#anyway that's when I finally learned to Outline The Damn Book

[muffinlance]

My mom just started reading Fox’s Tongue and Kirin’s Bone after I raved to her about it lol.

She’s four pages in and she wants to know if the way people sometimes use the phrase “met death” had anything to do with sparking the idea for this story? (As in, “he met his death walking down king street” or “she met her death in November”)

That is EXACTLY where the initial premise came from. I overthought the phrase one day, and here we are. <3

[transmogrified-in-the-void]

Affinity for Chaos, Chapter One: Magic

Welcome to Mogira, a magical land full of a large variety of different races, classes, and ways of life. But when long dead secrets start to reawaken, and the truth about Magic becomes more and more complicated, only Alarad is willing to see how far the rabbit hole goes.

“Before recorded time, this world was unmolded, unmade; a blank canvas yet to be used.” Agentium Kakadi says while drawing out a rough map of Mogira. “The Kuna Mora, Gods among Gods, looked at this and decided to mercifully paint upon it. They gave us a Body to move,” she draws the outline of a Human, “a Mind to think,” a circle is added to the head of the Human, “and a Spirit to feel.” And finally adds lines connecting throughout the outline.

She turns around with the chalk wielded like a wand as she moves it throughout the sea of students. “But I’m sure you all know this by now. You’re not here to learn myths and histories that have been repeated and recorded since you were born. You’re here to learn about Magic. What is myth? What is history? By the time you finish this class, you’ll be able to tell the difference.”

Kakadi pulls out a soft blue piece of chalk from her pocket, and turns to the board. She waves it over the drawings she made, and a light film of water appears to wash them off. The class behind her gasps as she pockets the blue chalk again.

“What is Magic?” She says as she writes it on the board in her normal white chalk. She spins around again, and looks at the students with slivered eyes. “Tell me, who knows the answer.”

A clawed, purple hand raises through the expanse of heads. Kakadi points to it. “You, stand up and say your name.”

The owner of the hand stands up, showing a dark purple Tiefling with ribbed horns that curl back behind their ears, and into the thick black hair behind it. Their dark black eyes reflect the sphere of light floating in the room and betray no pupils. “I’m Shadi Nightshade, Professor.” Their voice, though trembling, echoes through the room.

“Good to make your acquaintance Shadi.” Kakadi tilts her head to the Tiefling. “What is Magic?”

Shadi takes a stabilizing breath. “Magic is what makes Affinities and Ley Lines. It’s the concentrated lifeblood of Mogira.” They sit down the moment the last syllable leaves their tongue.

Kakadi nods along, and looks at the rest of her students. “Very good. It’s, for the most part, correct, except for one minor issue. Magic made Affinities. Because, other than the few Ley Lines that exist, Magic is dead. It died with the Kuna Mora.”

Another hand raises, this one thick with muscle and fat, and dark green skin. Kakadi points to it. “Yes, stand up and state your name and question.”

An Orc stands up this time, with large canines pointing out of her lips and a stocky body. Her dark hair is ornately braided with a streak of green. “I’m Rutta Bagdomna. What about Silencers? Or Chaos Bringers? They clearly aren’t using Affinities.”

She sits back down, and the class starts to mutter amongst themselves. Kakadi contemplates, and taps at her beak. “I do not believe Silencers are using true Magic.” She starts, and the class quiets to listen. “Magic is not consuming in the way Silencers are. And no Chaos Bringer has lived beyond their fledgeling years to be sure of if they have Magic or not.”

She looks at the class again, and perks up. “But if one did, I’d love to find out.”

-

Alarad Moridi-Engador wishes she had just died. A life debt her ass, Agentium Kakadi just wanted free labor. She looks at the closet still very full of books. Not completely full, the last three hours had carved out a small place where she can stand, but full enough that she can’t see the back of the hell-space.

Maybe Ali should’ve let the Fire Bolt hit her the first time. Or maybe she shouldn’t have walked into that damn store in the first place, Elvish books or not. She didn’t get what she wanted anyways, just what could be a lifetime of subservience to the world's most annoying Macawsi.

And one other thing! Agentium (no way in Shepsa Ali’s calling her Kakadi) might be able to fool the average Central dweller into believing her Water chalk lie, but not Ali. Those feathers of hers are blindingly light, and no one who is trying to refine Water can hold any Light spell for as long as she can. The chalk is like any other Bard weapon, imbued with Affinity and able to be used with just a little knowledge. 

Not that Ali’s going to let the bird know that she knows. If she’s lucky, Agentium will have her work the rest of the semester and release her. If she’s really lucky, Agentium will take her to the Forests. But who knows, Bards are the worst, and any Fae that leaves the Forests don’t want to go back.

“Alarad! Have you finished yet?” Agentium yells from her office, and Ali swallows the urge to yell profanities back at her.

“Not yet!” She yells back, and glares at the evil book closet. She silently stomps over and climbs the ladder to get another handful of books. “Have you finished yet? I’ll finish you, I swear to Mora.” She mutters, grabbing three heavy books and sliding down the ladder.

Ali marches over to the second bookcase and shoves the books on one of the shelves right as Agentium walks out of her office. “What are you doing?!” She screeches and glides over to the one completely filled bookshelf. “These are so unorganized! Why didn’t you organize them?!” She turns to Ali with such force that a few feathers float down to the ground.

“How did you want them organized? By subject matter, alphabetically by author, alphabetically by title, the Yewed number system?” Ali lists out with her fingers, and Agentium raises a hand to stop her. 

“Stop, I get it. Separate by subject matter, and then organize alphabetically by author, thank you.” Her yellow eyes make contact with Ali’s gray ones. “I set up a place for you to sleep in the back of my office. I came out to tell you I’m leaving for the day. Make sure everything is cleaned up before you go to bed.”

With that, Agentium swoops out of the classroom, leaving Ali to reorganize an entire bookshelf and a half by herself.

Ali turns to the monstrously sized bookshelf with a loud groan. “I hate it here.” She says to the books, and the ball of light disappears, bathing the room in darkness. There’s a beat of silence, and then she screams.

-

It has to be early morning by the time Ali shuffles to the office. Luckily there were a few candles burning in there when the light went out, but that meant Ali had to finish her work by candlelight rather than by starlight. 

As angry and tired and frustrated as she was, it was an order from her debtor, and free room and board wasn’t something she could just turn down. So she grabbed the ladder and started to pile the books off the shelves into meticulously organized groups. There were six bookshelves in total, two on each wall except for the one with the chalkboard. So six general categories, that’s step one.

The more and more books Ali took from the full shelf, the more she realized what an unusually lucky situation she found herself in. Books on the history of Mogira and various Kuna Mora myths were plentiful, which made sense for a History of Mogira and Magic professor. There were also a couple books on the history of weapon development, weapon crafting and use, Affinity imbuement, Affinity refinement, various languages, the such.

But what really made Ali reconsider how she felt about sorting through the book closet were the books on development for the Origin Affinities, and the books on Fae. The very things she had been seeking out when the damned life debt was made. 

It had to be late by the time everything was taken down and sorted, so instead of worrying about sorting through every single author, she just put the piles on one of the book shelves to be alphabetized another day. Except for one: Light: What is it?, a book that she recognized from one of her previous jaunts to a bookstore. Want to gain an Affinity? Look no further! The table sign had read, and that very book was stacked between Learning Fire and The Everlasting Earth.

So now she shuffles into the office, the sky outside starting to lighten in preparation for the Sun’s grand arrival. There’s a mattress shoved in the corner next to a tall cabinet with a few sheets neatly pulled overtop. There’s a clean pillow, and a heavy blanket folded neatly on the end. Ali can’t help the exhausted smile that falls on her face. Agentium may be rude and bossy and annoying, but at least she knew what a bed was supposed to be. Which is better than some other people Ali knows.

She moves herself and the pillow to the wall, and gently maneuvers the book into the crack between the mattress and the cabinet. Then she shakes the blanket out, curls up under it, and falls asleep.

-

The door slamming open startles Ali awake, and her fingers race over the edge of the mattress and brush over the dust cover. She pushes herself up as Agentium struts into the office. She stands in front of the mattress with her hands on her hips, and looks at Ali with a gleam in her eyes. 

“You get to have a free education!” Agentium says, and Ali knows she’d be smiling if she had lips. “You’ll be sitting in for my lectures! Can’t have you rummaging around my office, ey?”

Ali holds back a groan. That sounds so boring, sitting through however many lectures of the same information over and over and over again. “Can I just sort through your books instead?”

“Nope! That’s too disruptive!” She chirps. “But if you’re that desperate, you can choose one or two to read, if I approve of them.”

Ali perks up at that. That’s something, at least. She puts a second thing in the list of not shitty things Agentium has done: let her read (sometimes). “Are there things that you’ll say no to always? Asking so I don’t bring up a thousand books you’ll say no to.” In her head, she starts pleading to let her read anything about Origin Affinities.

Agentium strokes her beak as she thinks. “Hmm. Nothing about the Fae Forests, not until I get to that section of my lectures, and no Affinity books.”

Ali curses the Mora. Every single time it seems luck is on her side, something proves her wrong. “Languages are okay?”

Agentium nods. “As long as it is a language book, any one of those is fine.”

Ali nods, refusing to look at her hidden secret just to the right of her. Learning languages in the day was infinitely better than sitting in the same boring class five times over. Add the fact that it’s any language? If she finds a way out of this debt, knowing at least a rudimentary amount of all major languages could get her out of Central. 

“Now get ready, my class should start showing up in the next ten minutes.” With that, she moves to her desk and starts to shuffle and grab various papers. Ali stretches, stands up, and walks out to the main classroom to search the bookcases.

She walks up to the one that she’s pretty sure all the language books got shoved into last night, and scans the various titles. Most of them seem to be advanced, if the unintelligible scribbles where the titles should be are anything to go by. Ironically, the book on Elvish that she got blasted at for wanting isn’t here, but there’s a book on Fae languages. She grabs that one, as well as one on Giantish, and sits in the far corner seat by the window. 

It’s golden red outside as the Sun starts to rise, and the few trees that are visible sway slightly in what must be a light breeze. Ali’s only been trapped in this classroom two days and she misses the warmth of sunshine, the smell of grass, the way soft dirt would give to her feet as she ran. Which is funny, because the last time she truly got to experience those things was back when she was wide-eyed and tiny, before the reality of her existence forced her to grow up.

She shakes the thought from her head. No need to bring back things long since passed. She flips open Fae Tongues, and starts on the introductory page.

“I would like to start by stating that Fae as they were are no longer alive. The Great Dying cut off the lifeforce of all Fae, and so anything that lives in the Fae Forests are instead much more Humanoid, so that they do not wither like their ancestors did.” Ali slowly mutters out loud, finger tracing the words on the page. “The Macawsi are the only race that is more Fae than Humanoid, and this is only because the Rianhanon (see pg. 141) merged their Fae and bird halves, severely decreasing their necessity for Magic.”

Someone slumps into the seat next to Ali, and she jumps and looks at a tall, purple Tiefling stretching their arms out. They turn to look at Ali, and grin, showing the slight point to their two sets of canines.

“Did I startle you?” They ask, and hold out a hand. “Sorry about that. I’m Shadi.”

Ali carefully puts her hand in theirs, and gives a singular shake. “Alarad, but everyone calls me Ali.”

Shadi hums, and turns to take some paper and a few books out of their bag. “Nice to meet you, Ali. New to this class?”

Ali just nods, and goes back to her book. The sky is lighter now, and she’s only finished the first paragraph. Shadi leans over Ali to see what she’s reading, and she notices how quickly their eyes move down the entire page. 

“Interested in Fae?” Shadi’s voice is curious, but the way they raise one eyebrow betrays their judgment. Their eyes flick to the point on Ali’s ears, and she has the strong urge to slam her fist in their face.

“What’s it to you?” Tieflings were Fae, right? Ali can’t remember; it’s been too long since she read about the Fae races. The only one she remembers are the Macawsi and Elves, because the few she knew in the past wouldn’t shut up about it.

Shadi shrugs, and turns back to face the front. They look at the students starting to filter in with boredom. “I’ve just never met an Elf who wants to learn about anything other than their own race.”

A cold shock runs through every Spirit line in Ali’s body. “I’m not an Elf.” She says, but her voice is weakened. Could she be an Elf? She had thought that she’d crossed that possibility out years ago, but maybe-

“Could have fooled me.” Shadi grumbles, and they flip open a notebook to an empty page. That’s when a large presence steps behind them, and they sit up straight with a visible shiver.

“You’re in my seat, Nightshade.” The largest Orc Ali’s ever seen (which was one other, a rather beautiful Orc woman who was making a dress for her betrothal ceremony) growls at Shadi, who moves all of their belongings one seat over without a moment of hesitation. The orc then drops herself in the newly emptied seat, and turns to Ali. “Who’re you?”

Ali’s mouth is dry. “I- uh, Ali. Actually it’s Alarad, but you- people call me Ali.” She stammers out. And then she curses herself for saying things that stupidly.

“Rutta.” She smiles, and the few teeth that peek out from behind her lips are pushed out slightly. “Don’t worry about Shad, they’re the judgiest piece of shit I’ve ever met.”

There’s a betrayed ‘hey!’ from Shadi, and Ali lets out a breath. “Oh, okay.” She says dumbly.

Rutta chuckles. “So you’re really not an Elf?”

At that, Shadi leans forwards so that they can look at Ali.

“Uh, no, I don’t think so.” The weakness is back in her voice, and she wants to beat it into not being like that. “I’ve met plenty of Elves, and they haven’t said anything like that to me.”

Rutta glances back at Shadi, whose eyes are scrunched in confusion. “What?” They say louder than they probably intended, if the dark blush that rises to their face says anything about it. 

“Do you have any amount of Light Affinity?” Rutta asks, and Ali shakes her head. She’s not going to admit she has a Light Origin book, or that the reason she has it is so that she can see what she’s doing when Agentium leaves for the day. Because then she’ll have to tell them that she’s not in this class, just that she has a life debt. 

Both Rutta and Shadi hum, and glance back at each other. They then look at Ali with a pointed focus. “Do you know anything about Fae?”

Ali shakes her head again, and feels her face heat up slightly in embarrassment. She knows how apparent her Fae ancestry is in her features, and she hates that the only thing she knows is that her father is Fae of some descent, but she has no clue what he was.

She shoves the thoughts of her father down. He disappeared before she could know anything. She doesn’t need answers from or because of him.

“Well, Shadi and I are only two of the couple of Foresters who came here, so if you want to learn more, we can help out.”

Ali almost says yes, but the tug on her Spirit center reminds her of her place. “Sorry, I can’t right now. Rain check?”

Rutta and Shadi nod, and Shadi opens their mouth to say something when Agentium slams open the door to her office and struts out. The sun peeking through the windows light up her feathers, making her have a God-like glow. 

“Welcome back to class!” She chirps. “As you have learned, Magic was a very powerful, much more concentrated and abundant version of the Affinities we all know now. So today we’re going to go over the day it died, also called The Great Dying by scholars who study Affinities and the history of Mogira such as myself.”

Ali, who had been preparing to ignore the entire lecture that the Light Macawsi was going to give, sat forwards at the mention of The Great Dying. Maybe she’ll talk about the Fae’s reaction to it, and all the different races in the Forests.

Ali listens to Agentium ramble on and on about the Kuna Mora and their sudden death and disappearance. Which is so boring she almost falls asleep. She knows this already! Anyone who’s ever met a Kuna Mara would know this!

So she makes the first decision against the pull of her Spirit center, and raises her hand. Agentium’s golden eyes glare at her, but she calls upon Ali anyways. 

“What about the Kuna Mara, professor?” She puts as much emphasis on ‘professor’ as possible, and tilts her head innocently. “I mean, they are the only constructed race in existence, and every single one of them will state that they were made in the form of the Mora by the Mora. How did The Great Dying not kill them, especially since so many Fae, who aren’t connected to the Mora, died in the wake of it?”

Rutta stares wide-eyed at Ali, and Shadi whispers something in her ear.

Agentium, on the other hand, has rolled her shoulders back. “The Kuna Mara are a myth.” She says, and Ali stands up so fast her chair falls over.

“They are not a myth!” She yells. “I’ve met them!”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes!”

Agentium tilts her head and clicks her beak. “There are no records of a Kuna Mara living anywhere in Mogira. Any that you think you’ve met must have been delusional.”

Ali grits her teeth and glares at Agentium. “That’s because they’re not recorded as people. Did you not hear me? I said they’re the only constructed race ever, and every single one of them has been working for decades under a fucking life debt.”

There’s a sharp pain in her Spirit center, and Ali collapses with a scream. “Oh no, I don’t think you’re feeling well.” Agentium coos with sympathy. “Rutta, could you carry her outside so she can rest?”

Ali feels herself being hoisted to her feet by an arm, and she shuffles out of the room. She lets herself be gently let down against a wall. Everything burns, it hurts, she wants to cry.

“Are you okay?” Shadi’s voice slides through the fog filling Ali’s mind. “What’s going on?”

Ali stifles a cry as another painful shock runs through her entire body, and she curls into herself. It hurts, it hurts so badly. She wants to rip her Spirit lines out just to stop it all.

Something touches her arm, and recedes quickly with a matching yell of shock. She struggles to open her eyes, and can faintly see Rutta cradling her hand as Shadi stares at something above Ali’s eyes. Her eyes are forced closed again, and she carefully sits back up

Slowly, the heat starts to trickle up her legs, her arms, curling around her throat and dissipates on her head. The tension leaves with it, making her slump against the warm stone behind her. She takes a deep breath, and opens her eyes again to see Rutta and Shadi muttering to each other quickly.

Ali, using the wall, gets to her feet. She wobbles at first, regaining the sensation in her feet, but stabilizes quickly. She turns to Rutta and Shadi, who are still absorbed in their conversation.

She starts for the classroom, but a cold, clawed hand grabs her elbow and tugs her back. “What the Shepsa are you doing?” She starts to protest, but Shadi puts their other hand over her mouth.

“Shhhh, Kakadi will come out if you yell.” They hiss. “What the fuck happened in there?”

“Nothing, it’s fine.” Ali pushes their hands away. “Don’t worry about it.”

Rutta barks out a single laugh. “Yeah, we’re past that Ali.” She holds out the hand that has been held up to her chest, revealing inflamed and peeling skin. “You burned my hand with your skin. If you don’t have a Light Affinity, you for sure have a Fire one. A strong one at that.”

Ali shakes her head and glares at the pair. “That’s impossible, since I don’t have a single Affinity. I’ve met plenty of people who have them, sure, but I don’t have any. Plus, Fire is a Mind Affinity, and this was all Spirit.” She flinches as there’s a small shock. Lucky her, that’s not revealing the fact that it’s a life debt.

Shadi starts choking on their spit as Rutta gapes at Ali. “That’s- that’s impossible.” Rutta runs a hand over her braids. “Shad, you saw it, right?”

Shadi nods vigorously while they try to clear their throat. “Ali.” They cough. “Ali, your hair was on fire.”

The world stills around the three of them as the stability that Ali had found on her feet starts to crumble. “No, no, that was definitely Spirit pains. There’s no way- that’s- no.” Tremors start to make themselves known in her arms and legs as she stares at the ground with unseeing eyes. “What does that even mean? Spirit Fire is impossible, I can’t, I have no Affinities.”

A cautious hand slowly presses on her shoulder, and she looks up at Shadi. Their normally black eyes start to have a light glow of dark purple around them as their face takes a look of deadly seriousness. “Ali, I don’t know what’s going on with you, or if those are normal, but you need to get to either the Forests or the Tunnels before it gets worse.”

Ali starts to brush off their hand again, but it tightens, and the glow gets brighter. “No, listen to me. Rutta grew up with foster parents, she never got to experience the Forests and Orc tribes until she was much older. But I was born there, under a New Moon and stormy skies. If you have an uncontrolled or unknown Affinity that’s starting to draw on other Aspects to be used, and you’re not even aware of it, those are the only places that will keep you and everyone around you safe. Do you understand me? You are in danger, and those around you are in danger. You need to go.”

Ali grips Shadi’s wrist, and wrenches their hand away. She takes a single step towards them, making them step back. “Thanks for the advice, but I think I’ll be fine.” She snarls. “You don’t know me, and I don’t know you. I’ve done just fine my whole life, and I’ll continue being just fine without your quote unquote advice.”

She steps back, and takes a quick glance at both Shadi and Rutta. “Take her to a Healer or something, I’m going to get back to sitting by the window.” She waves dismissively at Rutta, and walks away with tall shoulders, and an uneasy feeling lining her gut.

Things, it seems, are going to get complicated.

[perperam]

Do you have any Harlivy fic recommendations? Preferably something that is already completed?

OH I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE

okay okay so quick little tangent fact !! I actually just finished my undergrad degree in "english literature analysis & writing" and reading fics is so fun bc I get to analyze them and break them down and if it's particularly well written the stars align and it's just UGH so good. 

ratings are: E (explicit) M (mature) T (teens and up) and G (everyone) anyways here is a HUGE list of my favorite fics to date, their stats/details/plots, reasonings as to why they're on the list to begin with, and a short analysis:

SHORT STORIES (less than 30k words)

for your convenience they’re in order of length bc I’m focusing on this super hard rn

KISS YOUR BEST FRIEND CHALLENGE (T)  STATS — 340 words, shenanigans, fluff PLOT — Harley, TikTok and general Social Media queen, decides to do the trending challenge to kiss your best friend. The best friend? Her roommate and the woman she’s been crushing on for fucking ever: Poison Ivy.

AM I TOO CLOSE? (CAUSE YOU FOLD INTO ME LIKE A HEART WITH A BEAT) (G) STATS — 839 words, fluff, shenanigans PLOT — Harley genuinely wasn’t looking for trouble, but it’s hard to just have a day out when you’re one of Gotham’s most wanted. Running into Ivy, she takes drastic measures (and her hoodie into the mix) to distract the police from looking in their direction.

I’M HOME (G) STATS — 892 words, domestic fluff PLOT — After a long and rough day at work, Ivy comes home to Harley. Relaying the details of her day, she basks in the comfort of her girlfriend, who provides gentle questions and is a phenomenal listener. General cuteness.

CONFLICT DIAMONDS (G) STATS — 990 words, wedding shenanigans, banter, humor PLOT — Batman and Renee Montoya respond to a break-in at a jewelry store, except even though the owner is duct-taped to the wall, it isn’t really a break-in; Harley’s just trying to shop for a ring for Ivy, and that’s difficult to do when the owner is screaming in the corner. Batman and Renee both pitch in to help pick something nice for Harley’s girl, resulting in hilarious banter.

OF COURSE (T) STATS — 1.1k words, hurt/comfort (kinda), harley quinn animated tv show centric PLOT — In the aftermath of Ivy’s death, rebirth, and the fall of Joker Tower, Harley collapses onto the ground. Since she never mentioned that her parents are the reason for most of her injuries, Ivy isn’t sure why she’s so out of it.

PERFECT MORNINGS (T) STATS — 1.1k words, domestic fluff/bliss PLOT — Ivy, who usually wakes up early and before Harley, takes a moment to look at the countless muscles, ridges, scars, and tattoos on Harley’s body as she sleeps. General cuteness.

I’D LOVE TO CHECK YOU OUT (T) STATS — 1.7k words, university au, fluff PLOT — Harley visits the library virtually every day, and it’s definitely not because she needs to work on her university courses and homework. She finally works up the courage to speak to the alluring redhead she sees there every day while absentmindedly looking at a book on sharks. 

I’LL LOVE YOU IN THE MORNING (NOON, NIGHT) (T) STATS — 2.1k words, angst, hurt/comfort PLOT — A snapshot look into Ivy and how she comes to know, care, and love all the sides of Harley—from psychiatrist to criminal to girlfriend. She loves her throughout it all. 

DAY-DREAMING (T) STATS — 2.2k words, shenanigans, psychiatrist Harleen PLOT — Ivy’s falling for her psychiatrist—her humorous, intelligent, caring, and downright gorgeous psychiatrist. It’s difficult, to say the least.

WHAT HAPPENS IN THEMYSCIRA (DOESN’T) STAY IN THEMYSCIRA (T) STATS — 2.3k words, humor, wedding shenanigans, angst with a happy ending PLOT — In a surprise twist of events, Harley and Ivy were drunkenly married at Themyscira. When asked at the wedding if anybody had objections to the union of Ivy and Chuck, Wonder Woman and the Queen of Themyscira herself come to object. Ivy, for lack of a better word, wants to die a little.

NOT A ROCKER CHICK (T) STATS — 3.1k words, rock band au, fluff PLOT — The last thing Ivy wants to do is go to a rock band concert with her best friend, Selina. Despite her best efforts, she can’t help but completely fall into the rhythm of the band and their music, so different than her own norm. And okay, maybe the singer (who Selina was friends with and called “Harley”) was also kinda hot...

A TENDER HEART AMONG THE GREEN (T) STATS — 3.2k words, gotham city sirens raise Lucy au, domestic bliss PLOT — Harley and Selina come back home to the apartment to find Ivy passed out asleep with Lucy cuddling into the crook of her neck and Selina’s cats cuddling her legs. Knowing that Ivy would rather be caught dead than in such a compromising situation (after all, she is the Poison Ivy, who “hates humans”) the two take a photo, since it lasts longer. Shenanigans and cuteness ensue.

BUILDING YOUR GIRL’S SECOND STORY (M) STATS — 3.3k words, university/grad school au, angst with a happy ending PLOT — Snapshots of Harley’s battle with her violent and abusive boyfriend, Jack, and the way in which Bruce, his boyfriend Clark, and her best friend (and potentially lover) Pamela all love Harley and will do anything, anything, to make sure she gets the help, care, and love she needs.

A DIFFERENT KIND OF NORMAL (T) STATS — 3.6k words, coronavirus pandemic/quarantine au, family au PLOT — Ivy is requested by the Justice League to help create and manufacture a vaccine for the COVID-19 virus. As she works on the vaccine, she video calls Harley and their daughter Lucy, both of whom miss her very much. 

RABBIT IN THE GARDEN (T) STATS — 4.4k words, implied suicide attempt, hard angst PLOT — Winters are difficult to Ivy. When Harley comes home one day to see her submerged fully in water in the bathtub, the only thing Harley can do is cry and take her out. Ultimately Ivy is alright—but it doesn’t make it any easier.

WE WILL BE (EVERYTHING THAT WE’D EVER NEED) (T) STATS — 5.8k words, high school au, angst, hurt/comfort PLOT — Harley and Ivy are best friends from high school, living in the middle of Arizona. Ivy is absolutely head over heels for Harley, but the latter is in a growing and increasingly abusive relationship with the older “bad-boy” (literally) Jack. Eventually, the two grow together in more ways than one.  

WHERE THE RED FERN GROWS (EXCEPT NO DOGS DIE) (M) STATS — 9.7k words, domestic bliss, no powers just botanist & psychiatrist au PLOT — After her abusive ex-boyfriend tries to maniacally tear down the front door of her apartment with an ax as her best friend, Selina, pushes the table against the splintering wood, Bruce recommends that Harley gets a dog. She gets two German Shepard brothers—Bud and Lou—who lead her one day on their walk to the most beautiful flower shop owner Harley’s ever seen. The story of Harley and Ivy, told with Bud and Lou present to witness every moment.

THE MOMENT I AWAKEN GHOSTS (T) STATS — 11.7k words, falling in love, feelings & realizations PLOT — A deep look into Ivy’s feelings and how they evolve from general hatred against Harleen the psychiatrist at Arkham to a blooming, kind and gentle love towards Harley Quinn, the crown jester of crime. 

HARLEQUIN’S ISLE (T) STATS — 17.5k words, hurt/comfort, happy ending, shenanigans, humor PLOT — Harley and Ivy decide to go on a vacation on Bruce Wayne’s new eco-friendly plane, but in a surprise twist of events, things go terribly wrong, Ivy falls out of the plane, and the two (as well as all the other rich and wealthy big-name CEOS on the plane) get stranded on an island with someone actively trying to rob the investors. Harley and Ivy will fight them, god damn it, because they deserve this vacation and they will have it.

LONGER STORIES (30k words to 100k words)

YOUR LOVE (DÉJÀ VU) (G) STATS — 33k words, slow burn, mild angst, canon divergence PLOT — A what-if-Harley-found-Ivy-first fic, YOUR LOVE wonderfully illustrates Dr. Harleen Quinzel treating Ivy in a wonderfully humane and kind way, including learning floriography, the language of flowers, in order to better relate to her. Ivy is taken aback by her doctor's genuine care and begins to develop feelings, all the while Harleen falls hard and fast which wholly confuses and frightens her. The one caveat is that while this is happening, Harleen is also treating the Joker as well, who tries (keyword: tries) to manipulate her. Ivy and Harley dance a timid tango around one another as they try to navigate this new playing field of romantic feelings for one another, and things come to a breaking point when Harleen realizes that, perhaps, all of her patients have a point and that the real villains are not the ones inside the asylum, but rather the ones running it. FAVORITE DETAILS — I just love the way this is written. It provides a wonderful and almost skinny-love like romance (except this takes place in an insane asylum) as Harleen and Ivy both try to understand their strong feelings for one another. The way in which the rogues and other inmates/patients all look out for one another was very heartwarming, and Waylon and Eddie's thinly veiled camaraderie with Ivy—and her thinly veiled appreciation for it—were both lovely and created a really warm environment. It really underlined why Harley loved them because you love them too in the process, and see how she reaches her breaking point.  CHARACTER DEPICTIONS — Harley, as she is in all of my favorite fics, is depicted as an incredibly intelligent and talented psychiatrist. Her caring nature is wonderfully outlined in this fic as she helps Waylon, Eddie, Ivy, and everybody else in the asylum be treated with genuine respect and care, going as far as to get them personalized gifts. Her psyche fracturing slowly never once makes her seem unintelligent to the reader, even as she actively places a ditz persona in order to fool the rest of the asylum staff (and the Joker). Ivy, on the other hand, is illustrated in a way that perfectly shows how all she genuinely needed was someone to listen. She's sometimes harsh and crass but you can see how she begins to soften as Harley helps her and treats her with: you guessed it, genuine respect. FINAL VERDICT — I would get this tattooed on my ass if I could

NOVEL LENGTH WORKS (100k+ words)

ACROSS THE WAY (M) STATS — 128.7k words, slow-burn, tattoo artist & flower shop owner au  PLOT — Botanist and flower shop owner Pamela Isley moves to Gotham from Seattle in search of a new life. Her shop is located directly next to a tattoo shop—one that is incredibly loud and bothersome. Upon walking in to give the shop a piece of her mind, she meets one of the resident artsits, Harley Quinzel, and cannot get her out of her mind. The two become best friends, and feelings slowly start to develop. On a night when Harley is most vulnerable and in need of a place to escape, Pam offers her apartment as a refuge, and from that point on things are never the same again (in the best way possible).  FAVORITE DETAILS — The SIT sessions were a wonderful touch and I loved seeing the recovery of both Ivy and Harley, because it was so real. I also loved how once Harley got out, she did everything in her power to protect both herself and Ivy from Jack, and we got to see her and Ivy grow into their wonderful, healthy romance. CHARACTER DEPICTIONS — I love how all of the characters are illustrated; Selina, who is the caring best friend and genuinely does her best to help others around her all the while being her cocky, usual self. Pam, who escaped Seattle and started anew in Gotham and is the crass botanist and also the insanely kind and caring lover. Barbara is the adorable coffee shop owner, Floyd is the caring figure for Harley that she never had, and everyone is just wonderful.  FINAL VERDICT — literally go read this rn, what are you even doing

MAD LOVE: THE BEGINNING & MAD LOVE: THE FINAL CHAPTER (M) STATS — nearly 400k words total, angst, canon divergence, domestic fluff, slice of life PLOT — imagine YOUR LOVE except this is much longer, much more heart-wrenching, a whole lot more angsty, and Harleen's break with Harley is a lot more prevalent. Another what-if scenario of Dr. Harleen Quinzel meeting and treating the illusive Poison Ivy instead of the Joker, MAD LOVE shows an interesting depiction of the way they manipulate, hurt, care, and love one another. The entire story is riddled with well placed metaphors, recurring themes, and both Ivy and Harley's characters are illustrated in the most complex and interesting way. All throughout both the initial and the sequel, Ivy and Harleen play a metaphorical chess game in manipulation as a means to gain the upper-hand on the other, which creates a dangerous foundation for their following love story. In the sequel, "The Final Chapter," the story starts with Harley and Ivy—already married near the end of "A New Beginning"—having two kids and the entire piece spans over Harley's lifetime until she's on her deathbed, with Ivy still stuck at 33 years old beside her. I personally stopped reading the story after Harley died (I was too emotionally vulnerable to continue on) but if you continue reading on, you get to see Ivy move on and appreciate Harley's impact on her life as she finds love and happiness again after the loss of her wife. FAVORITE DETAILS — We get insight into both Ivy and Harleen's trauma, and how not everything can be fixed with love. Neither Harleen nor Ivy (or their actions for that matter) are characterized as perfect in any way, and the story never excuses any of their more-than-questionable actions; in fact they make MANY mistakes and manipulate one another throughout the story, and both have power over the other (Harleen is her psychiatrist, but Ivy could easily kill her, so emotional power over someone with immense physical power). CHARACTER DEPICTIONS — Harleen is depicted as an incredibly intelligent and capable psychiatrist, and the story somehow wonderfully mixes Harley's desire for violent chaos with Harleen's desire to help others. v Ivy is illustrated as the epitome of "I hate you and will not be nice unless you're literally either my wife or kids." She is seldom kind to others, is often crass, but an entire softy when it comes to Harleen and their children. She's a hard worker and is heavily involved in her research. Harleen, on the other hand, is equally cunning but more lighthearted, extremely athletic and active, the "fun" mom, and less into power trips (unless it's about Ivy). FINAL VERDICT — definitely the most interesting fics I've ever read in my entire fucking life, it's so complex and wonderful and a literal minefield of analysis worthy literature, I'd also get this tattooed on my ass if I could

[littlemissnoname13]

I have always known- Part 2 (Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Reader)

Summary: What happens when you find Draco Lucius Malfoy standing on a ledge at the Astronomy tower, ready to pitch himself off

Pairing: (Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!reader) HBP era

Warnings: Mentions of suicidal tendencies, self harm, angst, smut

Words: 1500+

A/n: Thank you to everyone who read part one from the bottom of my heart. It means so much to me! <3

If you haven’t already, you can read part one over here.

Draco let the revelations sink their way into his brain as he carefully and meticulously recalled that fateful day at the ledge once more.

He recalled how he’d sat alone, hugging his knees at the tower later that night after you’d convinced him to get down from the ledge.

His shirt sleeve—pushed up as he stared at the nasty looking snake and skull etched into his forearm all the while fighting a strong urge to gnaw at the flesh till the mark came off.

And just when he thought he’d cave into his urges, something fluttering,speckled in black and orange caught Draco’s eyes.

The paleness of the moonbeam made the Monarch butterfly seem almost iridescent and he held his breath watching it land gently on the palm of his hands.

“I should have known.” Draco finally shouted pacing back and forth in the room of requirement as he ran his fingers through his disheveled hair. “Of course it was you—How could I have not realised! I mean who else would even want to turn into a butterfly at will?!”

“What is that supposed to mean?” You asked as you walked towards him—completely ignoring the fact that your shirt was still lying somewhere on the floor.

“The fucking butterfly tattoo, the whole the-world-is-full-of-goodness-and-sunshine attitude.” He scoffed. “Coincidence? I think not.”

“Draco—” you attempted to reach for his hand but he instantly pulled it away.

“Only you would be stupid enough to stick around a bloody death eater despite knowing.”

“Please just calm down—” You began reaching for him once again and he winced at your touch like it pained him as you gently grabbed onto his wrist.

“No.” He shook his head as he cut you off hastily. “Listen to me y/n, and listen to me carefully —You need to stay the fuck away from me.”

“Malfoy please. Just hear me out. I’m sorry for sneaking up on you that night. I shouldn’t have.”

You took a few mindful steps towards him.

He looked absolutely furious at first glance with his bloodshot eyes, heavy breathing and slightly flared nostrils. But when you observed him more carefully, you saw the helpless and vulnerable boy from the ledge again. Tucked away somewhere in the depths of this tired and sunken eyes.

Branded at such a young age.

Forced to give up his youth and any shard of innocence he had left inside of him.

While his friends may have been playing quidditch, getting into trouble and stressing out about their homework, here he was stressing out about the god damned cabinet like his life depended on it.

You felt a sharp stab at your heart when you remembered.

His life did depend on it.

“Please y/n. Just go away.” He pleaded with this voice cracking as you slowly wrapped your arms around his stiff torso and placed your head on this chest. “Don't make it harder than it already is.”

Draco was right.

This was wrong on so many levels.

You knew better than to melt into the arms of a death eater.

But you were already too fucking deep in.

You knew exactly what you were in for when you gave him a smile at potions class. You knew how grave the situation really was every time you walked towards the Slytherin common room with your book bag full of food you’d snuck out from the kitchens.

You knew full well that the task given to him was no child’s play.

Even though he’d barely said anything during your nights at the tower, you’d gotten to know him by the way his eyes widened when you kept blabbering about the most mundane details of your day.

You’d learned him and the way his brows furrowed in frustration while he spent hours on end trying to fix the vanishing cabinet. He was completely unaware of the fact that you constantly looked up from your book to steal quick a glance at him.

“Okay. I’ll go away.” You whispered pressing yourself impossibly close to him.

“Good.” He mumbled even though his slender arms found their way around your waist. He rested his chin to the top of your head and the smell of your smell of your shampoo comforted him.

Contradictory words and actions. Nobody did it better than Draco and Y/n.

You held onto the collar of his shirt and pulled him towards you until your lips were pressed against his. As your lips moved against his, you noticed that he had let his arms fall from your waist.

But before the waves of disappointment could hit you, Draco’s right hand made its way towards the base of your neck while he raked his left hand through your hair.

It would be an absolute understatement to say that he kissed you feverishly.

He may have told you to go away and you may have agreed but the way your lips moved together told a different story altogether. The way he lightly bit your bottom lip before hungrily exploring your mouth with his tongue gave everything away.

Draco Lucius Malfoy was a goner.

The passion and aggression in your kisses had you both tugging at each other's clothes- gasping for air.

It wasn't long before you found yourself pressed up against the wall again while your bra quickly got discarded.

“Stunning.” He breathed trying to commit every bit of your exposed skin to his memory.

He wasted little to no time covering the exposed bits of your skin with open-mouthed kisses. The already existing marks on your neck only darkened with each kiss as you let your fingers comb through this hair—gripping. Encouraging him to kiss you harder.

And when he placed his lips over your taut nipple, he had to remind himself to be gentle with you even though It was impossibly hard for him.

That wasn’t the only thing that was impossibly hard.

Especially when you whimpered and moaned his name over and over again.

You gently pushed his shirt back indicating that you wanted it off and while he hesitated for a brief second, the shirt was quickly discarded next to your bra on the floor.

He suckled and caressed your breasts and you dug your nails on his biceps arching your back, desperate for more.

His fingers skillfully touched you in places that made you blush as you kept moaning deliriously.

Over and over again.

Soon enough, you were lying on our back on the floor as he hovered on top of you, propped up against his elbows and you were seconds away from begging him to take you then and there.

“We don't have to do this if you don't want to y/n.” He said softly. His darkened grey eyes went back to their normal color and you could see the sincerity in his eyes while he asked you.

“I want you. Please. I just want you.” You pleaded bucking your hips as you caressed his face in reassurance.

“Fuck” he hissed as he slipped inside of you and you struggled to keep your eyes from rolling to the back of your head when he started to move. Slow and steady at first before he took you harder and faster.

You felt like the last days of summer in Draco’s arms as he took you.

The kind of day he desperately wanted to hold onto before an impending Autumn.

There was a cacophony of sounds in the room of requirement.

The sounds of skin against skin.

Your pants, and moans.

His grunts and curses.

Draco.

Only his name escaped your lips when you fell apart at his mercy. Waves upon waves of pure, unadulterated, leg spasming pleasure as you came.

Y/n.

And only our name rolled out of his tongue when he found his release inside of you. Glistening beads of sweat on his forehead and veins slightly visible on his neck.

When it was over, he conjured up a blanket and wrapped his arms around you, greedily scooping as much of you as he could into his embrace.

You felt his fingertips trace the outline of your butterfly tattoo before he placed his lips over it. Kissing it gently.

The gesture softened you just like you softened him but he wasn’t going to admit that. Not anytime soon anyway.

“Why butterfly y/n?” He whispered tracing shapes onto your bare skin. “Your tattoo, your animagus.”

“Have you ever heard of the butterfly effect Draco?” You asked, pushing his hair away from his eyes as he shook his head.

“They say that when a butterfly flaps its wings in one part of the world, it causes a storm elsewhere.”

He blinked his eyes at you in confusion and you gave him a small smile before placing a tiny kiss at the corner of his lips, continuing.

“Every small change counts Draco, a small change in the present can garner a completely different outcome in the future.”

He stared at you as you shook your head and mumbled “I just like to believe that our actions matter you know. I don’t know. I just—nevermind.”

You soon fell asleep in his sturdy, safe arms as he held onto you tightly staying up all night to savor the moment.

Little did you know, the butterfly effect stuck with him.

It stuck with him through the war and even after the war.

Just like you did.

The girl who kept him alive and kicking.

The girl with her butterfly tattoo.

~~~~~~

And that’s it. I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Tagging those who wanted a part 2: @imbadwithunsernames @dumbassswhore @larywitchlingacademic @lainphotography ❤️

[kmclaude]

Forgive me Father, I have no awful headcanons for you, only a general question on comic making. How do you do it, writing-wise/how do you decide what points go where, how do you plot it out (or do you have any resources on the writing aspect that you find useful?) Not to get too bogged down in details, but I attended a writer’s workshop and the author in residence suggested I transfer my wordy sci-fi WIP into graphic novel script, as it might work better. (I do draw, but I don’t know if I have it in me to draw a whole comic—characters in motion? Doing things? With backgrounds? How dare, why can’t everyone just stand around looking pretty)

I was interested but it quickly turned into a lot of internal screaming as I tried to figure out how to compress the hell out of it, since novels are free to do a lot more internal monologuing and such compared to a comic format (to say nothing of trying to write a script without seeing how the panels lay out—just for my own sake, I might have to do both concurrently.)

As an aside, to get a feel for graphic novels I was rereading 99RM and was reminded of how great it was—tightly plotted, intriguing, and anything to do with Ashmedai was just beautifully drawn. I need more Monsignor Tiefer and something something there are parallels between Jehan and Daniel in my head and I don’t know if they make sense but it works for me. (As an aside, I liked the emphasis on atonement being more than just the word sorry, but acknowledgment you did wrong and an attempt to remedy it—I don’t know why that spoke to me the way that it did.)

I thought Tumblr had a word count limit for asks but so far it has offered zero resistance, oh well. I don’t have much else to say but on the topic of 99RM, Adam getting under Monsignor’s skin is amazing, 10/10 (about the Pride picture earlier)

wow tumblr got rid of the markdown editor! or at least in asks which means the new editor probably has no markdown....god i hate this site! anyway...

Totally! So first, giant thank you for the compliments! Second, I have a few questions in turn for you before I dive into a sort of answer, since I can give some advice to your questions in general but it also sounds like you have a specific conundrum on your hands.

My questions to your specific situation are:

did the author give any reason for recommending a, in your words, "wordy" story be turned into a graphic novel?

is the story you're writing more, like you said, "internal monologuing"? action packed? where do the visuals come from?

do you WANT it to be a comic? furthermore, do you want it to be a comic you then must turn around and draw? or would you be interested in writing for comics as a comic writer to have your words turned into art?

With those questions in mind, let me jump into the questions you posed me!

Let me start with a confession...

I've said this before but let me say it again: Ninety-Nine Righteous Men was not originally a comic — it was a feature-length screenplay! And furthermore, it was written for a class so it got workshopped again and again to tighten the plot by a classroom of other nerds — so as kind as your compliments are, I'm giving credit where credit is due as that was not just a solo ship sailing on the sea. On top of that, it got adapted (by me) into a comic for my thesis, so my advisor also helped me make it translate or "read" well given I was director, actor, set designer, writer, editor, SFX guy, etc. all in one. And it was a huge help to have someone say "there is no way you can go blow by blow from script to comic: you need to make edits!" For instance, two scenes got compressed to simple dialogue overlaid on the splashpage of Ashmedai raping Caleb (with an insert panel of Adam and Daniel talking the next day.) What had been probably at least 5 pages became 1.

Additionally, I don't consider myself a strong plotter. That said, I found learning to write for film made the plotting process finally make some damn sense since the old plot diagram we all got taught in grammar school English never made sense as a reader and definitely made 0 sense as a writer — for me, for some reason, the breakdown of 25-50-25 (approx. 25 pages for act 1, 50 for act 2 split into 2 parts of 25 each, 25 pages for act 3) and the breaking down of the beats (the act turning points, the mid points, the low point) helped give me a structure that just "draw a mountain, rising action, climax is there, figure it out" never did. Maybe the plot diagram is visually too linear when stories have ebb and flow? I don't know. But it never clicked until screenwriting. So that's where I am coming from. YMMV.

I should also state that there's Official Ways To Write Comic Scripts to Be Drawn By An Artist (Especially If You Work For A Real Publisher As a Writer) and there's What Works For You/Your Team. I don't give a rat's ass about the former (and as an artist, I kind of hate panel by panel breakdowns like you see there) so I'm pretty much entirely writing on the latter here. I don't give a good god damn about official ways of doing anything: what works for you to get it done is what matters.

What Goes Where?

Like I said, 99RM was a screenplay so it follows, beat-wise, the 3-act screenplay structure (hell, it's probably more accurate to say it follows the act 1/act 2A/act 2B/act 3 structure.) So there was the story idea or concept that then got applied to those story beats associated with the structure, and from there came the Scene-by-scene Breakdown (or Expanded Scene Breakdown) which basically is an outline of beats broken down into individual scenes in short prose form so you get an overview of what happens, can see pacing, etc. In the resources at the end I put some links that give information on the whole story beat thing.

(As an aside: for all my short comics, I don't bother with all that, frankly. I usually have an image or a concept or a bit of writing — usually dialogue or monologue, sometimes a concrete scene — that I pick at and pick at in a little sketchbook, going back and forth between writing and thumbnail sketches of the page. Or I just go by the seat of my pants and bullshit my way through. Either or. Those in many ways are a bit more like poems, in my mind: they are images, they are snapshots, they are feelings that I'm capturing in a few panels. Think doing mental math rather than writing out geometric proofs, yanno?)

Personally, I tend to lean on dialogue as it comes easier for me (it's probably why I'm so drawn to screenwriting!) so for me, if I were to do another longform GN, I'd probably take my general "uhhhhhh I have an idea and some beats maybe so I guess this should happen this way?" outline and start breaking it down scene by scene (I tend to write down scenes or scene sketches in that "uhhhh?" outline anyway LOL) and then figure out basic dialogue and action beats — in short, I'd kind of do the work of writing a screenplay without necessarily going full screenplay format (though I did find the format gave me an idea of timing/pacing, as 1 page of formatted script is about equal to 1 minute of screentime, and gave me room to sketch thumbnails or make edits on the large margins!) If you're not a monologue/soliloque/dialogue/speech person and more an image and description person, you may lean more into visuals and scenes that cut to each other.

Either way this of course introduces the elephant in the panel: art! How do you choose what to draw?

The answer is, well, it depends! The freedom of comics is if you can imagine it, you can make it happen. You have the freedoms (and audio limitations) of a truly silent film with none of the physical limitations. Your words can move in real time with the images or they can be a narrative related to the scene or they could be nonsequitors entirely! The better question is how do you think? Do you need all the words and action written first before you break down the visuals? Do you need a panel by panel breakdown to be happy, or can you freewheel and translate from word and general outlines to thumbnails? What suits you? I really cannot answer this because I think when it comes to what goes where with regard to art, it's a bit of "how do you process visuals" and also a bit of "who's drawing this?" — effectively, who is the interpreter for the exact thing you are writing? Is it you or someone else? If it's you, would you benefit from a barebones script alongside thumbnailed paneling? Would you be served by a barebones script, then thumbnails, then a new script that includes panel and page breakdowns? What frees you up to do what you need to do to tell your story?

If I'm being honest, I don't necessarily worry about panels or what something will look like necessarily until I'm done writing. I may have an image that I clearly state needs to happen. I may even have a sequence of panels that I want to see and I do indeed sketch that out and make note of it in my script. But exactly how things will be laid out, paneled, situated? That could change up until I've sketched my final pencils in CSP (but I am writer and artist so admittedly I get that luxury.)

How do I compress from novel to comic?

Honest answer? You don't. Not really. You adapt from one to another. It's more a translation. Something that would take forever to write may take 1 page in a comic or may take a whole issue.

I'm going to pick on Victor Hugo. Victor Hugo spent a whole-ass book in Notre-Dame de Paris talking about a bird's eye view of Paris and other medieval architecture boring stuff, with I guess some foreshadowing with Montfaucon. Who cares. Not me. I like story. Anyway. When we translate that book to a movie any of the billion times someone's done that, we don't spend a billion years talking at length about medieval Paris. There's no great monologuing about the gibbet or whatever: you get to have some establishing shots, maybe a musical number, and then you move tf on. Because it's a movie, right? Your visuals are right there. We can see medieval Paris. We can see the cathedral. We can see the gibbet. We don't need a whole book: it's visually right there. Same with a comic: you may need many paragraphs to describe, say, a space station off of Sirius and one panel to show it.

On the flip side, you may take one line, maybe two, to say a character keyed in the special code to activate the holodeck; depending on the visual pacing, that could be a whole page of panels (are we trying to stretch time? slow it down? what are we emphasizing?) A character gives a sigh of relief — one line of text, yeah? That could be a frozen panel while a conversation continues on or that could be two (or more!) panels, similar to the direction [a beat] in screenwriting.

Sorry there's not a super easy answer there to the question of compression: it's a lot more of a tug, a push-pull, that depends on what you're conveying.

So Do I Have It In Me to Write & Draw a GN?

The only way you'll know is by doing. Scary, right? The thing is, you don't necessarily need to be an animation king or God's gift to background artists to draw a comic.

Hell, I hate backgrounds. I still remember sitting across from my friend who said "Claude you really need to draw an establishing exterior of the church at some point" and me being like "why do you hate me specifically" because drawing architecture? Again? I already drew the interior of the church altar ONCE, that should be enough, right? But I did draw an exterior of the church. Sorta. More like the top steeple. Enough to suggest what I needed to suggest to give the audience a better sense of place without me absolutely losing my gourd trying to render something out of my wheelhouse at the time.

And that's kinda the ticket, I think. Not everyone's a master draftsman. Not everyone has all the skills in every area. And regardless, from page one to page one hundred, your skills will improve. That's all part of it — and in the meantime, you should lean into your strengths and cheat where you can.

Do you need to lovingly render a background every single panel? Christ no! Does every little detail need to be drawn out? Sure if you want your hand to fall off. Cheat! Use Sketchup to build models! Use Blender to sculpt forms to paint over! Use CSP Assets for prebuilt models and brushes if you use CSP! Take photographs and manip them! Cheat! Do what you need to do to convey what you need to convey!

For instance, a tip/axiom/"rule" I've seen is one establishing shot per scene minimum and a corollary to that has been include a background once per page minimum as grounding (no we cannot all have eternal floating heads and characters in the void. Unless your comic is set in the void. In which case, you do you.) People ain't out here drawing hyper detailed backgrounds per each tiny panel. The people who DO do that are insane. Or stupid. Or both. Or have no deadline? Either way, someone's gonna have a repetitive stress injury... Save yourself the pain and the headache. Take shortcuts. Save your punches for the big K.O. moments.

Start small. Make an 8-page zine. Tell a beginning, a middle, an end in comic form. Bring a scene to life in a few pages. See what you're comfortable drawing and where you struggle. See where you can lean heavily into your comfort zones. Learn how to lean out of your comfort zone. Learn when it's worth it to do the latter.

Or start large. Technically my first finished comic (that wasn't "a dumb pencil thing I drew in elementary school" or "that 13 volume manga I outlined and only penciled, what, 7 pages of in sixth grade" or "random one page things I draw about my characters on throw up on the interwebz") was 99RM so what do I know. I'm just some guy on the internet.

(That's not self-deprecating, I literally am some guy on the internet talking about my path. A lot of this is gonna come down to you and what vibes with you.)

Resources on writing

Some of these are things that help me and some are things that I crowd-sourced from others. Some of these are going to be screenwriting based, some will be comic based.

Making Comics by Scott McCloud: I think everyone recommends this but I think it is a useful book if you're like "ahh!!! christ!! where do I start!!!???" It very much breaks down the elements of comics and the world they exist in and the principles involved, with the caveat that there are no rules! In fact, I need to re-read it.

Comic Book Design: I picked this up at B&N on a whim and in terms of just getting a bird's eye view of varied ways to tackle layout and paneling? It's such a great resource and reference! I personally recommend it as a way to really get a feel for what can be done.

the screenwriter's bible: this is a book that was used in my class. we also used another book that's escaping me but to be honest, I never read anything in school and that's why I'm so stupid. anyway, I'd say check it out if you want, especially if you start googling screenwriting stuff and it's like 20 billion pieces of advice that make 0 sense -- get the core advice from one place and then go from there.

Drawing Words & Writing Pictures: many people I know recommended this. I think I have it? It may be in storage. So frankly, I'd already read a bunch of books on comics before grabbing this that it kind of felt like a rehash. Which isn't shade on the authors — I personally was just a sort of "girl, I don't need comics 101!!!"

Invisible Ink: A Practical Guide to Building Stories that Resonate: this has been recommended so many times to me. I cannot personally speak on it but I can say I do trust those who rec'd it to me so I am passing it along

the story circle: this is pretty much the hero's journey. a useful way to think of journeys! a homie pretty much swears by it

a primer on beats: quick google search got me this that outlines storybeats

save the cat!: what the above refers to, this gives a more genre-specific breakdown. also wants to sell you on the software but you don't need that.

I hope this helps and please feel free to touch base with more info about your specific situation and hopefully I'll have more applicable answers.

[wistfulcynic]

from one minute to the next

A little something inspired by the prompts @winterbythesea posted here and here and here. This is not those prompts exactly (nor is it what I outlined on the discord, sorry guys) but I think it carries the same lighthearted dumbass energy as they do. 

Also, Killian Jones does not know what a ‘date’ is. Fight me, show. 

Summary: Emma’s not quite sure how it happened, but somehow she finds herself going from single and solitary in the city one minute to smoothly co-parenting with her ex, living with a pirate, and at home in a town full of storybook characters the next. 

Home. She never thought she’d have one of those. 

This is the story of how she got there. 

(also no! curse! renaissance! 3B divergence without Pan’s curse) 

<3k words  Rated T

AO3

-

from one minute to the next: 

Emma was never entirely certain how it happened. 

One minute she was telling Neal she didn’t want to get back together with him, that it was just too late for them now, and he was looking sad but in a resigned sort of way, as though he regretted the truth of her words while still recognising that they were true. 

“For what it’s worth,” he said. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t have listened to August. I shouldn’t have left you like that. If I hadn’t…” 

He didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t have to. They both knew how different things would have been if he hadn’t left her. And they both knew that it was far too late to undo what had been done. The only option left was to move on. 

“We found each other again, though,” she reminded him. “And we found Henry.” 

“You mean Henry found us.” 

“Yeah, that’s probably more accurate.” 

They shared a chuckle, and for the briefest moment the years fell away and she remembered why she’d fallen for him. And for the first time since she’d run him down in a New York alleyway, Emma looked at Neal and she felt hopeful.  

“Anyway,” she said, “Henry wants both of us in his life. He deserves that, and I think he needs it. And I think for it to work we need to try to be friends.” 

“No hard feelings, then?” Neal asked, hopefully. 

Emma hesitated. 

What did she feel for Neal? There was still affection, of course there was—the stubborn remnants of a passionate first love that she doubted would ever fully die. There was resentment too, a lot of it, and a lot of hurt. A fair bit of anger. So yeah, there were some hard feelings, but there also wasn’t much point in attempting to hash any of them out with Neal. Not when they needed to move forward.   

She produced a smile, slightly stiff at the edges but he didn’t seem to notice. 

“Sure. No hard feelings.” 

Neal’s face broke into a grin, the wide, happy kind that crinkled his eyes and once upon a time would have sent Emma’s heartbeat into overdrive. Now it just made her think of another crinkly grin, one far rarer and all too often tinged with sadness. 

“Neal,” she said. “I’ve got to go.” 

-

The next minute she was at the docks, breathing deeply and gathering her courage, looking up at the Jolly Roger and hoping Hook—Killian—would be there, in his cabin, maybe with his flask and one of the books that lined his shelves. More than once these past few weeks she’d caught him tucked up in a corner somewhere, reading, and Belle informed her that he actually had a library card. 

“He didn’t have the required ID,” she’d said with a little smirk. “But I think we all know who he is.” 

Emma was pretty sure she did know that, now, and the knowledge propelled her forward, onto the deck of the ship then down to his cabin where she knocked firmly on his door and shivered a bit when his voice called for her to enter. 

He looked up, surprise registering on his face followed swiftly by the delight he could never quite conceal when he saw her. 

“Swan,” he purred. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

Emma’s heart was pounding and her throat dry, and honestly it was ridiculous to be this nervous, it wasn’t like he was going to say no. 

“I’m, um. Heretoaskyouout,” she blurted. 

He frowned. “To what?” 

Emma drew a deep breath and tried again. “Ask you out.” 

“Out of where?” 

“What? No. What?” 

“Where do you want me to go out of? This is my ship.” 

Emma resisted the urge to smack herself on the forehead. Of course he didn’t know what ‘ask you out’ meant, he was like a thousand years old. “No, no, I mean out on a date,” she explained. Tried to explain anyway, though his confusion just grew more apparent. “Like, to dinner or something. You and me. Out.” 

“Ah. Ah.” 

She watched as he turned the unfamiliar phrase over in his head, watched his eyes brighten with interest at learning a new thing, then when he finally realised fully what it meant she watched a rosy pink flush creep across his cheekbones and up to the tips of his ears. 

He swallowed, and when he spoke again his voice was gruff. “Let me be certain I understand. You want us, as in you and me, to go someplace and eat dinner together. Just—just us?” 

She nodded. “Yeah.” 

“And in this realm that is called a date?” 

“Yeah.” 

“And am I to understand that there are… romantic connotations to these dates?”

‘Romantic connotations’, she thought, for fuck’s sake, and did her best to ignore the fluttery feeling she always got in her belly whenever he broke out the big words. Aloud she said “Yeah.” 

“I see.” He swallowed again. “And when do you propose we have this date?” 

“Um. Tonight?” 

Aaand there it was, that wide and crinkly grin that made the blood rush far too recklessly through her veins, this time with no sadness lurking behind his eyes. None at all. 

“Tonight it is, then,” he said. 

-

One minute Emma was alone and telling herself she was content to be so, the next she had parents and a son and an ex who was almost a friend, and she was dating. Dating Hook, which she told herself firmly was only weird if she thought too hard about it. She wasn’t actually dating Captain Hook, of course she wasn’t. That would be ridiculous. No, she was dating Killian Jones—who was surprisingly, endearingly, sweet and nervous about it at first, like he wasn’t entirely certain her interest was real and was doing his utmost to tread carefully.

Emma didn’t want him always on his best behaviour, though, and while Killian was wonderful she knew that both of them still needed at least a little bit of Hook. And so it was that after their third date, when Henry was with Neal and Emma had made it very clear to her parents that they were not to expect her home before morning, that she and Killian stumbled back to his ship tipsy on rum but drunk on each other, and she made certain he understood exactly how interested she was. 

It was very. She was very interested. 

And when they awoke the next morning and she groaned at the glaring sunlight and pressed her face into his neck, muttering that it was too damn early and she needed caffeine, he ran his fingers through her hair and informed her he had a coffeemaker in his galley. 

She pulled back and blinked at him. “You what?” 

He flushed slightly, though with a pleased grin. “I asked Granny and she showed me what I needed, and helped me buy it.”

“But why? You don’t drink coffee.” 

He shrugged. “It’s growing on me. And besides, I thought—well, I hoped—that you might want to spend some time aboard ship in the future and, well, I want you to feel comfortable here and to have the things you like.” 

She stared at him for a moment as his flush deepened, then surged forward and kissed him, wrapped herself tightly around him and kissed him and kissed him until they were both breathless and the coffee forgotten until much, much, much later. 

-

Another minute passed and they were marking six months together. Emma had rented a place of her own, nothing fancy but hers, and she and Killian were spending most of their nights there. Her bed was bigger than the bunk in his cabin, softer and with actual springs, and her parents, Granny, and Ruby had all chipped in to buy her an espresso machine. Small but serviceable, like her apartment. Granny taught both her and Killian how to use it—and honestly, Emma thought, you haven’t truly lived until you’ve seen a shirtless pirate with a hook for a hand whip up a latte on a Sunday morning—and she was, tentatively, happy. 

Very happy. 

She didn’t see too much of Neal. He spent time with Henry of course and with Belle, renovating the pawn shop and brightening it a bit, removing what traces they could of the Dark One’s influence. She also knew he was volunteering at the convent where the Lost Boys lived, helping them get accustomed to life in Storybrooke and make it their home. 

He might also, she suspected, have become somewhat more than friends with Tink. 

-

And then one night Emma and Killian had dinner at a new place by the docks, where they gorged on seafood and drank a bit too much wine and decided, for safety and for old times’ sake, to spend the night on the Jolly Roger rather than trying to get home. 

Home. She had a home now, and a man who as good as lived there with her. She should really get around to asking him to live there officially, she knew. She kept meaning to. She wanted to, she truly did. But as conversations go that one felt so weighty and so significant that she wanted to be sure to do it right and so in the end she’d done nothing at all—nothing except feel that little bit more guilty each time Killian asked her politely if it was all right for him to stay. 

Yes, she wanted to tell him. Stay forever. Soon she would. 

They stumbled onto the ship and to his cabin, foolish and messy in a way they hadn’t been for a while. Emma realised she had missed this a bit, the dark, almost feral look in Killian’s eyes when he was just this shade of drunk and she was naked in his bed on his ship. 

“You are… so beautiful, Emma,” he growled against her throat as his fingers tangled in her hair. “Have I told you how you steal my breath away?” 

“Not for at least an hour,” she teased. 

“Remiss of me.” 

“Mmm. However will you… ohhh… make it up to me?” 

He pulled back and looked down at her, his eyes glinting in the moonlight. “Oh, I have one or two ideas.” 

-

They woke late the next morning as was their habit on a Sunday, and Emma groaned as the light pierced her eyelids and straight through her throbbing head. 

“Killian.” She poked him in the ribs. 

“Mmphh,” he replied. 

“You still have your… thing. Right? Coffee thing? In the galley?” 

“Aye.” He rubbed his eyes and blinked. “I believe there’s aspirin in there as well.” 

Emma turned her poking finger into a caressing one, stroking him with the tip of it. “Killian,” she said again, in a wheedling tone. 

“It’s your turn to make the coffee and you know it, Swan,” he replied, in his pirate captain voice. 

She huffed. He raised an eyebrow. 

“Fine.” She flung the covers off and rolled out of bed, snatched his shirt from the floor and threw it on, buttoning it just enough to keep it from flapping when she walked. “I’m guessing you don’t have milk though.” 

“Certainly not any in a drinkable state. Though there should be some of that horrid creamer.” 

She perked up. “Cinnamon?” 

“What else?” 

In the galley Emma found the coffeemaker and an open packet of coffee that smelled surprisingly fresh given how long it had been since they’d last slept here. There was also the cinnamon creamer, unopened, and a big bottle of aspirin. One minute she was pulling everything off the shelves and turning to set them on the table, and the next the door was swinging open and a person walking through it, and Emma found herself colliding sharply with a bare chest. A familiar bare chest. A familiar bare chest that was not Killian’s. 

“Neal!” she shrieked, dropping everything in her arms. “What the fuck!” 

“Emma!” He looked equally stunned. “What the—what are you doing here?” 

“Here on my—on Hook’s ship, you mean?” My boyfriend’s ship, she wanted to say, but calling a 300-year-old pirate a boyfriend was something she still couldn’t do, however objectively true it may be. 

“The ship he said I could use whenever I needed it?” countered Neal. “Yeah, that one!” 

“He said you could use his ship?” 

“Uh huh, he did. When I, you know.” A shifty look crept onto his face. “Wanted privacy.” 

“Priva-oh!” Emma’s eyes widened as the penny dropped. Neal was still living in his father’s house. The house where Belle also lived. “Um. I see.” 

“Yeah.” Neal didn’t meet her eyes. “But why are you here, don’t you have your own place now?” he demanded. “I thought Hook lived with you.” 

“Not officially,” she muttered. “And we, um, had a bit to drink last night at that new seafood place and you know.” She shrugged. “The ship was closer.” 

“Huh. Well that explains those noises I heard last night.” 

Emma was just about to ask him what the fuck that was supposed to mean when the door opened again and a voice called “Why don’t I smell coff—oh! Um. Hi Emma.” 

Emma pressed her thumbs against her temples. “Hey, Tink.” 

The fairy was dressed identically to how Emma herself was, only the shirt she wore was Neal’s. An old Metallica tee because of course. 

“Well,” said Tink. “That explains those noises we heard.” 

Neal nodded. 

“What noises—” Emma began, then the door opened again. 

“Did you find everything, love—oh. Er.” Killian appeared in the room wearing only his jeans and without his hook. He scratched behind his ear. “Hello, friends and enemies.”

“Hook,” said Tink and Neal. 

“Killian,” said Emma. She crossed her arms over her chest. “You never told me you were letting Neal stay here.” 

“Ah. I did offer him use of the first mate’s quarters whenever he was seeking a bit of privacy, yes. If you remember, love, my quarters proved invaluable in that respect when you were still living with your parents.” 

Emma felt her cheeks grow hot. “Yeah,” she muttered. 

“I merely thought Neal and Tink could do with a bit of the same benefit. And you know the Jolly gets lonely if she’s left by herself for too long. Although,” Killian favoured Neal and Tink with a raised eyebrow and a smirk, “I did make that offer quite some time ago now. And I don’t believe I said anything about staying here.” 

“Yeah, well.” Neal’s face took on that belligerent look he got when he was feeling defensive. “I don’t want to move out of Papa’s place and leave Belle alone.” 

“Are you kidding me?” Emma demanded. 

Everyone stared at her. “What?” asked Neal. 

“Belle’s seeing Ruby.” 

“Ruby?” 

“Yeah. For like three months now. Ruby’s constantly moaning about how they can’t stay at her place because Granny’s got wolf hearing and they can’t go to Belle’s because it’s full of you. Trust me, Belle will be okay if you move out.” 

“Oh,” said Neal blankly. “Well. Fuck.” 

Emma looked around the room, at her current boyfriend and her ex-boyfriend and her ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend who was also her current boyfriend’s ex… something, all of them in varying states of dishevelment, hangover, and undress, and she started to laugh. 

“Yeah,” she said. “That about sums it up.” 

-

So Emma never did quite figure out how it happened, but somehow she ended up with a home of her own in a fairy tale town with fairy tale friends and a pirate boyfriend, where one minute she was drinking coffee in a ship’s galley with a group of people who knew each other far too intimately for anyone’s comfort and the next her ex and his girlfriend were her neighbours and her pirate was living at her place for good—at their place, now—and her son was bouncing happily between the two apartments save at least one night a week that he spent at Regina’s. She and Neal co-parented better than she could ever have hoped, and every morning she woke up to blue eyes warm with love and lattes made precisely how she liked them. 

And, well. Emma’s happiness wasn’t tentative anymore. 

-

She was happy. Really happy. Truly happy. So happy that when she came home one evening to find the kitchen smoke alarm shrieking and Henry teetering on a stool waving a towel at it as Killian and Neal grappled with some foamy, hissing, smoking substance on the countertop, she wasn’t even mad. 

“What the hell do you idiots think you’re doing?” she demanded. 

“Ems!” 

“Mom!” 

“Swan!” 

“It’s not what it looks like!” they cried in unison. 

Emma shook her head. “I’m going next door,” she said. “To have a beer with Tink. This,” she gestured vaguely at the room, “had better be dealt with by the time I get back.” 

As she turned and headed back out the door, the last thing she heard were three furious voices. 

“Now look what you’ve done!”  

“What I’ve done! It was your idea!” 

“And I still don’t have a science project!” 

Emma grinned, and shut the door firmly behind her.

---

@thisonesatellite @ohmightydevviepuu @mariakov81 @stahlop @kmomof4 @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @shireness-says @thesschesthair @courtorderedcake @everything-person @katie-dub 

[albertasunrise]

It's Yours - Chapter 8

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

Summary: You and Javier have been sleeping together for almost two years but after his name was leaked by the papers, he is sent home for investigation. You remain behind with Steve to catch Escobar but when he’s finally dead, you decide to go after the man you’ve fallen for. You don’t like what you find when you finally reunite with him.

Warnings: Fluff, Unprotected Sex 18+

Relationships: Javier Peña x Reader

~

The Murphy’s stay with you, helping you plan your simple wedding. Connie and you had managed to find a dress that you didn’t feel like a whale in and Javi and Steve had managed to get the church booked on short notice, much to Chucho’s delight. Neither of you is particularly religious but Chucho is and it meant a lot to him that you’d agreed to have a church wedding.

‘So you promise you’re not going to leave me at the alter.’ You tease as the four of you sit around the fire pit, you cuddled into Javi’s side with a blanket around your shoulders.

‘Ha, you’re funny.’ He grumbles, rolling his eyes at Steve when the man chokes on his beer ‘There’s one major difference between you and Lorraine.’ He states and you all look at him with a bemused expression ‘You’re actually pregnant.’

‘What?’ Connie exclaims as Steve spits his beer in surprise.

‘I’ve never told anyone this but the reason I left her at the altar was that I’d learned she wasn’t actually pregnant. She’d told me she was and I’d proposed thinking it was the right thing to do.’ He clarifies as he takes a swig of his beer ‘We had an argument the night before and she blurted out that she wasn’t. Ate me alive. I realised on the day that I couldn’t go through with it. Couldn’t marry someone who'd lied to me.’

‘Shit, Javi I had no idea.’ You say as you rub his arm affectionately.

‘Yeah well, neither does anyone else.’ He states ‘I never told anyone the truth. Let her look like the victim. She lied but she didn’t deserve to be ruined because of it.’

‘Ever the hero Peña.’ Chuckles Steve as he salutes his partner with the neck of his beer bottle.

‘Yeah well. Easier for me to be the bad guy.’ He shrugs as he places a kiss on the top of your head ‘Plus I didn’t deal with the situation right. I shouldn’t have just left her at the altar, should have broken it off face to face.’ He concedes, the four of you falling into a slightly awkward silence.

‘Well as lovely as this has been, I need to get to bed.’ You state, rubbing your bump ‘Plus these seem to be playing soccer or something.’

‘Oh my! Let me feel!.’ Squeals Connie as she leaps to your side, placing her hands on your belly ‘Oh wow.’ She looks at you with comically wide eyes ‘Wow they’re really going for it.’

‘Take after their father.’ You chuckle ‘He fucking fidgets too!’

‘Hey.’ He groans as he taps you on the arm ‘I do not.’

‘Well, you do.’ You giggle ‘But it's cute.’ You finish as you give him a wink.

‘Right well. See you two in the morning.’ Says Steve as he pulls Connie up and into his side, waving at you both before leading her up to the main house.

‘Time to get you to bed.’ Javi says as he scoops you into his arms.

‘Damn right.’ You chuckle ‘I’m in desperate need of sleep.’

‘Oh, you’re not going to sleep yet.’ He growls as he carries you inside, laying you down on the plush couch.

‘Javi, what are you doing?’ You giggle as you watch him strip himself out of his clothes.

‘I’m going to you cum with my fingers Hermosa.’ He starts, his eyes turning black with lust ‘Then I’m going to make love to you.’

You shiver at this, watching as he stalks towards you like a hunter stalking its prey. He makes quick work of your leggings and panties, leaving you in just your oversized t-shirt that's outlining your prominent bump. He kneels, on the couch, between your spread legs, smashing his lips against yours as his fingers tease your entrance and groans at how aroused you are, making it easy to slip two thick fingers into your, hot, wet, heat.

‘Fuck Javier.’ You moan, throwing your head back as your eyes flutter closed.

He curls his fingers perfectly, fingers brushing against that spot inside you that makes your toes curl. He’s relentless. You know exactly what he’s trying to achieve and you know he’s going to achieve it. His arm threads behind your back and pulls you closer, grounding him as he continues his maddening pace.

‘Javi-.’ You whine and he knows what you're trying to tell him,

He presses his thumb to your clit and that's all it takes, your release gushing over him, and you practically scream from how hard he’s made you cum.

‘Well done baby.’ He coos as he pulls you into a soft kiss,

‘Where do you want me.’ You pant against his lips, your own pupils were blown with want.

‘Stand up.’ He whispers against the shell of your ear and you oblige him, grinning as he stands and pulls you flush against his chest ‘Turn around and bend over.’

You shiver at his commanding tone, biting your lip as you do as he asks and grab hold of the arm of the couch for support.

‘So beautiful.’ He praises as he lines himself up with your entrance, moaning as he slides in with ease ‘Fuck.’ He groans, seating himself fully inside of you.

He starts a slow, languid pace that has you moaning loudly, your hips meeting his thrusts. You remain in this position for a while, the lounge filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and your combined moans of pleasure. He praises you as he fucks you, his hand cradling your bump as he edges you both towards your peaks, smiling as he feels one of the babies kick.

‘I don’t think they like it when I fuck you.’ He chuckles and he pulls you flush against him, the new angle making him hit that earth-shattering spot again and again.

‘Fuck baby.’ You whine as you let your head fall back against his shoulder.

His hand snakes around your front and cups your sex, his middle finger then rubbing circles around your clit. You reach behind you, grabbing a fist full of his hair as he brings you closer and closer to that release that you so desperately crave. With a few sharp thrusts you cum together, turning your head to kiss him sloppily as you swallow each other’s moans.

‘Better?’ You ask breathlessly, looking up at him with a blissed-out expression.

‘Much.’ He replies as he grins at you, spinning you around so he can pull you into a languid kiss ‘Let’s get you cleaned up and into bed.

‘Let's.’ You agree, feeling your exhaustion take hold.

~

‘Chucho this is delicious.’ Groans Steve as he shovels down his omelette enthusiastically, eyes closed in euphoria.

‘Well, there’s plenty more.’ The older man chuckles as he watches the blonde eat ‘Everything ready for the wedding?’ He asks, turning his attention to you and Javi.

‘More or less.’ You reply ‘Dresses are sorted, suits are sorted. Flowers are being delivered on the day.’

‘Si’s offered to cater the event for us too!’ Adds Javier excitedly and he’s closing the bar so we can hold the reception there, opening the garden up for us too.’

‘That man is too nice for his own good.’ Chuckles Chucho ‘But it is kind of him to do that.’

‘It is.’ You reply, a small smile crossing your lips as you look at Javier ‘He’s been incredibly kind. Considering everything.’

Silence washes over you all again as you finish your breakfast, Steve going up for seconds and thirds. The Murphy's then offer to do the dishes which after a strong protest on your's and Javier’s part, you concede and they get to work like a well-oiled machine before rejoining you at the table with fresh cups of coffee in hand.

‘There is something that I want to give you.’ Says Chucho suddenly as he places a small box at the centre of the table ‘Go ahead open it.’ He says as he points at it with his chin.

Javier does and his brows furrow in confusion. Inside lay a single key, nothing attached to give a clue as to what it may be for. It looks a little like his key but it also looks like the key for the guest house.

‘Pops. What is this?’

‘The key to this house.’

‘I have a key.’ Says Javi, still confused by what this meant.

‘I know pendejo.’ He grumbles, rolling his eyes at his son’s naivety ‘It's the meaning behind the key. I’m giving you this house.’

‘What? Chucho No.’ You protest.

‘The guest house was meant for me eventually anyway.’ He states, shrugging his shoulders ‘You’re going to need the extra rooms with the babies on the way and from the sounds of it you’re not going to be stopping at these two.’

You notice Javier’s cheeks flush and you giggle, remembering his drunken declaration at your engagement party that he was going to have ‘so many babies with you’ as he put it.

‘I want you two to have the house.’ He continues, giving you a warm smile ‘There’s plenty of room here and you can expand if needs be. With me living in the guest house you’ll have someone nearby to babysit. This is my gift to you. Please accept it.’

‘Pops.’ Javi chokes ‘I don't know what to say.’

‘How about thank you.’ The man jokes, smirking at his son.

‘Gracias.’ Javier says with a nod before pulling his father into a tight embrace ‘Muchas gracias pops.’

‘Yes. Thank you, Chucho.’ You concur ‘This is the best present anyone could ever give us.’

Javier clears his throat as he looks at you and then your swollen belly.

‘Okay… Second best.’ You correct yourself, rolling your eyes at him.

~

Your wedding was over in a flash and suddenly you were Mrs Peña. You’d spent your wedding night testing your new name on your tongue before Javier made love to you over and over, well into the early hours of the morning. As you lay there watching your new husband sleep you smile and think about all the things you’ve been through together. You’ve suffered so much but in the end, it was all worth it. Javier Peña was your husband.

‘You know it’s rude to stare.’ He grumbles, eyes remaining shut but a smile tugging at his lips.

‘Well, I can’t help it.’ You reply ‘My husband is just so fucking sexy.’ You finish, smiling sweetly at him.

‘Oh is he indeed?’ He probes, brown eyes peeking through the cracks in his eyelids ‘Why you up so early?’

‘Babies are kicking up a storm.’ You reply, eyes drifting down to your bump and you chuckle as you see the skin move with their ministrations ‘I guess I should get used to no sleep.’

Javi shifts himself so his head is laying just beneath your bump, placing soft kisses on the underside of it before smiling sweetly at you.

‘Now you two are keeping mummy awake.’ He mumbles against your skin ‘Why don't you both settle down so she can get a little more rest now. How does that sound hmm?’

Your eyes grow wide as you feel them still and you look at Javi and grin, smoothing your hand over your swell as you watch him crawl up the bed towards you.

‘Okay, how did you do that?’

‘Clearly, I’m already the favourite parent.’ He says, flashing you a cheeky grin.

‘Clearly.’ You reply, rolling your eyes at him before allowing them to drift shut, your exhaustion taking hold.

You wake a few hours later the smell of pancakes and your stomach rumbles. Getting up and out of bed you pull on one of your oversized shirts and make your way to the kitchen where Javi is serving up fluffy pancakes with an array of different toppings covering the table’

‘What’s all this?’

‘Breakfast for my pregnant wife.’ He states, smiling as you kiss him sweetly.

‘Oh.’ You reply as you grin at him ‘And what did I do to deserve this?’

‘Just being perfect.’ He replies, shrugging his shoulders ‘And saying I do. That was the main thing really.’

‘Well, it was hit and miss there for a moment.’ You say, winking at him ‘But in the end, I couldn’t say no.’

‘Well, I’m glad.’ He replies, pulling you into a passionate kiss ‘I was thinking we could go to that shop today that I told you about. Start picking out some things for the babies’ nursery.’

‘Oh yes!’ You exclaim excitedly ‘I think that sounds like a splendid idea.’

‘Connie and Steve are here until the weekend and he’s offered to help me paint the nursery before they leave. I thought we could do the room half and half. Like one-half pink and one half blue sort of thing. Doesn’t have to be those colours but you catch my drift.’

‘I like that idea.’ You reply as you stab a mouthful of pancake onto your fork ‘I trust you to pick out the perfect colours.’

‘Good.’ He beams back at you before serving up some food on his plate.

~

The baby shop was beautiful. You’d wanted to buy the whole shop but Javier had managed to talk you round. You purchased two, matching, white cots. A changing table and a vast array of stuffed toys that Javi was now in the process of stuffing into the bed of his truck whilst you watch him work with admiration. Connie had asked you not to go over boards as she wanted to arrange a baby shower for you, she'd even stole your address book to get the names and numbers of your closest friends. Friends you may have forgotten to tell about the babies... and the wedding.

‘Well, thank goodness they deliver the furniture.’ He states, wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand ‘Don’t think I could have got much more back there.’ He finishes as he secures the tarp over the top of the toys.

‘What can I say?’ You reply, shrugging your shoulders ‘These two wanted them.’

‘Oh they did, did they?’ He asks, quirking an eyebrow at you ‘Or was it your inner child that wanted them?’ He pushes as he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you close, kissing the tip of your nose affectionately.

‘It was the babies.’ You confirm ‘Definitely the babies.’

‘Liar.’ He says with a grin.

‘Javier?’

This new voice takes you both by surprise and you turn to see a blonde woman stood across from you, her expression a little hard to read.

‘Lorraine.’ He replies, nodding his head at her.

‘I heard you got married.’ She starts, eyes flitting to you ‘You must be the woman that finally managed to tie this man down.’

‘I guess so.’ You reply, turning so you can shake her hand.

‘Oh, I hadn’t realised that you were pregnant.’ She says as her eyes grow wide at the sight of your growing bump ‘When is it due?’

‘They.’ Corrects Javi ‘And in around 3 months.’

‘Well, congratulations.’ She says sweetly ‘Children are the best blessing of all.’ She finishes before starting to walk away 'I suppose I'll see you at Danny's wedding next week?' She says, turning her head to look at Javi.

'Yeah.' Javier replies plainly, watching as she then disappears from view.

‘So that was Lorraine.’ You state and Javier nods.

‘That was Lorraine.’

‘She’s not how I imagined her.’ You confess as you turn back to face him.

‘No?’ He asks as his head shoots back in surprise.

‘No.’ You reply, shaking your head ‘Not sure why but I never pictured her blonde.’

Javier chuckles at this before unlocking the truck and opening your door, holding your hand and helping you climb inside.

‘Come on Hermosa.’ He says and he climbs into the driver's seat ‘Let’s get you and your army of fuzzy friends home.’ He finishes as he smiles sweetly at you.

‘I told you it was the babies!’ You whine ‘If anyone's starting a teddy militia it's them!'’

‘Can never be too prepared I suppose.’ He says with a wink ‘Even if they can’t utilise their forces for another 3 months.’ He finishes and you poke your tongue out at him, grinning when he throws his head back and laughs.

~

Chapter 9

[writtenonreceipts]

I saw this prompt for feysand and i would love to see your take on it - I get stuck with a late class that doesn’t end until 9pm and I’m always anxious about walking across the campus to the dorms, so you offer to walk with me and one night, I find out that it’s in the exact opposite direction that you need to go in

I've really been enjoying your writing!!❤

AN: I took it and ran, and ran, and kept running.  Thank-you so, SO much for sending it my way!  This was a great prompt that had fun with.  I’m glad you’ve been liking my stuff, it means a lot! ~5.5kwords

TW: Brief talk about death, anxiety, depression, fear.

 Worth It

Seated at a canvas with paints or pencils in hand, Feyre was unstoppable.  She could create landscapes with ease or depict a simple still life and turn it into something far greater.  Art was where she lived.

Not in a basement classroom learning about Prythian history.  

There wasn’t anything wrong with history, especially when it was as rich and vibrant as Prythia.  But talking about wars, treaties, and assassinations could only be discussed for so long.

Of course, it didn’t help that Feyre was dyslexic, but she didn’t talk about that.

She glanced around the room, trying to see if anyone else was as bored as she was.  It was the first day of class and she was the only one not taking extensive notes.  Well, she and a guy at the front of the room.  All Feyre could see was the back of his head.  His hair was dark as midnight and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up as he sat at his desk.  He didn’t even have a textbook with him.

Feyre forced herself to pay attention as the Professor finally shut down the slide show presentation.

“Make sure you look of the syllabus,” Dr. Wesson addressed the class.  She was a small woman with rich brown hair and a plain green dress.  “It outlines the schedule of tests and essays.  None of the dates will be altered.  My TA will be at your disposal.” 

Dr. Wesson nodded to the guy with the black hair and gestured for him to stand up.

And just like that, the class was the most fascinating thing in the world. 

He was tall, taller than he’d originally appeared.  His warmly tanned skin made his violet blue eyes bright and eager.  A sly sort of smile traced his mouth as he observed the class.

“Call me Rhysand,” he said, “I’m working on my masters specifically in the historical aspect of how literature was shaped by wars in the land.  I’m always glad to help with your questions.  Just make sure you email me to set something up.”

The girls next to Feyre whispered to each other, exchanging significant looks.  Feyre exchanged a significant look with the amount of reading and writing that was required.

Hell.  It was going to be a long semester.

The class dismissed right at nine o’clock, much to Feyre’s relief.  While most of the students flocked to the front of the room to either gawk at the TA or further discuss issues with the Professor, Feyre left the class.  Already she could feel her dread pooling into anxiety.  Her heart rate quickened and the muscles in her left hand twitched.  

She just needed to get home and sit down with a canvas and paint.

As soon as she made it outside the Humanities Building however, the dread continued to tug at Feyre.  It was far too dark.  With far fewer lights than she’d expected for a college campus.  Or maybe it was because there was a thick layer of clouds sagging down and threatening rain.  

“Feyre!” 

Snapping to attention, Feyre clutched her bag to her chest and found the source of her name.

Her friend, and roommate, Alis waved at her from a path diverging deeper on to campus.  Her dark hair hung in waves down her back and the jacket she wore was flattering against her curves.

Feyre let out a long, releieved breath and plastered a smile on her face.  Quickly, she moved toward her friend.

“Hey,” Feyre greeted and accepted a hug from the smaller girl. “What are you doing here?”

“I know you had a late class,” Alis explained, “and I knew it was with Wesson.  I heard the woman is miserable.  So intense.  But--I mean--you’re going to do great.  Your always so creative with everything I’m sure she’ll love you.  Anyway, I was finishing up buying my books for the semester and thought I’d meet up with you.”

Feyre smiled as Alis spoke, grateful for the small distraction.  Even if it was slightly horrific in thinking about trying to get on a professor’s good-side.

“Thanks,” Feyre said, “I appreciate it.  It was a bit intimidating.”

“I think everyone just likes making freshman miserable,” Alis said.  Alis was technically a junior, but had changed her major four times and couldn’t decide on a minor.  She was not on track to graduate when she’d originally thought, but wasn’t at all concerned.  

Feyre wished she could be more like that than the raging mess she felt she was.

Behind them, leaving the Humanities Building, the TA appeared leading an entire gaggle of girls.

“Let’s go,” Feyre muttered. “I’m exhausted.”

#

By the third week of the semester Feyre came to better understand her relationship with exhaustion.  And it was not a good one.

She was fairly certain her body consisted of ninety percent caffeinated beverages and ten percent hot pockets.  She’d never been one for eating much.  Growing up had always been a struggle in keeping food in the fridge and a decent pair of shoes on her feet.  Feyre knew by now how her body functioned.

It wasn’t healthy, not in the slightest.  And there was a part of her that recognized that.  And another part that ignored it.

Two nights a week, Feyre found herself stuffed in the basement with little enjoyment.  Other than getting to stare and Rhysand when Dr. Wesson turned the class over to him for brief instruction.

And looking at him was enjoyment.  He was far different from any other guy Feyre had encountered.  His hair was kept neat and short sweeping easily back out of his face, a charming smile, and warm brown skin.  Not to mention the tattoos. 

Feyre had never really considered tattoos as being attractive.  Perhaps it was the artistic side of her that couldn’t get enough of them.  On him at least.  The way the black in swirled on his skin and swept up his arms.  It was a shame he never wore short sleeves or unbuttoned one extra cutton at his collar.

Hell.

Mentally shaking herself, Feyre forced herself to pay attention.

Rhysand was discussing scores from the test last week.  And, to put it mildly, was not impressed.  Oh, there was plenty of good to say.  Some of the students were engaged in the topics at hand.  Some of the students displayed an obvious grasp of complicated topics.  Others did not.

Feyre found herself sinking deeper into her seat by the end of class.

He hadn’t called her out by name, but truly--it felt like he had.

“That’s it for today, enjoy the weekend,” Rhysand called out at the tick of nine, “and remember essay proposals are due by the start of class on Tuesday.”

There was a quick rustle of the students getting up and gathering their things.  It was a glorious Thursday evening and Feyre had somehow managed to keep her Friday’s clear of classes.  At least something had gone right.

“Feyre?” She whipped around to meet those stark violet eyes. Hell. “I needed to talk to you about the questions you had on the proposal assignment.”

Feyre bristled.  And not just because some of the girls shot her angry looks for being singled out by the hot TA.  She hadn’t asked any questions.  She was just trying to skate by on this class and be done with her prerequisites so she could get into her Art Major.

She set her bag on the floor once more and went to the front of the class.  Already most of the students were leaving, far too eager to be done with school for the night.

As Rhysand answered a few last questions and dismissed the rest of the students, Feyre approached.  Already she knew what she was going to say.

“I don’t have any questions.” The words fell from her mouth with ease. “I already know what I’m writing on.”

Lie.  But a well-practiced one.

Rhysand’s mouth curled in a smile.  He hefted a small stack of papers in one hand and leafed through them.  Feyre froze realizing that they were the tests from last week.  He pulled one of the stapled bunches out before setting the rest down.

“Honestly, I was surprised while grading this,” he said, “I mean, you’re obviously smart.  I saw that you were awarded the Starfell Scholarship, not an easy accomplishment.  Not to mention your always engaged and taking notes.”

Feyre wished her skin wasn’t as pale as it was.  Her skin flushed under his scrutiny, but she tilted her chin up and met his gaze.

“And?” she asked. “I take my education seriously.”

Somewhat.  When she actually liked the work.

Rhysand handed her the test.  And she saw the grade.

D.

D.

D.

Hell.

Her stomach churned.  Roiled actually.  Maybe she was going to be sick.  That was just what she needed.

“So?” she asked instead. “It was the first test of the semester.”

“And yours in the only outlier,” he replied.

His eyes never left hers and Feyre felt more and more inclined to throw something at him.  Who was he to talk to her about her grade?  He was just the damned TA.

“Dr. Wesson doesn’t like picking up the slack of grading or talking to students about it all that much,” he continued, literally reading her mind. “I’m just concerned about you falling behind.”

Feyre stiffened and pursed her lips.

“I grew up learning Prythian history, I’m sure I’ll be fine,” she said stiffly.  

Another lie.  She knew enough that basic education taught and what she’d heard and listened to.  But reading about it?  Her mind couldn’t grasp it.  It had been hard enough getting decent SAT scores to get accepted in the University let alone writing that damned Starfell essay.

“Of course,” Rhysand said slowly.

And Feyre had the sense that he was assessing her.  Analytically, carefully.  In the was that one would size up an opponent or scrutinize a strange recipe.  He was trying to understand her.

Feyre handed him back the test.

“Thanks for the concern,” she said, “but I’ll be fine.”

Perhaps he was just being nice.  Perhaps he was merely trying to fulfill his duties as TA.  But she had seen the way he acted in the class.  At times rebuffing boys and girls alike.  Not to mention seeing him around campus tossing a football around with two other boys.  She’d also seen him get kicked out of the library for a parkour prank challenge.  

In all honesty, Feyre had no idea what to make of him.  And she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.

He didn’t seem to believe her.  Not with the crease forming between his brow nor the frown turning down one side of his mouth.  

Well, that was his problem.

“Have a good night,” Feyre said.  She spun on her heel before he could say anything and grabbed her bag and was out the door.  

Once she was outside, she could breathe again.  Strange.  She often found the darkness, the night, to be so suffocating.  It wasn’t long before Feyre realized something was off about the night.  And then she realized.  Alis was nowhere in sight.

Feyre dug her phone out of her pocket and found a missed text.

Sorry chica, caught up at study group.  Probs gonna spend the night at Nuala’s too.  See you tomorrow!

Of all the nights Alis could get serious with her girlfriend.

Feyre swallowed stiffly and stared out over the pavilion that stretched between the humanities building and out to the mathematics building.  A few pathways branched off to different parts of campus and then there was the main one that would take her to the dorms.  And of course, most of the streetlamps were barely flickering to life.

She’d never liked the dark.  Never liked what could hide in the shadows.  Nor what could sneak in silence.  Perhaps it was childish to still hold onto that fear.  She was almost nineteen years old after all. Nearly fifteen years later and here she was.

Feyre’s hands shook as she clutched her phone.  She could call Elain.  Nesta.  Even just to talk to as she walked.  Though Elain lost her phone even when it was in her hand.  And Nesta was at work.  

But it was fine.  Feyre knew it was fine.  Because all she needed to do was walk.  And shed been walking for long enough that putting one step in front of the other was natural.  Easy.  Simple.  Yet here she was.  Standing.

When Rhysand spoke, she didn’t even start.  

“Are you waiting for someone?” he asked.

Myself.  “No.”

Silence.

“It’s getting late.”

“I know.”

Silence.

How strange it was, to hear only the hum of crickets and breath of night.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Rhysand asked.  

Feyre glanced at him.  Even in the shadows she could see him clearly.  It was like he was made of night, of dark, of the mysteries that she could never lay her hand on.  She shook her head.  Focus, Feyre.

“Of course I am,” she insisted, a little too sharply. “Maybe I like having time to think.”

“At nine-thirty at night.  Outside the least exciting building on campus.”

“Oh, I don’t know.  I heard that last year a group of boys nearly got suspended for trying to host a snowball fight, indoors.” Feyre couldn’t help but grin when she saw how Rhysand flushed.

“Technically, I’m not the one who brought the snowballs inside the building,” he said defensively.

“Oh, no, you’re just the one who built an entire fort in front of the main entrance to the building,” Feyre said.

It had actually been pretty hilarious when she’d heard about it from Alis. It almost made her wish that she'd been around last year instead of taking a year off.

“Technically,” he said again, the word making Feyre’s brow arch, “it was my brother who instigated the fight. He couldn’t let his reign be challenged.”

Feyre snorted a laugh and looked out over the quiet campus. It almost didn't look so dark and cold as she'd thought it had.  But still, she felt her heart continue to hammer out unevenly in her chest.  She couldn't walk home alone. Even the thought of taking one step forward had her clench and unclench a fist over the strap of her bag.

Rhysand continued saying something, but Feyre was only half listening.  She was mostly focused on the thought of walking home.  She could cut through the Science building.  If it was still open.  Or she could full out sprint.

“Are you alright?” Rhysand asked.

Flushing, Feyre pushed her hair out of her eyes and nodded. “Fine, yeah.” She knew she had to ask him.  Knew that it was her only option despite how embarrassed she might feel. “Could you--this is stupid, so you can say no--could you walk with me to the dorms?”

Rhysand was quiet for a moment.  And in that moment Feyre was certain he was going to sneer at her.  Laugh.  Tell her to get over herself.  Just like the others before him.

"Where do you live?" Rhys and asked suddenly, cutting Feyre off before she had the ch

“The dorms on the west side,” she said.

“Alliance Dorms?” Rhysaid confirmed.  When Feyre nodded, he flashed her a small smile. “Absolutely.”

Relief pounded through Feyre.

“If you tell me what the deal was with that test.”

“You’re an ass.”  The words were out before Feyre could stop them.  Not the best thing to say to the TA of a class she was likely going to flunk.

Scowling, more to herself than him, Feyre started walking towards the dorms.  She was a strong confidant woman.  She did not need him to walk her home.

But Rhysand with those damned long legs kept stride with her easily.  And he was laughing.  Feyre was half tempted to knock an elbow in his side for laughing at her, but his next words caught her off guard.

“I like you Feyre,” he said, “you are rather interesting.”

She glanced up at him.  Was he serious?  She’d insulted him.  She’d barely exchanged ten words with him at this point.  And was scared of walking home alone.  Granted it was a valid fear for a young woman on a college campus these days.

“Insane is the better word for it,” she replied, mostly under her breath.  That’s what everyone back home said at least.  In the small town where nothing was supposed to go wrong.  But everything did.

“Interesting, curious, vibrant,” Rhysand listed off. “Far better words I think.”

Feyre had never been good with words.  Like now.  She couldn’t find the energy to respond to him.  There was a spark in his eye that almost challenged her, begged her to continue the banter, the little game.  

She remained silent.

She’d heard it was a far better mask for her to wear anyways.

#

The first paper she turned in for the History class was returned with far too many red marks.  Far too many question marks.  Far too many.  So Feyre merely folded the thing in half and stuffed it in her bag.

She could burn it later.

Dr. Wesson ended the lecture right at nine and dismissed the class.  Feyre had almost disillusioned herself into thinking she could avoid a conversation with the Professor.  With Rhysand.  But just as she was trying to maneuver around the giggling pack of girls that sat next to her, Dr. Wesson’s voice called out for her.

“Oh Miss Archeron, a word please?”

Feyre froze.  She could feign a phone call.  But then next class session the same thing would happen.  So, Feyre braced herself for what was to come and went to the front of the class.

As usual, Rhysand looked perfectly unruffled.  Despite the fact that Fall was quickly slipping into the winter months, he still wore a simple black button up tucked into slacks, the sleeves rolled up.

“Feyre,” Dr. Wesson said as she approached, she reached out a hand and gave Feyre a firm pat on the arm. “I know Rhysand spoke to you last week about your test.  I wanted to follow up, especially in seeing how this essay went.  Now, there is still plenty of time left in the semester, but I worry you aren’t grasping the things you should be.”

Blood pounded in Feyre’s ears.  She could hear her heart beat throb, feel it in her veins.  Her entire body flushed with embarrassment, stress, horror.  Everything bubbled to the surface even though she’d tried so hard to tamp it down.

She tried to open her mouth but found her teeth were grinding together so bad that her jaw hurt.

“I think,” Dr. Wesson continued, “that you would benefit from spending a bit of extra time with Rhysand.  Just to make sure you’re where you need to be in the class.”

Feyre found herself nodding and agreeing.  Her voice was relaxed, calm even.  But far too close to breaking.

After thanking the Doctor for her uncharacteristic kindness, Feyre stared and the poorly erased whiteboard over Rhysand’s shoulder for a long moment.  With a slow exhale she finally met his gaze.

Rhysand met her eyes with such intensity that Feyre nearly lost her breath all over again.  She shook it off and rolled her shoulders.

“Shall we get started tonight?” she asked. “Or I’m sure you have plans.”

“Nah, only kicking Cassian’s ass at Mario Cart,” Rhysand replied.  He flashed her an innocent sort of smile.  Feyre wasn’t sure if it was one out of kindness or mockery of some sort.

She pulled her phone from her pocket and stuck it out for him. “Just give me your number and I’ll let you know when’s a good time to study.”

Rhysand hesitated on a moment before accepting the phone and adding his details.  As soon as she got her phone back, Feyre changed his name from Rhys to Prick.  It seemed to fit better.

“It’s not a big deal you know,” Rhysand said.  

He followed Feyre out of the classroom.  His steps were confident against the carpet that had to be at least thirty years old.  Truly Rhysand was an enigma with his ease, grace, and elegance when pitted against the drab interior of the Humanities Building.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Feyre said.

Once outside, the cold night air nipped at her skin and even through her jacket she could feel goosebumps rise.  Just like the night last week, Feyre waited just outside the building doors.  She stared into the night; across the courtyard she could see a few pale lights from the Math Building.  None of the lampposts had been fixed which left most of the walkways in shadows.

Nothing about the night was out of place.  It was calm, still, and everything lingered on Feyre’s mind.  And just like last week, Rhysand waited beside her.

Overhead, Feyre could just make out the stars.  Only a thin veil of clouds hung over the sky allowing a small bit of freedom to pierce her heart.  But not enough.

“Could you walk with me again?” she asked quietly, unable to look at Rhysand.

“Only if you talk to me this time,” he said.  That cheeky grin returning.  And despite how much she hated it, it put Feyre at ease.

“Fine.” She stuffed her hands in her pockets and began walking. “What made you pick history?  There had to be something else.  You don’t seem the type for old stuffy books or maps.”

“And who do you peg me for, Feyre?” His voice was practically a purr.

“High and mighty sitting behind a desk,” she replied drily. “Running some company somewhere.  You certainly have the personality for it.”

He laughed unamused. “If my father had any say in the matter.  A degree in history only puts off the inevitable.”

“That’s a rather bleak look on things,” Feyre said.  It sounded like something she would say.

“Only if I didn’t enjoy what I was learning so much,” he said.  In the flickering light of the lamps, they walked beneath, Rhysand’s expression brightened. “Between the wars and legends surrounding what shaped the country...it’s always been curious to see what we became.  What we can become.”

His response seemed so honest, so genuine, that Feyre nearly stumbled.  She barely knew him, had barely spent any time with him, yet she was beginning to feel that she knew him.

“So you devote all your time and attention to it?” Feyre asked.

They passed by the last of the campus buildings.  A brisk wind scattered fallen leaves on the sidewalks and crunched under their steps as they walked.

“Don’t you have something you love?  Something that you feel has changed you and you’d never want to give it up?”

A box of paints.  Brushes that she’d had since she was ten.  A canvas only half finished.  She’d thought she could complete the image but it had been almost a year since she’d even looked at it.  But art…art had changed her.  Art had loved her just as she loved it.

“I guess you’re right,” she admitted.  Tilting her chin up, Feyre caught sight of a small patch of stars amid the inky black sky.  Dim but shining still. “There’s always something.”

If he heard the sadness in her voice, he said nothing.  Which was partially surprising, but Feyre would roll with it.

“The tutoring,” Rhysand began.

“No,” Feyre cut him off.  “Not right now.”

“So you’re just going to ignore your problems?”

“It’s not a problem.”

“Seems to be.”

Feyre stopped causing him him to move a few steps ahead of her.  When he turned back towards her, he waited.  

“I’ll admit to needing a little extra help to help my tests and essays, but I don’t see what else you’d need to know.”

“It’s alright to talk,” Rhysand paused, something else on the cusp of behind heard.  But he restrained, his voice trailing off softly.

Feyre ignored the comment.  Talking had never been her strong suit.  She was more of action.  Less idle, more work.  Ever since she was a child it had been that way.  She knew why, of course.  It was obvious when she thought about it.  So she never thought about it.

“What are you planning on studying?” Rhysand asked when she made no effort to continue on the topic of her test.

“Art,” she replied immediately. “I’m an artist.  But my sister wanted me to get more of an education that could support me.  So I’m just working on my prerequisites.”

“Art,” he repeated.  There was a lilt to his voice as if he really were actually interested in what she was saying. “Sketching?  Sculpture?”

“Paint and canvas,” Feyre said.  “Since I was little.  After my mom died, my sister bought me my first set of brushes and paint and everything I could need.  She was only nine.  I think she stole my dad’s credit card to do it.”

The reality of that had Feyre laughing softly, but Rhysand gave her look that was a mix of horror and confusion.

“It’s fine,” Feyre said quickly, “I’m fine.”

It was a lie of course.  If she really were fine, she wouldn't have asked him to walk her home.  She would better know how to control her fears, her anxiety.  She would be happy.

“My mother died ten years ago,” Rhysand told her, his voice quiet and contemplative. “She’d been sick for a while and we knew it was coming.  But for a ten-year-old boy, it was hard to understand.  My father certainly didn’t.  Still doesn’t.”

They reached Feyre’s dorms then, floodlights illuminated the front street and made it seem as though it were day.  Feyre turned toward him and found herself smiling, just barely.

“Thank-you,” she said sincerely.  “And I’m sorry you have to be a part of the dead mother’s club.”

“You too,” he said.

Feyre wondered if there was something else she should say.  Wondered if he would even want to hear it.  It was strange, that little flame of comradery that she felt towards him.  But it was gone in an instant as Alis came running out from the building.

“Feyre!  Get inside, it’s movie night!”

Shaking her head, Feyre offered Rhysand a small wave and headed into the dorms.

#

With three weeks until the next paper was due in that miserable class, Feyre spent her free time studying with Rhysand.  It wasn’t as miserable as she’d been expecting it to be.  Not when she realized he was far more laid back than she’d assumed.  And then she’d met his best friends who were essentially like his brothers.

It was far easier to study in the relaxed environment that Rhysand created.  And far easier to be herself around him.  Of course, it had taken Feyre a while to decide that maybe they could be friends.  

“Summarize what the chapter from last night’s reading discussed,” Rhysand said one night as they were studying.  It was well after ten o’clock but they’d been given permission to stay in the building.  

Feyre pursed her lips.  She’d done the reading of course.  As well as she’d been able.  Most of had been hard to understand.  No matter how she tried to focus or train her mind, her dyslexia always got in the way.

“Right,” Feyre said slowly. “It was about the last king of Hybern.”

“And?” Rhysand prodded.

“And he was a jerk,” Feyre added.  

Rhysand’s fixed her with a look.  Long and hard but still underlined with compassion.

“Feyre,” he said, just a bit more seriousness to his voice.

She sighed heavily and tugged at the sleeve of her shirt. “I read it.  I just didn’t understand it.”

Silence.

Feyre shot him a scowl but didn’t meet his eyes. “I’m dyslexic.  And History tends to be a bit harder for me to understand.”

Rhsand blinked.  Once.  But nothing else.  No laugh or scoff of scorn.  Instead, he smiled and pushed to text book toward her.

“Then read.”

“Read?”

“Aloud, preferably,” Rhysand said.  He shrugged. “You want to be ready for the paper and subsequent test?”

“Prick,” she muttered.  But she dragged the book towards her and began.

It became habit.  A rhythm they fell into for the next several weeks.  Rhysand helped Feyre study and prepare for the paper, the test.  He walked her home, remaining the perfect gentleman.  And Feyre, Feyre relished the time.

It was because he was genuine.  Honest.  There was something about him, deeper than the intensity he displayed on the outside.  And for the first time in a while, Feyre found herself laughing with him.  For the first time in a while, she was living for more than just expectations.

He was actually turning into her friend and it was strange thought indeed.

“Alright students,” Dr. Wesson announced towards the end of class on the last day before Thanksgiving break. “I have your midterm tests and papers graded.  So now you can either relax or stress even further.  Depending on the grade.”

A weak laugh bubbled around the room.  Feyre gripped the underside of her chair tightly.  She wasn’t ready for this.  Not in the slightest.

Dr. Wesson slowly made her way around the room delivering both test and paper.  Feyre, by some stroke of cosmic affair, didn’t get her paper until last and the entire room was empty aside from Dr. Wesson and Rhysand.  Why was it they always ended up here?

“Well done, Miss Archeron,” Dr. Wesson said.  She handed two packets of paper to Feyre and smiled. “I love to see improvement.”

Gaping, Feyre looked between the two grades.  Heart hammering, she looked over the scores, brilliant red B’s shined up at her.

“I don’t usually offer extra credit,” the doctor went on, “but an exhibit is coming to the University about the Prythian Wall and it’s destruction.  If you can come up with a project to demonstrate what it entails, I might be convinced to help you keep your grade up.”

Feyre could only nod as the professor bid them goodnight and left.

“Well done.”

Feyre looked up to see Rhysand beaming at her and she couldn’t help but grin.  She leapt out of her seat and flung her arms around him in an embrace.

“Thank-you!” she whispered.  It took her perhaps a moment too long to realize that a hung might not have been the best of plans.  She hurriedly pulled back. “Sorry.  That was uncalled far.  I’m just really excited.”

“As you should be,” Rhysand said.  His smile hadn’t dimmed but there was something in his eyes that Feyre couldn’t quite read. “It wasn’t an easy test.”

“And now we have a full week off for Thanksgiving,” she said.  It was the best news she could have been given after getting her grades back.

“If you want,” Rhysand said, “my brother’s and cousin and I are having a game night, with pizza.  If you want to come.”

A spark of excitement ignited in Feyre’s chest.  She didn’t know when she’d developed a stupid little crush on Rhysand, but it was slowly starting to simmer out of control.  She should have said no.  Or come up with an excuse of some kind.  Insead she found herself nodding.

“I’d like that,” she said.

They collected their things and left the building.  Feyre took a few steps down the path they usually took to get to her dorm when she paused.  She turned back to Rhysand and frowned.

“Where do you live?”

Rhysand looked a little sheepish.  “Oh, I live over in the Court Apartments.”

Feyre blinked. “That’s in the complete opposite direction from my place.”

“Yes.”

“You’ve been walking me home for practically a month.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Feyre asked, practically waving her hands in the air.  “It’s basically a two-mile walk from my place.”

Rhysand shrugged. “You asked for help and I wanted to give it.”

Feyre stared at him.  Her coat and scarf bunched around her neck, even though the night was perfectly clear.  It was clear enough that she could see the billions of stars overhead.  She could see them sparking in the black night.  And for one she wasn’t overcome with her usual anxiety.  Her usual fears.  Instead, all she would do was stare at Rhysand.

“Why would you do that?” she insisted.

Rhysand opened and closed his mouth a few times. “Because you were worth it.”

His simple words hung between them and Feyre had a hard time knowing what to say or how to react.  So she merely smiled and hooked her arm with his.

“Tell me about game night.  Am I going to wind up on some snipe hunt?”

“Oh no, you and I are going to gang up against Cassian and beat him at Mario Cart.”

Feyre laughed. “Sounds like a plan.”

And she realized that she wouldn’t mind if that’s how the rest of her nights played out.  Late hours of laughs and friends, being around people--one person--who made her feel better than she had in a long time.  

No, she wouldn’t mind it at all.

#

thanks so much for reading!

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[forthehpfanboys]

Calling It Even

Pair: Ron Weasley x Reader; he/him.

Summary: You just moved 'across the pond' from Ilvermorny to Hogwarts, but before you actually moved you'd made a friend! Well, two and you just so happen to bump into them at the Leaky Couldren!

Warnings: Swearing, Slightly Suggestive (Ron's raging hormones™).

Note: Hi! This is my first time writing and posting a fic in a few years, so I'm sorry for spelling errors or stupid mistakes! It'll get better as I rewarm my.. Writing.. Muscles? Anyway, Thank you for reading! Let me now if this is good and enjoy!

~DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE~

-

Moving from the US to Britain was just as stressful as you figured it would be, but going from Ilvermorny to Hogwarts felt like an actual asteroid was thrown into your world. You had to leave behind your friends, close relatives and of course your home, then you had a whole new school to deal with on top of that. Different houses, different teachers, different classes and the rules. Merlin's beard, were the rules different. You can distinctly remember bombarding your guardian with question after question. You were still surprised you got to carry your wand around with you outside of school! Of course the actual moving process had taken its toll on your guardians, and they knew what it was doing to you. You were tired, emotionally, physically- Godric, did you need a break before school started.

You would be starting your fifth year when summer ended, and that was in a few weeks or so. This should’ve given you the time to gather up the books, potion supplies and robes needed, maybe even find some friends your age, but you had other plans, apparently. You had spent the entire summer huddled over their desk waiting for an owl to return with a response letter and avoiding the cluttered shopping strip. You didn’t wanna tackle getting lost and missing a response from your favorite redheads. Now, your headmaster at Ilvermorny had recommended you create a quill-pal at Hogwarts so it felt less chaotic when you arrived, but you ended up finding two that were the pure embodiment of chaos.

So, technically, you did end up making friends with the program, just not what you expected. Each letter was seemingly cut in half, one with orange ink, one with purple. In said response, you learned the orange was usually Fred and purple was usually Georges. In said letters, you learned they are two years older than you, live in what they call a ‘Burrow’ and owning their own shop was definitely wrapped in their future. You spent a solid year getting to know the Infamously Famous,Charming and Totally Destructive personality of the Weasley Twins. Honestly, you seriously looked forward to seeing them in person, even if it was their last year. You three managed to get along like you’d known each other their entire lives. Best part is they promised to find you on the first day and show you around!

You remember Fred mentioning their roles on the Quidditch team and George saying something about pranks with fireworks and you knew. Oh, you knew the three of you would cause chaos and you were so excited. The red-headed duo also promised they’d introduce you to their friends and their extensive family. Fred had brought up having a younger brother your age and judging from the cluttered moving photo they sent you, he was awkward but in the best way. You managed to remember the names of the red-headed family members only because of the scribbled writing on said photo pointing out who was who. But for whatever reason, the youngest Weasley son always manages to be the first one you notice yourself staring at. He was genuinely really cute. Blue eyes, freckles, red hair, absolutely adorable- Ok. So you may have a crush on him without even knowing him but you can not blame yourself. The twins told you stories about the younger redhead and he only got cuter as time went on, but I’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t I?

Currently, you are walking down Diagon Alley. Not only did you need a break from unpacking, sorting and waiting for the Weasley's owl to return, but you also needed to restock on quills. Yup. Of all things, quills. (P/n) has this terrible chewing habit and adores the flavor of quills, or so you guess. You loved the rascal to bits, but damn, they ate the feathers like they drank water. Your guardian said they would finish unpacking the very few boxes your family were collectively avoiding while you went shopping down the popular alley. Oh! And speaking of water, you glanced up from the cobblestone pathway and noted the Leaky Cauldron sign hanging a few shops down. You’d heard stories of how comfortable the atmosphere of the little restaurant had been from the Weasleys and you couldn’t help but overhear wizards and witches around you chatting it up about possibly getting a butterbeer. You decided, why not? Could spare a few coins to buy the golden drink or maybe just a water. It was, like, 90 degrees outside and the cluttered path way didn’t help the soft summer breeze flow through at all.

You gently nudged your way through the bustling crowd of wizards and witches and pushed open the creaky old door. The smell of sweetness and smoke hit your noise as you stepped in, your eyes briefly wandering over the crowd, looking for an empty table. Once you spotted a table for two in the corner, you gently shuffled past crowded tables and rushed waiters apologizing as you went by. Finally sitting down at the small table, you let out a relieved sigh, not noticing a set of eyes following your every movement. Your eyes easily wandered around the shop but landed on piercing blue across the small restaurant. You immediately snapped your gaze to the fire pit and walls, choosing to avoid the gaze until a server walked over. You were tracing the gray, worn down bricks of the wall right next to you when an older woman in a simple uniform walked over the table.

“Good evenin, love. What can I get you?” she casted a bright smile your way, her hands in the small pocket of her apron as she waited for a response.

“Just a butterbeer, please.” You managed to stutter out, sending her a shy smile back. She nodded her head and headed off to another table after putting in your order.

Once she left, your eyes met a set of blue eyes once again. The longer you looked, the more you thought they were formilair, but you turned away, choosing not to dwell on anything besides the table that was placed in front of you. You were so busy tracing the grooves in the old wooden table, you didn’t notice the owner of the blue eyes nudge the red-head next to him and point in your direction. What finally brought you out of the tracing trance was a glass mug filled with liquid golden and soft foam slide toward you, followed by the sound of chairs scraping the old wooden floor and a distinct female voice calling out “where are you two going now?” Your hands wrapped around the glass and just before you could bring it to your lips, two people moving toward the table got your attention. You turned to look up and almost choked on air, your chest shaking as you coughed causing your mug to nearly empty all over the table. You didn’t even have time to fully register who was advancing closer because the warm drink was flowing off the table and onto your new shirt.

“Shit-!” You grumbled down at the spilt mess. Feeling the heat rush to your cheeks, you placed the mug down hoping to save what was left in it as you grabbed napkins.

“Now, I knew we shocked people, but I had no idea we had this kind of effect, Georgie.” Fred spoke and took up the seat across from you, causing his twin to let out a snort. Your head shot up at the sound of the British accent. He'd managed to effectively put a stop to you drying up the mess with one sentence. Fred grabbed a few to help wipe down the table, but was far more focused on your reaction. Your eyes snapped over to George as he leaned on the back of his brother's chair and flickered between the two freckle covered idiots. You made a mental note of who was who.

“Do you always sneak up on your victims or do you introduce yourselves like normal people?” You scoffed out, a smile growing on your face as you awkwardly piled up the useless napkins.

“We only sneak up on people we’ve been friends with for years and finally get to meet.” George spoke, sass laced in his voice.

“Oh please. It’s been like 1 year.” You rolled your eyes, reaching for your cup again and taking a small sip.

“And I don’t think we got an anniversary gift from you, love. I believe you owe us an apology. Missing our 1 year anniversary like that.” Fred spoke, a hand going to his chest in fake shock as George just tsked and shook his head responding with his own ”Shame, really.”

You let out your own soft laugh and raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I'm sorry.” You spoke setting your glass down again, sarcasm dripping from you as you crossed your arms over the table and leaned forward. “I didn’t realize I got something from you two for our ‘one year anniversary’.” You used air quotes, outlining the obvious.

“Godric, it’s so good to meet someone who finally matches our sass level.” Fred smiled at you. “But how did you not see us?” he used his thumb to point at a table behind him, almost taking out George's eye.

“Oi. Watch it.” the ever so slightly younger twin shoved the hand in his face away.

“Well, obviously, I didn’t expect you to run into you guys here.” You spoke, finishing the little amount of what was left of the butterbeer. After wiping your mouth on your sleeve, you shot the two a playful glare. “You owe me a drink.”

“Or you can meet Ickle Ronniekins and we can call it even.”

“That doesn’t even come close to equal.” You whined, sitting back in your chair, your head hitting the wall behind you a little too sharply. As much as you wanted to meet the younger bro, you were nervous. You may have let it slip out to the brothers that you desperately wanted to get to know Ron, but what if he didn't like you?

It didn't matter what you thought. You didn’t have a choice because the two may or may not have shipped you two, but that’s for them to know and for you to never, ever, ever find out. The twins let out a laugh at your demise and both stood up, one grabbing the empty mug and the other practically dragging you out of your cozy corner.

“I say it’s fair.” George spoke, following the older redhead who was almost quit literally dragging you by the arm. The two idiots led you to a table in the middle, where it was borderline empty besides 3 people sitting, all chatting to themselves. The chatting came to a stop when George set your mug down in the middle and Fred forced you to sit across from another redhead, who you quickly recognized.

“Um, Fred..” The witch next to Ron spoke up just as Fred sat to your left and George to your right. “Who is this?”

“This, Granger, is our quill-pal, (Y/n). He comes from America and just transferred over. Good old quill-pal (Y/n), meet Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, and our own little Ickle Ronniekins.” Fred pointed to each witch and wizard, pointing them out so you could put names to faces. The nickname caused Ron to groan out a ‘shod off, Fred’, to which the older brother just snickered.

“Oh, hi! I’ve heard alot about you guys.” You smiled, casting them a small wave. Your accent, to them, was very interesting. It was so different from what they were used to, which definitely wasn’t a bad thing. They actually thought it fit you really well.

“Well, (y/n), it’s great to meet you.” Harry spoke up, a smile replacing the confused expression he once held. He was just relieved you weren’t asking for an autograph or constantly shaking his hand. It was refreshing.

“Likewise!” You flashed a smile to the messy raven haired dude before stretching back in your chair, head turning, trying to avoid the twins in his view to find a waitress. You gave up on searching when the twins purposefully blocked your view and Ron cleared his throat.

��Wait.. This is (y/n)? The bloak you guys don’t shut up about?” Ron pointed at you, almost as if accusing you of causing him pain. The twins nodded their heads, in sync, while landing a kick to both of his legs. “Ow-! I'm just asking!” he rubbed his bruised shins and rested his chin on the table so he could shoot them a glare. “Arse holes.” He grumbled. The twins gave him a sort of look that meant ‘shut up or we will not hesitate to strike again’ and honestly, Ron felt a tiny bit of fear enter his soul and his glare dropped.

“Aww! Did you two really mention me that much? I’m flattered, boys!” A confident smirk stretched across your face as the twins blushed ever so slightly, George a little redder than Fred.

“No.” They countered.

“Yes.” Ron groaned out, wanting revenge for the kicks. ”Merlin. They’d go on and on about how cool you were. ‘Ma, he said he plays Quidditch, too! Can we get the booms out?’, ‘His favorite color is (f/c) and his favorite animal is (f/a)! We should work on (f/c) (f/a) fireworks for him!’. My family officially knows more about you than I know about the Chudley Cannons.” He ran his right hand through his hair and his left waved around as he spoke. You couldn’t help but snicker. “It’s been actual hell. I’m just glad you're here so they can shut up.”

Harry nudged his best friend in the side before speaking. “Hey, be nice, This is probably their first crush!” The comment caused Hermione to almost snort butterbeer, Ron let out a very loud laugh and you to high five Harry meanwhile the twins turned redder than their quidditch uniforms.

“Oi, Potter. I will burn your broomstick.” Fred threatened, pointing at the boy who lived.

“Aw come on Freddie, be nice. It isn’t their fault you gave them the material for this. Relax, bud.” You shoved his hand away.

George took your mug and slid it out of your reach and to the end of the table. “Well, we were gonna buy you another drink, but since you're being an arse, you're not getting a sickle from us.” George turned to you and stuck out his tongue.

The simple banter continued as the 6 of you sat in front of the simple fireplace, laughter filling the little stone eatery. You had known the group in person for about 15 minutes and you already fit in like a puzzle piece. After a few more butter beers and another 15 minutes later, the 6 of you had decided to go on the hunt for some goodies, so you all paid for the drinks and led the cluttered restaurant. Fred and George started off leading the group, but got sidetracked at Zonko’s. Hermione had practically dragged Harry off into Flourish and Blotts when he mentioned not having his school supplies. That left you and Ron alone to get to know eachother better.

“So, what’s Ilvermorny like?” He asked, his hands in his pockets as he walked beside you.

“Well.. " you hesitated."Definitely different, if what Fred and George said was true. We don’t have a sorting hat, instead statues would pick who they want. It’s a whole history thing. Everyone's robes are blue and this reddish color, so i'm excited for a change! And jeez, the wand rules. They're, at least, 10 times stricter than here. I had to get sorted before I could even hold a wand and Ilvermony students can’t legally have wands until their 17. Bullshit if you ask me.” You scoffed. “I was put in Wampus. I guess that's a cool thing.” This caused Ron to let out a snort and a cackling laugh.

“I’m sorry- you got put in what??” He turned to you, a huge smile on his lips.

“A-A wampus?” You spoke, hoping he’d ignore the stutter. You ended up staring at his smiling face, making a promise to make him laugh whenever it was physically possible. It was so perfect.

“Aaaanndd that is what, exactly?” The redhead's smile turned into a small smirk as he responded. “Is it like- like a creature or a plant? It sounds like a plant-”

“How on earth does Wampus sound like a plant??” You looked at him with a confused expression. Your arm shot out to punch his bicep lightly. “Of course it’s a creature, Ronald!”

You went on to explain all about what a wampus was, however, Ron was no longer listening. He was slowly drifting toward the quidditch shop, his jaw practically on the floor. He pressed his freckled covered hands to the glass window of the shop.

“You really must be yanking my wand! Do you see this?!” The redhead was drooling over a brand new broom. The little plastic sign next to the window model read ‘Firebolt Y.5’

“Oh my go-Is that-” You stood next to him, a look of shock. “How did I walk past this shop and NOT see this??” You grabbed his arm and whisked him away from the window, bringing him into the shop. Quidditch, of course, was your favorite sport. You were even on the Wampus quidditch team! You played a seeker and you loved to believe you were the best! “Oh my god, yes. If I had this across the pond” you spoke while pointing at the brooms hanging on the walls, "I'd be the best damn seeker in Ilvermorny history!” You all but squealed out.

While you were ranting about the possibilities of owning this bad boy, Ron was noticing something. He was noticing, since you grabbed his arm, he wanted to hold your hand. He was noticing how your eyes lit up while you were talking about destroying other teams on the fields and how big your smile was and how cute- Cute. Cute?

Wait.

Hold on. Cute? You? He thought he thought Hermione was cute? But now, now it was you. You suddenly clouded his mind and he'd only know you for less than an hour? He blamed his hormones.. Or maybe it was the way your eyes were sparkling so much more when compared to the photo you sent his brothers. Or your stupid perfect hair was so perfect even if it was a mess from constantly running your fingers through it. Every freckle, every mole, every dimple on your skin, he wanted to memorize it all. Suddenly, you turned to him, the smile wider than before. Shit, you were waiting for a response, but he was too wrapped up in how perfect you were for him to think straight.

“WhUt?” His voice cracked as he basically shouted at you. His face turned pink with embarrassment, but it transformed into a color to rival the Gryffindor red he usually sported during the school year. The poor git basically melted into a puddle when he heard you let out a giggle.

“I was asking if you wanted to split the cost! Fred and George told me when Harry got his Firebolt, but I bet it’s nothing compared to this baby. We could split it!” You were basically jumping up and down.

Ron blinked a few times, his brain trying to process everything. “Split?”

“Yes, Ronnie. Split.” You giggled, wrapping your arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer to your side.

“Ronnie split.” He muttered without realizing it. “OH! Oh- The broom! Split the broom! Cost! Right!” he ran a hand through his hair, his entire face felt hot. Ron was sure his face was blending in with his red locks. “I-I can check! With Fred and George and- and we see?” He squeaked, noticing how close he was to you. He audibly gulped, his tongue poking out to lick his suddenly dry lips.

“Cool! We could all share it!” You reached into your pocket, pulling out all the coins nestled in your pocket. As you counted over the coins, the only words that stuck in Ron’s head were ‘we’ ‘share’ and he could basically hear sirens going off. You’d already gotten to know his older brothers. What if you already liked one? Or both? He didn’t even know if you were single.

“Ah- Well i'm sure we can just handle it. Just the two of us.” He clapped his hands together, choosing not to think of how much attention the noise brought him. You looked at him with a confused expression but let it be with a shrug.

“If you say so, Ronnie.” You smiled, shaking your head. You had no idea the redhead was avoiding the idea of his brothers sharing you instead of the broomstick.”Iiisss there a reason you don’t wanna share?” You asked as you shoved your hands in your pockets, putting the coins away. You missed Ron's face turning bright red as you gazed on at the Chudley Cannons merchandise hanging off the walls.

“I-I’m just sick of sharing with my siblings, y-ya know?” His voice cracked as he spoke, but he tried to cover it up with a cough. “Um.. I do have a lot of older brothers, so hand-me-downs are really all I get-”

“Oooh, right. Right. That’s fair.” you looked down at your feet. You forgot. Gerd and Feorge didn't throw it in your face, but they did mention when money got tight and how they planned on opening a joke shop and how they told their products to kids for extra cash. You should've remembered. You cleared your throat, your eyes darting to him, to the door back to him. Desperate for a way to change the atmosphere, you offered leaving the store. "Honeydukes?” you asked way too loudly in the small shop. ”Wanna.. Go to Honeydukes?" You cleared your throat into your hand. Ron couldn't have agreed fast enough.

The two of you walked out of the store, making small, awkward talk as you continued your stroll across the stoley path. When you came up to Honeydukes Ron, to your surprise, hurried to the door and held it open for you. As you walked in, he did a playful bow as if you were royalty. It brought a smile to your face and things fell into the rhythm from before.

"I'm not too keen on pumpkin pasties, but I do love chocolate frogs. When I was a kid, I dreamed of being put on one of the cards, but that kinda faded. I’m thinking maybe a famous quidditch player? Not quite sure yet." You rambled as Ron grabbed what someone might consider way too much of the chocolate treat. He would call that someone insane and double the batch. While he was literally filling his arms with the small boxes, you were busy looking at the candy wands, your mouth practically drooling at the idea of sweets. "We don't have a lot of this across the pond." you muttered to yourself as you reached across a table to grab a few different boxes of candy you've never tried before, one being Bertie Bott’s Everything Flavored Beans.

"Really? What are you used to?" Ron spoke up behind you, his eyes going from the candy resting in your hands to your forearm. The redhead found his eyes trailing up and landing on your bicep, causing his mind to wonder and basically dive head first into the gutter.

"Well, we had candies like Skittling Soot Poppers. They're these dark chocolate little balls that pop in your mouth once the chocolate melts. It's so cool! If you put one in your mouth and keep it open, sparks will come out. All kinds of colors, too." you smiled, remembering staying up far too late into the night with your Wumpas housemates and munching away. "Oh! And these little cakes called Twinkles. They would glitter like gold in the moonlight, but turn silver in the sun. They always taste like vanilla and cream."

Ron gulped. We all know what he's thinking at this point. He'd love to try some cream, and not the filling of the Twinkles, if ya catch my drift. He blinked out of a fantasy and shook his head. Bad Ronald. He scolded himself, but was yeeted out of his head when he heard you laugh.

"What? What's so funny?" his head tilted like a confused puppy, one of the chocolate frogs falling from the top of the pile and landing with a soft thud. As you bent down to pick up the box for him, you answered his question.

"Nothing, you're just being cute." you set the chocolate frog box on top of his pile and began down the aisle way.

"W.. Wait, really?!"

His response brought a snort out of you. He sounded so excited it made your heart jump. "I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it, Ronnie. Godric, even that was cute." You spoke as you turned the corner and headed down a new aisle. Your eyes scanned along the other treats laid out on the shelves while your hand grabbed a few sugar quills. “Ok, I think we got enough now. What do ya think?” You turned to where you thought he was, but your view lacked the pale freckled boy. “Ron?” Your voice carried through the store. “Ronnie?” You called out again as you went to the last aisle you saw him at. When your head popped around the corner you were met with a sight you thought was kodiak worthy.

There he was, bright red in the face, bright wide blue eyes standing out against his red skin, mouth hanging open and every chocolate frog box laying at his feet. You broke him. How the hell did he manage to get cuter?

“Ron?” Your legs moved without you even demanding them too and soon you stood in front of him. Has he even blinked? Is.. Is he ok? Shifting the candies in your arms, you managed to free a hand to gently close his mouth. “Hello? Are the lights on inside?”

“You said I was cute.” You were lucky you heard him over the crowded shop.

“Yes, Red.” You spoke, a giggle escaping your lips. “We established this already.” You shook your head, but it was halted when his blue eyes finally landed on your own, causing a heat to spread to your ears.

“Yeah.. But what KIND of cute?”

“Kind? What?”

“There are different kinds. Like am I cute like a crup or am I.. Am.. Like am I romantic-” He froze again when you leaned over and kissed his cheek, hopefully answering his question. You chose to ignore the grumpy customers trying to fit down the aisle and, instead, rested your hand on his hand. You would’ve held it but the stupid boxes of cursed choco frogos where in the way. “I hope that was ok.” You, also, chose to ignore his tiny, squeaky ‘bloody hell’ and dragged him to the counter.

“Ya know, when your brothers told me about you, I couldn’t get you out of my head.” You confessed, laying all the candy out on the counter and turned to him again. His blush had died down and he wasn’t as jumpy or frozen. Ron followed suit and dumped the boxes onto the counter and immediately whipped his hands on his jeans.

“I-I was glad I got to hear about you everyday.” He smiled, rubbing the back of his neck as he stared down at his shoes. “I um- I wanted to write, but uh, thought it would be weird.” He didn’t turn to look at you but his crystal blue eyes bounced between you, the candy and the glass counter in front of him. “A-and I’d love to get to know you more. And m.. Maybe do this again? Just you and me? Again?”

Your face almost split in two as you felt Ron’s hand brush against yours.. “I would absolutely adore to do this again, Ronnie.” He intertwined his fingers with yours, his blush coming back easily, causing you to let out a chuckle. While you did end up paying for most of the candy and forgetting about the quills, you managed to leave hand in hand with the red haired Chudley Cannon loving dork. Of course this caused the twins to tease you relentlessly about falling so hard for their baby brother. Hell, they even made a lame song, something about ‘Ronnie I love you’ and ‘when we’re apart my heart beats only for you’. It literally never stopped. In fact it got worse as time went on, especially when you were sorted into Gryffindor once school started.

Oh, but was so worth it.

[andypantsx3]

hi there !! i hope you're doing well :) ever since i started reading ur fics i've just been really impressed with how u keep the quality of ur content very consistent. do u take breaks in between writing each fic? i think u mentioned this in a previous post when u talked about editing fics, but i guess i'm wondering how u keep urself from being burnt out/if u get burnt out! i'm going thru a slump rn so i'd be curious to hear about ur experience!

Omg thank you so much!! That is literally so sweet of you to say, much as I doubt the quality is all actually consistent—I'm looking at you, in cinders chapter two.🖕🖕🖕

Also please excuse how long this got, I have a lot of thoughts on this subject in particular!!

Personally yes, I do get burnt out, and I do find it very necessary to take breaks—from writing overall and from a fic if I'm having difficulties with it. In general, I try to write a little bit every day, but that’s not always possible, and there are times when that’s not the right thing to be doing.

If you were following me late last year, you may vaguely be aware that I disappeared for two months straight between December and February. Like, just let the queue run through and did not answer a single ask, post a single original thought, or even look at my ao3 comments. While I was gone I barely wrote a thing. I think at like 1.5 months into it, I started drafting the outline for subtle, but before that, I didn't do shit except focus on my personal life and hang out with my dog.

At that point I was just tired and I thought I could use a little recharging to get excited about writing again. I read a bunch of books and other people's fics, and reread a bunch of my old fave comfort ship fics. That break from my own work really helped me get inspired again. Since then I've been consciously trying to strike a balance between writing all the time and chilling/consuming the things that keep me inspired to write.

When it comes to taking a break from fics, I do that too. My Hawks fic lay low has been ongoing since December of last year, when I normally finish fics in under a month. I actually really love this fic, but I got a little frustrated with some plot holes and then again with the pressure I was putting on myself to characterize him (like, relax, Andie it's a fuckin fanfic) so that's been on hiatus like multiple times even though we're only three chapters in.

I think it was important, though, for me personally to take a step back from it until I had the energy to address the things that I wanted to, and until I was excited to write it again. I'm actually finally working on chapter 4 (!!!), but it really took a long time to let that bad boy marinate, and I hope the fic will be better for it.

And I did that with statistically significant as well. This was more due to my workload at my job at the time, and I worked on this one over the course of five months when prior to that, I had been finishing fics in 1-2 weeks. But slowing down and writing this fic over like ten times the amount of time it took me to write other fics was a really good learning experience for me. It taught me that it's totally fine to step away from a fic for multiple months, and that you can always come back and finish it later.

I think that's also going to be the case with the new Deku fic, and I'm happy I already know it's completely okay to take my time. I'm sure there will be new wrenches that life throws into my path, and I'll have to get hit by those and figure out how to get back up and learn to duck next time lol.

Anyway, I definitely get where you are coming from, and if I've learned anything in the year and a half I have been writing it’s that it's totally normal to hit slumps, be they long or short, fic-specific or related to writing overall. Burn-out/slumps are actually not a big deal at all if you don't psych yourself out about them.

I feel like every time I'm asked advice on anything I say this (but I mean it!!): listen to yourself. You know best what you need. If you don't feel like you have the brain power for writing right now?? You're definitely right, and you should take some time away to chill, just consume things without producing, or do other stuff in life that makes you feel good.

If you're two months into not writing and you get excited about a project outside of the one you abandoned?? There's probably a reason. Work on that instead, and maybe let your enthusiasm for that project remind you of what you liked about the other one you put down.

And if that enthusiasm doesn't return? Then let the damn thing sit until it does. There are literally writers I follow who stepped away from fics for YEARS, only to come back and post a new chapter like half a decade later. They are always, always better for it.

So literally just listen to what you are telling yourself, and ride out the slump however you need to. Please try your best not to feel guilty for it, or think that it is any reflection on you or your work. They're just a natural part of the process, and honestly you will be the better for having had this experience.

[awhiskeyriver]

omg can u do their first kiss in Madge's POV?

   Madge, you’re a freak. 

    I rolled up the sleeves of my thermal shirt and hoped that I wasn’t visibly sweating. Twenty minutes ago, the idea of washing Gale’s hair had seemed completely normal. Rational, even. We were friends, and he was stressed. I’d learned in my pain management class that massage was an excellent stress reliever. 

    But, I was almost certain this crossed a boundary friends shouldn’t. It wasn’t like I stood in the bathroom washing Darius’s hair every time he had a bad day.

    Oh, Darius. Thank any and all higher beings that he wasn’t there to witness this train-wreck. I could already envision his amused expression--eyebrow cocked and crooked smile. I could live forever without him knowing about this.

    Gale looked up at me through lidded eyes and I felt a new wave of heat creep to my skin. He thought this was weird too. He might’ve not been saying it, but I could practically hear the joke forming in his mind.

    Where’d you get this idea from, Undersee? One of your porn books?

    It really was like an opening to a very, very bad sex scene. Though in my defense, I never asked him to remove his shirt.

    My eyes dipped in a quick inspection of his bare chest. The way every muscle was outlined. Clenched with tension. Jesus, why hadn’t I offered to wash his stomach instead? 

    Because, boundaries.

    He was still staring at me. Deep brown eyes challenging me as he looked up. Did a quick scan down me as well. Noticing how close we were to one another. Nearly chest-to-chest.

    “Sorry,” I laughed, awkwardly. “There’s not really any way around the awkward position in here.”

    I motioned to the small bathroom, and how if I moved the leg currently positioned between his back any further it would be in the shower. Gale smiled lazily up at me, an expression I’d come to read as amusement.

    “I don’t feel awkward.”

    Just me then. I fought to maintain my composure, running my fingers through his hair to remove any knots. It was so soft, the ringlets stretching out with the water before curling a bit at the ends. I could play with it for hours.

    But then he moaned.

    Moaned.

    I think I felt the sound all the way down in my core.

    I blinked, eyes twitching to his face which was pure bliss for a solitary second before he seemed to remember himself. It was embarrassing how such a small, involuntary sound could make my body react so starkly. Pulsing. Alive. Intoxicated.

    “Sorry,” he muttered, his voice a low timber.

    “We keep apologizing.” And I kept laughing like an idiot. “I think we’re scared of freaking the other one out.”

    He opened his eyes more fully, sitting up a little.

    “Are you freaked out?”

    Not even a little. 

    I’d more so been referring to him. Whatever it was that was going on in his life--details I was sure I’d only barely scraped the surface on--it had a hair trigger response. One wrong move and I wasn’t positive he wouldn’t go running out the door. 

    But me? Standing there with him literally at my fingertips?

    Yeah, no. I was good. 

    “No.” 

    He smiled a little, relaxing back into the chair.

    “Neither am I.”

    “Oh,” was the only reply I could think up for a moment, before tacking on a lame, “Good.”

    He kept his eyes closed through the rest of my ministrations and if it weren’t for the small movements of his limbs or facial muscles, I might’ve thought he was sleeping. I stalled longer than necessary, feeling more confident without him staring up at me, but when I’d given a thorough rinse three times, I finally placed my cup down and rung out his hair.

    “Finished.”

    He let out a breath through his nose, relaxed.

   “Thank you.”

   “It was…” My pleasure? Too weird. “Anytime.” 

    He stared back at me wordlessly, making no move to stand up. So damn close that I could actually feel electricity coursing between us. 

    I’d kissed and been kissed before. Obviously. But the desperate need I felt to close the distance between us, to connect with him completely was so overwhelming it almost felt painful. 

    I could hear Darius’s voice in my head, telling me to just do it.

    Kiss him.

    Just kiss him, Madge, it’s not like it’s a marriage proposal.

    I leaned in, squeezing my eyes shut tightly as our lips brushed against each other and then pulled back just as quick. Mortified, I stood over the top of him, half straddling his waist as I tried desperately to gauge his reaction.

    When I pressed my glasses up higher on the bridge of my nose, he smiled.

    “That it, weeny?” he taunted, and I felt my eyes roll even as I laughed with relief. 

    His hands came to rest on my hips softly, and when I went in for a second kiss he made no objections. I tangled my fingers through his wet hair, tightening my grip and Gale let out a rushed breath through his nostrils. His thumbs stroked over my hip bone, helping to guide me down onto his lap as my legs began to wobble.

    I’d imagined it an embarrassing number of times, but nothing added up to reality. The feeling of his bare chest pressed against mine, tongue seeking out mine as our lips parted. The way his hands tightened on me with just enough pressure to make heat course through me without a nagging nervousness. 

    He had an erection. I didn’t need to have experience to know it was his penis I felt against my thigh, with just the fabric of his sweats and my sleep pants to separate us. What amazed me was that I wanted to feel more. The idea of it didn’t scare me or make me retreat...it left me hungry.

    He moaned again, a deep, primal sound from the bottom of his chest when I moved my hips and then his lips pulled back from mine slightly, foreheads still connected.   

    “Rule number one?” he panted.

    Ah, rule number one. How innocent I’d been when I’d adamantly refused to have sex with him.

    Past Madge would be disappointed. It was taking everything in me not to completely jump him there in the bathroom.

    I bit my lip, pushing his hair back with a smile.

    “Rules are boring, anyways.” 

    As our lips connected again, an intricate dance that felt so familiar already, I think I changed my mind.

    Past Madge wouldn’t be disappointed. In reality, it wasn’t the night I was going to lose my virginity. Just...a preview of sorts.

    But when the time came, the idea of it being with Gale didn’t send me panicking. It made me excited.

    For that, I think past Madge would be proud.

    That’s mother fucking growth.

[if-you-built-yourself-a-myth]

Check Ignition: Part VIII

The Sobbe fake-dating Hogwarts AU that one person requested and I dove into headfirst

First part // Previous part // Next part

Send me requests for other fics, ideas for this one, opinions, whatever! My apologies if the quality seems to have one downhill; I'll be doing minor edits for the sake of readability when I have a good chunk of free time.

“Shhh, guys, leave it,” Jens said. Everyone’s comments died on their tongues. Zoë and Moyo herded the superfluous students from the room and left as well, shutting the door behind. Moyo almost clapped a hand on Robbe’s shoulder, but seemed to think better of it in favor of a saddened smile. It didn’t really help. Robbe wasn’t sure if they ended tonight on good terms.

“We’re going to bed early,” Aaron suggested. “We have to get a jump on those damn exams.”

“Leave it,” hissed Jens.

“I was just saying, we’re—”

“Leave it.”

“It’s a good idea,” said Robbe. “We’re going to bed early.” He hadn’t realized how angry he was all week until faced with its culmination. And now—now he was tired. Stupid and single and tired.

There were still no sheets on his bed; he hadn’t gotten around to doing anything with them. He could perform a cleaning spell on the mattress if it got too bad in their absence. Whatever. Robbe couldn’t be bothered to rifle through his trunk for a cleaner blanket, so he crossed the room and grabbed the one off the fourth bed.

Motherfucker. It smelled like Sander. He really couldn’t win, could he? Robbe threw the blanket to the decimated floor and curled up without any covering at all.

“He wasn’t that attractive,” said Jens, breaking his own rule. “Had to get those roots done again.”

Robbe clamped his pillow over his ears. “Shut up.”

“We haven’t been to Hogsmede in a while. Might be nice to go tomorrow. The four of us.”

Hogsmede. Robbe’s eyes burned.

“I need to stop at Honeyduke’s,” Aaron agreed. “It’s Live It Up week.”

“I’d fancy a pint at the Three Broomsticks.”

The Three Broomsticks. Robbe was not going to cry over this. It brought him back to Sander explaining their fake love story to Zoë, all the little accurate details, all the possibility… that’s all it was. A story. You don’t like me. He cast the Muffliato charm across his four-poster before the tears started flowing. Once they started, they didn’t stop until morning.

“You don’t have to tell us a thing,” Jens said. “We understand.”

I want to, Robbe thought. He rolled over and faced the wall for the remainder of the night.

***

As much as he would love to hardcore sulk, Robbe had never been that kind of person. Sander was gone. They weren’t even together for that long, so there wasn’t much sulking warranted. He took Saturday and Sunday as unofficial off-days before exams, in that he spent them with Jens, Moyo, and Aaron, pointedly not talking about Sander. They did not go to the Three Broomsticks. Jens passed a whole afternoon in Honeyduke’s, attempting to sample every flavor of Bertie Bott’s Every-Flavor beans.

Okay, Robbe sulked. But not hardcore.

Robbe resolved that one Monday he would snap out of it in time to guard his outstandingin his five classes. What should he do? What had he learned? He could start there. Starting there was something.

1. He should never drop a class for someone he wasn’t really dating.

Robbe’s Potions exam was the first on Monday, and he went into it grossly unprepared, despite hours of common room studying. There was a large difference between reading theory and enacting what it said. Plus, a lot of his library time focused more on Sander’s eyes than on the written material.

Everyone else chopped up their beans and sprinkled them into their brews without difficulty. Robbe couldn’t remember how many he should use. In the end, he dumped a whole handful in completely whole and stirred counter-clockwise. How much could it hurt, anyway? He left fifteen minutes before the exam period was up, and the Potions master did not bother to stop him. The Drought of Living Death he prepared could probably kill the whole class, Britt and all, even if not in the way it was meant to.

Why had he stopped attending in person? What could Britt have done to him? It hit him—she probably knew the dating thing was fake from the beginning. Sander might have planned it all out to make Robbe look like an idiot.

That wouldn’t account for that night in the workshop.

Fuck that night in the workshop.

Sander waited outside the Potions classroom, his back on the wooden doorframe. Britt would be done soon. It didn’t give Robbe any satisfaction to brush by Sander without speaking—or at least, not until he saw Sander rubbing his arm in the aftermath. Robbe must have hit him with the door.

“Sorry,” he called over his shoulder, hoping it sounded blasé.

It could have been anyone there, he thought. Sander wasn’t special anymore. Then he went to his bedroom and stared at the wall over it.

2. He was not straight.

The specifics were, as of yet, unclear. He was in love with Sander, which meant he liked boys, but he’d kind of liked Noor too. Not romantically. Or even sexually. But like, he enjoyed her company.

Sometimes.

He wasn’t in love with Sander anymore, though, definitely not. Robbe figured if he told himself that at least four to five times a day, it might become a little more accurate. Two weeks was too short a time to fall for someone.

After all this, he needed to get Jens alone and lay it all on at once. Bad phrasing be damned. The boys began packing their belongings on Wednesday, after a mostly uneventful Transfiguration exam (Moyo turned his cockroach into a pair of earrings that still moved their spindly antennae—he seemed satisfied). They would leave on Saturday afternoon. Aaron tried a simple cleaning spell, Scourgify, and ended up scattering his belongings to the four corners of the castle. He scurried away to pack the rest manually, Moyo at his heels to help.

Jens and Robbe were alone. Robbe was ready to talk about it.

“Why is Moyo always here?” asked Jens, in a way that made it sound like he was breaking the tension.

His plan failed, of course, because Robbe was already speaking. “We have to talk about something.”

They stared at each other. Jens blinked.

“There’s a lot I haven’t told you,” Robbe began. “I wanted to, but it was always so complicated.”

“Uh, sure, okay.” Jens shoved a crumpled shirt into his trunk, followed by a pair of ripped slacks he could never wear to class again.

“This thing I had with Sander… it was fake to him. But, well, uh, to me—”

Jens nodded. “I know.”

Damnit, no.

“Jens,” Robbe tried a second time, “I’ve realized some things about myself recently. They kind of explain other things, from earlier, so…” He switched tactics. Who knew how long until Moyo and Aaron returned? “Do you remember when you and Jana broke up? How you found out about what’s-his-name and—”

Another shirt in the trunk. Some more destroyed pants. “Yeah.”

“Cool. So um, you should understand that it was—” It was never this awkward to talk to Jens before. Jens was supposed to be easy. Robbe folded his shirts by hand, like his mother did, and placed them carefully in his own luggage as he thought of how best to phrase this. “I did it on purpose. She was gonna tell you and I—well I said—”

“You’re not making sense.”

“I know things about myself now. Learned them. From that. and this.” Here it came, the big jump. Even though Robbe knew Jens, Aaron, and Moyo outlined a whole plan to get him and Sander together, he still worried about what they’d say when confronted with the reality of it. “Jens, I’m—"

“I know.”

No, that wouldn’t work. Again, “Jens, please, I’m—”

“It’s okay, Robbe, I know—”

“I don’t want you to know!” Robbe flopped a shirt down harder than he intended. “I want you to let me say it.” He took a deep breath. “I’m gay. That’s who I am. With or without Sander. Okay? I need you to understand that it’s like that with or without him.”

“I—”

“Don’t say you know. You’re my best friend.”

“Okay,” said Jens. “I understand.”

“Good.”

Jens closed his trunk on top of some clothing that spilled out the sides. He sat down on it to close the latch. Then he reached out and gathered Robbe into the tightest hug ever. It wasn’t nearly everything that Robbe wanted to say, but it was some, and Jens didn’t run away from him. Sexuality crisis, somewhat had. Robbe was sure there would be more later.

3. You don’t like me.

Robbe’s final exam was History of Magic. Luckily, his cramming paid off. He breezed through the questions on the first and second wars faster than any of his peers and was out the door within thirty minutes.

Most students were trapped in their classrooms for another half-hour or more. Empty corridor stretched in all directions, and Robbe didn’t have anything to do for the rest of the day. He knew where he wanted to go.

Sure enough, his astronomy tower perch was vacant. Bright sunlight dyed the campus in shades of yellow and gold, made the upper turrets appear as drawings from a children’s book. Robbe noted in passing that someone had collected Sander’s picnic blanket from its forlorn position on the roof. That made sense. Filch himself must have cleaned.

From overhead, soft music played. Robbe was sure he was hallucinating. He sat down on the sill.

Oh fuck, maybe not hallucinating. Noon cast a shadow of someone above onto the roof below.

Sander’s blanket wasn’t where he’d dropped it on night one because Sander sat on the overhang above the window. He had it splayed across the shingles, a compact player oozing the final lines of that same damn song on a loop, his wand gripped in his hands.

Robbe couldn’t escape him. Couldn’t escape how he felt about him. He could bring it under his control if he made it look purposeful.

“Hey,” he said. “Don’t you have class?”

Sander startled.

This was a mistake. Never mind. Robbe should go.

He leaned even further out the window for a better view of Sander’s setup. A stack of textbooks balanced precariously, end on end, held aloft by a complicated charm of some sort. A quill rolled down the roof and stopped as if by an invisible wall. Sander had created a bubble for his things.

“Cheers to exams,” Robbe said, a bit louder. Sander did not look at him. The music cranked itself up to mask Robbe’s voice—perhaps it was spelled to muffle all noise Sander did not want to hear. That wasn’t fair. “This is my spot.”

“You said you didn’t want to be friends,” said Sander. He didn’t sound upset. Why did Robbe expect him to be upset?

“Can you turn down the music?”

“Britt’s going to join me.”

“That isn’t really what I asked.” Robbe wondered if interactions like this would ever stop hurting. But he didn’t feel as bad as he felt last week. Or on Friday night. Maybe the finality of a no was all he needed to move on. He recalled Sander’s speech word-for-word, mostly the end. You don’t like me.

It hit Robbe in a moment of irrational bravery, when Sander’s music dialed up in volume. Their first night in the astronomy tower, together, illuminated by Britt’s wand. The CD playing in the background. Sander knew what he was wearing on a specific double-date on a specific day—there was no denying something existed between them.

And to have Sander talk like that, say it was nothing… it wasn’t nothing, not to Robbe, and Sander needed to hear it.

So he said it. No introduction, no nothing. “I liked you.”

The Major-Tom-planet song quieted. Definitely some kind of magic there.

“I liked you so much,” he said again. Now that it existed, now that it was said, there was nothing to stop him from continuing. “You can’t tell me I didn’t.”

One of Sander’s quills rolled to the edge of the bubble, only this time, it dropped out and fell the length of the tower.

“We made it up, we agreed,” Sander whispered. “I’m sorry.” He slid down from the roof, landing beside Robbe on the sill, then jumped to the floor. His belongings trailed behind him in a floating line.

Robbe stood his ground and blocked the staircase. “It’s not your thing to decide.” His voice softened. “I liked you. So that’s that. And it’s done.”

Sander scuffed the floor with his shoe.

“Good. You never have to see me again.” Robbe pointed down the stairs for dramatic effect. “I have class. Bye.”

He felt lighter than he had all week when he descended the staircase. Any lighter, and he would have missed it when Sander said, “I liked you, too.”

4. He was a jerk to Noor.

Robbe sought her out on the train home, abandoning his friends in their own little compartment. They had plenty to discuss without his involvement. Pranks and whatnot. The usual. Noor was alone in a compartment near the back of the train, a dozen or so scrolls of parchment dispersed around her. She wrote on one with a broken quill.

She wasn’t a bad person. Robbe should have just told her. The least he could do was tell her when everything was over.

“Hey,” he said, taking the seat across from her.

She looked up, surprised. “Hello.”

“You seemed like you could use some company.”

Noor blushed. “No, I—Britt’s sitting elsewhere, and I have a lot to do.”

“With Sander,” Robbe supplied.

“What?”

“Britt’s with Sander.”

“Oh, um, actually—”

Robbe wasn’t in the mood for the nitty-gritty details of whatever Britt and Sander had going on. Obviously it was toxic. Not his problem. Besides, this conversation was for Noor’s sake, not his own.

“Listen, about me and him,” he said. “I need to apologize. It wasn’t fair of me to lead you on.” He hoped it wouldn’t get awkward. The extent of his recent planning was pretty much just say it without warning and hope it works out.

“I don’t read smoke signals,” said Noor curtly. She set her quill down on the seat next to her, ink stains bleeding into the cushioning. “But I get it.”

“No, it was fucked up. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

Awkward silence. Robbe wasn’t built for prolonged chatter with anyone besides Jens, Moyo, and Aaron. The girls’ group was the exception, and only when Jana and Zoë were present. He fiddled with the beginning of a hole in his yellow sweater.

“I suppose I should apologize too,” said Noor, after a while. “That was fucked up, to say he’d get bored of you. I was a little—well, you know.”

“If it helps,” Robbe said, “you were right.”

Noor frowned. She sat up in her seat, and her parchment fell to the carriage floor. The sweets trolley passed by their sliding doorway without stopping—its driver could likely sense the tension. Robbe explained, “He’s back with Britt.”

“No, he isn’t,” said Noor. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Jana said—”

“Who would know better: Jana, or me?”

Robbe fumbled for something to say in response. Actually, now was a pretty good time to get out, before the topic became any more serious. He said, “He broke up with me.”

“It wasn’t for Britt. She helped him through some stuff, sure, but everyone knows that train’s come and gone.”

“I guess I’m just boring,” Robbe said.

“Bullshit.” Noor picked up her parchment again. She dipped her quill into her ink and began her writing anew, on whatever mess this was. Robbe couldn’t read fucking cursive. “I don’t believe it. Britt says he adored you.”

Robbe didn’t know what to make of that. There was no way he could segue into his next point, which was, of course, that their dating arrangement wasn’t real in the first place, especially after something so honest from Noor. He gave a bullshit excuse, something about chasing the sweets trolley, and got the hell out of there.

***

Robbe said goodbye to Moyo on the train platform. Jens and Aaron lived close enough that their parents parked in the same general vicinity, meaning that they could walk over as a trio. Robbe considered awaiting Sander on the platform as well. Every time he learned something new about Sander’s behavior when he wasn’t there, he got more and more confused. What fake relationship could be convincing enough to have Sander’s ex lamenting its reality?

The boys shared idle gossip on their way to the parking lot. Nothing substantial. Robbe’s head was too full of thoughts, most of them Sander-related. He wasn’t angry, or upset, or tired right now. How did knowing one little thing from Noor make a difference in his overall mood? They split off to their respective parents with casual goodbyes and a promise to write at least once during the holidays.

“Hey,” called Jens, just as Robbe opened the shotgun side.

Robbe turned back, his rucksack swinging off his shoulder. He swiped a hand across his eyes.

“Were you in love with him? Actually?”

They spent two weeks together. Two weeks, plus months and months of pining from afar that couldn’t count for much. It was supposed to last longer. What had Sander said, that day after their date? He wanted it to continue through the holiday break. And now, nothing. Robbe summarized this feeling the only way he knew how: “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.”

He climbed into his mother’s waiting car, and with that, it was Christmastime at the Ijzermans house.

[futurewriter2000]

Girls play Games, Women don’t. - pt.10 - final part

A/N: Okay, so here we are. I still haven’t started to write it, so this is just before part and after I finish and I’ll see if I’m going to make a epilogue? Or is it a prologue? Damn. I gotta google. - It’s epilogue.  I knew that, I just had to be sure. --- Finished. So freaking long but it was all just as I imagined. Even better tbh. I think we all deserve a good epilogue out of this.

XX

It was managable. It wasn’t perfect but you were a Slytherin and Slytherins are definetly known for their resourcefulness.

You were in your most comfortable sweatpants. They weren’t yours, they were Sirius’ and he didn’t mind sharing... to your knowledge. It was steamingly hot and you could barely breathe in the T-shirt, also Sirius’. Everything was from Sirius’ because you really hadn’t had a chance going back to your parents’ house to gather your things and leave peacfully.

You had just finished with all the exams Dumbledore was kind to give you so late in July but after the results, you are sure you will graduate and have your Hogwarts’ diploma.

Lately, after the exams you had done nothing but sit around this old, disintegrating apartment as Sirius just started his internship job in Auror’s office. He was usually late home and gone before you woke up. You two barely spent any time together but when you did he was always filling up the paperwork. He kept appologizing to you and saying he will make it up to you, which you didn’t mind but still missed him dearly when he left.

Now, you waited for the results. When you get results, you get your diploma and when you get your diploma, you can get yourself a job.

Until then, you have to deal with this apartment.

So you did.

You took the television from the unpacked box and with some hard effort moved it closer to the electrical socket. Since the cabel was short, you had to push the big box closer and was finally abel to turn it on. When you did, you skipped programe from programe on the buttons under the TV screen- you had no idea where the remote was- until you found the music programe.

Smiling to some background music, you stood back up and looked at the piles of unapacked boxes. “Let’s do this.” you smiled and started with the living room.

---

Sirius was climbing up the stairs, panting and looking up at the pile of stairs that awaited him. He was exhausted from today’s work so much, he was afraid of apparating. His brain was drained as if the Ministry squeezed every bit of them until they’re dry like the desert. He just wanted to provide for you. He wanted you to have everything you want, not this apartment he had to rent and ask James for some money to lent. It wasn’t fair but he had to. For you.

He finally managed to get to the door, putting the key in and opening them.

He heard a music playing and he immediately sobered up. He was not tired as before since his ear felt something so relaxing and familiar to his ears.

‘ I know your eyes in the morning sun I feel you touch me in the pouring rain And the moment that you wander far from me I want to feel you in my arms again...  ‘

He smiled at the song. Bee Gees? He didn’t think you would know them.

He walked into the living room, finding sofa cleaner than before, a coffee table in front sinking into a furry rug he had no idea where it came from. The coffee table was glass and it had an adorable little cloth in the middle with a candle and two remote controls. He looked to his left and found the TV sitting on a small chest with two drawers.

That chest was broken? How did you make it stand up like that?

It was at that question his nostrills sense a nice scent of roasted chicken, leading him into the kitchen.

He walked to find you standing behind the counter, cutting the paprika fairly quickly with the sharp knife, your fingers carefully hidden under your joints. Your hair were up in a bun with a few strands sticking out and a headband around your head. You jumped your head to the song, singing softly.

‘ How deep is your love, how deep is your love How deep is your love? I really mean to learn 'Cause we're living in a world of fools Breaking us down when they all should let us be We belong to you and me.’

He let you continue without knowing he was standing behind you. He was afraid that if he says anything, you might jump and cut yourself with the knife.

The song changed to Brandy by Looking Glass and you started gently thursting your hips left and right, catching Sirius’ attention. You wore his sweatpants that fell so perfectly down your wide hips, hugging your curves just in the right places. Seemingly, you cut his shirt into a crop top, showing your lacy bra that peeked under the shirt.

Sirius couldn’t help himself to grin. Especially when the song changed again: Cheryl by Yung Gravy.

You put the knife down and grabbed the wooden spoon, sliding to the pot but not for stirring. “ Juice, sauce, little bit of dressing (Ooh) Ice, wrist, little bit of flexing..” you opened the lid and finally stirred the sauce, shimmying your shoulders as you did and making Sirius laugh behind you.

You jumped at the sound of his chuckle, looking at him with wide eyes and blushing completely red into your cheeks.

“You’re home!?” you exclaimed, touching your messy hair and looking down at your outfit, knowing you cut his shirt in half. “I- uh- it was really hot and uh-” he started to approach you with opened arms, grinning cheekily. “I meant to change before you came- uh- you’re-” he was holding you in his and kissing you softly on your lips. “- early.” you smiled as he pulled away, putting his hand on your cheek and brushing his thumb across it.

The song changed again:  George Harrison - My Sweet Lord

“Sweet Lord indeed.” he looked you up and down and started to kiss you again and as much as that pleased you, your sauce might got overcooked.

Giggling to yourself, you pushed him away a bit, still holding him around the hips as both of you swayed to the pot. “Oh, Lover as much as you want to, the sauce is dearly important.” you gave him a peck and stirred again, turning off the stove and moving the pot on the other side, letting it cool of.

“You did all of this in one day?” he asked, looking around the kitchen and how brightly it shined.

You looked over your shoulder, catching his eye and winking at him. “I had nothing better to do anyway.” you grabbed the apple cider and olive oil, mixing the salad.

“Can you just put the plates and cutlery?” you glanced at the drawers to the side and he didn’t think twice to argue. If he was honest, he was hungry just as he was exhausted.

“Don’t mind if I do.” he quickly set up the table as you turned to leave the kitchen.

“Okay, I’ll just go get dressed-”

“Dressed?” he quickly took your hand and pulled you back. “I prefer you in my clothes.”

It was your time to smile cheekily at him, tapping his cheek with your finger and matching his grin. “No, you don’t.” you gently removed his hands from your waist and left to your bedroom.

Surprised, he kept staring after you, wanting to go see but objecting himself. “I’m marrying this woman.” he kept smiling and hearing something tumble in the bedroom.

It didn’t take you longer than 15 minutes when you walked back into the living room, finding him in the balcony, leaning over the fence and smoking his cigar. As much as you hated him smoking, you knew it was the only thing that kept him awake enough to spend some time with you.

You followed as quietly as you could, placing your hands over his eyes and kissing his ear gently. You could feel him smile just by feeling his cheeks touch the edges of your hand. He put his hands over yours and turned around slowly.

When he opened his eyes, he found you wearing a silk, red dress, which hugged your hips, your breast and your thighs. The edge was a few inches above the knee, your hair pinned back and some curls nicely loose in front of you. They were still a bit messy but you did think you had more time before he came home. With no foundation, the cream made your skin glow in the light just perfectly, an eyeshadow gorgeously done yet never seen on you before, mascara outlining your eyelashes and black underline exposing your twinkling eyes he adored so deeply.

“Wow.” he marveled, taking your hands in his and putting them behind his neck. “I wonder what would happen if I was late?”

“You’d probably faint.” you joked and he let out a laugh.

He kept looking at you, his hands on your hips, then on your face to your hair to everywhere they could touch. “You look absolutely stunning.” he kept looking and touching, as if you weren’t even real.

“Thank you.” you blushed again, giving him a soft peck on the lips and causing his stomach to burst from all the butterflies.

He felt his hands clammy, his heartbeat rise up as the next tought entered his mind.

You noticed his uncomfort a bit and pulled yourself away. Insecurity entered your mind and you quickly felt too much exposed to him. “Is something wrong?” you asked and he shot his head up to you, finding you just as confused as he was when he heard you listen to Bee Gees.

“No, no, no, no. Nothing is- well-” he cut himself off, looking up at the ceiling and contemplating. “There is something missing with the whole outfit.” he grinned and you felt a bit angered by the comment.

You crossed your arms over your chest, giving him the intimidated, furious look you gave to most of the people that tried to control what you should wear yet there was something in the way his eyes avoided you and his mouth kept twitching into a smirk that let your retorts keep themselves in your mind and not on your mouth.

He reached his hand in his pocket, shaking it as he struggled to get it out but when he did, it appeared to paralyze you completely.

It was a small, velvet box and it didn’t take an great aritmanist to figure out what was inside. You slapped your hands over your mouth, preventing any odd noises to come out as he went on one knee and opened the books. He smiled at the ring but smiled brighter and wider when his eyes met yours.

“I’ve been waiting for the right opportunity to introduce the two of you but as patient I thought I was, tonight made me realize that I will definetly marry you... if you will have me.” he smiled as your eyes started to tear up. You tried to stay calm, tried your best to wait for the next few lines and as you did, he took a deep breath and asked: “(y/n)(y/l/n), will you marry me?”

You started nodding franatically, tears of joy escaping your eyes as he put the rind on and stood up. You jumped into his arms, kissing him and looking at him as he did the same. “Yes! Yes I will!”

“Thank God!” He breahted out, causing you to laugh.

“I told you before I would, didn’t I?” you pulled away, framing his head as he continued to beam at you.

“I wasn’t sure if that was you or the adrenalin back then.”

You started laughing again. “It was me, silly.” you started to kiss him again. He deepened the kisses as time passed, letting his hands roam your body until they found themselves carrying into the bedroom, completely forgetting about the cooked dinner in the kitchen....

---

He continued to kiss your bare shoulder after. His hand travelled up and down your hip and thigh, then finally up your arm and to your hand. “You’re so much more flexible than I thought.” he growled into your ear, nibbling on it.

“And that’s after renovating the whole apartment.” you started to tease, interlacing your fingers with his. “Imagine what I would do to you if I’ve done nothihng but wait for you.” you turned your head to him only sligthly as he burried his nose into your neck.

“Oh, woman. You’re going to make me go crazy with that talk.” he kept nuzzling closer, making you laugh.

You turned around, removing his head from your shoulder and cupping it in your hands. He kept looking at you with that grey storm of his, softly calming down into a calm ocean water. His front curls fell on his forehead and his lips kept kissing your palms. He took your right hand into his and kept kissing it until his lips got stuck on the diamond ring. He kissed it gently and looked back up at you.

“Now, you’re really stuck with me.” he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close.

“Or you’re the one stuck with me.” you raised an eyebrow.

“We’re stuck with each other.” he continued.

“Oh, what a shame.” you smiled as he kissed you again and again, never getting enough.

All until something fell from the other room.

Both of you stopped to look at the door, glancing at each other and hearing another object- plate- shatter on the floor.

He got up the bed quickly, grabbing his underwear and pants as you did the same, grabbing the sweatpants you wore before and a larger shirt to cover most of your body. He gabbed his wand first, then passed down yours. Before he opened the door, he looked back at you and already found you more prepared than him.

“Do you-”

“No. You open, I go first.” you cut him off, tightening the grip around your wand and waiting for Sirius to open the door.

He smiled at your fierceness and prepared himself as well. That’s what he trains for- he opened the door and you stormed out and into the kitchen, pointing your wand at the dark figure sitting on the chair and eating the dinner you prepared for your fiance.

Sirius quickly followed, standing next to you with his wand pointed at the man as well.

“The chicken is done nicely... yet I see it missing something.” he grabbed the napkin and patted his lips as he stood up. “Curry maybe?”

“What are you doing here?” you growled, focusing your wand at him and going through all sorts of spells in your head.

His eyes glanced at your ring finger yet no reaction was readable enough to tell you what he thought. For you, it wasn’t needed to see a reaction. You already know what he felt; fury and betrayal.

“Congratulate you.” his voice spoke monotone and his lips curved into a smirk. “When’s the wedding?”

“Why are you here?” you persisted, trying to stay as calm as possible.

“Who’s the dramatic one now?” he gestured his hand to your wand as you rolled your eyes at him, scoffing.

“Must take after you.”

“So you still imply me as your father?”

“Do you still imply me as your daughter?”

“Heavily but yes...” he sat back down, leaning back and crossing his fingers. “Disappointed... but yes.” he quirked an eyebrow than glanced at Sirius, who only glared at him. “You’re training to be an Auror yet she’s the one in charge here?”

“Yes.” Sirius replied through his teeth, seething at him.

He looked back at you, placing his locked hands on the table. “I would have gotten you a stronger man than him. Someone who could take charge in your marriage... someone-”

“I don’t want a dominant partner. I want an equal.” you cut him off as he fell back in surprise. “He knows what I want and I want to know what the hell are you doing in our home?” 

He stood back up, rubbing his chin and leaning against the chair. His eyes were now narrowed, filled with something much more darker than before. “You know what I want.”

“No.”

His mouth twitched. 

“I am not opening the stupid box for you, especially if it’s really filled with so much more dark magic as it is rumored to be.”

He let out a chuckle, a wicked one indeed. He stared at you for one minute than the next he was already gone and holding Sirius with the tip of his wand pointing at his head. 

“NO!” you screamed but he only laughed.

“Hey, Sirius.” he whispered, tighting his grip around Sirius’ neck. “Maybe you should say hi to Devon McKingley for me.”

At the mention of that name, you lost it. You completely lost it, disarming your father immediately and stupefying him the next. He fell against the wall next to the television and the next thing you knew, you were using the crucifying curse on him, causing him to laugh and scream at the same time. 

Sirius behind you was gasping for air and strugling to get up as you approached your father, tears falling down your cheeks. “You think you can kill another man in my life, just because YOU DON’T LIKE IT!!” you bellowed, making his laugh turn into pain with the strenght of the curse. 

You stopped, letting him breathe a bit. 

“You don’t control me anymore.” you squeezed his cheeks together. “You don’t intimidate me, nor scare me.” you growled and pushed his head away, right into the wall so the sight spun in front of him. “You think I’m still your little girl trying to play your stupid little games, daddy?” you cooed the last word, provoking him a bit and earning a spiteful glare. “Girls play games. Women don’t.” you walked away, back to Sirius who took a hold of you, looking into your eyes as the Ministry popped into your apartment, due to the underage use of magic that was tracked from your apartment. 

It didn’t take you any effort to explain. People knew, all the wizards in the world knew what your father has done. Dumbledore went public with all the cases months ago. Your father was wanted for a long time but now? Now he was taken to Azkaban where he will rot till his death.

[vesuviannights]

Violet, Lilac, Wisteria, Amethyst: Part 1

Asra x Reader. Gender neutral, no pronouns, 100% lemon-free.

The night before you are to be wed, you make one final desperate attempt to save yourself by summoning your Patron Arcana to make a deal. But what - or rather who - answers your call is not what you expect.

Featuring: demon Asra, softness, soffftt.

*

In just twelve short hours, you are to be wed.

The bells will toll, the people will cheer, and the last piece of your raging soul will be trodden into the ground by the approving looks of those you once held dear.

Because you know none of it is for you. This engagement, this marriage, this life set out for you is not of your design. It is only to please those in power, and to give your partner-to-be more of it, and you have caught yourself more times than you can count just wondering if any part of who you were would contribute to your partner’s happiness, or if it were all merely a cosmic joke.

You have tried many times for freedom, for even an ounce of control. Every frustrated cry, every attempt at a bargain you have thrown out into the universe: they have all fallen on deaf ears.

The Gods, the wind, the magical realms: they do not wish to hear you.

In the witching hour you are on your knees, surrounded by herbs and bloodied marks and chalk outlines on the floor of your shop.

Waiting, always waiting, the seconds ticking by as you watch the space where the magical being you have summoned is to appear.

But they do not.

You growl. You scream. You lash out at the nearest things and send them scattering around you in a fit of quickly collapsing rage.

And then: a voice from behind you.

“I have always enjoyed the fiery passion of the human race.”

You turn. It’s…you don’t know what. But he is the most beautiful being you have ever seen,  in all your years of traveling the world.

High cheekbones kissed by golden skin. Plumes of white hair that fall into his deep violet eyes which, even half-obscured, seem to shift in hue as they take you in. Two sleek horns curve back from his hairline, and you can spy a flicking obsidian tail with an iridescent spike at the end that seems to shift along with his eyes.

He is watching you with an inscrutable gaze, arms folded as he leans against the frame just in front of your very closed, very locked shop door.

You swallow and stand, feigning your boldness. “How did you get in here?”

He just smiles at you.

You shift on your feet and take a step closer. “I asked you a question!”

“And I don’t suffer questions the answers to which are already known.”

You hesitate. Your eyes scatter over him once more, before slowly, very slowly…

…going to the array of magical items at your feet.

The corners of his lips flick up. “There we go.”

“You’re not the Arcana I summoned.”

“Actually, you’ll find I’m not any of them.”

“Then how did you—?”

He steps further into the room, eyes traveling over the items placed out for sale. He plays with a few of the nearby trinkets as he walks, nimble fingers glancing over them as he answers you.

“I’ve been known sometimes to intercept messages from mortals that…pique my curiosity.”

He stops in front of one of your many shelves, lined with herbs and powdered flowers and every other manner of ingredient.

You bite down on your tongue when he begins picking up bottles, reading the labels and giving indecipherable hmmms as he places them back. When he picks up a particularly expensive and rare one, you take an emboldened step forward.

“If you break it, you buy it,” you snap.

This brings his attention back to you. He turns to glance you over his shoulder, his eyes a new shade—lilac, you think—as his lips curve into a smile.

He places the bottle in question back, then with a slow drag of his eyes down to your balled fists, he continues his perusal of your shop.

“I would rather you leave,” you tell him, watching as he approaches your collection of tomes and novels. He fingers the spine of a forest green one, the words inlaid in a bright gold. “I was actually busy before you barged in here. Uninvited, might I add.”

“Oh, I’m never uninvited, cherub,” he answers.

Your cheeks heat at the name, an angry flush that you quickly cover by turning away and beginning to gather your things.

“Well, you were this time,” you mutter angrily under your breath.

Your fingers fumble on the dried rosemary, the bottle of Elk blood, as you stuff them all into your linen satchel. Somewhere behind you, the click of his boots stops, and you can feel his searing gaze on the back of your neck.

“Were you not after someone to save you from your looming, impassive marriage?”

You freeze, fingers grasped around the edge of your book. Your gaze becomes a little unfocused, barely able to see the words on the page before you.

It didn’t matter now. You had tried many times to save yourself, and no mystical being or god or any of the Major Arcana had deemed you worthy enough to answer your calls.

You were not worthy of being helped, it seemed. You should have realised it from the beginning.

“Cherub?”

He repeats the name softly, tentatively, breaking you from your thoughts.

You shake your head, clearing the haze and stuffing the book into your satchel. Rising to your feet with a shake to your limbs, you sling the bag over your shoulder and begin toward the exit.

“Please make sure you lock the door when you leave,” you tell him.

Your hand is inches from the handle when he appears before you, blocking your escape. His hands are tucked behind his back, and his eyes—those damned eyes—have changed their shade once more.

Amethyst, swirling with shadows as they take in your expression: the bags under your eyes, the twist of your lips, the tightness of your jaw. All the empty hollows inside of you that had been left by your pathetic fight, always doomed to fail.

“You called for help, yes?” He asks. His voice is so quiet, almost inscrutable. You nod. “Then allow me to help.”

You swallow, then immediately back track with a soft shake of your head. Your gaze drops away as you speak, a whisper you can barely force out.

“I can’t pay you,” you tell him. “Every offering I had was for—”

“We will figure out payment later. You wish to be free of this impending marriage. You wish to be happy. Free to choose?”

You hesitate. Of everything you have learned in all your time dealing with the Arcana, with all things magical and otherwise, one of the first was what to look for in the makings of a murky bargain.

No bargain without explicitly outlined payment was ever worth making. The payment could come at any time, and in any form, and more often than not the being in question was merely after a profit—the payment was always too steep for the reward.

And you’re about to shake your head and deny his offer. About to take the safer option; perhaps you can summon your patron Arcana after the vows, perhaps there is still a way out after you have been wed.

But…

Your eyes flicker up to his. They are a deeper amethyst now, no shadows, with flecks of wisteria. You are quickly coming to understand that each colour means something, and a strange part of you aches to know you might never understand exactly what.

“Why?” You ask, finally breaking the silence.

You watch his expression shift again, some of the lightness clearing from his eyes as his brows pull down to cast shadows over them.

“Why what?”

“You said you intercept messages that pique your interest. Why was mine so interesting?”

The corners of his lips flicker up as he tilts his head at you, and you feel another flush coming to your cheeks, though this one is not angry. In your mind, you begin creating a list for the shade of his eyes: lilac, amusement.

“I said ‘sometimes’,” he corrects you softly. “And sometimes, when I don’t choose, the choice is made for me. The universe has been known to be more of a trickster than I, and this time…”

He trails off, his eyes dropping to your lips.

Wisteria: lust.

“…this time,” he murmurs. His eyes move back to yours. “It was less of a trick and more of a catastrophe.”

You swallow. He has come close, so close.

“A catastrophe?” You whisper.

He nods. One hand comes up to push the hair from your face, then dips down to trace your lips. You watch the movement, breath held in your throat.

“In that, I’m afraid that if you say no to my bargain,” he says. “I may just pretend I did not hear you, and whisk you away to your freedom anyway.”

Your eyelids flutter shut as he shifts forward, and you are enveloped in the scent of him. Lavender. Sage. The musk of incense, ones you’re sure you’ve been burning in your room since you could light a fire at your own fingertips.

A shiver envelopes your entire body when his lips make contact with your forehead. They linger there, warm and soft, with his hand cupping the back of your head.

“Please, cherub,” he murmurs against your heated skin. “Honour me by letting me take you away. You will only be with me for as long as you are happy.”

“And then?”

“And then I will take you to wherever you need to be to be happy still.”

Your eyes open as he pulls back to find him already staring down at you. A new colour, one that is so barely there you have to search for it.

But the answer comes to you after a moment, almost as easily as breathing. You can feel it swirling in your chest as it shifts, wisteria into orchid, and you know: power. A promise.

He will not force you into his bargain. But, should you say no, he will still watch over you. From his knees, he will still do whatever is necessary to keep you you, to stop you from becoming suffocated and lifeless.

Nothing is beyond his power, and you are the being at its helm, allowed to direct it in any way you so need.

“I don’t even know your name,” you tell him. You receive a soft laugh in response, a twinkle to his gaze as it lightens.

“I am Asra.”

“Well then, Asra…I should like to make a bargain.”

“Mmmmm. I thought you might.”

He kisses your forehead once more, and then dips down a little lower to capture the tip of your nose. You crinkle it, and he laughs, and at the sound of it you quickly realise that the payment might not be the part of the bargain that undoes you.

“We will seal our bargain with a kiss,” he tells you. “Would you allow me to kiss you? Properly?”

You nod.

You loose a breath.

And then he kisses you.

And it’s the softest, the most glorious, his power and desire and affection wrapping themselves around your very soul as he cups the back of your head and swirls his tongue through your mouth.

You gasp against his lips, a hand to each of his wrists, as though that might steady you.

But the world still spins.

And your heart still sings.

And before he whisks you away in plumes of shadows to a better world, you add one final colour to the list in your mind.

Amethyst: love.

On to part 2 --->

🍑 Requesting | Masterlist | My Ao3

[jotarosbelt]

Jotaro Kujo [“She Doesn’t Need to Know.”]

Under the cut for length and 18+ content!

part 2

dilf jotaro for our viewing pleasure

Having met Jolyne at school, you two became quick friends. Studying at each other’s houses and after school hours, hanging out outside of school, you really covered the basics of a normal friendship and moved into the territory of best friends fairly quickly.

Now, you’ve never been to her house; mostly because she’d prefer to go over to your place or hang out at places like the mall or the park...

...until today.

You came by to study with Jolyne per usual, but you weren’t expecting to lay your eyes on a tall and muscular figure, slinking away into his office as soon as you two met eyes.

“Don’t worry about him, he’ll come around eventually. Besides, the fact he even looked at you is a good sign.” She laughed at her own remark, gesturing for you to follow her upstairs to her room.

You obliged, yet, you couldn’t help but wonder about the tall and muscular figure, dawning white slacks and a black turtleneck.

~~

“I’m gonna go get a drink, you want anything?” You get up, walking to the door.

Jolyne nods. “Water, please.”

You give her a thumbs up and fly downstairs, making a turn to go to the kitchen when you ram into something; scratch that, more like someone.

You look up to meet a pair of icy blue eyes. Damn, were they gorgeous. The man just scoffs and mumbles something sounding like “good grief,” and slinks back into his office. You really didn’t have a reason to be so intrigued by a man you barely just met, but hell, curiosity is what makes you human. Right?

~~

A short time after going back up to Jolyne with your refreshments, you excused yourself once more to go to the bathroom. At this point, you’ve learned Jotaro’s office was downstairs, right by the bathroom you intended on using.

Walking to the bathroom, you passed by his office. You were curious. So what harm was there in taking a peek inside? You cracked open the door, taking a look around to make sure he wasn’t inside before stepping in fully, closing the door behind you. You strode over to his desk, looking at all the paperwork and assignments he was working on grading and signing, as well as the picture of his ex-wife, him, and baby Jolyne together in the corner. How cute!

Reaching to pick up the photo to take a better look, you feel yourself get slammed against the desk, hands behind your back and your face pressed against the polished wood surface. You manage to turn your head just enough to see who was pinning you down and your face flushes almost instantaneously. 

Why were you getting excited?

The man backed off of you, relaxing at the thought of knowing it was just you snooping around his office. You sat up, stretching yourself out from being held so forcefully in that position, as well as trying to ignore the excitement caused by being pinned against the desk like that, completely helpless...

...by none other than your best friends dad.

You did your best to ignore the thought and the feeling between your legs, pushing it down as deep in your mind as possible and turned faced him. His eyes seemed to bore into your soul, his face completely straight and expressionless. Cold, even.

“What’re you doing looking around in my office for?”

You swallowed hard. You swore he could hear it, as well as your quickening heartbeat and your heavy breathing. “Uh... I was um, looking for the bathroom.”

His brows furrowed at your response. “There’s a bathroom upstairs by Jolyne’s room. Why didn’t you use that one?”

You bite your lip. “I wasn’t aware of the bathroom upstairs. Jolyne didn’t tell me about one..” You chuckle nervously. “Besides, I haven’t had much time to ‘explore’ the house as is.”

He scans your face with his unchanged expression. “Good grief. The bathroom’s over there, now beat it, woman.”

You nod sheepishly and make your way out of his office, delicately closing the door behind you. Little did you know, Jotaro was checking you out as you left. He let out a light chuckle at your shyness. He found it cute. 

But, he wouldn’t let you know that.

You used the bathroom as you originally intended, and made your way back up to Jolyne, pushing down all your sinful thoughts of the marine biologist currently flooding your mind to focus on finishing your study session with his daughter.

~~

Since that visit, you opted to not study at the Kujo’s place again. That pesky marine biologist of a father would continue to penetrate your thoughts as long as you gave him a chance. So, you distanced yourself.

Well, you did until Jolyne left one of her study plan outlines at your place. And you being the good friend you are, you to opted to bring it over.

You pulled up to the Kujo home, gulping hard, as you stepped out of the car and walked up to the front door. You knocked gingerly against the door, expecting Jolyne to answer, but you were greeted by the burly man by the name of Jotaro Kujo, wearing nothing but some gray sweatpants that rested slightly below his hips revealing his surprisingly deep V-line and the hem of his boxers, as well as a pair of some black dress socks.

He looked down at you expectantly, waiting for an explanation of why the hell you were on his doorstep. “Hi, Dr. Kujo, uh..”

Goddamn, if his heart didn’t jump at how you just used his career title to address him, you’d be wrong.

“..I’m here to drop off these papers Jolyne left at my place. I thought they’d be useful when it came to studying, but I thought she’d be in right about now.”

He sighed and stepped aside and out of the doorway, gesturing for you to come inside. You looked at him with an unsure expression. 

“I’m inviting you in, bitch.”

You let out an “oh” and apologize before stepping inside and kicking off your shoes at the door. “Pardon the intrusion!”

~~

You and Dr. Kujo sit there, talking for a few minutes about how school’s been going and how you met his daughter, but mostly about your major and what you want to do for work when you graduate.

“Well, I’m majoring in criminal law, actually.”

He cocks a brow. “A lawyer, huh. That’s unexpected.”

You look back at him, surprised. “Oh? How so?”

He sits back in his chair, taking a sip from his drink. “I didn’t take you for the ‘lawyer type,’ if I’m being honest.”

You sigh at his response, a little upset. “Fair enough.”

You two continue to talk a fair amount, asking him about how he got into marine life and about his youth before you finally get up and decide to leave. While putting on your shoes, he comes over and squats down in front of you, slipping a business card in between your lips with a number on the back.

Hot damn, it was his cell number.

You feel yourself blush at his way of giving you the card and remove it from between your lips, putting it in your bag. You thank him for letting you come by and he does the same, saying it was no problem and he’s thankful you came over and dropped off Jolyne’s things the way you did, as well as saying it was nice talking to you.

As soon as you got home, you put the number in your phone, shooting Jotaro a text. He responds a few hours later saying once again how he enjoyed your company and hoped you’d come by again. You blushed at his words and typed a quick response reading “likewise,” flinging your phone across the room and burying your face in your pillow.

~~

A few more study sessions and hangouts with Jolyne and you finally end up full circle back at her house. To be honest, you were ecstatic about being able to see Jotaro again, but you did your best to hide it.

“Hm, seems he doesn’t mind you being here, given he hasn’t slinked off and into his office like he usually does,” she says, forking her thumb to where her dad stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a mug and a book in hand. He looks up and sends you a quick wink, going back to reading with his unchanged facial expression.

You feel yourself blush and let out a giggle. “Seems like it.”

~~

Amid your hangout, Jolyne gets up and apologizes profusely, saying she has to go run over to Ermes place due to an emergency. She says she’ll be back in an hour or so and encourages you to make yourself feel at home till she gets back. You, being as understanding as you are, nod and shoot her a smile. 

“I’ll be fine.”

“I knew you would,” she says as she grabbed herself a jacket and smiled while stepping out the door, quickly gliding down the stairs. “Keep an eye on our guest, would you Pops? I have something I need to take care of.”

He only scoffs in response.

~~

After opting to clean Jolyne’s room up a bit, you go downstairs in search of a bite to eat, only to run into Jotaro the same way you did the first time.

“Oh, I’m so s-sorry, sir.”

Once again, he only scoffs in response. “I was looking for you anyways. Come sit.”

You gulp. Why the hell would Jotaro-motherfucking-Kujo be looking for you?

You both sit on the couch like you both did the last time you were over at this house. However, none of you bothered to make conversation this time. It was more of just Jotaro accessing the sight of you before him while you avoided making eye contact out of fear those aqua-marine eyes of his would bore into your soul again like they always did.

You really didn’t know why this was happening, but you felt that familiar feeling pooling between your legs like when he bent you against his desk, or when he answered the door completely shirtless. He really knew how to get you flustered without speaking, not like he was aware of it, though.

Yet, somehow, you ended up in his lap, your shirt as thrown into the corner of the living room, you grinding down into his erection. Jotaro groaned in your ear, those sounds of approval making you shudder. That deep, predatory-sounding growl really fired you up.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, sucking and pulling at the flesh, being careful to make his little marks and bruises in places you could easily cover-up. You whimpered at the sensation of his soft lips dancing across your neck and collarbones like he owned you.

God, did he own you.

“Ah~ Dr. Kujo..”

He let out another predatory-sounding growl at the way you moaned out his title, quickly moving his hands up to the middle of your back to unclip your bra. It fell off in one motion and Jotaro shifted his attacks from the skin of your neck to your chest. He kissed, bit, and nipped at the flesh, making you arch your back and let out the cutest little whimpers he’d ever heard.

Wanting to coax out more of those cute and delicious sounds from you, he moved to suck the buds on your chest, alternating between each of them and proceeded to knead and pull at the tender flesh.

Having had enough, he sat you down on the couch, pulling his turtleneck from his body in one swift motion, quickly moving down to undo his belts and unzip his pants. He shot you an expectant look, glancing from you, down to the floor in front of him, down to the obvious bulge in his pants.

“Jesus Christ woman, for someone of your intellect, you’d think you’d understand what I’m asking of you right about now.”

Processing his words, you understand what he meant. Jesus fuck, he wanted you to blow him. You turned red almost immediately at the thought, but nodded and dropped down to your knees in front of him.

You pulled down his pants and navy blue boxers down just enough to pull out his member; hard and firm in your grasp. You could hear his breathing falter and his breath got heavier and ragged as you slowly began to pump him.

Finally getting the courage, you started with a few experimental licks of the tip and shaft of his dick, testing the waters. He seemed to like what you were doing, and the needy look in his eyes beckoned you to do more.

Giving in to the look Kujo was giving you, you part your lips and insert his almost throbbing member into your mouth. You tell he was trying not to buck into your mouth, mostly out of fear of hurting you, but also because he wanted this to last as long as possible.

You swirled your tongue around him, bobbing your head up and down while you used your hands to take care of whatever you couldn’t fit in your mouth. Shit, he was a big guy, after all.

“Gah.. fuck,” he moaned as he gently rocked his hips into your warm, wet cavern. You looked up at him with tear-filled eyes, your hair sticking to your face.

Jotaro took the liberty of brushing your stray hair out of your face and grabbing a handful of it behind your head, admiring the way your lips wrapped around his cock before withdrawing himself and pulling you to a stand. Picking you up, he tossed you over his shoulder and trudged up the stairs to his room.

Tossing you on the bed, he crawled up behind you and roughly pulled off and threw your skirt to the side, along with your now-soaked underwear.

He lets out a scoff at the sight glistening of your folds, a slight smirk on plastered across his lips. “Good grief, you’re this wet just from having my cock shoved down your throat, huh? I would have never imagined you’d turn out to be such a slut.”

You shivered at his words. That deep, velvety voice reverberating in your ears and the way those dirty words practically rolled off of his tongue. You were having a great time becoming putty in his hands, and he was enjoying it too.

Probing experimentally at your entrance, Jotaro had his eyes locked on your face, looking at your expression for any signs of discomfort. Your face contorted out of sheer pleasure, your back arching against the covers and whiny little moans escaping your mouth. You tried bucking your hips up into Jotaro’s hand, encouraging him to enter you already or give you some form of stimulation, but your attempts were quickly put to a stop by his unoccupied hand that had shot up to pin your hips down with an immense amount of force. You whimper and look at him, pouting. His stoic expression returned and he slowly pressed a finger into you, as well as starting to rub circles on your clit.

“Please, Dr. Kujo~” you moan out, desperately trying to rut against his hand, but your movement being stopped because of his hand holding you down. He raised both of his eyebrows at you out of sheer interest. “Please what, Ms. [Last Name]? Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you. We only have so much time before Jolyne returns, yes?”

You bite your lip and nod. “I- I, uh..”

He hums expectantly, waiting for your incoming request.

“I want you to fuck me, Jotaro. I want you to fuck my brains out.”

Groaning, he withdrew his hand from your core and reached over his nightstand to grab a foil sealed packet. Ripping it open, he rolled the condom down onto himself and sat down, patting his thigh to signal for you to crawl and sit on his lap.

You crawled over and straddled him, hovering over his throbbing member. Taking a deep breath, you wrapped an arm around his neck, using your other hand to guide his cock into you, lost in the feeling of him stretching you out, obsessed with the feeling of every inch entering you.

Slowly, Jotaro began bouncing you up and down on his shaft, his grunts and growls traveling straight into your ear and down to the coil you felt forming in your stomach.

You heard him growl into your ear, mumbling something about how tight and good you felt and how you were doing such a good job for him. You felt butterflies form in your stomach because of the man's words; the cold and inexpressive man, now complimenting you and your body while performing the most intimate act man could engage in.

“Oh my god, J-Jotaro... I’m- ah,” you squabble our just barely, the pleasure coursing throughout your body clouding your senses. He nods into your shoulder and pulls you up and off of him with ease, bending you over the edge of the bed and ramming back into you, no mercy being given.

“Jotaro, AH!”

Your scream set him off, even more, Jotaro now going feral and causing him to push your upper half into the mattress and he buried himself inside of you, time and time again, panting and grunting in your ear. You’re sent over the edge, that coil you felt in your stomach coming undone as you call out his name, clenching around his length, buried as so deep inside of you, you could swear you could see it in your stomach. He let out an animalistic moan, soon stopping short as he spilled himself into the condom, still buried deep inside of you.

He peeled himself away from your body and out of you, taking off the condom and tying it up and into a not to throw away. 

“Hey,” he said as he turned around to see why you didn’t respond to his call, only to find you sprawled out on his bed, fast asleep. He really did fuck your brains out, after all.

“Good grief,” he said to himself as he went into your bathroom, getting a towel and a damp cloth to wipe yourselves down. He cleaned you up and dressed you in the pajamas you’d brought with you to stay the night, as well as the extra pair of underwear you packed and picked you up, carrying you to Jolyne’s room to rest. He was really attempting to make this look as inconspicuous as possible. 

Did you two really need to run the risk of your best friend, which was his daughter, finding out you just got you back blown out by her dad?

Didn’t think so.

Leaving Jolyne’s room, he walked downstairs to retrieve his belts, as well as your shirt and bra he’d discarded and thrown to different spots all around the room. 

The clock read 9:27. Jolyne has been gone for almost an hour. Surely she was on her way her home now.

Jotaro sighed and quickly buttoned his pants back up, throwing his belts around his neck. He went to the laundry room to throw your clothes in the wash and did one last survey of the house to make sure you wouldn’t be busted by Jolyne when she got back. After everything was settled and you were all clear, Jotaro let out a content sigh and went upstairs to take a shower, only to ultimately go back to his office where it all started.

“She doesn’t need to know.”

[mimiplaysgames]

Beloved Memories, in Notes (Vol. IX)

Pairing: Terra/Aqua Rating: T (for sexual references) Word Count: 5,377

Summary: Aqua was drunk when she kissed him and doesn’t remember. Terra is too much of a disaster to talk to her about it. Terra is 20, Aqua is 18.

Read on AO3

A/N: Based off of a prompt @holyteapotofrussell​ gave me: “It’s three in the morning,” which they gave me... two years ago. *HIDES* Considering how old this outline is, it’s interesting to see how my writing has changed since the first chapter of this installment, and how much it hasn’t. There was so much that I learned from writing this specific story, and going through so many mistakes. But I have to stick by it anyway. I hope you enjoy it anyway!

~*~*~*~*~

A Tale of Landslides, Pt. 3

The following days had been sunny with the inevitable chance of random storms. A typical summer in the mountains meant for ghost stories by a fire, long hours stargazing, and indulging in lazy naps on hammocks by the creek. 

As if they had time for any of that. The Mark of Mastery was now three days away (as if they spent these final moments as students productively). Inside the castle walls, every hour was tense and thick and weird. 

Talking with Aqua was bust. Their conversations ended with Okay, Sure, and the worst of all: Oh. It was as though Terra had forgotten how to exist around her. Every time he remembered what happened between them, a pit in his stomach filled with acid and sunk, leaving his blood cold. 

He had a semblance of a plan. For now, he was equipped with a stack of three books. Soon, he’d find an answer to one question.

He heard:

“I said, you need to wax your Keyblade with bird grease if you want to improve your air magic. You know, from their beaks.”

Terra snapped his gaze up at Ven, who sat across from him in the library. Ven was supposed to be working on an essay about Keyblade ethics in the context of drawing energy from bonds shared between people - the same one he’d been procrastinating (ignoring, in Ven’s words) for days. As expected, the only book he had open was Terra’s childhood copy of The Adventures of Robin Hood, a fox and a bear gracing the cover.

“Why are you talking about severed beaks?”

Ven scoffed. “I wasn’t. You act like I’m not here, so I made it up.”

Terra pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry.”

“Sure. And I know how to fly.”

“You’re supposed to be working.” Terra marked the last word he read with his finger. “Why don’t you tell me what you need help with?”

“Why don’t you tell me what’s up?” Ven leaned over to read Terra’s book upside down. 

Terra shut it on his finger.

“It’s not like I don’t know what you’re researching.” Ven rolled his eyes and tapped a spine. “Book of Fairies? Spirits and Other Idyllic Superstitions? What do they have to do with your exam?”

“What does Robin Hood have to do with your essay? You have a deadline.”

“I bet I could convince the Master to extend it.”

“I bet you couldn’t.”

“Five munny.”

“Fifteen.”

“Ten munny.” 

“Did you forget who the Master is?”

“All I gotta do is tell him how desperately I want to be there for your Mark of Mastery.” He flapped his eyelashes. “I’ll even cry a little. When I get him to say yes, you’ll be so impressed with me.” Ven shot a dubious smirk, confident and willing to hand over his allowance. 

Terra clicked his tongue. “It’s your investment.”

“Do the butterflies have anything to do with Aqua?” 

“Someone has to mind his own business.”

“Someone needs to stop avoiding her.”

Terra stammered. That was nowhere close to what he wanted. “I’m not avoiding her.”

“I’ll add twenty munny to the bet if you don’t leave.”

“If I don’t leave what?”

“Aqua!” Ven called, his voice a collision onto Terra’s senses, who scrambled to turn the spines of his books away from the entrance so she wouldn’t see.

It took a moment but there she appeared, her breath heavy as though she’d been dancing. “What is it?”

“Terra’s being obnoxious.”

If Terra kicked him under the table, she’d hear it. So, he held onto his pride. 

Aqua glanced over, the quiver on her lips something she tried to hide. “What did he do?”

“He won’t let me read.”

She approached the table, a knowing smirk twisting across her face when she saw Robin Hood. By instinct, she met Terra’s eyes for recognition, only to let that smile fall.

Still, she took a seat beside Terra, who adopted the sudden habit of staring hard into the wood.

“We used to pretend we were the characters,” Aqua said. “Terra never let me be Robin Hood.”

Terra winced, but the memory was warm all the same. You couldn’t pull him off, was the argument he used against her, a red feather in his hair and the same wooden sword used for practice in his hand.

“You would have made a good Robin,” he murmured. 

Aqua, tensing over the fact that he spoke to her, shrugged. “It wouldn’t have made sense. He was your favorite.” 

The conversation choked. 

Ven rolled his lips. “Did you play Maid Marian?”

Aqua tossed him a look as though she swallowed bitter tea, and said, “Of course not. I was Little John.”

“The bear?”

“Little John was the smarter one,” Aqua said, dignified as she crossed her arms. But she lost all composure as she remembered something, her proud expression collapsing into a string of chuckles. “There was this one time-”

“Not that story,” Terra moaned, digging his face into his book. 

“Terra the Hood was fighting tax collectors up by the lake. I sat on a tree branch. My job was to warn him of enemies.” She sniffed. “But he tripped and fell into a goose nest, and...” She giggled. “The mother chased him all the way back to the castle.”

Ven snorted. “Brave Sir Robin.”

“Great job watching my back,” Terra said.

“I yelled out wolf hole before you blundered into it,” Aqua said, biting her grin. “It’s not my fault Robin Hood didn’t listen.”

“You pointed and laughed at me.” 

“It was a good show.” She flicked his bicep.

It almost felt like they never shared a kiss. 

A heaviness dropped as soon as Terra thought of the taste of her lips, sinking his gaze back down to the book cover. Brave Sir Robin, always looking like an idiot in front of her. 

“I’m going to get a snack,” Ven announced too loudly, stealing the same opportunity Terra would have tried for. He didn’t offer to grab anything for anyone, and he eyed Terra ceremoniously. 

“Now it’s a thirty munny deal,” he reminded Terra. As if that's any consolation. 

“Is that for a bet?” Aqua asked when they were alone. 

Terra straightened. “Yeah. It’s dumb.”

Her lips pulled a small, polite smile. A peace deal, pink and supple and pillowy. 

“What are you reading?”

He cleared his throat, shifting in his seat as he stopped an urge to push his books further away. He could have told her something near the truth. That being near her brought a rush of thoughts he couldn’t define. That he wanted to bring her something special, something distracting to make his apology more sincere, less surgical. 

That he was about to burst if he didn’t say something about it. 

He should ask her (he should’ve asked her that same night) to follow him into the wilderness and track an answer to the butterflies together. Instead, he looked stupid at the worst time, with a blank mind and a dry throat.

It was only a kiss. Aqua was the same person. 

“Nothing special. Just killing time,” he said, shrugging.

“Don’t be like that,” she asked softly, crossing her hands. She blinked too much, and her head hung. 

Terra knew he was an idiot.

“Be like what?” He gathered the books into his arms. Denying it wouldn’t discredit it - she’s too smart for that - but he flashed a smile anyway, hoping it would console her. 

Aqua nodded, not allowing herself to look at him. 

“I have a lot on my mind. The exam’s coming up in a couple of days, you know?” 

This time she did, grimacing. 

Terra cursed himself.

~*~*~*~*~

Stars clustered in the sky that night like galaxies. Meteorites cut across the window. Terra, shirtless, stood in the kitchen, and sipped his tasteless tea.

Aqua was mad now. 

Their spar session had ended with a spat. After hours of failed attempts to break through her ice barriers, she knocked him down to his knees.

Stupid, stupid ice barriers. He proudly performed the dumb mistake of insulting her when it was really his own technique that needed the pounding. 

He’d been failing bad lately, and getting worse. Worse when the Mark of Mastery was unforgiving already. How was he going to pass now?

Aqua entered the kitchen, scoffing when she saw the mug in his hand. She waved her arm in annoyance. “You didn’t leave any for me.”

Terra leaned against the marble island where she’d knead dough, and smirked. 

“Maybe if you tried getting a hit on me,” she said, stepping close enough to kiss, her nose pointed, uptight, high. “Then you wouldn’t have to act like everything is my fault.”

“Everything is your fault.”

“Not your bad cup of tea.”

“You must have cursed it. Where were you during the fifteen seconds I looked away from the kettle?”

“Tell me one thing.”

He waited for her question, but the chill of vapor floated from the floor. Another damn ice barrier erected between the two of them, thick and blurring her image. 

“Tell you what?” He punched the ice with flames in his fists, but it wouldn’t crack.

She didn’t reply. Blue eyes wide. Pink lips puckered to the ice. She melted a layer.

Terra pressed his forehead onto the barrier to make sure he saw correctly.

“Try again,” she scolded. 

He railed the ice, a swirl of flames combusting onto the surface. Nothing. He growled. 

“Do you really want me to be the one to break through?” she asked, her lips blowing smoke on the ice, inching closer. 

No. Yes. He didn’t know what to expect when it happened, but she was coming, her face the only thing he could see and the only thing he wanted.

They finally touched, lips to lips. She said nothing. He only had his hands exploring her bare back, pulling her hips to dig into his. 

The way her body folded into his was an unbearable pressure. Nothing satiated the hunger for more. He grabbed her chest. It wasn’t soft.

In place was something leathery, long, strong, wrapped around his hands. The tip of it suckled his thumb. An elephant trunk.

She gasped at the lewdness.

The trunk lurched from his grip and slapped him so hard he woke up. 

Warmth churned in his chest. Where was he? In his room, not the kitchen. His arms wiggled as he failed to lean on them, his torso the weight of a ton. He felt good, like a relaxed breeze, but exhausted as though he’d taken a punch to the gut. 

Wetness and stickiness pooled in his pants.

“Not again,” he groaned into his pillow. 

His body protested as he stood up. Dragging himself to the bathroom, he threw off his clothes and scrubbed the crotch of his pants, cursing every single stitched fiber. 

He thought of her, and his stomach jumped with the urgency of a child awaiting punishment. This was why they stopped wrestling, why they didn’t share a bed anymore: do the right thing and avoid the possibility that he’d hump her in his sleep. It wasn’t like he didn’t enjoy these dreams - well, with exceptions - but they made it difficult to face her in the morning.

After a cold shower, he slipped into clean, dry pajamas. 

In a couple of hours, the sun would rise. One of the books laid open on his desk. He found them: small, white butterflies that were transparent upon closer inspection, their glow so bright it only gave an impression of a shape. 

Terra should go back to sleep but didn’t know if he was capable now. He shook away every flash of an image of her undressed. He wanted her. But he wanted his best friend back. He wanted lots of conflicting things and right now he had neither.

Damn it, it was getting worse.

If they weren’t on odd terms, he’d march to her room and ask her to sneak into the forest with him, no matter the time. Usually, the worst he’d catch from her was a sour mood, but he found them. Small, white butterflies. No better timing. No better way to face her wrath than suffering it half-asleep.

Aqua’s door silently peeked open, like she made the effort to oil it. Her bedroom was prim as usual. Her comforter tucked tightly around her body, slick and even everywhere else. Through the darkness, Terra noticed shaved shards of colored glass on her workbench, orange, blue and green, and narrowly avoided bumping into them.

He gently rolled her shoulder. “Aqua?” he whispered.

She didn’t respond. He sat at the edge of the mattress, and shook her harder. “Aqua.”

When she woke, she threw him a squint before turning the lamp on her nightstand. She mumbled, “What’s wrong?”

“There’s something I want to show you.”

She blinked slowly. “What?”

“In the forest.” He snorted.

Aqua snatched her clock, a frustrated smile spreading on her face. “It’s three in the morning.” Her voice was hoarse.

“It’s noon somewhere else.”

Blinking a few more times, Aqua had the sudden awareness of who was sitting on her bed. Terra knew what to expect. She scrambled for her pillow and beat him on the head with it. “Now you’re talking to me? After days of acting like I was a plague?”

Terra caught the pillow before it could hit him a sixth time, his heart choking itself.

“Couldn’t afford to get infected,” he said with care, cocking a smirk. “Girl cooties, doctor’s orders. I’m sorry.” He watched her use all the weight in her body to wrestle the pillow out of his hands, her head thrown all the way back. “Cute,” he said of her failed efforts.

Aqua glared at him and twisted the pillow for a better grip. She hated the term when it applied to her, but Terra had always thought of her this way. Seeing how hard she was trying, like a kitten bunny-kicking a tired dog, how could he think otherwise?

A twang of guilt stabbed his heart.

He let go and she toppled backwards. She cursed under her mutters. Too tired for this nonsense. 

She studied him before she scoffed. “What’s in the forest?”

“Magic.”

“Take yourself, then.”

“It’s something you’ve never seen before.”

She paused, stopping herself from throwing him out of her room. 

“If you promise to give my best friend back,” she said softly.

Hearing that stung exactly as he deserved. “Of course. I’m sorry.”

“You said that already.” She smiled anyway, refusing his help in getting out of bed. 

Her hands reached for the ceiling as she stretched. This lifted her shirt and exposed her stomach. Her pants were low enough to show how her pelvis dipped inward near the hip, shaping a subtle pouch just below her belly button amid strong muscle underneath.

Heart now hyper, Terra forced himself to look away. 

“I’ll get Ven,” he said, his voice trembling. He begged the stars that she didn’t notice. 

Ven only agreed to get up if he was carried. He snored on Terra’s shoulder, piggybacked out of the castle through the front entrance, past the waterfalls, and downhill into the furthest clearing where the castle lanterns met the border of dark woods. 

Close to the ground danced what looked like stars, bobbing up and down as they fluttered in mismatched patterns. 

“Are we here?” Aqua asked, hushed as if to avoid disturbing the lights. 

Ven let out a noise of awe, very much awake. Terra straightened to shake him off his shoulders. Not that Ven minded - he was the first to approach the lights, an apprehensive hand reaching out as one zigzagged around his fingers.

“Wish fairies,” Terra said, which encouraged Aqua to step forward. “Some worlds call them prayer sprites, or ghouls.”

Ven laughed, herding a group as he chased them by the creek.  

Terra planned to feel proud of this moment, but Aqua shot him a cynical look. “Is this what you were researching?”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Took me a while to find the right books. They travel in between worlds, appearing once every fifty years for a couple of days before moving on.”

“Does that mean they’re good luck?” Ven asked.

“They’re like shooting stars, they grant your wishes. They have a reputation for being a sign of significant change...” Terra was rambling and he lost sight of why he was there. None of the information moved Aqua, who crossed her arms. “It can’t be a coincidence they appeared just before our exam,” he finished with mediocre finesse. 

She stepped closer to him. “Did you think bringing me out here would make everything between us okay?”

If Ven heard what she said, he did an excellent job not showing it. He flopped onto the ground, his legs spread wide. Some of the wish fairies gathered closely to him, rolling in his palms. 

Terra brushed one hand through the hair on his neck. “I hoped so,” he murmured. 

She sighed, the smallest smile coming up as she watched Ven play. 

“Are you ready to talk?”

It was Terra’s turn to sigh. He was desperate, but now that the moment was here, he found he wasn’t ready to jump this chasm. The kiss seemed like a swamp, set up to drown them both. The feelings he had for her were disorganized at best, one voice begging to touch her and the other wanting to escape somewhere where she couldn’t find him for a decade. They were mean and juvenile. Hopeful and hopeless. If he was a worthy person, that kiss wouldn’t be destroying him now.

“I don’t compare to you,” he said, his voice low and shaky, regretful of every syllable that passed through his teeth.

“That’s what’s bothering you?” She leaned forward, forcing Terra to look at her. 

She didn’t allow him to reply, her body trembling with earnestness and confusion all the same. “You nearly pulverized me the other day. You… You’re wonderful- A wonderful Keybearer.” She shook her head, suddenly gawking at the horizon. “I’m not above you or better or… How could you think that? We’re equals. We’ll always be,” she said with fragile confidence, as though she was responding to doubt.

When she finished, she deflated. It gave Terra the impression that there was something else on her mind as well. 

Strangely, her words didn’t do much to help him feel better. She was always one to lift him up, and he did the same for her for so many years. Now they just seemed rehearsed, the reality of an exam that would test how far they’ve come looming over their shoulders. 

He wanted to believe they were equals. 

“You’re not afraid of the exam?” he asked.

She inhaled, eyes hard on the grass. Ven stopped playing, idle on his hands as the wish fairies danced on his legs.

“I’m afraid of change,” she said, bracing her fingers on her lips as though the words slipped. 

“What does that mean?”

Aqua hugged herself, her voice distant. “We’ve known nothing except training. I knew this day was coming, but it seemed like a dream. Now it’s here.”

“It is a dream. We’ve shared it.”

“Yeah.” She breathed. “But what about the after? We’ll have different responsibilities. Separate missions. I know that’s the point, but what if we don’t see each other anymore?”

“That won’t happen.” Terra swallowed. The Master did all of his duties alone, no friends to speak of. 

She pursed her lips. Terra wanted to kick himself. She needed her best friend. Now. Tomorrow. Yesterday. What in the world was he doing instead? 

“I’m an idiot,” he said.

“Should I even reply?”

“I shouldn’t have... There was just... One other thing that was on my mind.” She listened. He wished she would prod him. “The night of the feast, you…” He scoffed. “You got drunk.”

Her eyes widened. 

“It’s kind of crazier than that.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “You kissed me.”

Aqua caught her mouth open. 

But the gasp Terra heard wasn’t hers - it was Ven’s, who dropped his jaw and took in air as though he had witnessed his lifetime’s greatest scandal. 

“Do you mind?” Terra spat. 

Ven snapped his mouth shut and turned away.

“I’m so sorry, Terra,” Aqua said, horrified. Her cheeks turned rosy. “I’m sorry. Were you upset with me?”

Terra expected her to be penitent, but this - did she regret it? His heart sunk. “It’s fine,” he said, stopping himself from embracing her. “It wasn’t a big deal. The dumbest thing ever.” 

Aqua held her breath. She looked hurt. Did he say something wrong? Was he supposed to make it out to be important?

“I mean,” he forced a laugh. “It felt nice.”

She brought her hand to her chest and gaped. Oh no.

“But it was nothing. I’m being very stupid.”

She pouted.

What was he supposed to say?

“You didn’t answer my question,” Aqua breathed. “Did it upset you?”

“No.” He didn’t sound convincing. The kiss was awesome. Stop the dreams, I beg you. “I mean it. I didn’t know if it meant anything, or how to act afterward, and I think I made it worse than it was. There’s nothing else.” 

Nothing else. How it hurt to say.

She didn’t nod. “Promise me we’re okay?”

“Better than that. I promised to bring me back.”

Aqua seemed relieved. Much more relaxed in her shoulders. But something was still off. Her eyes went somewhere else, somewhere that made her sad. Terra only saw a flash of it before she picked herself up and smiled. It wasn’t natural. 

Ven was still listening - he didn’t say anything, but he shook his head in disapproval.

Things were supposed to be fixed by now. Wish fairies fluttered near. Terra felt an unfamiliar warmth radiating from it, a magic he didn’t recognize. Holding out a hand, he let it sit. An outline of wings glowed and dimmed, swirling patterns knitting across.

“What did you wish for?” Aqua asked. One sat in both of her hands.

Her. He let himself take one very selfish moment in the vicinity of a power far greater than him despite that he could crush it with his fingers. He prayed it knew that he didn’t have bad intentions. He wished for her. 

“That I pass the Mark of Mastery,” he said.

For someone who believed you had to work to make your dreams come true, that was the one time he actually sounded believable.

“What about you?”

She passed him a glance before shifting her gaze back to her visitor. “Oh. The same.”

He lobbed his hand and the wish fairy panicked, hovering close to his face. It was like it wanted him to take a message. He nearly leaned forward to hear, as silly as it made him feel, when he felt Aqua’s head on his bicep, testing it for the best spot. 

“You owe me the very least of being my pillow,” she giggled.

He could put his arm around her. He weighed the possibility, but opted to watch the way her eyelids resisted and lost the fight to stay open. 

“Can you guys get a room?” Ven called.

Aqua snapped, a deep crimson staining her cheeks. “Ven!”

It was enough to make Ven nervous, shakily getting on his feet. The wish fairies scattered. “Wh- What are you going to do?”

She summoned Rainfell, a chill building in the air. “I need target practice.”

“You can’t do that to me.”

“I suggest you survive what I plan to do.”

Whatever Ven felt transformed into an impish grin. “Catch me first.”

He ran laps as Aqua swung her Keyblade and made ice chunks implode. She missed. “Stand still.”

“I’ll tell the Master!”

Aqua was slow to respond. 

Ven launched himself up behind her. “Death to taxes!”

He knocked her to the ground, holding a firm grip around her shoulders. She was no Terra, not that much taller than Ven and surely not bigger. She attempted once to stand up, but she collapsed, crushed by his weight on her back. Her laughter lacked strength, a small bird’s song.

The sound of it hit Terra hard. He couldn’t shake off the gnawing fear that he let something precious slip through his fingers. That she was lost forever or that she was never his to begin with.

“Ven, I’m tired,” she begged.

“How about you promise me something?” 

She responded with a slap that landed nowhere, a giggling Ven shuffling away. Aqua nestled in the grass, sighing, as though all she needed were sheets and a pillow.

The least he could do was carry her. Taking her head on one arm and roping her knees with the other, Terra picked her up. She didn’t protest - she had to be dead tired not to - and instead clung onto his shoulders. She nuzzled her face into his neck, hiding her face away from the glare of the lanterns. Terra couldn’t help but notice her smell, a flowery sweat with a dash of perfumed soap. Vanilla? She was soft; his dream didn’t do her justice. He preferred it this way, though, over her being so far away, even at arm’s reach. 

Ven did him the favor of not saying anything stupid as they walked back to the castle. He chatted instead about his wish to see the worlds - something Terra was sure would happen one day, as soon as the Master deemed him old enough to. Aqua may have listened. Her breath slowed but she kept a strong grip on Terra.

“We still share the same dream, right?” she murmured when they got to her room. Ven waited outside - there was an implication there, but Terra chose to ignore it.

“Yeah.” Terra inhaled, her warmth the only thing in his mind. 

Her face left his neck, something he sorely missed. Standing up, Aqua held his elbow, glancing at his lips before looking back up at him. She nervously pushed a lock of hair behind her ear.

“You said it felt nice.”

He froze, his tongue thick. “It- It was,” he stammered. 

Her eyes darted around the room, locking over her colorful glass work in progress. “There’s something we should talk about.”

“Okay. Whatever you want.”

“After the exam, I mean.” She fumbled with her fingers. It was strange to see her so unsure. Unbreakable Aqua. “We have too much going on right now.”

“Of course.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly. 

“You okay?” he asked, brushing her hair with his fingers.

“If you are, I am.”

That again. “I told you, I’m fine.”

She squeezed him before letting go. Her hand smoothed the wrinkles of his shirt, splaying on his pecs. Her smile was tense. Brave.  

“Thanks,” she said. “They were lovely.”

Terra gently closed the door behind him as she retired to bed. Ven frowned. Like steam about to wheeze out of metal, he flipped a look at Terra on the verge of sputtering a lecture.

“You guys are ridic-”

Terra clamped a sharp hand on Ven’s mouth, picking his body up at his hip like carrying a log. Protests, insults, and sneers were muffled. Flailing kicks bumped the backs of Terra’s knees.  They didn’t have much of a punch, though.

When Terra entered Ven’s room, he had to stop. A warm, slimy brush grazed his palm.

“Ven! Gross.”

“You deserve it.”

Terra wiped his palm on his pants - he wasn’t going to let Ven go that easy. 

It wasn’t the same as throwing boulders for exercise, what with Ven being heavier than some and less cooperative, but Terra kept a firm hold on Ven’s thrashing body, lifting him high in the air. Ven still tried to wiggle free. Bless his heart.

Terra threw Ven onto the bed, who bounced before he settled.

“You need to be told a thousand times over: You’re an idiot,” Ven said, fixing his hair. 

“Go to sleep.”

“Did you expect things were going to go differently?”

Terra stopped at the door. “What do you mean?”

Ven grasped his forehead in disbelief. “You didn’t notice? You rejected her.”

“I did not.” Hope tasted sour in his mouth. 

“Seriously, you flat out made her think that nothing was going to happen between the two of you at all.”

“What do you want me to say?” Terra whipped over his shoulder.  

Ven wasn’t offended. If anything, he was amused, pleased with himself that he had Terra’s attention. His bedsheets were messy, and he kicked his legs under. “Anything. Something that sounds like the truth.”

Terra sighed with exasperation. Something like the truth meant the thought of her traveling to other worlds without him pricked the tiniest bit. It was the thought of her meeting new people. The thought of her sleeping in someone else’s bed made him nauseous. And he had to let her just to see her smile.

“We’re both very stressed.” Terra shrugged, pushing statues and books from other worlds off the top of Ven’s dresser, leaning his elbow on the surface. “It’s complicated.”

Ven rolled his eyes. “Come on. Give me something real.”

Something like the truth. Terra smirked. “She’s hot.”

Shock first. Disgust melted Ven’s outgoing expression into the horror of witnessing a scene he didn’t want to see. 

“Ugh, why would you tell me that?” He covered his ears before realizing it was too late already. “I thought you cared about me, man, I’m never gonna heal from this.”

Watching Ven squirm and mutter indecencies was a welcome amusement, but it didn’t last long. Terra took a seat at the foot of the bed, tucking one leg in and crossing his arms. Something like the truth gave him very little about this to find funny. 

For years he kept it to himself, and he was plenty fine with that. Never did he expect a day would come where he would hate that fact.

“I love her.”

The agony washed away from Ven’s face in a blur, his head raising from his hands. He nodded. Terra let himself wallow, appreciative that Ven understood how serious he meant it. That he did not have to explain himself. That there was some quiet.

“Thanks for not treating me like a little kid,” Ven said softly.

Tears tickled the back of Terra’s eyes and he quickly braced them with his arm before they fell. “No problem.”

“Will you tell her?”

Silence. “I don’t know.”

“You have to.”

“It’s the worst timing.” He couldn’t take her best friend away from her. “The Mark of Mastery is so close. We should be studying.”

“Then tell her after. At least it’d be off your chest.” That same, twisted grin that made Ven look like a sock puppet crept back up. “I think you’d like the answer she’d give you.”

Blush cooked under Terra’s cheeks. He jabbed a finger at Ven’s face. “You’re not going to say a thing.”

“I won’t… if you promise you will.”

He didn’t want to take the bait. But it was tempting. A surge of foolish bravery birthed from nowhere heated his body. “Okay,” he whispered.

Ven was pleased with himself. That happened too much. “You owe me thirty munny, by the way.”

“Shut up and sleep.” Terra stood up. 

“You’re still paying me tomorrow.”

“Make me.”

“Where’s your honor?”

“Up my ass.”

Ven waved his hand, as though he was commemorating art. “The tragic life of a best friend gone bad. Starring Terra Butt-Picker.”

“And Ven, the Destitute Boob.”

The hallway outside was still, but alight from the moon that glowed through Terra’s bedroom door. Telling Ven released a pressure akin to a valve loosening. At least someone validated Terra. At least he wasn’t crazy. Half of him considered knocking on Aqua’s door one more time. Get it out of the way. See if what Ven said was true. The other half knew better.

The clock was ticking and he had already wasted a day. Aqua’s door would still be there after the exam. 

Terra planned to pay most of the munny. Terra planned to take her to a world with lots of fireworks, where the colors could make her smile and he could finally say it. It’d be perfect. 

It was a comforting thought.

A/N: This chapter makes references to Disney’s Robin Hood (1973).