#I’m filling it with matching yarn colors

[sl1ghtly0dd]

Kinda mad I chose to make this bag for my mom and not myself 😤 oh well she’ll love it, I have some of this fabric left I’m gonna make a pen/marker bag with.

[sweetsweetjellybean]

If Tomorrow Never Comes | Part 2 | Never Alone

Summary: Trapped in the Upside Down, Steve is prepared to die alone until he finds you hurt and in need of help. Doing your best to survive while the world catches fire, is there time for one more chapter in your story?

Inspired By: As the world burns by @myeuphoricmindset

TW: FemReader, Smut, Mentions of death, mild violence No Minors 18+ Series Masterlist WC:7607

Even though there is no sun, the light here does change. The black veil of night lifts, leaving the world awash in a pale blue half-light. The sun stays forever banished just below the horizon. Steve doesn't see it change this morning. Thick velvet drapes hung with brass rings cover every window of the cottage, keeping out the Upside-Down. His internal clock wakes him, and for the first time in a long time, it's without the heavy dread, without the emptiness. Instead, he wakes with the soft warmth of you gathered in his arms, with hope blossoming. His eyes trace the delicate slope of your peaceful features, committing them to memory. Goddam, you're pretty. He keeps still, letting the soft puffs of your breath fan over his neck, limbs still woven together as tightly as threads on a loom. Holding you like this, maybe it can be enough. These fleeting moments could be enough to get him through each day. Whatever else happens, he could have this. His lips brush your forehead as his eyes blink closed, and he lets himself drift.

Standing shoulder to shoulder in front of the chipped cast iron kitchen sink, you’ve been brushing your teeth for at least five minutes. Sounds of pleasure escape as the minty foam bubbles inside your mouth. Taking a small sip from the canteen, you swish and spit before running your tongue over your lips. Steve chuckles next to you, taking the canteen and doing the same. 

“You really like brushing your teeth,” he teases. 

“I will not apologize for good hygiene,” you counter, “Would you like to kiss someone with bad breath?”

“Definitely not.” He sets down his toothbrush and steps closer, tongue poking the inside of his lip as he crowds you against the counter. “It’s good to know that won’t be a problem for us going forward.”

Heat creeps up your neck until it settles into your cheeks. Something has changed with him overnight, like a decision has been made. 

“You’ve got a little…” Picking up a knitted dish towel from next to the sink, you dab the toothpaste from the corner of his mouth. His hand covers yours, and your heart beats wildly in your chest. He’s got you off-kilter. You’ve never craved attention until you had a taste of his. A few looks, and you're drunk with it. 

He turns your hand over and looks down at the towel with a frown. “Why is everything in this house knitted?”

Your smile widens. “I’m not sure.” Pulling your hand away, you fold the towel and place it back on the worn butcher block countertop next to the stacks of kitchen linens and trivets, all knitted in bright-colored yarn. Copper pots and shelves stacked with dishes and crockery line the ivory-painted walls of the rustic kitchen. The well-used avocado green appliances look at least twenty years old, and cozies knitted to look like potted plants cover the kettle and toaster. 

“Do you know who lives here?” you ask, eyeing the table set for two with matching knit placemats and napkins, “I mean, on the other side.”

“No idea.” He leans against the counter, eyes roaming around the room. “Maybe there are some family photos around somewhere. Come on.” 

His hand is on the small of your back as you follow the hand-tied rug down the hall to the living room, where folded homemade afghans lie over the backs of the two armchairs and a comfortable-looking sofa arranged around the stone fireplace. The mantel is crowded with a collection of framed photos filled with happy faces.

“I like it here.” Taking a seat on the couch, you imagine curling up with a book and enjoying the warmth of a fire.

“Yeah?” He stands at the mantle, squinting at the pictures, “I do, too,” he says absently as he plucks one of the frames from its spot. "Do you want to stay for a while?"

“Is it safe?” You ask as he sits down beside you, clutching the frame, his side pressing into yours. So far, you haven’t slept in the same house twice. Steve preferred to keep on the move, feeling you were most vulnerable at night. 

“This place seems pretty solid, and it’s close to the water. I think it’s as safe as anywhere at this point.” 

“Then I’d like to stay.” 

It feels like you're building a bubble. A place for only the two of you where you could forget about the reaper that's getting closer to knocking at your door. Even if it’s all an illusion, you’re happy to pretend if he’s with you. 

“I do know who lives here.” He hands you the frame containing a photo of an older couple posed in front of the cottage, the man's arm wrapped around the woman's shoulder. Instead of looking at the camera, their faces are turned to each other. “This is Mrs. Willard,” he says, tapping the glass, “When I was kid, she used to yell at us if she saw us hanging around downtown. She scared the hell out of me. She's always dressed in black, so all the kids call her a witch. If she caught me, I thought she would eat me like in Red Riding Hood.”

“I think that was Hansel and Grettle.” Tucking your leg underneath your body, you turn into him, setting the frame on your lap. “Red Riding Hood got eaten by the wolf.”

His brows pull together. “I thought it was all the same story." 

Laughing, you shake your head in response.

"Anyway," he begins again, pretending to be irritated with your interruption, "My mom told me that her husband died, and she dresses like that because she’s in mourning."

"How long ago did he die?"

"Well, the first time she yelled at me, I was probably about five, looking at the candy in Melvald’s. She told me all my teeth were going to rot and fall out of my head. So he probably died sometime before I was born."

"And she still wears black?" you ask with wide eyes.

He nods. "She still yells at kids too."

Your lips stretch into a grin, and your shoulders rise as you release a sigh.

Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes. 

"What?" 

"I know that look," he says, shaking his head, "You think it's romantic."

"It is!" Your fingers wrap around his forearm.

"It's depressing," he says, laughing at you. 

"No. Imagine loving someone so much that even once they're gone, you think about them all the time. A love you can never get over," you explain, squeezing his arm. "That is romantic."

Shaking his head, he glances down at where you're touching him. "I like the way you look at things," he tells you, taking your hand and slipping his fingers into the spaces between yours. “If we're going to stay, we should go into town and get enough food to last us a few days."

"Alright," you say, admiring the way you fit together. Knowing you'll follow him anywhere as long as he keeps holding your hand. 

The walk takes longer than expected. Parts of the asphalt have cracked and given way into deep sinkholes that stretch across entire streets, causing you to backtrack and change routes more than once. 

"I think we better take everything we can carry," he says as he ties the red bandanna covering his mouth and nose. "We might not be able to come back." The smell of rotten food is wafting through the shattered glass doors of Bradley’s Big Buy. Unprepared on your first visit, Steve threw a brick through the glass, and the stench left you both gagging. 

"I'm ready." Your fingers smooth out the cloth covering your face before you follow him through the shattered door. He makes a quick pass across the store, checking down every aisle to make sure you're the only ones in here. After getting the all-clear, you walk to the opposite end of the store, moving up and down the aisles filling your backpack and duffle with anything you deem as a necessity. It's a cruel kind of race to see which will last the longest – your food or the Upside-Down.

Pushing a few cans around on the shelf, you search for the ones that haven't gotten puffy. The zipper on your duffle will never close, but you slip another can of SpaghettiOs in any way, knowing that Steve likes them. Your arms already ache with the thought of carrying all this back to the cottage. 

"I'm done," you call out, lugging your bags to the front of the store, where you leave them to search for Steve. Typically much quicker, he's usually by the door tapping his foot, impatient for you to finish. Today you find him between the moldy bread and crackers, boxes of open Twinkies strewn all over the floor, and loaded bags at his feet.

"What are you doing?" You ask, catching him frowning down at the open box in his hands, its contents a putrid green. 

"These things are supposed to last forever," he grumbles, tossing the box over his shoulder and reaching for another. 

"You don't even like Twinkies, Steve," you point out, amused by the intensity of his search. 

He throws another box on the floor and stops with his hands on his hips, looking at you. "Yeah, but you do." 

He's trying. The muscle in the center of your chest swells, pushing against your rib cage, feeling too big for such a small space as its rhythm changes like a record skipping to a new song. Your feet carry you towards him without your permission, a sudden shift catching you in the pull of his gravity. Your I'll Never list has just shortened by one–you have definitely lost your head for this boy. 

"It's the last box." He picks it up from the otherwise empty shelf, turning it over in his hands before his gaze shifts to you. "I've got a good feeling about this one." His fingers slide beneath the edge of the cardboard breaking the glue. Opening the box, he thumbs threw the cellophane

packets with a sour look.  Finally stopping when a devastating smile takes over his handsome face. 

He pulls out a single package, letting the box with the rest fall to the floor. Holding up the pristine cakes proudly, he quirks his eyebrows at you, looking just as smug as when you laid eyes on his other package yesterday in the cave. 

"Remind me never to bet against you, Harrington," you say, returning his smile. 

He answers with a wink, tucking them away into the breast pocket of his vest. "We'll save these for later."

Later is a decadent concept when it may never come, but delaying will make it taste even sweeter. Your tongue darts out, wetting your lips, and his eyes linger there. He must know that, too. 

“We should go.” 

“Alright.” He retrieves his bags and accompanies you to the front of the store, where he waits for you to adjust the full backpack on your shoulders. The large glass windows begin to rattle in their frames, and a vibration runs under your feet. 

“Shit.” Steve drops his duffle and reaches out to grab your shoulder as sounds of jars smashing and cans falling off the shelves fill the store. The tremor intensifies, sending you careening forward, falling against him. The weight in your pack adds to the force knocking you both to the ground. When you land on top of him the air is driven from your lungs. Strong arms wrap around you, holding you to his chest. One of the big grocery shelves tips over, starting a domino effect. A crack appears on the ground, widening as it lengthens, running straight toward you. Steve rolls you both away as it shoots past, leaving him on top. Then, as quickly as it started, it ends, everything goes still and quiet.

“Are you okay?” He asks a bit too loud, considering your face is inches from his. Sucking in panicked breaths, you manage to nod. He rolls off you onto his back and scrubs his face with both hands. “That was intense. The quakes are getting worse,” he says, trying to regulate his own breathing as the adrenaline leaves him. 

“I think I’ve had enough shopping for one day,” you quip.

“Me too,” he chuckles beside you. “Let’s get out of here.”

The street outside Bradley's didn’t fare any better than inside the store. The fissure that started inside zig zags across the road leaving the building across the street torn in two, collapsing into a deep chasm. A look shared between you is easy to interrupt–you were lucky. 

The destruction means you can’t travel the same route you used to get there, taking you further into a section of town that was already crumbling. Smoke filling the air from the nearby fire mixes with the low-lying mist that is a permanent resident here, making it harder to see more than a few meters ahead. You're shifting your duffle from one arm to the other when Steve's arm shoots out across your body, halting you in your tracks. With his other hand, he brings his index finger to his lips, then points ahead of you. 

Three full-grown Demodogs are becoming visible through the fog, their attention drawn to something squirming between them. Their horrible petal mouths are open, jaws snapping and tearing at the whining creature they're feeding from. Steve hands you his duffle and reaches over his shoulder for the spiked bat sticking out of his pack. He points at an alleyway up ahead and motions for you to follow. Your eyes widen, and you shake your head no, tilting your head back in the direction you came. No, he mouths, pointing at the alley, Trust me. But your gaze moves back to the monsters, the wet squelching of their mouths louder in your ears. He steps in front of you, one hand cupping your jaw, tilting your chin towards him. Trust me, he mouths again. This time you nod, comforted by the deep hazel of his eyes. 

A small smile is your confirmation. The warmth of his hand leaves your face as he turns away from you and takes a few steps toward the alley, looking over his shoulder to make sure you're following. Ice water has replaced your blood, your heart pumps overtime sending it through your veins, making each step forward a struggle. There's a voice screaming for you to turn around and run, but you trust Steve, so you follow. 

Their growls and chitters drown out the sound of your footfalls as you approach the mouth of the alley. As you round the corner, you catch a glimpse of what they're eating. Fear rushes over you in a dark, suffocating wave, the slick gray spotted body of another dog torn open, washed in its own blood. Your hands start to shake, and nausea sets in. The fog seems to permeate your mind. Every line of thought frays at the ends, leaving the one terrible inescapable truth repeating.

This is the end. This is the end. This is the end.

The ashen color that replaced the glow on your skin is one that Steve is familiar with, along with the blank look and the awkward movements of your steps. You’re going into shock. He had seen it happen enough with the others to recognize the signs. He grips your arm above your elbow and steers you down the alley, needing to get you away in case your feet stop cooperating altogether. 

After crossing a few more streets, the smoke starts to thin. There is less damage to this section of town. The rasp that accompanies your breaths is making him nervous. He pries his duffle from your grip, slinging it over his shoulder so he can wrap his arm around your waist, drawing you closer.

“You're okay,” he soothes, “We’re both alright. I’ll get you out of here—just breathe through your nose. Pull down your bandana.”

Relief floods him when you reach up with one hand and yank it off your face. “Good girl. Keep breathing nice and steady. I’m right here with you,” he says, hurrying you along. The streets have become residential, and he directs you through a maze of neighborhoods and backyards, recognizing spots where he played as a child. No, not here. This isn’t home, he thinks, spotting the collection of cracked and broken garden gnomes on Mr. Larson’s front lawn. It’s a nightmare, a cheap knock-off, and as he looks toward the horizon, he realizes nothing could ever replace the real Indiana sky. 

The outlines of the angry storm clouds are still evident even as the dim light fades into the velvet of night, but the flashes of red have been replaced by a smooth, rolling emerald light mixing with pinks and violets—an aurora caused by the gasses being released as the atmosphere cracks. Dustin. That little shit. He was right. It’s happening just as he had warned Steve it would. He wishes he could tell him. 

He glances at you and sees your eyes fixed on the display above, your breathing faltering. Pulling you against him a little tighter, he quickens his pace. 

"No, Steve. Stop," you say, planting your feet, "Just stop."

Your voice startles him. It feels like he hasn't heard it for so long. He lets you pull away and watches as you drop your duffle to the ground.

"Didn’t you see? They were eating each other?" Standing in the near darkness, you rub the ache from your arm.

"I know," he says in a calm voice. 

"You know what that means.” The look on your face is one of resignment.

“Don't think about that right now, okay?” He steps closer, wanting to touch you, but runs a hand through his hair instead. “We need to get back to the cottage. We'll be safe there.” 

“Safe?” 

“I can protect you there.” He gestures in the direction of the woods. The little house is not far now. The disbelief in your voice is making him feel out of control. You’ve never doubted him, and he needs your faith now more than ever. “I'll close the shutters, and we'll move some furniture in front of the doors.” 

“Steve,” your tone is feather-light, both hands land on his chest, one smoothing to his shoulder, “There are some things I want you to know-”

“No,” he cuts you off, pushing at your hands with no real force. 

Circling his neck, you pull his head down until his forehead is pressed against yours. “You’ve been so brave and strong. I’m so grateful.”

"Stop. Don't talk like that." He straightens up and cups your jaw tilting you back to look into your eyes.

“You deserve to kn-”

“No, not yet. This isn’t the end. It can’t be.” He came to this place ready to die, but you made him take the risk and keep living. He’s not ready to give up and won’t let you either. “I need more time. I'm just figuring it out.”

“What is it?” you ask, gripping his wrist, “What are you figuring out?” The thick cover of clouds has thinned, no match for the colors dancing all around you. He can see their brightness gleaming in your eyes. 

“That you're all I need.” 

It's not a choice anymore when his lips press against yours. It's just something that is, like the rain or a season. It comes whether it's beckoned or not. He feels a little foolish that he was ever unsure when you kiss him back like you've been his from the start. Always so busy trying to be the hero he almost missed it when someone saved him in return. 

Fingers wandering along your jaw, he swallows your sighs and your air, your want until he feels your hands wrapping around his waist, pulling him close, then he gives it right back. The world around you passes in a blur while tongues and swollen lips move languid and deep. This is where he lives now, in this kiss. All along, you've been his reward, and now that he's claimed you, he won't ever let go. He would've stayed here forever until your soft whisper between a series of broken-up kisses. 

"Steve, take me home."

The cottage is quiet until you hear the first bang of the shutters being closed, followed by the slide of the bolt. After leaving the bags of food in the kitchen, you stand in the living room wiping your palms on the front of your jeans, counting each strike of the wood against the walls as Steve moves around the outside of the house, knowing that each one is bringing him closer to coming through the front door. Your fingers touch your kiss-stung lips, still feeling how his mouth pressed against yours, creating a loop of electricity, passing from him into you, making your heart glow like a bulb, lighting up every secret place inside you until you had nowhere left to hide the truth. You've completely fallen for him. 

He walks inside, his eyes seeking out yours. A lock of hair falls over his brow as his lips turn upward, and he reaches for you. A hand on your waist, the other gripping your chin tilting your face to catch your bottom lip between his. 

"Help me move this." He kisses you once more before motioning you to the other end of the heavy oak credenza. It scrapes and catches against the wood-planked floor, but you manage to wedge it up against the door. 

The tension feels thicker than the fog rolling over the dry lake bed when you're finally closed in together. His flashlight clicks on, casting a dim beam in the direction of the bedroom. Eyes on each other, you wait to see who will be the first to crack—it's you. Taking his hand with a gentle pull, you lead him down the hall. The uneven floor creaks as you shuffle into the bedroom, letting go of his hand, you stop at the foot of the bed and wait. It's his turn now. 

Your fingers fist the cuffs of your sweatshirt while he goes about his routine. Flashlight on top of the dresser. Bat leaning by the door. Knife and Barretta on the nightstand, and then his heavy backpack hits the floor, followed by his jacket and vest. He sneaks glances at you the entire time, checking for signs that you’ve changed your mind, but you’ve never been more sure.

“You left the flashlight on,” you remind him when he moves into your space. He has been like that since you met, always standing a little too close. This whole wide world all to yourselves, and he was never more than a few inches away.

“I want to see you,” he admits. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah," comes out breathy as his thumb traces across your cheek. Remembering the way the water dripped down his chest in the cave has you hoping the batteries will last. 

His head dips to capture your lips in a slow wet slide while his hands cradle your jaw, angling your head to take the kiss deeper. Dreamy minutes tick by, his attention never leaving your mouth. His controlled pace makes you feel needy and wanton. When you feel the sharp edge of his teeth against your lip, you know you aren't alone. Hands slide down your nape, across your shoulders, skimming down your sides. Fingers coming to rest in the hem of your sweatshirt. 

"Can I take this off?"

You're so lightheaded it takes seconds to respond. Nodding your head and raising your arms toward the beamed ceiling. His hands grip the layers of material, riding you of them all at once instead of one at a time. The gold in his eyes turns molten as they pass over every curve and line he's uncovered. His knuckles turn white, fisting your shirt, and how he looks at you makes your knees a bit weak. Pulling your clothes from his hands, you let them fall to the floor.

"You're so goddamn pretty," he says, barely louder than a whisper.

"I know," you tease, earning you an easy smile and his hands on your waist, drawing you close.  His head drops to your neck, chuckling against your skin, making your whole body break out in shivers. 

"You're funny." His lips move on your skin before placing a wet kiss on a spot that has your toes curling inside your boots. "There were a couple of times I had to try really hard not to laugh.”

“I-I knew…you were holding out on me, Harrington,” you stammer as he moves to the spot below it. 

“I wanted you to keep trying,” he says, adding gentle suction.

Whatever you were going to say comes out in a whine, but it was probably something like, please don't stop. He continues down to your collarbone, hands stroking up your back, releasing the catch on your bra. Letting the strap fall down your shoulders, you pull it out from between you as his mouth reaches the swell of your breast. Warm hands cup you as he sucks a nipple into his mouth, laving it with his tongue, the sensation shooting straight to your core.

“Steve,” you beg when he switches to the other side, not knowing if you want him to stop or give you more. Tugging him up by the collar, you crash your lips into his, but he slows you down with the backs of his fingers along your cheeks and a kiss so gentle it makes you want to cry. He walks you backward until your butt hits the mattress, and he leans forward, laying you down carefully until you're leaning on your elbows. With another soft press of his mouth, Steve straightens and sighs, looking down at you spread out for him. 

“I would never have stopped,” you say when he lifts your foot and presses it against his thigh to loosen your laces. He swallows hard, nodding in understanding before he goes back to removing your boots and socks. This feels so different. He's making it different, taking care of every part of you like he wants it all. 

Your fingers find their way into the gaps of the knitted afghan you're lying on while you watch him take off his boots and shirt. A dark patch of hair starts at the center of his chest and fans out. Even in this dark place, his skin looks golden. This is really happening. A flutter of nerves mixes with tingles of arousal.

His knee hits the edge of the bed, and you inch back toward the center as he crawls over you, settling into the cradle of your thighs. Skin finally meeting skin, you each release identical sighs.

"I should have kissed you when we were in the cave," he says, lips ghosting a path along your cheek. 

"It's okay." Your eyes are heavy-lidded as you run your hands over the dips in his spine, enjoying the feel of him. "You're kissing me now."

"I should have kissed you every day." He places a kiss on the corner of your mouth before pulling back and smoothing the hair at your temples. "I'm sorry I wasted so much time."

"Steve," you cradle his jaw, "You were worth the wait." Your whole life, you've been waiting for him, and the way he's kissing you now, you'd have waited even longer. Every kiss is a poem—pretty words printed on lips and tongues. Every touch is a story all its own. 

He toys with the button on your jeans. Your zipper being lowered sounds like a needle dragging across a record. Moving onto his knees, he drags the denim down your legs, kissing each hip and your soaked panty-covered center before removing those too.

Kneeling to join him, your mouth finds the sharp line of his stubbled jaw. He groans, head tipping back, giving you better access to place soft, gentle bites along the column of his throat while your hands open his belt and pants. When you look down, the broad head of his cock is already pushing through the band of his boxers. Grabbing both layers, you ease them off his hips. He helps by pushing them the rest of the way down his legs, sending them to the floor with a kick. 

Bared to each other in the yellow glow of the flashlight, you can feel the pages flipping by. Time is a luxury, but you won’t rush to the end. Laying down beside each other, you explore everything you've uncovered. In this moment, he’s yours. It feels decadent to touch him—a layer of softness over lean muscle. You’ve never seen anyone more beautiful. 

His hands slide over you, warming your skin, molding to each curve. Every inch of you is admired. When his fingers move between your legs, your vision gets hazy, stars bursting at the edges. He spreads slickness through your folds while his lips stay pressed against yours. The warm blanket of pleasure becomes hotter, heavier—you grip his forearm with a shaking hand. 

“Don’t be scared,” he says against your lips, “Tonight is for us.”

“I’m not scared,” you reply, pulling him closer, you can’t think of any place safer than in his arms.

“Why are you trembling?” He asks, brows pulling together.

“Because I’ve never wanted anything this much.”

Your legs fall open as he positions himself between them, lining up with your entrance. No doubts that you both are ready. He's slow and gentle with his first push inside you. Your body stretches and takes, then stretches and takes some more. He's about halfway when you can't help but clench around him, and he thrusts forward with a moan. Your back arches involuntarily, feeling fuller than you've ever been before. 

"Sorry." He nudges you with his nose.

"Don't apologize." You kiss wherever you can reach. "Do it again."

He chuckles, and his hips flex enough to have your breath catching, still getting used to his size.

"You feel so good." His eyes briefly close as your walls flutter around him, and he begins to move in slow, shallow strokes. "Like you're made for me, honey." 

You're starting to think maybe you were. Maybe you were made for each other. He drops to his forearms, and you tangle your fingers in his hair, bringing his mouth back to yours. His hand slides over your hip and down your thigh, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist so can bury himself deeper. He rocks into you with a steady pace, gazes locked, trading sighs, impossible to be any closer. The ache in your heart swells, spreading through you. A tear spills over your lash line, it's too much for you to contain. 

"I love you," you whisper as he wipes it with his thumb. "I thought you should know." 

His movements still. He stares down at you and swallows hard, trying to loosen the tightness in his throat. "Tell me again." 

"I love you." 

Taking your hand, he holds it against the center of his chest. His heart beats against your palm. He's been telling you this whole time. He smiles, and it feels brighter than the sun. Your hand stays pressed against the warm skin over his heart as his head dips, sealing his soft lips to yours.

His kiss is filled with words left unsaid and unrestrained desire. Your hips roll involuntarily, desperate for friction as you whimper into his mouth. He breaks away with a scrape of teeth and hungry eyes.

"I need you," he mumbles, lifting your hips to change the angle. His hand grips the back of your thigh, pushing it toward your chest, using it as leverage as he drives into you with smooth deep rolling thrusts. Jolts of white-hot pleasure bloom from your core and radiate to every cell when he finds that switch inside you. The one that has you crying out. The one that didn’t exist before him. You’re not surprised. He’s good at everything he does. 

“That’s it, honey. I want to hear all those pretty noises.” His fingers tighten, pressing into the plush of your thigh as his hips snap forward. The smacks of skin on skin become the baseline for your harmony of moans and pleas. Your heels dig into his backside as your hips rise to meet his thrusts. The chill in the room does nothing to calm the heat between you or the sheen of sweat covering your bodies.

"Steve...I–"

Threads of love and pleasure weave together until they're a single silken cord pulling taunt inside you. He releases your thigh, working his hand between you, his thumb circling your slick clit. 

"Please, baby. I want to feel you cum." 

The rasp in his voice. The desperate look on his face. You're his, and there's nothing you'd deny him. The cord snaps with you crying out his name, pulsing around him, fingers digging into the muscles that cap his shoulders. Euphoria crests in big surges that go on and on as he thrusts lose their tempo. He groans as warmth starts to fill you, painting your walls white with his release. 

He eases onto you, and you take his weight cradling him to your chest. 

"I love you. I love you. I love you," you whisper, maybe too low for him to hear, your hands smooth over his back while your legs wrap tightly around him. He kisses along your temple before taking your face in his hands. 

"I don't regret a single decision that led me to you."

For an instant, you live a lifetime that could have been in each other's eyes. Then his head lowers, and your eyes close. Tender kisses turn hot, and he’s hard inside you. Distant howls echo through the dead trees while strange winds rattle the shutter of the cottage, but both go unnoticed as you claim the night as yours. Each time he has you, the need for each other only grows. After your bodies have given each other everything there is to give, sleep steals you away a few hours before the light changes.

He's still holding you when the vibrations send the bedside lamp crashing to the floor. Wisps of smoke curl in the air when you wake up in the hazy room with a burning throat and begin coughing. Steve grabs your arm and pulls you from the bed. He braces one arm against the door frame and holds you against his chest with the other. The tremors increase. The sounds of falling things and breaking dishes mix with the rumbling of the earth. A crack forms at the bottom of the far wall and runs diagonally toward the ceiling.  A scream rips from your dry throat when the window explodes into a shower of glass, and smoke pours into the room. 

“We’ve gotta get out now,” Steve yells when the quake abruptly stops. “Get dressed and grab what you can.”

Grabbing your crumpled jeans from the floor, you slide them over your hips and shove your feet into your boots. Your sweatshirt sticks out from under the bed, and when you kneel to grab it, the black metal handle of the Baretta catches your eye. Steve has finished dressing and is grabbing his pack and bat when you finish pulling the sweatshirt over your head.

“Come on,” he says, holding out his hand for you to take. He leads you into the living room, where half the ceiling has collapsed, spoiling any chance of you moving the heavy credenza that blocks the front door. 

“The window,” you cry, backtracking into the bedroom with Steve right behind you. He lifts you through the broken frame but is left with no choice other than to grip the window frame to climb out. Jagged glass slicing his hand in the process.

“Your hand.” Your fingers circle his wrist, trying to assess the damage.

“It’s alright,” he says, pulling a bandana from his pocket and squeezing it into his fist,“We have to go.” His injured hand goes around your shoulder, turning you away from the cottage. Blood flows through the gaps of his fingers, dripping onto your sweatshirt as he keeps you tucked into his side. 

The dense, acrid smoke makes finding your way through the trees hard. Smoldering twigs and vines rain down all around you, igniting piles of dry leaves on the forest floor. Your mouth opens with a gasp when your eyes turn skyward to see the treetops blazing and the billows of rolling red and orange flames that have replaced the dark clouds, completely consuming the atmosphere. The smoke thins as you make it out of the woods and into the open center of the dry lake.

Hot tears pour from your eyes, leaving streaks of soot down your face, and you can't stop coughing, trying to clear your distressed lungs. The quarter-full canteen from Steve’s pack is pressed into your hands.

“Drink it,” he rasps, coughing and spitting the black from his lungs.

Twisting the top, you gulp it, careful to drink only half. He shakes his head when you hold it out to him, but you take his hand and wrap it around the bottle, not giving him a choice. With an annoyed look, he finishes the water.

“What do we do?” you ask, panicked, watching his head turn back and forth, trying to decide the best course of action. The smoke and fog make it hard to see more than fifty feet in any direction. He looks down at your alarmed face, the sorrow in his eyes giving you his answer. 

No. It can't be over. Pressing the heels of your hands to your forehead, you wrack your brain for any answer. 

"The cave," you grasp his arms, pleading.

"Is it deep enough?" He asks, the doubt written on his face. 

"I-I don't know." You shake your head with fresh tears filling your eyes. 

His face hardens in determination. "Let's go."

Hands locked together, you race through the tangle of vines covering the limestone bed toward the other side of the lake, where the cave is tucked into the side of a hill just beyond the edge of the woods. Glancing back over your shoulder, you can see a wall of flames has crashed like a wave engulfing the houses and the little cottage cutting you off from the way back to town. The smoke thickens as the wind picks up, shortening your field of vision and slowing you down. 

"Almost there," Steve reassures as you do your best to keep up with his long strides.

You doubt your ears when you first hear it, thinking it's just a tree snapping and the roar of the fire. It's the high pitch chittering that has terror creeping up your spine.  Its outline becomes visible through the smoke. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Petal mouth in full bloom. Your body freezes in place. Your grip on Steve’s hand tightens like a vice.

“Stay behind me,” he tells you, shaking his hand from your clasp as the monster comes into full view. It limps forward, smoke rising from charred skin covering half its body, its damaged clawed limb hanging loosely at its side—sticky strings of saliva drip from its rows of teeth.

Steve waves a hand behind him, motioning for you to stay back while he steps forward with caution. He plants his feet, twirling the bat before catching it with his other hand, holding it up high over his shoulder. His fingers open and close around the handle to adjust his grip. A low growl vibrates the flaps of its open mouth as the thing keeps moving forward. 

“We don’t have to do this,” Steve says in a low, calm voice, “You’re already hurt. Just let us walk on by.” 

You’re astonished when the monster stops, like maybe it understood him, and for a heartbeat, you think it may have listened. 

It charges forward with a deafening roar, claw swiping at Steve's head. Missing when Steve drops into a low batter’s crouch, swinging his bat and connecting with the burned half of its abdomen. It shrieks when the nails tear through its flesh. Black blood pouring from the wound.  Steve gives it no time to recover. Hitting it again and again, driving the thing back. It howls, disappearing into the smoke. 

Your pulse is drumming in your ears as everything goes quiet. Steve stands there, elbow up, ready to swing. Trees pop and crackle as the fire spreads through the woods. Your eyes strain, trying to see into the smoke, but there's nothing. Adrenaline starts to dissipate, and Steve's arm comes down slowly. He glances over his shoulder, giving you a smug smile, and you let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. 

It pounces from the fog, screeching. Backhanding Steve, sending him flying. He hits the ground hard, rolling, trying to get to his feet, but the monster is already too close, on all fours, ready to strike. 

"No!" you scream, drawing its attention. Reaching back, your hand closes over the grip of the Barretta tucked into your jeans. The thing looks at you, and you fire. The bullet punches through the burnt skin of its shoulder.  With an ear-splitting scream, it gallops toward you. Your finger squeezes the trigger in rapid succession. Unloading the clip. Missing more than you hit. Its claw rips through your forearm, knocking the gun from your hand. Clutching your arm, you fall backward onto your butt, trying to inch away.

It knows it has you now. Dropping to all fours, it slowly crawls over you, drooling onto your clothes. It blows its wet breath into your face as it chitters. Your stomach rolls at the stench, and your eyes flutter close as it rears back to strike. 

Wetness splatters your face. The axe head is logged halfway into the back of the monster's thick neck. With a gurgle, the thing falls to its side. With your good arm and feet, you scurry backward away from it. Blood runs down the side of Steve's face from where the skin is split open on his forehead. Breathing hard, he stomps his boot onto the shoulder of the creature. There's a wet sucking sound as he pulls the axe from its neck. He grunts, bringing it down over and over until the monster's head is separated from its body. 

The axe clangs when it hits the ground. Steve wipes the blood from his eyes with the back of his hands. It’s too much, you want to be brave for him, but you can’t hold back the tears.

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” he says in a soft voice helping you to your feet, “Don’t cry.” He wraps his blood-soaked bandana around your arm and pulls you into his chest. “You’re alright.”

Your hands wrap around his waist, dipping under his shirt so you can feel his smooth skin under your fingers while he rubs reassuring circles up and down your back as your teardrops darken the leather of his jacket.

"Aren't you glad you taught me to shoot?" you ask, sniffing into his shoulder, smiling when you feel his chest vibrating with laughter. 

"I guess it came in handy after all," he says with his lips kissing along your temple.

"You saved me, Steve." 

"I didn't–"

"You did."

"I didn't, but I wish I had."

"Look at me." He cradles your jaw to tip your head back, and the small motion leaves you dizzy. As you stand in each other's embrace, the haze and smoke have thickened. 

“You’re beautiful.” His thumb rubs along your cheek, and you laugh, knowing you're covered with soot and gore. “You are, and you deserve to know.”

“Thank you,” you say, knowing why he’s telling you. While you fought off the monster, the blaze swept through the woods, leaving walls of fire surrounding the lake. The vines covering the bed have started to catch. Soon the flames on the ground will flare higher, joining the fiery sky. The planet will heat and explode. The two of you will become bright lights in the cosmos. Constellations. Star dust. Souls forever wandering the galaxies. 

"I love you," he tells you with tears in his eyes, "I do. I love you."

"I love you too." Your throat burns with the effort to speak.

"Close your eyes."

Your eyes close as his head dips and his soft lips press against yours. His hand slides to the back of your neck and you cling to him. Trading breaths, tongues dancing. 

This kiss is a thousand words. 

This kiss is goodbye. 

The heat is at your back and through your closed eyes the light gets brighter. His grip on you tightens before the kiss breaks and you hear him calling out your name. When you look for him, it's too bright to see, like you're staring into the sun. His hands slip as he's pulled away from you, sliding over your shoulders and arms until you're connected by just your fingertips. 

"No. El." His voice comes from far away. Echoing down a tunnel. "Not without her."

"Steve," you scream as his fingers slip away. "Steve!" But you're alone with the howl of the wind and the taste of smoke in your mouth. Your hands come up to shield your face as the light gets brighter, and then there's nothing. 

Part 3 Here

AN: So what do you think is in store for these two? Are they going to make it? Thanks to everyone who took the time to comment & reblog Part 1. Writing this fic has been challenging, so the comments meant a lot. But even if you're shy and don't like to comment but still took the time to read I'm still very grateful. My asks are always open, (Anon or Not) Do me a soild and reblog if you liked it. 💋 -Jelly

Another big thanks to @myeuphoricmindset for letting me adapt her concept.

[fireflowersandblood]

Letters From Home - Preview

i promised a preview so. here it is. or maybe. a first chapter. maybe. i'm not promising anything.

Pairing: Tom Bennett x f!reader

WC: 800-ish words

TWs/Warnings: strong language, adult themes

Summary: Knitting for Victory has never been bigger and Tom gets a nice, cozy package from home.

“Hey, look at this, lads!”

Tom’s head snaps up. Immediately, his lips curl into a smirk. One of the men has jumped up on a box of supplies, holding a paper in his left hand. With his right, he’s trying to ward off the poor sod who has just lost his picture. Tom can’t see what it is with all the waving about, but he’s almost entirely sure it’s a lady, maybe even a lady with very little clothing. Little else gets the men this worked up.

“Bennett, for you.”

Before he can react, a paper wrapped package has been placed in his lap. It looks almost like a wrapped Christmas gift, with the string that ties it together, and is no bigger than the Encyclopedias that Lois collected when she was younger. 

“What’s this?” Tom glances down at the package and frowns at the handwriting. It’s nothing he recognizes and he can’t think of anyone who would want to send him something. Maybe his dad, but even that seems unlikely. 

“Red Cross”, his superior explains. “Knitted socks and the like. You’re not the only one.”

Tom gives an appreciative hum and glances back down on the box. The handwriting is neat, neater than anything he could manage, and spells out his full name. To his own surprise, he runs his fingers across the letters, before he takes care to open it.

The box is filled to the brim. He finds not one, but two, pairs of navy blue socks. A matching pullover and hat, as well as a small box of hard candies in all sorts of colors. It feels strange to hold something so normal in his hands, and it reminds him of when he was smaller. His mother used to have them, he remembers, in a small tin box by the radio. She’d always give him and Lois one each, and let them pick between the fruit shaped ones.

“You got socks”, someone next to him complains, and the sigh is nothing if not envious. It makes Tom feel just a tad superior, and he immediately kicks his boots off, tears the old socks from his feet, and pulls the new pair on with a self-satisfied grin. 

“I did”, he boasts. It’s all in good fun; now that the first few months have passed, there’s not as much fighting. Everyone has seen battle one too many times to spend any time asking for trouble, even Tom. “And they’re cozy.”

Everyone close enough to have heard laughs, and Tom takes the opportunity to make sure he hasn’t missed anything. He would hate to leave another tin of candies for the rats. 

Tucked away in a corner of the box, he finds a letter. Again, with a handwriting he doesn’t recognize. Not the same as on the wrapper around the box, but something a little smaller and cleaner. He tears the envelope and is met by a sweet, light scent. It takes a moment too long to realize it must be perfume. It reminds him of the one Lois wears, and the thought makes his nose scrunch up. To take his mind off the rather unpleasant thought, he unfolds the letter.

Dear soldier,

When I’m writing this, I have no idea who you are. I might never know who you are. You, however, will know a little something about me when you’ve read this letter.

I’m the person who has made you the socks and the sweater. I hope you’ll find them useful and warm. The rationing has made it difficult to get a hold of yarn and I decided to unwind an old sweater of my father’s. I know he would much rather it be used by you.

I know our Navy must need as much as our Army, but if you have no use for two pairs of socks, perhaps you can give the second pair to a friend. I know the endless walking that the Army does tears the garments rather quickly, but two pairs might have been too much. I couldn’t help myself, when they said that the packages will be delivered to people who rarely, if ever, receive mail. I wanted you to know that there are people who think of you back home. 

The candies are made in London and remind me of my childhood. I hope it brings back pleasant memories for you, as well. 

I don’t know if people actually spray their letters with perfume, but I read it in a book once, and I thought it might lift your spirits. Pass it along and let the boys sniff it like a pair of used knickers, for all I care. 

Write, if it would please you. I would love to hear if the clothes have come to use, and make sure that you’re safe. I will pray for your safe return and a quick end to the war. 

Most love.

Tom flips the letter to find a name and an address.

“Mate, you got paper and a pen?”

[raging-psycho]

Imagine giving Stray Kids hand made bracelets Part Two:

Part One

Summary: You like to make yarn bracelets, and you especially love to make them for people. And you decide to give one to one of your lovable Stray Kids members. How would they react? Probably amazingly!!

Members: Han Jisung, Felix, Seungmin (in the building), Jeong In

Tw: scary movie (I’m not sure if that’s one or not)

Genre: fluff

Han Jisung:

You make him a bracelet that is filled with all different colors. Some would say it’s energetic, like him.

It was snowing like crazy outside, so y’all decided to cancel your dinner reservations and stay in and have a movie date instead.

You pick out a horror movie. It’s just the conjuring. You don’t think it’s that scary, but scardy cat Jisung thinks it’s terrifying.

You’ve got the popcorn popped, the pillows fluffed, the blankets set, and the bracelet in your pocket.

You’re about halfway through the movie when Jisung screams, causing you to jump and throw popcorn everywhere.

“What is wrong Hannie? Nothing has even happened yet.”

“Sorry. There was a cat outside the window.”

“If you’re that scared, why don’t I give you a comfort item?”

You pull the bracelet out and start tying it around his wrist.

“There now you have a protective shield form the oh so scary movie.”

You turn back to the movie like this was just a normal thing, but Jisung was stuck still.

You made a bracelet? For HIM?

He pulls you into his arms, and snuggles into you closer.

“Thank you so much for my shield. Can you make me more someday?”

“Of course! Anything to keep you safe”

Another scream pierces your ears.

“JISUNG!!”

“SORRY IT WAS THE CAT AGAIN!”

Felix:

This ball of sunshine needs an equally bright bracelet, so his is made of yellow with some light brown weaved in.

You were extremely bored one Sunday afternoon, and so you made your boyfriend a bracelet that matches his soul.

Shortly after finishing the bracelet, you get a text from the boy asking you to come over for a sleepover

You text back saying sure, and thought to yourself about how convenient it was that you made a bracelet and he was planning to see you.

Almost like it was written-

Anyway

You quickly pack an overnight bag and head out the door. Because you almost forgot the bracelet, you had to double back inside.

When you get there, you see Felix has already changed into his pajamas, and has some pocky out.

Have you guys ever heard of the pocky game? Well that’s what Felix had in mind for you to play.

After you changed into your pajamas you sat across from him and started opening the pocky.

He was already giddy and excited. (He was planning on losing ngl)

You put the chocolate end of the stick between your teeth, and he got the other end.

He held up his hand and counted down 3, 2, 1, go

You took turns slowly inching towards the other person. The closer y’all got the redder y’all got.

Right near the end, you were both as red as tomato. Then Felix closed the gap and put his lips on yours. The stick being forgotten even though you could still taste the chocolate.

He pulled away smiling, his freckles shining like the stars in the sky.

“Felix! You’re supposed to try not to lose y’know.”

“I’ll take any excuse I can get to kiss my beautiful girlfriend! Did I mention you look gorgeous tonight?”, he says as he wipes some chocolate from your lips.

“Then no prize for you.”

“You had a prize for me? Can I see it?”, cue the puppy eyes.

You smirk then pull the bracelet out, but still hide it from his view.

“Oh alright, but only cause you asked for it.”

You put the bracelet on his wrist. You thought the smile he had before was bright, but it was nothing compared to the one he had now.

He was practically jumping from happiness.

“ I love you so much!” He yells as he pulls you into his arms.

“I love you too, Lix.”

Seungmin

His bracelet is a bunch of different shades of brown.

The bracelet had been made a week prior to your date with him.

You both had been planning on going I’ve skating for weeks. It was your 2 year anniversary, and you wanted to make it even more special by making him a bracelet for the occasion.

You finished getting ready, wearing a blue sweater, cute skinny jeans, matching blue gloves, and having your hair up in a half up half down pigtail style.

His car vroomed around the front of your house and you hopped in. He handed you a pair of earmuffs because he knew you didn’t have any.

The place wasn’t all that packed, which was surprising considering it was a weekend.

You kept the bracelet hidden in your pocket, you were worried to give it to him in fear of him not liking it.

He was smiling the whole time, and just being happy in your presence.

You guys were messing around when you started losing your footing. You fell backwards on your both.

He made eye contact with you, and you both erupted in laughter.

After the laughter calmed down and he wiped the tears from his eyes, he noticed something brown laying on the ground beside you.

He bent over to pick it up and saw that it was a bracelet.

You however started panicking.

“Oh Seung give that here! You’re not supposed to see it yet!”, you were frantically trying to reach the item.

“What is this y/n”, he says while holding it out of your reach.

“It’s a bracelet that I made for you…”

“Why didn’t you give it to me sooner?”

“I was worried you wouldn’t like it. I was thinking of just throwing it away.”

“Are you kidding? I love it!”, he puts it on as quickly as possible and picks you up, forgetting that he’s on ice, he tries to spin but ends up falling.

Que the automatic laughter, after he made sure you were okay of course.

And just like that all your worries about that bracelet vanished, and you never saw him take it off.

Jeong In

His bracelet is blue and really light pink, with some cream colors mixed in.

You were both out groceries shopping.

He was pushing the cart around and you were picking out what y’all needed.

You had the bracelet in your pocket. You made it about a month back, but had yet to give it to him cause you knew he’d tease you for it.

One of your love languages though is gift giving, so here you are.

He was helping you reach up to grab an item that was just out of your reach. He had to do that a lot because that always put the items you needed to high for you.

You didn’t realize that the bracelet was slowly inching out of your pocket.

So when you reached to grab your favorite box of cereal, he saw it.

“He what’s that?”

“What’s what?”, you huff out as you struggle to reach the cereal box.

“That thing in your pocket.”

You deadpanned.

Uh oh

He saw it

He wasn’t supposed to

Before you could stop him he pulled it from your pocket.

“This is gorgeous! Is it for me?”

“Yeah…”

“Aw I knew you loved me! My little y/n is so obsessed with me she couldn’t resist making me a bracelet.”, he says as he slides it on.

“Oh shut up Jeong In.”

“Ouch, what happened to my nickname.”

He teased you all day after that, but it was worth it. You could tell he loved that bracelet and that’s all you needed.

[butchybats]

ask meme: how many crochet projects do you have going at the moment ‘:|

Okay so it’s only four rn everyone cheer and clap for me HGHGH ideally I would take pictures but I don’t wanna get up so I’m just gonna talk about them <3

1. Halloween sugar cookie sweater!! This is definitely my biggest project as of right now, it’s meant to look like those Pillsbury ghost, jack o lantern, and cat sugar cookies and it’s so CUTE!! It’s seriously such a me pattern, I love it. I have the front panel entirely done, I need to finish the border for the back panel, crochet the shoulders for it, sew the two panels together, and then crochet the sleeves and add ribbing. Honestly that’s probably less work than what I’ve already done like it really shouldn’t take super long to finish, I just have chronic can’t finish things disease. That being said I did spend a good chunk of money on both the pattern and the yarn and plus it’s so cute that I really gotta try to finish it.

2. Cardigan for my sister! I literally just said that I have chronic can’t finish things disease and if you want proof of that then this cardigan was supposed to be done for my sister’s birthday in the summer! And then it was supposed to be done by Christmas! It is halfway done! To be fair I hate the pattern I chose to do 😭 it’s a granny hexagon cardigan and it actually looks pretty cool but it takes FOREVER to work up (probably my fault for using a 3.75 mm hook but it matches the yarn my sister wanted) and it’s literally halfway done like if I really put my mind to it then I could finish it. That being said just thinking about it fills me with dread LMAO I’m thinking about doing either a raglan or patchwork cardigan instead because I would like to actually gift her the cardigan I’ve been promising for like 10 months now 🤡

3. Beetlejuice inspired vest: this project is sitting halfway done on my table right now TAUNTING ME. I was having such a fun time with it when I got the genius idea last night to try it on for size. It is way too big which means I have to frog almost the entire thing!! Trying to tell myself it’s a good thing because it’ll be quicker to work up if it’s smaller but it’s also disappointing because I have to undo my work!! Also to clarify when I say beetlejuice: it’s this bulky yarn that changes color from black to dark purple, lilac, chartreuse, and neon yellow-green. Such a fun combo that I had to have when I saw at Michaels

4. Forever ago I told @loelett that I would make them a bat. Said bat literally only needs feet, to be sewed together and stuffed, and shipped out. I struggled so much with the feet that it got put on the back burner 😭 but other than that it went well HGHG

This isn’t even counting the ideas I have that haven’t made it to the crocheting stage yet (I want to make an iwtv sweater so badly it makes me look stupid) but hopefully I can finish these up soonish so that I can start on new ideas!!

ALSO I FEEL THE NEED TO SAY THAT I LOVE CROCHETING AND CONSIDER MYSELF GOOD AT IT BECAUSE I FEEL LIKE THIS POST SEEMS KINDA DOWN JGVHGGHG i would literally be unstoppable if I had the motivation to finish things is what this post amounts to. Thank you for coming to my ted talk

[itsalliebitheway]

Supercorptober Day 31: spookycorp

“Karaaaa!”

The yell sounded so loudly through the penthouse that Kara almost fell from the desk chair in her home office.

Panic cursed through her veins as she used her superspeed to get to her wife as quickly as possible. Was she in danger? In pain? What was the reason for that scream?

Kara found Lena kicking off her boots, literally kicking them away while she tossed her keys carelessly against the wall where they fell down and landed next to the dish they had bought for their keys and wallets.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Kara asked as she came to a screeching halt on her socked feet.

“Andrea and Sam deserve to loose. And I’m going to be the one to humble them. We are going to humble them. I cannot stand this anymore!”

"What? Andrea and Sam? What are you talking about baby?”

Lena had shrugged out of her coat and let it fall to the floor, apparently too angry to tidy up after herself. Her eyes were sparkling with something akin to rage and if Kara didn’t know where it was directed, she’d be cowering in fear right now. Lena could be scary if she wanted to.

“They believe they will win the costume contest of CatCo’s Halloween party because they have a better sex life than we do!”

“I-,” Kara stopped talking again and furrowed her brows in confusion. “I don’t understand what the one thing has to do with the other?”

Lena huffed and stomped over to the kitchen where she filled a glass of scotch and emptied it in one go.

“We had lunch and somehow came to talk about the party. Sam is convinced that the couple’s costumes reflects on the couple’s sex life. Which is ridiculous, but she explained it and it somehow made sense especially when Andi chimed in to support her points. Then they made fun of us going as Team Rocket last year, saying that our fun little costume revealed how immature our sex life truly is. You know I really love them both as individuals, but introducing them was the worst mistake I ever made.”

Lena had lost her steam at the end of her rant and Kara was there to take her into her arms. She placed a gentle kiss on Lena’s hair and carefully pried the empty glass out of her hands. They hugged for a moment in the kitchen, then Kara cupped Lena’s face in her hands to make their eyes meet.

“My Love, our sex life is amazing. Nothing Sam and Andrea can say will ever change that. It’s not childish or immature or vanilla even. I’ve discovered sides of myself I never even knew I could have. They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

She kissed Lena on the forehead and pulled her in once more. “But, because it means so much to you, and because it’s so very fun to win against them, we’re going to have the best couple’s costume at this party and I already have the perfect idea.”

They stayed up long hours into the night, putting the finishing touches on their costumes. Thankfully Lena had taught Kara how to sew so they were able to work together on Lena’s dress, embroidering one black sleeve each with the silvery yarn to make the intricate pattern.

They only needed to adjust Kara’s dress to the oval hoop skirt, the rest was pretty much perfect already.

When the day of the party came, Lena used her darkest lipstick to paint her lips after applying a truly hauntingly beautiful smoky eye. Kara’s eye makeup wasn’t as impressive but her lips would match the color of her dress exactly as well while her hair was punned up into a complicated bun with two strands framing her hair.

They had previously agreed that Lena wouldn’t use her magic in public if there wasn’t an emergency, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

They had practiced their entrance several times. The portal watch came in very handy, creating the blue orb that would be the foundation of the image Lena would create around it. Even though she hadn’t practiced illusions a lot before, this gave her the perfect opportunity to do so now, and her illusions of mirrors became more authentic with each try.

“Okay so, the plan is to portal directly into the bullpen. I press the button while you concentrate on the mirror illusion on the other side. Are you ready my Queen?” Kara asked, while she slipped into her heels she bought just for the occasion.

“I am yes. Is my collar okay?” Lena asked while she grabbed her little clutch shaped like a deep-red apple.

“It’s very upright. But wait come here,” Kara gestured for Lena to come closer and adjusted the necklace she had put on to mimic the one Regina wore with the dress she was wearing right now.

“There, all perfect again. Any last words before we mirror-travel into battle?

“You’re ridiculous and I love you,” Lena chuckled and gave her a quick kiss that almost smudged both of their lipsticks. “And you look very beautiful,” she added, brushing one of Kara’s strands out of her face.

“And you look absolutely hot and stunning and I can’t actually find words. How are villains always so attractive anyways?”

“It’s probably the cleavage,” Lena chuckled and shimmied her shoulders for good measure, drawing Kara’s eyes down to where the corset was pushing up her boobs in the most delicious way.

“Okay let’s go then before I decide to rip your clothes off again,” she grumbled and cleared her throat. Lena offered her arm to Kara so she could link hers into Lena’s elbow. They shared one more glance and both nodded, then Kara pressed on the portal watch while Lena murmured her illusion spell to create the mirror on the other side.

They stepped into CatCo’s bullpen to the symphony of half-concealed shrieks of surprise and ohs of wonder. Whispers were spreading through the room like a wildfire while Lena slowly let the image of the mirror fade into nothing.

“You certainly do know how to make an entrance,” Andrea drawled, stepping up to them with a champagne flute in hand. Sam sidled up next to her, wrapping one arm around her waist, holding her close.

“What are you supposed to be?” She asked, her eyebrow lifted in surprise as well as astonishment.

“Lena is the Evil Queen, Regina Mills, from Once Upon A Time and I’m Emma Swan. They were clearly the power couple of the show,” Kara explained, satisfaction bridging a grin to her face.

“And as what did you two dress up?” Lena asked and looked her two friend up and down.

“We’re Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy, obviously,” Andrea said and gestured to her own bleached wig with pink tips one the one side and blue on the other side. Sam wore a Red wig and a green dress that looked like it was mostly made out of leaves, covering not a lot.

“I see, your couple’s costumes reflects exactly what a bratty little bottom you are,” Lena said to Andrea, but gave her no time to reply. “May the best costume win.”

She sauntered off with Kara at her side, drawing looks from all around them. They went over to Nia , dressed in a Princess Peach costume to Brainy’s Mario.

“You gays look fabulous,” she cheered and hugged them both hello. “Ugh and that entrance was sooo good! I loved the reference to the show, you can’t not win with this.”

“Here’s to hoping,” Kara answered and snatched two champagne flutes for her and Lena from a passing waiter.

Sometime during the event, Andrea encouraged everyone to vote for their favorite costumes in a little booth she had set up near the elevators. There would be different categories for solo costumes, couple’s costumes and group costumes, each category able to win a price.

When the award ceremony finally came, Andrea stepped onto the makeshift stage she had organized for the night and asked for all of their attention.

“I’m really glad so many of you participated so vigorously in this years costume competition. Dressing up has always been fun for me, but a good costume also takes a lot of time and often a lot of elbow grease so we’re here to honor the best of them.”

She cleared her throat and opened an envelope. “The best solo costume goes to Mackenzie with Hayashi and Dardine as runner ups, congratulations.”

Mackenzie, dressed in a perfect cosplay of Mel Medarda from Arcane, came up to the stage to collect her prize, a food basket filled with Halloween treats, while everyone clapped.

“Next up we have the couple’s costume. Runner ups are Nia and Querl and myself and Samantha.” Polite applause filled the room while Lena squeezed Kara’s hand who was holding her breath.

“Winners are Kara and Lena, dressed as Emma and Regina from Once Upon A Time.”

Thunderous applause filled the bullpen as Kara and Lena took the stage. Lena couldn’t stop herself from conjuring up blue sparks all around their feet, making it look like they were igniting them with each touch of their heels to the floor.

Sam handed Kara their own gift basket while Andrea hugged Lena to congratulate her. In the privacy if their hug, she whispered, “I might be a bratty bottom, just like Harley is for Ivy, but you can’t deny that relinquishing control once in a while is refreshing, Evil Queen.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Lena murmured back. “I can’t wait until she gets me out of this dress later tonight.”

Andrea and her shared a laugh, knowing that everything was well between them, even though her and Sam had lost the friendly competition. They both also knew that their respective girlfriends would take wonderful care of them once they’d leave the party.

Read here on my ao3 : )

[majorshatterandhare]

I have been putting a lot of time into thinking about how I want to execute my own version of mechs amigurumi, inspired by @rainbowstargazerlilies’ series of dolls. I wrote a bunch of it down in a notebook and have sketched out 4 so far. I have looked at yarn, made a random doll to test out a pattern, looked yarn options, planned out modifications to the pattern to create variation in body size and height, procrastinated shit I actually *need* to do, and more. It’s consuming me rn and I don’t even know if it will actually happen. Color matching skin and metal is hard, especially when I want all the skin and hair to be the same brand + line of yarn (have had to make an exception for the brass) and also refused to use acrylic (it feels bad to work with for me and I’ve been using it a lot lately, plus hot summer makes it worse). The clothing and details I’ve planned is intense in terms of work which is part of why IDK if it will ever come to fruition. My brain insists that they must be as accurate as I can make them which means I keep coming up with awesome ideas, but they are a lot of work. Because I’m nothing if not constantly over filling my plate with heavy, complex, time consuming projects of my single coping mechanism (pun non-existent). And staying up far too late; good night.

[nokipollo]

✩ Adopt Me ✩

I'm a handmade crochet frog plush! I have an orange body with lighter and brighter orange cheeks. My feet and tummy match my cheeks. I'm about 3 apples tall! I'm made from super soft yarn and ready for cuddles!

✩ Product info ✩

✩ 100% handmade crochet plush ✩ Made from chenille microfiber yarn ✩ Polyester filling ✩ Plastic safety eyes ✩ About 23 cm tall ✩ Colors used: orange dark and orange light (body) and white (eye details)

✩ Feel free to ask questions! ✩

linktr.ee/vidary

[coffeebeanwriting]

Writing Inspiration 101: SCRAPBOOKING

If you find yourself lacking in inspiration or motivation, create a scrapbook! This can be so good because whenever you’re feeling drained, you can flip back through it and be refueled. Debatably, this can be better than a Pinterest board because it’s a physical journal and you’re not limited to a screen. Not to mention, once you finish the scrapbook, it will be much more meaningful for you.

You don’t have to be good at drawing to scrapbook, nor is it only for females and artistic people. All you have to do is get a sketchbook and begin writing, doodling or pasting in things that remind you of your WIP. Seeing our ideas in a physical manner can help immensely with inspiration and the understanding of our work. 

Step 1) Buy any kind of notebook, big or small, cheap or expensive. 

Keep your WIP in mind. Are you writing a dark fantasy? Maybe get an all black sketchbook. Are you writing a magical fantasy? There are old, frayed leather journals you can buy. Or maybe you’re just getting started and don’t know the direction of your novel— just buy any kind of notebook that you can start pasting in! I would recommend blank pages over lined, but ultimately it’s whatever you want or can get your hands on.

Step 2) The Supplies

You honestly don’t need anything to begin your scrapbook aside from the book itself and a pencil. However, here are some supplies— all the way from your basic ones to the more flowery kinds— you can consider getting.

1. Glue or tape 2. Scissors and a ruler 3. Colored construction paper  4. Washi tapes or stickers that match the vibe of your WIP 5. Old magazines (to cut and paste in) 6. Textured and decorative items such as ribbons and yarn, faux fur, fabric and leathers, glitter or sparkles, thin plexiglass and plastics, etc. 7. Colored pens, paints, pencils, markers or crayons (be wary of pens/markers bleeding through the paper) 8. Tabs and dividers if you want your scrapbook to have sections/organization

Step 3) The Beginning Pages

It’s time to begin. You can jump right in and start with whatever you want! Maybe there is a dialogue conversation eating away at your brain— write it down and dedicate the page to match that conversation’s mood. Or maybe you want to start off creating character profiles for your main cast.

Either way, jump in. You can plan out the order of your pages chronologically or design them freely as you please. Don’t let organization and neatness hold you back. The great thing about scrapbooking is that you can go back to the page and fill it out more whenever you please. 

Step 4) What To Scrapbook

1. Textures. What textures remind you of your WIP? Does your story take place during the heart of winter? Maybe faux fur, ripped up cotton balls for snow, twine, wood bark, etc. 

2. Your overall setting and specific places that your characters visit. Find interior and exterior photographs online that capture the mood and essence of your setting(s). Or take your own photography. 

3. Dialogue / important character quotes. Consider doodling the characters expression or designing the page around the mood of the conversation. Are two characters injured and arguing as they storm the dark castle? I’m imaging the dialogue text centered on the page— and photos all around it of a dark castle. A close up of a broken window, a running pair of boots, lips that are yelling. Maybe red marker or paint smeared across the page.  4. Characters. Create character profiles or dedicate a page to the aesthetic of your character. Anything that reminds you of your character, paste it in there!

5. Creatures and items. Does your story have unique jewelry, weapons or armor? Interesting creatures or animals? Find images online or doodle your own rendition of them. 

6. Nature. Take real nature and press it into your scrapbook (flowers, petals, leaves, bark, dried mud) or take photos of the weather, sky, sun, moon, etc. that remind you of certain scenes. 

7. Abstract photography/art. Instead of scrapbooking specific, realistic items or things— paste in some unique, abstract shapes or patterns. Nothing realistic, just purely colors and shapes that remind you of your story’s mood.

8. A map of your land. This could look really cool in the opening pages of your scrapbook. There are free online generators or really simple beginner YouTube tutorials on map creation. 

9. Your magic system. You could design a scrapbook page like an actual scroll of laws or rules. Or for example, if your magic system is like Avatar: The Last Airbender’s, you might have doodles of fire, water, air and earth around the page. 

10. Quotes from authors and outside inspiration. You can also step away from the actual content of your WIP and instead paste in quotes from famous authors and also screenshots of movie scenes or book pages from your favorite media for inspiration.

Instagram: coffeebeanwriting

📖 ☕ Official Blog: www.byzoemay.com

[ellewords]

haikyuu boys + an s/o who can knit

request from @crystal-lilac​ : Hey! I'd like to make a request. Its up to you on the layout, but could you do something where the reader knows how to crochet or knit and makes their partner something and its just really Fluffy and cute. I'm a suckered for that stuff. If you can't do crochet/knitting, then maybe baking? Can it be done with Akaashi, bokuto, and kuroo?

fic notes :  akaashi, bokuto, and kuroo x gn!reader, fluff, headcanons, wc: ~0.43k

from elle !  pls this is so cute omg…my heart really went so soft after seeing your request aaaa tysm for sending it in and i hope you like it.

➹  akaashi k.

it’s not exactly a secret that akaashi is very perceptive, he notices literally everything when it comes to you. the first time he entered your bedroom, he’s taking mental notes of anything that pertained to your likes and hobbies.

so when he noticed a small basket filled with several colors of yarn and knitting needles, he doesn’t fail to put two and two together, and comes to conclusion that you know how to knit.

but listen, as much as he would love to receive something handmade from you, he’s too shy to straight up ask you to make something for him. so akaashi settles on lingering gazes on your knitting tools and hopes that you would eventually get the hint.

and you did !! you always wanted to make something for him, but you just can’t figure out for the life of you what to give him :(( you were just waiting for any sort of indication of what he might want knitted.

“ouch.” akaashi hissed, pulling his hand back from the hot cup of coffee that sat in front of him.

“is something wrong?” you asked, noticing him softly blowing on his fingertips.

“nothing, i just keep forgetting how hot cups are sometimes.

and just like that, the little lightbulb in your head turns on >:) then and there you decide to make him cup cozies for his coffee and tea so he didn’t burn his fingers off every time he makes a fresh cup !!

luckily for you, making a a cup cozy doesn’t take too long and you were able to make two different ones in two days. then again, you were just generally excited to give him his gift that it was all you could really focus on.

“i have something for you,” a grin slowly spread across your features, it was very much clear to akaashi that you were hiding something behind your back. his mind races, wondering if he had forgotten some sort occasion.

you ask him to hold out his hands and close his eyes — which he does with a really light flush on his cheeks.

he gasps once he sees what you have knitted him, immediately recognizing what they were, “darling, you shouldn’t have…”

akaashi literally tears up !! he just feels so warm and loved that you remembered such a trivial inconvenience for him and then went out of your way to ease it up a bit.

he engulfs you in his arms and thanks you a million times over. becomes so clingy that he’s practically glued to your side for the rest of the day, not that you have any complaints.  

➹  bokuto k.

you don’t exactly hide the fact that you can knit from bokuto. every time he comes over, he finds you in your room knitting and he doesn’t make any efforts to stop you. he just cuddles up by your side and watches you with such awe and amazement. sometimes he’ll also talk about his day, other times he just takes a nap on your lap  <3

and can you blame him for being so heart-eyed and in love? look at you !! you’re creating all these cute pieces out of essentially just thread and just *wow* ; bokuto just thinks you’re the coolest person on the planet.

“baby” bokuto called out, placing his head on your shoulders as you continued knitting your latest piece. 

your heatbeat picks up from the sheer amount of admiration in his voice, the shyness in it too. it’s not often that you see him like this, a small blush on his cheeks and looking down at his fingers, fiddling with them. you tilt your head to the side, heart melting at the sight of him, “what is it kou?” 

“do you think you can make me something?” there’s a small, hopeful smile that crosses his features.  

how can you say no to him? especially when he bites his lip in anticipation for your answer. 

though you do take a few seconds to respond and bokuto just panics !! the last thing he wants is to pressure you into making something — it’s just an idea that’s been playing on his mind after spending roughly a few weeks watching you knit.

you reassure him immediately that it was fine and that you don’t mind making something and bokuto just lets out a the biggest sigh of relief you’ve probably ever heard from him. 

he literally can’t sleep because he’s so so so excited for your gift ; he just knows he’ll love it regardless of what exactly you make.

the fact that it’s from you, that you spent a couple of hours of your time to make him something is enough to make him swoon.

“here.” you smile, handing him a small knitted coin purse, knowing he had a habit of storing his spare change in random pockets and places of his bag.

“baby! i love it!”

next thing you know he’s peppering kisses all over your face. 

bokuto definitely offers to treat the team to some snacks whenever he can for the sole purpose of taking out the coin purse you’ve made him and bragging about how you made it for him >:)

➹  kuroo t. 

kuroo hasn’t exactly seen you knit, but he sees the things you’ve made and just makes the (right) assumption that you know how to ; he sees the blanket you’re cuddled under, how soft it feels against his skin. he sees the mittens you wear on your hands on particularly cold days, the cardigan that matched it.

and he’s just so proud and amazed !! kuroo doesn’t even notice how much he’s talking you up to anyone who’s willing to listen — even to those who won’t, tired of hearing him go and on about how “yn wore a really cute sweater today. i’m willing to bet all the money in my wallet that they made it themselves! ah, it’s just cute as them!”

and kenma is just tired of hearing about you almost every hour of every day, even though he also thinks that it’s pretty cool that you know how to knit.

“i’m just saying, yn.” kenma sighed, briefly taking his eyes away from the screen, “try to make him something. maybe that might shut him up, do the entire team a favor.”

you let out a quiet chuckle, knowing that he was partly-joking, “i don’t know kenma…”

his eyes go wide, “i’m not trying to pressure or anything.”

“i’ve always wanted to make him something but…” you bite the inside of your cheek, looking up at kenma, “do you think he’ll like it?”

“yn, you could literally just hand him a piece of thread and he’ll cherish it like it’s gold.”

kenma is really out here making some points™.  

you decide to make him a scarf, mostly because he’s been complaining non stop about how he’s always cold. 

every time kuroo sees you with something you’ve knitted he just showers you in compliments and it takes everything in you not to spill the surprise.

“oh? what’s this, babe?” kuroo asked, raising a brow as you handed him a small paper bag. “last time i checked it isn’t my birthday or our anniversary.”

you shake your head, “it’s just a little token of my appreciation.”

kuroo actually squeals, insanely close to tearing up !! he’s flustered and blushing, barely able to stutter out a “thank you” ; just feels so loved and cared for that his heart is speeding up like crazy. he pulls you close to his chest and whispers that he loves you.

it doesn’t matter who on the team is freezing, kuroo is not letting them borrow his scarf. it’s his and his alone. and if kenma thought it would shut him up, he’s definitely wrong. it makes him show you off even more <3

—  see if you can request something here.

taglist : @haikyuutothetop @crystal-lilac @tobioespresso @sushijimawakatoshi @itsmeaudrieee @pantherhappy @jesssobs @mysticstrawberryballoon @cloudedsky_29

join my hq taglist here. <3

[amorest-viesse]

[A Good Kid No Longer] - Chloe SSR Card Story Translation

Ft. Chloe, Riquet, and Akira

Christmas Stockings Crocheted With Dreams - Chapter 1

As gleaming crystals of every color drifted upon us like snow, Chloe, Riquet, and I walked through the festival streets, entranced by the scenery of the bustling town.

Akira: There are so many street stands here; it’s completely packed with people!

Chloe: No kidding! And since we’re here, it’d be nice to get something as a memento.

Chloe: …Ah! Those red balls of yarn…

Riquet: What a brilliant color. They match our clothing.

Chloe: …Hold on guys, I’ve gotta go get some!

Chloe: Sorry to keep you guys waiting! I kinda ran off on my own there.

Akira: It’s no problem! I’m glad you found something good. Are you planning on making something with that?

Chloe: Yeah! I figured it’d be a good keepsake.

Chloe: But I’m not quite sure what to make.

Hmm, it’s gotta be something soft and fluffy…

Riquet: Oh, I have an idea. What if you made a giant sock?

Chloe: A giant sock?

Riquet: The Master Sage told me about it. In their world, people hang giant socks by their bedside on Christmas Eve.

Chloe: Hang them up? You don’t wear them?

Akira: Nope! In my world, there’s a legend that says Santa Claus will leave presents in giant stockings on Christmas night.

Akira: So in order to get gifts, people will decorate the house with them before going to sleep.

Chloe: Ohh, I see…

Chloe: In that case, let’s try it out! I’ll make stockings so big, Santa can’t help but wanna fill ‘em up with lots and lots of presents.

Chloe: I can also add all sorts of decorations that wouldn’t fit on regular socks. Maybe something big and unconventional, or some sort of noise-maker!

Riquet: That sounds like a wonderful idea! Once you’re finished, please let us be the first to see it.

Chloe: Hmm, but I was also thinking… if the two of you are up for it… we could make the stockings together.

Akira: Can we?

Chloe: Of course! It’s better to make memories with others than by yourself!

Riquet: Then I’ll join in!

Chloe: Ahaha, great! In that case, let’s keep browsing the street stalls for the perfect decorations!

As the festival grew even busier, we spread out to find matching accessories for our stockings.

Chloe: Uuu, both the rainbow-colored tape and scarlet ribbon are sooo cute and trendy, but… I can’t decide which one to get!

Riquet: Look what I found! There were so many pretty charms. I got some for both of you too!

Akira: Oh, thank you, Riquet. We’ve gathered a real assortment of decorations, huh? …Oh!

From the corner of my eye, something catches my attention: a shiny, red bell hanging from the window of a souvenir shop.

Christmas Stockings Crocheted with Dreams - Chapter 2

Akira: (That’s right, bells are a Christmas staple. It’s nostalgic seeing one here.)

Akira: (Oh, and it sounds the same too. Even though I’m in a different world, the sound hasn't changed, huh? That makes me kinda happy.)

Riquet: Master Sage, is that a bell?

Akira: Yes, it is. It’s got a nice sound right?

Chloe: Sure does! It’s kinda quiet, but has a smooth, clear ring to it. It really draws you in.

Chloe: It’s a little small, but probably the perfect size for the stockings. Do you guys wanna get three so we can all match?

Riquet: Yes! They also go along with the crystals that I bought, so let’s look for two more.

Akira: That’s a great idea! However, this is the only one I’ve found here… Maybe if we check on the other shelves?

My gaze drifted over to the shelves lined against the walls, teeming with knick-knacks.

However, in the end, despite the three of us searching every corner of the store, we could only find that single red bell.

Akira: I guess this really was the last one…

Chloe: What a bummer… but since you were the one who found it, you should get to keep it.

Riquet: I also agree.

Akira: T- thanks you guys.

Akira: (Although, I’m a little disappointed since we said we would match with each other…)

Shopkeep: Hey, you youngins’ there. Did you take a liking to that bell?

Akira: Oh! Yes, we did, but it looks like there’s only one left…

Shopkeep: Hmm, in that case, why don’t I take a look in the back for y’all?

Chloe: Huh, for real? Thanks so much, sir!

Shopkeep: Sorry for keepin’ y’all.

Chloe: Ah, no worries! Did you find the bell?

Shopkeep: Hmm, ‘bout that… it seems I’ve run out of stock. I s'pose that really was the last one.

Riquet: Oh, I see…

Shopkeep: However, I did find something else that might interest ya’ instead.

Saying this, the old shopkeeper lugged out two enormous reindeer figures with red bells tied around their necks.

Riquet: They’re huge…

Akira: T- that has to be ten times bigger than a stocking…

Shopkeep: Well, they’re a little on the large side, but the bells around their necks are a perfect match for the one in your hand.

Shopkeep: Here, why don’t you give them a little ring to test it out?

*ring*

Chloe: Whoa! It really is the same!

Riquet: But wouldn’t it be a little hard to decorate our stockings with these…

Chloe: …Alright, I've got it!

Akira: C- Chloe?

Chloe: Don’t worry, I think I have an idea. Hey, mister, could’ya ring these up for us? The red bell too, please!

Riquet & Akira: Huh!?

Shopkeep: Yessir, it’d be my pleasure!

Christmas Stockings Crocheted with Dreams - Chapter 3

Chloe: That shopkeeper was a pretty nice guy, huh?

Akira: Hey, Chloe? I totally get buying the bell, but can we talk about the giant reindeer for a sec!?

Riquet: How big are you planning on making these stockings… I feel like they’d capsize if we hung them up…

Chloe: And I totally agree! At this size, there’s no way we can use them as decorations.

Chloe: So that’s why…

Chloe: Suispicibo Voitingoc!

Immediately after Chloe casted his spell, the reindeer began to shrink until they reached the size of my thumb.

Riquet & Akira: Whoa!

Riquet: At this size, we can use them as decorations now!

Chloe: Exactly! But hold on, I’m not done yet.

Chloe: Master Sage, could I borrow that bell for a bit?

Akira: Oh, o- of course.

Chloe: Suispicibo Voitingoc!

Right before our eyes, the red bell and ball of yarn slowly floated into the air.

Riquet & Akira: Wow!

Hovering above us, the yarn began to weave itself together as if it had come alive. Slowly but surely, a certain shape began to emerge…

Akira: Oh! Are you crocheting a reindeer plushie?

Chloe: Nice one, Master Sage! Right on the dot!

With a final twirl of his finger, Chloe finished the reindeer by tying the bell around its neck.

Chloe: Here you are, Master Sage! Thanks for letting me borrow your bell.

Akira: No, thank you! I never would’ve thought of making a reindeer from the yarn.

Chloe: Ehehe, I was just thinking we could match this way.

Chloe: Although, I kinda just went and did all of that on my own… are you guys ok with it?

Riquet: Ok? I think this was a great idea! Your ideas are like the surprise in a treasure chest, isn’t that right, Master Sage?

Akira: I wholeheartedly agree. This is amazing, Chloe!

Chloe: Really? I’m so glad you guys like it!

Chloe: Alright, let’s hurry back to the manor, so we can make our stockings! They’re gonna be the biggest and cutest ever!

Riquet & Akira: Yeah!

Shorts for Everyone - Card Episode

Akira: Chloe! Thanks for inviting us to make stockings with you that time!

Chloe: And thanks for bein’ there! I got so much inspiration from you, so it was super fun!

Akira: Hey, is there a difference between making stockings versus regular socks?

Chloe: Oh, lots! Normally, socks are hidden by your shoes, right?

Chloe: That’s why, it’s more important to focus on the material and details like how warm or comfortable it is over the design.

Akira: I see, so it’s more about the functionality.

Chloe: Yep! But because we got to prioritize the design this time, I had loooots of fun picking out decorations and colors to make them pop!

Chloe: I’ve always thought of socks as accents, but this showed me that they can be the focus too!

Chloe: That’s why, I wanna try making a line of fashion socks!

Akira: Fashion socks? I want to see that!

Chloe: Really? Then, I’ll get started on the designs right away!

Chloe: I should think of some shorts to go with them too, ones that show off your legs like the kind Lords Snow and White have. Ooh, Mitile and Riquet too.

Chloe: If I tried making matching shorts for Lord Oz, Mithra, and everyone else, I could probably learn something new!

Akira: Wait… Oz and Mithra too!?

Chloe: Yes! I’m getting hit with so much inspiration right now! Once I’m done with all of the designs, I’ll come show you so please look forward to it!

Home Screen Voice Line

"Hmm, this one's nice... The gentle color is perfect for the Master Sage. Oh, but it's a bit flashy, huh? Man, I'm in a real twist over what present to get them... Ack! Master Sage, since when...!? B- by any chance, did you happen to overhear any of that...?"

[lumosandnoxwriting]

Her Matching Pair of Socks - George Weasley

Title: Her Matching Pair of Socks Pairing: George x Fem!Reader, Adrian Pucey x Fem!Reader (ish, not really) Summary: George will always protect Y/N, even if it means confronting his true feelings . A/N: for the anon who wanted George being overprotective of the reader who was being teased!! The house of the reader is unspecified b/c it truly doesn’t matter but I pictured her as a Hufflepuff as I wrote, please do with that what you will haha. Feedback is always welcome!!! Tags: @feltondarling​ @pandaxnienke​ @raerae27​ @thefifthweasley 

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

“George? George?” Y/N asks, waving her hand in front of his face. She giggles as his eyes seem to refocus on the world and he smiles at her. “Were you listening to anything I just said?”

George nods as he searches his brain, trying to see if any part of it retained any of the things Y/N had been talking about just a second ago while he’d been daydreaming. Y/N is magnetic. She has warm eyes, a kind smile and the biggest heart George has ever seen. She draws people in with one look, and once she’s captured them they have no chance of getting away; not that they’d want to. Unfortunately for George this means he rarely gets a moment alone with her, which is something he so desperately craves. Y/N has been the star of George’s thoughts since the first moment they met when she had quite literally saved his ass.

He and Fred had just pulled a prank on a few Slytherins and were running away from Snape. They had split up at some point, and as George ran away he could hear Snape gaining on him. George was sure he was about to be caught when a hand grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him into an empty classroom. Y/N had simply placed her finger over her mouth and winked at him, and as soon as Snape ran by their hiding spot she’d burst out in a fit of giggles. George had never heard anything so beautiful, and he sat there with her for hours, sometimes talking, but mostly just watching her knit. Y/N is sunshine encapsulated, and George could have sat there for days, basking in her rays of light and warmth.

Fred had found him eventually and dragged him back to the Gryffindor common room, and George worried that he’d never see her again. But the next morning at breakfast the hat she had been knitting was sitting in his usual spot waiting for him, and when his eyes met hers across the Hall she winked. From that moment on George has been caught in Y/N’s magnetic field, constantly swirling around her but never quite connecting the way he wants.

“Were you? Then what did I say?” she questions with a grin, one of her eyebrows raising.

George’s heart melts and he leans in closer to her, resting his chin on his hand. “I’m sorry, love. I wasn’t giving you the attention you deserve. Tell me again.”

Y/N rolls her eyes playfully and puts her knitting needles down so she can ruffle George’s hair. “That’s okay, Georgie. It wasn’t that important anyway. What’s on your mind?”

“Just this Transfiguration assignment,” he lies. George isn’t quite sure why he hasn’t shared his true feelings with Y/N, and it’s not as if he hasn’t tried either. There have been quite a few times when his confession was resting on the tip of his tongue, but each time someone ended up being drawn to Y/N and stole her attention away. “McGonagall’s really giving it to us this term.”

“Maybe your assignments would be easier to handle if you didn’t wait until the last minute to do them?” Y/N suggests with a wink.

George’s heart flutters in his chest and he has to take a deep breath to calm himself down. “Ah yes, but if I didn’t leave my homework until the day before it was due then who would sit here with you and keep you company while everyone else is outside soaking up the last of the weekend?” George is sure that anyone Y/N asked for companionship would drop everything to sit with her, and he feels honored that she always chooses him.

“Now how can I argue with that?” she teases, picking her needles up once again.

Watching Y/N knit is one of George’s favorite pastimes. She’s tried to teach him a few times, but he always ends up just creating a big knot of yarn and using the needles as drumsticks. The way her fingers move mesmerizes George to no end and he loves watching whatever she’s making start to take form before his eyes. More often than not whatever she’s making somehow always ends up in George’s possession, not that he’s complaining. So far this school year he’s added two new jumpers, three hats, a scarf and half a dozen pairs of socks to his wardrobe. Every item radiates the same warmth Y/N does, and on days where he can’t have her to himself he puts something on and when he closes his eyes it’s as if she’s right there with him.

“Whatcha makin?” George asks, completely abandoning any attempt at finishing his homework. McGonagall will probably be shocked that he did any of it at all, and he doesn’t want to put her into an early grave by actually finishing it.

“A sweater,” she responds sweetly, not looking up from her work. “And before you ask, no it’s not for you,” she chuckles and gestures towards the skein of yarn she’s using. “Though you may recognize the yarn.”

The yarn Y/N is using is a soft lilac color with glitter interwoven throughout the soft strands and George recognizes it because he’s the one who bought it. He and Fred had ventured into Diagon Alley a few days before Christmas to check out the space they were thinking about opening their joke shop in, and the yarn had caught George’s attention from a window display. He spent quite a bit of money buying every skein the store had, but it was all worth it to him. Lilac is Y/N’s favorite color, and George would do just about anything to see her smile. He gave it to her on the first day back from break a few weeks ago, and he can practically still feel how tightly she had hugged him.

“Does look kinda familiar, I bet a world class bloke gave that to you,” he jokes. Y/N laughs, and it makes George’s stomach feel queasy.

“Best bloke I know anyway,” she compliments with a wink.

George can feel his cheeks heating up, and he’s thankful for the distraction when students start to pour into the Great Hall for dinner. He sighs heavily and starts to pack his homework up, disappointed that his time with Y/N is already coming to an end. “See you in class tomorrow?”

Y/N nods as she stands up, gathering her latest project into her arms. “Most definitely, Georgie.” She leans over and boops him on the nose, before turning away and heading towards her house table.

“Hello lover boy,” Fred greets suddenly.

George jumps, having been too focused on Y/N to notice his brother’s sudden presence. He glares at Fred as he plops into the seat next to George, and he smacks him on the chest. “Screw off.” Suddenly the tables in the Great Hall fill with everything needed for dinner, and George starts piling his plate with food. “You get everything we need?”

Fred nods as he does the same as his brother. “Oh yeah. We’ve got enough Chinese gun powder to level all of England. It’ll be delivered to the store next weekend. We can apperate to Diagon Alley from Hogsmeade to meet the delivery person.”

“Wicked,” George responds, a glint of mischief in his eye. Fred had used the secret passageway into Honeydukes basement to meet a guy who deals with explosives at the Hogshead Inn. They’re starting to put their plans together for their joke shop, and the first step has been to find decent suppliers so they can start producing some stock. “You take care of the other stuff I asked?”

Fred rolls his eyes and hands George a bag from Honeydukes. “Yes, you big softie. I got everything on the list, don’t you worry.”

“Thanks, prat.” George takes the bag from Fred and peers inside to make sure he actually did pick up everything George requested. Y/N’s sweet tooth is one of George’s favorite things about her and he’s always sure to have a stash of her favorites on hand at all times. “Where’s my change?”

Fred grins and pats his pocket. “Consider it my fee so you could spend the day staring at Y/N inside the warm castle, while I tread through a dark underground tunnel.”

“Whatever, drama queen,” George huffs with an eyeroll. He puts the bag down and starts to eat, turning his attention to Y/N. She’s sitting with her friends talking happily, and George can feel his heart rate increase as a smile spreads across his face. But just as quickly as it appears it vanishes, when Adrian Pucey comes up behind Y/N and taps her on the shoulder. He watches her nod as they talk, and when Adrian walks away he looks way too smug with himself.

“That didn’t look good,” Fred comments, nudging George with his elbow.

George shrugs, trying to seem like his stomach isn’t churning with dread. “You know how Y/N is. People like talking to her. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

-

“What did Adrian want yesterday?” George asks Y/N the following evening, trying to sound casual. They’re sitting in the library working on a Potions assignment, and it seems like there has been a never ending stream of people approaching them to speak with Y/N. He’s been dying to ask her about Adrian, but he wanted to wait until they were alone.

Y/N bites her lip as she looks up at George. “He asked me on a date, actually. To Hogsmeade next weekend.”

“Oh,” George says softly. His stomach has dropped into the floor and it feels like he was punched in the chest. “What did you say?”

“I told him that I would think about it.” Y/N gives George a look and there’s an unreadable expression on her face. “Do you think I should say yes?”

The tips of George’s ears feel like they’re on fire, and he has to put his quill down so he can wipe his sweaty palms off on his school trousers. What he wants to say is no, that she should go with him to Hogsmeade instead, and then lean forward and kiss her. But instead he shrugs and says, “If you want to, I guess.”

“Oh, okay,” Y/N responds quietly, twirling a piece of hair around her finger. “Thanks, I guess.”

George refocuses his attention on his homework for once, hoping that the sound of his heart pounding in his chest isn’t audible.

-

The next day by lunch time word has gotten to George that Y/N agreed to go on a date with Adrian. It makes his chest feel hollow, and he avoids her gaze at all costs. He avoids her in the hallways and when she asks to study with him in the library George brushes her off, claiming that he already has plans with Fred. He can tell that she’s upset, and it breaks George’s heart as he walks away.

He’s never been jealous over Y/N before. Even though he craves her presence and would give anything to spend every moment of every day with her, George has never minded sharing her with others. He’s spent countless hours with Y/N where they never even speak because her attention is captured by other people. Whether it’s people catching her in a casual conversation, or someone who takes a seat with them for a deeper interaction. George has always been content to just sit there and watch her face light up as she talks about whatever topic is at hand. Even if he’s not around Y/N, he loves to watch her from across the room as she talks to people. He finds everything she does absolutely adorable, and Fred often teases him for how hard he swoons.

But the thought of Y/N being alone with Adrian fills his chest with so much jealousy it feels like he’s drowning in it. He knows he has no right to be jealous, he’s never shared his romantic feelings with Y/N, and she isn’t his girlfriend or even a girl he’s casually dated. She’d even asked his opinion on whether she should accept. And instead of doing the smart thing and just telling her how he feels, he’d basically brushed her off.

As much as George wants to avoid Y/N, he’s still stuck in her orbit, so on Wednesday afternoon during break he parts ways with Fred and heads over to Y/N. “Got room for one more?” he asks, grinning down at her. Y/N moves over but doesn’t say anything. George frowns as he sits down. “What’s got you down, clown?”

Y/N cracks the faintest smile before she lets it fall from her features. “Just wasn’t sure you were talking to me is all. You haven’t been around lately.”

“I’m around now,” George points out, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’ve just been a bit busy with Fred is all. You’re still my number one girl.” George’s heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest as he raises up one of his pantlegs. “I wouldn’t be rockin’ these bad boys if you weren’t.”

Y/N giggles as she looks at George’s sock, shoving him playfully. It’s neon pink and is truly the most offensive piece of clothing she’s ever seen. The yarn had been left over from a Christmas present she made for a young cousin a few years ago, and Y/N needed to use it up somehow. She originally planned on leaving them in her sock drawer for a few months before donating them to a charity, but the second George saw them he nabbed them from her, and he’s worn them quite a few times sense.

“They look wonderful, Georgie. Though I think it’s best you keep them hidden, they clash terribly with your Gryffindor tie and your fiery hair.” Y/N reaches up and tugs on a strand of George’s hair and he can feel his blood pressure spike.

“Well in that case.” George leans down and rolls up the cuff of both his pant legs, so a few inches of the socks are visible. “How do I look?”

“Ravishing,” Y/N says with a laugh.

It’s the most beautiful sound George has ever heard, and it sends a shiver down his spine. “Bet you wished you kept these for yourself now, don’t ya?”

Before Y/N can respond, one of her other friends swoops in to talk to her about her upcoming date with Adrian, and George sneaks away to avoid the heart break.

-

“Are you excited for your date?” Y/N’s friend Emily asks as they head towards the entrance to the castle.

Y/N nods happily, letting her eyes scan the crowd of people heading out of the castle. She gets her hopes up when she spots a shock of ginger hair bobbing above the crowd, but they evaporate when the person turns around and it turns out to be Fred. Y/N hasn’t seen George in three days, and his absence has been driving her crazy. She’s friendly with everyone but only has a few true friends, and she considers George to be one of them. She would even consider George to be her best friend, and it feels weird to not have spoken to him in a few days.

“What are you guys going to do?” Emily asks, pulling Y/N’s attention back to the present.

“Just have some butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks, hang out, talk. Nothing too super crazy. I don’t really know Adrian that well, so I think it’ll give us a nice chance to get to know each other.”

Y/N had agreed to meet Adrian there, so when her and Emily reach Hogsmeade a few minutes later, she parts from her with a wave and heads right into the pub. She grabs a drink at the bar before settling in at a table in the back corner. When Adrian is 5 minutes late Y/N brushes it off, figuring that he got caught up leaving the castle or lost track of time. When he’s 30 minutes late, Y/N has already ordered another drink, figuring that he’ll be there any minute. And when he doesn’t show up after an hour Y/N decides to throw the towel in and head back to the castle.

Y/N feels emotionally drained as she makes her way back up towards Hogwarts, and she blinks back a few tears. Even though she’s not particularly interested in Adrian romantically, it had felt nice to be asked out and she truly was looking forward to getting to know him more. She always gives anyone who wants it a piece of her day, and Adrian not showing up make her feel as if she’s been taken advantage of. Her plan is to try and forget this ever happened until dinner that evening.

Y/N turns around when she feels something hit her in the back of the head, and when she turns around she can see Adrian, Marcus Flint and Theodore Knott laughing amongst themselves. There’s a piece of balled up parchment on the ground, and Y/N tries to ignore their stares as she leans down to pick it up.

How was the butterbeer? Lonely?

Y/N’s cheeks feel like they’re on fire, and she quickly turns back into her seat, shoving the piece of parchment into her pocket. She forces her tears away as she tries to get back into the conversation going on around her, unable to stop herself from searching George out in the crowd.

-

For the next week it seems everywhere she goes Adrian, Marcus and Theo are following a few paces behind. They never directly talk to her, but they talk about her loud enough for her to hear.

“Can’t believe she actually thought I wanted to go out with her!”

“How pathetic. I can’t believe it took her over an hour to realize you weren’t going to show up! What a moron.”

“She’s such a weirdo, no wonder she has no actual friends.”

It doesn’t help that George seems to be avoiding her as well. He doesn’t pass her stupid little notes in class anymore and when their eyes lock across the Great Hall he immediately looks away instead of giving her a cheeky grin. Every time she tries to ask him to come sit with her in the library he turns the other way in the hall before she catches him, and when she catches a peak of him and Fred outside pelting snowballs at Ron, he’s wearing his Gryffindor beanie, instead of one of her knit caps.

She misses George like crazy. He’s one of the only people who doesn’t want something from her. Most people only spend time with Y/N when they need to vent or ask her a question. George is the only person who is content with just sitting there with her in silence while they do their homework, or she knits. She could sit in silence with George for hours and just exist, so having him gone while also being tormented by Adrian and his gang has left Y/N with a deep ache in her chest and a pit of loneliness in her stomach.

-

Avoiding Y/N has to be the hardest thing George has ever done, and he once spent a week with his Great Aunt Tessie when he was 8. He craves her presence, but the thought of hearing about Adrian endlessly makes his stomach churn. Watching Y/N’s face fall every time he dodged her absolutely broke George’s heart, but he can’t stand to see someone else make her happy.

“You think she’s going to cry?”

George grimaces when he’s brought from his thoughts of Y/N and notices that Adrian and his goons are a few feet in front of him. Most of the school is in the Great Hall having dinner, but George didn’t feel like eating. Y/N had spent most of Transfiguration trying to get George’s attention, and ignoring her has left his stomach queasy.

“Reckon she might with how soft she is. Bet she’s cried herself to sleep every night this week.”

He has no idea who they’re talking about and he figures they’re tormenting some first year who is walking ahead of them. George is a little too far behind them to see who it is, but he decides to follow them anyway, in case he needs to intervene.

“What a stupid girl.”

Adrian’s words cut George deep. How could Y/N be interested in someone like him? George clenches his fist and starts to walk faster to catch up with them. He’s been wanting to smack Adrian and his smug face since the day he asked Y/N out, and this seems like a perfect excuse.

“Will you leave me alone!” Y/N shouts, and George’s blood runs cold. Her voice is shaky, and George knows that if she’s not already crying she will be soon.

Adrian, Marcus and Theodore stop in their tracks and cackle, and the sound makes George even angrier.

“Aw, poor pathetic Y/N has finally managed to stand up for herself. How cute,” Adrian taunts.

Y/N sniffles, and George can feel anger swell up in his chest. “Standing me up wasn’t enough for you, was it? Now you have to torment me about it too? Is that why you asked me out? So you could be mean to me?”

“Why else would someone ask you out? You’re not worth anyone’s time.”

George reaches them then, and he grips is wand tightly in one hand while the other grips the collar of Adrian’s shirt. He pulls him back sharply, causing Marcus and Theodore to take a few steps back as well. George takes one look at Y/N’s tear stained face and lets the anger in his chest consume him completely. “Leave her the fuck alone,” he spits, turning to face Adrian.

“Shove off, Weasley. Can’t you see we’re in the middle of something,” Adrian seethes, squaring up against George.

“Not anymore you prick.” George can hear Y/N crying, and he moves slightly to shield her behind his back. “Now get lost before I make you.” Adrian takes a step forward and George raises his wand, pressing the tip of it to Adrian’s throat. “Unless you want to end up in the Hospital Wing for the next three weeks I suggest you move along.” George’s jaw is clenched, and his voice is deep and dark. George doesn’t move until they disappear down the hall. Only then does he drop his wand and turn around to hug Y/N.

Y/N presses her face into George’s chest and lets out a few more tears. “Thank you, George,” she mumbles.

“Of course, love. I will always be there for you, you know that.” George squeezes her tighter and resists his urge to kiss the top of her head. Instead he rests his chin there, and his eyes flutter closed as he soaks in her warmth. “How long have they been bothering you?” George asks quietly when he starts to feel like himself again.

“Since last Saturday, after Adrian stood me up.” Y/N pulls away from George’s chest so she can look up at him. “How come you’ve been ignoring me, Georgie? I’ve missed you so much.”

George’s heart breaks, and he brings a hand up to wipe away the last few tears from her cheeks. “I’ve missed you too, Y/N. I was being an idiot, like usual.” He takes a deep breath to prepare himself for what he’s about to say. “I’ve liked you Y/N, for as long as I’ve known you. And after Adrian asked you out I got so unbelievably jealous that I couldn’t be around you, I couldn’t hear you talk about your date with him and how excited you were because just the thought of him being alone with you made me want to throw up.”

Y/N bites her lip as she considers what to say next. “You’d do anything for me George, right?”

“Of course, Y/N. Anything,” George confirms, cupping her cheek gently.

“Kiss me,” she breathes.

George hesitates for a second before he leans down and presses their mouths together softly. Their lips move together slowly, and George can feel his head spinning. His knees shake when they pull apart, and when George looks into Y/N’s eyes they shine brighter than the sun.

-

“Nice sweater,” George compliments as Y/N joins him in that Great Hall that Sunday. She giggles and does a little twirl for him and George feels like he’s soaring through the air.

“Thank you, my boyfriend gave me the yarn I used to make it.” Y/N leans over the table to press a kiss to George’s cheek before taking the seat across from him. She digs around in her bag for a moment before pulling out a pair of socks, knit from the same lilac material as her sweater.

“For me?” George asks, giving her a bright smile. He takes them from her excitedly and kicks off his shoes so he can pull them on.

Y/N laughs as George bring one of his feet up to show off the lilac sock, letting the glitter in the yarn shine. “Of course. What’s a sweater without a pair of matching socks?”

George leans over and kisses Y/N gently. “I’m always down to be your matching pair of socks.”

[romioneficfest]

The Second Gift

Title: The Second Gift

Prompt/Day: 2 - Blue & 3 - Blanket

Tumblr Name: 

Rating: E for everyone

Brief summary: Hermione ponders Ron's intentions after receiving perfume as her Christmas gift. She makes a hasty decision to attempt to give him something that's more meaningful than a ridiculous homework planner.

TW: none

I messed up. Like, really, really messed up. But how was I supposed to know that Ron was going to get me a bottle of perfume for Christmas? There was no indication from any gift-giving event from years past that would remotely indicate he’d give me something so—so personal!

Yes there was, the mini Hermione in the back of my mind chided, remember the Yule Ball?

No! That was different! I told him to ask me to another ball, not give me a gift that in no way, shape, or form labeled me as a friend or more than a friend! Was it meant to mean more? Wasn’t it? Now, I’m stuck in this middle ground, not knowing what to do.

You could help him fill out his homework planner.

I buried my head in the musty pillow. What can I do? How can I make up for that?

Wait. I can knit something! I sit up on the cot and reach into my bag with all the yarn Mum and Dad gave me for Christmas. There are a variety of blues, some dark as midnight, and others as bright as the ocean in the Mediterranean. There’s even one shade that perfectly matches the cerulean of Ron’s eyes.

Pulling everything out of the bag, I set to work as the moonlight filtered into the window. I’m used to not getting much sleep with my homework and revising schedules, so this is nothing new. My eyes started to droop twice, requiring me to get up and move around the old house, careful to avoid the creaky floorboards as I made a cup of tea.

Hours passed and the night sky turned to daylight. When Ginny woke up, she didn’t bother questioning what I was doing. I was three-quarters of the way done at that point, and she was nice enough to bring me some porridge so I didn’t have to interrupt my flow.

Somehow, the boys miraculously stayed away, and by midday, I was finished. The lines of the color changes weren’t perfectly straight, but I tried my best. At least it felt soft and cozy, and I made sure it was long enough to cover Ron’s tall body.

I found a discarded gift box on the floor and repurposed it as I neatly folded the blanket and placed it in the box. Finding a free piece of parchment, I wrote a note to accompany the gift.

Ron,

I’m sorry I gave you a homework planner for Christmas. I copped out because I couldn’t think of anything else until now. So, I hope you like this and it makes up for my gift-giving failure before.

Happy Christmas,

Hermione x

I folded the parchment and stuffed it in the box before putting the top on. Ginny walked in as I turned with the box in my hands.

“Finished, have you?” There’s an amused smirk on her face.

“Yes, where’s Ron?”

“Downstairs in the kitchen with Harry and Sirius.”

I don’t bother answering Ginny as I make my way quickly up to his room. I’m too embarrassed to give it to him directly, so I decide to leave it on his bed before taking a nap. As my eyes flutter closed and I give into exhaustion, I can’t help but hope that he likes it.

[solomonish]

longtime listener (solomon x reader)

“Hi, uh, I’m a longtime listener, first time caller. Is it just me, or are we two halves of the same soul?”

It felt like the late night talk show was made for you specifically….and you know what? Maybe it was.

ao3 link: here!

3 a.m. It was 3 a.m. in this nowhere town of yours, the summer crickets screaming loud enough to become a steady thrum in the back of your mind. This insomniac routine had gone on long enough that your bedroom light was not off. You had gone past the empty attempts at counting sheep, spent countless hours relaxing your muscles from head to toe, everything. The orange bottle of melatonin mocked you each time you opened your medicine cabinet, half-full of pills that didn’t do a damn thing for you. Now, surrounded entirely by trees and the sounds of nature keeping you company, you had taken to merely entertaining yourself in the hours of the night when you should be asleep.

If idle hands bored you in the daylight, it was even worse at night. The cover of darkness seemed to bring with it a blanket over your mind, insulating your thoughts with slowly creeping dread and loneliness the longer you allowed yourself to stew. Scattered across your house were projects in varying degrees of completion: a crochet granny square half-completed, a needle still stuck in a loop lying on the small table beside your couch. Sad as it is, it is still better off than the elephant who’s box was opened and instructions spread out, but too indecipherable to a novice like you. On your desk lay scattered coloring book pages and paint-by-numbers, even an adhesive jewel coloring activity that was far too expensive for the one page, delivered by a man who’s baseball hat brim never revealed his face. It was the first unfamiliar face you had seen in a while, even though you technically hadn’t seen it at all.

A small stack of books that you tried to read stared at you from your dresser, begging you to open them again as if the words wouldn’t blur together immediately. Beside them sat your radio, an old thing that you hadn’t touched in years before your sleepless nights came to plague you. Most of the time, static veiled the music that you expected to be playing, even though you could catch slivers of familiar lyrics between the fuzzy noises. The only station you could seem to get was a talk show.

Unlike other radio shows you had heard, this one was uninterrupted by music or, like the other stations, static. There were no guests either, as all you ever heard was one voice. It was a calm voice with a playful lilt, neither too deep nor too high. To you, it was the kind of voice that seemed to pull you in a trance, as if it knew exactly which senses to numb until you were pliable to the way the sound crashed into you. If you hadn’t been having these sleepless bouts, you could probably fall asleep to his voice.

The topic of the show was lost on you. Sometimes, if you listened real close, you could hear the man talk about old urban legends or strange, magical creatures. Other times, he was murmuring about spells and recommending potion recipes. More often than not, though, you spent your time in a stupor, not listening to the yarns he was spinning. Instead, it was as if his voice pulled your spirit out of your body and led you down a path of memories lost to time.

Such an idea seemed scary, but...it was comforting, honestly, and maybe the little bit of rest you needed to prevent your body from crashing throughout the day.

With the voice in the backdrop, you found yourself going on wild adventures you felt like you lived but could not actually remember. Sometimes, you found yourself on the edge of a rocky outcrop on the coast, stormy clouds above warning you to turn away from the ocean as the ebb of the tide beckoned you closer. You could feel the salt in the wind brushing against your mist-soaked cheeks, your hair limp and wet but still blowing wildly around you. Others, you could feel the thick moss sink under your weight as you traipsed through a nameless bog, searching for a vivid, unnaturally colored mushroom you knew you had seen before but could not name. You could even see, on occasion, a dark land lit by multi-colored lanterns, a decrepit manor filled with seven rambunctious figures you thought you remembered fondly.

Then, just before the sun started to peer above the horizon, you were brought back to your body and the voice signed off, almost affectionately. The room around you, bathed in the light purple of an early dawn, almost seemed to shimmer until the sun broke the spell.

It was baffling, but you couldn’t exactly share the experience with anyone without them thinking that you were crazy. Besides, it all seemed too intimate to share, and the selfish part of you thought it’d be best to keep these moments tucked away.

As you settled in the swivel chair with the radio static in the background, aimlessly fiddling with the threads on your old shirt, you began to feel nerves bundling in your stomach. Though you couldn’t quite explain why, it seemed as if something was about to change. You eyed the radio nervously, listening to the static that would soon give way to the voice.

After a few more nerve-wracking moments, the static subsided and the relaxing, smooth voice started to poke through. There was no introduction music and he was starting to come through mid-sentence, but you already leaned back, convinced that whatever he was saying was true. The two of you were on the same wavelength, after all.

He droned on for longer than you remembered him taking, and you remain - frustratingly enough - with your body and painfully aware of the world around you. You can actually hear what he’s talking about - something about coincidences, fate, reincarnation - the stuff of a pre-teen branching into philosophical thought. You can feel your interest waning, and you even debate turning the channel and slipping back into your old attempts at falling asleep when he says something of interest.

“...and if it’s alright with you, I’ll open the line for any callers. I’ll wait for you. Whenever you’re ready.”

You froze. What? That wasn’t how this type of show was supposed to go. You had never heard him even speak about anybody else specifically, let along open up his world to anybody who was listening. The thought scared you in a weird way, the kind of fear that you were sure should only be felt in prehistoric times, an almost primal fear of invasion.

Reaching beside you, you grabbed your phone and dialed. You didn’t remember him saying the number to call, but you already knew it. You must have, because before you know it, you’re bringing the phone up to your ear.

For just a moment, as the phone in your ear rings but nothing changes on the radio.Like a child whose schoolyard crush just rejected them, you feel like a fool - until you hear a click, and the voice that greets you matches the one you’ve been listening to for endless nights.

Your voice doesn’t come through on the radio, a fact that both relieves and confuses you. Faintly, you can tell that your heart rate has picked up and your breathing has gotten shallower. The nerves from a few minutes ago pick up again. Gracelessly, you manage to stammer out a nervous, “H-hi…” while your brain catches up with the rest of your body.

“Hello, MC,” he responds, his smooth voice erasing all the bumps in your own introduction. You wonder how he knows your name, but decide to focus on how nice it sounds on his tongue. “What is it that you wish to learn tonight?”

That you’re talking to me. Me, and only me, is what your brain wants to say. Istead, your eyes dart around the room for a less...needy response. “I, uh- gosh, this is embarrassing, but I don’t think I caught your name.”

He hummed. You couldn’t tell if you were hearing his voice over the radio or the phone, but you could only hear him once - the rest of the world had been turned down to silence. “Perhaps you haven’t, in this life.”

In this life. For a moment, you swore you could see a familiar smirk in the darkest corner of your mind, one slim finger pressed against sly lips in a gesture to keep your secrets to yourself. Your face felt warmer than it had ever been, but your chest felt hollow, like you were grasping vaguely for something just out of reach.

“I didn’t mean to forget, Solomon.” The name felt right leaving your mouth, and now that you had said it, you wanted to repeat it over and over. On the other end of the line, Solomon seemed as pleased as you did.

“As long as you remember now.”

Honestly, what were you to say to that? Simply talking, really talking to Solomon had your breath robbed from your lungs. If you looked down, you could see your hands shaking, and you worried your voice might start trembling if you spoke too soon. The longer you let the silence linger, the colder you felt inside, an empty chill filling the space where something you briefly realized was torn from you should be. Whatever it was, talking to Solomon thawed you out, and you feared hanging up on him now would freeze you solid.

So you swallowed thickly and hesitantly spoke. “Do you ever dream about the ocean, Solomon?” You just wanted to say his name again.

“Who says those are dreams? Maybe they’re memories.” And surely he was right, because there was no way a simple dream could leave such a potent taste of salt in your mouth.

The way he spoke to you felt so familiar, almost safe and welcoming. Even if your conversation was only just beginning, you had the distinct sensation that you were picking up where you left off with an old companion, falling into an easy rhythm you used to find solace in. At the same time, you couldn’t shake the fact that you knew nothing about Solomon, and that this phone call was telling you that tonight was his last broadcast.

“Do you have memories of the ocean?” Your voice was breathy, and you had to catch yourself just before reciting his name a third time. What was your fascination with it? Perhaps you were trying to call out to him, to keep his attention on you. Maybe you were hoping to summon him back to you. You supposed it didn’t matter in the end, anyway.

“Yes. Not all of them are fond, though. Some parts are.”

You could practically see the way his mouth turned down at the corners, a practiced display of displeasure. He always managed to express himself without giving away too much information - he was the type of person where you knew he was upset, but you could never begin to fathom why. That’s what everyone else thought, but you were the exception. You could watch his face fall and know what he was thinking. You would be the one to lift his spirits again, once upon a time. That, you remembered. Could you ever forget?

The silence that stretched between you didn’t feel like something that needed filled. It was a language all its own, a space where you could hear the other speak without anything being said. This, you realized, is what it felt like to be so perfectly in tune with someone, to understand them completely, better than you knew yourself.

But how could you know Solomon so intimately when this was your first time speaking to him?

No...no, it wasn’t. You’ve known Solomon for longer than you’ve been alive.

“Which memories are fond?”

He didn’t answer the question. He didn’t need to. He was thinking of you in lifetimes you just learned had already come to pass.

“Are you still on air?” You asked, your voice soft and uneven. As if awaiting horrible, surprising news, you brought your free hand to your mouth and bated your breath. The world around you had come to a standstill as you awaited his answer - even turning yourself mindlessly in your chair seemed wrong, but you couldn’t force yourself to reach out with your foot and stop.

The chuckle you received was rich, velvety, and it sounded much closer and clearer than a man talking to you through a phone. “Who’s to say I was ever on air to begin with?”

Your face warmed, and you gasped. Despite the ominous words, something in your chest told you that you could trust him, that this was meant to be. All at once, the sounds of the world came back to you. The crickets were chirping, the katydids screaming, frogs calling out to one another in their summer song. From a distance away, a sudden low rumble sounded as something made impact with the ground, sending a light shockwave that shook the old branches above you and sent exhilarating chills down your spine. A shocking cloud of purple light, glimmering like all the stars in the galaxy came down to visit you, caught your attention through your window. You should be scared. You really should be, but you weren’t. You felt like the late-night bus just arrived to take you home.

Once you were out of your trance, you brought the phone back to your ear. The line had been quiet since you started asking your questions, but you could tell Solomon was still there. You didn’t need to tell him that you were back - he already knew.

“Why…?” You had no idea what you were asking about, but you did so with a hint of anticipation in your voice. This was the moment you had been waiting for all your life, but you only just realized you’d been waiting. His answer made your heart flip the way it used to.

“I was merely looking for you, my love.”

[whydoyouwantmyname]

Imagine being Sirius’s daughter {Part 3}

Part one

Part two

-Remus never told you that he still believed your father was guilty, his heart was in a state of heartbreak whenever he would look at you, your eyes filled with hope that you could somehow set him free. Remus wanted so desperately to have your blind, bias belief, I mean what little girl wants to believe her dad was a spy for the enemy and was responsible for the death of most of your family, which was the only reason he couldn’t forgive Sirius for his crimes.

-You and the boys wrote each other daily during the winter break.

-On Christmas Remus surprised you with a book by Lockheart, “Everyone says he is very popular amongst the female readers.”

“He also is a fiction writer, I mean there is no way that someone with a face like his could be the smartest ravenclaw there ever was.”

-Remus chuckled at your response, and then surprised you with a trip to Hogwarts, his backpack filled with presents from you both. When you arrived in Dumbledore’s office you immediately wanted to go find Hagrid, to which the two men stated was okay, “We will meet you at his hut shortly.” Dumbledore answered as you raced from the office towards the spiral stairs.

“I know that look Remus, what is on your mind?”

“You promised me he would never get in contact with her while she was here.” His voice was low

“I did, and I have...”

“He has been writing her since she arrived Albus, and now I just had to tell my daughter that he has been writing to her constantly! I had to look my daughter in the eyes and lie to her that I believed her father was innocent. How can I believe a man who betrayed his friends, who murdered them all, almost got his own godson killed, and not once thought about his incredibly smart, talented, humble, compassionate little girl? I wanted to avoid this Albus, but it seemed I can not trust anyone but my daughter.”

“Your daughter?” Albus asked, Remus hadn’t even realized he kept calling you his daughter, normally he would just call you his niece, or by name. His eyes softened towards the headmaster as he hissed, “Well she might as well be.”

-Dumbledore reassured him that Sirius posed no real threat to you or him, “He is locked away in a cell, never to be freed again.”

-When they went to the Hut with McGonnagall, and some of the other professors, when they opened the door, they saw you sitting on the couch opposite the armchair, your coat discarded, revealing your maroon and gold stripped sweater. A mug was in between your hands, whip cream towering over the top of it as you looked at Hagrid, who was telling you a story about Bowtruckles. Your giggles filled the small space as they all filed into the room. That’s when Hagrid turned around and stood, ready to prepare hot chocolate for everyone, as Remus pushed by and sat beside you on the couch.

-The day after Christmas you went to Diagon Alley to try to find a good gift for Fred. You searched high and low, but nothing stood out to you. That was until you saw the window display of the Quality Quidditch Supplies.

“Uncle Mooney, how realistic would it be to hex my bag with the Undetectable Extension Charm?”

-Quite, why?”

“Because I think I found the gift I want to get Fred.” You answered with a smile before opening the shop door.

-One night while Remus was sipping his tea, he looked up at you, curled up at the end of the sofa, reading a book in one of your oversized sweaters, the glow of the fire illuminated your face, as your tea sat beside you, “You know who you look like right now?”

“Your niece?”

“No, you look just like your Aunt Lily. I mean she was a bookworm, intelligent witch, who was somehow involved with the pranksters of Gryffindor.”

“I’m glad.” You smiled, before Remus smiled, a ping of sadness overcoming him as he missed his friends... the only real family he ever had. You could tell he was off suddenly, and looking at him as he sipped his tea again you asked, “Uncle Mooney, tell me about your time at Hogwarts?”

-You both stayed up most of the night, chuckling at the stories he told. By the time you went to bed, the fire was down to just glowing embers, both of your teas cold, but you were happy, and that night you both slept in until noon.

-When the full moon occurred you went to Hagrid’s hut, and spent the day with him walking in the forbidden forest in the snow.

-When you left to go back to Hogwarts, you looked at your uncle on the station, “Uncle Mooney?”

“Yes Love?”

“No more secrets okay, I mean I would hope you trust me enough to tell me anything, cause I certainly trust you.”

-Of course Love.” He smiled before pulling you in for a hug, and handing you a chocolate bar, “For the journey.”

-When you found the booth that the twins and Lee were hiding in your whole face lit up, and you were quick to slip in next to Fred as they all were laughing at the story of how Fred and George turned Percy’s hair pink by adding some of their mom’s herbs to his shampoo, and how it backfired when everyone’s had turned pink.

-Once the train started to move however you smiled, “Okay, so shall we exchange?”

-In a circle you each gave your gifts one by one, Fred got Lee, Lee got George, George had gotten you, and you had gotten Fred. You decided to go in the same order you drew names, meaning Fred went first.

-Fred reached in his bag and pulled out a rectangular box, and handed it over to you, “Here, I hope you like it.”

When you opened it, you noticed the dull blue of the tissue paper, and slowly pulled it back to reveal the knitted yarn, the collar was a pastel purple color, while the rest of the sweater was a minty green, your first initial in the same pastel purple. As you held it up, you couldn’t suppress a smile, “I love it.”

-George got Lee the same present, except his was Gryffindor colors.

-Both boys were estact that you liked their gifts.

-Lee handed George a box, and when he opened it, it was filled to the brim with all different sorts of candy. However when he reached inside he withdrew a gameboy.

“The muggles use it to play video games, I figured it might be an interesting gift, and something your dad would love to learn about.”

-Once it was your turn you smiled towards Fred, “You can’t be mad.”

“How could I ever be mad at you?” He chuckled as you smiled wide, before opening your charmed bag and reaching all the way into it, the boys eyes widening as you exclaimed, “Got it.”

-The package was as neatly wrapped as it could be, the paper was a matte blue, with a green ribbon on top. Using both hands you extended it towards Fred, “I figured if you and Georgie were going to someday be real quidditch players, you might as well have a good broom.”

-When he unwrapped it, he was blown away to see the Comet 260, his hands slightly going over the wood as he admired it. However he stopped for a moment at the handle, “Why did you engrave a G in it?”

“Oh bloody hell, that one was meant for George, give me a second.” You exclaimed reaching back in to pull out another one, this time wrapped in orange paper with a yellow bow, “This one is yours Freddie, I mean I couldn’t get one brother a broom and not the other.”

“You got a present in there for me too?” Lee joked as you reached in and withdrew a box wrapped in green paper, which held a box microphone. “Of course.” However they didn’t see the second small box you withdrew, and as George and Lee admired the Gameboy, you gently tapped Fred on the leg, “Here’s one more gift, and I promise, it isn’t another broom.”

- As he opened it, he noticed it was also charmed with the Undetectable expansion charm. Reaching inside he withdrew a Jersey, which was maroon and gold, and had the snitch embroidered onto it.

“Figured you could be the most official looking player when you match up with your siblings.” You whispered

“You really didn’t have to.” He replied, tears in his eyes as you rested your chin on his shoulder, “No, but what are friends for, we are supposed to support each other’s dreams.”

-After that, you and Fred were always close, Lee used to joke that he liked hanging out with you far more than his own twin brother.

-About a month after arriving, at the feast table Albus leaned over to McGonagall, “10 Galleons says that Fred and [Y/N] are dating by their seventh year?”

“I say it will be by their fifth year.” She replied, before reaching her hand out to shake on it

-You never told the boys you knew who created the map, nor did you tell your father that George and Fred were using it to prank students and staff during the school year.

-Sirius wrote you once a week.

- You were in all the same classes as the boys, and it made it so much easier for you to help them with homework. The boys were pretty bright, however they would sometimes get carried away thinking about who to prank and how. Occasionally you would chime in, but most times you would just chuckle and shake your head.

-Percy always looked at you and asked how you could be friends with people like his younger brothers, to which you always gave a witty response. The responses would always cause Fred and George to laugh.

-One night Lee looked at you, both of the twins were running late to dinner, meaning it was just you and Lee for a while. Knowing that the food would disappear probably before the boys made it to the Great Hall, you made a plate for both boys, and made sure to grab an extra pudding for Fred.

“You never get me an extra pudding?” Lee faked whined as you raised an eyebrow, “Lee, I literally gave you my pudding yesterday.” 

-When the boys arrived Fred sat across from you, and smiled, “No way, you snagged me an extra pudding.”

“What are friends for?” You smiled as George looked at his plate, which you had put extra turkey on for him, a smile on his face as he looked at his friends.

“You know something, we should all get together this summer.” George suggested, as you raised an eyebrow, “George it’s only March.”

“Yeah, and school ends soon. Then we have to go 3 months without seeing each other. We could ask our mum, I am sure you all could stay in our room.”

“My parents would probably be okay with that, what about you [Y/N]?”

“I’m sure it would be okay, I can ask him.” You let it slip, as they all looked towards you.

“Don’t you mean them?” George asked

“Um..... no. I ummmm live with my uncle.” You answered, you had never told them you didn’t have a mom, or that your father was in Azkaban on a false charge, or that your uncle who you lived with was a werewolf.”

-The boys went silent, and after several seconds, they began their regular banter.

-The next day you wrote Remus, and asked what he would think about you spending some time with the Weasleys at the burrow. He replied within the week and said it would be fine with him, as long as you never returned on a full moon, or the day after.

-When George and Fred asked their parents, Arthur expressed some concern to Molly in private, “I mean how do we know we can trust her, what if she is just like her father?”

“She is just a little girl Art, besides she has basically lived with Remus her whole life. He would never let her grow up to be a monster. Let’s just give her a chance, besides the boys will be heartbroken if we say Lee can come and not [Y/N].”

- The first time you went to the Burrow, you used Floo powder to get there, your eyes widened as you took in the scenery. Everything about the burrow looked homey, and you were fascinated by the use of magic throughout the home. The needle moving to create a sweater, the sponge moving itself in a circular motion on the dishes, the stove turning itself off as the kettle whistled, the broom sweeping into the dust pan, as the mop followed behind. The dry dishes putting themselves away, as you exited the mantle.

-Molly rounded the corner as you stepped out, her round face dressed with a smile as she extended her arms, “You must be [Y/N], it is so nice to finally meet you my dear.” She quickly advanced towards you as she wrapped you in a hug, “I hope you got here alright.”

“Of course Mrs. Weasley, thank you so much for allowing me to stay for a while in your lovely home.”

“Of course my dear, and no need for formality here, Molly is fine.” She smiled, before calling, “Boys! [Y/N] is here!”

-You couldn’t help but smile as 3 pairs of feet came raising down the stairs, and tackled you onto the couch. The room erupting into a fit of laughter as the boys all dog piled you, and as they stood up (After Molly telling them to), Fred reached out to help you up.

-You slept in the twins room, the boys had made up two cots for you and Lee. Your cot was closer to Fred’s bed. Most nights after the rest of the house had fallen asleep, you and the boys would stay up quietly giggling at future pranks.

-Ron and Ginny loved having you around, whenever they would try to hang out with their two older brothers they would say that they were busy with their friends, yet you would say, “If you want we can do something, who needs these losers anyway to have fun.”

-You always offered to help Molly with the chores, and some nights you even convinced the boys to help.

-One night while you were doing chores with Molly, she leaned over, “I never thanked you by the way.”

“For what?”

“Fred and George were so excited when they got home, they wanted to show us the new brooms they had written us so much about. I know it is just a material object, but most people don’t know that the boys are skilled quidditch players. They just see the jokes, and the pranks, which leads them to get labeled as the general prankster. I can’t tell you how many times the boys have gotten rubber chickens, and whoopie cushions, or little fireworks. You actually showed that you listen to them, and that is all a mother can ask of her children’s friends.”

“No problem Molly, they are wonderful boys.” You smiled, as Ginny raced into the kitchen, “Hey [Y/N], do you think we can have a girls night?”

“Of course.” You smiled.

-You always helped with the twin’s chores, which Molly thought was wonderful.

-You hated weeding the garden though, so you would just lay in the grass and read while the boys labored in the dirt.

-You were only supposed to stay for two weeks, however you ended up staying for a whole month. Lee left after the two weeks though.

-Whenever they would play quidditch in the garden George was insistent on having you on their team, you were an okay player. Whenever you all had some free time between chores, Fred and George would teach you how to play, helping you learn strategies.

-When you went home each of the Weasleys gave you a hug, Molly of course looked at you and smiled, “Now don’t be a stranger, you are welcome anytime.”

“Really, if you don’t mind me asking, may I come stay August 6th?”

“That’s next week?” George replied, his tone questioning as you smiled, it wouldn’t be for too long, just a day or two, my Uncle is going to be out of town for those days. I didn’t want to spend the day alone.”

“Of course Love, whatever you need.” Arthur smiled, his whole attitude towards you altered after your first visit to the burrow.

-After that visit, you spent all the full moons at the Burrow. None of them ever asked why you always stayed on full moons, nor did the professors ask why you stopped coming to Hogwarts.

-Remus hated when you were away, the cabin was so quiet, but he couldn’t stop you. He knew your father was the same way during summer breaks so he could only imagine it was the Black genes in you. You however always came back with a smile plastered on your face, and spent the week telling him all about what you did.

-When you went shopping for your supplies for your second year, Molly and Arthur invited you and Remus to join them, which you eagerly agreed to.

-The plan was to meet at the Burrow, as soon as the twins heard the sound of an Apparition spell, they were out the door. Immediately they had you wrapped in a hug, your arms hanging around both of their necks as they gripped you tightly. Pulling away they then looked at Remus.

“You must be Mister Lupin, pleasure to see you again sir.” They both said at the same time, hands rocketing out for a handshake. He just looked at the pair and replied, “And you must be George,” he pointed to George, “And Fred.” He pointed to Fred before reaching out and shaking both of their hands.

“Blimey, not even our own mum can tell us apart like that.” George joked as you immediately piped up, “Your mum can tell you apart just fine, it is just the two of you that like to switch identities to see if anyone will notice.”

-Next out the door was Ron, his kind of grown out red mop blowing in the wind as he raced over and into your arms, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too kid.”

-Fred and George rolled their eyes at the interaction, both of them had figured out during your first stay that Ron had developed some little crush on you, Remus of course saw the eye rolls and whispered, “Now don’t tell me you never had a crush on one of your brother’s friends when you were his age?”

-while all the kids raced around the yard before going, Remus talked with Arthur and Molly. Of course the awkward subject came up, “So does she know...”

“Yes, she knows exactly what her father did, and as much as I hate it, she believes he was framed. However we don’t discuss the topic of her father unless absolutely necessary. I would hope the same is being done here.”

“Of course Remus.” Molly replied, shooting Arthur a disapproving look, “Our kids don’t know anything about him, and I doubt she has told any of them.”

“I mean Fred and George might know, seeing how close they are.” Athur piped up, but Remus just looked at him, “No they don’t, she would never risk losing your boys. I dare say she would protect them with her life if she had too.”

“Just as her father was supposed to?” The response was automatic, Arthur hadn’t even thought of it when it slipped out, and he immediately regretted it, whispering an apology as Remus shot him a disapproving look, as Molly gave him the look of death. However all Remus replied with was, “She is nothing like her father.”

- The twins and you wanted ventured out on your own as soon as you arrived to Diagon Alley, Remus chuckling as you looked at him quickly, “You can join us if you like.”

“Are you sure darling, I would hate to spoil your fun?” He replied as George laughed

“Nonsense Mr. Lupin, [Y/N] tells us you were quite the prankster when you were our age, we would love to hear more about it. Maybe get some ideas.” Fred smiled, as Remus looked towards the ground, a ping of sadness entering his heart as he chuckled, “Now Fred, I was not the prankster of the group, that title was held by [Y/N]’s father, and her Uncle James.”

-After going to a few shops looking for supplies, the four of you all went to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, and got some ice cream. As you sat at the table Fred and George asked Remus what it was like when he was at Hogwarts. As you licked your cone you couldn’t help but chuckle as Remus’s face lit up, telling Jame’s and Sirius’s prank stories to the twins.

-Their personal favorite was when Sirius and James had discovered a new muggle song, and somehow disguised a boom box in the Great Hall, and turned it to Maximum volume. The entire day the Hall was filled with Don’t Go Breaking my Heart by Thin Lizzy, on a loop. They earned two days of detention with Flich, in which he had them polish all of the trophies in case.

-At one point while you were shopping, Fred picked up a flower on the side of the road, and paid 15 Sickles for it, he then walked up beside you and leaned over, “Figured you might like this.”

“You bought me a Garden Rose, is it bewitched?”

“Course not, can’t a boy just buy his best friend a pretty flower?” He smiled as you cautiously took it from him, and thanked him.

-Remus was watching you both from a distance, and smiled as he thought of his niece falling in love, and was hopeful that it was at least with one of the Weasley boys.

-When it was time to part ways Fred asked Remus, “Sir, do you mind if one day, George and I come over, and stay for a week? We would love to see what your home looks like, and to hear more stories?”

“Unfortunately boys, I don’t think that is possible, however I would be more than happy to come to the burrow whenever you want to tell you more.”

-Remus didn’t know how to explain the scratches that were randomly scattered along the interior and exterior of the cottage.

-When you got home, Remus looked at you with a smile, “I like those two.”

“I knew you would.” You smiled, as you put your bags down, and dropped your garden rose into a vase.

-You sent your father letters all about the Weasley twins, and told him how they looked up to him and Uncle Prongs after Remus shared their stories. You had no idea how much it meant to him that Remus was still talking about him.

-When it was time for you all to go back, Remus stood on the platform with you, “Now don’t let those boys rope you into any pranks that will get you expelled.”

“Course Uncle Mooney.” You replied, before wrapping him into a hug. As you pulled away you saw two tuffs of red hair race over, “Come on [Y/N], Lee’s already on the train saving us a booth.” George whined as they both grabbed your hands and led you away, while shouting, “Good to see you Mr. Lupin.”

-When you started your second year you noticed you were in all the opposite classes as the boys. Your smile dropping as you tried to envision classes without your best friends.

-That first night in the common room the four of you all sat around in the corner, the moonlight pouring into the window as you watched Lee and Fred compet in a game of Wizards Chess, George scribbling down prank ideas. Finally he looked at you, “How do you think we can pull off your father’s prank?”

“What?”

“You know the one where they blasted muggle music throughout the Great Hall?”

“Don’t you think that will be too odvious, I mean the only people who would know about that would be [Y/N], we would be had for sure.” Lee replied, before saying, “Pawn to E6.”

“Besides, I think we can pull off far better pranks then my dad and his friends, I mean you two are the Weasley Twins, greatest pranksters to ever attend Hogwarts.” You smiled as Fred slightly blushed.

-Lee and George both noticed how Fred blushed, and when you went to bed that night both of them looked at him, “Okay, spit it out.”

“Spit out what Lee?” He asked confused.

“Do you have a crush on our very own Miss Black?” George asked, as Fred began to stutter, causing both boys to smile.

“Blimey Fred, why don’t you just tell her then.”

“It’s not that simple Georgie, I mean... what if she doesn’t feel the same, how will that affect the group. We can’t lose her, she is the brains behind a quarter of these pranks.”

-The rest of the term you helped the boys with all of their schoolwork, as normal.

-You were the top of your class, all the professors were proud of your work, even Snape.

-Most nights you and the boys would end up sitting at the table in the corner, or on the love seats that were against one of the farthest walls. Whenever you were on the loveseats, Lee and George would make sure you and Fred were on the same sofa, and whenever you’ll would sit at the table they would arrange the seats so that you were also next to Fred. You didn’t think anything of it, but Fred knew what they were trying to do, and he would always just stare at them with dirty looks when you weren’t looking.

-When they tried out for the Quidditch team, you were sitting in the stands, your scarf and hat on as you watched them prove their skills, your applause Louder than everyone else’s as you cheered them on.

-When George and Fred made the Quidditch team, you were the first person to congratulate them, a huge smile on your face as you leapt into Fred’s arms, as he twirled you around. Then you went to hug George, and looked at them both, “I am so bloody proud of you.”

-Hagrid sat with you at every game, and afterwards you would go to the hut with him and share a cup of tea.

-Remus wrote you often, and told you about the woods, and the lilies. However he wasn’t a fan of how quiet it was, and often found himself playing music throughout the cabin. The records that he had were classics that he had collected over the years, but he always found himself gravitating towards the small collection of records that Lily had given him. They were some of her favorites, and he had given him a few copies of them once they were out of school. The genre of them varied.

-Every once and a while however his fingers would find the section of records that were not his... they belonged to Sirius. He had taken them when he went to the house to collect your things, he wasn’t sure why he had the urge to take them from the house with your stuff, but he didn’t feel right leaving the house without them. He would take the vinyl disk out of the sleeve and spin it between his fingers a few times before placing it on the player, his body slumping into the armchair after putting the needle on. His eyes would shut as he put his fingers to his temple, the familiar melodies filling the space as he remembered the days he would go to Sirius’s flat and he would be blasting the record player. Most times you were resting on his hip, a huge smile on your face as he twirled you around and danced to the beat. Your giggles almost drowned out by the guitars, and drums. As Remus listened to them, tears would normally slid down his cheeks, as he thought to himself, “Why Pads, why did you do it?”

-Before leaving for Christmas break, you did the secret Santa again, this time you drew Lee’s name.

-That Christmas break you went to the cabin, and stayed with Remus the whole time, both of you just enjoying the comfort of being together. He would sometimes find himself chuckling as you sat at the dining room table and wrote letters to the boys, and your father.

-You were laughing when on Christmas Day you found a present under the tree addressed to you from the Weasleys. You opened it to find that you once again had received a Christmas sweater, this time it was purple and blue, there was a note attached that read, “You might as well be part of the family.”

-On the last night you and Remus were sitting in the living room, the fire roaring as you looked toward Remus, “Uncle Mooney?”

“Yes love.”

“Do you ever wonder how Harry is?” This wasn’t the first time you had asked about Harry, but this was the first time in a while. Your head was resting on your knees as he spoke, “I am sure Harry is just fine, I am sure he is sitting at his Aunt Petunia’s right now surrounded by all his presents, and is filled with fmdread that school is going to start back up.”

“I hope so.” You answered with a smile. You had no idea though that Remus was slightly filled with doubt. Every time he would think about Harry, he would remember what James used to tell him about Petunia Evans, and how she was a arrogant, closed minded bitch when it came to anything in her sister’s life.

-When you got on the train you were excited to see the three boys, all of them wearing their Weasley sweaters. George laughing as he looked towards you, “I love that we are all matching, it’s almost like we planned this.”

“Too bad we didn’t.” Fred barked, as you plopped down next to Lee, your back leaning against the wall of the booth as you put your legs over his lap. His arms laying over your legs as you spoke to the twins across from you both.

-Finally after swapping stories of the break Lee smiled, “Time for secret Santa?”

“Course it is, I’ll go first.” George replied, as he reached into his bag and withdrew a small box, thrusting it towards Fred, “Here you go Fred.”

“You got me?” He asked, taking the box in hand, “You told me that you had gotten Lee.”

“What was I supposed to do, tell you that I drew your name out of the hat and that I bought you your present right in front of you. That would ruin the whole tradition.” George replied as you smiled, “He has a point Freddie.”

-When Fred opened the box he was greeted by a whole box full of dungbombs. He chuckled as he carefully removed one and whispered, “Wicked.”

-Next was Lee, who handed a gift towards George, “I can’t top the gift [Y/N] got you last year, but I sure as hell can try.”

-In the box was a Gryffindor colored Hackey Sack which George twirled between his fingers, “What is it?”

“You kick it, when we get to Hogwarts I can show you how to play with it.” Lee smiled as you reached into your bag and withdrew a box, the boys all chuckling at the fact that your bag was still charmed from last Christmas. “Here Lee, just promise me you won’t use it to blow us up.”

“I promise, however are you trying to tell me you bought me a bomb?”

“You’re just gonna have to open it to find out.” You smiled as he tore the paper slightly and revealed that logo of Dr Filibuster's Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks. “No way.” Lee gasped as you smiled.

“Figured we could light it off down by the lake.” You replied as Fred pulled a rectangular, brightly wrapped present out of his bag, the ribbon on top of it still in tact as he placed it on his lap. Your eyes still on Lee, he was taking in the smallest details of your face, and watching how the fluorescent lighting in the booth made your eyes twinkle slightly. After a few minutes though he noticed you had looked towards him, a smile plastered on your face as you asked, “So guess that just leaves you Freddie.”

“Ummm yeah.” He answered, looking down quickly, before sticking his hand out towards you, the present grasped tightly between his fingers as he said, “Looks like I got you again.”

-You carefully unwrapped the paper, and smiled as you revealed the limited edition cover of Fantastic Beast and Where to Find Them. You smiled wide as you looked up, “Fred, I love it.” You smiled as you slowly opened it and looked at the updated drawings.

-You spent the rest of the train ride reading, while the boys groaned about going back to class.

-When you went to get off you were walking beside Fred, and bumped your shoulder into his, “Thank you again, I really do love it.”

“I’m glad.” He smiled

- After a month back at Hogwarts you found yourself sitting in the common room, and heard the portrait open, the room filled with the giggles of the three boys you valued, your eyes raising from your parchmentad you looked at them. “What did you do?”

“We may have just set off a bunch of dungbombs in Snape’s classroom.” George gasped while trying to maintain his composure.

“Oh bloody hell.” You sighed, “he is going to assign your class extra homework now you know?”

“Worth it.” Lee replied as Fred flopped down on the couch next to you, and added, “Besides he will have no clue who did it.”

“You really think he won’t put it together?” You asked, your eyes meeting his as he answered, “Nope.”

-The next day they came in with a groan, and looked at you, “Want to help us with our Potions homework?”

“He figured it out, didn’t he?” You smiled, your eyes never leaving your book as George groaned, “Yup.”

“Told you.” You responded, as the three boys flopped around you.

-You used to sit in your dormitory with the Marauders Map, and study it for hours, watching as the little footsteps moved across the parchment. It made you feel closer to the Marauders.

-You alternated which spare jersey you wore to the games, since George and Fred had both given you their spares to wear.

-Towards the end of the year you found yourself helping the boys more with the pranks, which they loved because you were always telling them how not to get caught.

-At the end of the year you went straight to the Burrow, since it was a full moon. You smiled walking into the Burrow, a sense of home washing over you as Ron raced into the kitchen, and looked at you, “Bloody hell, I am starting Hogwarts this year, where did the year go?”

-And that’s when it hit you... Harry Potter was starting at Hogwarts next term.

-When you went back to the cabin you closed the door and slowly slid down it, the sounds of your father’s records filling the space as Remus sat in the armchair. Your trunk abandoned next to you as you leaned your head back, your thoughts filled with the idea of Harry coming to Hogwarts. You wondered if he knew who you and Remus were, or if you were long forgotten. You wondered if he knew about your father, you were sure he would have, even if he lived with muggles. Would he judge you? Would he be angry at you for your father’s false crimes?

-Remus turned in the chair, and watched you sit there, knowing that the wheels were turning in your head. Finally after five minutes he rose slowly as turned the music down, before making his way towards you and kneeling in front of you, “Would you like to go out tonight?”

“Where?”

“Anywhere you want my love.”

-You chose Hogwarts, and you ended up sitting in Dumbledore’s office with Remus, Hagrid, Dumbledore, and McGonagall. You were all smiles and laughing as you listened to them share stories.

-That summer you spent another month at the Burrow, most days you would lay in the sun with the Twins, and discuss possibly opening a joke shop in the future, which was the twin’s dream.

-Molly always told you that you didn’t have to help with chores, however you would always smile and reply, “You really think Freddie and Georgie will do chores if I don’t help.”

-Sometimes at night you and the boys would lay out in the grass and look at the stars, the cool summer air breezing over your forms as you all laid with your heads pointed towards each other. A few times you had fallen asleep while you all were out there, which resulted in Fred carrying you upstairs to your cot. George would always trail behind, slightly chuckling as he wondered when you and his older brother would get together finally.

-Ginny and you would sometimes sit in the couch and just talk, or you would braid her long, ginger hair. Ron would occasionally join as well but Ginny always looked at him and snapped, “Piss off, she doesn’t like you like that.”

-One day while you brushed her hair she asked you if you could ever see yourself dating one of her brothers. You smiled and replied, “Who knows, maybe one day I will, however that is probably going to be the day that I lose all my sanity.”

-On your last night there, you and the twins snuck out to the roof, and sat out there for hours. However at one point George went inside to pee, leaving you and Fred alone.

“Hey.” His voice was quiet as you looked towards him, the wind picking up a strand of your hair as you smeirked, “Hey.”

“I want to ask you something, but I don’t want it to make things awkward between us.”

Your heart rate escalated, and your palms became sweaty, you were hoping he would finally ask you out, “Nothing you ask me would make stuff awkward Freddie.”

He scooted closer to you, maintaining eye contact as he did, soon you were shoulder to shoulder as he took a deep breath.

“You gonna ask me, or should I wait for tomorrow?” You teased as he let out a chuckle.

“No.” He looked at his hands, which were entangling in each other, and then back at you, his eyes glassy as he whispered, “Why do you live with Mr. Lupin?”

“What?”

“Like what happened to your parents?”

“Well... my mom didn’t tell my dad at first that she was pregnant. He didn’t find out I even existed until I was 6 months old, when she dropped me off at his flat and disappeared. I was starting to display accidental magic, and she freaked out because she was a muggle. I lived with my dad until November of 1981, that’s when I moved in with Uncle Lupin. My dad, ummm, got arrested on false charges.”

“What were they?”

“Murder, and everyone also pinned him as a death eater. He didn’t do anything though.”

“So your father is in...”

“Azkaban.....” you were silent for a second, before looking up towards the stars, “Yeah, he is.”

-There was silence between you and Fred, neither one sure what to say, until his hand slowly glided towards your leg, and he gently placed it down on your thigh, “We don’t have to talk about it again, I just wanted to know.”

“It’s fine Freddie, really.” You replied, before leaning over and resting your head in his shoulder, your eyes closing as you took a deep breath of the summer air, wishing that life could have been slightly different.

Part Four

Part Five

[needtherapy]

The Necromancer’s Apprentice

Xue Yang has seen The Dark House and he’s heard the rumors that a zombie, a witch, and a necromancer live there. It’s stupid, obviously, but...well...maybe he’ll just sneak in one night and find out.

It’s better than doing nothing. It’s better than going back to the group home. It’s better than sleeping on the street.

Aka, three mildly feral twentysomethings are forcibly adopted by one (1) very feral thirteen-year-old Xue Yang.

Read on AO3

Many thanks to @coslyons for co-writing this with me (all the funniest parts belong to them) and @kevinkevinson for beta.

There is a Dark House in Ballard, and people say to avoid it.

It is probably not called the Dark House because evil lurks inside, although there is some debate about that. It is called the Dark House because it is black from threshold to cupola, from shutters to frames, and it looms on a block where whimsical shops of brick and steel are far more common. Unlike the thrift store and the record shop, the hiking outfitter and the vegan patissiere, no ivy reaches toward the roof of the Dark House. Unlike the local yarn store, no dogs sniff the Dark House’s gate, although at least two cats—also black, naturally—are always sitting on the porch.

It may not be fair to judge a house by its color, but the local legends are clear. If you step on the cracks in the sidewalk, the Dark House will steal your soul. The wrought iron gate of twining snakes comes alive under the light of the full moon to snap at unwary joggers. Children who walk alone after dark get eaten, and the yard is full of bones that wail songs of their murders.

Xue Yang sits on a bench, across the street, eating ice cream and admiring the house. He wonders about the sanity of people who mow the lawn and trim the roses, yet painted their pretty little house black, until it occurs to him that he could just go inside and find out.

He waits until dark, not to stay hidden, but because it’s a more terrible idea, and Xue Yang always gives himself permission to do more terrible things whenever he gets the chance. The high iron fence buzzes with a strange kind of energy that crackles in his palms, so Xue Yang wraps his hands tightly in his flannel shirt as he climbs over. His mother always said he was a practical boy, back when she was still around to say things.

Xue Yang lands in the backyard with a quiet thump onto thin and scraggly grass. The center of the yard is dark under the watery moonlight, with the dirt churned up and loose, and for the first time, a tiny twinge of warning pings in the back of his mind.

He ignores it.

With a flick of his wrist, he summons his knife, a long black switchblade that is seven kinds of illegal and which he loves more than anything else he has ever had, not that there is much competition. With nimble and practiced hands, he slides the knife between the door and the frame, twisting just right when he reaches the lock. With a grin of triumph, he turns the handle, shaped like a gaping mouth, and opens the door.

In the center of the room, there is a long sort of table that seems somehow to pull all the darkness of the room toward it. The shadows gather most thickly around a large, human-shaped lump laid out stiffly on top of it. Xue Yang reaches out to poke it and feels something unexpectedly warm give slightly under his finger.

The shadowy lump on the table sits upright with a sudden jerk.

The shadowy lump on the table sits upright with a sudden jerk.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Xue Yang shrieks.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” the shadowy lump shrieks back.

“Why the fuck is everyone yelling?” a voice says, and the room is suddenly filled with light.

The shadowy lump rips off the sheet and turns into a guy in his early twenties with a scraggly little beard and wicked bedhead. The voice belongs to a grumpy-looking woman wearing a fluffy pink bathrobe. She squints at him in the oppressive brightness, glaring for a long moment before apparently deciding to deal with the man on the table first.  

“Wei Wuxian, I’ve told you a thousand times that the workshop is not a place for sleeping.”

“Technically—” the man begins, before being abruptly cut off by the woman.

“If the next words out of your mouth aren’t ‘yes, Wen Qing,’ then I don’t care. Go to bed.” She rounds on Xue Yang and he takes a tiny, involuntary step back. “You. What are you doing here?”

Before Xue Yang can answer, another guy—this one with long hair, killer tats, and a dedication to the goth look Xue Yang has to admire—runs in with a baseball bat held in his hands like a club.

“Jiejie! Is there something wrong?”

The woman—Wen Qing, she’d said—pinches the bridge of her nose and says, “It’s fine, A-Ning. I’m just trying to figure out what this little hooliganthinks he’s doing breaking into my house and tripping all of my wards while I’m trying to fucking sleep .”

Xue Yang is now convinced that what he’s broken into is some kind of madhouse, and he pastes a charming smile on his face, the one he uses when fists are clenched and the smell of alcohol burns in his nose. The smile whispers words like “anger issues” and “prone to destruction,” and it’s usually weapon enough, but he holds his knife a little tighter too, just in case.

The woman snaps around like she’s felt his fingers grip the handle of the blade and holds out her hand. “Give it to me.”

No. He will not. His chin tips dangerously, his smile grows icy spikes.

Her eyes narrow. “I could just take it.”

They face off for a minute, the tension almost palpable. Actually, Xue Yang thinks, it’s not tension after all. There’s something else in the air. It reminds him of the buzzing fence, and he doesn’t like the way it confuses him.

“Ah, Wen-jie, let him keep her. Can’t you tell? The kid is scared, they’re both scared, and it’s not like he can hurt us.”

Xue Yang is offended. He is not scared, but he’s relieved that Wei Wuxian spoke up all the same, because even though Wen Qing purses her lips and looks annoyed, she drops her hand.

“Fine.” She crosses her arms again. “Wei Wuxian, make sure our little guest leaves. I’m resetting the wards in five minutes and going back to sleep.”

“Yeah, sure.” Wei Wuxian grins and shoots finger guns at Wen Qing. “Sleep well and dream of me.”

Wen Qing rolls her eyes. “Yes, because I love having nightmares.”

“Oh shoo.” Wei Wuxian flicks his hand at the goth man and Wen Qing. “To bed with you both. I can handle it.”

Their footsteps creak on the wooden floors as they walk further into the house. Xue Yang and Wei Wuxian wait in silence until the footsteps quiet, and then Wei Wuxian turns to Xue Yang. The grin he’d been wearing drops off his face and he looks serious, his eyes shaded and dark.

“Look kid, you should know better than to piss off powerful witches. It tends to be bad for the health.” The side of his mouth just barely tilts upwards, more wry than mirthful, and he looks old now. Old and grey and tired. “So, we’ll just call this a learning experience, and you’ll never come here again, right?”

Xue Yang snorts. “Are you kidding? If you’ve got real magic why the fuck would I leave now?”

“Toddlers shouldn’t swear.”

“I’m almost fourteen, fuck you very much.”

“Ah yes, I am now so convinced you are an adult.” Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “It’s two in the morning. You want to go home and go to bed. There’s nothing here for you to be curious about at all.”

Something sibilant and musical weaves its way through the words, and Xue Yang has his hand on the door knob before he fights off the slithering compulsion.

Holy fuck that was cool.

“Nah, I think I’ll stay,” he says, sauntering back casually, pausing to look at a weird painting of a monster facing off with an axe-wielding guy in front of a lighthouse. He feels a very strong sense of camaraderie with it right now.

Wei Wuxian sighs. “Sure, maybe you’ve got a little gift. But you’re a kid. Don’t you have parents who are going to, you know, notice you’re missing?”

Xue Yang stares him in the eyes, willing himself not to flinch. Something tells him this is a chance he’s never going to have again, a chance that requires honesty.

“No.” Xue Yang lifts his chin stubbornly. “I don’t.”

Wei Wuxian stares back, and Xue Yang gets the feeling that he sees all the years and all the disappointments that fit into that no. He doesn’t care. No one gives you what you want unless you take it.

This standoff lasts forever, or maybe it’s only a few seconds.

“She’s going to kill me,” Wei Wuxian mutters, and a little louder, “You can sleep on the couch tonight, but I’m locking you in the room and if you touch anything, I will turn you into a mannequin.”

He turns to leave, but looks back with a frown. “Wen Qing builds beautiful, elegant wards that you’ll never feel, never even notice if she doesn’t want you to. Mine will hurt. Don’t. Touch. Anything.”

Xue Yang decides, in the principle of magnanimity, to agree. “Whatever.”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head and points a finger at Xue Yang. “Go to sleep, kiddo.”

The words hold Xue Yang’s hand and lead him to the couch, make him lay down, and within minutes, he is asleep.

He opens his eyes to piercing sunlight and a pale face inches from his.

“What the fuck!” he yelps, instinctively grabbing for his knife and snapping it open.

“Mr. Wei, he’s awake and noisy,” the face says, and Xue Yang focuses on its features.

It’s the goth guy. His arms have full-sleeve tattoos, matching patterns of stark black geometric lines and circles, but his neck has weird black veins tattooed on it. His eyes, which are still way too close to Xue Yang’s, are so dark they’re practically black.

“Where’s the witch?” Xue Yang asks, sufficiently recovered to be an asshole.

“Boiling children,” Wei Wuxian retorts. He’s leaning over the table and taking notes in a tattered book, poking something with a tiny screwdriver. “It’s the only reason we let you stay.”

“Really?” Xue Yang can’t decide if that’s cool or terrifying.

“He’s always like that in the morning,” Goth Guy says conspiratorially. “By ten, he’s pretty nice again.”

“I’m never nice,” Wei Wuxian grumbles. “A-Ning, can you take our miscreant home, please? The last thing I need is cops knocking on The House door asking if we’re kidnapping children. Again.” “Okay, Mr. Wei.”

Xue Yang panics. He can’t go back there. Not since they found him alone with the fire. He knows what they’ll do, and he can’t go back. He won’t . He ducks under Goth Guy’s arm and has his knife angled under Wei Wuxian’s chin before he’s even processed the motor function commands “get up” and “don’t let him send you away.”

“No! You have to…” He scrambles though thoughts, desperate ideas, each one crazier than the last before he hits on words that work themselves loose from his mouth. “You said I had a gift, you have to teach me to use it.”

Wei Wuxian frowns, but instead of being afraid or angry, he tips his head and whistles, two notes that almost sound like a name. To his great shock and horror, Xue Yang’s knife vibrates in his hand, and his fingers snap open like a broken trap, dropping the knife onto Wei Wuxian’s waiting palm. He carefully folds the blade back into the handle.

“Jiangzai,” he says, almost affectionately.

It doesn’t mean anything, but then it does , and it hits Xue Yang so hard he collapses to the ground. The knife has a name, and he knows it’s right as soon as Wei Wuxian says it. Xue Yang’s heart pounds, and he hates it. He hates this motherfucker who just took his knife away and he hates the Goth Guy who is helping him back to his feet. He doesn’t want to stay anymore, and he shakes off Goth Guy, wishing he could throw his kindness on the floor and stomp on it.

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “Okay, maybe you have a little bit more than a little bit of a gift. But you still can’t stay, and I’m not teaching you anything.”

Xue Yang snatches his knife— his Jiangzai—out of Wei Wuxian’s hand and stomps to the door. “Fine. Fuck you.”

He gets as far as yanking the door open and slamming it against the wall before he realizes that there is a person in the way, and she doesn’t look inclined to move.

“Here you go, kiddo,” she says, handing him a bag. “I bought you some clean clothes and a toothbrush. A-Ning will show you where the bathroom is. Come back down for breakfast when you’ve changed.”

This is somehow more terrifying than when she was yelling at him. Yelling he understands. Now she’s just being...creepy. He stares at her belligerently, and she sighs.

“Listen, you little shit,” she says, bending over to look him dead in the eye. She doesn’t have to bend very far, he realizes. She’s actually tiny, even though she seems as big as the Fremont troll. “You will either go willingly with A-Ning, who is very nice, or you can test my patience and get buried in the yard with all the rest of the naughty children who break into my house. Your choice.”

Yeah, that’s more solid ground.

“Fine.” He grabs the bag from her and waves at the Goth Guy. “Lead the way, A-Ning .” He means it to be an insult, but Goth Guy just grins.

Xue Yang hears Wei Wuxian ask, “Wen Qing, what the fuck,” before Goth Guy herds him up the wide staircase, and he doesn’t hear any more of her answer than, “A-Xian, I can’t let him leave. You don’t understand, I did a location…”

This close to the Goth Guy, Xue Yang decides to acknowledge that the pale translucence of his skin is probably not makeup.

“I’m Wen Ning, by the way. I doubt Mr. Wei or jiejie introduced me,” Goth Guy—Wen Ning—says in a casual tone.

“So are you actually dead or what?” he asks Wen Ning, and Wen Ning grins.

“Or what,” he answers enigmatically, and gently shoves Xue Yang in a bathroom with pink tiles and a claw-foot tub.

Once he’s bathed and changed, Xue Yang heads back downstairs. Breakfast is bacon, eggs, and toast, and he doesn’t even pretend it isn’t the best food he’s eaten in a week. It is, in fact, the first food he hasn’t stolen in a week, and that alone is a novelty.

He’s halfway done with his food when Wei Wuxian, who hasn’t touched a bit of his and looks as sullen as an orange, says, “I have been informed that there is some arcane rule about teaching a gift you discover, and my...how did you put it, dear Wen Qing? My immortal soul and earthly being will be in danger if I don’t capitulate to the inevitable?”

He glares at Wen Qing, and she smiles sweetly at him.

“Whatever,” Xue Yang says around a mouthful of eggs. “Are you going to eat that?”

Wei Wuxian passes him the plate of food, and Xue Yang closes his eyes in bliss. Food is amazing.

“There are conditions—don’t look at me like that, Wen-jie. I agreed, okay? I get to set conditions. First of all, you do whatever I tell you. If I tell you to sell turnips on the street corner, you better sell some goddamn turnips. Second, you don’t touch anything unless I say it’s okay. A lot of this stuff,” he waves his hand around the white and yellow room, which looks surprisingly cheerful for a kitchen in a black house, “is priceless and dangerous, so…”

Wen Qing clears her throat and glares at Wei Wuxian.

“Uh...don’t touch anything.” Wei Wuxian finishes, snaking a piece of bacon from Xue Yang’s plate and shoving it into his mouth before disappearing back into his workroom.

Wen Qing rolls her eyes. “I promise he’ll actually teach you stuff once he pulls his head—” She visibly checks herself. “Once he stops being an idiot. More bacon?”

The rest is on AO3