheekily, taking in your flustered expression.

You both went back to your ingredients, eventually discovering that crushing the beans with the flat of a knife was the best way to extract the juice without them jumping. You watched Severus out of the corner of your eye as he measured out the African Sea water, adding it gradually as he stirred the mixture counter-clockwise. The elixir turned a bright blue color, shimmering as if light were being reflected off of it. He continued on with the formula, snapping off a few fluxweed sprigs before adding them and lowering the heat with his wand, hardly looking at the instructions at all.

You wondered where this newfound confidence had come from. Severus was usually so rigid and withdrawn, but right now he looked more at ease than you had ever seen him. A spark was present in his eyes as he worked that you rarely ever saw, and it made you smile despite yourself.

The rest of your potion making process went on without a hitch, and you silently applauded yourself as you watched the other students around you struggle to get their concoctions together. Even Lily seemed to be having trouble, though Mary wasn't really helping other than offering moral support.

You turned back to focus on your own potion, stirring it with the ladle and mesmerized by the way it began to turn a deep plum color. Meanwhile, Severus was cleaning up your shared station, looking over at the brew. His brows furrowed as he examined it.

“Just stir it a bit more,” he said, coming up behind you and placing his hand on top of yours, “the color is still off.”

Your face burned at the unexpected contact; Snape certainly wasn't a touchy person, so the act caught you completely off guard, though you'd be lying if you said you didn't like it. Severus nearly jumped backwards, absolutely mortified when he realized what he was doing. It was him micromanaging more than anything; he was so focused on getting the potion right he didn't even notice he was moving his own body as he gave you the instruction.

“Sorry,” he said, feeling quite possibly the lamest he'd ever felt in his life.

“It's okay,” you said, biting the inside of your lip nervously and continuing to stir like he said. Your light response allowed Snape to relax, his shoulders lowering a full three inches. He'd been certain you would have reacted to his mistake with disgust or repulsion, but you didn't. What did that mean? You were utterly confusing. Despite how well you could read him, Severus was unable to get a read on you at all. If he had been, he would have noticed the tiny smile on your face as you stirred, silently wishing his hand were back on yours.

You and Snape stood at attention as Slughorn peered down at your potion, looking mildly impressed. He reached into his robes, procuring an oak leaf from who knows where, and dropped it into your cauldron. The leaf floated on top of the liquid for just a moment before its edges began to burn. It furled from the unseen heat, folding in on itself and disappearing into the inky depths of the liquid. Slughorn's expression lit up, his impression no longer mild.

“Merlin's beard, it's perfect!” he exclaimed, “in all my years I've never seen a pair recreate this potion exactly as you two have done today.”

You beamed at the praise, your smile only widening as you saw your emotions mirrored in Severus' face, albeit more subtly.

Over the course of your fourth year, you and Snape continued to excel in Potions, receiving much praise from Professor Slughorn and a lot of glares from your fellow students. However, there was something else that continued that year, and that was your increasing interactions with James Potter.

“I just don't get why you even bother with him,” Snape had said to you one day while you were in Potions. Your prank war with James was at its peak, and you were sidetracked that day in class coming up with new ideas to get back at him.

“It's a full on battle now, Sev,” you said, “I can't back down! Now, for my next one I was thinking something along the lines of a callback to one of his earlier stunts. Maybe get him back for tampering with my cauldron at the beginning the year.”

“(Y/n)—”

“I've got a few friends in Gryffindor, and apparently he talks about his prank plans way too loudly in the common room, so I have a head start on this one. They mentioned something about my shampoo—“

“(Y/n),” Severus stressed, finally catching your attention. You looked up at him, embarrassed at you rambling. “Why do you keep doing this?” he asked, “he's just baiting you. You know that.”

“It keeps them from doing anything that targets you, right?” you questioned back.

Severus didn't know what to say at that. It was true, ever since you had declared war on James, he and his stupid friends hadn't really bothered with him at all. Were you doing this for him? He didn't know what to do with the thought.

You were, of course, but you thought it better not to mention that in the last few months this had been going on, you'd also begun to find the rivalry and banter between you and James fun.

“Gather 'round students, gather 'round!” Slughorn beckoned the class over, disrupting your train of thought and putting an end to your conversation, “now, would anyone like to identify the potion in this cauldron here?” He gestured to a shockingly pink liquid that seemed to swirl on its own. Plum and periwinkle smoke wafted through the air above it in delicate spirals.

“That's Amortentia,” Lily said, “it's a love potion that's supposed to smell different to everyone depending on what scents attract them.”

“Right you are, Miss Evans,” Slughorn said proudly, “would you like to tell us what you smell?”

“Cinnamon,” she started slowly, “warm spices, butterbeer, sandalwood. . .” her cheeks reddened significantly, as if she'd made some sort of realization. “Th-that's all.” You stared at her quizzically but she just shook her head. You'd have to ask her about this later. . .

“(L/n),” Slughorn said, “would you be so kind as to do the same?”

“Sure,” you said, stepping up to the cauldron. It was captivating, almost drawing you in physically. “Wild lavender,” you said, smiling, your mother had a garden full of them when you were growing up, “rain when it hits the pavement, and old leather books.” Scents you wouldn't realize until much later all correlated with a certain person.

“Very different scents for very different people,” Professor Slughorn said, “thank you for demonstrating, you two. Now, we will not be brewing this potion today for obvious reasons. It is incredibly dangerous, capable of creating not true love, but unhinged obsession. What we will be doing, however, is studying its effects. . .”

“Strongest love potion in the world, huh?” Evan suddenly appeared at your side, “funny, I could have sworn it smelled just like you, although you wouldn't need a potion to reign me in~”

“Put a sock in it, Rosier,” you said, shoving him away playfully.

“Aw, come on, just one date wouldn't hurt,” he said, “I'm pulling out all my best lines here!”

“That's the best you've got?”

“Ouch.”

Snape couldn't help but glare at the Slytherin boy, not liking how close he was to you. Nice as he seemed, Snape knew how he could really be. He didn't think you'd be such good friends with Rosier if you knew he was knee deep in the dark arts as soon as the sun set on the castle. Then again, Severus wasn't one to talk.

Over the course of the year he noticed that you only grew closer to James, something that bothered him immensely. He was grateful that you had gotten his bullying to stop, but he hated that the way you had gone about it was to turn Potter into a friend. . .

“Merlin, he keeps looking over at you, Lils,” you said.

Lily and Severus looked over to where James sat with Sirius, Remus, and Peter in their corner table as usual. Somehow they always managed to be at The Three Broomsticks at the exact same time as your trio, almost as if they knew you were there. James Potter was, in fact, looking towards your table, until your friends not-so-discreetly turned to look at him and he diverted his gaze elsewhere.

“Idiot,” you rolled your eyes as you took another sip of your butterbeer.

Lily looked between you and James' table for a moment before turning back to you.

“Actually, (Y/n), he's staring at you.”

You looked at her like she'd grown a second head but then began to laugh.

“Is he? Jeeze, what a creep,” you said, but with affection in your voice that wasn't missed by Severus, “it's probably because I saved his ass the other day and he's still reeling from it.”

“Oh,” she said, a hint of what you swore was relief in her tone until she realized what you said, “Wait, you what?”

“Sirius and I were talking in the forest and we got ambushed by Malfoy's motley crew,” you said, “and Potter showed up because of course he did. It was just a little duel, no big deal.”

“What?!” Lily said, concern written all over her face, “they fancy the dark arts, (Y/n), you could have been hurt!”

Severus stared into his drink, unable to look at either of you.

“I'm fine, Lils,” you insisted, “and trust me, I don't think Malfoy's going to be bothering anyone anymore. Just show him a picture of a squid and he'll probably screech like a banshee.”

Lily laughed along with you, partially in confusion, until the first part of your statement hit her with a slight delay.

“Hold on, you were in the forest with Black? And did you just call him Sirius?” she asked, her teasing making your face flush.

“We just. . . figured some stuff out. . . It was nothing like what you're thinking, so drop it,” you grumbled, taking another drink to hide your embarrassed face.

“Whatever you say, (Y/n),” Lily sang, taking a sip of her own drink.

Severus felt jealousy bubble up in him like a disease. He cast his gaze upwards, his eyes locking momentarily with James'. His arch rival rose a cocky brow at him, his gaze unmistakably shifting to you and Lily before staring Snape down again. Severus took a sharp breath to steel himself, that feeling in the pit of his stomach never really going away.

That was the beginning of the end.

Read chapter 5 here!

Taglist:  @sleep-i-ness, @blackpinkdolan, @parker-natasha, @ornella0910 @undertaker1827 @thatwierdo-koemi @nxstalgicnxbxdy

[emeraldrosequartz]

Chapter 41 of "Pursuit of a Simple Life" has just been posted to AO3!

Yup...it's Loki's last day working for SHIELD. Nothing could possibly go wrong.

Here's your excerpt:

It was a lovely morning - Gemma and Dave ate their breakfast leisurely, finding every opportunity to touch each other until Dave finally had to pry himself out of her arms to leave for his last day of work. Gemma kissed him goodbye passionately, then set about her daily tasks, excited for the evening that would follow.

She spent her day listening to music, organizing, tidying up every toom, and working on her videos, enjoying the solitude she had become so familiar with. She had insisted they not hire help to clean the house - she took pride in maintaining the home for them, and loved putting her energy into making it the most comfortable, welcoming space in the world. Besides, out here in the suburbs… there wasn't much else to do. She found she didn't really like the locals (too many overinvolved middle-aged wives/mothers ensuring their perfect little Stepford community remained that way), and she had never been much of a social butterfly anyway. She much preferred to visit Naina occasionally and enjoy some time in the city, then focus on her own creative endeavors and nesting into their home, preparing for the children she hoped would be coming soon.

Which was why, when around 5pm she got the call from the IVF clinic, her heart jumped into her throat.

Oh please...please please please let it be happening, please please please please...

"Hello, Mrs. Johnson. This is Dr. Shroff, Dr. Cho's assistant. Unfortunately, I have bad news..."

--Six hours later--

The wine bottle was empty.

Again...

Gemma waited and waited for Dave to return. She didn't want to call him, she wanted to talk to him in person. But...it was now dark out, and as the clock passed 10:00PM she knew he was doing it...AGAIN. On his last day.

With a sloppy, shuddering sigh, she picked up her phone and dialed his number.

Loki gritted his teeth, using both his physical energy and his seidr to block the attacks from the entity.

Beside him, Thor, Wanda and Strange were struggling as well. The creature was gigantic, with several agile appendages. Not only that, it was smart and resilient as well, able to fight off their attacks.

"Do you think it's wielding magic of some kind?" Thor yelled, striking it with lightning. The entity roared in response, as one of its arms got burnt off.

They had worked all day to trace this beast to the subterranean crystal caves of New Mexico. It was most certainly not from Midgard, and something about it was raising Loki's hackles.

"Yes! Its magical signature is very similar to some creatures I encountered after..." Loki paused, taking a deep breath as he revisited that time in his life. "After my fall!"

"Fall from where?" Wanda asked, blasting the creature with balls of her signature red energy.

"Nevermind!" Loki pulled more seidr from his reserves and tried to put up a binding spell around the arms of the entity, noticing that it was using spells that required physical movements for activation.

"Help me bind him! Wanda, try to penetrate his mind if you can!"

"I need to get close!" she replied, levitating herself to a crystal pillar stuck in the cave wall. "Give your spell a shot, and I'll try my hex on him!"

Suddenly, Loki's phone began to ring.

"Fuck!" he muttered to himself as all of his team members looked at him askance.

"His wife," Thor explained with a laugh, just as he tried to jump over the creature's flailing appendages. The creature slapped him away like a fly, throwing him against a wall, not that it affected Thor in the least. He simply picked himself up and prepared for another lightning strike.

The phone kept ringing...

Loki quickly used the bluetooth device to accept the call, just as his spell to bind the creature took hold.

[[READ MORE HERE]]

@caffiend-queen @shiningloki @talklokitome @nildespirandum @archy3001 @myoxisbroken​ @dangertoozmanykids101​ @imnotrevealingmyname @ohhhmyloki @grufflepuff-writes-stuff @mastreworld @alexakeyloveloki​ @realityhelixwrites @wrathkitty @devilish–doll @starrynight35 @cursedcursingviking​ @baby-bunting @bethbabybaby @arch-venus25​ @mareebird​ @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @shiningloki @mooncat163

[lizzieehearts]

i know it's late, but here's the discord angst fic myself and @calypsothenerd wrote a while back for daring day. enjoy!

"Daring, you need to look presentable" his father would say

"You are the face of this family Daring, straighten your tie" his mother would say

It was always the same. He was the future face of the charming dynasty, and needed to look like it. He was destined to be apple's prince, after all

But he was sick of this, he was sick of being told to ‘walk upright’ to ‘always smile’ to ‘fix his hair’ why couldn’t he be a normal teenager without worrying about how to look and how to act on every waking minute? He just wanted a normal life, but he knew that shouldn’t happen

He wanted a break. He wanted to be free. He wanted to rebel, though he knew if he did his family would disown him. That was scarier than all this, the fact that if he didn't keep up this charade, his family would leave him. Without this charade, he was worthless, to them at least

So he decided, one thing: he would go for the person that cared the most to try and get himself out of this situation, he just couldn’t take this anymore, so he finally got the courage and knocked on her door, Rosabella came out and immediately frowned because of the sad look on his face

"Daring, what's wrong?" she asked

"Everything" he answered, sliding past her into the empty dorm

She sat down on her bed, tapping the space beside her, telling him to sit. He lay down, his head in her lap

"Show me your demons and ill show you mine" she murmured, nodding at him to begin talking

“It’s my family, I’m supposed to be the perfect child, to be the image of the family, and it sucks, I can’t do normal teenager things, I can’t choose how I want to dress or style my hear, I feel like I’m in cage in a hexing zoo, Bella, I don’t know what to do anymore” he looked up at her, tears almost spilling over the surface

"What about you? What's your deal?" he asked, gulping quickly

"My mom's gone and my dad blames me for it. Treated me like shit because of it. still does. That's why I love it here so much. It's freedom for me, the one place he can't control me" now it was the princess blinking back tears, as she shared her story

“That’s terrible Rosa, I have no idea, but I wish I had your bravery to stand up against my parents”

she couldn't help but scoff.

"When I go home, I'm terrified. Of everything, Everyone. Because all it takes is one mistake and im done for. That isn't bravery, I can assure you that"

"What about when we saved Ever After from the Snow King? What about you sticking by my side when no one else would, after dragon games? What about all that?" Daring could handle negativity directed at himself, but Rosabella? Unacceptable

"All of that we did together, Dare"

At her words, the two of them looked at each other having the same idea

what if we stand up to our parents together?

“Yes Daring, I see you’re finally using that big head of yours for something” she jokes as she playfully nudges him

"But when? When are we both gonna see our parents again, at the same time?" he asked

"Winter break is coming up, you could come over to mine for the holidays?" she offered, implying that she wouldn't be able to go to his

“Sure, I guess, but why can’t you come to mine?”

Rosa took a deep breath

"Before coming to this school, I had never left my castle. Ever. Not even to see family. I hadn't met Briar, and I still haven't met her brothers or parents. The furthest I had gone was midway through the woods behind the castle, that was it. I'd hardly be able to spend the holidays at your's, even with him coming too" she sighed

“But do you think he’d let me go to yours?”

"I'm not sure, but it's more likely"

                       -  -  -

After two weeks, many a night spent yelling down a phone, and nights plagued with terrors refusing to subside, winter break and it was official: Daring, the twins and their parents would be spending the holidays at the Beauty's

- - -

The final day before the winter break Rosabella and Daring were hanging out “You still sure about this?” The beauty princess asks

"As sure as I'll ever be" was her prince's response,"after all, we've come this far"

“Let’s do this” she kisses his cheek and goes back to her room to pack

Once the four of them had gotten packed, Rosabella drove herself and the three Charmings to her childhood home, Beauty Castle, as the siblings' parents wouldn't be there until the day after. It was really something, walls of ivory, turrets wrapped in ivy, flowers at every turn. To the girl who had spent her entire childhood here, however, just the sight of it was enough to get her heart pounding and blood boiling. Daring, sensing her tension, immediately grabbed her hand, as the four of them walked through the gates

Darling, being oblivious of what was happening inside her friend’s mind commented “Wow Rosie, your house is amazing”

"Thanks. Your's probably is too" the princess responded, trying to breathe at a normal rate

"Yeah, but it's nothing compared to this" Dexter said, just as oblivious to the princess' discomfort as his sister, "I don't think I'd want to leave"

Daring, noticing the distress on the princess’s face, decided to change the subject “So, Darls, where did mom say we were going this time?”

"I think she said the dining hall" Darling responded

"Great. Let's go!" Rosabella said, a little too enthusiastically, as she led them through her childhood home

They then proceeded to follow Rosabella to the dining hall, where everything was ready for them

"Dad likes to sit at the head of the table, and to have me in his sight, so I'll sit at the opposite end, Dare, you and Dar can sit opposite each other nearest to me, and Dex you can sit beside Dare" Rosabella immediately said as they entered, knowing that if Daring was to get in a fight with his parents, having them beside him was not a good idea

“Yeah, Bell, you’re right” he then sits beside her, right next to the head of the table

Rosabella gave him a smile as his siblings sat down, but that went away as an inescapable presence entered the room

"Dad"

“Hello Sir” The oldest prince said, trying to be kind, despite already having seen the wounds he put on his daughter’s body

"Get away from my daughter. You sit there" he pointed to the same place at the other end of the table, beside where Rosa said he would be sitting.

Daring begrudgingly obliged, not wanting to cause any trouble, but still wanting to protect his princess.

“Pardon me sir, but I think this sitting arrangement is for the best” the prince said in the most educated way possible.

"Stop trying to be smart with me. Either you move or I make you" the stare given to the prince by the beast could've frozen over the room, as it did Daring, before he squeezed his girlfriend's hand and moved.

"Good" the Beast said, nodding and moving to his seat.

The princess glared at her boyfriend like ‘what was that’

"Rosabella! Stop staring like that" the beast snapped, making the princess jump and quietly apologise.

it was then that there was a knock on the door, one that could only be the Charming parents.

“It’s open!” The beast yelled aggressively, clearly already regretting allowing visitors.

Mr and Mrs Charming entered the dining room, and sat beside the twins without a word, sensing the tension in the room.

Mrs Charming coughed and spoke up “Thank you for inviting us” Her husband nodded along.

"It was my daughter's idea, actually" the beast replied, staring down Rosabella in the process, "so you can thank her"

“Then thank you, young lady” the queen turned to The Beauty.

"y- you're welcome, Mrs. Charming" Rosabella spluttered, right before the cook arrived with their meal. Desperate to get away from conversing with the guests, the beast automatically tucked in, prompting the rest to do the same.

And for the rest of the meal neither Rosabella nor her father said a word, for different reasons, she was anxious about standing up against him and him hating having guests over.

It was Daring that piped up first.

"Mom, Dad, there's something I've been meaning to talk to you about"

Both his parents barely gave him a glance, his dad giving a weary "Yes, son?"

“I can’t take it anymore, I’m losing myself to please both of you, the fancy clothes, the expensive hair products, everything, I never wanted any of this, I just wanted to be a normal teenager”

"Daring, don't be silly. You're a Charming, no Charming is normal" his mother's tone was cold as ice.

"well, maybe- maybe i don't want to be a Charming"

Then his father stood up and slammed the table “Daring Charming, whoever put those ideas in your head is not your friend, now sit down and stop with this madness”

"NO, DAD!" Daring yelled, exasperated, "If that's all being a Charming is I don't want it! And how can you? It's not a life I want to live, being this plastic, stylised version of myself. I wanna be me, Dad"

“If that’s what you think, don’t bother coming back home after this” his father spat back.

“C’mon Dexter, Darling, let’s go home, enough of this stupidity”

"Don't go!" Rosabella quickly blurted out, for a reason only her and her friends knew.

"Don't be silly, Rosabella. they may leave if they wish" her father mumbled.

“No actually, I think I’m staying” Darling protested.

"Thank Grimm. Someone with a brain" Mrs Charming breathed.

"I'm not siding with you" Darling huffed, "We got invited here. It would be rude to leave"

Dexter nodded in agreement.

“If any of you stay, you’ll be removed from the family together with your savage brother”

"That's not fair! You did this to him, and if you can't take responsibility for that you're just going to kick him out? What would the rest of the family say?!" Dexter stood, breaking his silence, "And don't say that they would agree, because all five of us know they wouldn't"

“We are just trying to maintain the Charming family name, if you little savage children don’t understand that then you will no longer be a part of this family”

"At least you want to be a part of your family!" Rosa yelled before she could stop herself.

“And what is that supposed to mean, young lady?!” the beast yelled out.

"You ruined my childhood, left me battered and bruised, kept me stuck here with no escape, made me think that I didn't have relatives though really I did and you just never told me about them, didn't raise me right and left it up to the staff and your own son, barely let me eat or sleep, punished me for even the smallest things and for what? To make me feel guilty for coming out of the womb? What do you want me to do? Put on a brave face and say that I love you? When all you did for the first sixteen years of my life was make it a living hell?" rant over, the princess took a deep breath and awaited her father's response.

“GET OUT OF HERE, ALL SIX OF YOU, NOW” The beast roared out, then left the dinning room, slamming the door.

as the slam reverberated through the room, a deep silence echoed with it.

Daring sitting restless, his parents giving him the cold shoulder, his siblings getting the same, Rosabella across from him on the verge of tears, barely holding herself together.

The Charming went back to his original seat at the sight of her, wrapping her up in his arms.

[faustrinus]

Family (wolfstar)

Everyone has impulses. Like the sudden urge to eat ice cream or listen to a certain song- it depends. There are also different types of impulses, productive and useful ones and dumb ones, the ones that you know you will regret after doing it but you do it anyway.

Sirius has had a handful of dumb ones, maybe enough to start considering it as a part of his whole persona. But after running away from his family and receiving that not so delightful letter from his mother, something has been keeping him awake. 

We have removed you from the family tapestry. It read on the paper, big letters at the end assuring him that what he had done couldn't be undone, no turn back. It's not like he was interested in ever going back to that place, but knowing that he was eliminated from the most important thing the family had, a symbol of tradition and honour- although expected, it wasn't a nice feeling what invaded him. It was the total opposite.

Since he was young, his whole personality was the fact he was a Black. People didn't take the time to get to know him because they assumed all the members from the House of the Black were the same, cold and maniac pure-bloods. The first surprise was Sirius getting into Gryffindor and not Slytherin, but even like that people still had prejudices, sometimes he found himself sitting extremely straight, hearing footsteps and feeling panicked, or normalizing behaviour that was in fact... abusive and toxic. 

The marauders showed him a lot of things, helped him get better at being himself. 

But he couldn't show them all he wanted to, it was overwhelming to remember. That was why he didn't tell them about the letter or the words his own mother used to call him- that remained a secret, and it didn't feel right. Especially considering what he had in mind. 

A dumb impulse, one of the worst you could think of.

He had to get back to the Black house and confirm he was removed from the tapestry, he had to see it. One thing was reading it and having the benefit of the doubt and the other one was having it right in front of you. He had been planning since the letter arrived, writing at what hours he knew the family left the house, where Kreacher slept while he knew he was alone, the easiest way to enter, everything. He wasn't an organized person, but this was a matter of life or death.

If they saw him, they would kill him, no doubt. They were near to do it more times he was able to admit.

Now, going alone seemed like the perfect idea. He would go in, see the tapestry and then go, nothing more. But that house was not only that, it was hell, it brought memories so dark and terrifying that just thinking about being alone at that place made his heartbeat ten times faster. He needed someone around to stay grounded, at least somewhat peaceful.

James was too clumsy and curious, he would touch everything he was interested in or probably would try to hex something in the house as an act of revenge. Even without asking, he just knew Peter was probably too scared to go, and he wasn't going to force him.

Remus was a good option. He and Sirius had this weird more than friends thing going on- but it was fine, they were comfortable with it and their friendship remained the same, except for the kisses and couple stuff they were afraid to name. Remus could calm him and make him laugh even in the tensest situations. 

So it was Remus. 

He was there, reading peacefully as the sun hit the window. Maybe he was too concentrated to notice, but Sirius had been looking at him for more than twenty minutes without stopping.

Or maybe he did notice but was waiting until Sirius could gather all the guts he needed to say whatever was going on his mind. Remus was patient about it, he was conscious of how pressure could affect people, so he didn't do it. 

After five more minutes, Sirius finally got up from the bed, walking a little in many directions, nervous about how to explain the fact he needed Remus to offer him moral support while facing the trauma he had thanks to his parents. Not a very light to say. 

"You're okay, Sirius?" Finally, Remus asked, lowering his voice as he spoke, not wanting to bother anyone that was taking an afternoon nap, "You know I'm here for you, right?"

Sirius smiled, taking a deep breath. The crumpled letter found rest in his pocket, where he constantly played with it to distract himself, "Yeah, I know."

Remus nodded and turned back to finish his book, one of his hands tapping the space empty next to him, a sign from Sirius to sit down and maybe relax a little to talk better. He did. He sat and breathed a few times, Remus was taking it all so calm and normal that it made Sirius felt like it was something normal, something he shouldn't be worried about- it helped a lot the attitude the werewolf took to make him comfortable. 

"I need your help with something."

"What is it?" Remus closed the book, leaving it in a nearby coffee table they had to play table games. Sirius glanced at it, it was the third part of the novel the werewolf was reading- Sirius knew it because Remus couldn't stop talking about reading it, he was pretty quiet and sarcastic most of the time, but when it came about his favourite books, he could talk for hours.

"I need you to come with me to my house."

"Your house?"

"The Black family house."

As intuitive and perceptive as Remus was, he definitely didn't catch quickly what the shorter boy meant. He stared at him for a few seconds, wondering if what he heard was correct. 

"...Why? Didn't you run away from there?"

Sirius sighed, "Yes, I did, but-", he stretched out on the couch, trying to look casual, "I forgot something important."

"What?"

"Don't you think you are asking too many questions?"

Remus shrugged, "Well, what you are asking for is not the most normal thing, you know. You ran away from that place, why would you ever come back? and you were planning your escape from months, how did you forget something? it doesn't add up, Sirius."

"Yeah, I knoooow, but," Sirius looked at Remus, shiny eyes to convince him, "I need to go with someone."

"James?"

"Too clumsy and curious."

"Peter?"

"Too afraid."

"...Lily?"

"Oh, c'mon, Remmy."

"Fine", he mumbled while blushing thanks to the nickname, "But you have to tell me the truth."

"What truth?"

"Why do you want to go, because I don't buy any of the I forgot something bullshit."

Sirius got up the couch, ignoring whatever Remus said at the end, "Sounds great! We go tonight." And then he was out of the room, sprinting down the hallways without looking back not even once. Remus rolled his eyes and decided to take a nap, maybe that way the intrusive thought of what the hell Sirius was planning to do would stop bothering him.

The time at Hogwarts was different for every student. The younger ones were amazed by every little magic trick (especially the muggle-born students) and would love attending to their classes, perfect uniform and all the materials in hand. The older ones were... different, Sirius was the perfect example for it when he found himself searching for his favourite quill in an old trunk just minutes before he and Remus would leave the school to go to hell...willingly.

"Forgot something at the last moment again?" Asked Remus teasingly, in three steps he was already hovering over Sirius, analyzing the paper the boy had in his hands, "Is that a map of the house?... and a blank parchment?"

"It does say something, but it isn't important right now."

"You are keeping a lot of secrets lately..."

"Well, I'm not the one that was receiving love letters from a Hufflepuff girl last Monday..."

A huff left the werewolf's mouth, "It's not like we are together... couple kind of together."

"...Do you want to?"

As the words left Sirius's lips, a few voices could be heard walking into the common room, everyone was getting ready to go to sleep. It was the moment to take the invisibility cloak and get going before anyone could notice. They shared a resigned look like telling each other we will talk about it later. Sirius transformed into Padfoot and Remus grabbed the cloak, bending down to let the fabric cover him perfectly. Being tall wasn't that fun when you needed to be subtle.

They left the castle when the moon was already adorning the sky, realizing that a cold and silent night was giving them a not-so-welcoming embrace. They proceeded in silence until they reached Sirius' motorbike that was hiding in the woods. It was a birthday gift from James and of course, it had been intervened with magic. Remus absolutely despised flying in that thing, but he was already involved in the whole thing, wasn't he? the only option was going forward. So he breathed deeply and got on it, his chest against Sirius's back.

"I hope you got over your fear of flying."

"Make it quick or I'm going back to the school."

Did everything resemble a cheesy movie scene? It did. But Remus couldn't deny he felt comfortable as long as he didn't look down, and Sirius was a pretty good driver considering they hadn't died yet. Seeing the two of them like that made the werewolf understand that he was afraid of the word couple, but he wasn't afraid of being with Sirius, it felt natural, almost instinctive. 

If everything went well, maybe someday he was going to tell him he wanted them to be something official, with a name, with kisses shared in the back of the class and holding hands under the table.

"Almost there."

In a matter of seconds (or maybe minutes, being conscious of the time while you were holding onto the person you liked was hard) they were slowly descending into the dry land of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Not a single soul was on the street when they finally touched the ground, and the only people at sight were silhouettes in the windows nearby, most of them doing stuff like watching tv or sleeping cosily in their partner laps.

"Here we are... The Honorary House of Black."

"It 's... dark."

"Yeah, don't expect a lot of bright colours."

As Sirius went up the stairs (wand in hand), his motion was almost automatic. A quick move and some whispered spells opened the door like it was the easiest thing in the world, it was at least for him- he was raised there, he knew all he needed to know about the old place.

"We have to be very quiet, just follow me."

Remus nodded while slowly closing the door and followed Sirius, trying to not get distracted by everything that was going on there. All the walls were decorated with big portraits of the family members, the Slytherin symbol all over the place. 

With each stair they passed, more tense Sirius felt. Tons of memories were coming back at the same time, reminding him that this was probably the last time he would go visit that house, or even get close to it. He didn't miss it, but the melancholy was still there.

One look at the tapestry and you're gone. Just one look, that was it.

"So...what do you think about it?" he asked.

"I don't know what I was expecting... but it wasn't this. You grew up here?"

"When you are a kid everything is a little bit scarier, but I got used to it. Now... It just seems normal."

"There are domestic elf heads on the walls-"

"That is not the worst."

With every portrait they left behind, Sirius started to get more nervous, grasping his wand as if his life was depending on it. Remus didn't have any idea on what to say, so he just stood closer, and when they finally reached the room that made Sirius gasp softly, Remus placed one of his hands on Sirius's shoulders, feeling the tension, "You're okay?"

"Yeah. This is what I wanted to see."

Remus followed the images in the tapestry. It was big and it was clear what it represented, the honour of the family. It had thousands of people the werewolf had never heard Sirius' name before, all of them looked... almost evil.

And where it read "Sirius Black" there was nothing. Just a mark, like as if it had been burned, the name was blurred and it looked like whoever did that did it with resentment.

"She really did that."

Remus arched an eyebrow, "You knew...?"

Maybe it was time for the secret to get out.

"My mom- Walburga sent me a letter a few days after I ran away. It said a bunch of disgusting things, but the most important one was this. She removed me from the tapestry," He muttered as his fingers touched softly the place where his face used to be, "The tapestry is a big symbol in the family, it has been here forever and I will probably be until the end of times. It's... kind of a big deal, so I wanted to confirm she actually did it." 

"How... do you feel about it?"

"Fuck's sake, Remus... I don't know. I never thought this would really happen, my whole identity was being a part of this atrocious family. I don't know who I am without the Black last name."

"You are better," He assured, now his both hands exerting pressure on the shoulders of the shorter boy, "You don't need a recognized last name to be something in life. You are you, and that's enough."

Sirius mumbled a thankful "you're the best" at Remus and took out the blank parchment he had before from his pocket, analyzing. 

"What is that for?" The werewolf tried to see something on the parchment, but it was still empty.

"Who is that for. Is for Regulus, he always comes here to see the tapestry."

Sirius placed the parchment on where his face used to be, sticking it with a spell, "He is going to read it before she can, I know it. And is going to make him hate me, because if he doesn't he is going to lose his mind here."

"Sirius..."

"I don't have a family anymore... well, maybe I never had one to start with, it's not a joyful feeling to be completely honest, but it's okay."

"You have us, we are your family." 

And we will forever be.

“Just… no more secrets.” “I promise.”

[shadowdianne]

So, apparently, I was tasked with something... xD

@allbutwrong. Your prompt went like this: narcissa gives a speech at draco's wedding and accidentally says hermione's name instead of draco's and then rants to hermione how they could never be till hermione shuts her up with a kiss

I’m just going to do what AJ here knew I was gonna to probably do and make both this and my former prompt related. Enjoy :P

The plates were empty, the glasses half-full and the air was filled with the scent of about-to-fall rain. Despite the ozone and humid blue, the sky was cloudless and Narcissa glanced up at it for a moment while the echo of the calling clink she had made with the aid of her wand and a glass, cursed through everyone’s tables. Conversations halting as shadows began to emerge like scurrying animals beneath the feet of those sitting and slowly turning to the matriarch of the Malfoy family, expecting, waiting, for the last speech of the night, the one that would mark the end of the banquet.

The blonde witch eyed her boy and the man at his side, their intertwined fingers, the subtle yet obvious mark on Draco’s neck as he tried to hide it with the collar of his shirt. She could do anything but smile as she felt Draco return a very similar look etched on his face, a squeeze and a graze of fingertips against darkened tuxedo, magic swirling against the fabric. With the same look, Narcissa moved and pivoted towards her right, catching everyone’s eyes, noticing that while, yes, the number could be feeble as opposed to what could have been before the war the mixed and yet trusting looks tasted much different for both her and the one who had already shared his vows with the dark-haired boy that sat next to him now.

It was bittersweet in a sense, but also rewarding, and the blonde woman could do nothing but start her speech, the one she had written and perfected for weeks now, with something less Malfoy, less Black, and more solely hers: A swinging motion, her hand hitting the dying light, the gold on her hand glowing momentarily while her eyes caught on the witch that, same as she had done  three years ago, had been invited with the same polished piece of white paper, the same hex on the ink of the invitation of itself that she could remember for her as the younger witch had walked towards the second youngest of the Weasley family: red bursting on her cheeks, gorgeous enough to burn.

And, three years after that wedding, the one in where Narcissa had needed to walk away, line after line of words never said burning her tongue, her nostrils, her lungs, the brunette looked just as good, just as gorgeous, as she had done before. With silver and green in subtle details, with the lack of a ring on her finger, her marriage in shambles as the papers had echoed some “unreconcilable problems” amidst the Weasley-Granger household.

Mind blanking, tongue flat against her teeth, Narcissa let her hand fall once more and grasp the stem of her glass, the motion clunky but disguised. Blue eyes searching, the older witch took into the ones still glancing at her, the lag on her response minute and barely seconds but loud on the way her heart humped on her chest. Demanding just as it had done back in the day.

She had tried to revoke herself for the possibility of having a similar reaction, had worked and moved on with her life until the two months mark after the wedding, a bump and a casual way in where her name had been said the last signal for her dying resolution. She had been thrown in a series of decisions of dates and teas and laughter and friendship and, ever so steadily, she had seen the darkened eyes, the lack of sleep, the pursed lips, the word divorce being whispered. Not due to anything in particular, not because some horrible secret, some skeleton that would be best if it remained buried. It was, as Hermione would sometimes confide with tongue licking her lips, eyes lost, wand between her fingers, not a matter of disgraced cruelness but rather her own realization that friendship and fulfillment withing a relationship didn’t necessarily mean the same thing.

Despite of it, or maybe precisely because of it, she had remained as silent as possible, as just as possible. No one needed to repeat to a jailed intellect that they were being clipped off from their wings after they realized it, after all. She remained unshaken, silent, kind, and when Draco had told her about his plans of marriage, she had known what to do when the list for guests had rolled by even if the same concept of it burned the back of her eyelids.

And there she was now, eyes on Draco, fingers shaking slightly, voice enchanted so it could be whispered and murmured by everyone’s in the attendance. The grass beneath their feet lush, the earth amongst it, dry, the twinkling set of flaming stars above them all warm on their winking light.

“There’s braveness in love.” She begun, smile tensing her lips just enough. “During my formative years I was led to believe that love solely meant giving to the point of exhaustion and disappearance. Giving until there was nothing left of me for me to preserve. Love felt like a chore and in the same breath it burned brighter than anything else the moment I first laid an eye on the one you have in front of you. Because the second I saw him, the second I hugged him close to me, I realized that I could not merely put my love for him under the pretense of a chore in where my own soul was destroyed and given to the wind for it to judge me. “

Her voice sounded and echoed and she rolled her shoulders slightly, retaking her initial position, her heart beating wildly, quickly, not out of nerves due to the speech but the acute feeling of being watched, of Hermione’s eyes following her every word, her every move, her every sentence.

“I was wrong, and I got to learn as years passed. Love is not only fire, not only destruction and life wrapped up as beginning and end of a wand and a spell, though, but is also water, tranquil and still on its welcoming embrace. Love is not only the big actions, the ones we are forced to do or rather nothing else will be after we are done. Love is also the smaller decisions, the ones that are choices we take every day, every moment, every waking second. Love is the laughter and the shared glances and the touch of their skin against yours. Love is intimacy in not merely the option of being naked but also on the way her arms around you are enough for you to know you can close your eyes, and rest.”

She didn’t realize her slip until Draco looked at her, eyes open, skin white. She didn’t realize the slip until the pronouns rolled by her tongue when her mind flashed against her eyes, the glass falling to table, liquid sloshing, dripping.

She had been taught how to preserve the pretense no matter how the world around her was misshaped and hit. She felt her lips tremble, the point in where her eyes tried to focus fill with black dots that danced and mocked her. She felt a tremor on her spine, the questioning looks beginning to be thrown around. She had seconds, moments, and she could only refuse to glance towards where Hermione was sitting at. Decisions made on her mind’s eye.

Love. The word felt too bright, too strong, too full of implications neither of them were ready to consider. Yet that had been the word she had chosen for her initial speech and that word had been blurted out of her the second her mind had halted, left her bare. She felt the same ringing sensation on the back of her mind, the one that had made her get up and leave the moment the vows between Hermione and the Weasley boy had been exchanged. She felt weak and wrong. Something that made her skin prickle with the fear of not having the ready answer on how she needed to behave.

“Pardon me.” She finally said, voice weakened, brittle. “Seems like both the wine and the nerves have made my tongue not capable of proper pronunciation. I will let another voice to raise tonight. Have a good evening.”

She waited for the confusion to die and she turned, ready to disappear, to move back to the shadows and the blackened corners of not being noticed, when a hand on her forearm made her jump, the electricity deafening, the way her magic reacted, obvious.

And when she turned and eyed the now young woman, she felt her vision began to close in a tunnel-shaped one, the circles and black dots bigger, anxiety brimming on the back of her lungs, muscles seizing. She couldn’t, she wouldn’t answer.

“Narcissa?”

The younger woman’s eyes were doubtful and Narcissa could feel them full of questions and the never-ending nervous worry of having misunderstood what for her had been so painfully obvious it made her want to turn into ash. Younger and younger still, her heart beat and writhed, traitorous, and she closed her eyes and wished for not being there, amidst those who, even if had turned their backs to the now quickly retreating couple of witches as the rest of the speech was finalized and banquet terminated, were nothing but curious, noisy, who wanted to understand.

A feeling that, even if it pained her, was something Narcissa couldn’t blame them all.

“I walked away from your wedding the second I saw you in your dress.” The blonde finally blurted, blue against brown, magic so vivid it made her take a breath while she tried to focus on anything, something, aside of Hermione’s eyes on her. “I knew it back then; I hadn’t realized until then. I needed to leave, I needed to give you the space. Because there was nothing I could do, nothing I could ask…”

She was stopped by a hand and a smile, a set of eyes so full that they made her feel empty and about to explode.

“Nothing you could have asked?”

It was said in a soft way, timid, fragile, and Narcissa shook her head in a poor imitation of a “no” as her breath was stolen and her hands grasped, her lips pursed, her head tilted, a smile reaching Hermione’s lips and eyes.

“Nothing?”

The younger witch halted, mid-movement, mid-kiss, mid-air.

“Noth…?”

“Please.”

“Very well.”

[def-initely-soul]

Burn The Witch {2}

pairing:  yoongi x reader (f.)

genre: supernatural; angst; mystery; magical society AU; magicals!AU

rating: PG-15

warnings: violence; emotional abuse; blood; bullying; mentions of murder; mature language

words: 5.5k

summary:

↠ {a boy who keeps running away, a girl who can’t seem to no matter how much she tries and a series of murders caught all in between of the cracks spread through what appears as a quiet little town…} ↞

or alternatively, not everything is always what it seems

previous part: {1}

.

.

Your alarm clock rings, successfully waking you up from your peaceful slumber.

With a loud grunt, you force yourself to sit up, covers shuffling in the process as you rub the tiredness off your eyes, causing your familiar to stir awake.

The corsac fox, Alistair, slowly uncurls himself on top of your bed, his grey-white fur shining under the morning light as he looks at you with a slightly annoyed stare.

You get out of bed, giving him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Ali, didn’t mean to wake you…” you explain, moving to scratch his ears and you realize his mind must still be in a state of sleep as you fail to hear his characteristic voice in your head and instead you’re met with an appreciative hum.

“Go back to sleep…” you murmur as you move towards the hall.

Your feet feel cold as they make contact with the bare wooden floors of your house. They echo in direct contrast with the usual silence that hangs in the air, the only thing filling this otherwise empty home.

You’ve been living alone for almost 11 years now and still, you can’t get used to the hollowness draping the walls and furniture.

This house used to be filled with life once upon a time. Friends, family, your parents. It used to be a “home”. Now it’s just a place standing like a ghost in the ruins of what used to be.

Not feeling in any particular mood to look through your clothes before going to work, you close your eyes and whisper a summoning spell. Instantly you feel your night attire being replaced by some jeans and a black T-shirt. You don’t bother looking yourself in the mirror, instead moving to the kitchen to grab a quick bite before heading off.

This is your daily life. Aside from uni on weekdays. But since today is Sunday, you only have to go to work at Selkie’s Place as a waitress.

It’s mostly a lonely life, you admit. Just one friend who spends most of his time reading, so not exactly a friend. Only school, work, home, and repeat. It’s been like this for a while. Since you were twelve to be exact.

You shake your head as you munch into your cereal. It’d do you no good to think about that now. Plus the anniversary is getting closer. You’ll have time to be miserable then.

To be honest, you only got to work after you became nineteen. Actually, no one sane in this town would hire you, given your history and reputation. You don’t blame them though. You probably wouldn’t want someone that only brings misfortune to their peers in your business either. Half the town believes you’d set those fires. Which you didn’t. And the other half believes you were simply cursed.

For that, you’re not so sure. Maybe you are.

Anyways, it’s best for everyone to keep their distance. You’re fine either way. It’s safer for everyone.

Except for Mona, that is. She wouldn’t keep her distance even if you hexed her.

Mona, the owner of Selkie’s Place and your boss, used to be friends with your parents before the incident. She and your mother, Beatrice, were best friends since school and when you were born Mona became sort of your godmother. You’ve grown up with her and when you lost everything she was there to pick up the pieces and take care of you, in place of your parents.

At first, she wanted you to move in with her, but you were not ready to leave this house. It still holds so many memories of a carefree childhood, of your family, of times that you used to be happy. You were not ready to say goodbye to that yet.

So instead, she moved in with you for a few years, but having a pub to run and a child to take care of didn’t exactly go together. So when you turned eighteen and she found you mature enough to take care of yourself living in a house on your own, she moved back into her place, even though she still tried to come by as often as she could.

You’re not complaining though. Mona really did try her best to take care of you and raise you as your parents would’ve wanted. But a shapeshifter can’t be too much of a help for a young witch.

When you became nineteen you begged her to let you work at her pub. You felt indebted to her for accepting her help all those years and wanted to pay her back in some way. Though she was furious when you suggested working as a volunteer, as a token of appreciation. So instead she let you work for her, but like everyone else. That meant you were growing up suddenly, deciding it was time to take care of yourself on your own for real this time, so Mona’s frequent visits came to an end.

Now, she only stops by once a week, to check on you over a warm cup of coffee.

You break your reverie when it’s time to leave for work. Whispering another summoning spell, suddenly your teeth are brushed, breath as fresh as ever, and hair combed thoroughly. You grab your satchel bag and with a snap of your fingers, you disappear.

.

.

You reappear a block away from the pub, blowing some hair out of your eyes as you begin walking. You refrain from teleporting straight into the pub as Mona has already reprimanded you one-too-many times about it. Apparently, it creeps some people out.

If only they knew that’s one of the few basic spells you know. Every witch’s rite of passage includes the finding of a mentor at the age of 12, to help the young witch grow into their individual powers and unfold their potential. But since you weren’t even twelve when the accident happened. You never found out what your power is and there was no way for you to get a mentor. Not in a town where you’re the only witch left.

But you manage. You don’t mind the gossip, the talking, the stares, and the harsh words. You don’t care for the suspicious glances some of your coworkers still give you or the sneers from the students from the academy.

Because you have a plan. All you care about is going through college and getting your diploma as a potion master so you can get out of this hellhole. To go somewhere else, somewhere where no one knows you, no one cowers at the sight of you, no one bothers you and just let you be.

Your next step brings Selkie’s Place into sight.

You sigh, letting air flow into your lungs as you let a mechanical smile take over your lips.

One day closer.

.

.

Most of your shift goes by smoothly. There is, of course, the weird glances from some of your coworkers, magicals that believe the rumors or humans simply because you’re a witch. But really you can’t get rid of those glances and after some point, you don’t mind them at all. So it’s another usual day.

Until a certain group of sirens walks in.

You can hear their loud, piercing laughter all the way to the storage room, the sound annoying, ringing through your eardrum.

And yet they say witches cackle.

You fix your apron before entering the dining space and approaching their table. Hoping their group is incomplete.

But as you get closer and their voices become clear and distinct instead of the crumbled mess of sounds, you know your hopes were in vain.

“Welcome to Selkie’s Place”. What can I get you for the evening?” your voice comes out almost robotically as you take out your notepad, already mentally preparing yourself for what is about to come.

And as you rest your eyes on the group, currently shooting daggers out of their eyes, you do your best to avoid looking at the girl in the middle.

But, alas, the girl groans theatrically with a smirk gracing her lips as if it’s her favorite jewelry.

“Ugh, you can get us a new waitress ‘cause there’s no way in seven seas I’d let someone like you serve me.”

You press your lips tightly together, fist clenching the notepad between your fingers in an attempt to not talk back to her.

“Even if that’s the only thing you’re good at,” Sunmi gives her final blow with a triumphant, overly saccharine smile as her friends giggle and agree.

You swallow down the words you actually want to throw to her face before another mechanical smile appears. “Of course. They’ll be with you shortly,” you answer before walking away towards Lisa, the other waitress that usually works the same shift as you. But not before getting to witness Sunmi’s less than satisfied look in her failure to get a reaction out of you.

The siren girl has been your own personal tormentor ever since the accident. Or more particularly ever since her species lost their status and privilege because of it. Which she inevitably sees as your fault.

And she doesn’t fail to show that through various methods. Water-filled lockers, seaweed covering your books and gymnastics uniform, broken seashells on your seat, “accidental” tripping due to a pond of seawater that came out of nowhere, resulting in broken bones you had to heal more than once. And of course the mildest of interactions, the verbal attacks.

Which some times hurt more than practical pranks.

.

.

The sky is grey, looking ominous and moody as you make your way through the academy grounds the next day. To be fair though the weather has been like this since forever. You don’t remember a time when the sky was blue.

You suppose it matches you in some way.

Going through the great hall used to frighten you some time ago. Walking through crowds of students that practically hate you, all alone like a moving target? Yeah, the experience was bound to be nerve-wracking.

But you’ve grown used to it by now. Every single loathing glance that used to send shivers down your spine has nothing on you now. You’ve grown numb to them, indifferently making your way down to the dining hall.

The founders of the academy first built it not only as an educational institute but as a safe haven for magicals all around the world that were hunted, disowned or simply had nowhere else to go. So aside from the learning premises, there are also sleeping quarters, the kitchen and of course the dining hall.

But as years passed and the need for magicals to hide from humans slowly dissipated, the dorms emptied out as they were no longer needed. But the kitchen and dining hall are still functioning.

You step into the enormous dining area, eyes already finding your designated spot, just beneath the stained-glass windows. Thankfully no one seems to occupy it, not that they would though since it’s your spot we’re talking about.

Anything to avoid the witch.

Your boots boom against the wooden floors as you reach your table, sitting down with a huff. Your hands are already at your notes, opening the notebook to quickly go through them before your Advanced Potions class.

“And of course, she puts aside breakfast for the sake of her studies,” a familiar voice says, its tone kind and gentle as its owner sits down across from you, holding a tray with two bagels and two cups of steaming coffee.

Your eyes rest on the tall, blond elf boy and you smile thankfully.

“I can’t waste time on breakfast if you recall…” you joke and Namjoon smiles, his dimples appearing before placing the tray between the two of you.

Namjoon is the only person in the academy that actually talks to you like a normal person would. He’s never been prejudiced towards you, not since you shared your chocolate bar with him one day in high school when he simply forgot to pack lunch. Although his parents wouldn’t be exactly thrilled with the idea if they knew. But as he once said, “what they don’t know, won’t hurt them.”

And, of course, he helps a bit with classes as well.

To put it lightly Namjoon is a genius. You’d think being born an elf, into an extremely wealthy and respected family and incredibly handsome would be enough but no. To top all that, he’s also a prodigy. AND one of the kindest people you’ve ever met.

Which usually results in him lecturing you about your lack of self-preservation instinct.

“Eat,” he says sharply as he points at the bagel closest to you.

You sigh. “This conversation is taking too much of my study time…” you complain lightly and Namjoon just smiles.

“And it would’ve been avoided altogether if you just ate,” he replies with a winning smirk and you huff in fake annoyance as a smile threatens to spill all over your lips. If you’re honest you really enjoy it when he’s being this caring with you.

“Fine…” you mutter begrudgingly, “but I’m not letting you pay for them like last time!” you open your bag to pay him back.

“Whoever said I paid for them?” he mumbles behind the rim of his paper cup.

You turn to him with wide eyes, before. “Kim Namjoon did you flirt with the lunch lady again?” your voice incredulous even though really it’s been already more than twice that Namjoon charmed his way out of paying for breakfast.

He simply giggles, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.

“I can’t help it if I’m just this incredibly charming,” he winks at you and you almost double in laughter, before grasping your cup.

“If only she knew you were gay…” you mumble above the steaming beverage before taking a sip and an appreciative moan rolls off your tongue.

“Oh, she knows, I’m thinking she wants to set me up with her nephew.”

You almost spit out your coffee.

.

.

You leave Namjoon outside of his Runes class feeling a little lighter before you make your way down the hall and onto the next floor for your class.

A group of shapeshifters walks down the stairs as you ascend them, books on your hands, trying to fish out your phone from wherever you’ve thrown it into earlier in the day.

You ignore their voices, as you usually do, knowing it’s the safest way to go by unnoticed.

Although, sometimes even this doesn’t work.

An “accidental” hand pushes you to the side, not enough to have you tumbling over your feet, but enough to make you lose your grip on the books and for them to spill all over the stairs and reach the floor beneath.

Giggles reach your ears as a mocking “oops” echoes through the corridor, before the group disappears around the corner, the sound of laughter trailing after them, leaving you once more alone.

Your eyes remain glued to the floor and a slight tremble takes over your body as you stand still in the same position as before when the sound of thunder rings like a whip across the sky.

You close your eyes, willing the trembling to subside, forcing the raging thoughts in your mind to disappear before you do something you’re gonna regret.

You’re only aware of your clenched fists when you relax your fingers and inevitably crouch down to pick up your books. There are worse things that could happen, you try to remind yourself. At least it wasn’t you falling all over the stairs.

The incident though managed to put a dump on your previously cheerful mood and you gather your stuff with a frown, trying to keep yourself together.

Footsteps reverberate through the corridor as another student walks down the stairs while you pick up the last of your stuff. You stand up, deciding to wait for whoever it is to leave first before you attempt to go up again.

But when your eyes rest on the vampire girl who stares at you from the middle of the stairs, your heart clenches unpleasantly and you can’t help but stare back.

Chungha’s stare is indecipherable as she just stands there, eyes on you, her frame frozen as she most likely realized why you were currently picking up on your books.

You gulp anxiously. Before taking your eyes off her, putting on the most indifferent face you can manage and walking up the stairs, “playing safe by letting her walk down first” long forgotten.

So you walk up to your next class, leaving the vampire girl behind with a heavy heart.

.

.

At the end of your classes, you’re already tired for the next month, you can’t wait to go home and rest for a couple of hours before you have to leave for work again.

On your way to the front gate, though, another pair of students pass by you, bumping into you and your books once more spreading across the floor. This time you can’t contain the tired sigh that escapes you, as you crouch down to pick them up.

But then something unexpected happens.

A person, who surprisingly isn’t Namjoon, crouches down to help you.

The gesture is so unprecedented, you don’t even register what they say to you, and instead, you freeze and stare at the person with wide, baffled eyes.

The unknown boy across from you gathers your stuff calmly, not at all bothered or disgusted at your sight, his black hair falling in front of his eyes, framing his pale face, giving him an otherworldly aura, one that makes him seem almost as if he’s a figment of your imagination.

If you weren’t shocked by him helping you, you’d certainly be by how handsome he looks.

Once he realizes you’re frozen on your spot, he also stops and raises his eyes at you, and for some reason, his expression matches yours. 

Is this a prank? Will someone appear with a bucket full of pig blood while someone captures the entire thing on their phones?

Your eyes move quickly to distinguish any possible threat only to see Jimin, the fae boy behind the handsome stranger. Looking at you like you just killed someone.

Your eyes widen, suddenly terrified this might be a prank, fear immediately taking over your bones, even though you know Jimin would never do something like that, no matter how much he’s afraid of you.

The other boy must have sensed this because he starts talking.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

But once his voice reaches your ears, you feel like being woken up from a spell, reminding you of where you are.

Of your place.

You grab your books from the black-haired boy’s hands before you make a run for it.

Eyes glued to the floor as you walk away towards the gates, already trying to forget the way the boy’s eyes bore into yours.

.

.

You try not to dwell too much on the events of the day as you try to survive your way through your shift, although you can’t help but catch glimpses of a conversation between some of your clients, commenting on the new vampire boy that Jimin has seemingly taken under his wing.

But as you said, you don’t let yourself think too much about it.

When another one of your assigned tables gets taken by a group of students, you make your way towards them.

As you stand before their table, pad and pen ready on your fingers, your voice already carries out the rehearsed words.

“Welcome to Selkie’s Place. What can I get you for the evening?” you raise your eyes to the group.

Instead of their orders, you’re met with side glances and uncomfortable fidgeting.

You sigh.

.

.

Thank god Lisa is a relatively rational person and is willing to help you out every time someone asks for a different waitress.

It happens more often than you’d think.

Not often enough to see a significant drop in Mona’s income but still.

So, in return for Lisa taking one of your tables, you’ll have to look out for a table at her side.

And not long after that, another group of three steps into the pub, heading for a table at Lisa’s side. Once you see Sua as one of the people in the group you turn around to let Lisa know you’ll take this and she nods appreciatively.

As you make your way towards them you try to figure out who you’ll be serving. You see Sua talking animatedly to Jimin but you couldn’t make out the face of the third person.

But at least you know they’re not gonna ask for a different waitress. It’s one of the reasons you let Lisa know you’ll serve them; Sua never has asked for a different waitress. She never seems to have a problem with you and well, Jimin might be afraid of you but she never let him ask for someone else. You just hope the earlier incident today didn’t affect Jimin this much that he wants a different waitress regardless of what Sua says.

As for the third person you just hope Sua has the same effect on them too.

She orders first, then letting Jimin order before you turn to the third person.

Who is currently hiding behind the menu.

Sua’s polite smile falters for a second. She smiles again apologetically at you before turning to Jimin. “Isn’t he gonna order?”

You smile back knowingly. Maybe Sua’s words won’t be enough this time and you’ll have to change tables with Lisa. Again.

Jimin completely avoids your eyes, mumbling a weak “sorry” to Sua before turning to the boy in question. You don’t let that bother you though so you turn your focus to the guy behind the appetizers.

“Uh, Yoongi? The waitress is here…”

Yoongi? Weird, you don’t know anyone with that name.

A headless voice coming from behind the menu clears their throat. “Ugh, I’m fine…” the person mumbles, still holding the piece of paper firmly in place.

Sua chuckles uncomfortably before leaning closer to that Yoongi guy, as you remain in your spot, unsure of what to do.

“Come on, you’ve been out all day. Sure even you would be hungry or at least thirsty!” she insists and you suppress a chuckle at the unwilling grunt coming from behind the menu.

But it seems the words of the fae girl finally take action and the man brings down the menu at last, as you ready yourself to take down his order.

Although as the impromptu partition disappears and the man looks at you with apologetic eyes, a hand rubbing awkwardly at the base of his neck, you admit you’re not at all prepared.

It’s the guy who tried to help you earlier today. The black-haired boy whose eyes you tried to forget.

“Um, I’ll have just a pint of whatever stout you have…” he mutters with a low and yet polite voice and you’re left to stare at him for a moment too long before realizing what he said.

Your eyes widen before you drop them to your pad to write his order down.

“Uh, yes… Sure, uh… I’ll, I’ll be with you shortly, thank you!” you stutter, cheeks reddening, already mentally berating yourself, before moving away.

Trust you to make yourself look like an idiot.

.

.

After serving them their order while trying your best to avoid the boy’s eyes on your face unsuccessfully, you take your spot on one of the vacant seats on the bar next to the cash register.

Mona is currently behind it, making sure everything is in order. You’ve decided to keep her some company now that things are a bit slow.

“So how’s today going?” she asks as she counts some of the bills.

You shrug nonchalantly. “Eh, same old, same old. People looking at me weird. Asking for a different waitress. Nothing I haven’t handled before…” you joke with a dismissive wave of your hand.

Mona though stops to look at you or more precisely scold you. “Haven’t we talked about this already? Whenever something like that happens, just let me handle it!”

An involuntary sigh escapes you at her stubbornness. “And I told you no because you’ll most likely throw them out.”

She gasps, faking offense. “When have I ever? I’ll just have a nice little conversation!”

You smile at that. “Which will result in you throwing them out.”

She smirks. “Maybe.”

That makes your smile fall, though. Sometimes it feels as if she’s the child and you're the responsible adult in your relationship. “Mona, come on, just think this through. You can’t lose customers because of me!” your voice turning serious, hoping at least now she’ll listen to the voice of reason.

“Well, if they’re being douchebags maybe I don’t want them as my customers!” she retaliates and you fondly shake your head. It’s one of those times you know she’s not gonna listen to you, no matter how much sense you’re making.

“Anyways, I can handle it myself very well.”

Another ding is heard across the pub, signaling the entering of another customer and you turn around, ready to go if they need you.

Only to see Chungha walking in.

You freeze in your seat (damn your natural instinct of fight or flight for not existing), hand stuck in your apron where it reached for your pad. Eyes glued to the vampire girl’s form as she moves across the room to find her company.

Only to sit down at the table where Sua, Jimin and that boy Yoongi are seated.

A soft curse leaves your lips before turning around and taking a deep breath.

Fuck, you should’ve known she’d sit there. She and Sua are practically inseparable now.

Mona, having watched the scene, looks at you with sympathy hiding in her eyes. “I can call Lisa if you want…”

Honestly, that sounds idyllic right now. You’d rather go talk to Sunmi than walk back to this table.

You take another breath, before fixing your hair and clothes and putting on a brave smile on your lips, one that doesn’t certainly doesn’t reflect your inner feelings. “No, I’ll go, it’s fine!”

Mona doesn’t seem convinced. “Are you sure?”

But in her defense, neither are you.

“Yeap!” you say instead with an extremely cheerful voice before departing for their table.

You try to subdue the shaking in your hands and to keep your fake smile from falling as you near the group as well.

The group seems deeply immersed in their conversation, Sua and Chungha laughing at something Jimin said as Yoongi takes a sip of his beer.

Though everyone’s eyes are focusing on you when you stand in front of them.

“Was everything to your satisfaction?” you ask politely, hands hanging awkwardly at your sides as you struggle to make eye-contact with the newcomer, without appearing totally hung up on your shared past.

You see, once upon a time, when your life was much simpler and happier, you and Chungha used to be friends.

And not just any kind of friends. The best kind. Stuck together from the first day of daycare, all through middle school, as if you were both born to be in each other’s lives. Less than sisters but so much more than just friends. It was perfect.

Until the accident happened. And then it wasn’t anymore.

Sua’s answer interrupts your short-lived reverie. “Oh, yes, everything is completely perfect!”

Jimin simply smiles at her, the gesture small yet endearing, given he’s also casting you side-glances. Chungha looks at Sua as well, successfully ignoring your presence as if you’re nothing but a fly.

But that isn’t exactly right. A fly would get more attention than this, it could probably fly away or maybe someone would smash it with a newspaper or something. 

Which both sound much better than what you’re currently going through.

Then you hear a small chuckle in response to Sua’s words, so quiet you almost missed it, coming from the boy next to Jimin. You cast a curious glance towards him, seeing him take another sip of his beer. The hints of a smile hanging from his lips.

But then his eyes are on you again, so you refocus on Sua’s voice.

“And also could we get a glass of - what was it that you liked, AB negative?” She turns her attention to Chungha midway through her sentence and you try to not let your eyes widen at the sudden request.

Chungha’s eyes fidget nervously. “Sua…” she complains stiffly.

It’s not uncommon for vampires - or werewolves, or sirens - to ask for a glass of blood to quench their thirst. But usually, you serve such beverages in a secluded area for magicals only, to save humans from a possible freak out at the sight of them.

You’re sure Mona doesn’t really mind but the request itself is kind of a taboo.

“What? I thought you were starving! I’m just looking out for you!” Sua reiterates, eyes wide as if not seeing the problem in such a demand.

But due to that, Chungha turns to look at you for the first time tonight. Her stare on you makes you feel queasy, especially when her entire focus is on you.

Your palms are sweating, fantastic.

“I’ll have an apple cider and some mashed potatoes, thank you,” she announces calmly before her eyes return to her phone.

And here you are, silently panicking over her and she seems perfectly fine. As she always seems to be whenever she’s around you. Like all those years meant nothing. God it’s been more than ten years already, why are you still so hung up on her?

You take another breath before you jot that down.

You clear your throat. “Great. I’ll be right back.”

This time your voice is steady as a rock, and yet somehow you feel worse than before.

And as you walk away, you miss the way Yoongi’s eyes curiously follow your figure.

.

.

After that interaction that you’re better off not remembering, the rest of the evening goes by uneventful.

Well, if you forget almost scaring Jimin to death when you just tried to help him.

It wasn’t your fault though! You just happened to see him forget his jacket at the coat rack outside the men’s bathroom and simply run after him to give it back.

Only he couldn’t hear you calling him so when you jumped right in front of him to stop him, he was scared shitless.

Which would’ve been okay, if it wasn’t for you. Because, really, these things could happen to anyone. It was the way the fear re-entered his eyes once he realized who was returning his jacket. Like he would’ve been completely okay to be accidentally scared out of his wits from someone returning his jacket, unless that someone was you.

You swear he took a step back, almost unwilling to take his jacket back as if he was afraid you might’ve hexed it in the short span it took you to reach him.

And it hurts. It hurts seeing one of the most liked, most kind people of this town being fucking repulsed by you. You admit there are times when you think you and Jimin would’ve been great friends. But life never works out the way you want it too. How can you hurt over the loss of something you’ve never had?

And as if the day wasn’t awful enough, bad news reaches the pub when you’re about to take your break.

The dining space is full of life when a demon guy, Baekhyun, storms into the building, eyes wide, breathing heavily. Did he run on his way here?

At once all the conversations seize, eyes drawn at the boy standing in the middle of the floor. Baekhyun has the reputation of the Xuma’s gossiper. He’s sure to know first about any hot gossip so it doesn’t strike you as odd that everyone stopped whatever they were doing in favor of listening to another one of the demon’s rumors.

But as his eyes stare nowhere in particular as if he was still trying himself to come to terms with what he must have heard, the hair on your arm raises. Getting this terrifying feeling of dread right down to the pit of your stomach.

He swallows once. Then-

“The First Fae Kims are dead.”

The atmosphere is stiflingly quiet.

A few soft gasps echo through the room but aside from that, there’s no other sound daring to break the insufferable silence.

The Kims are dead? They’re the first family of Fae in this town. The most prestigious clan among your peers they’re suddenly dead.

And then the onslaught of questions begins.

“What? When?”

“You’re joking right?”

“All of them, what the fuck?”

“How is that even possible?”

“This isn’t funny Byun!”

You know their youngest daughter Solar, she’s in the same charms class as you.

Then another question pierces through the voices, loud and clear.

“How?”

And once again, everyone stops talking in favor of focusing on whatever Baekhyun’s answer is gonna be.

And for some reason his eyes find you. You can’t decipher his stare and it gives you a great deal of confusion as to why he’s staring at you.

“Fire.”

Oh.

Oh.

And now it’s not just him staring.

next part: {3}

[inmyownlittlecorner5]

libera nos a malo chapter 10: suspension d’incrédulité

A fanfic Novel by la-topolina   Rated for Mature Audiences   Warnings: Language, Violence, Sexual Content   Chapter 9/21

<< Chapter 9+

libera nos a malo masterpost+

Octavius Pepper lived in a tumbledown brick house a few miles outside of Hogsmeade that had long since lost its first bloom of youth. Miranda’s boots squelched over the muddy path leading to its front door, knapsack slung over one shoulder and an umbrella in her opposite hand in deference to the early spring downpour. The house was guarded by a thicket of thorny bushes, and as she approached, a branch lashed out at her like a snake striking. She hexed it neatly back into place, but it came around for another go. This time she hexed it with more force and less panache. The bush quivered indignantly, but allowed her to pass without further molestation.

“Nice to meet you too,” she said as she climbed the crumbling steps to rap on the sagging front door.

She slid her wand back into her sleeve while she waited for her client to let her in out of the rain, warily eyeing the twitching thorn bushes. The door squeaked open, revealing Mr Pepper in his shirt sleeves, his wiry hair still unkempt, and a quill tucked behind one ear. He peered at her through his spectacles, studying her like a potions specimen.

“It’s awfully wet out here, Mr Pepper,” she prompted when he continued to stare. “I don’t suppose I might come in.”

He blinked and his fingers twitched nervously. “Yes. Do.”

Although he did step out of her way, he refused to open the door any wider, and she had to close her umbrella while still standing in the rain. She was quite drenched by the time she squeezed past him into the bare entry hall, and she was more than a little surprised to find the roof watertight. Octavius was still eyeing her as though she were a three-eyed newt, which sparked her temper.

“Will it bother you if I dry off, Mr Pepper?” she asked, doing her best to keep her voice mild.

“What was that?” he said distractedly. “Do as you must.”

She waved her wand and muttered an incantation to remove the mud from her boots and wring the water from her clothes. Before she was finished, Octavius had curtly ordered her to follow him, and was leading her through the dimly lit hall to a room at the back of the house. The interior walls were cracked and hung at erratic intervals with strange paraphernalia. A unicorn’s skull covered in cobwebs over a broken mirror, a tarnished tangle of serpents beneath a window, and a taxidermic Augurey with coins where its eyes ought to have been above a darkened doorway stood out to her from the collection of curiosities.

After the grim disrepair of the rest of the house, the room they entered was a welcome surprise. A warm fire crackled in the fireplace and a well-loved, but sturdy, armchair  sat before it. There was a large desk covered with parchments, quills, ink bottles, and other sundries. Several windows of sparkling glass would have let in the afternoon sunlight had the day been fine. Every wall that was not covered by a window bore a bookshelf with a tempting array of tomes. Gleaming metal automata floated just below a ceiling that displayed a slowly rotating celestial map. It was the perfect room to while away a gloomy day.

Octavius waved his wand nervously over a small table near the fire, sending books and papers flying back to their places around the room. Miranda had to duck as one book skidded perilously close to her head.

“You have them?” he asked, his fingers plucking at a stray thread on the back of the armchair.

She schooled her features, wondering what had happened to the long-winded but benevolent wizard she’d met with before. Octavius had seemed rather odd to her from the start, but his jumpy behavior was making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

“Yes. And happily for your pocketbook it was no more trouble than I’d anticipated,” she said as she hauled the heavy, rusted chains out of her bag and coiled them on the table, letting the three heavy balls attached to the end rest on top.

His eyes dilated behind his thick glasses, and he stared at the chains for so long that she thought he’d forgotten she was there. She cleared her throat with deliberate politeness in the hopes of prompting him to complete the transaction without any unpleasant bickering.

“Hmmm? Of course, your payment.” He pulled a pouch off the mantelpiece and handed it to her, never taking his eyes off the chains.

She flipped the pouch open and gave it a cursory glance. Pleased to find her actual fee enclosed, she slid it into her knapsack, and swung the whole thing over her shoulder again. Octavius held his hand over the chains, like one mesmerized, but did not touch them. Then his brow creased and his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“What have you done to them?” he demanded.

“I didn’t do anything to them,” she replied.

“They’ve been touched. By the Undead.”

How did he know that? “I had help. But I’ve already paid my associate. It needn’t concern you.”

“It concerns me deeply. Was it a vampire touched them?”

She let the tip of her wind slide out of her sleeve, but kept her voice light and easy. “I don’t see how that’s relevant, but yes.”

His lips curved into a haughty smile. “Foolish girl, why would you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“We shall have to deal with this problem.” His eyes were darting back and forth and he was obviously speaking to himself rather than to his guest. “It is a bad business, but there is nothing else to be done.”

“What are you talking…ah!”

In the space of time it took Miranda to blink, Octavius grabbed her hand and hauled her bodily over to the table holding the chains. As she swung her wand around and jammed the tip of it under his chin, he ran a sharp thumbnail over her wrist. Several drops of her blood fell onto the chains, which took on a greenish glow before fading back to dull rust.

“What the fuck did you just do?” she demanded as Octavius released her hand.

“I cleansed the chains that you allowed to be tarnished.” he replied, apparently unconcerned that she was ready to blow him to kingdom come. “Name your fee for the extra work this morning.”

“I don’t generally sell my blood,” she snapped, furious with Octavius’s actions and with the fact that she couldn’t get a read on how much of a threat he was. Outwardly he seemed almost frail, but there was a coldness emanating from him that she usually only felt from hardened killers.

“You’re unwell, aren’t you Miss Rose,” he said.

“I’m well enough to take care of myself.”

“I’ve no intention of disproving that at the moment. But perhaps I might be of some assistance to you.”

He grasped the chain with one hand, and laid his other over the hand she was using to hold her wand to his throat. A deep, dizzying magic washed through her insides, rolling through her like a thunderous wave. She gasped involuntarily, riding the high with a feeling of giddiness. It seeped out of her slowly, and when it was gone Octavius released her. She paced away from him, her wand dangling from one hand, forgotten, and her other hand on her flushed cheek. Her own magic was pricking her from head to toe, and she knew without casting a spell that it was whole and complete in a way it hadn’t been since her journey to the land of the Iele months before.

“I trust you find that satisfactory,” Octavius said, his back already turned to her as he examined his prize.

She knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. “That’ll do just fine. Pleasure doing business with you, Mr Pepper.”

“Likewise, Miss Rose. Do see yourself out.”

She kept her pace unhurried as she retreated from his library, trusting that his obsession with the chains and his studies would keep him from troubling her further. The thorn bushes attacked her again on her way past them, and she swatted them none too gently with her umbrella. They hissed at her, but withdrew, and she very nearly skipped down the path as her magic pulsed through her.

“Impervious,” she murmured.

She felt her magic pricking through her skin, forming a water-tight shield around her that the raindrops bounced off. Laughing, she twirled her umbrella around her finger, shrank it to the size of a candy-cane, and stuffed it into her bag. As she fairly floated to the edge of Mr Pepper’s oppressive wards, his strange behavior slipped from her mind, and she spun like a gleeful child as she passed through them before apparating away.

*****

The lamps lining the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley were flickering to life as the sun set on a day that could not claim to have truly seen its face. The rain had dwindled into a gloomy fog that blurred the people and the storefronts into an impressionistic haze as the Alley sluggishly switched from day to night. Miranda, still flushed with the unexpected bonus from her work for Mr Pepper, emerged from Dosas restaurant with a packet of piping hot samosas and cup of steaming chai. With the food warming her stomach, and her magic thrumming through her veins, she was as eager to share her good fortune with Aaron as she was to tangle with any sort of trouble they might meet on patrol tonight. She found the lanky American loitering at the corner of Diagon and Knockturn Alley, leaning against a lamppost and smoking a cigarette.

“Thoughtful of you to bring dinner,” he said as he plucked one of the samosas from her packet.

“I know how you feel about working on an empty stomach,” she replied, glad that she’d remembered to order the larger version of the dish.

Aaron’s eyes closed with pleasure as he tasted the savory delicacy. “Mmm. Perfection. I oughta bring Rachel and the baby down here on Sunday.”

“Yes, you should. Have I missed anything?”

“Nah. It’ll be a dull night. I can feel it in my bones.”

They started down Knockturn Alley as they worked their way through the samosas. The decaying Edwardian edifices loomed overhead, their windows watching the intruders like so many wary eyes. The fog was thicker here, as though the dark magic that held the place in thrall had forced it from the nooks and crannies between the buildings to huddle in the narrow street. There was a faint whispering in the wind that stirred the soupy haze, sharing secrets that Miranda could not quite make out. Though her skin pricked her with the warning that she was being watched, she shrugged off the feeling. She and Aaron were there to be seen.

As they came to the end of the Alley, they crossed the cracked stone street to loop back up the other side of the block. Anticipation hung over the shadowy shops as thick as the weather outside, and Miranda had the distinct impression that more than one patron was lingering just inside the doorways, waiting for the Aurors to depart. She stuffed the empty samosa packet into her chai cup and threw it into an overflowing dustbin as they passed the infamous oracle, Delphi’s Doom. When her hands were free, she let her wand slide part way out of her sleeve.

The door to Borgin and Burkes scraped open ahead of them, its bell sending a mournful clang through the Alley. Mr Borgin appeared, escorting a witch dressed in smartly tailored robes. Aaron straightened as the woman’s white-blond hair came into focus through the fog, and strode ahead of Miranda to meet her.

“Good evenin’ Narcissa. Evenin’ Orestes,” Aaron called as he approached. “Heck of a stretch of weather we’ve had.”

Mr Borgin quickly smoothed his frown into a more neutral expression, though Miranda thought he looked terribly worn out. Narcissa was polished as always, but the dark circles under her eyes cast a haunted pallor over her patrician features.

“Auror Lee, a pleasure to see you,” Orestes said stiffly.

“Aaron, how are Rachel and Maggie?” asked Narcissa with a pinched smile.

“They’re fine. Maggie’s been sleeping longer most nights, so Rachel and I feel like actual human beings again,” Aaron replied. “How’s business, Orestes?”

Orestes looked like he was trying to swallow a lemon. “Booming.”

“Glad to hear it,” Aaron said with a lazy smirk.

“I must ask you to excuse me,” Orestes said, casting a suspicious glance in Miranda’s direction. “Good night, Mrs Malfoy.”

“Good night, Mr Borgin,” Narcissa replied. “And thank you.”

Mr Borgin disappeared into his shop, and the heavy curtains came down after him, obscuring the interior from view. Narcissa started back towards Diagon Alley, and though her lips were pursed, she did not object when Aaron and Miranda fell in beside her.

“Miss Rose, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you,” Narcissa said. “I trust you are enjoying your stay in England?”

“It’s been educational,” Miranda replied, deciding now was not the time to needle the other witch about her family’s misfortunes. “Thank you for asking.”

“How’s that Draco?” Aaron asked smoothly. “I know I was a handful at that age.”

“He is a...handful as you say,” Narcissa said.

“Well I hope he doesn’t put you through half the nonsense I put my Mother through.”

Narcissa let out a hollow laugh. “No. I don’t think he will. Would you be so good as to tell Rachel that I am thinking of coming for tea in the next week or two?”

“I will. She’ll be happy to see you,” Aaron said.

“I’m sorry I can’t be more specific with the date, but I will send an owl before I come.”

“Don’t you worry, I know how it goes. You just come on over whenever you get the time.”

She gave Aaron the ghost of a real smile. “Thank you. Good night, Aaron. Miss Rose.”

“Good night, Mrs Malfoy,” Miranda said.

“Night, Narcissa. Keep your chin up,” Aaron added.

Narcissa took a few steps away from them before disappearing with a demure pop. Miranda started back across the street to make a final loop of Knockturn Alley before noticing that Aaron hadn’t followed her.

“Are you coming?” she asked, raising her eyebrows in question.

Aaron was staring thoughtfully at the empty space where Narcissa had disappeared. “What? Yeah, I’m comin’.”

He trotted to catch up to his partner. If anything, Knockturn Alley seemed even less hospitable as the full dark of night descended on it.

“Things are tense with the Malfoys I take it,” Miranda commented as they headed back down the Alley.

“That’s an understatement. It’s a cryin’ shame a lady like Narcissa got tangled up with the likes of Lucius Malfoy,” Aaron replied, shoving his hands in his pockets as his eyes scanned the street as though eager for trouble.

Miranda shrugged. “I can’t say I don’t feel sorry for her. But I wouldn’t go so far as to assume she’s completely innocent. Don’t let those wide eyes and that angelic face go to your head, Aaron. Or have you forgotten Lavinia Starling?”

“Ouch! You sure know how to cut a fella to the quick,” he said with a sheepish grin.

Knockturn Alley seemed to sigh with relief as the Americans finally left it to its own devices and turned onto the gentrifying splendor of Phyne Alley. Metal and glass sculpted into the shapes of creatures both legendary and cryptid had been soldered onto the tired Victorian townhouses. The doors to the shops selling niche fashion, No-Maj music, and the latest magical innovations were open wide to the night as a steady stream of young witches and wizards flowed in and out of them. There was an air of apocalyptic celebration clinging to the place, as of a people grimly determined to enjoy the moment, knowing that tomorrow was unlikely to arrive with the consequences.

“Robert won’t shut up about getting his hands on Severus,” Aaron said as they threaded through the crowded sidewalk.

“I’m not setting anything up for him, and if you value your hide, you’d better do the same,” Miranda replied, doing her best to ignore the way the mention of Severus’s name made her guilty heart sink.

“You think I don’t know that? Trouble is, Robert’s stubborn as a mule when he gets some fancy in his head. It’d be a helluva lot more comfortable for everyone if you’d just sweet talk your professor into one piddly dinner. Iffen you ever make up with him, that is.”

Miranda turned a glare on Aaron, who raised his eyebrows back at her in mock innocence.

“Rachel told you?” she demanded.

He held up his hands in surrender. “Well, we are married, last I checked. She’s worried about you. Did you ever talk to the fella?”

“Not yet.”

“You do whatever you gotta do, but for fuck’s sake, put him out of his misery. He ain’t a mind reader.”

“Actually, he is.”

“You know what I meant.”

She shouldered through the crowd congregating in front of The Mortal Coil (a neighborhood joint that refused to gussy up to fit in with the rest of the innovations on the street, although the owners took care to hire the hottest bands) with Aaron dogging her heels.

“I just got back from Ireland yesterday, and I haven’t seen Severus yet. I know it’s shitty of me, and I don’t need a lecture,” she snapped.

“Wasn’t gonna give you one,” Aaron protested.

“You could’ve fooled me.”

Aaron put a hand on her arm. “Listen, if you want me to hex him or help you hide a body, I’m here.”

Her anger started to cool. “Thanks. I think I can handle it.”

“I know you can. But you don’t have to do everything by your lonesome.”

She could feel the tension between them begin to evaporate as they continued up Phyne Alley towards Coffin, Candle, and Cross Alchemical.

“I think I’ve gotten better at asking for help,” she observed. “I even brought Dante Sanguini with me on the Ireland gig.”

Aaron’s eyes sparked with mirth. “Did you, now? That must’ve been a sight to see. You always did have a knack for twisting folks ‘round your little finger.”  

“And it comes in handy, I must say...Whoa there!”

A skinny boy came barreling out of the Alchemical shop and crashed straight into Miranda. She caught his arms as he started to dart away, lifting him easily off his feet. He repaid her by drumming her shins with his heels as he struggled to bite her, which she absorbed without a flinch. An enraged rag-doll of a clerk came rushing out after him, and the boy’s struggles to free himself ceased as his attention was engrossed with attempting to shove an enameled, rectangular box into his coat pocket before anyone else noticed.

“Thief! Give that back,” shouted the clerk, a vein in her forehead threatening to burst like a seam.

“It’s mine!” the boy spit back.

“Hold on now,” said Aaron placidly, “What’s all this about thieving? Our friend here just made a little mistake, didn’t you?”

“I did not!” the boy growled.

“How much does he owe you?” Miranda asked.

The clerk eyed them speculatively. “Eight galleons.”

“I think we can handle that. Aaron?”

He whistled through his teeth, but dug the eight golden coins from his pocket and dropped them into the clerk’s hands. “Will that do?”

“Thank you, sir,” the clerk said, counting them swiftly before glancing up to give the boy an icy stare. “But I’d better not catch you in here again without your grandparents. You hear me Isahak Lal?”

The boy muttered darkly as the clerk retreated to her shop. Miranda set Isahak down on the sidewalk and released one of his arms. He tried to break her hold again, but gave up after a brief struggle, preferring to glare at her with his dark brown eyes. His fierceness was somewhat undermined by his fine features, which rendered his anger adorable rather than threatening. His brown skin was complemented by raven black hair that hung over a pair of ears just slightly too large for the rest of him; and his light frame bespoke his youth. Miranda guessed he was around her nephew Brendan’s age, and this, along with his apparent penchant for troublemaking, drew her to him immediately.

“Nice night for a walk, don’t you think?” Miranda asked as she and Aaron began strolling with their new charge.

“No,” Isahak said. “Who are you anyway?”

“I’m Miranda Rose, and this is my friend Aaron Lee. We’re Aurors of a sort.”

Isahak eyed them dubiously. “You aren’t from here, are you?”

“No,” Aaron replied. “We’re from the United States of America.”

Isahak snorted.

“Now that you know where we’re from, would you mind telling us where you live?” Miranda asked patiently.

“I’m not going home,” Isahak insisted.

“Nobody’s talking about that. We’re just getting to know each other.”

“I live in Diagon Alley. But Amma and Achen came from Thrissur,” Isahak said proudly.

“Amma and Achen?” Miranda asked.

The boy rolled his eyes. “It means Mother and Father. Are Americans all stupid?”

Miranda took this in stride. “Some people say we are.”

“Do you think Amma and Achen might be missing you right about now?” Aaron asked.

“No. They’re dead,” the boy replied.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Miranda said.

“What do you know about it?” Isahak spat, kicking at the ground with his trainer. “Are your Amma and Achen dead?”

“No,” Miranda said, taking a steading breath. “But my brother and my son are.”

Isahak stopped walking and looked up at her with solemn eyes. She returned his gaze evenly, and took the risk of letting go of his arm.

“I’m sorry for you,” Isahak said at last. “Thank you for buying the box. I will pay you back.”

“I’d rather you didn’t. Call it a present from one broken heart to another.”

The cobblestone streets of Phyne Alley turned into mossy paths as it met Gog Park. The music pounding out of The Mortal Coil twisted into a dark reflection of itself as they left the Alley behind. Groves of barren fruit trees sheltered the park from the outside world, as the fairy lights floating above the grounds made dancing shadows over the empty benches and sleeping flowerbeds. The swings in the play park sighed forlornly as the wind sent them swinging back and forth, and Miranda caught Isahak eyeing them with wistful interest.

“I like this park,” Aaron remarked as they strolled up the path.

“Me too,” Isahak replied. “But Ammama and Appachan never have time to take me anymore. Appachan says his joints hurt when it is cold, and Ammama does not like the park because she says it’s too loud.”

“Ammama and Appachan?” Miranda asked.

“Ammama is Grandmother and Appachan is Grandfather,” Isahak explained loftily.

“That’s a shame. Gog Park is a great place to go broom flying if you like that sort of thing. The charms go all the way up past the treeline so the No-Majs don’t see,” Miranda said.

“No-Maj?” Isahak asked.

“It’s how American’s say Muggle,” Miranda said.

“Oh.”

“I’ve got a little tyke myself,” Aaron put in. “She loves this park too, especially that singing mushroom patch over yonder. She’s only a baby, though. Probably not interesting to a big kid like yourself.”

“I like babies,” Isahak countered. “When Mrs Anita and Mr Dexter come to work at Dosas, they bring their baby Honor with them. I help Auntie Jeanette watch her after my school work is done.”

“That’s right nice of you,” Aaron said. “Iffen you don’t skip down, maybe sometime we could all meet up at the park and I’ll introduce you to my girl. Her name’s Magdalene, but most folks call her Maggie.”

Isahak folded his arms over his chest. “I don’t think Ammama would bring me.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Miranda said gently. “But since you’re running away, it’s a moot point.”

“Where are you headed, if you don’t mind my asking?” Aaron asked.

“I’m...not really sure,” Isahak admitted.

“Ah,” Miranda said.

Isahak glared up at her. “What I mean is, I’m going to Thrissur. Only I’m not sure how to get there yet. I’ll need a wand and a portkey and I haven’t got those things.”

“That’s not a bad plan for starters,” Aaron said. “You could let it rattle around for a while and see...what the Sam Hill!”

A snarl of tattered cloaks and gnarled fingers descended from the sky, blotting out the few stars bright enough to shine through the city lights. The air became painfully cold, as though they’d jumped into an icy river. Aaron grabbed Isahak while Miranda drew her wand as the Dementors hovered around them in a spectral ring of death. The creatures slowly tightened the circle, and Miranda blocked out Isahak’s frightened gasp as she quickly conjured up thoughts of spring.

“Expecto Patronum!” she shouted.

It had never been so easy. Her magic exploded from the core of her being, sizzling up her arm and out her wand to produce the largest and brightest bobcat she’d ever created. The cat pounced from Dementor to Dementor, tearing at their cloaks and snapping at their skeletal limbs. Before Aaron had the chance to summon his own Patronus, the creatures were retreating back into the sky, in search of easier prey. The bobcat circled the humans thrice before retreating into the darkness. It was so solid that Miranda wondered how long it would take to dissipate.

“Wow,” Isahak breathed.

“Looks like you’re back, my friend,” Aaron observed.

“I think so,” Miranda replied, giddy with triumph. “You know, Isahak, if you do decide not to run away just yet, maybe some Sunday we could go flying in the park together. If you were to come and get tired of playing with Maggie, I mean.”

Isahak’s brow furrowed. “When Achen was alive, sometimes Uncle Florian would walk with us in the park on Sundays. Maybe he would take me if I asked.”

“Sounds promising,” Aaron said.

Isahak looked up at the mist covered sky for a long moment, his little face screwed up in thought.

“I think that I will go home and work on my plan. I will run away later, when I am ready,” he said at last.

“That’s a fine idea,” Miranda replied. “Maybe Aaron and I could walk you home and see if we can help you sneak back in. What do you say?”

“I would say you’re pretty smart,” Isahak said as they started back towards the Alleys. “For a grown up.”

*****

The instant the door to Severus’s sitting room creaked open, he was wide awake and leaping up from his armchair with his wand in hand. The book he’d been reading before he’d nodded off thudded to the floor as he landed in a low, defensive stance. He extinguished the light from the embers in the fireplace and the low-burning candles with an instinctive flick of his wand, plunging himself and the intruder into total darkness.

“It’s only me,” said Miranda’s voice. “I’m sorry I startled you. I should have been louder about coming in.”

His racing heart stumbled at the sound of her voice, then resumed its pounding as his mouth went suddenly dry. “Indeed.”

“I sent you a message, when I got off shift, but I guess you missed it.”

“I was asleep.” Not that it mattered. He’d shoved the cigarette case in the back of his desk drawer in a fit of frustration at the way he’d constantly checked it for a message that never came.

“Sorry about that. I can go if you like.”

“No. Stay.” Breathe, Severus. Control yourself.

He left them in darkness for the space of a few measured breaths, attempting to bring at least his features under his command. When he felt his impassive mask was in place, he waved his wand to relight the fire and the candles. Miranda’s face was rosy with the full bloom of health that he’d not seen there since her return from Romania months ago. The sight crushed his heart with a tangle of conflicting emotions, and he swallowed hard to bury them.

“You look very well,” he said flatly.

“I feel well,” she replied. “Better than I have since the Iele.”

“I trust your Ireland excursion went as you had hoped.”

Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red. “It did.”

Her blush raised his curiosity, but he refrained from interrogating her. “My felicitations.”

The awkward silence discomposed her enough that she began pacing in front of his fireplace, tracing patterns of sparkling light in the air with her nervous fingers. The countless hours he’d spent standing in the Dark Lord’s antechamber served him well now. He slid his wand back into his sleeve and adopted the formal, indifferent posture he’d been perfecting since his adolescence. The miniature astronomical clock Miranda had given him on his birthday ticked by the agonizing seconds as he waited for her to speak. Excruciating as the anticipation was, he could not bring himself to hasten the coup de grâce by asking the fatal question.

“Severus, do you love me?” she blurted suddenly, flushing to the roots of her hair as she turned to face him.

He blinked. “You expect me to answer that question now?”

“Honestly, no.” She let out a bitter laugh and resumed her agitated pacing. “But this is what I’m talking about.”

“I’m afraid I fail to follow your oblique reasoning.”

“We don’t talk about anything.”

He arched an eyebrow at her. “I disagree. I talk more to you than I do to any other person of my acquaintance.”

“I believe that. What I’m trying to say is that we don’t discuss anything important.”

“Blake’s place in the literary canon is extremely important.”

Her hands flexed in frustration. “Stop playing stupid. We’ve both got a bunch of shit buried fathoms deep--our feelings, our pasts--and we don’t talk about any of it.”

“I had thought shit, as you phrase it, was better left buried.”

“I don’t blame you,” she continued with a sad smile. “I don’t want to talk about it either. But I feel like we’re tearing each other to pieces trying to keep everything hidden, and it’s just not going to work anymore.”

His fingers ached to touch her. Though it felt like the march to receive the Dementor’s kiss, he intercepted her pacing and put his hands on her shoulders. He turned her to look at him, prepared to meet his doom with his eyes open.

“Yes,” he said solemnly.

Her brow furrowed. “I’m sorry?”

He could feel himself glaring at her, but there was nothing to be done about it. “Yes. I love you.”

“Oh. Well. I had thought that was the case.”

Brilliant. “Then I don’t see why you required me to confirm it.”

“Suspecting a thing and hearing it spoken are two different experiences.”

His patience spent, he was unable to balance on the blade of her indecision for another instant.

“Would you kindly complete the task of ending our relationship that I might go to bed? I have apparition lessons to oversee in the morning."

“I could do that,” she said, looking up at him with laughing eyes. “But I love you, too.”

The world tilted. “You what?”

She actually did laugh then. “I said, I love you, too.”

He let go of her shoulders and backed away, as though the distance would help him regain his balance. “I...was not aware of that.”

“I’m not surprised. I’ve done a pretty good job of hiding it.”

This confession did not amuse him. “Naturally. Why bother telling me now?”

“If for nothing else, to see the expression on your face. You look like you’ve been punched in the gut.”

He rather felt that way too. “This has all been a grand joke to you, hasn’t it?” he snarled.

She clapped her hand over her mouth, a guilty expression on her face, and she turned away from him to stare into the tongues of fire leaping in the fireplace.

“You’ve never been a joke to me, and I’m sorry for making you feel like one. I know I’ve been keeping you at arm’s length, metaphorically speaking, almost since the beginning.”

“While I am aware that most people prefer to keep me at arm’s length, literally speaking, is there a particular grievance that has caused you to do so?”

She hesitantly crossed the room to him, and took his hands in hers, raising one to her lips to kiss. The warmth from her hands and her lips crept slowly up his arms, like a poison, to his bitter heart.

“I thought if I refused to admit what I felt, it might protect me from the pain of losing you,” she said.

He could not resist stroking her cheek with his fingers, nor delighting in the way she leaned into his touch. “Miranda, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Maybe not on purpose. But this damned war has its teeth in you, and it’s not letting go any time soon.”

The irony of her discomfort with his precarious position was not lost on him. “Says the woman who cavorts with werewolves, vampires, and fiends for sport.”

“I know my line of work isn’t the safest, but at the end of the day, it’s only money. I can walk away from money, no questions asked. You’re in it for blood.”

He kissed her forehead and let out a shuddering breath. “If you are asking me to abandon the task I’ve been set, I’m afraid I must disappoint you. I will see it to completion.” Or die trying.

“For Lily?” she asked.

Her question lacked any tone of accusation or jealousy, for which he was more grateful than he could express.

“And for myself,” he replied, as though realizing it for the first time.

“I understand. And I want you to know that you don’t have to do it alone. I’ll help you, if you’ll let me.”

The feeling of loving Miranda, apparently unrequited, that he’d endured up to this moment was completely overshadowed by the overwhelming emotion of having that love returned. Melancholy as the former experience had been, it had been one unfortunately familiar to him. He hardly dared trust this reversal of his fortunes--it was so new and strange.

A rack of potions sat on the shelf over his desk, next to a bright red poppy flower that seemed to be nodding to him with encouragement. He stepped away from Miranda to retrieve a vial of midnight blue. As he clasped it in his hand, its cool weight gave him the reassurance he required to go forth into this uncharted land.

“Come,” he said, taking her hand and lacing their fingers together. “I think it is time I taught you to fly.”

*****

The crescent moon was a mere sliver in the black velvet of the clear night sky, accentuating the celestial beauty of her more distant sisters. Severus did not let go of Miranda’s hand as they walked over the damp earth together, and the students all appeared to be in bed for once. The lake lapped quietly at the shore, and an owl cried softly in the distance of the Forest beyond. The pair continued unmolested to a spot past the Quidditch pitch where they could work in the shadow of the ancient trees.

“Is this it? The famous master potion?” she asked eagerly as he unstoppered the vial.

“It is the latest version,” he replied, carefully adding a single drop of silvery mercury to the concoction with the tip of his wand. “I am afraid the taste will be...unpleasant.”

“If it means I can fly, I’ll deal with it.”

“I shall remind you of your boast when you complain of it.” He passed the vial into her waiting hand. “Drink it in one swallow. Then we begin.”

She pinched her nose and gulped it down, blanching as it hit her tongue. He chuckled softly at her reaction, and she might have swatted him in retaliation, but her hands began to shake violently.

“Now what?” she asked as her body vibrated with the effects of the potion.

“Give me your hands,” he ordered, holding his out to her, palms up.

“Second star to the right and straight on ‘til morning?” she asked cheekily.

He caught hold of her trembling hands to steady her. “In a manner of speaking. Breathe deeply. With each breath, you will feel your body become less corporeal. Do not resist. Let it become like the clouds.”

Her breathing was somewhat undermined by her giggling--extreme giddiness was one of the less malicious side effects of the potion--but her light-heartedness seemed to aid rather than hinder her progress. Within a matter of moments, her limbs had transformed into a dark mist, and she began to rise off the ground.

“Well done, Miranda. Exactly so,” Severus said.

“It’s so simple,” she laughed. “Why didn’t I ever think to do it before?”

“I suspect you did, but the assumption that humans cannot fly unaided hindered you from making the attempt.”

“Hence the suspension d’incrédulité?”

“Hence the suspension d’incrédulité.”

He let his mind go wonderfully blank, and his body quickly blurred into a black cloud. Miranda was slowly but surely drifting upwards towards the top of the trees, and he was careful to keep hold of her hands as they rose. Although he did not expect her to lose her nerve, he wanted to be able to check her fall if her doubts overcame the potion. As the night sky wrapped around them, she let go of one of his hands, stretching out as though she might gather a star or two from the heavens.

“Don’t look down if you think it will trouble you,” he warned, although in truth he was more than pleased at how easily she took to the air.

“No, I think it will help me believe this is really happening.” She glanced down to see that they were well above the trees, her hand tightening in his. “Fuck, this is phenominal. Have I mentioned that I love you?”

“You have, but I doubt I will tire of hearing it.”

They floated over the pitch towards the castle, gaining speed and altitude as they approached the turrets of Ravenclaw tower. Like any terrestrial creature, Miranda gained confidence the nearer they came to this physical boundary. There was something unnerving about finding oneself alone in the whole expanse of the sky, and he knew it would take several more flights before his protégé became accustomed to the sensation. As they swirled up the side of the castle, the misty outline of her limbs tangled with his, sending a rush of pleasure through his translucent body. Her eyes locked to his, and the desire he saw there told him she too had felt the unexpected thrill.

“Focus on your flying,” he warned, though he was sorely tempted to experiment with this facet of flight he’d been unaware of. “You must maintain your control.”

“Damn your control,” she replied, darting up to brush her lips against his. He felt her shiver as she began to solidify, and she pulled back quickly. “Shit, you weren’t kidding!”

“No, I was not. And if you defy me again, I’ll take you down and refuse to brew you the suspension until doomsday, no matter how much you beg.”

She bit her lip and her limbs returned to their mist-like form. Now that the danger of falling had passed, she flew up the side of the tower, with him keeping easy pace at her side. When they were above the castle, she tested her agility, spiraling through the air like an acrobat. After a moment’s observation, he joined her in her play, rolling through a low lying cloud. Icy droplets of water passed over and through him, washing away all the cares that kept him chained to the earth. It had been ages since he’d flown with no urgent purpose at hand, and the act blessed his mind with a rare sense of clarity and peace.

Eventually she began to tire, and he led her down to a long-necked gargoyle perched on the astronomy tower. As they landed, their bodies became solid and heavy once more. He sat down with his back against the roof of the tower, and she sat in front of him, leaning against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her.

“That was fantastic. Thank you,” she said.

He kissed the top of her head, inhaling her scent. “I ought to have taken you sooner. I’d forgotten how restorative a flight can be.”

“I’m not sure it would have worked before now. But I hope you made more of that potion. I want to do this again as soon as humanly possible.”

“You will have to limit yourself to three or four doses of suspension per week to avoid a potentially fatal build up in your system. However, I expect it will not be long before you are able to fly without it.”

“I think I can live with that.”

A hallowed silence descended on them as they rested together, watching the stars roving the ancient course. The imps of all the toils and snares that were waiting for them when they returned to earth prowled in the periphery of Severus’s consciousness. He swept them all to the back of his mind to wait for another day.

The poet who’d coined the phrase that had inspired Severus’s master potion had once spoken of “the willing suspension of disbelief for the moment, which constitutes poetic faith.” Severus wasn’t sure that he had faith--poetic or otherwise--in much of anything. But as Miranda turned over her shoulder to kiss him with an aching sweetness--

Merlin help him, he had that faith in her.

*****

Thank you for reading this far in my epic tale! I am hard at work finishing the draft of this book, and I expect to begin updating again in January or February of 2021. Thank you sticking with me--and stay safe out there <3

The Coffin, Candle, and Cross Alchemical was named for an English fairy tale, The Buried Moon.

Second star to the right... is a reference to Peter Pan

The poet Severus refers to is Samuel Taylor Coleridge, who coined the phrase "suspension of disbelief."

<< Chapter 9+

libera nos a malo masterpost+

[queensdivas]

A Damned Soul Chapter 1 (Gwil Fic)

So something new has popped out of my brain earlier this week and one thing that I love to do is avoid homework and papers as much as I possibly can! 

I’m warning yall right now! This isn’t gonna be a light hearted fan fic! It’s got witches, vampires, magic, death, fluff, angst and of course and eventually...smut!  I’m really gonna have fun with this one because I enjoy learning and writing everything under the sun.

I also will be posting this on Wattpad if it’s easier for you to read there instead of here. (TOTH-Girl is my username on Wattpad). If you would like to be tagged just let me know and I will be more than happy to tag you! 

Here we go ladies and gents..I hope you all enjoy this possible train wreck of a fic! 

Next Chapter

Masterlist 

@mexifangorl @leah-halliwell92 @bonafiderocketqueen 

The flame crackles, 

Spitting shining sparks 

And ashes and fire

Into the warming air.

It’s always fighting, 

It’s Always changing, 

Seems always so close

To life.

To it’s burning, 

But beyond its brilliance

The fire defies, denies

And defeats it’s death.

Patience, I believe, 

Is learned in the view.

Because with strength and defiance, 

The coals burn anew.

-Sandra Osborne 

I’d like to think that when you’re executed in public it’s because of the fact you’ve done something horribly wrong. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to go anyhow? When you’re in the 13th century England.. eh. Not so much. Being a woman is already hard enough in this time. Being a women whose about to be burned at the stake because she's a full blooded witch..just absolutely peachy. 

“BURN HER!” The village began to scream as I was beginning to enter the village by the priest. A village that once welcomed me to heal their sick, to help women give birth without passing away, and even teach them simple remedies. And now that a church has brought their God...Well..you see how it’s going now. 

Escorted to the top of the wood pile then was shoved against the wooden stake as I just started into the soul of man who dragged me out of my home. The priest...hypocritical bastard! My wrists were bound so tight that it was beginning to cut through my skin already when I tried to at least get somewhat comfortable before I die..and might as well spew the truth and call the priest out for being an absolute hypocrite!

“You poor minded fool who has a twelve year old locked in the basement of the church. Tell me. Doesn’t your God tell you to love all men! To love thy neighbor! Great job at loving thy neighbor you old bastard. I’d like to remind you that your savior Jesus hung around a prostitute in his life when he was preaching your word! Yet he loved her because he preached to love thy neighbor! You are all massive hypocrites who are so caught up in your daft religion that you’ve forgotten the true meaning of love! Go on then! Burn me! It will make you feel better that the only thing you have in your life is religion! I refuse to give you the benefit of me begging for my life!” Screaming to them as moed their torches towards the oil soaked wood. The priest opened his bible to start spewing bible verses from the wretched book! 

“I condemn they to die by fire for going against the nature of God's will! By the spirit of judgement and the spirit of burning! For it is on this day that atonement shall be made for you to cleanse you! You will be cleaned from all your sins before the Lord! Be not conformed to this world! But be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind! That ye may prove what is good, and what is acceptable, and perfect for the will of God! In the name of the father, the son, and the Holy Spirit! May God have mercy on your soul! Any final words before you are taken to the almighty.” His final words echoed in my mind as I looked out into the crowd..

“I’ve been good to you...I’ve been good to all of you as you have been for me. Those who are sane..please hear my final words and I hope that they carry with you through time. Do not follow the path that this priest has laid out because he is a liar...a crook..and no religion should make one kill another! True religion should be love..not execution like this man.” Grinning at the priest as he slammed the Bible shut to walk towards one of the villagers. Yanking the torch from one of them and holding it right over the oil. 

“I condemn you to hell!” He screamed then I tried to lean down close to him with my grin still bright.

“Can’t wait to see you down there then.” Leaning back up then taking one last glance through the crowd. 

His eyes were glowing red even though he wore a black cloak to hide himself from the audience. Though a normal human wouldn’t be able to see this, but I could see him in complete rage. He’s smart enough to know that stepping in would only kill him in the end...he’s already lost most of energy for being outside in the first place. 

We just...we never get the timing right in our lives.. it’s in the end when everything begins playing back again..and again…

~~~~~

The last book from the moving back fit perfectly on the shelf! Nieve floated the last jar of sunflower seeds up to the top of the seed shelf. Now all that’s left is to bless and protect the new building then step up the tablet for payment and we’re open for business!

Nieve yanked down the tapestry we had over the wall to reveal the new mural she had painted on the only empty wall space we have that’s not a bookshelf. The mural was a woman out in a very high grass field with the sun setting. The setting was a very green blue that had white clouds spread across the entire wall. 

“Probably my best work since Campbelltown.” Nodding in agreement as I slid down the ladder so I could see the mural and all its glory. 

“Beautiful. Nice job Nieve.” Telling her as she put her arm on my shoulder. 

“Is everything ready?” She walked over to her pile of brushes so that she could start cleaning up before we open. 

“All that’s left is setting up the tablet. Spices and herbs are on the shelves, books in place, and the reading table is all set to go.” It’s not that I don’t mind that I do most of the work for setting up the shop. I love setting it up because everything has a place and needs to be done right. Sort of a perfectionist. 

“Tell ya what. You get the tablet all set up and I’ll get the place ready for casting out the bad jujus. Should I use cedar or pine this time?” She walked into the back and began cleaning her brushes. 

“Cedar.” Yelling back as I took a glimpse around the shop for a moment. Shop number four I believe now. Don’t think that we go absolutely bankrupt then move on to the next town. On the contrary. As witches we can make our own money if done right and it was our last order given through our teacher Madame Rouge. 

Madame Rouge was our mentor who trained us in the ways of becoming a grande witch. She would always move her shops to small towards across the Uk and even Ireland some times. The ultimate goal of moving around constantly is that we help fellow witches and warlocks who either hide in the shadows from the world or even help them with perfecting their spells. 

But all good things must come to an end. One night Madame Rouge decided to take the evening off so she could rest and we found her passed away in the night with a note for her after life instructions. The first goal being that we continue her work on going across the country to help

Madame Rouge was my mentor who helped me with spells, hexes, becoming one with the gifts I’ve acquired. It was as if I found my new home with Madame Rouge and Nieve eventually joined us after she turned 18. But all good things must come to an end. Madame Rouge was reaching the end of her life and told us to go across the country to save other fellow witches and warlocks who are casted out. When she passed away. Nieve and I set off on our journey throughout the entire country with now calling an abandoned library home in Balmedie Scotland! 

Finishing up the last few details on the tablet as Nieve closed her book to grab the sage that also had rosemary, juniper, and a hit of cedar in it. Rosemary allows for fresh new starts, juniper for bringing a comfort feeling for us and any new sort of people coming in and out, then the cedar for basically cutting off those bad jujus out of the store. 

“You almost ready?” Nodding as I put the tablet onto the stand as I pulled out my rose gold evil eye necklace and grabbed the box of matches from under the counter. She lit the end of the sage as we began with the door and saying the incantation. 

“Blessed be that light energy to come..blessed be that good souls wander through our store.” It’s a simple incantation that does the trick about 90% of the time. It’s almost impossible to keep bad juju away from your living dwelling because it’s as powerful as good juju. Besides. Incantations don’t need to be super long anyhow since if you’re in an emergency situation, you won’t have the time to say a one hundred word spell. 

Once we finished the doorway, a customer already poked their head in as I let her continue onward with the blessing. It was a very old lady with her tiny pug and came into the store. She looked around for a moment as I approached her with my hands rubbing together. 

“Good afternoon! Welcome to Le Rouge! Is there anything I can help you with?” She snapped her fingers so the pug would sit then flicking her finger to lock the door to the shop. OH god..did we enter ministry territory? 

“My name is Madame Maia Whyte. I’m from The Ministry obviously and I’ve heard about you two through the grapevine. You must be Robin La Torneau and Nieve Macleenan We’ve been watching you two for the past few years. The ministry is very pleased on what you two are trying to do and are sitting very well with us. If you should require anything from us then feel free to give us a call.” A business card came out of her pocket as I looked to see only a number on the card. 

“Thank you Madame Whyte. We’ll keep this handy.” Smiling as she nodded then proceeded to leave the shop. Didn’t realize we were causing that much good in the UK anyhow. I know our fellow brothers and sisters over in America are having a difficult time with everyone hating each other. 

The Parliament of Witches and Warlocks was formed a little after the 9th century when we were beginning to be cooked alive, being drowned, and hung by humans who were scared of us. But it wasn’t just humans who were coming after us after a while. Would you believe me if I told you vampires are also running around this world of ours causing mayhem? Just sounds unbelievable doesn’t it? We can cross that bridge in the future with that whole long history lesson. 

This is it! A new store! A fresh start in a little off the coast town. What could possibly happen to us out here!? 

[fanartandfics]

Jumping Letters

Word Count: 2,011

Description: The reader gets turned into a six year old and the boys find out that you have dyslexia

A/N: I have dyslexia so I wanted to write something. Everybody’s dyslexia is a little different, but hopefully this is some relatable content

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“Ow!” You yelp as your body slides down the wall. You’rer stuck between the wall and the table holding the witch’s altar. You kick it with your feet sending the herbs and candles flying at the old hag. “Okay, let’s end this,” you cock your gun and step around the table. Your boots crunch on the broken glass and dried herbs like freshly fallen autumn leaves. Before the witch can even raise her hand to place one last hex on you your bullet lodges squarely in the center of her head. “Ha,” you say to yourself as you tuck your gun into the waistband of your jeans. All of a sudden your jeans don’t fit. They’re too big, same with all of your clothes. Your gun drops beside you and before you completely lose yourself you call out for Cas. Cas arrives not a moment later to an empty room. 

“Y/n?” Cas squints his eyes scanning the room as he draws his angel blade. He sees the witch’s body and a pile of clothes on the floor. He recognizes the yellow flannel to be yours and leans down to inspect the heep. A head pops up looking up at Castiel. Cas withdraws his hand for a moment not recognizing the child in your clothes. Then he looks at the hair and eyes, there’s no mistaking that it’s you. “Y/n?” Cas asks again holding his hand out to you. You rise to your full height which is barely four feet. You look scared and you don’t look like you recognize who he is. “Y/n, it’s me, Cas,” Cas uses his shortent name in hopes of jogging your young mind. You don’t seem to register as your eyes look around the room landing on the bloody witch’s body. Your small lungs take in a shuddering breath as you whip back around to look at Cas tears already streaming down your plump face. Cas quickly takes off his trench coat and wraps it around you. He figures the boys can help figure this out in the bunker away from the dead body. 

You two arrive in the bunker. Sam reading as usual and Dean drinking a beer and typing on his laptop. Both look up as they hear the whoosh of the feathers. 

“Hey, Cas, what did you have to leave so quick for?” Dean asks curious. 

“For her,” Cas pulls the coat away from your face, still holding you. 

“Is that, Y/n?” Sam stands.

“Yes,” Cas walks you over to Sam and puts you in his arms, “I think a witch did this to her so I’m going to find Roweena,” 

“Yeah, of course,” Sam nods clutching you absentmindedly. Cas nods to Sam and Dean then disappears. The pages in the books russell as Sam sits down with you in his lap facing him. “Y/n, do you remember what happened?” Sam asks calmly. You don’t look to be more than six or seven years old.

“No,” you say quietly. You bring your hands to your face trying to avoid eye contact. Sam smiles at the childish action.

 “That’s okay,” Sam says while stroking your hair, “Do you know who I am?” You just shake your head this time. Sam frowns a bit and glances at Dean who shrugs. “I’m Sam, and this is my older brother Dean,” Sam points across the table to Dean who gives a smile back. 

“Hi,” you say shyly. The boys chuckle at the responds. 

“I’m going to get her some clothes that fit,” Dean closes his laptop as he stands. Sam pulls out his laptop and finds some kid story books online. Dean comes back with an old shrunken cotton white shirt. “Pass her over to me,” Dean holds out his arms as Sam carefully passes you. Dean sits with you in his lap as he puts the oversized shirt on you and ties it so it’s more like a romper than a dress. Sam smiles watching the domestic scene before him. “There that’s better right?” Dean asks you rhetorically. You seem more comfortable now that you're not bundled in a very oversized trench coat. Snapped out of his train of thought Sam checks the time. It’s six and he figures that Cas won’t be back till after dinner. 

“I’m gonna get started on dinner, Dean, if you want, I brought up some stuff on my laptop for her,” Sam pushes his computer toward Dean and leaves the library. Dean flips through a couple of the books on the screen before you stop him and point one out. “Fancy Nancy? Really, Y/n?” Dean jokingly teases you digitally opening the book. 

“I wanna read,” you shush Dean before he can start the first sentence. Dean chuckles and leans back in his seat,

“Okay, Y/n. Go ahead,” at any age you know how to take charge. You stumble through sentences, make up words and can barely begin to sound out words over two sylabbls. Dean isn’t sure if this is the impact of the spell on you or if something is wrong. When Sam comes in with the spaghetti and meatballs he immediately notices the look of perpelection on Dean’s face. 

“Everything okay?” Sam inquires setting the plates of food in front of everyone.

“Yeah,” Dean relays back. Still a face of concern, “Y/n, can you read another story out loud for us?” Dean encourages as he flips through tabs to find another book. Sam can tell that Dean is prompting something and leaves his food untouched for the moment. You nod your head as you read another Fancy Nancy books for the boys. You stutter, stumble, pause and skip over words just like last time. After a two pages you fade out not feeling like reading anymore. The brothers looked at each other having a conversation with shifting eye contact and deep signs. You catch on that there is something wrong and don’t hesitate to ask.

“Nothings wrong,” Sam replies to you a little too quickly, and glances at Dean who confirms. 

You all eat dinner and Sam and Dean joke around with you, all concerns forgotten. After Dean puts the dishes in the kitchen sink Cas is back. Dean jumps as Cas is right behind him.

“I’ve returned,” Castiel states,

“I noticed,” Dean pushes Cas back a few feet, “personal space buddy. Y/n is in here.” Dean leads the angel to the TV room where you and Sam are watching a movie. “Cas is back!” Dean annoces and you two turn around. 

“Hello, Y/n,” Cas squats in front of you a palmful of powder and herbs in his hand. He gently flows the mixture into your face making you sneeze. Your whole body folds over with the force of the sneeze. When you straighten up and your back to your full size.

“Whoo!” you wipe your nose with the back of your hand, “that sneeze knocked my soul out of my body,” you joke smiling at the boys. Sam gives you a side hug. 

“Welcome back,” he smiles back at you and so do Dean and Cas, “what do you remember?” 

“Well I killed that witch…” you pause thinking, “... and then I was shrinking. I wasn’t sure if I was sinking to ant size or what so I prayed for Cas.” You close your eyes thinking some more. “I remember being here for awhile, and now we’re here.” Dean laughs at your vague play by play,

“You were turned into a six year old,” he says smiling,

“That was a rough year,” you joke back. Sam and Dean’s smiles falter a little, but you shrug it off figuring you’ve all had a weird rough day.

The next day you come into the kitchen where Dean is making breakfast.

“Good morning, Y/n! Would you mind reading the grocery list to me?” Dean says keeping his back to you as he scrambles the eggs. 

“Sure,” you walk over to the list and place your finger on the paper so you can pin the jumping letters. Dean watches the action from the corner of his eye. “Bread… milk… soba? Oh, wait soda,” you laugh grabbing a pen, “I think we need more ketchup while your at the store,” you scribble down the request and place the list next to him so he can grab it later. Dean glances at the list as you head out of the kitchen with two cups of coffee, one for Sam and one for you. You managed to spell ketchup as “kethup” forgetting the c completely. “Here you go, Sam,” you place the coffee cup to his right as you walk around to the other side of the table. “What are we reading today?” You pick up a book on the top stack. Sam eyes you from over his book. The book was titled Rougarou New Orleans, but you just skipped past the first word in the title, “New Orleans,” you announce opening the book up to the first page. 

“What book?” Sam prompts you,

“The New Orleans’ one” you show him the cover letting him read it instead. Sam isn’t sure if he’s reading into this too much, but he’s tired of beating around the bush. Dean walks in if on cue and sets down his own cup of coffee.

“Y/n, do you have dyslexia?” Sam questions gently. He puts on the same face he does for victims families. You know that face, it's a pity, and it’s sorrow. Dean mirrors his younger brother’s expression. You try to read their faces more deeply, they’re joking, right?

“No.” You state, maybe a little too defensively. You sit back in your chair trying to stay casual. Is this a big deal to them? Or to you? 

“Y/n,” Sam says even more gently, like he’s trying not to scare you, “when you were turned into a six year old you couldn’t read. You displayed classic signs of dyslexia,” Sam extend his hand across the table offering you to hold it. You stay where you are. 

“It could’ve just been the spell,” you shrug, “I mean I didn’t remember you guys, and I don’t remember it happening,” you counter Sam’s point. Dean fishes into his pocket and pulls out the grocery list and puts it on the table. 

“Y/n, you had to use your finger to hold your place while reading, you misread soda, and you spelled ketchup wrong,” Dean trumps your previous counter argument strengthening Sam’s. You pause appalled. How are you going to play this off? You let out a rush of air.

“Fine. I have dyslexia.” You breath in, “but it doesn’t change anything. I’m still a good researcher, a good hunter and if I hadn’t gotten turned into a six year old you would have never found out,” you point a finger at them both your voice rising. “I’ve learned to cope with it and hide it,” you say more quietly sitting back in your seat arms crossed. 

“Y/n, we aren't trying to embarrass you,” Dean takes the grocery list off the table.

“We just weren’t sure if you even knew you had it. You’ve done an amazing job at handling it,” Sam adds in. “We just wanted to help you,”

“I got it,” you say curtly,

“We know,” Sam put his hands up in a don’t shoot the messenger gesture, “we just want you to know you don’t need to hide it anymore.” Your holding in a breath still fuming to yourself. Your scared that your facade had crumbled, but the rational part of you knows your making a mountain out of a molehill. Dean can see that your almost on the edge of accepting this,

“We won’t treat you any differently, and I promise not to tease you about it,” Dean offers hoping that’s what you need to hear. Your shoulders relaxed and your chin drops to your chest like your armor is sliding off your body. 

“Thank you. That’s exactly what I needed to hear,”

[owlways-and-forever]

Summary: The Marauders are getting older, and that means so many things. Mischief, heartbreak, and trying to figure out who they really are. They’ll face problems within their group, prove their loyalty to each other, and discover the ugliness that is brewing in the wizarding world at large. Welcome to Years 2-4 of the Marauders time at Hogwarts. **This piece is a sequel to Behind the Mango Tree, however, you do not have to have read the first installment to pick this up. It does stand alone, but there is some carry over from the last book, especially with inter-character relationships. Basically, you don’t have to have read BtMT, but it certainly helps. Word Count: (4,052) 26,414 Links: FFnet | ao3 | tumblr: Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8

A/N: Well, well, well, what do we have here? A new chapters, FINALLY! What can I say guys, this one was like pulling teeth. Admittedly, there's been a lot going on the past few months - work changes and personal life stuff, and for the most part all of it good, just a bit time consuming. But it's also just been hard to find the inspiration for this story lately. Don't get me wrong, I still love it with all of my heart, and I will absolutely still be writing it. Just hit a bit of a lull between some of my favourite chapters. Anyway, as you can all tell, I suck at sticking to a schedule, so I won't make any kind of promises about when the next chapter will be up. All I can say is that hopefully it will be much sooner than this one took. Anyway, thanks for reading, and as always, feedback is more than welcome!

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Ch 9: What Friends are For

As final exams drew closer, the boys began to feel mounting pressure. Every day they made their way to the library as soon as classes were over, taking dinner at one of the few tables that Madam Pince allowed food. They worked frantically for as long as they could keep their eyes open, then returned to the Gryffindor common room for a few hours of sleep before waking up and starting all over again.

They were all exhausted, but none of them more so than Remus. The full moon fell a week before exams, leaving him tired, weak, and ill as they prepared their last homework assignments of the year. They all knew that somehow, this transformation would be worse than any before, and they vowed to do anything they could to help Remus.

Peter woke in the morning, dark circles under his eyes after a restless night, and he found that Remus was not in his bed. After transformations, Madame Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall typically returned Remus to the dormitory shortly after sunrise, sneaking him in before the other students awoke. But despite the bright sunbeams streaming through the windows and lighting up the room, there was no Remus. Peter’s heart pounded. What had happened? Had something gone wrong? They had all tried to wait up as long as possible, listening to the distant sounds of howling and wondering if it was their best friend. But sooner or later, exhaustion had claimed them all, and they had collapsed wearily upon their pillows.

“Sirius! James!” Peter hissed, throwing his comforter off and reaching for his friends.

They stirred groggily, rubbing at their eyes. Sirius pulled his pillow over his head, thoroughly in denial of the morning’s arrival.

“Get up!” Peter urged, pulling the pillow away from Sirius’ face and smacking him hard with it. “Remus isn’t here!”

At his words, James and Sirius both sat bolt upright, panic written clearly across their faces.

“Wha?” Sirius mumbled, still half asleep.

“He didn’t come back this morning, I don’t know where he is,” Peter repeated, his voice coming out desperate and scared.

They all vaulted out of bed, pulling on their robes in a silent panic. They sped from the dormitory, not even remotely caring if they woke Lance or Firmin in their haste to leave. They would go to the Hospital Wing first, and if he wasn’t there, they’d see Professor McGonagall. The three boys raced through the halls, their footsteps echoing loudly in the empty corridor.

Sirius rounded the corner first, his hand grabbing the wall to stop himself from flying past the door. Peter and James skidded to a halt behind him, all three coming dangerously close to slamming face first into the oak doors. Peter stepped forward and began pounding on the door, and after briefly exchanging glances, Sirius and James followed suit.

“What on earth –“

The door swung open to reveal a very tired and exasperated Madam Pomfrey. She was wearing her uniform, but her hair was still tied in the plait she’d done for the night, short strands and flyaways escaping from it and sticking out in every direction.

“You three,” she sighed heavily. “What have you done now?”

“Is Remus here?” Peter burst out, hardly letting her finish her question.

“Professor McGonagall brought him in about an hour ago,” Madam Pomfrey answered hesitantly. “He has a great many injuries after last night, some of which are proving rather difficult to heal.”

She stepped aside and allowed them in, shutting the door behind them before walking toward the only occupied bed in the ward.

“Why are they difficult?” James asked, his eyebrows furrowed as he tried to understand.

“Werewolves are magical,” Peter whispered.

“What does that mean?” Sirius asked, both him and James spinning to look at Peter with incredulity.

“Magic can’t always heal magic,” he answered, no less cryptically.

“That is the essence,” Madam Pomfrey agreed. “Healing often works under the principle that natural illnesses and injuries can be healed, but unnatural ones cannot. That is to say, getting sick or breaking a bone in a fall are easy things to treat. But things that are inflicted by spells or curses or magical beings often prove more difficult. There are more mild examples where spells replicate the effects of a natural injury – using a spell to break a bone is really the same as a fall. It requires slightly stronger magic to heal, but it can be done. Then there are spells that have unnatural consequences – curses, jinxes, hexes. In moderate cases, a counter-spell may exist which would allow us to remove the effects. But a more severe spell that damages the body or the mind... that is often not something that can be undone. Individuals tortured with the Cruciatus curse may find that they have long lasting aches and pains that no treatment will alleviate. Magical creatures often fall into this last category. Their wounds are often very resistant to magic and can be quite difficult to heal, and the more serious the injury, the greater the challenge. Remus has been lucky until now – his wounds have all been relatively superficial. Small cuts and scrapes, the occasional broken bone. Mild enough injuries to heal on their own or with minimal attention. But last night was different. I’m afraid Mr. Lupin sustained severe, possibly life-threatening, injuries. I think he is out of danger now, but it will be some time before he’s completely alright.”

“Can we see him?” Sirius asked, his face as white as a ghost.

“Not at the moment,” Madam Pomfrey said, shaking her head sadly. “I’ve notified his parents of his condition, and I cannot allow visitors now until they give me their consent. Besides, Mr. Lupin is sedated right now, and he needs to rest. Go to class and come back during your break. Perhaps by then I will have better news for you.”

The three boys nodded glumly, knowing that Madam Pomfrey would do her best for their friend. They hated having to leave him, but they had little choice. Sirius stormed out first, his understanding of the matron’s reasoning doing little to quell his annoyance or his fear, James following close behind, and Peter leaving last, with a fleeting glance at the obscured bed at the end of the ward and an apologetic smile for Madam Pomfrey.

They trudged back up to their dormitory to change into proper clothes and grab their book bags, before making their way to the Great Hall. But their escapade had taken longer than they realized, leaving them only enough time to grab a few slices of toast to scarf down as they walked to their first class. Peter chewed on his lip anxiously as Sirius scowled, but James was unreadable. He could see the wheels spinning in his friend’s brain, thinking something very intensely, but he had no idea what it might be. All three of them collapsed into their seats when they reached the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, tiredly pulling out their books.

Professor Al-Naaji opened the door from her office and stepped out into the classroom, commanding the attention of all her students from the moment she joined their midst. She was wearing deep crimson robes with intricate patterns embroidered in black thread, and her bushy hair hung wild around her shoulders. Dark eyes scanned the room, pausing over Remus’ empty seat before moving on.

“Sabah al-khair, class,” she said at last, moving to stand at the edge of her desk.

“Sabah al-noor, Professor,” they replied, echoing the greeting she had taught them on their first day of class.

“Today we will be starting a new unit, and learning all about boggarts,” she began. “Don’t worry, it won’t be on your exam. Boggarts are shape shifting creatures that live in small, dark spaces, like cupboards or cabinets or old school trunks. Has anyone here ever encountered a boggart before, or heard their parents talk about one?”

A few of the students raised their hands.

“Excellent. And does anybody know what boggarts do?” She paused as the class gave her confused looks, and then amended her question. “What shape do they take?”

Angus Brown raised his hand tentatively, and Professor Al-Naaji nodded at him in acknowledgement.

“Whatever freaks us out most,” Angus said, his cheeks turning a little pink at the titters of laughter that floated through the classroom.

“Yes, more or less. Boggarts take the shape of whatever our deepest fear is, whether or not we realize it,” the Professor explained. “They feed off the panic and distress of the sudden realization. In that respect, they are the complete opposite of dementors, who feed off the prolonged suffering and despair of their victims. Dementors feed on the soul of an individual, while boggarts feed on the energy created by the rapid changes in emotional state.”

They scribbled notes furiously as Professor Al-Naaji continued to instruct them. Their lessons were always set up so that Mondays were theoretical and Thursdays were practical, and James idly wondered if they would get to face a real boggart in that week’s practical lesson.

When the class ended, everyone began to put their books away and take out the scrolls of parchment that they had written their homework on. A distressing thought suddenly hit James. Remus. He worked so hard to stay on top of his classwork, and Professor Al-Naaji was strict about homework being submitted on time. And yet Remus must have forgotten to give them the assignment to turn in. It was hardly surprising given how affected he had been by this transition, but it was a very big deal. It was one of the last assignments of the term, and it had been closing out a large unit on water-dwelling creatures, so it was worth a large part of their grade.

Frantically, James tapped his want to the top of his essay, keeping his eyes on Professor Al-Naaji as she worked her way around the classroom collecting the rolls of parchment from each student. His name vanished from the top of the essay, and he grabbed his quill, scrawling Remus’ name instead. James blew on the ink as subtly as he could to try to dry it before he had to turn it in.

When Professor Al-Naaji reached their table, James and Peter held up their two rolls of parchment. James felt strangely nervous, his heart beating so fast that his hands were shaking.

“Remus asked me to turn this in for him,” he said, handing over his own essay.

“And where is yours?” she asked in reply.

“I don’t have it,” James answered, his cheeks turning pink.

“Mr. Potter,” Professor Al-Naaji began in a stern voice, but her eyes flicked to the parchment he had turned over. “Please see me after class.”

James nodded, and she moved on to collect the other students’ essays. When everyone had turned their homework in, they were dismissed, and the students filed out. With a glance at James, Peter left too. When everyone was gone, James approached Professor Al-Naaji’s desk, where she sat peering at him curiously.

“So...” she said, tapping her fingers together. “This is Remus’ homework?”

“Yes, Professor,” he answered, swallowing nervously.

“And you’re positive about that?” she pressed.

“Yes, Professor.”

“Do you mind telling me why you didn’t complete your homework?”

“I...” James paused. He hadn’t been ready for that. “I just... I don’t know, I just didn’t finish it, I guess.”

“You don’t have any better reason than that?” she asked.

“No, ma’am,” he answered.

“Okay,” she sighed. “You know the policy?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“Very well, you may go.”

James stood and left the classroom, letting the door click behind him. Professor Al-Naaji sat at her desk, staring at the essay he had handed her. Sure, it had Remus’ name written across the top in slightly smudged ink, but the handwriting was so obviously Potter’s. Despite her policy, she was oddly proud of James for sacrificing his own grades to protect his friend. It was silly, and unnecessary, but it was sweet and brave too. She decided that she’d give him credit for it, just this once. She often felt that sometimes kids deserved to be rewarded more for being kind to their classmates.

[thewayofthetrashcompactor]

choices

(also on ao3) 

Chapter Two (Chapter 1)

Summary: After the war, Rey and Ben figure out what’s next. That involves a surprising amount of jizz. (Which is still a type of music)

Words: 3271 Rating: T

Rey smoothes her dress down, trying to look more collected that she feels. It isn’t like she hasn’t met with Kylo -- Ben in countess bars over the past couple years. In between stumbling drunks, pounding bass, and questionable stains, he’s passed along enough information for the Resistance to have a chance against Snoke. She still remembers that final battle, the way they’d come together in perfect synchronization, the pure adrenaline coursing through her, that final moment when she thought -- before reality came crashing back in.

And this is different. It's the first chance they've had to spend time alone together since he killed Snoke. And the first time it's just about them. She’d never had much time for dating, between a childhood of abandonment and being dragged into a war she’d never expected. The thought makes her pause. Is this dating? He'd never really said, just asked her to meet him here. He'd been so nervous doing it too, though she hadn't been any better. It was so hard to know what to say, after all they'd done together. To go out for a normal dinner, no ulterior motives -- it’s like another life.

She takes a deep breath. Whatever this is, she's doing no good waiting around outside. She takes one last look at the bustling street outside, witches and wizards enjoying the evening, and then pushes open the door to Max Rebo's.

(continued under cut)

The room inside is large and holds a decent sized crowd. Brown brick walls, almost earthen in color, can barely be seen under framed photos and records that are hung so tightly that they almost look stacked, some newer, some looking like they survived the last wizarding war. The photos inhabitants jostle one another for space, settling in to get the best view of the stage at the front of the room, where a small crew is setting up a selection of instruments, a few of which Rey recognizes, but most she doesn't. She scans the room, looking for a familiar dark head. Even in the low lights, it isn't hard to find Ben. He sits at a small table alone, tapping his fingers in random patterns while his bouncing leg barely keeps from knocking into the empty chair beside him. She smiles and walks over.

“Hey,” she says as she slides into the open seat. He jerks and looks over to her, smile spreading across his face. She has a momentary vision of her leaning in to greet him with a kiss, on his cheek, on his lips, feeling that smile against her own with a comfortable ease.

But she still doesn't know what this is. She knows more about Ben than just about anyone else, and he knows her as well as anyone, even Finn. But this is new and unfamiliar and anything more than what they've been will have to wait.

“Hey,” he says back, turning to face her. “You found it.”

“Course I did,” she says, laughing. “We've met in much more out of the way places than this.” She glances around the room again. “What is this anyway?”

“It's a jizz bar.” Her gaze snaps back to his. He looks somewhere between sheepish and pleased. “I told you I'd get you to one eventually.”

“You did,” she agrees, taking in their surroundings with a new eye. It'd been one of how favorite threats, ground out every time Rey had needed to stop him from hexing some innocent DJ who didn't meet his standards. Which, given that he hates anything resembling popular music, was often. Rey had denied it every time he'd accused her of choosing places to meet specifically to annoy him, but he hadn't been entirely wrong. She'd gained a new appreciation for the music herself in deciding what to subject him to next. Now, it appears to be her turn.

It had taken a couple confused questions before she'd finally realized that the jizz Ben referred to was a type of wizarding music and not...Well. That. Poe, who'd grown up around magic, had confirmed it in an awkward conversation. Still, the room she finds herself in, that gives a very good impression of being the underground lair of some hoarding creature, is not what she'd expected, even with that information.

“So you finally get your chance to prove to me that this is as good as you say it is,” she said to Ben, grinning.

“It will be,” he promises. His hands twitches as if he's going to reach for hers, but he stops the motion halfway. “This is classic jizz, the best kind,” he says instead.

“I can't wait to hear it,” she assures him. She turns towards the stage, where the crew is making a variety of noises while testing the instruments. Silence falls between then and Rey fidgets. She doesn't know where this sudden need to impress him came from, but things were so much easier when all they had to worry about was keeping each other alive.

“How are you...doing?” Ben asks eventually.

“Good,” she says automatically, then stops to actually think. “Yeah. Good.” She means it, and it's a weird thing to realize. From the sympathetic look on Ben's face, he knows what she's thinking, and she relaxes. He'd always been good at understanding. ”Working on figuring out what's next,” she tells him.

He nods. “Yeah. Same here. It feels surreal.” He pauses. “I'm not sure I ever really considered that this would be over, more or less. If I did, I didn't think I'd still be…” 'Alive,’ he doesn't say, but Rey hears it nonetheless. She wraps her hand around his and squeezes.

“I'm glad you are,” she says, quiet but intent.

He nods again, throat working around his emotions. “Mom --“ And there’s another thing she thinks he never expected, calling the general that again. He says the title hesitantly, like he’s relearning how it sounds. “She’s found me work, some simple stuff at the ministry. Since I need something to do now.” A ghost of a smile crosses his face. “I’m appreciating that ridiculous mask much more now; no one there recognizes me. It’s...different.”

She smiles too, thinking how the ministry drones would react if they knew the infamous Kylo Ren was filing papers next to them. “How’s that going?”

“Haven’t destroyed any ministry property yet. Or, not anything big enough for them to get mad about,” he says wryly.

She rolls her eyes. “That’s something.”

“It is.” He turns more serious, looking down at where their hands are still joined. His thumb rubs back and forth over her fingers. “It’s good for now. I was...frustrated with Mom at first, that she was already pushing me to do something, but I think she knew how things might go if she let me sit around the house and think too much.”

She’s seen him lost in his own head before, and thinks Leia might have had the right idea. “If you ever --” She searches for the right words. “Need someone. You can talk to me. If you want.”

His hand curls around hers from underneath. “Thanks.” His eyes meet hers briefly, warm with gratitude, before flicking down again. “So that’s me right now. I think, eventually, I want to do something else. Help people. But I need time.” She can tell the admission is hard for him, but he doesn’t dwell on it for long. “What about you? Now that you don’t have to waste all your free time with me.”

“That was never a waste,” she says automatically. He seems taken aback by her insistence, but she refuses to back down. “Never.”

“I’m glad,” he murmurs.

She nods sharply. “Leia talked to me too,” she says, and he smiles.

“Of course she did. Is she trying to convince you to become the next president yet?”

“Not yet,” she says, grinning. “I think she’s going to have to get Finn for that though, or maybe Rose. I couldn’t make it for that long in politics without strangling someone.”

He considers that, lips twitching. “To be fair, my mother’s not above that. But I take your meaning.”

“She offered to pay for me to go back to school though. If I wanted. Wizarding or not.” She tries not to reveal how much this has been on her mind the past few days.

Ben cocks his head. “Do you want to?”

She thinks over her answer. “I never had much time for school when I was a kid, too much going on. So I don’t know if I’ll be any good at it now. But I think I’d like to. There are so many things I don’t know about, and I want to learn all of them.”

“You should do it,” he says firmly.

“Yeah?”

He nods. “Definitely. Find something that makes you excited, and let my mom pay for you to spend the next few years proving to everyone how good you are at it.”

“I’d have to pay her back,” Rey insists.

Ben smirks. “You could try. I’d like to watch that.” She scowls, but suspects he’s got a point.

He hesitates over his next question. “Do you think you’d stay here? Or go somewhere else?”

“I don’t know yet,” she says honestly. “I want to see everything. But --” She can’t fully explain her reluctance to leave the city behind. All her friends are here, something she never thought she’d have to tie her down, and then there’s… “What about you?” she asks, not committing to that thought.

He bites his lip as he looks at her. “It depends,” he hedges.

She’s about to ask what he means by that, but then the lights in the room dim as a single light comes up on the stage. The tables around them all begin to clap, and Ben takes his hand from hers to join them. She tries not to feel disappointed at the loss. She claps politely too, and a tall and heavy man steps out onto the stage. In the dark behind him, the musicians take their places by their instruments. The man’s magically amplified voice booms throughout the room.

“Welcome! Welcome, friends, to the best place for jizz in the city.” Rey chokes, unable to help herself, and senses a few glares from around her. “We’re so glad you’ve joined us tonight, because tonight, in a true celebration of jizz, we’re thrilled to present the return of the jizz master, Max Rebo himself!”

A second light appears on the stage over a short and round man with a long, hanging nose. He waves blandly to the audience as they cheer. Rey glances over to Ben. A smile edges at his lips and he claps enthusiastically.

“So without any further ado, my fellow jizz-enthusiasts,” the announcer says as the applause fades, sweeping his arm across the stage, “the Max Rebo band!”

Lights come up across the stage, revealing the rest of the band, a motley assortment of musicians. From the looks of a few of them, they’re not all human, though Rey couldn’t say which magical humanoids the band represents. Max Rebo starts right into the first song, joined by a gaunt man with spiky hair on some sort of horn. A woman with a thin face and thick lips steps forwards and begins crooning words Rey doesn’t understand into a microphone cupped in her hand. Soon, more of the musicians play their own parts, producing noises Rey’s never heard  before.

The music builds to an arrhythmic beat, and as Rey looks around, the crowd appears to be enraptured. People sway in their seats, and a few get up to dance at the sides of the room. Beside her, Ben nods his head, hand twitching on his lap like he knows what comes next before the band plays it. She glances back at the stage, trying to make sense of the various sounds competing against each other. If she knew what any of the instruments were supposed to sound like, she thinks she might be able to appreciate this more. Instead, she finds herself wondering if the thing that might be a trumpet is supposed to sound like a duck or not.

With some enthusiastic yelling from the lead singer, the song comes to an end. The crowd breaks into applause but the band starts into their next number before the clapping fades out. The beat speeds up this time, the singer jumping around the stage enthusiastically, and Rey observes in bewilderment.

As the night wears on and one song fades into another, Rey finds herself watching Ben more than the band. He’s always been rubbish at hiding his emotions, everything showing on his face, and she can’t help but smile as she takes in his reaction to each number. His features show the emotion of the music better than she can understand by listening to it. He looks back over at her every once in a while, smiling, and she smiles back. When something strikes him about the music, he leans over to whisper it to her, whether it’s something about a musician’s handle on their instrument or some trivia about the song, like when they play one of the numbers that opened the club. She gets so caught up in him that she tunes the music out entirely and only notices the band has finished when Ben gets to his feet to cheer with the rest of the bar. Slightly disoriented, she stands and claps too as the band bows and accepts their accolades.

The announced strides back out onto the stage, looking as pleased as if he’d been the one playing. “Thank you, thank you all!” he cries. “We cannot thank the Max Rebo band enough for returning tonight. If you’re dying for more jizz, we have another performance later tonight! Invite your friends, your family, and all lovers of good jizz!”

Ben turns to Rey as the lights slowly illuminate the club again, his cheeks flushed and a slight smile on his lips. “So what did you think?” he asks breathlessly.

She hesitates, and his face falls before she says, “It was really different!”

He cocks an eyebrow at her. “Different?”

“Yeah!” She flounders. “How they -- you know, the sound and everything, it was really interesting.”

He frowns. “You didn’t like it.”

“No, that’s not --!” She huffs. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” he says dryly. “But you didn’t.”

She sighs. “It might not be my thing,” she admits, and she can see him start to blame himself already before she continues. “But I liked listening to it with you. Even if I didn’t like it, I liked that you did.”

His lips roll in that particular way he has and his brow creases. “I just wanted to take you on a perfect date,” he mutters.

“Date?” Rey asks, sitting up and leaning forward.

Ben looks even more awkward. “Yes? I was hoping -- But if you don’t want to, that’s fine, I don’t -- We can just be friends, or not, or --”

Before he can backtrack any more, Rey pushes off her chair and kisses him. He freezes under her lips, but then she cups his face in her hand and he sighs, relaxing.

“Rey,” he murmurs against her, and she shivers at the taste of her name on his lips. Her hand wraps around his neck to bring him closer to her, and his hands hover over her sides before she leans into him and they settle on her waist.

Kissing Ben is so natural that she wonders how they haven’t done this before. After a few brief fumbles between chins and noses, they find their rhythm, where they can take things deeper. She drags her teeth over his full lip, loving how it gives under her and how his moan rumbles against her. His hands grip her like he’s terrified to let go, tightening every time she hits another sensitive spot, of which he seems to have many. Her fingers smooth along the lines of his jaw, then the incredible silk of his hair, before finding his ears hidden underneath. He jolts when she tugs there, and she grins. She wants to touch him everywhere, see everything that she can do to him. The knowledge that he wants this too; he’d invited her on a date -- it fills her with a giddy high, and she easily loses track of where they are.

Someone clears their throat from next to them, and Ben jumps, jostling her from her new position on his lap. He breaks away, and she reluctantly looks up too, but not before grinning smugly at the bright shade of pink Ben has turned and the deep red of his lips. Her own feel swollen and sensitive, and she really would like to go back to what they were doing. The man still watches them impatiently though, but not without the hint of a smile on his lips.

“We all know the romantic power of jizz, but save it for home, hmm?” he tells them, when he finally has both of their attention.

“Yes, of course,” Ben says, breathlessly.

“We were just leaving,” Rey assures him, standing and grabbing Ben’s hand.

Ben blinks, though he stands and joins here. “We were?”

She nods firmly. “Yep. Is that okay?” she asks Ben.

It takes a second for him to process the suggestion, but she sees the flash in his eyes as it clicks. “Yes. Definitely. We’re leaving.” He threads his fingers through hers, grabs his jacket, and they quickly walk out of the bar together.

Their pace slows as they reach the streets, joining other couples out for a late night stroll before heading back home. Rey takes them down the path back to her apartment, and Ben willingly follows.

“So what didn’t you like?” he asks, breaking into her thoughts of her plans once they get to her place.

“What?” she says.

“The music. What didn’t work for you?” His tone is curious, not accusatory, and she can’t believe that he wants to talk about this again, except it’s Ben, and of course he does.

“I don’t know,” she says distractedly. “I guess I just didn’t understand it. I don’t usually listen to a lot of wizarding music.”

He nods thoughtfully. “That makes sense. Jizz isn’t for everyone, I guess you really have to have a taste for it. And there’s good jizz and not-so-good stuff. Really depends on who’s making it”

She groans. “Oh my gosh, you have got to stop saying that.”

“What?” he asks, genuinely puzzled.

“Do you know what jizz means to anyone not a wizard?” she asks, already knowing the answer.

He thinks. “I’m guessing not music,” he says wryly.

“Definitely not,” she confirms.

“Am I going to have to guess?”

She shakes her head. “You’d never figure it out.”

He takes that as a challenge. “Jizz for no-majs. Is jizz a food? A drink? Is it --”

She stops in the middle of the sidewalk and tugs him down for a kiss to stop that line of questioning from getting any worse. He seems entirely satisfied with the distraction, wrapping his arm around her waist to pull her up so that he can sweep into her mouth and taste her fully. They’re both breathing harder when they part again, and Rey bumps her shoulder against his as they continue to her apartment, walking a little faster now.

“You still haven’t told me what jizz is,” he teases, and she groans.

“Later,” she says, giving in.

“I’m going to hold you to that,” he promises. She knows he will.

[booksarelife-stuff]

i’m only seventeen, i don’t know anything- Chapter 5

James Potter/ Lily Evans (Jily), minor Remus Lupin/ Sirius Black (wolfstar)

Co-authored with the amazing @queen-isabelle-writes :)

It's seventh year for the Marauders and Lily Evans. Lily and James are dealing with their feelings for each other while the war with Voldemort brews in the wings.

Canon Divergence. Angst, fluff, falling in love.

Word Count:  1,300

Read on AO3   Next Chapter   Series Master List   Master List

Chapter 5

i’m so sick of running as fast as i can ~the man, taylor swift

The past couple of weeks had been strange for Lily after she’d helped the Marauders come up with their first prank of the year. She still wasn’t quite sure what had come over her—turn the Great Hall into a skating rink? What had she been thinking? But then she thought about James’s smile and his hand in hers as they’d skated around on the ice, and she decided that thinking was hard and she didn’t want to do it any longer.

When she’d told Alice, Mary, and Doe about her part in the prank, they’d all exchanged smug looks with each other. Lily crossed her arms across her chest and glared at her friends.

“What?” she demanded.

Doe looked down at her shoes, while Mary whistled innocently. Alice was the only one brave enough to voice what she was thinking.

“You just seem to…” Alice paused, grasping for words. “You and James…”

Lily laughed, albeit an awkward, forced laugh. “What about James and I? We’re friends, I suppose.”

“Yeah, friends,” Mary said, snorting under her breath. Doe laughed. Lily glared. And that was that on that conversation.

Lily walked the halls, wand in hand, as she completed her patrols for the night. It was after curfew but before midnight, and Lily found herself yawning, her eyes wanting to close. She had stayed up late last night working on a paper for Professor Binns, and her lack of sleep was beginning to catch up to her.

Reaching the end of the corridor, Lily paused and leaned against the wall. She let her head fall back against the cold stone and shut her eyes for a moment. Just a moment.

Then, a hissed whisper. “Snape!”

Lily’s eyes shot open. She shrank back into the shadows and listened as there were footsteps around the corner that she was about to turn into.

“Snape! What are you doing?”

“My patrols!” Snape’s voice was like the crack of a whip in the quiet. Lily sucked in a breath. She hadn’t realized that she’d scheduled him at the same time as her.

“We were supposed to meet half an hour ago!” The voice snapped. It was male, and it sounded familiar. Lily was tempted to poke her head around the corner to put a face to the voice, but she wasn’t sure that she wanted to be caught eavesdropping, even if she was the Head Girl.

“I can’t skip my patrols,” Snape said.

“More like you wanted a chance to run into the mudblood.” This was a different voice, a female. Lily’s blood boiled at the use of the slur, but her cheeks heated in shame.

“Whatever.” Lily could picture the sneer on Snape’s face. “What did I miss?”

“It’s not whatever, Severus,” the male said, his voice suddenly serious. “Lord Voldemort wants to make sure that you’re dedicated to the cause, and you missing meetings doesn’t instill confidence.”

There was a deep intake of breath. “I am dedicated to my master, as much so as you,” Snape said.

“Then prove it,” the female hissed.

“I will,” Snape said. “Now, leave, before I give the both of you detention. It was foolish of you to come seek me out when anybody could stumble upon us.”

“The Dark Lord wishes to speak with you,” the male said. “Come with us.”

Snape sighed. “Of course.”

Lily stood as still as possible as Snape and the others walked away. Once she was certain they were gone, she slid to the ground and put her head between her knees.

It wasn’t happening; she couldn’t believe that it was happening. She’d heard the rumors of Death Eaters in Hogwarts, but she’d just assumed that they were students who were bigoted and prejudiced. She didn’t think that they were actually members of Voldemort’s band. But it seemed that they were, and Snape was a part of it, too.

For a moment, Lily wondered if there was something that she could have done. If only she had been kinder, tried harder…. But no. There was no use in blaming herself for Snape’s choices.

Shakily, Lily got to her feet. She finished her rounds in a daze and hurried back to the Common Room, wondering what she should do. She hadn’t seen the other two students with Snape, so she didn’t know who all was with Voldemort. And she’d only heard them talking about a meeting—that was nothing concrete. She couldn’t very well go to McGonagall or Dumbledore and say that these students might be planning something. Lily wanted to scream.

She climbed through the Fat Lady’s portrait, caught up in her own musings. A piece of paper hit her square in the forehead. She glanced up, affronted. Sirius lay upside down on the couch in front of the fireplace, his hand still outstretched. He smirked at her.

“Sorry, Evans,” he called cheerfully. Lily looked around. The Common Room was empty except for the Marauders, who were all gathered around the fireplace. Lily shook her head and made her way through the space, intent on going to bed.

“Something wrong, Lily?” James’s voice cut through the whirling tornado that was her mind. Lily paused and turned back towards the boys. She glanced up at the stairway that led to her dorm, but shook her head. She marched towards James and his friends and sat in the empty chair besides Remus.

“I need help,” Lily said. Immediately, all four boys straightened up from their lounging positions.

“What’s wrong, Evans?” Sirius asked.

Lily took a breath and then explained what had happened while she was on her patrols and what she had heard. It didn’t take long, as she hadn’t heard much, but it was a welcome feeling to get her worries off of her chest.

“I just don’t know what to do,” Lily finished. “Should I go to McGonagall?”

“With what evidence?” Peter asked. “I believe you, Lily, but it’s just something that you heard. The Slytherins could easily deny it.”

“Wormtail makes a valid point,” Sirius said.

“But I have to do something! There are Death Eaters at Hogwarts!” Lily said, voice hushed. It was strange to say such things aloud, but she knew in her gut that it was true. “Who knows what they could be planning? What if it’s something that could hurt students?”

“It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with, Lil,” James said.

Lily cocked her head. “I beg your pardon?”

“We’ll handle it,” James said, looking to Sirius who nodded his head.

“And how exactly are you going to handle it? Like you did in fifth year, by casting some nasty hexes? James, these are Death Eaters. Surely, Voldemort has taught them a trick or two. We need a teacher,” Lily said firmly.

“Peter is right,” Remus said, speaking up for the first time. “You don’t have enough evidence.”

“So, my word isn’t good enough?” Lily demanded.

“You don’t even know who two of the students were,” Sirius pointed out.

“If you go to McGonagall, it’ll just tip them off. Let us handle it,” James said.

Lily stood up and crossed her arms over her chest. “Let you handle it? I’m just supposed to trust you on this?” Lily scoffed. “You are the most arrogant boy I’ve ever met, James Potter.”

“Maybe,” James said, standing up as well. “But I know what I can handle. You just need to step back.”

Lily saw red. “And you’re telling me this because I’m, what? A girl? A muggleborn?”

“What? Lily, no—”

“Alright, Potter,” Lily cut him off. “I’ll let you try to ‘handle it.’ But if you can’t, then I’ll confront Snape myself.” Lily turned on her heel and headed up the stairs to the girls’ dormitories.