#I like. people. even if I end up with blotchy red marks on my face and chest from the sheer stress of talking to them

[interruptingkau]

Truly baffling being an anxious introvert who sincerely enjoys service work and interacting with the public

[deepperplexity]

Titel: That’s Your Patronus?!

Pairing: Lucius x Muggleborn!Female!Slytherin!Reader 

Prologue: You had been secretly admiring Lucius Malfoy for quite some time. But, as you were a muggleborn he had only glared in your direction and jabbed at you with remarks of how you did not belong in Slytherin. But, when he finds you bruised and battered by a couple of Gryffindor boys handy work he leads you away to a secret room with a worried look across his beautiful face. In the end, Lucius is the one baffled by your own secret...

Setting: Hogwarts, Room of Requirements, Seventh Year

A/N: So this is my first Lucius fic ever, I have wanted to write one for quite some time now and this idea has been with me for just as long of a time. I hope you will enjoy it! ^^ 

ABBR.: | (y/n) - Your Name |

Word Count: 3606

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Physical Injury, Bullying, Kissing

Masterlist page // Masterlist post // AO3

You had been crying for the last fifteen minutes. Why do they have to be so mean? I never did anything to them… Your thoughts only made the salty tears roll down your cheeks at a more rapid pace. You couldn’t figure it out. You had always been picked on. The Slytherins picked on you for being a muggleborn, the Gryffindors picked on you for being a Slytherin. You had friends in both Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw but you weren’t the outspoken one. You were, well, you were shy and insecure. Who wouldn’t be with constant picking and bullying? 

So you hid in an empty corridor as you wept from the ache in various parts of your body. They were clever in that sense, they didn't use magic since it could be traced back to their wands if one simply did a Priori Incantato spell and there would be the evidence for all to see. So, instead, there were kicks and hits, slaps and threats. In all honesty, that was worse than the magical jinxes and hexes. How much do you have to hate someone to physically punch them? Kick them? What did I do..?  

You sobbed as you scrunched yourself up into a little black ball between a pillar and a statue. “What did they do?” The stern and clear voice of Lucius Malfoy snapped your head up despite your eyes being red and your cheeks wet. You blushed at the sight of him while you hastily wiped away the tears. His eyes had widened at the sight of your marked face. A cut lip, a bruising jaw and swollen cheek where a blotchy red mark from a harsh slap was visible. 

You tried to smile gently as you shook your head. Your stomach was in knots and you could not help but wonder why it had to be him of all people who found you in such a state. “(Y/n), answer,” he commanded as he glared down at you. The light from a nearby torch danced across his high cheekbones and the long blond hair seemed to shimmer. He was perfection in your mind.  “Not-nothing, I’m fine,” you stuttered out as you lowered your gaze from him. Go away, I don’t need you to bash on me more, actually, I’d rather take another beating than hearing foul things from your mouth…  

His pale, slender hand appeared before your face and you reeled back from the surprise. “Up,” he commanded and you looked up at him as he folded and unfolded his hand to, in a way, ask for your hand. “Why?” you asked with a low voice. He simply tucked his chin in and looked at you with raised eyebrows. You tentatively took his hand and he pulled you up with ease. “Come on,” he said quickly with finality to his voice and tugged on your hand so you stumbled along slightly behind him as he marched to-, well, to somewhere. 

Your eyes kept darting up towards his face as your blush grew deeper while your heart pounded as your hand felt incredibly warm in his pale one. You had no clue where you were or where you were going as all you could see was him by your side holding your hand and dragging you along. 

It wasn’t until he stood still that you looked around. He was glaring at the wall before you and a moment later a door appeared. You gawked at it but your attention wasn’t fully on it as Lucius still had a tight grip of your hand. Once the door was fully formed he opened it and pulled you in with harsh movements that felt better than they should have. That somehow took away all your notion of throbbing pain in other parts of your body. 

You had worshipped him, pined for him and longed for him desperately the last two years. But you were nothing to him. All he did was glare and hiss at you; as often as he could it seemed. So that he held your hand was some kind of world-altering experience as you had only been able to guess what his skin felt like, if his slender fingers were strong or not, if he would pull or wait. Well, now you had your answers. 

The room was pitch black as the door closed and then little twinkling lights shimmered and shined in the ceiling while a fire roared to life all the way over on the other side of the gigantic room. You took a deep breath as it suddenly felt as if you weren’t being crushed by harsh stone walls any longer. You had needed the space, without even being aware of it yourself. Okay, usually I just go outside when I feel like that and it helps. I didn’t- who knew a room like this existed? How is this existing? It’s as huge as the Great Hall for Salazar’s sake! 

You looked around with wide eyes but snapped out of it as Lucius let go of your hand before he walked over to a rather huge sofa of the darkest green shade. You instantly wrapped your arms right under your breasts in comfort. You hugged yourself as you looked at his back. He walked with such grace and poise it was hard not to stare. The blonde hair that hung loosely around his shoulders that was covered with the Slytherin House marked cloak. 

“(Y/n), come,” he said without looking back at you and your body jolted into a brisk walk. He sat down on the sofa and once you reached it yourself you stopped, hesitated. Were you supposed to sit beside him? As if he had read your mind he patted the cushioned seat right bloody next to him. You bit your lower lip and took a seat. 

You smoothed out your skirt and kept your knees pressed tightly together. You were no longer crying but you were a sordid mess next to the perfection that was Lucius. You felt his eyes rove over you as you held your gaze transfixed on your fidgeting hands that laid atop your thighs. Yet somehow, you were smiling. It wasn't that much of a surprise actually. you were always smiling. It was nearly a habit but also genuine.

“Tell me,” he said rather clearly, “what happened this time?” he continued with a voice that was perhaps a tad softer. You weren’t quite sure. About his voice or what you were supposed to tell him. His pale hand grabbed your fidgeting ones in a steady grip and you gasped. You couldn’t help it as he nearly gave you a heart attack with the sudden move and strength of his long fingers. “Tell me,” he urged and his voice was a bit clipped. Harsh actually. 

You furrowed your brow as you dared a look at the young man you were so utterly enthralled with. Who had filled your nights with steaming dreams and your warm showers with thoughts of wandering hands and echoing moans. But it had always ended the moment you remembered that he was disgusted by you. By your blood status.

But there he was, holding your hands in his. There he was, seated beside you in your solitude. There he was, wondering what had caused you such pain. And there you were, feeling utterly miserable as the only thing you could think was that you were about to be terribly broken one way or another. No good could simply come from being so close to him, it wasn't possible.

“It was nothing, they just teased me for not being able to produce the Patronus in defence against the dark arts today…” Your voice was low as you tried your best not to lose your courage to speak while you looked at his magnificent face. He let out a little hiss. “Dunderheads, the lot of them.” Your eyes widened in surprise. That was a rather mild comment as it came from him. You had heard far more colourful descriptions of Gryffindors from his lips. 

But his voice, that was what somewhat shocked you. He sounded angry. But why on earth would he be? He took jabs at you all the time, made sure you knew your place - not in Slytherin and not in proximity to him or other purebloods. He was eager in every way to push you down, down, down. 

Your thoughts drifted to the lesson that was the base for that day’s bullying. You had tried, with all your might, to produce your Patronus. You had done it a few times before, away from others. And since you knew what your Patronus was - well, it put a kink in your will to show it to others. So even if you had truly tried with all your might, your will had not been in it. 

“Do you not have happy memories?” Lucius’s voice broke through the light fog that clouded your mind and you smiled in a gentle yet kind of sad way. “I do,” you said as your fiddled with your fingers, your hands in your lap as he had released you a moment earlier. “But?” You peeked at him from the side and he looked at you intently, as if he actually cared or wanted to know. I need to be careful, he might, might just be setting me up for something… “I didn’t want to do it,” you shrugged while you spoke in a low voice. 

There was a moment of silence and Lucius had grabbed your hand yet again. It sent jolts of warmth through you and you did your best to hide your feelings, hide what you knew was a lost cause and an endless torrent of heartache and pain. “Why?” The word was quite simple, so was the question. Yet you found that you didn’t know how to answer it. Could you tell him about your Patronus? Could you tell him how you feared it would make you an even easier target for bloodshaming and bullying? Could you trust him enough for that? 

No, no you couldn’t. But you could tell him your reason for not wanting - without giving away too much. “I-, I didn’t want others to see my patronus.” “A patronus is something to take pride in,” Lucius said as he gave your hand a little tug and forced you to give him your attention, “not to hide away.” You tilted your head at his words. Sure, you say that now. Your patronus is a damn peacock! Nothing to hesitate about, it’s just beautiful and perfectly suited for you. Proud and independent, majestic yet wonderfully gentle. So yeah, of course, you’d say that… A damn peacock is nothing to mine… 

“Show me,” he said with that voice that was as gentle as it was dismissive. He just had it in him, his status, purity and family were so imprinted that he carried himself and spoke in a way that wreaked superiority, even when he doesn’t mean to sound harsh he still dose. “I-, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you mumbled out as your cheeks blushed. You felt it creep down your throat and further down to your chest covered with your shirt and tie. “Show me,” he said again and you looked into his beautiful eyes. His face framed by long, blond hair and his features were chiselled to perfection. 

You swallowed as heat swirled through your veins and gathered in the pit of your stomach. You could not help but imagine what his warm hand would have felt like if he caressed you in places none had before. How it would have felt if he had pressed his lips against yours. How it would have felt to hear words of endearment from him. The thoughts made you shiver while you were incredibly warm. 

You shook your head. He glared at you, even if there was another emotion that swirled in his bright eyes of the clearest grey. He always glared at you so it wasn't really something new. Yet it felt different when you were seated so close, while you were alone in a hidden room. It was different, yet the same. As landscapes changed with the seasons, it was different but still the same.  

He released your hand and produced his wand. “Expecto Patronum,” he said with conviction and strength to his voice. A bright light swirled from the tip of his wand as a peacock emerged in a silvery-blue light. It spread its tailfeathers and pranced around in a display of some swaying and soft sort. It looked quite astoundingly beautiful so up close. You could not help but stare at it with awe. But you did not wish for another Patronus, you loved your Patronus - it was just so different… 

“I’ve shown you mine, show me yours.” You took a shaky breath. His words were harsh and not to be refused. You knew him well enough to know that you had no way of getting out without producing your Patronus for him to see. “I’m sorry,” you said as you produced your own wand, “I’m not sure you’ll like it.” “Do you like it?” “I love it,” you replied with rosy cheeks and an embarrassed smile. “Than I should think I will find it intriguing.” You chuckled at his words. I think you’re right, for good or bad.  

You rose and took a step forward, so as to give yourself a little space from him. He clouded your mind and you couldn’t focus when he was so close. You racked your brain, searched for a memory that could fill you up and help bring forth your Patronus. When you found it you allowed it to consume you and then you flicked your wand up a bit higher. “Expecto Patronum,” you said as steadily as you could with that gentle voice of yours. 

“Holy Merlin-!” was the first thing that was heard as your Patronus stood proudly next to his little peacock that swiftly disappeared as Lucius’s focus was broken. You peered up as you craned your neck. Your classmates had showcased everything from mice to bears, horses to dolphins, tigers and owls - but your Patronus was on another level. “ That’s your patronus?! ” Lucius nearly shrieked and you looked towards him. He was paler than pale, pushed back into the sofa as his bulging eyes stared, he nearly gawked, at the T-Rex that had sprouted from your wand - fueled by happy memories.

The T-Rex walked around in the huge room for a moment, its teeth gleamed white from the light and so did the claws and eyes. It was a weirdly viciously beautiful sight and you did truly adore it. Your Patronus. “Yes, that is my patronus,” you said as you looked at the T-Rex. “ What the bloody hell is that thing?! ” You chuckled at his ignorance. “What, you’ve never seen a tyrannosaurus rex?” “A tyrano-what-now?” You chuckled at his confusion. “Tyrannosaurus rex, a T-Rex,” you stated to simplify it for the confused pureblood. “I have not and I hope I never shall!” 

You laughed at his words and horrified look, and the T-Rex seemed to focus on you with a gentle shine of happiness. “What?” Lucius asked in confusion and irritation. “They’re extinct, been for millions of years. They were walking the earth long before us,” you said as you tried to collect yourself from the fit of laughter. “Good,” he muttered as he glared at your Patronus. It glared back and you saw Lucius lower his gaze for a moment. Intimidated by the humongous creature of happy light portraying fangs and claws created and evolved for killing.  

“How can you have such a beast for patronus?” he asked as his gaze slid over to you rather than the T-Rex of happy light. You lowered your gaze a tad as you fidgeted with your fingers. You pulled a bit on your skirt, unknowing of what to say. “You’re so gentle, and weak. How can you have that within you?” His words were harsh and cold yet it felt as if he were not being mean deliberately. Perhaps it was just so ingrained in him? “I don’t know, perhaps because I am gentle?” He looked confused at that. But you continued, “perhaps because I am gentle and weak, as you point out, on the outside. You do not know anything about me or who I am. To you, well to you I’m just a filthy mudblood, no?” 

His head had jerked up at your own insulting words aimed at yourself. He looked at you, anger flashed in his cold eyes and you felt a shiver that travelled through you as you tried your best to hold his gaze. “That’s what I have always been to you, and will always be, a dirty thing only worthy of hateful words,” you continued with a gentle yet sad voice, “you’ve made that quite clear.” His hands fisted and he looked away from you. His lips sealed tightly. Your heart hammered in your chest as you tried your best to hold back the tears that wanted to escape. I will not cry, I will not cry again tonight. I knew, knew this was a bad thing. 

He rose from the sofa as your Patronus vanished. He straightened and you allowed yourself a second to just look at him. Admire him for such a fleeting thing as looks. Because he was gorgeous. Handsome, beautiful even. “Don’t you understand? I have to do that or I would go utterly mad.” Your eyebrows knitted together at his gritted words. “I do not understand, at all.” He glared at you when you spoke. Anger and rage in his eyes. “If I do not make sure you stay away from me I will not be able to stay away from you,” he growled on a hiss and you took an involuntary step back at the coldness of his tone. Yet your heart, your heart fluttered in your chest as his words echoed in your mind. 

“You like me?” you whispered out. “Of course I like you, who the bloody hell wouldn’t?” You gaped at him and tried to find any words to utter but your mind was completely blank. “You’re beautiful, smart, gentle and kind. Always smiling despite everything, always. bloody. smiling! ” he gritted out as if it were a crime against humanity to smile, “how can you possibly be so damn happy? Even now your smiling, you’re bruised and battered, bullied and alone in the world - yet you are still bloody smiling?!” His nostrils flared as he spoke, anger again visible in those cold eyes of his that you wanted to keep looking into for all time to come. 

“The world won’t be a better place just because I allow it to crush me,” you whispered as you tried to contain that smile he spoke of. But it was difficult in his presence as he made you feel such strong emotions that were both happy and sad. Your smile that of both joy and sheer will to not let things smash you into pieces. A self-defence mechanism and at the same time just who you were, how you were.

His face smoothed out, surprise in his eyes this time as he just looked at you. Baffled. “It won’t be a better place just because you smile either,” he countered. “No, but at least it won’t be worse.” He huffed at that and looked away. For a moment you felt a need to just lash out at him, release all the pent up anger, sorrow, hurt and misery. But that was not you. No, you were kind and gentle and would suffer in solitude if the awful emotions needed to come out. 

“You’re an idiot,” he grunted on a sigh. “Perhaps,” you said in return. “Or maybe I’m the idiot.” You knitted your brows at him again. “I don’t think so,” you responded with a pondering voice as you tried to contain your emotions and not let your mind run wild with the desire you felt for him, “why would you be the idiot? You’re smart, ambitious, excellent at many things. Popular.” “Yes, but if I were smart I would not be here alone, with you,” he hissed as he stepped towards you.  “Why?” you asked, your breath caught in your throat as he was inching ever closer. “Because if I was not alone I wouldn’t be able to do idiotic things,” he continued as he stopped right before you. “Like?” you whispered as your heart hammered from his proximity and your head fuzzed over from the manly scent that wafted from him, a gentle yet firm aroma that smelled like heaven; or hell - you weren’t quite sure. “This,” he growled and grabbed your chin before he smashed his warm lips against yours. 

For a moment you felt nothing, and then - everything. All the longing, desire, love and affection bubbled up along with the fear and sorrow of all hurtful things he had done to you. It was too much, too many emotions and you could not contain the tears that had been wanting to be released. So you cried silently as he kissed you with passion, his arms wrapped themselves around you as your hands grabbed his uniform and tried to pull him even closer. 

When the kiss was broken and you both panted while you looked at each other he reached up and wiped away your tears. “I don’t understand,” you murmured as you worried your lip. He tilted your head with a finger under your chin. “You do not need to understand.” “But-” “Always smiling and yet when I kiss you, you cry,” he said to cut you off and you felt a smile tug at your lips. You couldn’t help it. “I’m sorry,” you apologized and he raised his brows in a harsh way. You wanted to look away but couldn’t. “Do not apologies, I feel rather special,” he admitted and you could have sworn that his cheeks were taking on a tinge of red for a moment. It made your heart flutter again and somehow you found your courage and pulled him in for another kiss with absolutely no clue as to what was happening or how it would be after you left the secret room. But if this was your moment with him, you would make the most of it...

Masterlist page // Masterlist post // AO3

Please tell me what you think - comments are my source of nourishment so feed me some snacky words please xD ^^ <3 

Taglist:  @lizlil​ @snapefiction​  @darkthought15  @monstreviolet  @flowerdementia​  @marvelschriss​ @simpforsnape

Want to be tagged? 💚 You can tag yourself HERE! Or tell me and I’ll gladly tag you! 😍

[Jan:2021]

[escapewithbts]

Secrets in a Foreign Language (Part Five) - Jungkook

*Quick Warning* This chapter contains some smut! If that makes you uncomfortable I’m so sorry. Once it starts it ends at the very end of the chapter so you can skip it if you want. It’s pretty vanilla and loving but it’s definitely still detailed. Oh! And it’s unprotected! Please wrap it (do as I say, not as I write!!!!) Also! This is my first smut I’ve ever written and it was a little difficult and I didn’t feel like editing it right away so I apologize if it sucks. I wanted it to be sweet and meaningful but still satisfying? idk anyway... that’s it for the warnings :) I hope you enjoy!

<<previous_next>>

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

After the kiss between you and Jungkook there was a significant shift in your relationship. You still came over every Tuesday to hang out, but now you were much more flirty, touchier, and most days you ended up on the couch in a heavy make out session. You absolutely loved kissing Jungkook; loved the way he tasted, the way he let out soft moans whenever you sucked on his tongue, the way his hands would slightly pull at the hair that rested at the nape of your neck. The sexual tension between you two was building; you had let him feel you underneath your shirt once while he was busy leaving red marks on your neck, but you still had yet to completely give yourself to each other, and you couldn’t deny that you wanted him.

You wanted him so bad.

And based on the bulge you felt in his pants whenever the two of you were ravishing hungrily at each other’s mouths he wanted you, too. Honestly, you didn’t want to wait much longer, you couldn’t wait much longer. Jungkook wasn’t the only one with those pesky things called hormones you know, and yours were practically screaming his name. It was only a matter of time.

 On one particular Tuesday in the evening, it was pouring outside and the two of you were cuddled under a blanket on his couch watching an episode of a Korean drama. Jungkook’s arm was wrapped around your shoulders as your head lay on his chest, his resting on top of yours. He was warm and smelled like laundry, and the fabric of his t shirt felt soft against your cheek. You were so comfortable and content.

Eventually, the end of the episode neared, the credits rolling on the screen, and suddenly you felt a wet droplet of something land on the arm that was laying on Jungkook’s lap. You furrowed your eyebrows and looked up in confusion, only to be met with the red nose and tear stained cheeks of Jeon Jungkook.

Your eyes went wide, and you immediately sat up to face him.

  “Kook are you-are you crying?” you questioned in concern.

He quickly wiped the tears from his face and hid it in his arms.

  “What? No! I’m not crying!” he muffled out from his sleeves.

Then he let out a loud sniffle.

  “Jungkook,” you shook his upper arm gently, “…is it because of the show?”

There was a silence before he muttered a barely audible,

 “Maybe…”

A huge grin spread across your face and you wrapped your arm through his, running your other hand through his soft black locks.

 “It’s okay, Kook. You’re allowed to cry, I don’t mind.” You tried reassuring him, making sure he knew he had no reason to be embarrassed.

He slowly lifted his head up revealing his blotchy face and puffy eyes, a small shy smile on his lips.

 “It’s just…” he hesitated then motioned to the tv screen, “they’re so good for each other. They’re meant for each other. Why can’t they just be together? It’s tearing them apart.”

You shrugged and wiped away a tear on his cheek with the pad of your thumb.

“I don’t know… I guess sometimes life gets in the way. It’s not always that easy. Even though they seem happy when they’re together and might be soulmates it doesn’t automatically mean it will work out.”

He stared down at his lap and fiddled with the fingers of yours that he held in his hand.

“But can’t they find a way to make it work? When people are meant for each other, isn’t there always a way?”

You couldn’t help but smile at his sensitivity and obvious hopeless romantic ideals... just when you thought you couldn’t like him any more.

He suddenly shot his head up to look at you, his doe eyes wide, lips slightly parted. Then he shook his head and scrunched his eyes tightly shut, putting fingers up to the bridge of his nose.

“Aiiishh, you probably think I’m such a loser.”

You quickly took his hands in yours and squeezed them firmly, making him open his eyes to face you again.

 “No Jungkook, no. I don’t think you’re a loser at all. I think it’s sweet. Really sweet. Okay? Your huge heart is one thing I like most about you.”

And you really meant it.

He ran a hand through his hair, a blush on his face.

 “Thanks, (y/n).”

You gave him a warm smile.

 “And we’re not done with the show yet, you know. Who knows what will happen between them.”

He let out a small chuckle.

 “That’s true.”

You then patted his thigh and removed the blanket before standing up.

 “Hey, how about I make you something for dinner? Maybe some kimchi fried rice with pork? I think I saw you have all the stuff to make it.”

Jungkook eagerly nodded his head.

 “I do and I would love that, (y/n). Can I-can I help?”

You grinned down at him and shook your head.

 “Nope, I got this.”

He blushed shyly and put his head down.

 “Ah thank you. It’s not often I have someone cook dinner for me, you know.”

You ambled into the kitchen and looked over your shoulder saying,

 “Well just sit back and relax and I’ll try to let you know if I think I’m about to set something on fire!”

Luckily, you didn’t, and the meal you made for the two of you turned out even better than you could have imagined. Who knew you had a knack for cooking Korean food? It was delicious, and definitely something you could get used to having.

When you both finished you just sat at the island laughing and talking for a while before you stood up to clean.

 “No,” Jungkook swiftly rose to his feet and took the dirty bowls from your hands, “it’s okay, I will clean.”

 You cocked you head.

“But isn’t that what I get paid to do here?” you joked.

He just smiled and rolled his eyes and strolled over to the sink.

Suddenly a yawn unexpectedly escaped from your mouth and you glanced at the time on your phone.

 “Whoa, it’s a lot later than I thought. Maybe I should get going.”

With his back to you Jungkook just replied with an ‘okay’ and you opened the Seoul Subway app on your phone to see when the next train was coming.

 “Wait, what??” you suddenly exclaimed.

Jungkook turned around in confusion.  

 “Is everything okay?”

You didn’t look up as your eyes quickly scanned through the urgent message on your screen.

 “The subway system… it’s-it’s not running tonight! Shit…”

He furrowed his eyebrows.

 “What? Why is it not running?”

You put your face in your hand in frustration.

 “Because of the rain. I guess it has flooded the tracks at a lot of the stations and it’s not safe to run the trains. Fuck! Stupid monsoon season! How will I get home??”

You bit your lip in thought. A taxi? But if it’s even too dangerous for the subway to run wouldn’t the streets be flooded, too?

You swiftly shuffled over to the large window in the living room and peered down to see if you could gage the current condition of the streets of Seoul, but it was raining so hard nothing was visible but just a few feet down. You only saw the soft yellow glow of the streetlights through the torrential downpour.

You groaned and turned back around where you noticed Jungkook had followed you into the room.

You looked at the ground awkwardly.

 “Do you mind if I stay just, like, an hour longer? See if it let’s up a little out there?”

Jungkook nodded his head and for a brief moment your heart sank. But then he said,

 “I was going to say why don’t you just stay for the night.”

Your heart suddenly sped up, an obvious shocked expression apparent on your face since a deep blush appeared on his and he added,

 “You know, because I have another bedroom that no one ever sleeps in and… yeah…”

Wait, did you suddenly feel slightly disappointed?

 “Thank you, but I really don’t want to be a bother…” you mumbled.

Jungkook stepped toward you and engulfed you in a hug. You let yourself relax into his muscular frame.

He chuckled against you.

 “You could not be a bother. It would be nice having you here with me.”

The sincerity in his tone made your stomach flip.

 “And I would… rather know you are here safe,” he whispered, sending a shiver up your spine.

That made your heart feel full as you peered back up at him. His dark brown eyes were hooded and staring directly into yours with such ferocity you almost had to look away.

But you didn’t. And immediately his hand was cupping your cheek and he was crashing his lips onto yours. He wasted no time in running his tongue along your bottom lip, making you gasp slightly, allowing entrance. You relished in his taste, the wrestling of tongue on tongue. You moaned when he nibbled your bottom lip, pulling it away gently. Your hands went to his soft hair, running them through it, tugging lightly. A deep moan emitted from his throat and it was a sound you knew you couldn’t wait to hear again.

Jungkook’s large hands found their way under the hem of your shirt, lightly grazing the skin of your hips and creating goosebumps at his touch. He slowly slid them upwards, taking your shirt with them, until it was up and over your head and you were left in just your nude-colored bra. He then began sucking and biting gently at your neck which caused you to tilt your head back, a subtle invitation for him to invade more of it with his heavenly feeling mouth to which he happily obliged. At the same time, he reached behind your back, slowly unfastening the hooks of your bra. You let it slide down your arms and onto the floor beneath you.

He wasted no time in giving your breasts the attention they deserved. His tattoo covered hand began massaging one, flicking his thumb across your hardened nipple. His lips moved from the sweet spot of your neck down to the valley between your breasts and finally they encapsuled your other nipple. He suckled on it lightly and flicked his tongue over it in unison with his thumb on the other which caused a soft moan to erupt from your throat and your hand to pull at his hair. When you looked down at him worshiping your mounds, you were met with his messy black hair, eyes shut, nose rubbing against your sensitive skin. He had never looked more beautiful to you than in this moment. And you wanted him to know.

 “Kook…” you groaned out tenderly.

His big brown eyes opened and peered up at you, his tongue still swirling around your hardened nub.

 “I-I want you. Please.”

Hearing that, he immediately stood up straight and crashed his lips back onto yours. Then he wrapped his well-built arms around your midsection and hoisted you up, making you yelp at the sudden action of being lifted. Your legs instinctively went around his waist, and he held you tightly under the back of your thighs, your ass resting in his palms. He squeezed it roughly making you whimper into his mouth and wanting him even more.

He led you both out of the living room and down the hallway towards his bedroom, your lips not once breaking apart from each other.

Once you reached the bedroom, he gently laid you down in front of him on the edge of his king sized bed. You broke apart and clawed at his t shirt until he shimmied it over his head and threw it on the floor. You had seen him shirtless once before, that one time after his shower when you were over, but this time you were able to touch him, feel him. And you wasted no time in doing so. With your mouths reconnected once more, your hands went to his forearms, caressing the large veins there, then up to his biceps that were flexed from hovering over you, to his firm shoulders. Then you ran them down his prominent pectoral muscles, and over his abs. oh my god his solid, rock hard abs.

As much as you loved finally feeling all of his upper half, you found yourself still craving more of him, and therefore, since your hands were down there anyway, you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants and pulled them down as far as you could before he finished removing them for you. Jungkook did the same to you, taking off your leggings and tossing them to join his clothes on the floor.

Then he gently spread your legs apart and shifted himself, so he was in between them. He started kissing your neck again and you suddenly felt the bulge in his underwear against your clothed core. The contact made you moan and jut your hips upward to grind on his crotch, hoping he got the memo. But just in case it wasn’t clear enough, you wrapped your hand in his hair and whispered directly into his ear,

“Please, Jungkook, I want you in me so fucking bad.”    

He sat back just a little so he could run his hand down your stomach then down in between your legs. He slipped a couple fingers under the waistband of your underwear, and then slowly dragged them between your already slick folds, coating his digits in your juices. The action made you moan loudly which encouraged him to gently rub the pad of his thumb on your already throbbing clit. You gasped.

 “Oh f-fuck yes…” you breathed out.

 “I have to make sure you are ready for me, (y/n),” Jungkook said in a deep raspy tone that made you shudder, “And fuck… you are so fucking ready.”

With that he removed the hand that was toying with your heat and swiftly pulled your underwear down and off your legs, not wasting a minute to tear his own off, too.

Then he lined the tip of his member up with your entrance and ran it up and down your folds a few times, eliciting a whimper from you, so eager to feel all of him. Then he ever so slowly pushed his entire length into you, parting your warm and velvety walls and filling you to the brim. He sucked in a breath as he felt you constrict around him, moaning at how tight and wet you were, even without much foreplay.

The two of you were connected at the most intimate place, and it had been so damn long you forgot how good it felt to have someone inside of you.

 “Fuck, Kook, please move,” you begged.

He instantly did as you requested, gradually pulling all the way out of you just to ram himself right back in. You yelped at the pain, but mostly pleasure as he did it again, faster this time and then again, over and over, finding a pace and strength that had you groaning out almost incoherent curse words between sounds of pleasure.

He leaned down so his face was right in front of yours, his hips thrusting so expertly and hitting all the right spots inside you. He put his forehead against yours and your eyes met, his pupils dilated and staring right into yours. Beads of sweat were causing his dark hair to stick to his neck and his chest started heaving heavily; you could feel his hot breath on your face.

  “You feel… so good, baby,” he panted out between thrusts.

You briefly felt your heart skip a beat at the pet name, that sounded so sweet yet so sexy at the same time, but you were quickly refocused on the task at hand when Jungkook sat back up and placed your feet on his shoulders. The new position welcomed a whole new sensation between your legs as he was now able to hit your g spot directly, causing shocks of intense pleasure to coerce through your whole body. And if that wasn’t enough, his tattooed arm wrapped around your leg in order for his fingers to gain access to your clit, rubbing it unhurriedly so not to overstimulate you.

With all this happening at once you knew it wouldn’t be long until you were coming undone, the coil in your lower belly snapping, the tidal wave of pleasure washing over you, your walls squeezing as tightly as possible around Jungkook making him unable to pull out anymore.

You arched your back and squirmed underneath him, yelling his name, the world around you becoming blurry from such an intense orgasm, your breath stilling in your chest, your hands gripping the bedspread so tightly your knuckles turned white. You almost felt like you were going to blackout; you had never felt so much pleasure spreading throughout your whole body in your life.

As you began to come down from your high, breathing heavily, your body still twitching, Jungkook started thrusting again, harder and faster than before, needing his own release, too. He bent down, his hands on the pillow on either side of your head.

 “Where do you want me to cum?” he breathed out.

Your mind was still foggy from your heavenly orgasm as you replied,

 “I don’t care.”

And that was all he needed to hear as his eyes shut tightly and he suddenly stopped thrusting. You felt his cock twitch and warm spurts of his seed coat you somewhere deep inside you.

He let out a “F-fuck, (y/n)”, and you were pretty sure it was the most heavenly thing your ears had ever heard.

Then he fell on top of you, completely spent, coming down from his high, too.

The two of you just laid there for a few seconds, catching your breaths, and coming back to reality.

When you looked down you saw Jungkook’s head resting on your chest and you couldn’t help but run your hand gently through his hair, the sweat making it stay slicked back from his forehead. At your touch he lifted his head up, a shy yet cheeky bunny-like grin across his face. The sight of it made your heart feel full.

Then he weakly peeled his naked and sweaty body off yours and slumped down on his back next to you. He smiled sweetly at you and ran his hand down the side of your face. Then he turned on his side and beckoned you to him.

 “Come here…” he murmured softly, opening his arms for you to crawl into. You did, pressing your bare back against his chest, feeling his face nuzzle into your hair and arm wrap around your chest to pull you closer.

You traced some of the tattoos on his arm with your finger as you two lay there in a content silence, completely wrapped up in one another. It was the most blissful feeling.

In fact, you didn’t think you could feel any calmer and content in this moment until Jungkook broke the silence and whispered,

 “I really, really like you a lot, (y/n).”

At those words you felt like your heart could leap out of your chest. You turned in his arms to face him and looked up at him with a big smile.

 “I really, really, like you a lot, too, Jungkook.”

He returned your smile, equally as large, his nose scrunching as he was unable to contain his happiness. He just pulled you closer to him and you buried your face in the crook of his neck while he rested his chin on your head. You sighed contently, breathing in the comforting natural scent of his skin.

You had never felt safer or more loved than in this moment with Jeon Jungkook.

*

next>>

Masterlist

[peachyproserpina]

4 AM Dad!Paterson x Reader

Yet again I am here, with a tender piece dedicated to my love @glassbxttless . You deserve the world Cece and you're one of my favorite people.

TW: PPD, Pregnancy talk, Depressive thoughts, lots and lots of crying, lots of kisses, rambling, not proof-read

Maybe one of these days I'll work myself up to writing smut or something of the sort but until then have these small tender tidbits.

He’s up, it’s so early it’s still dark out, even for winter. You’re curled into his side, soft snoring and maybe drooling a little, he presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head before reaching over for his watch, checking the time it’s just about 4 am. You’ve only been asleep for about 2 hours and knowing his fussy son Felix is about to stir awake to be fed again. He’s small, born just a little too early and he’s been a recent addition into your home lives. Paterson’s taken 3 months off of his route to be there for the both of you.

The pregnancy was hard on everyone, between the sickness and everything else that started kicking in Pat felt bad he didn’t take time from the route before Felix was born. You always hushed those thoughts of inadequacy with a swift kiss to his plush lips and tender tug on his earlobe. Joking about how if he was home and fretting over you everyday like he is now you would have probably been a single parent by the time Felix was born. Pat’s smiling down at you while he shuffles out from under you to sneak out of the room and into the nursery with Felix. Taking hushed quiet steps he barely opens the door and see’s Felix start to stir, not quite hungry enough to start crying. Pat shuts the door and goes to warm up some formula so he can feed him and have you catch up on the sleep you are definitely lacking.

He remembers when you told him you we’re pregnant, how neither of you have ever cried that hard before in your lives. Happy tears running down your faces and Pat sitting there perched on the bathroom counter while you take test after test just to make sure. You had both been trying forever, it took a year of trying and so many false positive tests before you ended up having Felix. Pat picks up Felix who just started to whine and rocks him back and forth while he settles into the deep rocking chair located in the corner of the room. He still doesn’t feel like it’s real, he never wanted kids, Laura never said she wanted one, content with her dog and Pat. After they split Pat figured he would never end up dating ever again and settled in his new life, same routine, less poetry, maybe picking up a few more routes when he should have taken his day off. Until you stumbled into his bus and he knew then and there that you were going to change his life. You brought it up one summer day after you we’re both married, wanting kids and Pat knew then and there that he wanted to start a family with you. He agreed and from that point forward y'all were at it like rabbits.

He coos as Felix drains his bottle faster than he expected, he’s getting bigger everyday but Pat still feels like a giant when he holds him. He has your hair, and so much of it. He did end up with Pats big ears and brown eyes, but Pat can’t deny he sees so much of you in him and that makes his heart sing. He knows his sass might even outmatch yours even after being home for these first few weeks. Felix snuggles into Pat's hold while he rocks them back and forth still, just enjoying spending time together, Felix drooling onto his shirt just as you were not so long ago and that makes Pat tear up. You are his world, and always will be. He blinks back his tears and brings Felix up to his face so he can shower him in kisses. He hears the door creek and you’re stepping in, rubbing your eyes, maybe not even fully awake. You walk over to the crib and reach in to pick up Felix. Eye’s snapping open and chest heaving once you don’t feel him. Pat’s eyebrows furrow as he watches you spin and spot your boys in the rocking chair and let out a breath, heart rate going back down and relaxing.

He can feel your anxiety from here, you’ve been together long enough that he can read you. There’s more than Felix not being in his crib that is eating away at you- Pat makes his way over to you placing a sweet kiss to the top of your head before laying the baby down now that he is taken care of and turns to you. Cocking an eyebrow and rubbing his large hands over your arms. Gently leading you back to your room and settling back into your bed. You cuddle up to him, tracing patterns on his chest. Pat’s mind is going a million miles a minute, he knows the PPD has been hard, those weeks while Felix was still in the hospital you barely moved. He was so worried about you, for you. Hovering and doing everything he could think of for you. Keeping you hydrated when you would cry and hushing reassuring words to you when you opened up about feeling like you would never bond with Felix because he was in the hospital. Chasing those fears away with his soft words and softer hands. He took the time off of work because he wanted to make sure his family was okay, that you, the light of his life was okay. With Felix home you seemed better, less crying fits and despite both of you being exhausted you started making more decisions and offering to make dinner once a week, even if it was just dumping everything into a crock-pot.

He watches you, rubbing his hand up and down your back, lightly scratching under your sleep cami, you hum and open your mouth only to close it again. You do this a few more time before mumbling something into his chest, your fingers digging into his shirt. Pat furrows his brows for what feels like this millionth since being up.

“What was that Sweetheart?” He’s running his hands up and under your chin to tilt you to look up at him and his heart breaks when he sees tears start to leak out of your eyes and plop, sink, spread onto his shirt.

“Pat- I don’t think-” You’re gasping as you try to get this thought out. “I don’t think I'm a good parent, I-” your tears are coming faster now and Pat sits the both of you up, pulling you onto his lap. You can’t meet his eyes, you shut your eyes and lean your head back willing the tears to stop. Pat’s heart is breaking-

“Sweetheart- you know” you shake your head mentally begging him to stop as you cry harder. You’re not a good parent, not cut out for this, your boys. Pat and Felix deserve someone so much better than you. Your thoughts keep swirling, not even hearing Pat as his term of endearment for you spills out of his lips. “Y/N. Look at me.” His tone is curt, words not harsh but serious. You’ve only heard Pat use this tone of voice once or twice before. You look at him, he brings his hands up and gently wraps one around your jaw and his other one pushes your hair out of your face, he’s so gentle with you. No one thinks that Paterson is gentle, he’s too big, takes up too much room even when driving the bus. But he is so so gentle with you, always. His touches are softer than butter and melts into your skin, even now as you’re crying, snot assuredly leaking out of your nose, face red and blotchy he is still soft with you. He holds your gaze and you can see the heartbreak in his eyes and that makes the tears well anew. Thoughts of you didn’t deserve him, he deserved better, someone else.

Pat can see the spiral of panic in your eyes again and tightens his grip barely on your jaw. Cupping the back of your head close and kissing your lips so softly, whispering sweetheart between every kiss.

“I can’t believe how hard it’s been for you, love, but you are an amazing parent. I know it, Felix knows and even though you don’t feel like it you know you are.” Your lips are still touching while he spills his heart out to you- “I never wanted kids until I met you Sweetheart, you changed my entire life and I never wanted kids, never wanted anything like that until you. You are so strong, stronger than you know, you’re so stubborn so you won’t admit it. When you need help, when you feel like you're drowning.” Pat can’t stop, he has so much to say, he wants to scream it, wishes you could see just how stunning and perfect and and and.

“This wasn’t easy for me, I can’t even imagine how hard this was for you Sweetheart. But you did it, you did it all, you gave birth to the most beautiful baby I have ever seen and made my life complete. You can’t see it and some days I know it doesn’t feel like it but you are perfect, for both me and Felix. I love you, so so much.” Pat stops, biting his tongue wanting to drown you in the more praise that you deserve, that you need to hear because it is true. You’ve stopped crying, you’re looking at him looking deep into his honey brown eyes before letting the tension fall away from your shoulders and snuggling into his neck. Your hands rubbing up and down his solid chest, pressing kisses into his neck.

“Thank-” you start before Pat shakes his head,

“No need to thank me for telling you the honest truth.” Pat’s snuggling you both down under the covers now and you’re sucking a dark mark into the side of his neck, trying to not cry exhausted tears. Full of love and able to get real rest for what feels like for the first time in days. Pat is tracing patterns into your back while you fall back asleep. Hoping that you take these words to heart, because it is all the honest and whole truth.

[mattzerella-sticks]

Heart in My Hand (15x18 “Despair” coda, Dean-centric, Destiel. post-that scene)

(ao3 link)

He was right there.

Cas was telling Dean everything he ever wanted to hear since meeting the angel of the Lord... only each and every word of his confession stabbed at Dean's heart. Because once he finished, there's no more time for them. For him. For any chance of happiness - all that taken away by the Empty. And now he has to carry on.

He tries. Stands, gets in his car and drives where Sam tells him. When he meets with the others, though...

           Dean spots them easily, only two people left on the planet besides himself. Standing in the middle of the street, waiting. He rolls to a stop near some crashed truck and an abandoned bag of groceries that spills out the top. Egg yolks oozing into a small puddle, mixing with freely leaking juice burning bright against dark asphalt. Visible even from where he sits inside his car.

           With Sam and Jack advancing, Dean crams the rest of his emotions down. Puts on a brave face. What he sees in his rearview isn’t anything like that. Trembling lips. Red, blotchy skin. Wide eyes that look more haunted than an average, Midwestern home. It’s better than how he appeared earlier. And since they’re already here, he must move on. Steeling himself, he exits his car.

           “Dean,” Jack starts, glancing from him to his empty car, “Where’s Cas?”

           Dean fails, again. “Cas…” He croaks, words blocked by the boulder that wedged into his throat once that black portal of despair vanished. Water traces familiar pathways down his cheeks, Dean steadying himself on his open door. Hisses panicked breaths through clenched teeth. “Cas, he…”

           “Oh.” Sam stumbles backwards, news dealing its own damage. Jack stares at Dean, jaw hanging limply. Gaze wet from threatening tears. “Was it…” his brother coughs, regaining his footing, “was it Billie?”

           He shakes his head, still not ready to speak. Voice abandoning him like… well.

           “Chuck?” Jack asks, inching closer. “Did Chuck make him crumble, too?”

           Dean nearly forgot. Chuck… if only. His anger would have a target, instead of hanging around him as if it were a fog. Miasma thick he cannot see past a never-ending reel of those few, long minutes. Cas’s parting message replaying ad nauseum. “No,” he manages, staring at Baby’s roof. “No, he – he sacrificed… to take out… to save…” Gasping, Dean lolls his head upwards. Staring up at an empty sky, sending what’s left of his sentence into the heavens.

           Someone approaches, lays a hand on his elbow. There because it hovered over Dean’s shoulder and chose a different path. Dean felt how close it came to fitting over his angel’s mark. Heard a sharp intake of breath after they noticed it, confirming Dean’s suspicion. “Dean,” Sam says – of course it’d be him. He recognizes his little brother’s voice. Especially when he forces confidence through his tone. It lacks, however, as an undercurrent of worry threaded through it. “Dean,” he continues, “what happened?”

           First, he searches for Jack. The younger boy leans across from Dean, waiting. Curious. Heartbroken. “He,” Dean whispers, knees buckling under him, “Billie was out for blood and – and we couldn’t stop her on our own. So Cas, he…” Sam’s grip tightens on his elbow, adds another supportive touch to Dean’s armpit. Keeps him standing. Dean thanks Sam by letting his hands stay. “We were dead to rights. So Cas… let himself be happy.”

           Jack’s muttered curse resolves a lingering question, whether he knew. Doubly confirmed since Jack draws further attention to himself, slamming his fist on Baby’s roof. Dean doesn’t raise his usual objections. “The Empty,” he says.

           “The Empty?” Sam glances between Jack and Dean, “What would… why would the Empty be there? When Cas is happy – what are you talking about?”

           “A deal Sammy,” Dean says. Louder, rougher. Shattering the eerie silence of this deserted city scape. “He made a deal with that damned thing, his life for… for…”

           “For mine.” Jack tilts his head, brows drawn in such a mirror of his father Dean nearly collapses where he stood. He remains strong. “When I was in Heaven, after I… I died, the first time.” Sighing, he stretches towards them. Extending an empty palm in a gesture of regret. “I’m… I’m so sorry –“

           “No.” Dean slides his own hand, taking Jack’s. Squeezes it. Grounding himself further. “I don’t… it’s not your fault. Cas made the deal. He – he’s made his choice. It’s… if he had the chance to go back, he’d still do it. Again and again. That’s who he is.” Dean hiccups, face cracking as his mouth stretches wide, gracing the others with a rueful smile. “Putting everyone’s needs before himself even if it… even if it meant he could never…” He shudders, Cas’s peaceful expression when the Empty struck frozen in his mind. “Too good, Cas was – he was too good –“

           “Dean, Dean!” Sam tore Dean away from Jack and Baby, carrying him off to sit on the sidewalk’s curb. Bent him, head between knees, helping him work past growing hysterics. Jack followed them, hovering. Shadow blocking the sun from shining above, casting him in darkness. Thinking this makes Dean spiral further. “Breathe Dean, just breathe.”

           It’s stupid. Dean wastes valuable time, their world crumbling all around them. And what is he doing? Crying. Making Sam and Jack comfort him because Dean lost the shovel he usually buries his feelings with. Empty probably taking that, too. It’s stupid. Maddening. Also, completely unavoidable.

           Dean wondered if, one day, he might shatter so completely gathering those pieces might prove impossible. He has his answer, at the worst possible moment.

           Soon he calms, and Dean can lift his head without flashing back there.

           “Dean…” Sam starts, cautiously. Treating Dean too carefully given how far into this war they’re in. “Dean, Cas’s deal… the Empty wanted him happy?” Nodding, Dean waits for the next question. Dreading it. “What… what did he do?”

           Sam hadn’t broken down, when they found Eileen’s duffel – and her phone. Recovered best he could and shouldered his pain. Allowed those seconds of grief, then used it as fuel. Whereas Dean drags his suffering into eternity. Mourns his best friend, and their lost potential. A stolen future. Years spent in denial. If he’d taken a chance earlier… at some point. “Cas,” Dean sighs, “he let himself… he confessed…” Explaining it was too difficult, but Sam needed to know. Jack, too. “He loved me, Sam.” Laughing, Dean wipes at his eyes. “He loved me, after all I – he still… he loved me, and that killed him.” Whispering, he repeats, “He loved me.”

           Sam’s features shifted, journeying from shock to a pitying understanding. Rubs comfortingly at his back, sighing. “Loving you was what made him happiest?”

           “Yeah… it was, it was so simple…” Dean uncurls, teetering, flirting with the idea of lying on his back. He and Jack trade a fleeting glance, Dean checking his reaction. Not surprised in the slightest. Kid’s too damned insightful. “Just admitting it was enough and… and you know what he said? He said he… Cas believed it was something he could never have?” His chest tightens, and Dean scoffs. “I don’t… how could that be – how could loving me be, I’m… how can I be Cas’s happiness? Out of all he could have had, and what he wanted was me – what I… what I thought I could never have.”

           “Don’t say that Dean,” Sam admonishes, “you are worthy of having love.”

           Shrugging, Dean turns from his and Jack’s heavy stares. Looks at the pooling egg yolk again; focuses on that spreading mess. “Cas said about as much, before the Empty… had this whole speech that I – it felt like I was being peeled away. Called me out for… it all feels so meaningless. Is that what it felt like, with Eileen? Being with someone who can see through you and make all this big stuff seem – well, seem not so big anymore?” Sam agrees, as much. “There we were Billie hot on our heels. Waiting for death, and he spits out the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. I almost forgot what was going on. It was just him and me… him seeing – seeing me. And you know what I did? Not a goddamn thing…”

           “Dean…”

           “I could barely speak, I – I was so scared,” Dean admits, “if you’d’ve been there Sam, the look of – look of finality that was there, alongside the love, and peace, and happiness. I always wanted to hear him say that, couldn’t predict him saying all of that… I would’ve traded it if it meant he’d stay. And I can – I get to have him in the only way we could. But he made up his mind, like with Jack. Took Billie down, and him, too. Leaving me there – alone – that it… when I finally said it back, I was too late.”

           They echoed. Hung in the air. Mingled with Cas’s blood on his sleeve and the fresh tears pouring out of him. Shook Dean down to the very core of his being, barely hearing it past the low pitch of static filling his ears. Dean thought those words innumerably before, imagined different scenarios, played pretend in the comfort of his room where no one can see.

           No one ever will, now.

           “I…” Dean tries saying his truth. It doesn’t want to come out. He continues regardless, “I miss him, Sam. Why do we do this? Hurt everyone we’ve ever cared about? Hell, the whole world’s collateral damage because of us!” Exhausted, Dean gives in. Falls fully off the cliff, lying on the sidewalk. Arms spread beside him while he watches endless blue.

           Sam squeezes his knee, “I miss her too. I miss them all.” He stands, adding another shadow. Jack’s advancing, too. Blanketing Dean in a strange temperature. Not cold, still there’s an absence of warmth he notes. “But it’s not on us. It’s Chuck. Always has been…”

           “Then is this it?” Dean asks, “One last play, even if it kills us? Even if it can’t bring everyone back?”            

           “At least we died fighting, then.”

           Dean cannot argue with this. He doesn’t feel too inclined to move yet. “For them,” he says, closing his eyes. “This isn’t about us, anymore. It’s about all of them. The world… our family… Eileen and – and Cas.”

           Their shadows move. He senses them leave, sunlight returning. Bringing with it more memories. Of how it felt first hearing Cas say it. A natural glow that lit from within. Snuffed in Cas’s next breath, as Billie’s fist pounded on the door, and when the bitterness of Cas’s declaration hit his tastebuds. Dean grasps for that feeling, basking under the sun. Pretends it’s Cas giving him that gorgeous, soul-shattering smile. Encouraging him into his final battle. Telling him it’ll be over soon, he’ll be done, and that he loves him.

           He loves him. He loves him. He loves him.

           “I love you Cas.”

           Dean will rise. Gather what little he, Sam, and Jack have and rush at Chuck until there truly is nothing left. Of this world. Or of them. But that’s later.

           Right now, Dean dreams of his losses. Apologizes, one by one, faces blurring together as he starts counting strangers his mind saved for no purpose other than to make him carry more crosses.  Never his, though.

           Cas’s face shines uninterrupted, clearly, like the sun. There even as everything else fades. In the safety of his mind, where the Empty can’t steal him. In the safety of his heart, that Chuck can’t control. In his hands, wearing Cas’s blood like a badge of honor and pride.

           And love.

[sdwolfpup]

I waited until the @jaime-brienne-fic-exchange Festive Festival was mostly done before talking about the fics that I was gifted this year, since I know everyone was deluged with wonderful stories, and the ones I was gifted were all excellent and I hope hope hope you make time for each of them. These are the fics I was @’d on in one form or another.

First up is the fic that my assigned writer, @naomignome wrote for me, A Winter Wish. Naomi is one of the funniest people I’ve ever met, but she also has an unbelievable knack for description even in comments, and such a good sense of tenderness and emotion and she brought all of that to her fic for me. In this, she takes one of my new favorite headcanons -- that Jaime and Brienne’s moms were friends! -- and transposes them to modern Westeros, where J & B meet as children during a tradition around the first snowfall. What’s especially brilliant about this is that she also keeps the years-long seasons, so the five (plus one) times they meet to do this spans a huge portion of their lives. There is humor and sorrow and flirting and sexiness and love underneath all of it. I was so happy when I saw she was my writer and this fic was fantastic. 

They trudged in good humor to the closest park to the university, the air chilly and cold with the promise of snow. Brienne’s laughs came out in puffs of white, and Jaime yearned to jar the sound and keep it in his pockets for when he felt cold.

When the powdered snow began to drift down around them, he watched her smile openly into the sky, in a way that she only ever did at him and at first snow. He watched some lucky snowflakes catch on the soft tendrils of her pale eyelashes, and kiss the flush of her cheeks.  The warmth wrapped around his heart, much like the mitten she had knit him wrapped around the stub of his hand.

For my stocking stuffers, I’ll go in order received. @potatothecat wrote me campfire stars in the distance. This is a lovely little modern AU vignette of Jaime and Brienne and all of their friends sharing a night around the campfire under the stars. It’s so quiet I can almost hear the crackle of the fire, and I can definitely hear Jaime’s very loud love for Brienne, even if their friends aren’t sure if it’s real between them or not. But they know it is, and that lovely bond between them comes through strongly.

They’ve done this a hundred times by now—on the couches in both their apartments, sitting on the floor across from Addam and Dany when the four of them meet up for game night, in restaurant booths, and now by the fireside—but it’s no less delightful for the familiarity of it. He’d spend his entire life pressed up against Brienne’s side if he could, staring into the dancing flames and laughing along with the rest of their friends as Sansa reenacts a prank she played on her siblings.

Then @eryiscrye wrote me Caught Gold Handed, which is a canon AU set after the Long Night, where Jaime and Brienne get in a snowball fight with the squires and orphans of Winterfell. That summary ALONE should sell you on this, if it being Eryi isn’t enough on its own. What’s marvelous about this is it’s a rare chance to see the canon characters having fun together, and the ways their love for each other comes through even in something as simple as Brienne helping Jaime make snowballs. No one can take this happily married version of JB from me, I will fight you.

She flushed, all blotchy and red. “We already slept in this morning.”

“We hardly slept. And that was this morning,” he replied as he happily pressed up by her side.

She glanced over at him, still shy, but also so bold, his darling lady wife. “We’ll go to bed early tonight.”

Jaime chuckled, “And yet sleep late.”

Brienne bit her bottom lip, “I suppose that is how all our days will go now.”

He beamed at her happily.

@kurikaesu-haru wrote Merry & Bright for a group of us and it is a delightful modern AU that tackles a bunch of tropes - fake dating! only one bed! Christmas activities! - in a fun, funny, and sweet package. The banter in this is wonderful and there are some tender little moments tucked in between the laughs (Arthur Dayne cutout!!) that are lovely to stumble on.

He rests his head against her shoulder, so his stubble scratches her skin, and he’s whispering in her ear. “And I’m glad you tricked me into standing under the mistletoe with you. Who else would I want to kiss as much as you?”

Brienne realizes, suddenly, that a lot of the things Jaime says to her mean,  I love you.

@wildlingoftarth wrote a group gift fic as well, I want a house with a crowded table, which is a canon-based future established relationship fic that feels like coming home to family and sitting by the fire. It’s years and years later and Jaime and Brienne live happily in a cottage on Tarth and they’re welcoming their children and grandchildren for a feast. The weight of all their history and love is palpable. This is everything I want for them, and whatever canon may or may not says happens, this is where I believe they end up.

It is a life she never dared to hope for, never dreamed of in her days of fighting for this king or that, being sent on a series of seemingly impossible errands she accomplished through sheer force of will, and falling desperately and irrevocably in love along the way. That the man she’d fallen for had somehow developed the same feelings for her still fills her with astonishment at times, even after all these years.

THEN, @elizadunc wrote me Fêted Snow! This is a perfectly delicious little morsel of Brienne and Jaime married with kids (and more on the way!!), snowed in and making the most of it. Their banter and way with each other is so easy and familiar, their feelings and history are there, plain as the snow falling down out their window. It’s a delightful slice of their very happy life.

But then it had started snowing on Friday afternoon and apparently hadn’t slowed at all through the night. On Saturday morning when Brienne woke to a very insistently ringing phone she knew that the party, sorry, fête, was off.

She brought the phone back into the bedroom and smiled at the sight of Jaime stretched out across the bed in a starfish pose. He liked to claim he was an excellent bedmate but moments like this proved very much otherwise.

And finally, when my cup was already overflowing, @forbiddenfantasies1 came swooping in with Let’s Make This Next One Last and made me cry. This is a modern AU where Jaime and Brienne are happy and married (I would read eight thousand more stories where they are happy in an established relationship it is literally all I want from them) and their holiday plans get diverted when snow rolls in, cancelling a flight to see Dacey and Benjen (!!!). This fic is such a beautiful treatise on a long-term, mature couple who are struggling through the roteness of daily life. They still love each other deeply, it’s just life that is difficult right now, and their love and commitment to each other is what gets them through it. The tenderness and humor and history and beautifully hot sex are woven together perfectly into this utterly wonderful story.

Jaime was waiting at the bottom of the stairs for her, and she felt her heart tighten in her chest for a moment just as it always did when she laid eyes on him. He was still so gorgeous, even after all these years they had passed together. His hair was more gray than golden, and his face was softer, more lined, but she still only saw Jaime. Every mark of time that he bore was simply a reminder of all they had been through together, all the days that he had been hers, and only made him more beautiful in her eyes.

 Right now he looked like the golden retriever she so often compared him to, nearly quivering in his skin with excitement. He had changed into his sleep clothes, a pair of thin gray pants that hugged his hips and thighs in a way that always made her fingers twitch, and a long-sleeved black tee that went perfectly with his complexion. She nearly rolled her eyes before she caught herself. Only Jaime Lannister could make lounging around the house during a vicious snowstorm a testimony of how attractive he was.

Thank you, again, to all of my gifters, I am so grateful to have received these and it helped make my end of the year an absolute joy. ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[pale-goblin]

A little Twisted (Chapter 2)

Chapter One: The King | Chapter Two: The Collection

Co written w/ @desertdwellerdanny

Steve's house was a 40-minute drive out of Hawkins, deep in the depths of the forest. It was an old farmhouse he renovated into a stylish home and made the old barn into something else. He pulled up to the house parking at the end of the long driveway. "We're here," Steve said flatly as he got out of the car. "Let's get you cleaned up, and I'll deal with the rest." Neil gazed up at the farmhouse with wide eyes, “You’re fuckin loaded.” He whispered, gingerly opening the door to step out. Steve smiled at Neil's expression. "Yeah, being vice president of a corporation helps." When Neil stepped out of the car, Steve lightly grabbed him by the chin, finally noticing a few wounds under the blood. The outside lights of his house lit up the beauty of Neil's features. He indeed was the most beautiful man Steve had ever seen.

"Did he hurt you?"

Neil swallowed, eyes sweeping over Steve’s face so close to his. They were complex, calculating, but he didn’t feel threatened by what he found in them. “He punched me and scratched at my face when I—when I woke up.” Steve lightly rubbed his thumb across Neil's busted lip. Not trying to make a pass at him in that way, but he really wanted to know how soft they were. Neil’s mouth popped open a bit, standing still as Steve’s hands explored as they wished. "I have some clothes you can have," Steve whispered softly as if not to scare Neil off even though the primal part of him wanted to see Neil running from him. Neil gave a slight nod, blue eyes flickering down to Steve’s lips for a spell before shooting back up with guilt. Steve had to bite back a smirk at that; it looks like his newfound interest had found him interesting back. “It’s Billy.” The previously introduced Neil said, breath warm against Steve’s thumb. “Neil’s my father. I didn’t—don’t—trust you. But seeing as you’ve got something of mine in your trunk…” the corners of his lips quirked up a tad, “You can call me the right name.”

Steve had an odd sense of pride; giving someone a fake name was always good. "You're already a natural, Billy," Steve mumbled, sliding his thumb into Billy's mouth out of a need to find something not pretty about him. Running his thumb along with Billy's teeth as he looked slightly disappointed before removing his finger with a long-winded sigh. Absolutely perfect. Billy’s cheeks were flushed red when he looked back at him, mouth still propped open from Steve’s curious hands. Even that made something in his smile, Billy staying where Steve had put him. He slowly blinked before startling and snapping his mouth shut, “Can we just go?” He grumbled, wrapping a pair of leather-clad arms around himself standoffish.

Steve nodded and started walking to the front door, unlocking the door with a keypad on the side. Steve made sure no one could go in and out of the building unless he wanted them to. “Welcome to castle Harrington.” The moment the doors opened, you could clearly see on the far back wall rows of crowns of people’s skulls on display. At first, they really just looked like bowls painted in different colours like a monument, But Billy knew better. He eyed them, a sick interest in each one as he strode over in curiosity as Steve looked on in amusement. “These are them.” Billy leaned over, gently brushing them with the tips of his fingers with interest clear in his eyes. "Beautiful aren't they" Steve followed close behind, watching the look on Billy's face as he touched them. The two of them playing this dance around each other like lions ready to mate. “Gorgeous.” Billy moved on to another, this one painted in swirls of blues and oranges and black. He traced a small crack in it. “Who was this?” Steve reached over to remove it from the wall showing Billy the inside of it where he carved the name into it. Jonathan B. "I think I was about 18," Billy’s eyebrows shot up, “Young. How’d you know him?” "School—we went out of town for a basketball tournament." Steve placed it back on the wall carefully. "He thought I was his friend, but I just wanted to hear what he sounded like burning alive." “So you burned him?” "Yeah, is that surprising?" Steve looked at Billy, searching his eyes for an answer. “It’s… well, it would depend on who he was. Why him? Did he deserve it?” Billy turned back toward the wall, neck craning up to see the entire expanse of the collection, “The guy in the trunk deserved it. I don’t feel bad.” Steve chuckled, "Do they really have to deserve it? Every one of these was really just for my amusement. They were all going to die eventually." Billy pulled a face, raising an eyebrow back at Steve but saying nothing. He wasn’t wrong. And it didn’t feel wrong to see all these people’s lives shortened—they could’ve died the same day from something else; it doesn’t matter much. “I’d like it better, personally, if they deserved it. But we’re all sinners in some way.” Steve smiled at him, "whatever helps you sleep at night, come let's get that beautiful face of yours cleaned up." Steve reached up and rubbed some of the dried blood of Billy's face with his thumb. Billy’s eyes widened a bit before his lips grew into a smile. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Harrington.” He took a small step backward, quirking an eyebrow at Steve as if to say lead the way. So he did. Steve brought Billy to his bedroom, where there was an on-suite bathroom connected; it was simply designed besides nightmare-like paintings all over the house. You could tell that Steve didn’t hide his dark tastes very well. “The bathroom is there. You can borrow some of my clothes.” Billy stopped just outside the bathroom, turning so that he could lean back against the expensive-looking door and eye Steve in full. “Am I staying with you? Why?” He sounded suspicious, weary. It’s not the first time Billy’s been taken home by men in fancy suits and expected to stay the night—but it is the first time said man had helped cover up a murder he had committed. "You can stay if you want, or I can drive you home" Steve didn't really expect Billy to stay even though he would like it. "I have a guest room you can use." “That’s awfully kind of you. What’re you getting out of all of this?” Steve pulled some sweat pants and a plain shirt out for Billy and walked over to him "as I said before, you made my boring life a little more interesting." “What happens when I’m not interesting anymore?” Steve smiled, “Then I’ll get rid of you.” Billy held his gaze for a brief moment, eyes flicking back and forth, trying to read Steve, trying to decipher what gets rid of you means--the smile shining with a glint of morbid curiosity. Like Billy was a toy for Steve to play with and discard when worn down to the point it simply breaks. Billy doesn’t understand the thrill that shoots up his spine at that, and he’s not sure he wants to. He instead nods, eyes falling to his shoes as he scuffs then and pops himself off of the door, “Guess I’ll just have to keep you on your toes then, huh Stevie?” Steve didn’t answer but watched Billy, filling his mind with things he could do to this newfound toy. He didn’t understand how Billy wasn’t scared of him or how he was holding up so well after finding out about him. He kept watching Billy even as he undressed, putting his foot in the doorway to stop it from closing. Steve was still looking for that one imperfection. Billy squirmed, eyeing Steve and trying to desperately hint that he wanted privacy while he showered. He was uncomfortable--but it wasn’t apparent why until he’d pulled his shirt over his head. Perfect, toned body muscled and golden, pulling taut as he slipped each article of clothing off and revealing thick, ugly scars that cross-crossed his chest and back. Steve’s face didn’t show much; it stayed the same blank look as it always did as he watched. He was taking in every line and edge of Billy’s flesh and violent scars. This was what he was looking for. This is what made him interesting. Billy took a breath before letting his last piece of clothing fall away. “What’re you thinking? It’s too hard to tell with you.” “You’re magnificent,” Steve mumbled, unconsciously undoing his tie around his neck. Steve wanted to feel him, running his hands along the scars to take in the enjoyment someone must have felt ripping at his flesh. Steve wanted to feel that enjoyment. It must’ve been the way Steve was staring at him like he wanted to eat him alive, some sort of primal want for ruin that ran through them both. Billy flushed blotchy pink, spotting down to his chest. “They’re disgusting. Horrible.” Steve laughed, slowly unbuttoning his shirt showing scars of his own. Smaller and more spread out different types from people trying to defend themselves against his force. “Nothing is disgusting about them.” Billy’s eyes locked onto his chest, inching forward and placing a hand in the middle right over a jagged scar that slashed over one pec. He traced the pad of his thumb over it, gentle. “Mine are.” “Every scar tells a story; it’s like reading a comic book,” Steve gently touched the edge of Billy’s scar tracing it carefully. It was odd to Billy to see someone so gentle after talking about burning someone alive, but the soft brushing of Steve’s hands on his skin had him holding his breath. “It’s artwork…” Steve whispered. “I didn’t want these,” Billy ground out, “They’re marks of a coward. You got yours from acts of mercy.” Steve kept tracing the scars, his thoughts racing, “I could make you like them. Add to the collection?” Steve word vomited, he usually was level-headed, but something about these scars about Billy made him want to hear the guy beg, but not for his life. Billy’s face scrunched in pain as if automatically going to decline, remembering how it felt to have gotten them in the first place, but he gave pause. “How?” "There are many ways to get scars," Steve traced over the scar on his chest, sliding over his nipple. "Self-defense, fighting, hunting." Steve's lips curled into a smile "pleasure." Billy stifled a gasp, hands flattening on either side of Steve’s chest as his pale, cold hands explored his skin. Goosebumps trailed where Steve touched, “And if I was interested?” Steve moved his hand up to Billy’s neck, just holding it there but not squeezing. “I’ll make sure you enjoy it, so you have happy memories to look back on.” Billy sighed, soft and sweet, as he leaned into the hold on his neck. It was a secure weight that anchored him, and he took another step forward until his front was pressed up against Steve’s. “Do it.” “Impatient, aren’t we” Steve chuckled, “I barely know anything about you, Billy.” Steve was picky with people he let into his life, and the offer he just gave held a lot of weight to it. It was his twisted way of showing sexual affection. Steve rubbed his thumb along the vein of Billy’s neck, feeling the racing heartbeat. “Are you turned on right now?”

Billy bit his lip, “Yes. You knew that.” Steve did know that with Billy's hips against his, all he could feel was Billy’s cock. "Go clean yourself off." Steve felt Billy’s prick twitch against his thigh at the same time that he growled a low, “Don’t command me. I’m not your dog.” Steve squeezed his hand slightly around Billy’s neck. He was not saying anything, just giving that blank stare into Billy’s eyes. He felt Billy swallow against his hand, expression locked in the same stubborn glare. He looked unwilling to back down. It was weird having someone not be scared of him. “After all I have done for you.” Billy’s lip twitched in an aborted scowl for a second before he lowered his eyes in furious submission, “I’m not your dog.” He whispered again, body lax and the fight drained from him. Steve let go of Billy, not moving away from their pressed bodies. He liked the fight in Billy but definitely wanted to get him to submit like this more just for him. Steve smiled at him, his rare smile that was beautiful in every way. “Do you want me to join you then?” Steve deflected onto something else without missing a beat. Billy thought for a second, hands still splayed on Steve, although migrated down to his hips. He was still ashamedly hard, but fuck if he’d say that out loud. Instead, Billy gave a slight nod. Steve shrugged off his shirt and jacket, letting it fall to the floor around them. He let Billy hold on to him, “You’re going to have to move so I can get my pants off,” Steve mumbled before running his thumb against Billy’s bottom lip. “Unless you wanna help.” The tip of Billy’s tongue poked at his thumb, and rough tanned hands slid down his torso to work his belt buckle and slacks open. Billy’s fingers worked slow, dragging them down Steve’s legs and dropping with them until he kneeled at his feet—head tilted back and looking up at Steve. Billy could tell that Steve wasn’t hard, but Steve’s look from above was breathtaking. The cold hard stare had a comfort behind it for Billy, like Steve saw more in him than just his looks. He was different from the other men he had met. “Your eyes are so blue” Steve reached to trace Billy’s eyebrows with his thumb, obsessing over every detail of this man. Billy’s eyes fluttered shut at the caress, almost embarrassed how fast he’d gone from nearly decking this man to kneeling at his feet and enjoying his touch. “They’re just blue.” He quietly replied. Steve laughed, “You really don’t know how to take a compliment.” Steve moved his hand into Billy’s curly locks, massaging Billy’s scalp. “I don’t just get undressed for anyone; they have to be pretty amusing for that.” “I’m not sure that’s a compliment.” Billy eyed him, thumbs rubbing against the soft hair on his thighs, “anyone else, I’d think it wasn’t. You make it seem like one, though.” Steve gave him a slight smile, just enjoying the minor details of Billy. He wanted to know why Billy made him feel this way. Why didn't he want to kill him? "It is a compliment" Steve added another hand into Billy's hair letting out a little bit of a breath for how soft it was even with blood caked in it. It left the man beneath him to grunt softly, eyes fluttered closed, arching into the hands in his hair. Steve kept ranking his hands through it, giving into the urge to grip it in his fists, just to see what Billy would do. The reaction was immediate—blue eyes snapping open, wide and dilated and daring. He looked equal parts threatening as he did submissive. “Everything about you is so interesting.” Steve gave the curls a little sharp tug, nothing too painful but enough to make Billy gasp. It ripped a low growl out of him, but curiously enough, he didn’t seem all too displeased with it physically. “You’re a bastard; you know that?” Billy ground out. “You have seen nothing yet.” Steve chuckled, removing his hands out of Billy’s hair and fixing his own, ignoring how Billy gave a low, quiet whine. Steve took a deep breath like he was trying to calm something in himself down. “I’m covered in blood.” Billy reminded, staring pointedly at the shower. “Then get up,” Steve commanded, giving his blank stare as he let the words slip out of his mouth, unbidden. Billy narrowed his eyes but stood up nonetheless and walked into the shower without another word—before Steve could give another command that ricocheted up his spine with a shiver. Steve closed the door behind him, watching Billy start the shower and get the temp just right. He liked watching the blood leak off Billy’s tanned skin onto the tile below. He gave a relieved sigh, the hot water pounding down on his back, and Steve could see the tension drain out of him. It felt good to see him relaxed, even if he kept side-eyeing him like he expected to be attacked. Steve slowly walked up to the shower door, joining Billy in the shower, sliding his hand onto Billy’s waist to feel the blood dripping off him. “Did you enjoy it?” Steve finally asked, wanting to know if Billy was just like him. He watched him closely, catching the way his shoulders tensed again and the way his hands carefully clenched into fists at his sides. “He was a fucking rapist. He tried to hurt me,” Billy let out a shaky breath, “Yes. I liked it.” Steve ran his thumb along Billy's hip bone, trying to get him to relax again. Part of Steve didn't like seeing Billy on edge; he didn't want him stressed about all this. "Then you have nothing to worry about." “I killed a man. And liked it. How the fuck isn’t this something to be worried about?” Billy hissed back. Steve moved his free hand to Billy’s face, rubbing some of the blood off with his thumb as the water showered down on them. His eyes were flicking over Billy’s angry expression. “Because you have me to guide you.” Billy’s eyes softened, flicking down to the floor, “When—If—I go down, you’ll go down with me.” "We won't get caught" Steve lifted Billy's head with his chin. This excited Steve having a little bird under his wing. He dreamed about it, sharing his hobby and love for the craft with people, but everyone was dull until Billy. "I’ll make sure of it.” Billy locked eyes with him; bottom lip pulled between his teeth, “Your confidence is reassuring,” he let out a breath, “But hell, if you’ve got the know-how to back up that confidence, then why the fuck not.” Steve smiled at the slight change in Billy, “I’ll take care of the body—for now, you rest” Steve grabbed a loofa hanging off his shower caddy, Covering it in soap. “The guest room is down the hall to your left.” He lifted the loofa up to Billy, nudging him to turn away so that Steve could sidle up behind him. He slid it up towards his shoulders, wiping away blood-splattered there along his neck—pink stained bubbles trailing their way down Billy’s body and over his thick, raised scars. “We will be just fine.”

[jaylarkson]

Fat rolls and snuggles

Request: Would you be okay with doing one where the reader (female if possible) is a bit chubby and has all these stretch marks and scars and is just having a really bad day? And maybe they just kind of break down and Anti pops in unexpectedly just to chill but finds them all curled up and is surprised 'cause they're usually so goofy and cracking jokes but he ends up seeing a vulnerability in them and tries to help them feel better?

A/N: okay I know that Anti is a DEMON and isn’t soft BUT I LIKE SOFT ANTI so I will write him soft because I like it and you can only try to pry it from my cold, dead hands. Anti is a baby and needs some love.

Masterlist

You knew that your self-worth wasn’t defined by your weight or how you looked. You knew that, and yet here you were, looking in the mirror, absolutely hating what you saw, feeling like absolute crap. You had numerous amounts of stretch marks, some caused by the normal growth spurts, and others caused by your love for all things yummy. You had some scars as well, mostly from accidents.

You poked at your tummy, starting to cry a bit. You despised the chub there, yet no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t seem to get rid of it. You would diet, exercise, combine the two, yet it just wouldn’t go down. You poked at the bit of your breasts that weren’t quite contained by your bra, feeling a few tears run down your face.

Ugly. Worthless. Disgusting. Who would date that? Gross.

You curled up in bed and buried your face in your hands, sobbing quietly, not noticing when your favourite glitch demon popped in next to you.

Anti had decided to pop in for a surprise visit, and was himself surprised to see you curled up, crying. You were usually so bright and happy, always making jokes and others happy. He had never seen any emotion on your face or body other than bubbling positivity. He set the plate of cookies he made (okay, Chase made them, but Anti had put them on the plate and put the foil on so that counted!) down on your desk and padded over to your bed, sitting down next to you.

You were startled by the shifting of the bed and peered over your shoulder at Anti, face blotchy and eyes red. He crooned softly and reached out, pulling you into his lap. You protested softly, thinking you would crush him with your weight, but it didn’t deter Anti and you had little energy to really put up a fight.

You continued crying softly, clutching onto Anti’s shirt and crying into his shoulder. He simply rubbed his hand over your back gently, feeling kind of awkward but wanting to help you feel better. You helped him so often, it was only right to help you in a rare moment of vulnerability. Besides, you were his friend. Of course he’s going to help you.

After a while, you stopped crying and just sat there in Anti’s lap, exhausted. He pushed a bit of hair off your face before asking you what was wrong. You spilled all of it, confessing how awful you felt about yourself and the thoughts that plagued your mind about it. You hated how you looked and felt and didn’t seem to be able to do anything about it.

Anti assured you that those thoughts were wrong; it didn’t matter how you looked, and even if it did, he thought you were quite beautiful! He knew others did too, as he could actually see when people checked you out.

You felt better after a while of talking, eventually starting to return to your normal self again, albeit a bit muted as you were pretty tired. Anti convinced you to watch some cheesy Hallmark movie while you ate the cookies he “made” and snuggled. While you didn’t feel 100%, you definitely knew that you could get through it while you had such a good friend at your side.

[and-it-freezes-me]

Accidents Happen - Playing With Fire

Summary: Roman works to get closer to Janus, and finds that he isn’t sure how much he likes this new side of himself.

Content: food mention, panic attack, vomit mention but only very briefly, fire mention

Words: 5,936

{Part 1} {Part 3}

Janus was a surprisingly decent study partner.

Well, the fact that he was a good study partner was not the surprising part. He was a perfect student, one of the very few people in their year with better grades than Roman over all of their subjects, and had won several debate competitions over the last few years, both solo and in a team. If Roman had been surprised that Janus was a good student, he would have been even less observant than the main character in one of the books he had read once. That guy had managed to live in the same dorm room as somebody for seven years and managed to misinterpret the intense attraction between the two of them as hatred and rivalry. And had managed to miss the fact that he was his own worst enemy. Roman wasn’t that unobservant.

The surprising part was that Roman had failed to prepare himself for the fact that Janus might actually be good at pretending to be a good person, and that it was more difficult than he had hoped not to actually like him or appreciate his good qualities, like being a good study partner.

Fortunately, Roman was a good actor. He had plenty of practice at keeping the line between real life and a role.

When, after they had been staring at Roman's notes for an hour and Janus made some comment about how he should have chosen a study buddy with better handwriting, one with handwriting he could actually read, Roman only laughed because that was what Janus expected of him. It wasn’t as though the snake was actually funny, or anything.

“I’m serious. The only reason I believe that this is your real handwriting is because I’m watching you produce these illegible scrawls as I speak.” Janus had leaned back in his chair, staring with some kind of fascinated horror at the fountain pen in Roman’s already ink stained fingers. 

“It’s not that bad! If it were illegible, I wouldn’t have passed any of my exams,” Roman pointed out. Although he sounded amused, irritation had flickered to life in his gut. If his handwriting was that distasteful, maybe Janus should go and find somebody else to help him catch up.

“It is that bad,” his companion drawled. “It’s almost bad enough to think that you’re deliberately trying to sabotage my attempts to catch up! How you revise from those things is beyond me.”

Again, Roman had laughed at that. Perish the thought! Him, sabotage Janus? Never! Well, not until he found proof that he had actively had a hand in Remus’ fate. Until that time came, he would just have to wait and watch, gain the snake’s trust until he was ready to spill his guts, and be a minor inconvenience from the shadows.

For example, when a tall man wandered into the kitchen and gazed in mild surprise at Roman before going to the fridge and returning with a pack of chocolate biscuits to offer around, Roman took two, rather than one.

"I didn't know you had friends over, Jan. Should have said something." The man had to be Janus' father. They had the same slender build, the same delicate grey eyes, the same narrow hands. A silver band was around the man's left ring finger.

"It's one friend, Dad -" Roman was a master detective "- and he's helping me catch up on the work I've missed."

Well, Janus was definitely lying there. They weren't friends - they barely knew one another! And if Janus could lie about something like this, he could definitely lie about why he was in the car with Remus. (Yes, Roman was aware that he was probably making slightly too big a deal out of absolutely nothing at all. No, he was not going to stop. Any reason to be hopeful was a good reason to be hopeful).

He was brought out of his triumphant musings by a hearty chuckle as Mr Sinclaire patted Janus genially on his shoulder (the unscarred side, Roman noted). "That's my boy, nose to the grindstone as ever! Alright, you kids have fun."

"Studying, sir, is the epitome of fun,” Roman deadpanned. Well, it wasn’t as though he could just sit there and say nothing - but from the looks that both Sinclaires were now giving him, he rather wished he had stayed silent. Janus was looking as though he rather wished that Roman would crawl back into whatever drain in which he had originated. His father looked as though Roman was something a barely tolerated cat had dragged in through the door after finding it already dead on the side of the road.

Then Mr Sinclaire let out a brief laugh and clapped Janus on the shoulder again. “A funny one! Well, I’ll let you get back to your thrilling pastime.”

Janus chuckled briefly and waved his scarred hand in a shoo-ing motion, and his father left as Roman began to wonder if he had imagined their distasteful expressions. To quell this line of thinking, he took another two biscuits and added them to the two sitting beside his notebook.

By the time Janus was glancing at the clock and telling Roman that he should probably leave now because he had dinner in half an hour (Roman could smell whatever it was coming through from the kitchen. It was probably more worms, maybe with beetles mixed in, but damn did it smell good), there were eleven biscuits stacked neatly beside his elbow. Janus raised an eyebrow at them, pushing the small stack of notes he had been deciphering back toward Roman. “You know, you weren’t going to get kicked out for refusing them if you weren’t hungry.”

Rather than bristling in irritation, Roman chuckled and picked up one of the cookies. They were raisin - squashed fly biscuits, Remus always called them. “Who said I wasn’t hungry?” It was like sawdust in his mouth, but he forced himself to swallow anyway. Janus didn’t look impressed.

Actually, Roman wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Janus look impressed.

“Ah, I must be mistaken. Where I come from, stockpiling cookies rather than eating them is not the mark of the hungry.”

“Then you, sir,” Roman replied, pointing his half-eaten biscuit sternly in Janus’ direction, “have a lot to learn.”

Janus chuckled his serial-killer chuckle and gestured toward the door in a motion that was almost a mockery of a bow. “I shall look forward to my next lesson, then. For now, Princey, I shall bid you adieu.”

Roman looked at him. “What?”

“Adieu. A - D - I - E - U. It’s French, means-”

“I know what it means,” Roman said, interrupting Janus’ exaggerated eye-roll. “It was the Prince part.”

Now it was Janus’ turn for confusion to slip over his features. “I… Sorry. It’s just, you know, your surname meaning ‘king’ and everything, it just slipped out.”

“I didn’t know you spoke Korean.”

“Oh, I… Just a few words.” The burned side of Janus’ face had gone a strange blotchy red, and it took Roman a few seconds to realise that he was blushing. Huh. It seemed that Janus wasn’t always as smooth as he seemed from a distance.

What would Janus do if Roman pressed the point? He seemed flustered. It didn’t make much sense for Janus to just happen to know the meaning of his surname - had he researched him?

Janus was rubbing the back of his neck now, trying to make the fact that he was avoiding Roman’s eyes seem natural rather than bizarre as he showed him to the door, and a peculiar idea struck him. Most people - especially not ones as reserved as Janus Sinclaire - didn’t come up with nicknames after just a few hours studying together, during which they had hardly exchanged more than a handful of words each. Nor did they research the names of random people they had just met.

Was it possible that Janus had a crush on him?

Roman knew he was fairly easy on the eyes. Not in a conceited way - he didn’t think he was conceited, anyway. It was hard not to get used to the fact when every relative commented on how attractive he looked these days, or when his brother had been calling him the handsome twin for years. He was intelligent, kind, outgoing, sometimes funny, and usually a fairly good friend. It wasn’t impossible to believe that Janus could be interested. 

On the other hand, it did seem fairly improbable. Thanks to a few too many fistfights and biking accidents, Roman and Remus weren’t exactly identical anymore; even ignoring Remus’ chipped teeth and the scars on his face and hands, Remus was about an inch shorter than Roman and rather more muscle than him. But they still looked similar enough that it was very hard to look at Roman and not see Remus lurking behind his eyes (and vice versa), and Roman couldn’t quite believe that Janus was stupid enough to have a crush on somebody so reminiscent of the person that had (supposedly) lured him into a car and then nearly killed him.

Janus could be faking it, of course. What would he gain from that? If he was guilty of anything more than being in the wrong place at the wrong time, creating openings for Roman to poke around could only lead to the truth being discovered. Maybe he thought that he could outsmart Roman - maybe he thought that Roman was stupid. Maybe he was planning something else, something devious, something that this time the other Wang twin would take the fall for. 

He would have to keep a much closer eye on Janus than he had originally thought. 

On Monday, Roman found Janus in the library toward the end of lunch, and ended up helping him find a book on some long-dead philosopher. He accidentally-on-purpose allowed their fingers to brush when he handed the book over, watching Janus’ face out of the corner of his eye for his reaction. No blush. No stammering. He barely even seemed to notice the lingering touch.

Janus

Evidence for crush: 0

Evidence against crush: 1

On Tuesday, Roman’s fountain pen exploded halfway through his calculus class, covering not only his hands in black ink but also his favourite scarlet sweater and the page of exercises and notes he had been working on. He missed the rest of class trying to wash the stuff off in one of the bathrooms, but when he arrived at his locker to collect his script at the end of the day he found a page of notes in neat calligraphy had been taped to the metal door. At the top of the page was written ‘Thought you’d need these. J.S.’

Janus

Evidence for crush: ½

Evidence against crush: 1

Evidence for being a creepy stalker: 1

Roman deliberately ignored the fact that he knew where Janus’ locker was as well, and for far more devious purposes than handing over missed notes.

On Thursday morning, Janus was waiting by his locker.

(Evidence for being a creepy stalker: 2)

Roman didn’t look at him, unlocking the door and depositing half of the textbooks he had brought with him that morning. “Wasn’t expecting to see you here, Sinclaire. Don’t you have Chem first? On the other side of the school?”

“Memorising my timetable, Princey? Most people would call that stalking, you know.” There was a playful note in Janus’ hoarse voice that made Roman’s eyes dart sideways toward him. A small smile was lingering on the edge of his lips.

(Evidence for crush: ¾)

“You must be lucky, then. Most people don’t have such a handsome stalker.” Roman closed his locker, shouldering his rucksack again, and leaned against it to look Janus in the eye. Did this count as flirting? Roman hoped so. If flirting with Janus got him closer to the truth, Roman would happily take the snake out to dinner and a movie.

Janus’ smile widened almost imperceptibly, and his eyes flicked away from Roman’s. Did the burned side of his face grow ever so slightly redder, or was Roman imagining it?

(Evidence for crush: 1 ½)

“Or one so inept as to admit they’re a stalker, stalker.”

Roman flushed. “Did you want something?”

“Hm?” Janus looked briefly startled. Then he brought his hand up to adjust the chocolate coloured beanie on his head until it was no longer covering his ears. He was wearing what looked like thin leather gloves. “Ah, yes. It has been brought to my attention that I have missed a lot of practice time for our oral presentations for Espanol, and I-”

“Español.”

“Exactly. I was hoping you wouldn’t mind studying with me again tomorrow?” Janus didn’t look that perturbed by the fact that he had been interrupted. Maybe he had bungled the pronunciation deliberately to give Roman the opportunity to show off and correct him. Roman had no doubt that he was capable of it. Manipulative jerk.

(Evidence for being a creepy stalker / manipulative jerk: 3)

There was a few seconds of silence as Roman just stared at Janus, who was beginning to look somewhat uncomfortable by the time it occurred to Roman that he had just been asked a question. He shook his head, and Janus’ face fell. Then he nodded, and the small half-smile returned to Janus’ lips. “Oh. Uh. Sure, yeah. That sounds good. I’ll… Bring my notes.”

“Awesome.” Janus nodded once, as though they had just completed a low-risk business transaction, and then hitched his satchel back onto his shoulder (it had slipped down his arm whilst they had been talking) and turned to walk away.

When he got to Janus’ house on Friday afternoon, there was already a plate of biscuits in the middle of the table, and a second empty plate in the place Roman had sat the previous week. Janus greeted him with a nod toward it: "For your galleta hoarding needs."

Roman flipped him off, then chuckled and sat down. "I appreciate the compensation for the vicious mockery you give my handwriting, in any case."

"My mockery is justified. You write as though you were taught by racoons. Rabid racoons."

Roman hid his snort by leaning down to dig his notes out of his bag. "Sit down, Sinclaire. It's Spanish time."

When he straightened up, Janus was still standing next to him, staring absently at the table. Roman waited for him to move, and when nothing happened, he reached up to poke his cheek.

"Ah!" Roman jerked his hand back as Janus flinched away, one hand coming up to cover his face; Roman realised much too late that he had just prodded his still-fresh burns.

"Oh, fuck, dude, I'm so sorry! Are you alright?" Standing, Roman reached out automatically to try to do something - what, he had no idea - but Janus batted his hands away. He was still wearing the gloves from earlier that morning.

"Fine. I'm fine. Sit down, Roman. Sit down." Janus rubbed his cheek again, walking around the table to his own seat.

Roman obeyed, forcing himself to ignore the guilt rising in the back of his throat. He could feel guilty later, if - and only if - Janus turned out to be completely innocent. If he wasn't, which Roman was almost completely certain was the truth, then he deserved every little inconvenience that Roman could give him.

They sat in silence for a short time, Janus staring at his gloved hands, Roman staring at Janus. There was a clock somewhere in the kitchen, and it filled the quiet air between them with a rhythmic ticking. After a total of ninety-four seconds, Roman cleared his throat. "Um… Janus? Are you okay?"

Janus nodded slowly, rubbing his fingers against the palm of the opposite hand, and then looked up. "Yeah. Burns are still pretty sore to touch. I'm… Heh. I'm gradually reducing the number of painkillers I'm on, so…"

"Got it. No more poking." Roman offered Janus a nervous smile, which grew when it was met with the semi-amused half-smile. "So… Spanish?"

Would Janus have opened up to him like that if he thought Roman was investigating him? He must trust Roman at least a little to share that much information about his injuries. There was no way Janus thought Roman was a threat to him, or likely to come close to uncovering the mess of lies he had wrapped around Remus.

Of course, he could also be innocent.

But he wasn't: Roman knew it. There was no way the snake sitting opposite was innocent of anything that had happened in Roman's car that night.

He wished he hadn't hurt him, though. Roman didn't want to hurt people. He didn't want to be like Remus, and have the crowds of people at school part for him as though being closer than two metres was a death sentence.

It was another week until Roman tried his luck and asked about the gloves. They had started spending lunchtimes together, usually in the library, meeting after Janus had eaten to study. Roman was beginning to suspect that Janus wasn't as behind on his Spanish as he was claiming to be: on Wednesday, he had left to find a reference book for his biology class and come back to find Janus correcting part of his essay.

(Janus

Evidence for crush: 5

Evidence against crush: 8

Evidence for being a creepy stalker / manipulative jerk: 7

Reasons not to trust: 11)

Roman had ended up coming over to his house on Tuesday and Wednesday, both times to revise for their exams, which had started that week and would continue into the next. On the Wednesday, Janus had left his phone on the table while he went to the bathroom, and Roman had seized his chance.

Unfortunately, his attempts to gather more information on his study partner were fruitless: Janus had password protected his phone, and Roman didn't know him well enough to even attempt to guess it. His lock screen offered no clues: a picture of a building made of pale brick, with ivy climbing the sides that could be anything from an old home to a stock photo of a museum. It showed the time, and there was an 'If found, please call' message underneath that, with a number just below. Roman studied the number for a moment before taking a picture with his own phone and returning Janus' to the table.

By the time the brunet returned, Roman was nose-deep in deciphering his own notes on the future perfect tense.

An image search of the photograph he had taken showed up only adverts for different phones, and he couldn’t find anything about the number when he had searched it online (not that he was expecting to - it was probably for one of Janus’ parents). The picture of the building had seemed promising at first, but Roman quickly discovered that the sheer number of pale brick, ivy-covered buildings that appeared when he tried searching online would take until Remus’ sentence was up to comb through.

Friday marked the end of their first week of exams, and the first time that Janus invited Roman up to his bedroom to study. “No biscuits this time, I’m afraid. But that means we can go upstairs, which is more comfortable,” he had said, gesturing up the sweeping staircase with one hand. 

Janus’ room was just as neat as Roman had expected it to be. A single bed was pushed against one wall, looking as though it had just been made that morning (Roman felt a stab of embarrassment for his own bed, which looked as though half of Simba’s pride had been using the duvet for hunting practice) (as opposed to Remus’ mattress, which actually had stuffing leaking out of it from an ‘accident’ with a bow and arrow); an oblong fluffy brown rug took up a large amount of the floor in the middle of the room, and Roman wasted no time in throwing himself down upon it as Janus crossed to the large desk by the window. There were no posters or pictures tacked to the pale yellow walls, but a single photo frame stood on the bedside table. Roman craned his neck to see it and found, disappointingly yet predictably, it contained a picture of a younger Janus clutching an award. A book was resting beside it, a brown tassel poking out from somewhere near the middle. There was a wardrobe against one wall, a chest against another, and a bookshelf containing what looked like every psychology and law textbook ever written.

Maybe neat had been an understatement. Janus’ room was practically spartan; it could have belonged to anybody. Take away the picture frame and Janus would completely disappear, leaving it free for anybody to use. The thought made Roman a little sad. Janus was pulling papers from his rucksack; rolling over, Roman glanced toward the door - and as he did, something under the bed caught his eye. A smile spread over his face.

“What should we start with? I’m thinking Chem, given that we have that on Monday, and then-”

“You do have a soul!” Roman’s voice was positively gleeful as he got up and crawled toward the bed, and he had to admit that his enthusiasm was genuine. Maybe the room wasn’t so spartan after all.

“What? Ro, wh- oh. No, put those back, we're studying here, not…" Janus trailed away, exasperated, as Roman straightened up clutching a stuffed snake that had to be over a metre long, and a cuddly green octopus.

"Not that your room isn't charming in its utilitarian-ness, but these add so much, don't you think?" He squeezed the octopus thoughtfully before positioning it carefully beside Janus' pillow. "Did you hide these because you knew I was coming around? Because that's just sad, Sinclaire. You never have to hide your stuffed toys." Roman gestured emphatically with the snake, then moved a little closer and used its blunt snout to ease Janus' hat off of his head as the other buried his face in his hand.

"...your obsession with stuffed animals…" Roman heard him mutter, and then, "Stop it, you oaf, stop…"

"Make me," he replied maturely, and started bopping Janus on the head with the yellow animal.

With a theatrical groan that Roman was almost impressed by, Janus started half-heartedly batting at the snake. Roman responded by chuckling and hitting him again. "You'll have to try harder than that! Come on, Jan…"

"Listen, you…"

The next time the snake went near Janus' now messy hair, he grabbed it and tried to jerk it out of Roman's hands. With a cry of laughter, Roman pulled back harder, managing to jerk his nemesis off his chair.

Which would have been fine: Janus would have stood, pulled harder, the snake would have been his for the taking, and that would have been the end of it.

Only Janus managed to trip on the edge of the rug that Roman had been so enjoying a moment ago, and the momentum from their tug of war pushed him off balance. He crashed into Roman, who stumbled from the unexpected weight, and then they were both on the floor.

Or, more accurately, Roman was on the floor with an aching head and tailbone, and Janus was lying on top of him, wincing. "Fuck, Wang, how are you so boney?"

Roman made a (highly dignified) squeaking noise, too winded to speak. Janus' scar went that same blotchy red as it had the other day.

"Oh. Sorry, let me just…" He rolled himself off and sat up, and Roman took a deep breath as air rushed back into his lungs. "You alright?"

Roman waved a hand. "Fine, fine… Just gonna lie here… a second…"

"Here." A hand wrapped around his, and Roman felt himself being pulled back to his feet - apparently Janus was stronger than he had thought. "You're lighter than I expected. All good? Happy to go back to studying now?"

"Why do you wear those things?"

They were still holding hands, and Roman was staring at the yellow glove against his brown skin. It was smooth to the touch. He didn't realise that Janus was staring at him until the silence became uncomfortable enough for him to look up; shaking his head, Roman pulled away with a nervous chuckle. "Sorry. Sorry, that was… Don't worry about it. You're right, let's…" he gestured helplessly at Janus' desk.

Janus rubbed the back of his neck slowly, then shrugged and sat down. He handed Roman a stack of flashcards. The top one read 'endothermic reaction'. "Layer of protection against infection. Only one glove is weird. Besides, people stare less at the glove than they did at the scarring, and they already stare enough at my face. I think I'll spare the hands. Quiz me."

Roman stared at him. Janus was facing the window again, not looking at him anymore. His back was perfectly straight, the sun shining bronze through his shoulder-length wave of hair, and Roman was struck with the urge to rest a hand on his shoulder, to comfort him. "Janus… If-"

"Quiz me," Janus interrupted, insistently. "Chemistry test on Monday. Final grade. Flashcards. Go."

So Roman quizzed him, telling himself that it was for the best. He didn't want to get too close to Janus, didn't want to feel sympathy for him. Janus was hiding something about Remus' and his accident, which meant that Janus could have kept Remus out of jail, which meant that Janus couldn't be trusted no matter how nice he might pretend to be or how high the guilt rose in Roman's throat.

On Monday morning, they sat their chemistry exam in the sports hall, and Roman could only find one question that he didn't feel confident with. Janus, he knew, must have aced it. He hadn't gotten a single flashcard wrong on Friday.

Then they had a written Spanish exam, and then lunch. Roman toyed with his bento for ten minutes or so, then put his lunchbox away again and went to join Janus in the library to revise for their practical assessment that afternoon.

Roman wasn't paying attention when everything had gone wrong. His focus had been solely on the copper sulphate solution he was attempting to crystallise, checking the timer to make sure he noted down the temperature of the solution every fifteen seconds; the first he knew of a problem was a hoarse cry, a few screams, and the slamming of the heavy classroom door.

He looked up apprehensively, although he thought he already knew what he was going to see.

Sure enough, Janus was missing from his station; Virgil, his lab partner, had his back pressed against the window a full three metres away from their work and was looking as though he had been on the verge of jumping out. The pairs at the stations around theirs were all staring at him, and Roman was willing to bet that his had been one of the screams. Their teacher was staring at the door with an expression of great concern on his face.

Roman was out of his spot before he had thought it through, shrugging off his lab coat and ignoring the whisper of annoyance from Melanie, his own lab partner. "Sir, Mr Sanders? Can I go make sure he's alright?"

Their teacher nodded gratefully at him. "Thanks, Mr Wang. Tell him he doesn't have to come back to finish, alright? The rest of you have… Eighteen minutes until the end of the test."

Roman closed the door on the sound of people scurrying to get back to their experiments, and looked up and down the corridor. Janus was nowhere in sight. Where would he go? Not his locker: that was too public, and Roman had a feeling that Janus wouldn't want anybody to see if he was freaking out. The gym? No, there was a French assessment happening in the gym at the moment. So… The bathrooms, maybe. Roman took off at a brisk jog toward the toilets by the science staircase.

He knew he had the right place the moment he opened the door. The sound of strangled sobs and gasps was coming from the middle toilet cubicle, and when Roman closed the door they stopped briefly, as though Janus was holding his breath, before starting again in a rush. Roman winced.

"Janus? It's me."

"Go - Go away!" Janus' voice was more strained than usual, and Roman sighed quietly before moving forward to knock gently on the cubicle door. It swung open under his touch - Janus hadn't locked it.

"Can I come in?"

"Can - can I st-stop you?" Janus tried to snap the words, but they came out unsteady and breathless.

He was curled up on the closed lid of the toilet seat, knees pulled to his chest and one arm wrapped tightly around them. The other was braced against one knee, hand fisted in his brown beanie as he hyperventilated, face and eyes red. The smell of burnt fabric lingered around him; the left sleeve of his lab coat was blackened and burned.

Roman took a small step forward, then knelt down in front of him. "Can I touch you, Jan?"

Janus shook his head, then unwrapped his right arm from around his knees and held out his hand. Roman took it and squeezed gently, and was met with a vice-like squeeze. He didn't pull away.

"Do you want to try a breathing exercise?" A nod. "I'm going to count, but no pressure. Ready? Breathe with me. In for four, yeah? Two, three, four, and hold for four, two, three, four, that's it, and out for two, three, four, five, and six. And in, two, three, four… You're doing really well, Jan. You're here, you're safe… And out, two, three, four, five, six…"

“I - This - I shouldn’t-”

“It’s okay, Jan. With me, in, two, three, four… Hold, two, three, four, and out, two, three, four… That’s it…”

That wasn’t it, actually. Janus’ breathing was still ragged, only slightly calmer than before, but Roman kept up his gentle stream of encouragement until he spoke again.

“The - the fire, my - my sleeve, I couldn’t, I…” He broke off in a dry sob, and Roman ran his thumb gently over his knuckles.

“You’re safe now. You’re safe. I promise, alright? All you need to worry about right now is breathing, and squeezing my hand. You’re here, buddy. I’m here. It’s going to be okay…” He might never have done this for Janus before, but Roman was hardly a stranger to helping his brother through panic attacks like this one. Remus had had problems with enclosed spaces ever since they were nine and he had managed to lock himself in the cupboard under the sink, and sometimes got overwhelmed in large crowds, but whilst the triggers were different the end result and the care needed was usually the same.

He knew what it was like to be in Janus’ position, too.

Janus' grip on his hand never decreased in ferocity, but gradually the other boy's shoulders slumped from their hunched position, and he closed his eyes in exhaustion. They continued the breathing exercise for another few minutes before Roman broke the flow of counting and reassurance again. “Hey. Do you feel up for a hug?”

The tired silver eyes opened and studied Roman for a second. Then Janus shrugged. Roman hesitated until he actually nodded, standing to wrap his arms loosely around his shoulders. Janus rested his head against Roman’s chest, exhaled a long, slow breath, and murmured so quietly that Roman would have missed it had he not been right next to him, “Thanks.”

It was evening, and Roman was in his room, staring blankly at his notebook.

Janus

Evidence for crush: 9

Evidence against crush: 11

Evidence for being a creepy stalker / manipulative jerk: 12

Reasons not to trust: 16

He had stayed with Janus that afternoon, stayed until they heard the tramping of feet in the hallway outside that meant that the school day was over, until Janus had pushed him away and stood, muttering something about not wanting to keep his parents waiting. Roman had showed him how to splash water over his face to reduce the redness in his eyes, and then watched him walk away, his mind in turmoil.

He couldn’t keep investigating Janus. Not after that. Roman had observed and had enough panic attacks to know a genuine one when he saw it: Janus had been really freaked out by the small fire in their chemistry assessment. The crash had clearly had far more than just a physical impact on him. The guilt in Roman had risen so high that he had found himself doubled over a toilet, retching what little lunch he had eaten until only bile would come up. How could he have suspected Janus of deliberately doing something to get Remus locked up? Janus didn’t even know Remus. Roman was definitely in the wrong here.

He should put this whole mess behind him. Janus actually seemed like a nice person - and Roman couldn’t just ghost him now, not now that they were almost friends. If he just stopped speaking to Janus now, he would surely assume it was because Roman had been too freaked out by seeing Janus panic like that, and that wasn’t fair at all.

None of this was fair on Janus.

Roman should do something as an apology. Not that Janus needed to know it was an apology, of course, it just needed to be something they could do as friends. They hadn’t actually hung out together yet, unless studying counted - which it most definitely didn’t. They could see a movie, or something. Maybe Roman could host, and they could watch something lighthearted - a Disney film, or something similar. Nothing too violent or firey. It would be a good break from revision, if he could schedule something in for the weekend.

Not wanting to wait to see Janus the next day, Roman pulled his phone from his pocket, and had gotten as far as opening the messaging app when he realised that there was one minor flaw in this plan: he didn’t have Janus’ number.

Oh. 

What did he have? He knew they all had school email addresses, but also knew that nobody ever checked those. Besides, who sent emails to ask friends to hang out? If he asked Virgil for Janus’ number (and Roman had no doubt that Virgil would know it), he would end up owing the most twitchy guy in school a massive favour - and he’d probably never live down the teasing. Virgil would tell Patton, because he told Patton everything, and as lovely as Patton was, he had no idea how to keep a secret.

Roman lowered his phone slowly, frowning. Now what? It wasn’t as though he had any favours he could call in or - 

Call! He had one of Janus' parents' numbers in his camera roll from when he had taken a picture of his lock screen! Pulling his gallery up, Roman scribbled the number into his notebook and then dialled it, slapping the phone to his ear as soon as he had hit the last letter and waiting for the dial tone to go away. He would explain that he was Janus' friend, that he had managed to lose Janus' number, and could he please-

Then the voicemail message started playing, and the colour drained from Roman's face. He waited for the beep, then hung up, lowering his phone slowly.

It looked as though the investigation was back on.

"Who the fuck calls people these days? Send a text like a regular dickhead, sheesh! Whatever, if your voicemail boner is really that hard, just go ahead. This is Remus' phone - but you already knew that."

Taglist

@bloodymari-0666

[whump-it]

Uncle Callum and Tim; Family is Everything

This is for you @pepperonyscience ❤

@haro-whumps @grizzlie70   @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @iaminamoodymoodtoday @burtlederp @untilthepainstarts @my-whumpy-little-heart @moose-teeth @pepperonyscience @faewhump @slaintetowhump @whump-tr0pes @spookyboywhump @finder-of-rings @liliability @whumpfigure @girlwithacoolcat @tears-and-lilies @inpainandsuffering @whumpfigure

Tim is Alyaa and David's eldest child.

He heard the key turn in the door.  It could be any number of people.  Everyone in his family had a key.

"I'm in the living room!" Callum called out.  He could hear the sound of shoes being quietly toed off so that counted out Rory, Alyaa or David.  Rory always dropped his and Alyaa and David always bent to take theirs off.  That left Tim, the only one old enough to be at his house and on their own, trusted to cycle or use public transport alone at sixteen years of age.

Callum smiled when Tim peaked around the door, but it quickly changed to a frown. Peaking was unusual to start with, but he looked drawn.  Pale.  Red eyed.  Callum sat up, about to rise to his feet but Tim was across the room quicker.

"Tim?"  Callum asked, as the boy folded himself onto the couch next to him, curled up and in.  Practically on his lap, the way that he used to when he was still a little boy.  Instinctively, Callum curled an arm around him and reached up to scratch through his thick hair.  No more wisps of baby hair.  Not fine and fly away.  The corners of his mouth twitched up.  He could smell some sort of hair product.

"I'm guessing that you and your parents had a chat?"  Tim sniffed, wet, and nodded by way of reply, pushing his face harder onto Callum's chest.  Callum had known that it was coming.  All of Alyaa and David's children knew that something had happened involving a bad man, and that was why Uncle Callum had so many scars.  But Tim had been pushing just lately for more answers than that.  Unsatisfied with the bare bones.  And so they had agreed that Alyaa and David should sit down with him and tell him.  Explain.  Invite questions.

Callum felt a press, a tickle of fingertips on the scars around his throat.  A throwback to when Tim had been Timmy and he used to trace the scars and then fall asleep whilst doing so.  It had been a habit long since lost.  It felt like a comfort to have it suddenly reappear.

"He hurt you so much," Tim sobbed the words into Callum's chest, trembling with what could have been terror or anger, or any emotion in between.  The scale seemed to stretch out in both directions.  Callum breathed in slowly.  Deeply.  Held the air in his lungs for a beat or two and then slowly let it out again.

"Yeah," he said, his fingers still moving in Tim's hair, grounding him.  Grounding them both.  "He certainly did."

"I want it to go away," the words tumbled out, tripping over hitched breaths as they went.  "I want it to never happen."  Callum lowered his head so that he could press up against the top of Tim's.

"I know," he whispered into his hair.  "I know."

"Why did you let us swing off your arm Uncle Callum?  You shouldn't have let us.  Not if... not..."  Gently, Callum nudged Tim away and sat him up.  Then he pulled up the sleeve on his slightly wonky arm. 

"Look," he said.  "It's strong.  It was so broken but then it got so strong.  It helps me save lives now,"  Tim reached out and laid a hand over the bump, the slight twist in the arm.  Rubbed it a little.  "I loved having you kids swing off it because it took something broken and made it perfect to me.  And believe me, perfection isn't always found where you think it ought to be.  I know that very very well."  He moved to pull the sleeve back down and Tim shifted his hand away, only to grip Callum's hand. 

"These,"  Tim whispered, hoarse and breaking on the word at the end.  "Mum said that... that...he was...cross?  Like really cross?"  He turned Callum's hand palm-up, exposing the puncture scar in the middle.

"A nail,"  Callum said quietly.  "Hammer and nail.  But your Uncle Rory found me not long after."

Timmy glanced up then burrowed himself back down against Callum's side, taking comfort in the warmth of it.  In the fact that his Uncle Callum was very much alive and well.

"I've seen mum's scars too but Uncle Rory doesn't have any," he muttered into Callum's shoulder.

"Uncle Rory has scars we can't see.  He thinks them instead of touching them.  But I promise you that we're ok.  I promise.  And you get to ask as many questions about everything.  Whenever you need to.  Ok?"

Tim nodded up against him by way of reply, and shuddered a little, an attempt at calm that fell just a little short of the mark.

Callum tightened his arm around him and reached behind with his free arm, groped about until his fingers met fabric.  He pulled the blanket down and shook it out with one hand, then tucked it slowly but surely around them.  Tim raised his head, eyes watery and red, face blotchy.

"The picnic blanket," he said, with a small and shaky smile.

"It's never far away," Callum said, pulling him even closer in.  He reached for the remote and flicked through their streaming services until he found what he was looking for.  Robin Hood, animated.  Foxes and vixens and bears and rabbits.  And escapism.  And love.  And family.

As he settled back he kept a tight hold on Tim.  Timmy.  Kept him safe and warm and secure.  None of his family would ever go through what he went through.  Ever.

A little later he, he inched his phone out of his pocket and sent Alyaa and David a message. 

"He's here.  I've got him.  He's asleep and probably drooling on my chest!  I'll bring him back in a bit.  Love you all.  Loads.  Xxx"

[goblinmanifesto]

Ive already accidentally deleted this once so fucking kill me (I forgot to save it).

⚠️TW FOR ANXIETY, TOURETTES, SLIGHT SELF HARM⚠️

But this is my post for @doinmybesthere Mental Health Awareness May collab! I will be doing Bokuto Koutarou. To explain a bit, to cope with bullshit that is life, I accidentally made myself a coping mechanism that I loving refer to as the ‘Klaus Hargreeves‘ (if you know anything about that character, you already know where my mental state is) because I can’t remember what my therapist said the actual name for it was. To put it simply, it’s like overactive day dreaming. I act out and create scenarios in my head to comfort myself, most of the time using characters or real people as an enabler for the comfort I wish to gain. Side effects being; if caught, considered crazy, sometimes don’t realize I’m doing it which can lead to awkward situations, sometimes I fuck up what’s real and what’s not. So, in these little stories, I will be retelling scenarios I have created through this coping mechanism that relate to both Bokuto and my mental problems! Each will be labeled with what they deal with so you can skip the one that might trigger you. Enjoy and happy reading! (I WILL ALSO BE MENTIONING AND USING STIMMING) ((I will probably use this to make other fics like this in the future mentioning my other ~stuff~ but in the meantime this is all I want to do so enjoy!))

⚠️LAST TW⚠️

1. ~Anxiety, Self harm, Mentions of Stimming~ He should’ve been home an hour ago! I was pacing in the living room, shaking hands holding my phone. It was 7:13 and Koutarou was supposed to be home at 6:00. I was spiraling and I could feel it, but I didn't know what to do about it. Id sent him text after text, but he was yet to respond. I glanced at my cell, only stopping my frantic shuffling to focus my attention on reading the screen;

Hey, is practice running late? [6:11] When do you think you’ll be home? [6:15] Are you there? [6:19] Koutarou??????? [6:23] Kou pick up your damn phone! [6:27] Did something happen???!! [6:34] Is everything okay?! [6:39] Are you mad or something??? [6:47] Bokuto Koutarou I’m dead serious where are you?!?!?! [6:53] Bo-ku-to!!!! [6:59] Koutarou it’s been hour please text me [7:07] Koutarou!!! [7:12] -Unread-

My eyes scanned the messages again, not leaving the blue screen until until my shin collided with the side of the coffee table. I hadn’t even realized I had started pacing again. I checked the texts I had sent to Akaashi as well, since I knew he was at that practice too, but I hadn’t gotten any responses from him either. Slipping my phone screen up onto the table I continued my pacing, not even processing when my finger nails found their way under my teeth, and how when they left my mouth to scratch at my neck or claw at my shirt, my teeth resorted to gnawing at my lip instead, tearing up the thin skin. All habits I was trying to kill but didn’t have enough brain power to focus on not doing them. My eyes constantly searched the driveway for the headlights of any car, any car at all, but they always came up with nothing. It was 7:24 when my phone struck with the sound of text, the bing of anticipation sent me diving for, and consequently almost dropping, my phone in an attempt to find out if it was Koutarou. It was!

Hey, is practice running late? [6:11] When do you think you’ll be home? [6:15] Are you there? [6:19] Koutarou??????? [6:23] Kou pick up your damn phone! [6:27] Did something happen???!! [6:34] Is everything okay?! [6:39] Are you mad or something??? [6:47] Bokuto Koutarou I’m dead serious where are you?!?!?! [6:53] Bo-ku-to!!!! [6:59] Koutarou it’s been hour please text me [7:07] Koutarou!!! [7:12]

-Read-

Im so sorry!! Yes practice did end up running late! But something else happened and I

wasn’t able to text you! I’m not mad about

anything I promise!! What happened is also

minor and nothing to worry about and I’ll explain when I get home in about ten

[7:21] minutes!! I’m so sorry!! -Read-

I sighed, relieved, the weight on my chest and in my head dissolved and I felt like I could finally breathe again. Though, as I came down from my anxiety rush, I became aware of a lot of things all at once. The first was a good deal of pain. From knocking my leg into a table and pacing for over an hour, to bitten lips and nails, and my scraped neck. I groaned, I need to get a better handle on this.

But that wasnt important. Koutarou was okay and on his way home! I waited at the window, feeling a bit like a dog waiting on its owner (that was a kink joke yes), and leaped to the front door when I saw his car in the driveway. Throwing open the door, I pulled him inside the second I could get my hands on him and pulled him through the doorway. The moment he was inside, I shoved myself into his arms in a tight hug, so glad he was okay. He returned the hug and held me tightly, I let out a shuddering breathe and he let out comforting sounds I sometimes use to stim. “Hey, hey, hey, I’m so sorry to have you worry, it was about Akaashi! We were running extra practice with a handful of the other guys and I literally had half a text to you written out when he a spike to the face! I was the only one left with a car so I drove him to hospital! I’m so sorry you are so worried you sent like 15 texts! I’m so-“ I cut him short with a hand over his mouth since that was one of the only ways to get him to stop talking. “Kou, it’s okay, I understand, it just really scared me ‘is all-“ he pried my hand off his face but held it in his own.

”I know, but that doesn’t mean I can’t apologize for it, whether I was in complete control of the situation or not! Which I was not, by the way, no control what-so-fucking-ever, I had four other guys in the car and one of them was bleeding and concussed, it was chaos!!” His eyes were wide and he went off on the stress of the situation and, for a moment, I forgot that it was 7:26 at night on a Thursday and I had a biology test in the morning, and that Koutarou just got home and I hadn’t even eaten yet and all the other things that werent right in the world. Everything was fine in that moment. But that ended when Koutarou took a good hard look at me. The redness and scratch marks on my neck, the bitten to bleeding finger nails, the small bruise forming on my shin, my blotchy face and my probably-way-too-red lips. He stopped dead in his words and I felt my eyebrows scrunch up.

“Whats wrong?-“

“You did the things again didn’t you?!” He sounded distressed and his broad shoulders sunk. Koutarous hands rubbed my shoulders as he stared into my eyes with the most concerned look I’d ever seen. He pulled me back to his chest again and promised it wouldn’t happen again.

7:46, Koutarou insisted on taking care of my ‘injuries’ since he was who I was having anxiety over anyway. I protested a little, but gave up when he gave me the baby-owl eyes.

First, he had wrapped bandaids on my fingers. Thankfully, they were black, and I made a comment on it was like a 2-second manicure just to hear him chuckle.

Then, Kou applied a moisturizer to my neck. “Kou, I can do this myself-“

”Nope! I insist!”

”I’m not a child-“

”Don’t care, I’m doing it so just shush up and let me do what I need to do!”

Next, he made me apply ice to my bruise even though it was tiny and caused by a damn two-foot-tall coffee table.

Lastly, he gave me chapstick. Again, wouldn’t let me do it myself, so I made several sarcastic remarks to make him blush, all working quite well. Koutarou had to tell me to stop giggling multiple times so I could stay still.

”Alright, are you done playing nurse?”

”Forgive me for wanting to take care of you!!” He stuck his tongue out at me with an audible “bleh!” and I cackled.

”You are forgiven, Nurse Bokuto.”

2. ~Tourette’s, Stimming~ My neck painfully popped when it jerked to the left, my tics had been bad all day and I no clue why. Could be exams, or the fucking toaster for all I knew. I hissed, rubbing at my neck and adjusting the water can I almost dropped, trying to continue about my Saturday.

It was obnoxious, really, having to me-proof everything around in case I end up kicking it, dropping it, or hitting it. My joints constantly cracking and snapping and jolting in the strangest ways at any given moment. Sometimes repeating what people say back at them in perfect mirror-like fashion. Though that last one can be kind of funny.

Clicking my toungue to make nice noises to try and stim the tic away, I returned back to my plants. I could feel them chuckling at me and, in that moment, I understood everything about Crowley from ‘Good Omens’.

I heard the door unlock in the other room and I put my can down as a precaution and peeked out of the doorway.

A moment later, Koutarou popped through the door after his morning jog. He called out; “Hey, hey, hey!” as a greeting.

I felt my hands go up behind my head and I thought Oh gods dammit, and then my jaw jutted forward in a very unattractive way and I repeated his phrase in the same manner as him, then immediately dropped, as my body decreed.

I groaned, looking up at him, who looked slightly bewildered at my little madness ritual. His hair laid flat on his head, he had chosen not to mess with it this morning, much to my delight, his amber eyes a little wide and his eyebrows raised. He was barely even in the house yet.

We just kind of stared at each other for a hot second before I awkwardly waved ‘hello’ and cracked a weird grin. He grinned back, his more pleasant than mine. Walking over, he opened his arms for a hug, and I accepted, since he wasn’t all that sweaty this time around, and it was the least I could do since he had to witness that.

Koutarou planted a kiss on the top of my head, cheering “Good morning!”

I muttered a response into his shirt.

“One of those days, huh?” I nodded.

“Coffee? I think we have muffins in the cabinet?” I nodded again and he lead me into the kitchen to set up some breakfast. It was 9:00 am on a Saturday after all. A weird Saturday, but watching Koutarou finagle through the cabinets, it couldn’t be that bad.

That is all for now! Have a wonderful day and I am going to sleep for three years see y’all (edited: June 18 2021, because I can’t spell)

[urlocallovelyqueer]

That Drarry fic

Thank @catamelon for the prompt: "I was never in love with you now leave me alone!"

Just before I get into it, a lot of this was vent writing, so it can get kind of brutal so please don't read if those things can upset you, take care of yourself.

Trigger warnings: There's some yelling, violence, and there's some almost nsfw, it can get kinda uncomfortable. Swearing as well.

I think that's it but if you find something I didn't include please tell me so I can add it, okay thanks.

Draco rushed, almost sprinting, into the room of requirement, only stopping to crash to his knees when he thought he was safe. He was panting, sweat dripping off his brow and his tie askew. He shook his head in disbelief, how dare he- how dare he let Potter under his skin like that. His voice still echoed hollowly in Draco’s ears, “I was never in love with you- now leave me alone!” He shook his head, trying to erase all trace of the Chosen One from his memory. Harry’s hands on his thighs, the soft touch of his lips against Draco’s. That jet black hair, standing up at odd angles around his head like a halo. Draco, running his hands through it, breathless and blissful. That was all gone now. Every fleeting memory, every knowing smirk, every glance across the classroom was tainted with those words, “I was never in love with you.” Draco covered his head and let out a small cry, then when he was quite sure no one was around he burst into loud, noisy, uncontrollable tears. The kind of tears that could make even Snape feel sorry for him. As he kneeled there, his heart breaking, wracking sobs disturbing the thick silence, he became aware of someone- no, something, in there with him. He quickly tried to smother his crying, ending up blotchy faced and gasping, fresh tears making new tracks in his face. “Who- who’s there?” he asked, voice trembling.

“Names are not important Draco.” The voice seemed to come from everywhere, hissing but kind. “I know what you want, and I can help you get it.”

Draco shook his head. “No, you can’t, no one c-can.”

“Oh but that is where you are wrong, child.”

Draco sniffed. “I’m not a child, I’m almost 17.” He knew the words sounded crude and childlike before they even left his mouth, and he bit his lip, looking down sullenly.

“You are a child, and you will never have his love.” a pause, then sounding gleeful, the voice hissed “Not unless you have my help.”

“Your help? I don’t even know who you are!” Draco sputtered, looking desperately around, trying to find the source of the voice.

“Yes, you do Draco, just look.”

Draco rocked back as if pushed, his arms unfurling and opening. His head snapped back and his eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. Images flashed before his eyes and he lost sight of the room, obscured by dazzling images of snakes and of dark alleyways and broken skylines, vulgar black smoke rising into the night sky. He gasped as he was pulled back into the present, clutching and scratching at his neck as if someone had their hand around it and was trying to choke the life out of him. Sure enough, when Draco tried to move away warm hands held him firmly in place. “Don’t fucking move.” All the force drained from him. “H-harry-” he started to plead but was cut off by the other boy in the room.

“And don’t you dare speak.” Harry leaned close to him and Draco trembled and nodded shakily.

Harry sneered and leaned away, and as he did so Draco saw a shimmer around his body. It disappeared as quickly as he saw it and he put it down to fear. Stubborn as he knew Harry was, he couldn't help but ask, "how did you find this place? I thought I wasn't followed-"

An ornate knife was quickly pressed against his throat, Harry deftly moving to grab him from behind. "I thought I said no speaking, babe." He almost spat the word out, making it sound like acid that burnt him. Harry trailed his hand up and down Draco's side, whispering in his ear, "I hope you know just how much I hate you, you unlovable, worthless insolent thing." Draco shivered at Harry's touch, as much as he hated himself for it. Harry saw and grinned, looking like an animal about to devour it's kill. "oh, but you like that don't you baby boy? You enjoy being hated, being teased." As he said this, Harry started tugging at the bottom of Draco's shirt, untucking it from his trousers. Draco could only whimper, helpless. Harry moved around to face him, holding Draco's green and silver tie between his teeth.

There it was again- that strange shimmer, just by his head, what the hell is it?

Harry's head snapped around, hiding the mysterious glint from Draco. "You just can't help yourself, can you? You've always got to look." That obnoxious smirk was plastered over his face and he grabbed Draco by the hips, pulling him close and moving his hands to the scared boy's thighs.

"no- no stop, you don't love me." Draco whimpered, trying to push the other boy off him.

"You're right, I don't." Harry shoved Draco roughly to the ground, laughing when he hit his head on the hard floor. "Right now I hate you, more than anything. But, if you just listened to him," Harry motioned to the room "if you listened to him and let him guide you, I'll love you. I'll love you and only you forever." As he was saying this, Harry seemed to transform, he was somehow taller, and more tan, his hair longer and more curled, turning from it's usual black to a richer brown, with sunny golden highlights.

"You're not Harry," Draco scrambled back, his head still throbbing from where he hit it against the floor. "get away from me, you're not him!"

Harry laughed softly, crouching down and tilting his head at Draco. "Of course I am honey, what're you talking about? Just come over here and let me hug you." He looked even more perfect than usual, he seemed so caring, so perfectly loving.

Draco tentatively crawled over to him and let Harry held him close, his warm embrace making Draco shiver.

"There there baby, it's okay now, see? This is what you could have, you could have this." Draco nodded, his eyes drifting closed.

Harry pulled a cold, stern-looking pen from his trouser pocket and held it lovingly. "Look at this, my love. Let me use it on you, and I'll be forever yours."

Draco opened his eyes and looked at it cautiously. "Will it hurt?" He sounded like a toddler about to get a flu jab, but Harry's green eyes were so inviting, so loving.

Harry chuckled. "It may hurt you, but I'll be right here, next to you. All you have to do is let me use it on you." He sounded impatient and irritated and it stung Draco to hear his love speak this way and he recoiled a little.

"Baby, come back." He sounded authoritative, mean even. "Draco, come back here." Harry looked upset, his bottom lip trembling.

"Draco, don't leave me."

Draco teared up again and looked at the ground. Most of him didn't want to move closer, didn't want to let his heart hope again, but there was one tiny voice inside him, one small thing that told him, "who cares if he isn't the real Harry, just pretend, just for a while." The blond boy nodded, letting the voice grow stronger and bigger inside of him. He moved closer to Harry and let himself hope, he let the voice drown out every scream that told him to get away. Harry's smile grew again and he looked triumphant. He grabbed Draco's arm, startling the already jumpy teenager. "Woah, it's okay baby, just relax." He unbuttoned Draco's sleeve and gently pulled it up to expose his pale forearm. "It's okay, just let me do this and we'll be together forever." The porcelain boy nodded and closed his eyes, bracing himself as Harry pressed the cold pen to his arm. Harry's expression grew manic, his grin widening and his hands moving quickly over Draco's arm. "Babe- Harry, it hurts, it burns!" Draco squirmed and yelped, trying to get out of his love's iron-clad grip but Harry just kept going, quickly drawing an elaborate skull then making swirls and lines that didn't make sense. They weren't runes, at least they weren't any Draco had ever seen before. "H-harry, please let me go!" Hot tears pricked at the edges of his vision, threatening to overcome him.

"No, not until it's done." Harry's voice was sharp and snake-like, filling Draco with a terror so great it stopped him in his tracks. "You're not Harry. You're-" He was cut off by a shriek he didn't register was his own until not-Harry looked up. "Well done nitwit, I'm not that fool." He'd given up all pretence at this point, his eyes turning a deep red and his skin turning paler and more translucent- a nightmare version of the boy Draco loved the most. The thing that looked like Harry but wasn't pressed its hand over the markings it had made, closing its eyes and disintegrating into ash.

Draco shivered and pulled his arm close, looking horrified. "No, no no no." Suddenly all the lines made sense- whatever it was had given him the Dark Mark. He ran his thumb along it and winced, cringing away from the evil brand.

----------

Harry flew around the pitch, engaged in practice with the new Keeper when Colin ran into the stands, panting and looking even more distressed than usual.

"Harry, come quickly, Draco's in trouble!" Harry sped over to where he was, ignoring Ron's indignant snort.

"Where is he, Colin?" Colin turned and ran out of the stands, looking frantic. Harry landed quickly, pulling out his wand. They ran back up to the castle, pushing people out of the way.

"This way." The scrawny boy darted between two pillars through a doorway Harry could've sworn hadn't been there a few seconds ago. He hastily followed him, barreling through the door. He ended up in an empty room, Colin nowhere to be found. Harry stopped short, confused. "Colin? Hey Colin where'd you go?" He turned around slowly and gasped, dropping his broom. The door was gone, replaced by a pane of glass through which he could see Draco, curled in a heap, looking as though he'd been attacked. "DRACO!" He bellowed, pressing himself against the glass. "Draco, oh my god, what happened, what happened?" He frantically beat the glass, trying to break through it. "Draco, please be okay..." He stepped back and raised his wand. "Reducto." The spell shot at the glass, destroying it.

Draco barely flinched, half-conscious and staring blankly at nothing. "Draco!" Harry rushed to his boyfriend's side, falling to his knees. Draco whimpered, looking straight through Harry "What..?"

"Draco, it's Harry, darling I'm here, it's okay now-" He was stopped by Draco's arm, the sleeve roughly pulled up and bruises standing out against his porcelain skin. Draco looked at his arm and whined, trying to hide his new mark from the other boy. It was too late, Harry had seen and he moved back, looking horrified. "Malfoy," he never called Draco that, not anymore, "what the fuck is this?"

"Didn't want to... it forced me to- I didn't want to." Draco tried to sit up, failing miserably. "Tried to make it stop, tried to get away." Harry looked shocked, almost reaching out to touch the other boy's arm. "Please Harry, please believe me, I didn't want this- I tried to stop it."

"I believe you Draco." Harry dropped his wand, getting over his shock and cradling his boyfriend in his arms, closing his eyes tightly. "I believe you, it's okay, I'm here now, it's going to be okay." Draco cowered away from him, scared and not quite believing it was him. "Please Draco, baby, just listen to me, I love you okay? I love you and I'm never going to leave you."

With this Draco scrambled away, shaking in fear. "N-no, that's what- that's what it said too, it said that if it did this," he motioned wildly to his arm "if it did this you'd love m-me. You're not Harry, you're not him, he's not coming he doesn't love me!" He threw his arms over his head, trying to hide from whatever was in front of him, claiming to be his love.

"What? Draco, whatever it was lied to you. I do love you, I've always loved you, and I'm here now, I came."

"But you said- you said you were never in love with me and you told me to l-leave you alone, I heard you say it!"

"When did I say this?" Harry looked sceptical, he knew he would never say something like that. He didn't think he could say something like that, not to him. "Just- just now, a couple hours ago..."

Harry shook his head, "Draco, I've been on the Quidditch pitch all day, we decided we weren't going to meet until later remember?"

"But- but you were in the library with me, you came into the library and looked angry, then I tried to ask you something but you- you said that you- you said that awful thing." Harry took off his Quidditch robes and draped them over Draco like a blanket, gently lifting him off the floor and putting him into a hammock that had appeared close to him. "Draco I've been on the pitch all day, I've not been in the library at all today. Look I'm in my Quidditch uniform" Harry stepped back, letting Draco look at him.

The other boy's eyes scanned Harry's body before looking away, scratching his neck in worry. "I guess... no. This is a trap, you're not Harry. You can't be." Harry sighed. He wanted to prove he was, more than anything, but he didn't know how to.

"Make your patronus."

"What?"

"Make your patronus. That's something unique to you, show me you're Harry." Draco had sat up and was looking at Harry intently. Harry nodded, picked up his want and stood back. He closed his eyes and lost himself in a memory. Pale hands in his hair, the feeling of chapped lips against his. He let it surround him and lift him. "Expecto patronum." A stag burst from the end of his wand, cantering around the room before evaporating into nothing. Draco watched it, his mouth slightly open. "You are Harry..." The boy nodded, wrapping Draco in a hug. "Yes, I am" He sat next to him in the hammock and rocked gently. "It's me, it's me and it's okay now." "I'm sorry, I'm sorry I didn't believe you. It was just so scary, I was so scared." Draco shook, closing his eyes and tried not to cry. "I know baby, I know, but we'll fix this, we're going to make this better." Harry felt awful, he'd never seen his boyfriend like this, ever. He was normally so guarded with his emotions. But now, looking at the scared boy in his arms, he saw something he had never seen before. Vulnerability. And someone or something had taken advantage of that. As he cradled Darco in his arms one thought flashed through his mind, hot and sharp, "Voldermort will not get away with this."

[midas-or-khaos]

The Ones Above Us. Chapter 1

Date:- September 30th, 2008, 14 days after initial discovery.

Time:- 18:42 pm

Flicking a cheap Poundland lighter, sparks spat in the morbid matt of a pure black atmosphere out on location in the back arse of nowhere (somewhere far off Ireland’s version of the M6 he’d been told). Winter winds were of the worst kind: didn’t matter how far inland you made it, or how thick the walls on your house were, they traversed the land with albatross wings wide and undaunted by what they came into contact with, smacking into any surface with no regards to slowing down. They didn’t seem to have any regard for detective Arthur Fleming‘s Malboro either, a stiff left hand shaking at the switch, and the right vainly trying to create shelter for the cigarette.

“For FUCK sake.” Singed fingertips for his troubles.

“Serves you right. No smoking on the job detective, you know better.”

Head Forensic Pathologist Fatima Alvi. A 4’9 willowy thing with a short, plump bob, damn near bobblehead proportions and a tendency to get right under his fucking skin like the irritating shit she was. She’d succeeded young and now all that arrogance she hadn’t quite worked out her system from (what should be mandatory in his opinion) the hard labour of working up the social ladder had only boosted her tendency to tighten her favourite black brogues far too tight, straighten her back like a bloody ballerina and fix that rod she’d shoved up her arse however many years ago a little bit deeper.

“I’m ten yards from the sodding site and wrapped in a white, walkable body bag, I think we can both agree me being over here isn’t going to tamper with shit. And not to challenge ur dictatorship, luv, but you’ve got winged lashes big enough to take off under those goggles o’ yours. Now you go back under those useless gazebos, and I’ll happily freeze my arse off out here.” Turning back round to face the empty, Arthur cursed himself for getting a 4 buzz cut rather than a short back and sides a week ago.

Fatima despised this part of the job. Working with middle-aged, greying twats like this one that clearly hated their jobs, but seemed to have this vendetta against the mere mention of career change. Yes, she was aware as you age, getting a new job gets harder. Surprise though, so did being fresh out of uni. Life sends these little tests to fuck us all over, not just you mate. Must be the bitter taste of Thatcher’s rule that’s left him slow to change. Scarred from the days when not having a job meant not eating, full stop. Doesn’t give the trout-mouthed, once-upon-a-time aryan flag pole a reason to snap like Chihuahua.

“Why don’t you stop trying to get your next sad excuse for a hit from nicotine, and come over here and do your actual fucking job?”

“No respect.” Muttered Arthur to himself, giving up on his lost cause and unzipping the top half of his polymer suit to shove the cigarette into his oversized shirt pocket.

Finally the standing misery addressed the stout woman face to face, a shaking clinging to each syllable, “What the hell d’you need me for? It’s obvious this isn’t a normal murder case, IF we’re even call it a murder case. I mean for god sake, Fatima, the grave is over 50 feet long! Whatever we’re uncovering obviously isn’t a human, it’s a fucking dinosaur! Why am I here in the back-arse of all points nowhere, rather than a load of archaeologists?”

“Because what we’ve found so far isn’t making sense, and last time anyone checked, dinosaurs were fossilised. BONES, detective, not skin. This body is so fresh, there’s absolutely no decay at all! That’s impossible. Then there’s the skin, it hasn’t even been stained by acid or mud, like the skin is coated in some hydrophobic matter. None of this should be possible.” A sigh slipped the last of Fatima’s adrenaline-fuelled spitting out, she was tired. Tired of him, tired of working, tired of being in the cold. “Look, personally I think this is probably an elaborate hoax some twat on YouTube with a fringe or whatever has decided to plant in a well known historic location for views. The arseholes will probably be waiting for the news report on TV so they can have a laugh at our expense. None of this is natural, and frankly it’s starting to look ridiculous. However, so long as our shitty superiors believe this to be a murder case we stick to finding out how this thing died, understood?”

Scathing way of saying it, But a hoax was something Arthur was desperate to cling to. Of course, this was nothing but staged and faked beyond belief! None of this could be real. Give credit where credit’s due though, the bell-ends that did this were thorough. Tutting, Arthur knew he couldn’t argue his case anymore, and started to strut off on those stilts for legs back to the beams of spotlights, Fatima trotting along after him just to keep up.

“Glad to see you’re helping.”

“Just talk to me about what’s going on so we’ll be able to document this and go back to the hostel.” Spat Arthur in retaliation. He hated this job. These people. But most importantly, that thing.

Entering through the only available entrance, the two nearly ran into another detective. Useless idiot. Despite this temporary flimsy building being the size of a football field, there was barely enough space among the number of personnel of all ranks and professions, technology, storage facilities and dig sights to separate the wood from the leaves. To add to the misery, despite being as frosty inside as it was outside, the scent of dank earth and petrol from the excavation diggers still managed to permeate the trapped air. God it stunk.

Taking on a note of interest as she got into her element, Fatima called out as she moved out the way, “Right, so we are at the feet end, and up there at the other end of the canopy is our head. We’re going there first because that’s what the two witnesses found during their initial dig.”

Taking off briskly, the forensic pathologist seemed unfazed by the sheer size of the foot sticking out like a meteorite fallen to earth just a couple of meters from the entrance, not even gracing the thing a glance. Arthur had no such laissez-faire-attitude, frozen in tunnel vision. This is why he didn’t wanna come back in. The damn toes had the familiar, unique swirling pattern of calloused skin seen on humans, and blotches of brown that must’ve been freckles, as they lacked the blotchy, wet texture of mud. Veins passing like eels under ice became exposed near the epidermis, shining icy blue. On an intellectual level, the aged detective knew a foot his height in length couldn’t possibly exist in the real world. If they did, someone would’ve surely reported such a sighting.

On a primal level, instinct was sending adrenaline shooting to his heart, and his lungs could scarcely fill themselves in time to keep up with the demand of oxygenated blood. Those feet looked too alive. The raw power those hands must posses, accompanying such ginormous feet! All of it reminded him of his honeymoon with his wife on Safari, watching a pack of saltwater crocodiles descend in a snapping furry upon shared prey, crushing a zebra’s skull in its death roll, red and bloodied teeth and palate facing the animal’s terror-struck gaze whilst it still vainly screamed for its herd to come to its aid. The vocal cords snapped, eventually silencing under the sheer force of those jaws collectively ripping the head off n one piece. Two crocodiles sent the thing flying twelve feet in the air in pure territorial aggression, neither caring that they’d just murdered another being, before the Wiley victory went after the splattering mess to claim its prize. None of the herd even dared approach the brutality. Would these others do the same if he were captured? Would they leave him to the beast?

“Arthur, c’mon.”

Back to reality. “Sorry.”

Just focusing on Fatima’s back seemed to do the trick, heart rate levelling out below 100bpm. Don’t look round and it won’t be there. Arthur didn’t have it in himself to self scold for such a ridiculous reaction; he knew he should’ve stayed outside.

Still set on her headlong track, Fatima chose to not bother with looking back and risk painfully smacking into some poor soul, so delegated talking to the air in front of herself, hoping he heard her through the ruckus around them. “The head hasn’t decayed, following suit to rest of the currently exposed limbs, though there does appear to be damage. Face appears to be male, middle-aged 35 to 50’s. Noticeable marks being three precise third degree burns across the face resembling a striped pattern. No sign of healing or breakdown within the exposed areas either, which would suggest the burns were created after death.”

“Has anyone tested a sample of skin to see why there’s no breakdown?”

“We tried, but every single time someone has come in with a scalpel to remove a piece, once removed from the body the entire piece seems to crumble instantly to a fine blue dust and disappear.”

“What, Like Indiana Jones style? We found the crusader knight?”

“Please try and take this seriously Arthur, I wouldn’t mention our findings if they were false.” Tutted Fatima.

Arthur knew he was deflecting to shield himself. “I am. Can we at least try collecting the dust?”

“No use, I meant it when I said everything disappears.”

“So anything we test or observe must be on the body at all times or it’s essentially worthless?”

“Correct.”

Well that made everything just that little bit harder. JUST! They’d been reduced to the detective abilities of the bloody Edwardian period. No testing beyond what could be extracted from the soil (and judging by the lack of messy bodily fluids, the thing probably didn’t have any), and they had yet to uncover the rest of the body to see if there were any signs of obvious trauma that would account the reason behind the death. This was going to take forever. Every waking moment in this shithole was a second wasted. Whoever made this thing was one sick fuck.

“If I ever find the shitheads responsible for this prank, I’m gonna hand em a fucking life sentence. The law be damned.”

Just missing a collision with another photographer, the head finally came into full view. Even from this vantage point above ground, the thing didn’t seem small in any way. If he’d thought the foot was massive, the head was a new beast entirely upon its own pedestal. Surprisingly peaceful for a dead person, no expressions of pain or strain, just a suspiciously perfect sullen face (aside the burns of course). Knotted, greying-blond hair splayed out in dregs from the skull like old depictions of the sun’s rays, haloing the face and drawing you to the pair of closed lids. He wasn’t pretty by any standard, Arthur vainly self-noted. Weak chin jutting thin lips out from the round face, a high hairline accentuating the large forehead and a heavy brow ridge. If he weren’t the size of a four story building and significantly burnt, he’d have been extraordinary ordinary. Forgettable even. The detective knew he shouldn’t be saying that. It was a ‘victim’ after all.

“If we can’t remove any body parts, can we perhaps open the body up instead and take samples of anything inside the stomach, lungs, chest cavity etcetera?”

A grimace pulled at the woman’s lips, marring her usually stoic face, “Already done it, we had Liam go inside with a contamination dry suit whist you were outside. It’s the kind of stuff sewage divers wear at human waste plants.”

Arthur couldn’t help turning his own nose up at the prospect as well, shuffling unconsciously just a little further away. “And?”

“There were important pieces missing. A full, undisturbed respiratory system: lungs, trachea, the works. Oddly, absolutely no digestive or reproductive organs what so ever. Weirder yet, there were no signs of sabotage or surgical removal, it was like they were never there in the first place. What really caught my eye on the camera feed was that he had, what we think, are a series of air sacks integrated along the connection between the lungs and the diaphragm.”

“Meaning?”

Poor Fatima was looking at Arthur like she was trying to explain how to use the toilet to a three year old, a strong side eye from her place parallel to him

“MEANING this thing had an incredibly resourceful breathing mechanism.”

“So no basic necessary functions like the need to eat and reproduce, but a top quality breathing system. And you wonder why I’m not taking any of this seriously? Why couldn’t we just send a report saying it was a hoax and save time? It technically doesn't even come under the scientific detention of alive.”

“Well certainly not now it doesn’t.” Arthur gave his own stink eye back.

“... Look, why don’t we try and get the body transferred over to London? Our proper, large-scale testing equipment will be at our fingertips, and we’d be able to at least stick this problem on some stupid lab rats and be done with it, what d’you say?”

Fatima finally stopped half-hearting her disgust to focus on Arthur face to face. “Arthur, where d’you think that kind of space and discreetness would be possible in the middle of London city? This body is over fifty feet all, we wouldn’t even be able to keep it cool enough to stop potential decay-“

Arthur butted in, “- This thing has been out the ground for two weeks, Fatima, and hasn’t so much as lost a hair naturally. We don’t need to worry about decay. Yes, transferring the body would disturb the ‘crime scene’, but if we get this thing sent off as archeological dig remains, the disturbance won’t matter, and we’d be off the case. I don’t wanna be stuck with this shit anymore, do you?” Was he sounding too desperate?

She knew she shouldn’t mention it, not to herself and DEFINITELY not Arthur, but within her selfish consciousness, Fatima couldn’t agree with that. This may be a hoax to Arthur, but all these findings were starting to settle saplings in the garden of her imagination. These Findings weren’t Styrofoam cut outs painted with acrylic, nor were they polymer clay held together over a skeleton. whatever material this was, it was unlike anything she’d seen before. Maybe all this was a hoax, maybe all this was a waste of time.

But secretly, she wished it wasn’t.

“...I’ll see what I can do.”

[danceworshipper]

Okay I can't wait any longer so I'm posting this now. This is my writing piece for @hphmbang2020 and the art by @mervinamoonishere will be linked when it gets posted! The prompt was about how much better Rowan deserved. I'm on mobile, so I sincerely apologize for the lack of a "read more" (5,035 words)

Edit: link to the art: https://mervinamoonishere.tumblr.com/post/630784625693818880/hello-this-is-my-art-piece-that-i-did-to-the

Not Your Sacrifice

Rowan Khanna stands at the edge of the universe, staring out into the abyss. Her eyes are bright, shining with the light of the stars, but dull and sad inside. She stares at something she can't see, something impossibly far away. There's a pain in her chest that won't go away. She doesn't know how to alleviate it. Right now, all she can think of is her memories of the living world that haunt her, all the things she left unsaid. Hands shaking, Rowan takes a breath and begins to speak, though no one is around to hear her.

"Uh, hey. Merlin, how do I even start this? I'm pretty sure you can't hear me now, but I wish I could have said something before I got hit. Or at all. It happened so fast, didn't it? I'm not even sure when the moment I died was. At least it didn't hurt; not that I can remember. I didn't feel anything, but I saw it coming. It was rather pretty, actually, being surrounded by such a bright green."

She chuckles sadly, pressing a hand to her chest. Though there had been no pain, Rowan flinches. Sometimes that moment is all she can see, all she can hear. Just the green, and the sound of crackling power. She doesn't want to cry, not right now, not yet. After refocusing her mind, Rowan speaks again.

"Are you okay? I guess not. I wish you hadn't had to watch. Really, I wish it had never happened. Jumping in front of Ben wasn't even a choice, I don't think. I just moved, and then I was here. I suppose this is Heaven? No one has said. It seems like Heaven with how beautiful it all is. The gardens are mind blowing here. I landed in a garden, and then my grandfather found me and brought me to his and my Grandma's tree farm. They have tree farms here, can you imagine that? Anything you could ever want in the entire universe, right here where you can have it."

A brilliant smile forms on her face. It falls just as quickly.

"Anything except living people like you. You're what I miss most of all. People always said that the suffering ended once you died but... you're suffering, and that makes me suffer."

Her voice is growing tighter. Rowan grips her arms, never looking away from the person she can't see. Her nails dig into her skin, but leave no marks behind.

"Sometimes I can see you all, just little glimpses of what's going on. The 'Circle of Khanna' huh? Sounds a lot more impressive than it should. I believe in you, of course! I didn't mean that in a bad way. It's just rather funny to imagine a powerful group of witches and wizards named after me. Is that my legacy? I died so you all could become great? Rowan Khanna, the girl that got murdered. I - "

Her arms drop.

"I don't like that. That's not who I wanted to be. I wanted to be the youngest professor at Hogwarts. I wanted to travel with my friends and learn as much as I could. I wanted to live, really live. Now I don't get to. I don't just want to be the girl who died. Anything else; I could have been anyone else! Why was I such a failure? I didn't do anything I wanted. I didn't even get to be a prefect. Don't blame yourself, though. Please. Don't be more upset. You deserve to live your life and be happy. You do so much for everyone. You've saved lives. You've done so many amazing things."

Rowan sniffs. Now, instead of sad, she looks as though she hates herself.

"Why didn't I try to stop Rakepick? I had plenty of time. I had my wand. I could have stunned her. Anything but die, which was arguably the least logical action. High stress situations, I suppose. You never know what you'd actually do, and apparently my solution was to jump in front of Ben and die instead of doing anything that would have made sense. Even being a coward and doing nothing might have been better. Is that selfish? To wish that I had let Ben die? I don't like it here. I don't want to be here!"

Rowan screams in frustration. There's nothing around her, but her yell echoes anyway. Tears are falling from her eyes, and she blinks fiercely, still not taking her eyes off of her first friend. Her best friend. Rowan's chest heaves with every forced breath, and a look of desperation grows on her face.

"I know so many spells. I could have stunned her, hexed her, set her on fire, frozen her, blinded her, even just confused her with some random flowers. I could have helped. I could have prevented all of this. Not you. You did everything you could. I'm the one who was lacking. I always dreamed of a situation like this, where I could swoop in and be a hero and maybe then I'd matter a little, but when it happened I didn't even think about using my stupid wand."

Her wand materializes before her eyes from the nothing, and she angrily grabs it and snaps it in half. She can't use it from here. When she throws the pieces away, they fuse back together and vanish. It only serves to make her more upset.

"Everything is perfect here. Nothing ever goes wrong. You can't break anything, or hurt anyone. I cut myself while trimming branches and I didn't even feel it. No blood, no scar, nothing. Is that supposed to be a good thing? Can anything even be good if there isn't anything bad to compare it to? Or are we supposed to compare all this good with all the bad we went through in our lives?"

Rowan finally looks away. She rips her glasses off and wipes at her eyes, though the tears keep coming. Her chest shudders now as she tries to control her breathing so she can keep talking. The grief is overpowering her, threatening to consume her, so she tries to cheer herself up.

"It really is beautiful here. I shouldn't be complaining. There's so much space for trees, and they never wither or get sick. All the bowtruckles are easier to get along with. They seem to trust everyone. There are even dragons here! Friendly dragons that don't want to fry me up and eat me. I got to ride a Chinese Fireball around. She took me up to the nebulas and I could almost touch the stars. It felt like a dream, and it still does. None of this feels real. It's too perfect. I guess that's how it's supposed to be, right? No more suffering, unless you're me, still mourning the loss of my own life."

The tears start again no matter how hard Rowan tries to stop them. She looks down, fidgeting with her hands for a moment, and then looks back up almost hesitantly. Within a second she looks back down. There's something she needs to know, but is afraid to ask.

"Why did you leave me?"

It's a change of subject, from beautiful star dragons to ended friendships, but by the pained look on Rowan's face, she's been thinking about it the whole time. She keeps her eyes down, glasses still clutched tightly in one hand.

"I thought I was a good friend. What did I do wrong? Why did you stop hanging out with me? We used to do everything together. What happened? Was it me? Did you just outgrow me?"

Rowan sobs loudly.

"Was I too much of a coward?"

She hits the ground with a thud, sprawled out with her legs in different directions and her back at an odd angle. It can't be comfortable, but she doesn't move from the position. She's too exhausted.

"I gave up on the vaults. I couldn't handle it. Even though Ben used to be a coward, he kept trying. That was it, wasn't it? I was too scared, so you left me behind. You didn't tell me anything because you thought it would keep me safer and I was too weak to handle it. Right?"

There's no answer. Rowan's friend can't hear her. With a huff, Rowan sits up, the effort making her wince. Her face is wet and red and blotchy, and she's squinting - she dropped her glasses when she lay down. She doesn't look for them.

"You should have told me so I wouldn't have to find out for myself."

The dark anger in Rowan's voice is far different from the sad anger it held previously. Her friend's betrayal - could it even be called that? - really hurt her.

"This is your fault. It's not, and I know it's not, but it's your damn fault. You're the one who stopped talking to me. You're the one who left me so far behind I had to run to keep up! I tried! I tried so hard to be the best friend I could be, and what did I get? Dead. I got dead. I hate you!"

Rowan falls silent, and flops back down. The rage has dissipated. Her next words come out barely audible.

"I don't hate you. I shouldn't have said that. I love you. I love you so much it hurts. I miss you so much and I shouldn't, because you didn't love me. Not in the end. You loved everyone else; you loved everyone useful. All you could focus on was those vaults, and so anyone who wasn't helping you didn't matter. I didn't matter. All I did was follow you around like a puppy. Was I annoying? Were you too nice to tell me to go away? Were we really friends in the end?"

A pause.

"I noticed you kept the spare pair of glasses I had in my bedside drawer. There's a few more things in my trunk that I'd like you to have, if you ever find the time to go through it. If you even want to. My old watch is in there, a few things from Diagon Alley, and a few pictures. There's one of me and you from the beginning of fifth year, and one of us and our friends at the Celestial Ball. I think there's also one of me and Fuzzclaw in there. My parents already have a copy of that one. It's from the day he was born, I'm pretty sure. We had already decided we were going to keep one kitten, and as soon as I picked him up for the first time he snuggled right into me and that was that. I was only seven, so I thought I was super special that a newborn kitten already liked me that much. Merlin, I didn't even get a decade with him. Never would have guessed that I'd die first. You never expect that kind of thing. You always think you'll outlive your pets, your parents. My parents are miserable, you know. I've seen even less of them than I have of you, but they're not doing well. I can't blame them. I never told them much about the vaults. I didn't want them to worry."

Another pause, a longer one. Rowan is lost in thought for a while, looking thoughtful at first, and then even a little angry.

"Was that it? You didn't want me to worry? Too bad. I already knew too much. Even if I didn't know a single thing about the vaults I would have been worried about you. You don't get enough sleep. You say you do, but I don't believe you. I doubt you eat enough. You run yourself dry with homework and the vaults and every little problem anyone has. It's okay to make sure you're okay. As much as I miss you, I hope I don't see you again for a really long time, because if I do, I'll have to smack you for not putting yourself first. Just say no! Just say 'sorry not right now, I'm tired.' Stop wearing yourself thin! You're not helping anyone by hurting yourself like this."

Rowan reaches out, her hand easily finding her glasses, almost as if they were right beside her the whole time. They weren't. As Rowan sits up, she refocuses her eyes out in the distance. If she tries hard enough she can almost see her friend again. Almost.

"Put yourself first, but you need to take down R. If that's the last thing I can ask from you, avenge me. You need to make me worth it. It's selfish of me to say, because going through this might ruin you, but I know you can stop Rakepick. I know you can end R's reign once and for all. You and all our friends. I've seen the things you can do with friends by your side. Taking down this cabal should be nothing."

Rowan snorts.

"Maybe not nothing. But I believe in you either way. You're incredible, and you have Bill Weasley on your side. Is it just me, or is he only getting cooler the older he gets? I still sometimes can't believe that I got to be somewhat friends with him."

A small smile appears on Rowan's face. Her eyes glaze over a bit, no longer focused on her far away friend. Instead, they become focused on a memory.

"Remember when Bill told Emily off at the Celestial Ball and then came over to talk to me? I'm so glad you convinced me to go. It would have been fun even without Bill, but really it was only because of you. You always made me feel better about myself. You were right; I would have regretted not going. I didn't want to make a fool of myself, but if I didn't go I wouldn't have those memories or be a part of those inside jokes. I would have felt even more left out then I already did."

The smile drops.

"Dammit, I really don't want to start crying again."

A little meow comes from behind Rowan. She whips around and sees a large, fluffy grey cat staring up at her. Rowan's smile comes back through her tears, and she reaches out for the cat to come closer.

"Toebean!"

The cat perks up at the name and leaps onto Rowan's lap. Rowan strokes the cat's fur as it purrs.

"You're another someone I didn't think I'd see so soon."

Rowan looks back up toward her friend again.

"This is Fuzzclaw's mother. She was one of the most affectionate cats I've ever seen. She'd always come into my room when I was crying and sit on my lap like this."

Toebean adjusts on Rowan's lap to be able to look up at her. Rowan wipes at her eyes again and rubs Toebean's stomach, something most cats would never let anyone do. Rowan smiles sadly again.

"Such a good kitty. I was nine years old the last time I saw you, wasn't I? You were the first family member I ever lost. I remember sobbing under the blankets every night for months, wishing you would come back to me and cuddle me again. Every single time I was ever sad I'd think of you. Fuzzclaw was wonderful, but he never quite understood me like you do."

Wiping her eyes isn't helping at this point. Rowan's getting choked up again, alternating looking at Toebean and her friend in the distance.

"Turns out dying yourself hurts just as much."

Toebean meows louder, pawing gently at her owner. Rowan sobs and leans down, hiding her face in Toebean's fur. Now Rowan's voice is muffled when she speaks.

"Did you feel like this? Did you miss us like I miss my friends? My family? Did it hurt to leave us behind, or were you happy here with all the other cats and all the food you could ever eat?"

Another sob. Rowan sits up straighter, and Toebean meows disapprovingly.

"I know. I know you want me to stop crying."

Rowan sniffs.

"I want me to stop crying, too."

Toebean leans into Rowan's chest, looking as sad as a cat possibly can.

"I just miss them so much. And I can't stop thinking about how I'll never be able to be anything. I'll never get to be Head Girl, or the youngest professor at Hogwarts. I might get to learn everything there ever was to know, but I won't get to do it with my friends. I'll never get to help them achieve their dreams, or help them through their hardships. I'll never get to attend their weddings, or go on a tour across Europe with them. I'm nothing now. They'll all forget me someday. They were already starting to before I died. I did get to spend a little time with my best friend though, right before. It was so nice. It felt like the old days, where it was just the two of us against the world. You would have loved them, Toebean, all of them. I have so many stories to tell you, like that one time my best friend cast the tickling charm on this nasty girl Merula in first year. I almost laughed as hard as she did, and I didn't even get hit! Merula did end up getting nicer throughout the years, even if only slightly. And then there were all of my actual friends, like Penny and Barnaby. Penny was really good at potions, and she knew all the Hogwarts gossip, which would have been a bad thing if she wasn't so nice. Barnaby seemed pretty stupid, but once you got to know him he was one of the sweetest people ever. I used to help him out with his homework sometimes, and he always thanked me so genuinely. Ben I'm not sure I ever really liked, which is ironic because he's the one I jumped in front of. He was cowardly at first, but he still always helped out when he could. He started acting weird though, and I didn't trust him. It turned out he was being controlled by someone, but I still thought something was wrong. I guess he won me over in the end. Oh, and I was sort of friends with Bill Weasley! He was the coolest boy in school. He was smart and powerful and really, really tall. He was a couple years older than all of us - I'm not actually sure why he spent so much time with kids that much younger than him, but I'm not complaining. Maybe he did it for his brother, Charlie. Although Bill joined our friend group before Charlie did... I don't know. He's a Cursebreaker now. Rakepick got him that job."

Rowan's face hardens at the mention of her murderer.

"If there's only one person I could ever wish death upon, it would be her. Rakepick was our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor during his last year, my fifth year. She came to the school the year before that because Dumbledore wanted her to deal with the vaults and not us, although she immediately got a few of my friends involved, which got the rest of us involved too. I wasn't there when this happened, but she took a bunch of them into one of the Cursed Vaults and then left them there to die. She hit Merula with the Cruciatus Curse, and probably would have killed them all if my best friend hadn't through Garroting Gas at her. No one expected her to be a member of R, not even Professor Dumbledore. We thought she was working against R, and that even if we didn't like her we could trust her. I didn't trust her, though. I thought she was a bad influence. Turns out I was right."

A little smugness appears on Rowan's face, although she grows more serious again quickly.

"After she disappeared we decided that we couldn't let her get to the last vault first. She was willing to murder children, so if the treasure of the vaults was anything to do with power, we couldn't risk her getting her hands on it. We tried everything we could to stay one step ahead, which was difficult considering we had no clue what R was up to. And then..."

Rowan trails off and gulps. Toebean looks up at her almost encouragingly.

"I wasn't as involved as I should have been. I still don't know everything that was going on, but I was getting really worried. It was so rare to see anyone with any hope anymore. I followed Ben, Merula, and my best friend into the Forbidden Forest one night. They didn't want me there, either to keep me safe or just because they thought I would get in the way. No one ever told me anything at that point. I used to help all the time, you know? They'd ask me about curses or secret codes, and I'd do what I could. But in sixth year they never talked to me. That's why I followed them. I felt left out and I just wanted to help. I didn't actually follow them, I guess. They left long before me, but after a little while I couldn't help myself. I knew they were in danger and I just had to go make sure they were alright. They weren't. Rakepick was there, and it was really cold for some reason. I think there might have been dementors there. That would explain the cold and the heavy feeling of dread. Rakepick was attacking the three of them - Ben, Merula, and my best friend - and she said something about my best friend owing her a life, and then she tried to kill Ben. And I ran..."

Toebean gives a sad meow.

"And now I'm here, because I acted on impulse instead of doing something smart. I was watching for a little bit. I could have stopped her! I could have done something to throw her off so they could get the upper hand! Why didn't I help? Why was I so stupid?"

The tears start again as Rowan shudders. She heaves so hard she almost throws up, and Toebean jumps off her lap to avoid it.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She's not talking to her cat.

"I'm sorry, okay? I never wanted this. I just wanted to help, and now I can't even say your name because I'm afraid I'm going to go off the deep end even more than I already have. I'm a damn coward."

Her mind has gone back to second year when she said she'd never go to another vault. It may have been the right decision at the time, but she regrets it so much it causes a physical pain in her chest. Rowan thinks it may be her biggest regret in her whole life.

"I know I let you down. I know. I'm sorry. I was scared. I know you think I'm a worthless coward. I know you like your other friends more than me. I know! I just wish you had lied about it! That you had pretended you still loved me and needed me! I know I was annoying! I know I wasn't as useful as everyone else! I know! I keep saying the same things over and over again and I know that I am but you're not hearing me!"

Rowan is screaming. Toebean sits a short distance away, watching.

"You never listened! You never listened to me and now you never will! It didn't matter if I was right or not, because you wouldn't listen! You should have left it alone! Let the adults deal! I know they were incapable but at least you would have been safe and then I wouldn't have had to die! I don't care who else would have gotten hurt as long as you and I were okay! I'm a terrible person, alright? I just wanted us to be okay."

Her voice cracks on the last word and she stops screaming, panting. She shoves her hand in her hair and pulls. She scratches at her arms and claws at her chest. Nothing hurts her. She can't make her blood flow, can't leave a mark. Even launching herself out of a tall tree didn't hurt, which Rowan discovered - had it been yesterday? She can't remember. It's so infuriating.

"I want to go back."

It's a whisper, a miserable whisper.

"Let me start over. Let me be better. Even if keeping you safe means I'll have to make you hate me, I'll do it. Just let me start over."

Nothing happens. No god responds, no all powerful force resets time. Rowan is dead, and she can't go back no matter how much she wants to.

"I hate Rakepick for doing this. I hate Dumbledore for not stopping her. I hate Mad Eye Moody for not preparing you better. I hate your brother for getting you into this mess. I hate you for dragging me into it with you. I hate you so much but I don't actually hate you and that hurts more than hating everyone else does."

Toebean slowly creeps back over. Rowan sniffs and reaches out slightly.

"I'm not going to freak out again. Not right now."

Taking that as permission, Toebean settles back onto Rowan's lap. Rowan's right hand goes back into her cat's fur, her left fixing her glasses on her face. They stay silent for a long time, although time doesn't really matter anymore. It might be days they sit there, staring out into nothing, or it might only be seconds. Neither of them could say for sure. All Rowan does is stare, absently stroking Toebean's fur, and the cat simply lies there and offers silent support. Rowan's face shifts with her train of thought sometimes, but she doesn't speak aloud until the silence fully unnerves her.

"Do you think Grandpa knows where we are? Is he worried?"

Toebean doesn't answer.

"Do you think he and Grandma even care? How long does it take until you become numb to the living world? They don't react at all when I mention Mum and Dad. You'd think they would want to know what they've been up to, but they don't. They're perfectly content to be here and let the living world be as it is. How long did that take? For them to let go? Will I ever reach that point?"

Still, Toebean doesn't answer. Probably because she's a cat and cannot speak. Even without an answer, Rowan continues on.

"I guess I should be grateful I'm not a ghost like Duncan. He constantly seems miserable, from what I've heard, and he'll never be able to pass on. He'll never see anyone he loves ever again. At least I'll be here with my family and friends in the very end. No matter how far away that is. I miss them, but I hope it takes a long time. They all deserve to live and be happy."

Rowan sighs.

"I guess I didn't."

The silence stretches on again. No one is around to tell Rowan just how much she did deserve to live and be happy. That out of everyone, she deserved to live her life the most. No one is there to remind her just how much she means to everyone, and how much they miss her, and because no one can tell her, she doesn't believe it. She cries again, and again, but she doesn't let go. She just keeps trying to send her message out.

"I miss you."

Rowan was an incredible friend. She cared more than she let on, and she worried so much. She loved her friends with all she had, and it left her dead in a moment of impulse. Could she have stopped Rakepick, at least for a second? Yes, of course she could have, but what she did do shows just how big her heart is. Even if she and Ben never fully repaired their friendship, she still was so horrified at the thought of him dying that she jumped in front of him. She could have just run away, but instead, her fear driven impulse was to protect, and that means something. Rowan deserved better, so much better. She was not a throwaway friend. She was smart, brave, loyal, and ambitious. She could have fit perfectly in any house. If only she had lived, she could have done incredible things that no one else could have ever dreamed of. Like everyone, she had her bad moments. Her trust, once lost, was hard to earn back. She let anger get the best of her sometimes, and fear. Rowan was human. Humans are not perfect, but Rowan Khanna was closer than most. Rowan was wasted potential in every way, and no one should ever forgive the people who did this to her. Rowan Khanna will not be remembered as the girl who died, but rather the most incredible friend we've ever had. As we prepare to face R and fight this final battle, we must remember her and all she's worked for. We're doing this for her. It's the least we can do to repay her.

I miss you, Rowan. I wish I could tell you how much I miss you, and how much I love you. We'll win this fight for you, and no one will ever forget you. I promise I never will. Love, your best friend forever and ever.

Rowan's best friend can't sleep. It's not an unusual thing these days, but tonight it seems even more impossible. If they try hard enough, they can almost see her again, hear her voice. She's watching over them; they know she's watching. They'll make her proud.

"I miss you."

The two of them said it at the same time, but they'll never know that. Even so, saying it brings a small amount of comfort.

"I miss you so much."

There, in bed, in the dark, with a silencing charm around them and with the curtains drawn, Rowan's friend finally breaks down and weeps.

[tired-college-student-writing]

The Painter’s Daughter

Summary: Marinette is the daughter of two bakers

Marinette is a happy some times naive girl

Marinette is loved to create and make more then they liked to destroy

or was she?

Chapter 1 (HERE)

Chapter 2

_________________________________________

There was a knock on his hotel door.

Helen glanced at it with concern, quickly placing the brush he was holding, along with the… paint he had been using into the side table, keeping his knife tucked in his sleeve just in case it wasn’t just the maid wanting in.

Slowly he crept forward as another knock sounded out, forcing him to move.

With a steady hand, he opened the wooden door, leveling a glare at the person behind it only to freeze.

There stood a small Asian woman, fierce fire burning in her grey eyes. Eyes he remembered from over three years ago.

“Sabine?”

She offered a brief smile before her face fell, “May I come in Helen?”

Wearily he stepped to the side.

Rules of the Proxies were few, and most boiled down to don’t get caught and don’t harm each other. They were allowed to drink or eat whatever they please, allowed to go to movies or musicals or bowling, allowed to sneak into concerts or clubs, allowed to mess around with whatever gender they wanted to.

Sabine had been one of those one night stands he had let himself have.

“Planning on stabbing me now that I found you again?”

He jolted staring at her with wide eyes, “What?!”

She smiled softly, “I saw the painting last time, Helen. I originally thought they were just monochrome experiments, reds and browns and how they mixed. I didn’t say anything but when the news ran the story, showing the bodies and the painting… it wasn’t hard to put together.”

Helen frowned, eyes going blank, “Why are you here Sabine?”

“I needed to talk to you,” was the short answer, but she didn’t even blink when he raised his blade towards her face.

“Told the cops then?” He asked, letting the knife brush against her collarbone, “Here to get me to turn myself in?”

“No,” She answered shortly, “But I do need to show you something.”

“If you’re planning to kill me, I have to warn you I’m not exactly human,”

She snorted, “No, really? I’ve seen the footage, you’re too strong, too fast, too durable to be human. No, I’m not here to kill you, Helen. Can I show it to you without getting my throat slit?”

He considered her for a second, but that fierce determination did not fade, didn’t even flicker when held against his icy stare. Finally, he relented taking a step back causing her to smile softly as if he hadn’t just had a blade to her neck.

“Thank you,” She whispered, reaching into her purse, “I’m a mother now, to a beautiful baby girl, I named her Huì Xuè (绘 血).”

“Why tell me this?” He questioned cocking his head to the side, “What do you want to tell me?”

“She’s turning three in July,” She said, holding out a picture, “We met at the end of September.”

He looked and saw a little girl beaming up at him, black hair pulled into twin braids, bright blue eyes twinkling at him from a freckled face.  Very familiar looking blue eyes.

“What?!” He yelped reeling back, mind spiraling. The end of September to the beginning of July, that was just around 9 months right? But… he couldn’t be a father… right?

“Don’t even ask,” Sabine cut him off, “You were the only person I was within eight months before and after I got pregnant, and there’s one more thing you should see.”

“Don’t think I can get much more shocked,” He mumbled, knife dropping to the floor.

“The painting wasn’t the only thing that told me you were the Bloody Painter,” She said flipping to the next picture, “This was a bit of a giveaway too.”

It was the mark, the mark that was burned into all of the proxies, his on his left ribs, The Operator symbol.

His daughter bore the mark, right on her hip. Only instead of a pitch-black or angry red symbol like the proxies were it was a deep burgundy, a port stain birthmark. The lines were a little less defined, more blotchy but the shape was unmistakable.  

“How… She’s already his…”

“That’s what I was worried about,” She sighed, “Does this mean my daughter is going to be a proxy? A killer?”

Helen was silent, staring at the pictures.

Because he didn’t know, he didn’t think this had ever happened before, a proxy having a child with a human. Was his daughter predestined to be a killer just like him? To serve an eldritch being for all of eternity or whenever she managed to bargain for her death.

“I don’t know,” He admitted slowly, “I don’t know what it means for Huì xuè , or you as her mother, but I’ll find out.”

“Thank you,” She said once more, “I know this isn’t how you expected today to go, but I had to know, and you deserved to know you had a child out there too.”

“May I meet her?” He asked, only to feel ice gnaw at his heart as she shook her head.

“No,” She told him plainly, “Not yet at least, you’re still a killer and I don’t understand what sets you off and I’m not risking our daughter like that.”

“I’m not…” He screwed up his face, “I’m not insane and senseless when it comes to killing like some of my… coworkers. I’m logical about it, looking at the facts on if they deserve it or not. Rapists, murderers, thieves, blackmailers, bullies that relentlessly torture their victims for years, abusers, people that are considered the low of the low. Unless I’m given a job to dispose of someone that doesn’t fit in those categories I’m not going to be killing them.”

“And if your… employer,” She used his same wording, but not giving an inch, “decides that Huì Xuè is a liability that he wants disposed of? Will you kill her?”

He stiffened, hand falling to his ribs where he could almost feel the operator mark burned into his skin, a claim of loyalty.

“He’d send someone else,” He whispered, “He wouldn’t send me… because I wouldn’t be able to do it.”

“Then I’m not going to make it easy for him,” Sabine countered, “Once I know my daughter is safe, then you may meet her until then contact me through this. You won’t know where I nor our daughter is until then.”

He took the scrap of paper, a nonsensical email address staring back at him, “Okay. I’ll find out as soon as my current job is done.”

She offered a smile before hesitating, “Can I see your latest painting?”  

He raised a brow and she huffed, “Yes yes, bloody painter and all of that. May I see it?”

“It’s not quite done,” He mumbled, but walked over to the covered easel and pulled off the sheet.

Half-finished lay his work, a street scene of an open-air market, the reds and browns swirling as the blood dried, one of his more intricate pieces, as he painstakingly painted out individual goods and wears on each of the 13 stalls. All he had left to do was to add in the people in the blank spaces he had left and his signature smiley face in the corner.

He looked back to a blank-faced Sabine, set shoulders and jaw, eyes gazing at it intently.

“You’re uncomfortable.”

It wasn’t a question but she answers it all the same, “Yes, but my daughter may very well be like you one day. I refuse to be scared of her or the works she makes if she follows in your footsteps, so while it is disturbing, knowing you took a life to make it, the craftsmanship and skill are undeniable. It is beautiful and that’s what I decide to see it as.”

[milkcartonbastard]

Buttercups and Geraniums

Fandoms- My Babysitter's a Vampire (Benny x Reader)

Warnings- Violence. Language warning. 

Request- "...could you write something for Benny Weir? Maybe something where they are rivals or something where both aren't really nice to each other and somehow get close and ends fluffy?" Why yes, I can. Thank you for requesting, I hope you enjoy!

~~~

  You were epically pissed at Benny Weir. You had been for months, but it had come to a climax recently and you were honestly beginning to loathe him. First, he'd managed to give you a foxtail. You didn't even know he had magic until then, you had believed you were the only witch at school. It was surprising that Benny Weir of all people was since you didn't understand how he'd managed to keep it a secret for so long. Second, one of his spells- yeah, there was going to be a reoccurring theme here- had managed to cause all of your hair to fall out. You had no fucking clue what he was trying to do in the first place, but you were sure that hair removal wasn't it.

  You'd been hit by a lot of bad spells over the years, most of them your own, but you'd never once accidentally performed divination. Benny had tried to tell you what he'd been trying to do, but whatever it was never stuck in your mind. Especially, since you had been turned into an actual fox. His grandmother had to reverse that spell. Needless to say, you and Evelyn had not been happy. You'd coughed up fur for a week after that...

  So now you were sending passive-aggressive messages to him.

  You'd shown up to school about fifteen minutes early. Everyone usually tumbled in at five minutes before the bell, which meant your quick spell wouldn't be seen by anyone. Benny's locker was neat, which was a huge contrast to his personality, and it reeked of cologne. He didn't even wear cologne. You knew that because he always smelled like magic.

  Magic had a very distinctive odor, which was mostly like a dewy forest with freshly tilled dirt. You loved magic, the smell, the feeling, the preparation. You were particularly strong, but that wasn't uncommon in the community. You were happy to have your ability, thank you very much.

  You mumbled some words, just in case anyone overheard. The four books in his locker shot against the top of the metal container. You tugged against them, but they were attached like they had been welded against the metal. You smiled a little, before placing the flowers and note in his locker. You flipped your middle finger up in the air, so whenever Ethan touched the objects and saw this moment, he'd receive your message for him, too.

  You had tied up a small bouquet- buttercups and geraniums- for Benny and his grandma. The message of the flowers was for Benny, but the pretty colors and sprigs of sage were for his grandma. Buttercups meant the receiver was childish and immature. Geraniums meant the receiver was stupid and ignorant. Two flowers that represented Benny Weir very well. The note explained it well, so there wouldn't be any confusion on his side.

  You knew he would understand it without the card, though. He was smart enough to decipher the message without your help. He'd always been clever. You shut the locker at the clenching of your stomach. You didn't hate Benny. You couldn't. He was too cute and brave for that.

  You mentally gagged.

  You had been fighting off your crush on him since seventh grade. Recently, it was getting easier. Especially when he was hitting you with rogue and malfunctioning spells. You groaned and rubbed your temples. You didn't need to worry about a boy, you needed to worry about the Calculus test you had to take in twenty minutes. You sighed and continued toward your class.

~~~

  You were sat at your lunch table, nibbling on whatever the lunch ladies had plopped onto your tray. You were engrossed in this new book you had started. It had an odd combination of creatures in it. There were vampire-ish characters called Dark Hunters, demons, mermen, human voodoo dolls, witches, Seraphim, and even pirates. Even with the motley cast of characters, their dynamics were incredible and extremely vivid.

  A quick burst of movement tore your attention away from your book. Nobody around you seemed to notice anything weird, so they all just continued with their conversations. Not even a slight difference in the room appeared to any of your classmates. It said a lot for their senses of danger.

  Sitting on your lunch table, one you shared with a bunch of other kids who preferred to study and read over socialization, was a humongous, black, bird. It was a raven that towered above the people sitting with you. Its beak was sharp and a glistening black and its eyes were the color of nothing. You tried to contain your gasp when it cocked its head at you.

  A deep, guttural, squawk poured from the bird's belly. Just as suddenly as it appeared, a burst of blue flame erupted and enveloped the midnight feathers and nothing eyes of the bird. As the last bit of feathers burned away- you felt your skin boil near your wrist. You jerked your hand away from the table, just in time to see black lettering appear across your wrist. The lettering was a dark, scarlet, red and was facing you. It was a Latin word- you knew that much. You were pretty sure it meant 'claimed', but you could have been wrong.

  "Y/n, are you alright?" Malia Harrington, who had sat at the 'nerd' table with you since high-school started, looked up from her book. She was staring at you curiously. One of her hands was hidden beneath her book and she looked close to closing it. She looked concerned, but there was something strange flickering in her whiskey-colored eyes. It was almost like an emotion, but you couldn't tell what it was. You nodded your head and dropped your hand. You let the now tattooed part rest against your thigh, so Malia couldn't see the message.

  "Yeah, I just- pinched myself on the table. Just wasn't paying much attention, I suppose!" You forced a shitty laugh out, just waiting for more questions to come towards you. Luckily enough, she seemed to buy it- or just didn't care enough- and went back to her book. You quietly excused yourself from the lunch table and discarded your tray.

  You had gotten cursed. A big, fat, ugly, curse had been smacked against your left wrist. You weren't sure what kind of curse yet, but you would figure that out as soon as you got to your spellbook in your locker. You didn't know of anyone who would want to curse you or anyone stupid enough perform such a tedious ritual.

  You were slowing down, the floor seeming to sway under your feet. Your skin was beginning to get hot again like you'd been baking in the sun. A fever. You cursed softly, having to steady yourself against a nearby locker. You weren't too far from the water fountain, so you stopped for a quick sip. It seemed to perk you up a little and you continued forward.

  Your physical state was wavering, the curse was starting to make you sick. You scanned your brain- running thousands of scenarios through your mind. Most symptoms would explain the type of magic used in the curse- which would also explain the severity. Mirror magic wouldn't be so hard to counteract, candle magic would be a little bit more difficult, but not so bad. You were just pleading with whatever God or Fate-bearer out there that it wouldn't be a difficult curse to remove. The bird that had appeared had died in the spell, which wasn't too comforting. Was that what was going to happen to you?

~~~

  Benny was standing at his locker when you managed to drag yourself further through the school. He was wearing a striped shirt that reminded you of a grunge Freddy Kruger. Benny also wore a pair of plain jeans and his stupid crossbody satchel. His head was ducked low and he was talking to Ethan beside his locker. Ethan looked around, like whatever they were talking about was serious. Ethan's eyes met yours and they widened.

  Pieces clicked together.

  'Who was stupid enough to perform such a tedious ritual?' you had asked. You only knew one idiot and he had a bad reputation of spells backfiring.

 In a blink of an eye- you had Benny pinned to his locker and was glaring up at him. He yelped ungraciously and started trying to push you off him. You felt some unnamable emotion in your gut. Why would Benny curse you? Sure, you didn't think he liked you back, but you certainly didn't think he hated you enough to curse you.

  "You cursed me?! When are you going to learn to stop fucking-" You cut yourself off. On his wrist, the same dark, crimson, writing was slapped across his pale skin like a label. It was in the same position as yours and you released your grip on him. He was frowning down at you and fixing his now-messy shirt.

  "I didn't curse you! We thought you did this to us." You looked at his face, noticing red, blotchy spots on his cheeks and neck. His normally bright eyes were duller now. You felt your stomach curl up. He thought you had cursed them? Who was them?

  Your gaze traveled to Ethan, noticing the blotchy patches on his face as well. From the heat rising in your cheeks and neck, you assumed you looked similar. Ethan held his left arm up, and sure enough, a replica of your marking was stamped upon his skin.

  "You said curse? Benny was talking about that, too. How bad is it?" Ethan asked. Benny huffed, clearly upset that Ethan was asking you about magic-included situations. You felt a flush settle under your skin.

  "Did you guys see the bird, too? Or did you see something else?" A quick description of the raven was given and the boys nodded their heads. They'd had the very same experience. "I'm not sure about the important information. I was on my way to my locker to get my spellbook, but I'm sluggish."

  Benny opened his mouth to speak again when something going incredibly fast slammed into the lockers near the three of you. You jumped, trying to keep your scream behind your tongue. Sarah Fox bounced off the lockers and onto the cold floor. She groaned loudly, rolling onto her left side and nursing her right arm. Ethan and you moved to help her up. She wasn't exactly heavy, but her skin was so cold it almost burned. You jerked your hand away, but Ethan's hand had clenched down and he'd stiffened up.

  Sarah's fangs lashed out at the empty air in front of her and she clapped her hand over her mouth. She looked worse than the three of you, by far. But it was mostly because of the blood vessels in her face. They were blue and black under her dark skin, creating a spider's web look in her cheeks. Her eyes were gold, unable to change back. She cursed softly but was cut off by another hiss. You grabbed the arm Ethan didn't have ahold of, showing Benny the same marking you all had. He cursed softly and the two of you turned your arms for her to see.

  Ethan's white eyes returned to brown, but only for a second. You watched his eyes roll up into the back of his head. His knees buckled and Benny surged forward and grabbed him. Ethan didn't stand back up, but instead, he collapsed in Benny's arms. He was completely unconscious and Benny let him gently rest on the floor.

  "What is going on?" Sarah stopped hissing, but she still looked the same. Some students started walking into the hall, so you pulled the hood of her jacket over her head. She tilted her face towards the ground and the other students didn't stop walking. "I saw this freaky bird on my chemistry table and it caught on fire. Then my arm started to burn."

  "We've been cursed. We have no idea who or how they did it. We're on our way to Y/n's locker to get her spellbook." Benny kicked Ethan's side gently, but he didn't stir. His breathing didn't change but just stayed steady. Soon enough, two more people rounded the corner. One had a hood over his head and the other left her blonde hair dangling in front of her face. Erica and Rory.

  "Guys, I think Rory and Erica got cursed, too. Look, they look like Sarah." You jerked your chin in their direction and they jogged over. Sarah must not have known what she looked like, because her hand shot up to her cheeks and she recoiled.

  "What's wrong with Ethan?" Rory asked. His voice sounded stuffy, which meant his fangs were out, too. Something was affecting the vampire's appearance, but Sarah looked the worst of the three. Her inky veins were dark and prominent, the ones on Erica and Rory were faint.

  Your gaze flickered back to Ethan. His nose was starting to bleed, but the blood was black instead of red. You gasped and crouched beside Ethan. You were hit with a wave of dizziness, but you shook it off. Nobody else was bleeding, except for Ethan. Why?

 He'd used his ability- sure he didn't mean to- but he'd touched Sarah and got a vision from her. And Sarah looked worse than Rory and Erica because she's used her vampire speed to find them, instead of just walking. You swore again and wiped Ethan's black blood away with your sleeve. He gave a soft groan and tried to roll onto his side. Benny started trying to help him stand up, but Ethan wasn't exactly conscious yet.

  "Don't use your abilities! No running, no strength, no mind-control, no visions!" Your eyes widened and you looked up to Benny. He looked vulnerable like he was thinking very hard and trying to come up with an idea. His forehead creased slightly when Ethan pushed his hand away from his nose. He started to sit up though, smacking his lips and licking them. He was thirsty and Benny got the message.

  Benny held his hand up and was about to snap his fingers when you grabbed his hand. You ignored the warmth of his skin under your palm. "That means no magic. The curse's speed just increases and we get weaker. Don't use your magic, Benny."

  Pieces clicked.

  The color of the blood. The use of abilities increased damage and speed. Fatigue and fever.

  "It's a Death Curse. Someone's used Blood Magic to curse us. They're trying to kill us and using our magic and abilities will speed it up." You stood back up and saw Benny going to grab Ethan again. "Don't touch him!"

  Benny pulled his hands away, but he stayed crouched down. You grabbed his arm and hauled him up. He pushed your hand off of him. "We can't risk giving him another vision. We don't know if there's a certain number of times before it kills him."

  Benny's eyes widened, his blotchy cheeks making him look younger than he was. He took a step away from his best friend. "You heard Y/n. Nobody touches Ethan!"

 "How are we going to get him out of the hallway? The bell rings in eleven minutes. People can't see us like this, guys." Sarah bit back another hiss and started to shift her weight from foot to foot.

  "He only has visions when he touches our skin, right? So what if we don't touch his skin?" Rory asked. Benny nodded and started looking around the hallway.

  "Madison Fields is in the gardening club, right? Cause I have an idea." Benny walked across the hall to a random locker. He opened it- people without locks on their lockers are just too trusting- and started going through the contents. Soon enough, he pulled two sets of gloves out of a small bag at the bottom of the locker. He pulled a pair of gardening gloves on and hurried over to Ethan.

  Benny put the second pair of gloves on his best friend and pulled his sleeves down and over the tips of his fingers. Finally, he tugged Ethan's hood over his head and pulled the strings of his hoodie together and tied them.

  "What was the point of that?" Erica asked. She glanced up at the clock and back to the scene before her. You understood, so you hooked one Ethan's arms around your shoulders and helped Benny stand him up.

  "We can't touch his skin now, so he can't get a vision. Let's go, I think Grandma can help us."

~~~

  Benny's grandma took one look at the six of you and started chanting in Latin. It wasn't exactly a comforting thing to see an Earth Priestess doing as soon as she laid eyes upon you, but you were assuming it was necessary, given the fact black blood was drying on Ethan's upper lip and Sarah looked like a demon.

  "Grandma, can you please help us?" The six of you had managed to shove yourself into Sarah's car and get to Benny's house before Ethan had gained much more consciousness. It must have been a Hell of a vision and taken a lot of energy from him for the curse to hit him that hard. Evelyn nodded her head, but she locked the screen door for good measure. Ethan whimpered softly, resting his hood-covered head on your shoulder. You jerked your shoulder and he repositioned his head to rest on Benny's shoulder.

  "How long ago did this happen?" Evelyn asked.

  "Thirty minutes ago. Sarah and Ethan need help, Grandma. Please?" Benny got a slight pitch to his voice, almost like he was scared she wouldn't help. She eyed him, almost like she was trying to see through him. The screen door opened and she held it open for the six of you to trudge through the door.

  "Don't touch anything. I've got just the thing to help!" Evelyn shut and locked the door to her house again. She snapped her fingers and an ornate box with green writing appeared in her hands. She popped the lock on the box and pulled out two bars of soap.

  "You're making us wash our hands?" Erica asked. Her fangs lashed out and she clapped her hand over her mouth. Evelyn shook her head before tossing a soap bar to Sarah and Rory. Sarah caught it, but it hit Rory in the face completely.

  "Close. I'm making you wash your bodies. There are two showers. Split up into groups of two and make sure you wash your skin good. Pay close attention to behind the ears, the face, and above the heart. Those are the most affected places when it comes to curses. Go on!" Evelyn shooed you, Erica, and Sarah towards the downstairs bathroom and motioned for the three boys to head upstairs.

  "Let Sarah go first. She needs it more." You said. Erica nodded and the two of you turned your backs while she got into the shower. The water started and the curtain was pulled shut. Erica sighed and sat on the floor, resting her head against the wall. You joined her on the floor and tried not to pass out. Your head was throbbing and the heat that seemed to raise the hair on the back of your neck seemed to become unbearable. All you needed was to start coughing and this would be the worst case of the flu you'd ever had.

  "So how come you're cursed, too? You're not one of the frequents of this little nerd-pack." Erica asked. Her fangs were resting on her bottom lip and her eyes were still glowing. She hissed slightly and rolled her eyes. You could see Sarah's outline in the shower curtain; She was scrubbing her skin vigorously.

  "I have no clue. At first, I thought Benny did this to me, but it turns out it's somebody else's fault." You scoffed. Erica looked amused, but she closed her eyes and continued to lean against the wall. "This happens a lot, then?"

  Erica nodded drowsily. Steam was filling the bathroom slowly, so you clicked the overhead vent on. You rested against the wall for a while, with your eyes shut and the steady sound of running water lulling you to sleep. Erica hopped into the shower next, so you continued to sit where you were. Sarah's skin had returned to its normal coloring- no black veins or paled features. Her eyes were still a bright gold and her fangs were on display, but she looked healthier.

  "Evelyn's magic-soap does the trick. I feel so much better, but I'm so hungry. But not for blood? It's like-" Sarah gripped the sink basin when her legs wobbled underneath her violently. You sat up, watching her regain her balance. "It's like my blood sugar is dropping almost. Like I need real food. Human food."

  "You shouldn't ever crave that. Whenever you turn, human food has no taste after that. No appeal to vampires." You stood up and guided Sarah to sit on the lidded toilet. She patted your hand after she settled. "I think it's the curse."

  "What the fuck?!" Erica cursed from inside of the shower, the water stopped abruptly and Erica's arm shot out from behind the curtain and she started smacking things off of the top of a shelf. Sarah quickly handed her the towel she was looking for. Erica jerked the curtain back after she secured the towel around herself.

  "Erica... what's wrong?" Sarah asked. Erica was squinting hard and her eyes were their normal pale blue. She was gasping softly and holding her hands in front of her eyes.

  "My vision- it's blurry. I think-" You watched tears well into her eyes. "I think I need my glasses again."

  "You two are becoming human again. It's part of the curse- It's taking your powers!" Your eyes widened and you looked down at your hands. You closed your eyes and focused on the magic coursing through your veins. It was a constant feeling, that of a warm liquid trickling from your core outward. It was a comfort to you, something you always focused on when you were scared or overwhelmed- the strong and powerful feeling of magic inside of your veins.

 It was so much weaker. You cursed loudly and started pulling your shirt over your head. Erica handed you the soap and got out of your way. You were undressed and under the spray of water in less than thirty seconds. You rolled the bar in between your hands, making the soap thicken and spill over your skin.

  "If truly I am cursed today, let the water wash the hex away. If truly I am cursed today, let the water wash the hex away. IftrulyIamcursedtodayletwaterwashthehexaway. IftrulyIamcursedtodayletwaterwashthehexaway-" You continued to chant the words, each time with more meaning. It was very simple magic, water magic, so you were hoping you weren't increasing the curse's speed while doing it.

  "What's going on? What are you doing?" Sarah asked from the other side of the curtain. You growled and continued scrubbing your skin red with the soap bar in your palm. Soap-suds were rising off of the shower floor and swirling around you. You watched your veins flash to black quickly and you stopped automatically. The suds didn't drop to the bottom of the shower again but slowly slid down your body. Your skin returned to normal and your dizziness went away.

  "Nothing that worked. I just really hope Evelyn's soap works better than that chant did." You rinsed the soap off and stopped the water. You dried off and got dressed, the two girls turning their backs to give you privacy. You wondered why they stayed with you, but you saw Sarah's quivering legs and realized you needed to help her into the kitchen. You did and returned Evelyn's soap. She had you throw it in the bin, never once going to touch it.

  The boys were sitting at the table waiting for the three of you. You helped Sarah sit down and she gave you a grateful smile. Ethan's hand extended across the table before he remembered he wasn't allowed to touch anyone, so he quickly gave her a thumbs up.

  "What now?" Rory asked. Evelyn placed a sandwich in front of Sarah and watched as the teen vampire gobbled it down without much hesitation. Benny made a face.

  "She's not even supposed to eat human food. What's going on?"

  Grandma Weir grabbed something out of a drawer and hid it behind her back. "Hold out your hands. Palms up and in a straight line."

  The six of you did what you were told. Pressing the sides of your hands together with your palms facing up. You were about to ask her what the point of this was when a knife slashed across your palms at lightning speed. You bit back a curse, trying to spare your swears from Evelyn's ears.

  "Wha- Grandma!" Benny curled his hands to his chest and nursed them. Erica went to lick the blood off of your hands but stopped when she saw the dark grey color. You all shared the same color of blood. It wasn't as dark as Ethan or Sarah's had been earlier, but it wasn't healthy.

  "Just like I thought. My magic soap helped some, but the curse is strong. It's draining your life forces. Which means your magic. And your souls..." Evelyn cast a sad look at the vampires. Your eyes snapped to meet hers.

  "How do we fix it? Every spell has a reversal. Some curses are the same way." Your jaw clenched and you took a deep breath. You would be damned if you were going to cry. That wasn't going to get you anywhere. "Tell me this is one of them."

  "It is, but it's not a pretty one." Evelyn walked to the head of the table while the six of you wrapped your hands in paper towels. She ruffled her grandson's damp hair and avoided eye-contact. Your stomach shriveled, but you kept your brave façade up.

  "The six of you will have to work together to find the spell-caster responsible. The curse can only be undone when they are dead. Only then." Evelyn's hand paused in Benny's hair and dropped to the table. She pulled a chair out and sat beside you all.

  "That's not bad. We take out bad-guys, like, once a week." Erica scoffed and started to push back from the table. "I'll personally rip their throat out with my teeth- I can't see without my glasses again and I refuse to tell my mom I threw out my inhaler at the beginning of the year."

  "It's not that simple. The spell-caster is stealing your life force and adding it to their own. They won't be at their strongest until after you all are dead, but they certainly won't be weak. They're already strong- if the intensity of this spell has anything to say about it." Evelyn pursed her lips before she continued. "I dare to say they'll be unstoppable if they claim your lives. Way beyond anything I can, nor anyone I know, can fix."

  "So we have to stop them. It's us or nobody, huh?" The side of Benny's mouth quirked up. Hew had a determined expression on his face, one that you'd never seen his dorky face take on before. The gears behind his eyes were turning and, for once, he didn't look like a dumbass. You fought back the flush that washed over your body. Sarah looked over at you for a second but went back to her sandwich. You tried to play off the blush you knew covered your cheeks, so you directed your attention back to the matter at hand.

  "How long do you think we have?"

  "Hard to say, but finding and ending this tonight would be my best guess for your survival." Evelyn breathed out raggedly and you looked away. If you saw a single tear in her eyes, you were sure that you would become a sobbing mess.

  "Thank you, Benny's Grandma." Rory smiled from the opposite of her and she rolled her eyes playfully. She stood up and left the room, but you could tell by the stoop of her shoulders she was holding in her emotions. Oh, this was that bad then, huh?

  "There are tons of people in Whitechapel! How are we supposed to find the one responsible for this?!" Sarah pinched the bridge of her nose, trying not to scream out in frustration.

  "Yeah, it's like a needle in a haystack, but we're all blind idiots allergic to hay." Ethan dropped his head against the table but quickly sat back up. "But I guess having a Seer for a friend is a blessing, huh?"

  "No! You cannot have another vision! It's too dangerous, Ethan." Benny was shaking his head wildly, sending droplets of water onto the surface of the table. He looked a little bit like an overactive saint bernard puppy after a bath.

  "It can't hurt me if I already had the vision! Remember? I had it at school, right before I collapsed!" Ethan scrambled out of his chair but had to steady himself before he could move any farther through the kitchen. He found a piece of paper and a pencil and shut his eyes tightly.

  "Well, what did you see?" Rory rose from his seat to get a better look at the piece of paper Ethan was drawing on. Erica grabbed onto his shirt and yanked him back into his seat.

  "He's trying to show us. Be patient." Rory lowered his head like a scolded child. The pencil was flying across the paper, without Ethan even looking at the paper. He was done in about a minute and opened his eyes to look at the paper. He nodded his head and smacked the paper down onto the kitchen table you were all sat around.

  "This is what the ingredients that were used in the curse was kept in. A backpack, which means the person is a student and goes to our school." Ethan looked at the paper again, but this time his shoulders sagged. "Which means we have to kill one of our classmates."

  "I hope it's Milo Miller. He gets on my nerves." Erica reclined in her chair and squinted at the paper. She was far-sighted, but you doubted that she could see the drawing.

  It was of a backpack with those decorative pins from shows and movies on it. You saw a Daredevil and Doctor Who pin side by side. There were other pins there, but they were just meanless logos to you. Meanless, but extremely familiar.

  "I know that bag! I see it just about every day. It is a dark green color, right?" You demanded. Ethan nodded his head, eyes wide and mouth agape.

  "So you know who this person is? You know who cursed us?!" Sarah exclaimed. She went to grab Ethan's arm in excitement, but Benny grabbed her hand before she made contact with the Seer's skin. Ethan pulled his hoodie sleeves over his hand and his hood over his head. He took a step back from everyone as they crowded around you.

  "Yeah! Her name's- her name is Malia Harington. She sits with me at lunch every day. She's been in school with us since the fifth grade." You looked down at your hands. Why had she cursed you? You'd never done anything to her. You hadn't interacted with her that much, now that you thought about it. "She was with me today when it happened. She asked me if I was alright after I jumped out of my seat."

  "Malia? She's in my chemistry class! She asked to borrow a pencil from me today." Sarah was staring at the sketch of the backpack while she talked. The others looked around in bewilderment.

  "She did the same thing to me! She even gave me my pencil back after class, the bitch!" Erica exclaimed. Her fangs snapped at the empty air and she growled in annoyance.

 "Me, too!"

  "And me!"

  "So that's how she cursed us? She made contact with us when we were in class and what? She touched our skin and bam! we're doomed?" Ethan shook his head, lost deep in thought.

  "No, she would have to put something on us. Something physical for us to have on our persons. Like a hex bag or-" Benny cut you off while you were gesturing around the room, hoping for another example to pop into your head.

  "Like a small string inside of a mechanical pencil!" Benny exclaimed and rushed for his backpack by the entrance of the house. He came back with his lead pencil in hand. He pulled the eraser from the top and dumped the lead onto the table. Three small pieces of lead fell onto the table and one silver threading needle. A dot of red was solidified like wax at the end of the needle, almost like it was going to drop off the tip at any moment. It didn't.

  "That sneaky witch."

  "Good thing I know she has band practice after school. She's always the last one to leave, even after the teacher." Rory spoke up from the side of the table.

  "Why do you know that?"

  "Because Vampire Ninja knows all!" Rory waved his hand in front of his face, accidentally hitting himself in one eye. "I need my glasses. My depth perception is off..."

  "Guess this means we need to go catch us a witch, huh?" Benny asked. The five of you nodded your heads in response. You worried your bottom lip but stood along with the rest of them.

~~~

  You had been taking out bad guys- the weekly big bads as Erica put it- for a while. You usually did it solo and the problem was taken care of quickly. It was a lot easier that way. No one but you could get hurt, you only had to watch out for yourself. You were careful regardless.

  Whitechapel High was deserted. The lights in all of the rooms were switched off and the doors were all locked from the outside. You cursed and raised your hand to open it with a little magical assistance when Sarah's hand pushed yours down.

  "No magic. Remember?" Sarah tucked your hand into your hoodie pocket. You pulled it back out and crossed your arms.

  "How are we supposed to get in then? I doubt anyone here knows how to pick a lock!"

  "I can. Give me a minute." Ethan crouched down to the main door and pulled two pieces of metal out of his pocket.

  "Where did you learn to pick a lock?" Erica watched in confusion as Ethan wiggled the pick in the lock while keeping the other steady. Benny stood proudly beside his best friend.

  "Skyrim."

  "There is no way you learned how to pick a lock from Skyrim."

  When the statement left your mouth, an audible click resonated from the lock. Ethan pushed on the door and it swung open. Benny and Rory took turns high-fiving his gloved hands. You, Sarah, and Erica watched the three dorks off to the side.

  "Let's hurry this up, I've got places to be." Erica sashayed into the school building. You saw her narrowly miss the doorframe and wondered if she was getting dizzy. Your head was starting to hurt again like you needed to eat, but you weren't hungry.

  'Like my blood sugar is dropping.' Sarah had felt the same thing. So it was curse still working its dark magic. You nibbled on your bottom lip before following the other five into the school building.

  The air inside of the school was cold and stale. The taste of dirt and dust settled on your tongue. It was almost suffocating. It was very dark magic and you clenched your hand around the aluminum baseball bat you had.

 Since the six of you could no longer use your abilities, you'd had to turn to other means of defense. You and Ethan had baseball bats, Erica had a six-inch switchblade, Sarah had a crow-bar, Rory had a Batarang, and Benny had a nerf gun with pencils in the darts. You had no idea what the fuck you six were going to do.

  It didn't take long to find Malia. She was in the middle of the gym- where the band practiced since Whitechapel didn't have a band room- with candles spread into the five points of a pentagram on the floor with one candle in the middle. Hair and string were tangled into piles and she was sitting with a sewing needle weaving from one hand the other. You knew the making of a voodoo doll when you saw one, and that was definitely it.

  "What are we waiting for? Get her." Erica bared her human teeth at the outline if Malia. She surged forward with the switchblade glinting in the low-light of the gymnasium. Malia was humming something low, it was familiar, and continuing to sew the hair and string together.

  Ethan and Rory started moving towards her too, but you grabbed their arms. You could feel something electric tangled with the dust and dirt in the air. She was working magic, but it had nothing to do with the doll.

  "Erica, wait!" Benny called out. Erica stopped and threw an incredulous look over her shoulder. Malia never moved at the sound of Benny's voice. The song- spell- never stopped. Benny raised the nerf gun and shot Malia in the back. She didn't cry out, but only crumbled into a pile of black smoke. The lights coming from the windows blacked out and the flames on the candles burned brighter.

  Malia's laughter began to ring throughout the empty space. You pulled the two boys behind you and started walking forward.

 "You cursed us? Why?" You asked. The laughter stopped and a whooshing sound came from in front of you. The gym lights were turned back on and Malia was standing in front of you.

  "I'm sick of the vampires in Whitechapel. I'm sick of the monsters coming here because the humans are Meals-On-Wheels for any hungry creature cruising through town." Malia spat the words at you. You took a step back when you saw her face. Her skin was pale and her eyes were bright red. She snarled at you, showing her rotting teeth and forked tongue.

  "You're possessed." You whispered the words and she screamed in your face. She was possessed by her own Dark Magic. It was a common occurrence when witches went dark- some of them could handle it, but some of their souls just weren't made for it. Apparently, Malia's wasn't.

  "I am empowered! I am free of the veil that hid my eyes." She turned her gaze towards Sarah. "Your kind is a plague to humanity. The curse that the gods put on you should have wiped you out- not make you immortal. I intend to fix that."

  "In case you haven't noticed since you lost your veil-" Ethan waved his hands in front of his face, "But not all of us are vampires. Did you just pull names out of a pointy hat?"

  "You six are meddling imbecile who make a habit of getting rid of people with plans. I decided to wipe you all out before you got the chance to interfere with me." She scoffed and fluttered the arm of the cloak she was wearing and disappeared. It was like a shitty magic trick with actual magic.

  "Then you're too late. Cause we're here and we aren't leaving without a fight." Sarah raised her crow-bar and started forward. Malia cackled again and you were reminded of Jafar from Alladin.

  "You and what army?" With that, your weapons were yanked from your hands and shot to the ceiling. They hit with a very heavy clang and stuck there. You rolled your eyes.

  "That's my trick." You pouted and started to shuffle forward. In the blink of an eye- Malia was in front of Sarah and grabbing her throat. Sarah grabbed her hand and ripped it off her throat. Sarah kicked Malia in the middle of the chest and sent her soaring across the gym and against the wall on the other side.

 "Sarah!" Ethan rushed forward and grabbed Sarah, who was folding like a lawn-chair and collapsing to the ground. The veins in her face that had disappeared came back and throbbed like a heartbeat. You watched Malia stand up from the opposite side of the gym. Her face had the same veins as Sarah. She began to walk forward and stumbled. Your brain tried to grasp for something to do, but whatever idea had come to you vanished.

  Malia caught herself and the black of the veins absorbed and she stood up straight. She walked towards Sarah and when she got there, Sarah was kicked back into the wall with the same amount of force Malia had been sent flying with. Srah hit the wall and slid to the ground, groaning.

  Erica cursed and grabbed the witch by her hair. She yanked her backward and sent her to the ground. Erica stood above her and flashed her fangs. When she went to tear Malia's throat out, a blast of magic sent her in the same direction as Sarah.

  Malia stood and flashed her rotting teeth at Rory, who whimpered and surged forward. Rory threw a punch, but it didn't come close to landing and Malia caught his hand. She crunched the bones in his hand and he began to gasp for breath. Rory trying to get away, but she sent him to the ground. You saw movement out of the corner of your eye and Ethan was beside of her, bringing a book down against her head with surprising force.

 Malia screamed out in shock and dropped Rory's hand. Off to the side, Sarah and Erica were getting to their feet. You looked around for something to grab, but the only thing there was the bleachers and you certainly weren't going to be able to pick those up.

  "Ethan!"

  You turned back to the scene unfolding before you, just in time to see Malia's marble colored hand clasp the side of Ethan's face. Your eyes widened and you surged forward, but Malia lifted her free hand and sent you and the others backward. Ethan gasped hollowly before his body went ramrod straight. His eyes fogged over and black blood began to ooze from his nose.

  Benny screamed and tried to run forward, but was thrown against the wall once more. You watched the black blood vessels appear in their faces. Ethan was starting to slouch, but so was Malia. You saw Rory speed towards the two and tackle Malia to the floor. Benny went to grab Ethan, but you stopped him. The idea from earlier had resurfaced and you had a plan.

  "I know how to stop her. She's sharing our energy for a second before she takes it. That's why she keeps stumbling before she gets stronger. I think she messed up the spell when she was performing it. She intertwined our life forces and hers too closely. She gets weak before she gets strong!" You exclaimed. Sarah was beside you now, Ethan's unconscious body hidden behind hers.

  "Then what do we do?" Sarah asked. She tucked Ethan against the wall and crouch-walked closer.

  "She's like Rogue from X-Men! Whatever we throw at her, she can throw back just as hard. So how about we give her something she can't use against us?" Benny motioned to you and him. Sarah furrowed her eyebrows at the lack of her in the plan. "When she gets extremely weak, her magic should fail for a second and the weapons should drop from the ceiling. That's when you need to kill her. She won't be able to defend herself."

  You and Benny shot off of the floor and started toward the middle of the gym. You spread your fingers out with your palms toward the floor. You felt the Earth underneath the concrete and started pulling the roots of weeds and flowers to you.

  Using your magic felt like you were being drained slowly. Like you were walking in the desert and the sun was slowly starting to fall, taking with it the heat and leaving you in the cold. You saw cracks begin to spiderweb across the shiny floor and greenery start to rise from the darkness. You smiled when you saw Malia try to walk toward you. She stumbled- hard- and almost didn't catch herself.

  Benny's hands were palm-up and releasing butterflies into the air. Their iridescent wings fluttered in the rays of sun coming from the small windows at the tops of the gym walls. It looked like a colony of monarchs bobbing around the room. He was getting pale, just like you were.

  "You fools! You're just hurting yourselves!" Malia screamed the words, but you could see the amount of effort it was for her to remain standing. After all, you were starting to feel it too. You watched the stems of flowers blossom into full and vibrant geraniums. You bit back a chuckle.

  "Geraniums, really? And here, I thought we were friends." You could hear the teasing tone in Benny's voice, which was a strange contrast to the usual stupid one. You felt butterflies in your stomach- had you accidentally eaten one?- and you fought back another flush. You hated Benny. That was the only possible explanation for feeling that way from his words. You scowled in confusion.

  "Even if we were, you're still an idiot." You stated. You balled your hands into fists and thought about making something else. You felt your stomach pulling like something had been hooked behind your bellybutton and was reeling you in. You closed your eyes and concentrated.

  The wind started to whip around you, causing your hair to hit smack you in the face. You groaned, feeling your legs begin to wobble with the effort of keeping you standing. Your head was throbbing and you felt something trickling from your nose.

  You felt your feet leave the ground and the air hold you gently, like a mother cradling her child. You were levitating, which was something you had been working on for a few days now. You felt yourself getting cold and your lungs start to clench up. You tried to focus on the magic flowing through your veins, but the feeling was starting to get so weak. You cracked your eyes open.

  The first thing you noticed was the black veins traveling down your arms and into your hands. It looked like ink had replaced your blood. The blood running from your nose had landed on your t-shirt and you made a look of disgust. It looked like sludge.

  "I don't- I don't think I've got much more in me!" Benny yelled over the sound of the wind. He was on one knee, his arms outstretched and white light emitting from the tips of his fingers. There was snow falling gently around him, coating the gym floor in a thin powder. You looked at the ceiling. The baseball bats, switchblade, Batarang, and crowbar were still secured to the top of the gym. You could see one of the baseball bats wiggling with the wind. She was giving out and you needed to end this now.

  Malia was screaming. Her face was one, big, shitty, art project made by that quiet emo kid every school had. It was a mess of toxic blood, which looked like spiderwebs on her face, and marble pale skin. You felt a scream rising to your own lips, but it was because you felt like your arms were being ripped off. There was no way you were going to be able to keep this up. Another couple seconds and you thought you might die.

  The gym lights shattered overhead, sending shards of glass raining down with Benny's snow. The windows to the outside were drenched in the darkness crawling from Malia's presence. She was powerful, but you and Benny were taking a toll on her through the connection of the curse. She screamed again.

  "Y/n! Take my hand! Take my hand!" Benny sounded hoarse and weak, but his voice still managed to reach your ears. You watched him stand on his feet, a swaying mess, and he let his hand reach toward yours. You slipped your hand into his and felt his power. It was weak, but it was still there. You pushed your magic into his body and you could feel him doing the same with his. You were sharing the little energy you two had left.

  "'Darkness cannot drive out darkness. Only light can do that.'" Benny mumbled the words out and you felt the connection stir to life. Where had you heard that before? He was quoting something, you just couldn't think of what it was.

  Sunlight blossomed between your clasped palms. You couldn't think of anything to conjure up, so you focused on the beam of light connecting you to Benny. It faltered for a second and grew brighter. The light expanded, pushing outward and enveloping the two of you. You could see his face now.

  His veins weren't just carrying the black blood, he had it pooled in his cheeks, like sections of his face was rotting off. His cheeks were sunken in and his eyes had deep, dark, circles surrounding them. The pretty blue of his eyes was almost white now and they were bloodshot. Blood was dripping from his nose and ears. You knew you looked the same.

  Martin Luther King Jr. That was his quote that Benny had referenced.

  You watched as Benny's feet lifted off of the floor and he began to hover beside you. The light was pushing against the outer layer of Malia's darkness. You watched as the light stopped moving. It was like two magnets were pushing against one another. You watched as the loose baseball bat on the ceiling fell to the floor. The others were wiggling too now and you knew what you needed to do.

  "'Hate cannot drive out hate. Only love can do that.'" You finished the quote and turned your face towards Benny's. He was very close to you already, almost relying on you to keep him steady while the two of you levitated three feet off of the ground.

  You quickly pressed your lips against his. You felt his hand clutch down on yours and his mouth press back. The light between your hands became heat and you felt a surge of energy blast from your body. It knocked you and Benny out of the air and the weapons magically glued to the ceiling were sent crashing to the floor.

  "Now!" Rory shouted to Sarah. You wondered when he had been informed about the plan, but your attention was stolen away when the switchblade was swiped off the ground and plunged into Malia's chest. You watched her form flicker before she exploded, sending black goo splattering on the walls and floor.

  Everything was still for a second, but then your energy and powers came snapping back into you, like the end of a rubber band being released against a target. Your lungs gasped for a good intake of oxygen and a cloud of fatigue was seemingly lifted from your body.

  You watched the correct coloring return to your skin. You wiped the gross goo off your upper lip. The others cheered loudly. You heard Sarah make a quirky catchphrase that summed up the battle, but you couldn't hear it too well. You were exhausted. Curse or not, that amount of magic was draining.

  "So, uh, Y/n?" Benny spoke next to you. Your eyes snapped open- when had they closed- and you looked at him. A thin sheen of sweat was at the top of his brow, but his pupils were blown wide. The smell of magic- Benny's smell- was strong and you just wanted to melt into him. So much for getting rid of that crush, huh?

  "Yeah?"

  Benny ran a hand over the back of his neck while he avoided eye contact with you. You felt yourself shrinking slightly. He nibbled his bottom lip before he dropped his arm and gazed into your eyes. "There's this new movie out at the cinema and I was wondering if you would like to go with me? To watch it."

  "Like a date?" Your mouth quirked up at the side. It was his turn to blush and he nodded. You smiled and he returned it.

  "Exactly like that." You felt a burst of warmth in your palm and realized you had never let go of his hand. You weren't planning on it now.