#beans don’t belong on toast

[itsambersworld]

Why is it that almost every time I log on to Twitter.com(I’m still calling it that idc), there’s some discourse about America?? Like we get it we do something’s differently bit it’s really not that big of a deal to constantly bitch about. At this point Americans must live rent free in your head since you keep mentioning them unprovoked.

The American discourse I saw today was literally about paper measurements of all things. Like really paper?? *in my Jill Robert’s voice* Shut the fuck up already! Ugh so annoying.

[moonstruckme]

summary: when James moves into your apartment, you need a bit of an adjustment period

part 1 │ part 2 │ part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │ part 11 │ part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 1k words

You go downstairs the way a meerkat pokes its head out of its burrow. Cautious, watchful. When you spot James standing over a sizzling pan in the kitchen, it’s a bit of effort not to sigh, but you go anyway, hunger temporarily taking priority over solitude. It’s just going to have to be another quick meal.

“Hey.” James looks up from a recipe he’s reading on his phone, grinning at you. 

You press your lips together in a smile of response. The girl who’d occupied James’ room before him wouldn’t have bothered to acknowledge you, and frankly, you’d liked her for that. You’d had a mutually ambivalent relationship; you’d both paid your rent, ignored the other’s food in the fridge, and gone about your days as if you each had the apartment to yourself. She had to move out because the maintenance crew tattled on her for having a pet, and though James only moved in a week ago, he’s invited you to hang out with his friends every time they’ve come over. Which is often. (He’s at least considerate enough to always ask first, and you always say yes. Partially because they don’t make huge messes and partially because you don’t know how to reply to a yes/no question any other way.) 

You go to the fridge, tearing the aluminum foil off a half-empty can of beans and shaking it into a bowl. You put it in the microwave. James reaches to turn down the stove, and, like a frightened animal, you flinch away from him. He doesn’t seem to notice, only retreating to the opposite counter to give you more room. 

“How’s your day going?” he asks, leaning back on his forearms. 

“Not bad,” you say. Another thing about James is that in addition to his relentless geniality, he’s ferociously attractive. It takes all of your willpower not to let your eyes dip from his face to where his short sleeves conform to his biceps when he leans that way, but your face heats regardless. “Yours?” 

“Pretty good, actually.” He smiles easily. “It’s gorgeous out, have you felt the weather?” 

You shake your head. “I haven’t been out yet.” 

James nods like he knows this already, humming noncommittally. You think you spy a bit of judgment in his look, but you can’t be sure. “So,” he says, “I have something to ask you.” 

You tense. “Okay…” 

“I know you value your privacy, and I totally respect that, but I feel like as your roommate it’s my responsibility to at least ask.” 

You feel your eyes narrowing as you nod for him to continue. 

James schools his face into seriousness, a frown on his lips that looks like it doesn’t belong. “Do you not eat?” 

You laugh, relieved and bemused. “Of course I eat.”

The smile he gives you is strained, clearly for your benefit rather than his. “You sure about that? Because this morning I just saw you have one—one—piece of toast for breakfast, and then for lunch you had…what?” 

You shy, more because of his notice than anything else. The microwave beeps and you use it as an excuse to turn around. “Some cheese and crackers.” 

When you pivot with the steaming bowl, James is looking at you incredulously.

“They’re really filling!” 

“That’s a snack, love, not a meal. Both of those are snacks. Did you have anything else?” 

You hold up the bowl in your hand. “I’m about to have some beans.” 

His laugh is monosyllabic. Appalled. “You’re not serious.” 

You roll your eyes at him even as your face heats. “Listen, it’s not my most nutritious day, but I’ve been in a rush, and…” You were going to say more, but decide against it. “Anyway, there’s protein in the beans, so.” 

James isn’t having it. “And what?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Something.” He raises his eyebrows at you. “C’mon, spill, or I’m going to call your mum and tell her about your big day of—“ He draws quotes in the air, full lips curving he does “—beans and crackers.” 

“And toast,” you joke. James’ smile is small and short-lived. Does he really have your mum’s phone number? He can’t possibly. 

You sigh. “Okay, it’s nothing to do with you, but I…I’m a bit weird about being in the kitchen at the same time.” James’ thick eyebrows meet in the middle, and your shoulders hunch instinctively but you force yourself to finish explaining. “I just want to grab whatever is quickest and go before I make things awkward, or something. But I know it’s stupid.” You shake your head. You could burn the apartment to cinders with the heat from your face. “I don’t own the kitchen. You have every right to be here, and I’ll get used to it eventually. It’s just that you’re new to me right now.” 

James' expression clears. “Oh, you’re shy.” 

You must look even more embarrassed at that, because he hurries to say, “That’s alright, it’s good to know how you feel about things. And now I don’t have to call your mum.” He grins, and it widens when you make a tiny effort to reciprocate. “I don’t mind stepping out of the kitchen so you can cook every now and then.”

“You really don’t have to.” 

“It’s no trouble.” He waves you off. “Honestly, it’s too small for both of us to comfortably use at the same time anyway. Careful by the way, that pan’s hot.” 

You glance behind you, and you’ve backed yourself nearly into the stove. You move away, squeaking out a thanks. 

James’ smile softens. “I do hope you're right about getting used to me eventually, though.” He gives you a kind look, and you have no idea how he can maintain eye contact with that much sincerity in his big brown eyes. You envy the skill. “I’d like to get to be friends, but we’ve got time for that.” 

You’ve no clue how to respond, some deer-in-the-headlights instinct taking ahold of you, but James doesn’t seem to be expecting one. He reaches out to squeeze your shoulder, taking back his place at the stove. You take that as your cue to go.

[sugardollcurse]

I'm a Ringo fan and I just LOVE the way you write him, I always leave satisfied when I read your Ringo hcs AND that Ringo fic you wrote, totally amazing♡♡♡ I would like to request another Ringo fic bcs there aren't enough fics in this ringomaniac world... I would like a Ringo fic, anything you want really, maybe cozy mornings, a day where he is the one who cooks, just anything! And again, I LOVE everything you do, peace and love!!!

𝑠𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 | ringo starr x reader

𐙚 summary ; ringo makes breakfast in nothing but boxers and a grin. you don’t get out of bed ‘til noon.

𐙚 note ; you get it. i swear there’s no comfort like writing ringo at his softest. peace and love always !!!

The sun crept in like it knew it was being rude.

Yellow streaks spilled across the bedsheets, lighting the tangled limbs and discarded t-shirt on the floor, the little record player in the corner with its lid half-shut and something still humming low because neither of you’d gotten up to stop it. The apartment smelled like warmth and dust and sleep.

You rolled over with a groan, cheek pressed into the pillow.

Ringo was gone.

Well, not gone. You could still hear him. Somewhere in the flat. Clanging.

You blinked slowly, head buried beneath the duvet, trying to place the noise. Something metal, something clumsy.

Then you smelled it. Butter. Bread. Was that eggs?

Your heart fluttered.

Ringo had said he was gonna cook this weekend, but he also said that about fixing the bookshelf and watching Dr. Zhivago with you. You’d learned to love the promises even when they dissolved like smoke. He meant them. But today… maybe he meant this one more.

You groaned again, curling into yourself, stretching your toes under the sheets.

Then-

“Aye!” he called from the kitchen. “Don’t think I don’t hear y’tossin’ around!"

You laughed, a sleepy huff into the pillow. “How d’you know I’m awake?”

“’Cause you always make that noise like you’re bein’ murdered when you stretch. S’nothin’ short of dramatic, that.”

You sat up, rubbing at your eyes. Your voice was hoarse with sleep. “You're makin’ breakfast?”

A pause. A suspicious sizzle.

“…depends how y’determine breakfast. Might be brunch by now. Or early tea.”

You dragged the duvet off and made your way down the narrow hallway in socks. The flat was old, with squeaky floorboards and weird little alcoves, and you loved every inch of it. Especially the kitchen.

There he was. Back to you, standing at the stove in nothing but his boxers and an apron that said “Kiss the Cook” in red paint. His hair was flat on one side, puffy on the other.

“You would wear that apron,” you muttered.

He turned, spatula in hand, big grin plastered across his face. “’Course I would. Gotta advertise, haven’t I?”

You leaned against the doorframe, watching. “What's all this?”

“Well, I made eggs, see, scrambled, then did toast, but I burnt the first two slices so you’re gettin’ the golden ones, not the test batch-aren’t you lucky-then I thought, well I’ll slice some avocado, right, real posh like. And then I thought, what if we want beans too?”

“Do we want beans?”

“I dunno. I just wanted to make enough noise that you’d come in and kiss me.”

You laughed and crossed the kitchen to do exactly that. He kissed you like he hadn’t seen you in weeks, hand on your hip, thumb brushing the hem of your shirt, warm and unhurried.

“Mornin’,” he murmured against your lips.

“’S not morning anymore.”

“Still counts if we haven’t eaten.”

You leaned into him, eyes closed. “You’re warm.”

“I’m cookin’, love. My arse is roastin’. Should’ve put trousers on.”

“You should’ve turned on the fan.”

Ringo looked toward the greasy little fan over the stove, then shrugged. “Adds to the charm. Keeps me sweatin’.”

You swatted his stomach and he grinned. “Table’s set. Sort of.”

He wasn’t lying. There were two plates, a butter knife, and a spoon that absolutely wasn’t needed for anything, but it was lying between them like it belonged. A single napkin sat balled near the edge. And in the middle: a little stubby candle in a wine bottle, half-burnt from last night, when you’d split a bottle of red and played cards with your feet in his lap.

You sat. He served.

He poured tea for both of you, two sugars for you, one for him. He did it without asking. Then he slid the food in front of you with a chef’s flourish.

You stared at your plate.

“Is that a heart-shaped egg?”

He raised both eyebrows. “You noticed!”

You laughed into your tea. “It’s lopsided.”

“S’how you know it’s genuine.”

You dug in, and to your surprise, it was good. The toast was buttery and crisp. The eggs were soft, a little peppery. The avocado was… well, it was avocado. But he’d sliced it with the love of a man preparing a wedding feast.

You hummed around a mouthful. “Richie…”

He perked up like a puppy. “Yeah?”

“This is a normal breakfast.”

He puffed up. Actually puffed. Shoulders back, chest out, doing a mock-bow in the chair.

“I accept awards in the form of snogs.”

You leaned over the table and kissed him again, slower this time. The candle wax had melted into the woodgrain. Your fingers brushed his.

You didn’t even realize you were smiling ‘til he reached over and traced the curve of your cheek with his thumb.

“I like seein’ you like this,” he said.

You swallowed. “Like what?”

“Happy. All soft and sweet. Like I did somethin’ right.”

You rolled your eyes, but it came out too gentle to mean it. “You do things right. All the time.”

“Not always.”

“No one does.”

He didn’t answer. He just kept looking at you like he couldn’t believe his luck. Like the candlelight and the cheap toast and your hair mussed from sleep was something out of a dream he wasn’t done having yet.

You set your tea down. “Richie?”

“Mm?”

“Stay like this with me. All day.”

He grinned. “Thought you’d never ask.”

taglist: @sharksausages, @wavvytin, @wimpyvamps, @finallyforgotten, @lennongirlieee, @silly-lil-lee, @alanangels, @wisepainterprince

[unlimitedlust]

Bite Me - Eric Draven (AU) x Reader | Part. 6

(The gif above does not belong to me, all credits belong to its owner)

Summary:

They were childhood rivals who hadn’t spoken in years, until a wedding reunion throws them back into each other’s orbit. With tension simmering beneath every glance, one weekend turns into a series of unexpected moments, sharp words, and almosts that linger long after the party ends. But when fate keeps bringing them back together, the line between hate and something far more irresistible begins to blur.

Author’s note:

I have a few random ideas for this chapter, but the song "Southbound" by Artemas just stuck to my head and I followed down that path... If you're into listeting to something while reading, that's the song I recommend.

That chapter is a little longer, I hope you all enjoy it (let me know in the comments).

Tags: @malenoradgn @muchwita @a-differentbrandof-beans @laniirackssss

Masterlist

Disclaimers:

As the story progresses I’ll let you know if the chapters have any sensitive topics beforehand.

This story will have smut scenes in the future, but you’ll be warned!

English is not my first language, so forgive me for any mistakes I eventually skipped while proof-reading it.

This is AU Eric Draven!!!

If you enjoy this, please let me know if I should continue this, your feedback is precious for me 🫶🏻

End of Author’s note

The engine growled beneath her, the vibration rattled through her bones and settled somewhere low in her stomach. Eric revved it once, and she knew he did it just to make her grip him tighter.

Her arms instinctively locked around his torso, and god, he felt solid. Her palms slid across his chest and abs, the muscle beneath his t-shirt hard and chiseled, radiating heat as she held on tighter.

She pressed closer, not because she had to, but because she wanted to. Another rev, this one louder and sharper. He leaned into a turn and she clung to him, hands fisting his t-shirt and legs tightening on either side of the bike.

“Asshole,” she muttered under her breath, it wasn’t loud enough for him to hear, but she could swear she felt him smirk even though she couldn’t see it.

A few minutes later Eric parked in front of a building that looked like it should’ve been condemned years ago. No lights in the windows, no signs. Just black-painted brick and a nondescript steel door set into the wall.

She yanked the helmet off, brow furrowing. “What is this place?’”

Eric didn’t answer. He was already at the door, knocking twice, then once more with a rhythm that made her raise an eyebrow. It creaked open and a man on the other side glanced at Eric, then stepped aside to let them in.

The inside of the building told a totally different story from its outside.

Golden lights bathed the space in warmth, casting a glow over shelves lined with colorful bottles of liquor behind the bar. In the far corner, a pool table sat under a single swinging bulb. A few people lingered by the bar, but it was far from packed.

She stepped in cautiously, eyes adjusting. “Wow, I wasn’t expecting this.”

“I knew you’d be surprised.” He said, already heading towards the bar. “Pick your poison.”

She joined him, perching on the stool beside him as she ordered two shots of jägerbomb. When the bartender brought them over, she slid one towards Eric and held hers up in a silent toast.

“To the truce,” he said, eyes never leaving hers.

She hesitated a beat, then tapped her glass against his. “Temporary, so don’t get used to it.”

The shot burned in the best way and settled like heat in her chest.

“You play?” he asked, nodding toward the pool table.

“I’m decent,” she said, standing. “But if you’re looking for an ego boost, I can fake being worse.”

He laughed, a deep, genuine sound that caught her off-guard. “You faking anything tonight wouldn’t be a first.”

She gave him a look but didn’t push back. Instead, she grabbed a cue and chalked it.

They started playing and he was good, like really good. But she held her own. There was something strangely intimate about it. The quiet moments between the shots, the way he watched her move around the table, the low chuckle he let out when she sank a difficult shot. 

Between turns, their conversation unfolded in pieces, little glimpses into the years they’d missed. She told him about the cities she’d lived in, the jobs that didn’t stick, the one that finally did. He mentioned his own adventures, his move back to town, the business he was starting with a friend. 

It wasn’t heavy or overly sentimental, just real and honest. She found herself laughing more than she expected, leaning into the way he spoke with his hands, how his expressions hadn’t changed much since they were teenagers. 

The tension was still there, always simmering, but now it wasn’t combative, it was easy, almost natural.

At one point, she leaned over the table to take a shot, body aligned with her target, hips angled just right. The air shifted behind her, she couldn’t see him, but she could feel him and the way his eyes traced her unapologetic. 

“You always bend like that when you’re trying to distract the competition?” His voice came low from behind her, nearly brushing her ear.

Her lips twitched, but she didn’t look back. “Only when the competition’s dumb enough to fall for it.”

“Hmm.” He was closer now. She could feel it in the way the hairs on her neck stood up. “Guess I’m losing, then.”

She made the shot clean, straight into the pocket, and stood slowly. Their eyes met, and everything between them tightened.

His hand brushed her hip as he stepped past her, his touch barely there, not enough to start something, just enough to remind her he could, and she didn’t move away.

“Lucky,” he said.

“Skilled,” she corrected.

The game wound down not long after, both of them trading points back and forth with silent, crackling focus. He won, but barely. One ball left on the table when he sank the eight.

She shook her head as he straightened up, smug. “Should’ve distracted you harder.”

Eric's grin turned wicked as he stepped in close, his voice a low murmur meant only for her.

“If you’d distracted me any harder,” he said, eyes dipping briefly to her lips as his knuckles caressed her cheeks, “the game wouldn’t have made it to the end.”

He let the implication hang in the air between them, heavy and charged. For a second, neither of them moved. Then, with a flick of his head, he broke the spell.

“Come on,” he said, already turning towards a door at the back of the bar. “There’s more.”

She followed, pulse quickening as the sound of the bar faded behind them. The hallway was narrow, the music thrumming louder with each step until they reached a staircase that curved down into the dark.

The descent was like stepping into another world. The bass hit her first, deep and pulsing, syncing with her heartbeat. The space below was darker, more intimate, washed in red and violet light. People moved on the floor like smoke, bodies pressed together, energy crackling in the air.

He led her through the crowd, his hand finding hers without asking. She let it. Let him pull her onto the floor as the beat shifted, slow and heavy.

She moved closer on instinct. He met her there, arms low on her hips, their bodies already swaying. The music soaked into her bones, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she stopped thinking.

They hadn’t even been dancing that long and she was already overheating. Not from the beat or the crowd or the alcohol. From him.

Her back pressed to his chest, and she could feel everything. The rhythm flowing through both of them like a shared heartbeat, every breath, every shift in his hips. His hands rested low on her waist, firm, possessive, thumbs hooked in her skirt’s belt loops keeping and pulling her closer.

Y/N closed her eyes, letting the beat pull her in. Her hips swayed side to side, slow and hypnotic, brushing against him in light, teasing passes. Each time she rolled back, she felt the slight hitch in his breath, the way his body tensed just a little tighter.

Until she did it on purpose. A slow, deliberate roll of her hips and her ass pressed flush against him, grinding back in a smooth, sinuous rhythm that made contact unavoidable.

His hands clamped down on her waist in a warning grip. His fingers dug into her sides, not painful, but enough to remind her of exactly who was behind her. She felt the shift in him instantly, how his restraint cracked, how his body responded before his brain could stop it. There was no space between them anymore. Just heat.

He leaned in, his mouth brushing her ear, breath hot and uneven.

“You keep doing that,” he rasped, voice rough with want, “and I’m forgetting we’re in public.” His grip tightened and her pulse stuttered. “And I’ve got a feeling you won’t stop me.”

His nose skimmed the curve of her jaw, lips ghosting over her skin without touching, like he was savoring how close he could get without crossing that final line. She swallowed hard, but didn’t stop moving. 

He was right, she wouldn’t stop him from doing whatever he had in mind, but she wasn’t going to say that out loud. Instead, she let her head fall back, her head resting on his chest, letting her weight settle against him in a silent dare as his hands slid up her sides.

He let out the softest groan, barely audible over the music, but she felt it, deep in his chest, vibrating through her spine. Her eyes fluttered shut.

Then he turned her around in one smooth pull, one of his hands still gripping her waist, keeping their bodies still flush as the other slid up her back as their eyes locked.

Their bodies fit too easily, too well. His thigh slotted between hers, her hands found his shoulders, then the back of his neck, fingers curling just enough to make him breathe a little harder.

Chest to chest, heat curled between them like it had a will of its own. She tilted her head up slightly, breath mingling in the narrow space between their mouths.

Eric’s gaze flicked down to her lips.“Don’t look at me like that…” 

“Like what?” She blinked up at him, all faux innocence, lashes low and mouth curving like she knew exactly what she was doing.

His voice dipped lower, rough with restraint. “Like you actually don’t give a damn who’s watching”

She tilted her chin, trying to steady herself, trying to keep some kind of upper hand as her pulse hammered beneath her skin. “You think I’m scared of you?”

“No,” he said, the hand on her spine pressing her even closer. “I think you’re scared of how bad you want me.”

Her breath caught and her lips parted on instinct. She hated that he was right and hated how easily his words slid beneath her skin, curling low and electric in her belly.

He dipped his head, slowly, like giving her a chance to pull away. She didn’t. Her eyes fell to his lips, drawn in by gravity and heat. His hand tightened at her back, anchoring her there as his mouth hovered just over hers, so close she could feel the shape of it in the air.

Her lashes fluttered. Her hands tightened at the back of his neck. He didn’t kiss her yet, he lingered, like he was savoring the anticipation. Like he wanted her to feel every second of it.

His nose brushed hers, soft and intimate. His thumb traced the curve of her spine in slow, grounding circles. Her heart slammed against her ribs as she leaned up into him, lips parting slightly, chasing contact she wasn’t even sure he’d give.

Her eyes drifted shut and she felt him breathe her in, until -

“Yo, Eric!”

A voice cut clean through the moment like a knife. 

Eric didn’t move for a beat, his breath caught between them, jaw clenched tight as if he were physically forcing himself not to finish what he started. He pulled back just a fraction, just enough to break the spell, but not enough to give her space.

Y/N blinked, heart slamming against her ribs. Her lips still tingled from a kiss that hadn’t even happened. The interruption felt almost indecent, like being yanked from a dream too fast.

Eric’s head turned slowly toward the voice, irritation sharp in the line of his jaw. She followed his gaze just in time to catch the guy who’d called him out, a tall, smirking figure pushing through the crowd, hand raised in a sheepish half-wave.

“Damn,” the guy said as he approached, eyes flicking between them with a grin. “Didn’t realize you were in the middle of something. My bad.”

Eric didn’t reply at first. His hand was still on Y/N’s waist, thumb resting in the dip just above her hip like he wasn’t quite ready to let go.

“You’re lucky I like you, Joe” he muttered to his friend, voice rough.

The friend just laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “Come on, man. We’re all over by the VIP booth. Everyone’s been asking for you.”

Eric’s eyes flicked back to Y/N, like he was silently checking if she’d come too.

She didn’t hesitate and smiled at him reassuringly. “Lead the way.”

Eric looked back at her, that same heat still burning in his eyes, like he hadn’t cooled off one damn degree, and then proceeded to follow his friend. He didn’t move his hand from her waist as they followed the guy across the floor, weaving through sweaty bodies.

The booth was crowded with his half-way drunk friends. Another guy and a girl were slouched into the red curved leather seating, drinks in hand and mid-laughter. But the second they spotted Eric, their energy shifted and a small buzz was made celebrating his arrival.

“Eric!” One of the guys called, eyebrows shooting up as he stood and pulled him into a hug. “What are you doing here man?” 

“The same as you,Tate, having fun.” Eric replied while hugging him back.

That’s when Tate noticed her. His gaze slid to Y/N, eyes flicking up and down with undisguised curiosity as the rest of the group perked up, clearly wondering who she was.

“Damn, dude,” Tate said with a slow grin, one that vanished the moment Eric arched a brow at him. A silent warning. Tate caught it just in time and threw up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright.”

Meanwhile, Eric’s hand shifted from her lower back to her waist, firmer now, his grip casual but unmistakably possessive.

“Aren’t you gonna introduce us to your girl?” The raven-haired girl added, half-laughing, but watching closely, curiosity oozing out of her eyes as she, along with the rest of their friends, were surprised to see Eric with someone that, at first, seemed to mean to him more than just one of his one night stands.

Y/N’s heart hammered hard in her chest. His girl. She’d usually deny and deadpan despise such label, especially regarding Eric, but at that very moment, neither of them corrected it.

Eric leaned back slightly, hand still resting on her hip, like he wasn’t in any rush to clarify. His eyes flicked to hers before he spoke.

“This is Y/N,” he said simply. No smirk. No explanation. Just her name. Then, after a beat, his arm tightened around her waist ever so slightly. “She’s off limits.” He stated as he glared daggers at his friends. “And that includes you, Jes.” 

He pointed at the only girl in the table and that earned them a new chorus of laughter as they tried to make room for them in the booth. Despite their efforts, there wasn’t enough space for two people.

Eric slid in taking his seat and spread his thighs open, patting his thigh as if to tell Y/N that that was her seat, and cocked his eyebrow at her as if he was daring her to do so. She stared at him for half a second and then rolled her eyes before finally settling onto his lap, like it wasn’t the worst idea ever.

His hands found her waist again immediately, grounding her against him and steadying her as she shifted on his lap to get comfortable. Her skirt rode up slightly, and she felt his fingers twitch against her hip as his other hand now settled on her thigh, tracing small absentminded patterns against her smooth skin, as if he was trying to distract himself from the fact that that position had her ass was dangerously close to his cock. 

Moments later a server approached their table and set down a tray containing a row of tequila shots, lime wedges, a small dish of salt and the bottle for extra refill.

“Oh hell yes!” Joe grinned, already reaching for a shot. “Now we’re getting started!”

They all grabbed a glass, pinched some salt and claimed their pieces of lime. The mood on the table shifted, instantly getting louder as they raised their glasses and let the warm chaos of alcohol fuel them.

Eric’s grip on Y/N’s waist tightened slightly as she bent forward to grab her own sho;t, her ass pressing back just enough to remind them both where she was sitting.

They downed their first shot and Joe, who’d already taken an extra shot by himself, pointed at Eric and Y/N with a devious grin on his face. “Alright, alright. I saw you on the dance floor, you two are overdue for a body shot.”

Y/N blinked and turned to face Eric with a ‘what now?’ look on her face, only to find an amused, and apparently very happy, Eric with his friend’s suggestion.

He didn’t answer right away, he just cocked his head, eyes glinting with interest as he studied her expression. “Too much for you?”

Y/N narrowed her eyes, playing it cool even as her pulse jumped. “I can handle whatever you throw at me.”

“Yeah?” His lips curved, slow and wicked. “Then let me go first.”

The table whooped as Eric gently brushed her hair over one shoulder with one hand while the other stayed anchored to her waist. Then, he reached for a piece of lime and brought it to her lips, his eyes dark with mischief.

“Open.” Her pussy clenched at the way that one word came out of his mouth, wondering what it would be like to hear it in another, more intimate, context. She tried to ignore the images painted in her head and parted her lips, allowing him to place the lime between them. “Now hold still.”

He murmured and poured a small trail of salt along the curve of her exposed neck, just over her pulse.

She barely had time to process the heat in his eyes before he leaned in. His mouth pressed to her neck, tongue darting out slow and unhurried, licking the salt in a way that was far more sensual than it had any right to be. 

But he didn’t stop there, he lingered, his lips and tongue giving an extra attention to the sensitive area, making a visible shiver run down her spine. The table cheered, but it all sounded distant compared to the pounding in her ears.

She exhaled shakily and turned her head just enough to meet his eyes, breath catching as he held the shot glass up in a mock toast, and downed it in one smooth move, only to then lean in and take the lime straight from her lips with his own.

His mouth brushed hers deliberately, lips ghosting over the corner of her mouth in a near-kiss that felt far more dangerous than anything they'd done on the dance floor. The contact was brief, but the aftershock was immediate, and she was afraid she’d catch on fire at any moment.

“Your turn,” he said, voice gravelly with restraint.

Y/N didn’t hesitate. 

She slid off his lap and dropped to her knees between his legs like it was the most casual thing in the world. The table went feral.

“Shit,” someone muttered.

Eric’s smirk froze and his gaze dropped to her, stunned, like he hadn’t expected her to raise the stakes like that, his breath catching visibly as she knelt in front of him with fire in her eyes. 

She lifted her hand, poured a small trail of salt onto her skin, and licked it off slowly, eyes never leaving his. Then, she placed both hands on his thighs as she nodded towards the bottle.

“Give it to me.” She pleaded, voice soft, but loaded as she stuck her tongue out just slightly.

Eric’s brows lifted, but he recovered quickly, grabbing the bottle with a steady hand. His once green eyes darkened as he tilted it, pouring straight onto her waiting tongue in a slow stream. 

She tilted her head back just enough, tongue out, eyes locked on his as he let the tequila spill in a slow stream into her waiting mouth. She didn’t blink. Didn’t look away. Drank every drop and didn’t move a muscle except to swallow the liquor with a slow, deliberate motion. The sight before Eric so erotic it was almost too much for him to handle.

“Holy hell,” Tate mumbled, not even trying to hide it.

She licked her lips and caught the last drop with the tip of her tongue, and only then reached for her lime, sinking her teeth into it while holding his gaze. A drop of juice slipped down her chin and she wiped it with the pad of her thumb, sucking the excess off her finger with a knowing smirk that had no business being that lethal towards him.

Eric stared at her, utterly speechless.

“Someone get him a glass of water,” Joe said, laughing. “My boy is done.”

Eric didn’t even hear him, his eyes were still locked on Y/N, who sat back on her heels like she hadn’t just set the entire table on fire. Like she hadn’t just melted his brain with a look and a slice of lime.

She tilted her head, smug and breathless all at once. “Something wrong?”

He blinked once, slowly, like he was waking from a dream. Then his tongue swept across his bottom lip and he exhaled sharply through his nose. Then he stood, slowly, and reached down offering his hand.

She took it and he pulled her up, his hand sliding down hers until his fingers caught hers, threading them together without asking.

“We’re getting some air,” he said over his shoulder. His voice was cool, final.

Eric guided her away from the booth, away from the table, away from the noise. They slipped out through the side door, unnoticed by most, but not by Joe, who raised his eyebrows at Tate like well damn.

They didn’t wait for a reply. They didn’t need one, they all knew very well they needed some privacy.

The second they stepped outside a chill ran up her skin, still hot from the inside of the club and from her small stunt. 

It was quieter here, except for the thump of bass leaking through the walls and the chaos in her chest.

Eric didn’t say a word. He just kept walking until they were far enough from the door, tucked in the dark beside the building, the world distant and irrelevant, he had only one thing in his mind.

Then he turned and looked at her, a look that made her forget how to breathe. 

His eyes dropped from her eyes to her mouth, down the line of her throat, lingering at the way her chest rose and fell.

“You knew exactly what you were doing, didn’t you?” He murmured, voice dangerously soft.

Y/N leaned against the brick wall, heart hammering. “What, the shot?”

He stepped closer. “No,” he said. “The way you looked at me when you did it.” His thumb dragged her bottom lip, “on your fucking knees like a good girl.”

The praise made her knees feel like jelly and her core tighten with an aching need. At that point she didn’t just want him, she needed him. Needed him to ruin her completely. To fuck away every trace of the so-called hate she felt for him all those years. To have her screaming his name over and over until her voice broke.

Her lips parted, dizzy with lust. The air between them felt tight, too electric.

“You didn’t like it?” She asked, half-teasing, half-breathless.

He didn’t smile. “No,” he said. “I loved it.” His face got dangerously closer to hers. “That’s the problem.”

Eric’s hand slid down, ghosting along her jaw, then her neck, stopping just before her collarbone. His other hand braced against the wall beside her head.

“I want you so. fucking. bad.” His words came out like a confession. “But if I kiss you,” he warned, leaning in just enough that his lips hovered beside hers, “it’s not gonna stop there.”

“And I won’t want you to stop,” she whispered, lifting one leg just enough to brush along his thigh, teasing him, coaxing him between her legs.

“You like teasing me, don’t you?” His jaw twitched.

She looked up at him, fire in her eyes. “Only because I know you’ll do something about it.”

And that was it.

Eric didn’t just kiss her, he claimed her. And her dreams didn’t get any close to how he felt in real life.

His mouth caught hers in a kiss that was hot and consuming, like a starved man. One hand tangled in her hair, the other gripped her hip hard, pulling her against him so hard that not even air fit between them. She gasped against his mouth and he swallowed it, deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping against hers in a slow, sinful rhythm that made her knees buckle.

A soft, desperate sound escaped her and he caught it, pressing her harder to the wall, his body molded to hers.

“You’re playing with fire,” he murmured.

She smirked, lips kiss-swollen, wild half-lidded eyes. “Then burn me.”

[marcyiyi]

Wintertime at the Lupin-Black household was the definition of cozy. The house was covered in snow, only the pathway to it clean, because Sirius got up every morning and cleared it. He put on Remus’ thickest jumper and wool socks, added his combat boots and leather jacket and completed the outfit with a bright yellow crocheted hat. He made a point of showing his husband how much was he sacrificing for him, his sleep, comfort, and time, but he enjoyed this chore very much. It was just him, the cold, shimmering snow and the darkness. Going out with his shovel and seeing the house he lived in, with the little light of their bedroom also made him immensely proud and grateful for the life he lived. He usually came back and snuggled back to bed, letting himself be warmed by Remus’ hug. They would probably stay like this, but little Harry wasn’t the biggest fan of the idea. Around seven he would run to the bedroom, singing and wishing them good morning. If he wasn’t too hungry, he cuddled with them for a while, however he mostly pulled them from under the festive covers with deers and snowflakes and demanded they get up. And who were they to disagree? Remus usually made breakfast while Sirius checked that Harry made his bed properly, dressed up and washed his face, and brushed his teeth, which was particularly needed, as Harry’s arch nemesis at this age was the stingy minty taste of toothpaste. They reconciled in the kitchen which at this point smelled of non-alcoholic apple punch Remus made every morning of December. The mix of apple juice, cinnamon, clove and vanilla was one of the best Harry knew. Yet there was another that could overcome it. And that was the smell of almost full English breakfast. Beans, eggs and sausages, buttered toast. And because Sirius loved a breakfast dessert, croissants and strawberries. Harry would have them for a snack later, after they came back from the outside.

Each morning from about eight to ten belonged to a walk. Sometimes with Sirius, sometimes with Padfoot. Sometimes down to the creek, sometimes up to the woods, sometimes west to the city for groceries or to the library, sometimes east to a playground. After a snack, Harry was ready to have some fun in the snow, doing snow angels, building snowmen, going for a sleigh ride. He was tired enough after they came back to eat lunch and take a little nap. His dads used the free time to clean the house, or make some presents. Remus would knit or crochet while Sirius tried to seem like he was writing Christmas cards, but really he was just watching his husband adoringly. The afternoon was full of baking sweets. Vanilla crescents, Linzer cookies, gingerbread cookies, chocolate balls and more. Harry was very good at weighing the ingredients and cutting out the shapes, but kneading the dough or rolling it out without getting flour all over his hair was a mystery to him. Sirius just liked to watch the oven, making sure they don’t burn anything. That proved inefficient when he got distracted by taking photos of Harry in his little apron with flour and sugar on his face. Luckily Remus saved the whole batch and they ended up with two whole boxes of Christmas treats. When the kitchen was warm and smelling of cookies, and everyone’s belly full of them, it was time for a board game. Remus’ influence was very clear here, as Harry preferred muggle checkers over wizard chess. If he got bored of losing, he went upstairs and played with trains. He could go hours joining lego buildings with wooden tracks, making stops and driving his trains around them. Sometimes, when he was especially good, Sirius would enchant his trains to go by themselves and the little wooden people to ride them.

In the meantime, Remus made dinner, occasionally with his husband’s help. They loved cooking together, or watch the other cook. Tomato soup, quiche, rarebit, sandwiches, risotto, whatever Sirius fancied. More often than not, he fancied a make out session on the counter. However, according to Harry’s undeniably relevant opinion, their dinner always tasted delicious. They’d sit around the dining table, surrounded by lit candles and hanging mistletoes, colourful Christmas lights hanging from every possible piece of furniture. Harry had a curious question for each evening, which he asked after setting the table. How is orange juice made? How come the oven bakes so fast? Did Sirius wear a white dress to their wedding? Why are some of Remus’ hair grey? Who teaches at Hogwarts? What does ‘cariad’ mean? That usually got the conversation going, and sometimes his dads talked about it long after he’s gone to bed. Sirius would do the dishes, with or without magic, depending on his mood, and Remus tucked the tired little boy to bed. However, he required a bath first, usually full on with bubbles and ducks. Then he put on his pyjamas with polar bears and listened to his dad reading him a fairytale. Because the day was full of activities, he normally fell asleep before the prince and the princess lived happily ever after. Remus then had time to be happy with his husband, as they watched a muggle movie or listened to some music. But never Christmas carols before the 24th. Cuddled up in their living room, under all the mistletoes, and air still smelling of their dinner, Sirius reminded himself again of how grateful he was for all of this. His husband hugging him, their son sleeping upstairs, a whole house to themselves, secured, provided for, loved. And the thing he’d appreciate the most was that he could do all of this again tomorrow.

@wolfstarmicrofic dec. 25, cozy

[azriona]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @paula-in-dreamland. Today's excerpt is from the Winterhawk soulmate fic, though this particular snippet isn't supper soulmatey. It's from just after the events of Age of Ultron, though Clint is more of a 616 iteration than MCU. (Laura & the kids exist in this world, but they belong to Barney, not Clint, who owns the building in Brooklyn and that's where he and Bucky/James are.)

The snow turns to slush turns to rain turns to snow again, and James is still there when Clint wakes in the gloom of mid-morning. He puts in his aids and hobbles down the stairs one at a time, taking in the scene below. Blankets and a pillow on the couch, where it looks like James probably spent the night. Coffee in the kitchen, the scent of sausage and toast filling the room. Music, too—something instrumental and old, Beethoven or something. “Could’ve slept in the bed,” Clint tells him. “You don’t want to know where I found that couch.” “Slept on worse,” says James, unconcerned. “How’d you find me here?” James just rolls his eyes and puts a plate of sausage and toast in front of Clint. “You ever hear of vegetables?” “Coffee’s a bean, right?” James sighs, sounding so much like Phil that Clint hunches his shoulders and focuses on the food in front of him. But there’s a mug of coffee in front of him a moment later, with two sugars and no milk, and Clint doesn’t think about how James probably ate already, knows how he likes his coffee, and doesn’t tell Clint to go back to bed or take any meds for the way his muscles ache. It’s nice, in a weird way. Coffee and toast and familiar background music, while James sits and reads the same book he was reading the day before.

Tagging @cecebeanie, @bastianfruit, @mrs-elsie-barnes, and whoever else wishes to be tagged.

[avery-straykids]

Roommates & Realities

The dorm felt different after debut.

Schedules were heavier, the hours longer, and exhaustion more permanent. There was no more “we’ll sleep in tomorrow” or “we can practice later.” Everything was now — urgent, scheduled, and packed with pressure.

Avery sat cross-legged on her bed, flipping through a notebook of lyrics. Across the room, Felix had passed out mid-scroll on his phone, his face squished into his pillow. Minho was in the bathroom, humming a soft melody between yawns as he washed up. Chan? Still at the studio, as usual.

The room was quiet — but not peaceful.

She sighed, rubbing her temple. “I can’t believe I thought this would get easier after debut.”

Minho poked his head in with a toothbrush in his mouth. “It’s only week two. Give it a month before the real breakdown.”

“Great,” Avery muttered sarcastically.

Minho raised an eyebrow, amused. “You’ll survive. Maybe.”

Later that night, after Felix mumbled goodnight in his sleepy Australian drawl and Minho was already snoring softly in the bed nearest the window, Avery stayed up, scribbling. That’s when the door creaked open.

Chan stepped in, hoodie half on, looking like a ghost of himself.

“Still awake?” he whispered.

“Barely,” she said, gesturing to her notebook. “You look like death.”

“Thanks,” he chuckled, dropping his bag. “Love the support.”

She watched him flop onto his mattress with a groan.

“How’s the new track coming?”

“Slow,” he said. “But we’ll get there. We always do.”

Avery smiled softly. “Don’t burn out, okay?”

Chan peeked one eye open. “Says the girl with lyric pages in her lap at midnight.”

“Touché.”

They both chuckled.

The next morning, the chaos resumed.

In the kitchen, Avery was helping Felix toast bagels — mostly because he always forgot them and let them burn — when Han stumbled in, hair a mess and hoodie on backwards.

“Morning, Jeongin,” Avery teased.

“I’m not I.N.”

“I know.”

Felix laughed loudly. “He’s still asleep, clearly.”

Han shot Avery a glare but couldn’t hide his grin. “Why are you so cheerful this early?”

“She made coffee,” Felix explained. “Strong enough to bring a ghost back to life.”

“Give me some.”

“Say please,” Avery challenged.

Han rolled his eyes, but then said in a mock-dramatic tone, “Please, kind and radiant Avery, bless me with your magical bean water.”

She handed him a mug with a proud smirk. “That’s more like it.”

Han took a sip, watching her over the rim.

Something was… different.

Maybe it was the way her hair was tied up, messily but still kind of cute. Or how she stood barefoot on tiptoe to reach the upper shelf, mumbling a victory chant when she succeeded. Or maybe it was how natural she looked here — like she belonged. Not just in the dorm, but with them.

He blinked.

Weird.

Later that day, during practice, Chan called for a break. Avery sat on the floor, leaning back on her hands, breathing heavily. Han plopped down beside her, offering her a water bottle.

“Thanks,” she said, taking it.

“No problem.”

They sat there for a moment, quiet.

Then he asked, “You tired?”

“Always.”

Han chuckled. “Same.”

But he didn’t look away.

He noticed the small cut on her knee from yesterday’s choreography mishap. The way she tucked her loose hair behind her ear. The slight sway in her shoulders when she laughed at something Seungmin said across the room.

He noticed all of it. And he didn’t know why.

Well… he knew why. He just didn’t want to admit it.

“You okay?” Avery asked, catching his stare.

“Uh—yeah! Just spaced out. Probably hungry.” He looked away quickly, scratching the back of his neck.

Avery tilted her head. “You’re acting weird.”

“Me? Never.”

She squinted at him. “You sure?”

“Absolutely.”

But his heart was beating faster than it should’ve been. And for the first time, Han realized the dorms weren’t just getting more intense — they were getting more complicated, too.

Especially with Avery in the room.

[bellalampwickrossi]

Disney: Conversations Over Breakfast by Levi

“Extra! Extra! Prince Ben will soon allow villain children from the Isle of the Lost to come to Auradon. The locals are sceptical and a lot of outrage has been thrown his way. Are we letting doom come to our town!?"

Tiger Peony, Tulip and Blue Veronica had received this newspaper from Auradon Prep’s newspaper club. They didn’t attend the actual school itself, their cousins Ally and Pin were the ones who gave them all the gossip. It was so juicy they couldn’t help but share.

“No way! Villains in Auradon? Are we sure that this is safe?” Tiger Peony exclaimed.”,

“Probably not”, Tulip replied as she flicked her ginger hair.

“You never know. Maybe they won’t be as bad as we think because if they really were that bad, the royals wouldn’t allow this”, Blue Veronica added as she pushed up her glasses.

She saw the apprehension in her older sisters’ expressions. Everyone's heard the stories of the Evil Queen who poisoned an innocent girl, Maleficent who cursed a young baby out of spite, and Cruella who cruelly turned dogs into lovely coats.

  Children belonging to people like that could only bring mischief. Right?

“In any case, we gotta show this to dad! We're gonna be late for breakfast- Well, lunch!" Blue Veronica reminded.

Both of them nodded in agreement at Veronica’s suggestion, rushing home to show the news to their parents.

Lampwick leaned back in his wooden chair as he continued to read this piping hot new issue sweeping the kingdom. His wife, Tigerlily, was busy serving breakfast for their family, or more like brunch since it was already eleven in the morning. The three girls were huddled around the table, anxious about what the future for the kingdom will be. Villains have a horrible reputation for cursing and bullying people, so they couldn’t help but be wary.

The family were quickly distracted by the sight of their breakfast.

"Yum! Look at how great this looks!" Lampwick exclaimed.

The table was covered in plates of toast beside a jar of jam and tub of butter, pancakes drizzled in maple syrup, bacon that was crisp and crunchy, eggs scrambled to be light and fluffy, and some baked beans. There was jugs of orange juice and water for the girls, while Lampwick and Tigerlily had some caffeine for their day.

They all grabbed their cutlery and began digging in, before continuing their discussion.

“Auradon prep sure is daring”, Tigerlily remarked, shaking her head.

“I hope this will do some good for everyone! The villains might be good people…” Blue Veronica muttered, not entirely convinced by her own words.

They all glanced at each other, wondering if they’re being a bit too harsh at the idea. Lampwick closed his newspaper and started scarfing down his food. “What’s the big deal? My pal Alexander and I were a pair of bad apples, but people gave us a 2nd chance.”

“I could tell”, Tulip giggled cheekily, making her father huff as he was used to her retorts.

“All I’m saying is to let them come. Don’t judge too fast.”

Tiger Peony crossed her arms as she was too aware of the issues that come with this. Being the eldest she was supposedly the wiser one.

“It’s not about judging them, but we can’t deny that the Isle of the Lost is full of chaos and troublemakers! As much as I’d like to believe they’ll be nice, we can’t deny their reputation is something to consider.”

The entire family considered that and slowly nodded in agreement. It was far too soon to judge, and it wasn't like they often met troublesome villains.

"I wonder what they'll be like? If they aren't psychos or manipulative", Tulip hummed.

"First of all, kinda rude of you to say that. Secondly, I assume if they're not like their parents, then they'd just be ordinary teens. Like us", Veronica replied.

Tigerlily brought her tea cup to her lips, sipping softly before letting out a sigh.

"Why are we talking about politics on this relaxing morning?"

"You can't blame the girls. Who wouldn't be buzzing about this news!" Lampwick chuckled.

"Probably the people in Auradon Prep. Doubt anyone there is excited about this", Tulip chimed in with a hint of sass before giggling.

Sometimes he wondered how his own daughter could be so snarky, then he remembered that she must've gotten it from him. Suddenly, he felt a twinge of pity for his parents.

"I wonder if this means that villain kids will start attending more schools, like ours? If they do, that'll certainly be a wild ride!", Tiger Peony commented.

"Let's not think so far ahead. We don't even know how this will go, or if it'll continue", Veronica reminded.

"I wish I could go to Auradon Prep and meet these guys! It would be so much fun!" Tulip giggled with a smirk.

"Maybe one day we can visit our cousins and check it out", the eldest of them suggested.

Their father smiled as they enthusiastically discussed the possibilities amongst each other before quietly clearing up the table. They hadn't noticed that they've already finished all their food and drinks, continuing to chat.

As he started washing the dirty pile of dishes, his beloved wife snuck up behind him and gave him a hug.

"They're so full of energy in the morning. Oh, it's so wonderful to be young", she sighed.

"Hey! We aren't that old!"

"Sounds like denial to me."

The two shared a glance before sharing a loving laugh. Their three daughters behind them already started heading off to discuss the news to all their friends.

"I sure hope it'll all be fine. Wonder what's going through Pinocchio and Alice's minds right now?" Tigerlily pondered.

Lampwick paused for a moment before shrugging.

"We should ask them next time."

The pair of them couldn't help but worry a little. They hoped it would go smoothly, or else many kids would be put in danger. But they had hope. Perhaps this was a start of a new era. And everyone was on edge, curious as to what awaits on the next page.

The End

[riccardofranchinilucca]

🍷 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐳𝐞 non è per chi mangia col tovagliolo piegato a triangolo. È una città che odora di sugo, di trippa, di brace. Che ti guarda mangiare e capisce subito chi sei. I piatti veri non stanno nei ristoranti con vista. Stanno tra le mani unte, i cucchiai sbeccati, i tavoli di legno con le tovaglie che non fanno scena. 𝐄𝐜𝐜𝐨 𝟓 𝐩𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐢 𝐟𝐢𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐢 che raccontano la città per quella che è: concreta, carnale, e mai accomodante. ⸻ 𝟏. 𝐋𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐨 – 𝐈𝐥 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐢 Il quarto stomaco della mucca, lessato, affettato sottile, affondato nel pane croccante bagnato nel brodo. Magari con una salsa verde che ti sveglia la lingua. Lo mangi in piedi, senza vergogna. È Firenze che ti entra in bocca e non chiede permesso. ⸻ 𝟐. 𝐑𝐢𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐚 – 𝐏𝐚𝐧𝐞, 𝐜𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐨 𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚 Non è una minestra. È un concentrato di fame antica, cavolo nero, fagioli e pane duro. Si fa il giorno prima, si ribolle il giorno dopo. Perché da queste parti il tempo non si spreca, si cucina. E il giorno dopo, è sempre più buona. ⸻ 𝟑. 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐢𝐚 – 𝐂𝐢𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞 𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐚̀ Una zuppa di cipolle che non si finge francese. Dolce, intensa, fatta con cipolle stufate a lungo, pane tostato e, se capita, un uovo sopra. È un piatto antico, povero, che non chiede niente se non di essere ascoltato mentre ti scalda l’anima. ⸻ 𝟒. 𝐁𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐜𝐚 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝐅𝐢𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐚 – 𝐂𝐫𝐮𝐝𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐢 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢 Alta, rossa, viva. Non si gira troppo, non si cuoce a lungo, non si chiede ben cotta. Si mangia come viene, con rispetto e le mani pronte. Non è solo carne: è un test. Se la capisci, sei dentro. ⸻ 𝟓. 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐚 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝐅𝐢𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐚 – 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐨 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐨, 𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐚 𝐧𝐮𝐝𝐚 Tagliata fine, cotta lentamente nel pomodoro, spolverata con Parmigiano e servita calda come un insulto in dialetto. La trippa è cibo da strada, da popolo, da gente che lavora. E da chi ha il coraggio di non voltarsi dall’altra parte quando il piatto parla chiaro. 🇬🇧 🍷 Florence isn’t for those who fold their napkin into a neat triangle. It’s a city that smells of ragù, tripe, and open flame. A city that watches you eat and instantly knows who you are. The real dishes aren’t found in restaurants with a view. They’re in greasy hands, chipped spoons, and wooden tables covered with tablecloths that don’t try to impress. Here are 5 Florentine dishes that tell the story of a city that’s concrete, carnal, and never accommodating. ——- 1. Lampredotto – The sandwich that takes no prisoners The cow’s fourth stomach, boiled, thinly sliced, stuffed into crusty bread soaked in broth. Maybe with a splash of salsa verde that jolts your tongue awake. You eat it standing, unapologetically. It’s Florence entering your mouth without asking permission. ——— 2. Ribollita – Bread, cabbage, and memory It’s not soup. It’s a concentrate of old hunger, black cabbage, beans, and stale bread. Made the day before, reboiled the next. Because around here, time isn’t wasted — it’s cooked. And the day after, it tastes even better. ——— 3. Carabaccia – Onions and dignity An onion soup that doesn’t pretend to be French. Sweet, deep, made with long-stewed onions, toasted bread, and maybe an egg on top if you’re lucky. It’s an ancient, humble dish that asks only to be listened to while it warms your soul. ——— 4. Bistecca alla Fiorentina – Rare on the inside, like certain feelings Tall, red, alive. It’s not flipped too often, not cooked too long, and never ordered well-done. You eat it as it comes — with respect and bare hands ready. It’s more than just meat: it’s a test. If you get it, you belong. ——— 5. Trippa alla Fiorentina – Red sauce, bare soul Thinly sliced, slowly cooked in tomato sauce, sprinkled with Parmigiano, and served hot like a dialectal curse. Tripe is street food, people’s food, for those who work with their hands. And for those with the guts not to look away when the plate speaks plainly. ⸻ 𝐒𝐞𝐢 𝐮𝐧𝐚 𝐆𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐚 𝐓𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐚? 𝐎𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐳𝐳𝐢 𝐓𝐨𝐮𝐫? 𝐎𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐳𝐳𝐢 𝐕𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐆𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞? 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐚𝐦𝐢 ——— #riccardofranchini_firenze #riccardofranchini_toscana #riccardofranchini_piatti

www.facebook.com/share/p/1BbqyeRBjn/ Clicca🖕

[nemaroofing]

Brewed Bliss Awaits: Your Ultimate Stop at Handlebar Coffee in Santa Barbara

Craving a standout coffee experience in Santa Barbara? Handlebar Coffee Roasters isn’t just a café—it’s where passion for coffee meets a warm and welcoming community. Whether you're an espresso aficionado, a traveler with a laptop, or just in need of a peaceful corner to relax, here’s how to make your visit truly memorable.

Wake Up with Flavor in the Heart of Santa Barbara

Located in the bustling downtown area, Handlebar offers the perfect kickoff for your Santa Barbara day. The sunny patio is an inviting place to sip your coffee while the city buzzes to life. The vibe strikes a balance between chill beach-town ease and an upscale coffeehouse feel. Locals drop by with their pups, bikes line the sidewalk, and the scent of fresh brews lingers in the air—pure Santa Barbara charm.

Savor the Espresso That Defines Handlebar’s Craft

Let’s get down to the good stuff: the coffee. Handlebar roasts their beans on-site, ensuring peak freshness and flavor in every cup. Newcomers should dive into their signature espresso—rich, smooth, and slightly sweet. Prefer something different? Their cold brew or pour-over won’t disappoint. Every drink reflects the care of true coffee artisans. And yes, the beans are available to purchase if you want the magic at home.

Treat Yourself to Something Tasty in Santa Barbara

While the focus is on coffee, the light bites here hold their own. From buttery croissants to savory avocado toast and fresh granola bowls, everything is thoughtfully made to complement your drink. Once you’ve recharged, the best of Santa Barbara is just around the corner—charming shops, creative spaces, and parks make this a great starting point for a city stroll.

Feel the Local Connection at This Santa Barbara Favorite

Handlebar isn’t just about what’s in your cup—it’s about who’s around you. The friendly baristas, curated music, and a mix of locals and tourists create a feel-good atmosphere. Want a genuine Santa Barbara encounter? Spark up a convo with the staff, ask about coffee brewing tips, or check out one of their local events. It’s a place where you feel like you belong.

Explore, Wander, and Circle Back in Santa Barbara

Once your cup is empty, don’t head home just yet. State Street and the coastline are nearby, making it easy to extend your Santa Barbara day. But here’s the thing—you’ll likely find yourself returning to Handlebar again and again. It’s not just coffee. It’s a little ritual you’ll crave every time you're in town.

[frog-0n-a-l0g]

Why don’t you go HARBOR some more artifacts and art pieces that don’t belong to you, beans and toast eating ass

Harbour? Oh wait you mean the HARBOR that all your tea is in? Why don’t you go drink your sad wasted tea and crumpets you Brit bitch🙄🥱

Why don't you go HARBOUR some more fossil fuels short ass

[catch-the-wind]

when reader is sick hc's

finally posting writing here so true

n e ways okay so i’m brainrotting about the genshin charas taking care of their s/o’s when they’re sick 🥺 and now i'm feeling sick, sigh

ohm and sulien ambros belong to @teyvattherapist! they're such good chara's, i know i'm writing them here but i deffo recommend reading up on them

okay here u go, have some hc's that are kinda sorta long and by that i mean 2.5k- i haven't proofread this bc it's 4am and im going to BED but if i write for any other chara's i'll post a second part <3 mwah

tags: gn!reader, diluc x reader, kaeya x reader, jean x reader, lisa x reader, albedo x reader, dainsleif x reader, tartaglia x reader, ohm ambros x reader, sulien ambros x reader, soft bean hours

diluc

is not working or traveling when his partner is sick

absolutely makes them soup and hot tea and drinks

he’s trying to make them food but he’s not the best cook so he’s asking adelinde for help

absolutely asks jean, barbara, and ohm for help while his partner is sleeping but he’s so awkward LMAO

was absolutely frantic the first day he found out his partner was sick tho, he made them come over to the winery so they could sleep there and he can take care of them <3

absolutely lied about what room was his so they slept in his bed

“hmm this guest room is so furnished diluc are all your rooms like this” and no, no they are not, this room is his, bestie

diluc slept on a sofa in his bedroom and did work on the table that was supposed to be for flowers. kinda stressed over abyss order locations but was more worried ab his partner being okay so he was distracted

he just put the flowers on his nightstand for his partner to see when they woke up <3

gives his partner forehead kisses because they won’t let him kiss them on the lips and he gives them the gentlest cheek kisses while they sleep

also gives his partner his clothes to wear <3

cuddles them and reads to them when they’re awake and TEMPLE KISSES OH MY GOD

kaeya comes over because he’s worried his brother and his brother’s s/o haven’t been seen in a little while

n e way, diluc gets sick after his partner gets better and they nursed each other back to health

kaeya

like diluc, he took off work so he could take care of his s/o i,mediately after he found out they were sick

wouldn’t force them to stay at his place tho, he’d probably let them recover in their own place

but he might make them go to the kof hq or the cathedral just so they can be taken care of by a proper healer

he absolutely soothes their fevers and stuff w cryo and also the man can heal himself w his elem skill ofc he can fix someone if he tries hard enough <3

he gives kisses no matter how much his partner says not to but he’ll also give them butterfly kisses so it’s soft moments too~ sigh, ur too cute alberich

asks ohm and barbara and albedo and lisa for potions and such to help his partner feel better but he’s really lowkey so he doesn’t seem SUPER worried

he just hates seeing his partner not feeling so well </3

refreshes his partner’s vase of flowers at their bedside every day

brings home work so he can watch over his partner. he can’t cook super well either so he asks for help and brings stuff home from good hunter too

jean was okay to let kaeya off of work and diluc would never admit it (man practically swore everyone to secrecy smh) but he helped take up some of kaeya’s duties in his stead

and kae, the alcoholic, didn’t even drink while his partner was sick bc he was lowkey worried they would need his help w smth and he didn’t want to be drunk just in case <3

many cuddles despite protests of getting him sick <3

jean

absolutely uses her healer skills to make her partner feel better

panicked when they were still sick and thought it was her fault </3 she asked barbara and ohm for help and they just told jean to relax a bit bc her partner was sick and it wasn’t going to be a quick fix

wanted to take off work but didn’t, so she just brought her work with her

kaeya and ohm very kindly took up her other duties where she had to leave so she could be w her partner

her partner is staying in the kof hq where they get access to ohm and barbara comes to visit <3 but also so that jean can sleep comfortably enough close by bc you cannot tell me this woman does not sometimes sleep in her office or the library and barely makes it to the kof dormitories sometimes

she’s so worried the entire time, she’s probably got a few gray hairs and a new frown line smh

she has clothes that aren’t her work clothes???? it’s so foreign seeing her in stuff like pajamas. you didn’t even know jean owned pajamas

jean sets them up in her bed at home (yeah she has a place outside of the kof hq??? it’s surprising) but it’s a big bed so they can rest and she’ll have the lamp on her side on while she sits up and does work

absolutely dotes on them. she’s good at making foods that make them feel better, she’s just a good healer that way <3

albedo, klee, venti, kaeya, lisa, and ohm all come over to check on jean and co and make sure everyone is doing okay <3 lots of food brought

if jean was asked to sing to her partner normally, she probably wouldn’t bc she’d probably get embarrassed but i think she probably sounds v good and venti would give her his lyre to try out a musical instrument too. but also she’d read to her partner and they’d probably fall asleep together uwu

lisa

works part time hours at the library so she can go visit her s/o

probably asks them to stay at the kof hq for easier access to medical assistance and plus she’s almost always there

“cutie” but worried and very 🥺 (pleading emoji)

makes soup and potions and reads to her partner until they fall asleep

also super playful omg she’s still got a smile on and is full of affection while she walks her fingers up her partner’s arm to their face so she can cup their cheek

she’ll make her partner laugh and smile and blush even when they’re sick, but she makes them laugh until they cough sometimes and immediately feels so bad

jean, barbara, kaeya, albedo and ohm all come to visit with different foods and soups and medicines and such

klee comes knocking and gives lisa some good fisherman’s toast and asks lisa’s s/o if they want to hug dodoco b/c that always makes klee feel better

purple roses galore, lisa has them in her partner’s room and they’ve got a potion to make the. uh. sniffer? to make the sniffer feel better. don’t ask me how, idk but she would find a way to make them physically feel better with flowers

reads to her partner ofc, and she tells them stories ab her own life and time at sumeru sans the crazies

worried looks when her s/o is sleeping but also the softest smiles when they wake up pls-

albedo

cutest lil frown on his face when he finds out his partner is sick

immediately they are taken home and he’s testing to confirm what’s wrong w them and what he can do to speed up their recovery

he’s more distracted than usual at work but he’s coming over to your place all the time w what paperwork he can do

also sketches his partner while they don’t know. he’s got lots of beautiful candids of his partner sleeping, looking out the window, falling asleep, reading, even drinking water. he’s made the most mundane things look captivating

kaeya and ohm come to check on albedo when he doesn’t show up for work after a few days and it’s bc he’s taking care of his s/o with food and soup and alchemical potions and shit. and when kae and ohm come in, they find his partner opening the door wrapped in a blanket while albedo is asleep cuddling the pillow they left bc he stayed up the night before making soup and reading to them

klee has camped out on his partner’s couch, she helps w the cooking too~ she absolutely lets them hug dodoco and gives them a treasure to feel better too LOL

many kisses from klee and albedo, and they also go out to get treats for albedo’s partner too

domestic albedo cooking in his partner’s kitchen and for once it isn’t some alchemical potion that he might blow up the stove with

tartaglia

takes off work entirely but BOY OH BOY is he stir crazy smh

brings his partner to his apartment to rest <3

he’s so worried ab his s/o that he makes all the sick ppl food the first day, orders from wanmin restaurant when his partner wants smth different, and also gets toys and such to entertain them otherwise

also reads to his partner but, again, he gets stir crazy after a while

absolutely does workouts and katas in the living room and phew shirtless tartaglia working out? gets the heart rate up for sure ahem

rushes to his partner tho omg- need soup? water? a trip to the bathroom? another blanket? he goes to them the MOMENT he hears them moving around. absolutely dotes on them <3

his family knows ab his partner and he’s probably written letters ab them being sick~ his family sent snezhnayan herbs and flowers and medicines and such

zhongli comes around because he wants sugar daddy!tartaglia with tea and medicine from bubu pharmacy. hu tao is in tow with well wishes and a “hope i don’t find you at work!” which is. a little worrying because aren’t you just a little sick-

many kisses from tartaglia because he is Needy and he’ll absolutely get sick from cuddling his partner while they sleep

also he’ll probably just like. envelop his partner while they sleep. they’re all cuddled into him and he’s actually so warm it’s nice bc they’re cold w a fever and he’s living for comforting them

he’s so worried tho, he’s got the frowny face and he’s so adorable but he just doesn’t want his partner to feel sick

dainsleif

the man camps in ruins, he’s going to his partner’s house smh

he doesn’t go into the church either LOL so expect him in his partner’s home making dinner and doing their grocery shopping thanks

he would get ohm and barbara to come over tho <3 “fix them please” but also “how can i fix them”

is so dead set on making sure his partner takes their medicine at the right times, he’s so soft for them and them alone

cooks soup and old recipes he barely remembers from khaenri’ah. he doesn’t really get sick, so he doesn’t remember these ones too clearly. deffo brings back old memories he’d long forgotten

reads to his partner and tells them old stories of how the world used to be, his travels, gives them the gossip on a certain khaenri’ahn but doesn’t give away the name

ohm comes over with medicine and lollipops bc dain is so unlikely to go to the cathedral to get barbara smh

but also dain, so self-sufficient, is unlikely to want to ask for help, so ohm just goes to help anyway

dain with the old khaenri’ahn lullabies and tucking his partner into his arms and singing quietly while he holds them and rocks them to sleep

dain is immortal, he’s giving his partner kisses bc “i’m immortal, ofc i won’t get sick”

he got sick

but his s/o nursed him back to health and then there were smooches the end

ohm ambros

the doctor with his ill lover oh my god

he’s frowny, he’s taking care of his partner at his home in springvale and his home clinic is open to everyone else. but everyone knows his partner is the first priority LOL

kaeya and albedo come over to see if ohm is okay or if his house needs to be checked up on. they’re wondering if he went on a last-minute expedition to sumeru and didnt tell them

diluc comes over too, he’s just checking up on his best friend but he’s also stealing a cherry lollipop smh. he heard from kae that ohm’s partner is sick tho, so he brings some soup and good food over from adelinde. he also brings some of his own specialty food tho, the once upon a time in mondstadt <3

sulien sending letters to his big brother to see if his brother’s s/o is okay

ohm is also just super protective of his partner, there are not many people who come into his life who he loves and lets in in the first place. he’s absolutely trying to heal them with his own vitality, so their recovery is much shorter than initially expected

barbara also comes over w jean to check up on ohm and co, complete w a goody basket of soup, a teddy bear, flowers, and books

ohm reading to his partner <3 he’s got such a soothing voice even if his accent is wack LMAO. he’s reading stories and even his paperwork because just his presence is comforting

he puts his hands on his partner’s forehead to soothe the fever goodbye

ohm will not sing for his s/o simply bc he doesn’t think he sounds v good. and he probably doesn’t but it would be so cute to hear him try and please ohm? 🥺

n e way i want smooches idc if i’m sick KISS ME OHM AMBROS

sulien ambros

when he finds out his partner is sick, the man blinks like twice and then suggests so calmly that they go to his apartment in liyue

man does not sleep normally, he’s just going to nurse his partner back to health and read during their recovery. fruit tart can cover his duties for him <3

sulien cooks for his partner tho, he’s making soup and stuff and getting medicine from bubu’s pharmacy. he’s also picking up books on the way home but some of them are to be read to his partner so it’s okay-

like tartaglia, sulien works out while his partner rests and goes to them if he hears them moving around. he’s reading to his partner and not so frowny, but the slightest furrow of this man’s brow is already such a big expression of his concern <3

sends letters to ohm asking for advice ab how to help his partner feel better. ohm just sends a letter back with “i’m coming” and shows up within the day LMAO

reads to his partner, and the monotony of his voice is soothing and lulls them to sleep. he just looks at them affectionately (well affectionate for him) and presses a kiss to their forehead before finishing the story on his own and in his head

tartagalicious comes over and brings food, flowers and a teddy bear with some of sandrone’s paperwork but he sends a smile to sulien’s partner with some well wishes

scara comes over too just to visit and check to see where sandrone is, but scara is a grumpy bean so he just says “feel better” all brooding and like it’s a command to one of the fatui subordinates LOL

sulien like ohm uses his cold hands to soothe his partner’s fever and also gives them forehead kisses <3

Edit: a link to part 2

[wondernimbus]

two sworn enemies — draco malfoy

pairing: draco malfoy x female!reader

summary: there is only one thing worse than being hated by draco malfoy; it’s being fancied by him.

requests are closed for now! please refrain from plagiarizing my work.

After being on the receiving end of Malfoy's torment for four whole years at Hogwarts—a place where she's supposed to be making friends and learning and making the most out of all her youthful years—[Y/N] is beginning to grow tired.

The last thing she’s supposed to be worrying about is a snarky Slytherin boy who always has some sort of rude remark resting on his lips every time he comes across her in the corridors. Or anywhere, for that matter—Draco Malfoy's incessant jest seems to stay within no boundaries.

Eleven-year-old [Y/N] used to be fazed by it; she used to cry herself to sleep every time the platinum blond would push past her in the hallway, yelling out something offensive on his way, usually to do with her friendship with blood-traitors and the "big-headed" Harry Potter (or so Malfoy referred to him). She used to feel angry—angry enough to want to whip her wand out at him and hex him into oblivion every time he'd even as much as lay eyes on her. But the more Malfoy tried to bother her, the more it didn't anymore.

Fourth year wasn't so bad. Malfoy had already called her about a hundred nasty names at that point and was running out of them—his creativity was dwindling and [Y/N]'s concern along with it. She'd even laughed at him, one time during Transfiguration class—genuinely laughed, not out of frustration or anger but because she found something that he said to her funny.

"How does it feel being surrounded by blood-traitors and Mudbloods, [Y/L/N]? Pity you chose the wrong crowd to hang around."

"How did it feel to get punched by a girl, Malfoy? I hear Hermione packs quite a punch."

Malfoy’s nose had wrinkled into his signature sneer before he scoffed. "Tell Granger she can improve her right hook." At which point [Y/N] had snorted out a laugh—and yes, it wasn't a full-blown burst of chortles, but it was a laugh nonetheless.

Fifth year rolls around and Draco Malfoy is the least of [Y/N]'s worries. She's gotten over his nagging at this point; all his jabs have lost a bit, if not all of their luster.

But then a week after classes have started, Malfoy starts acting—weird. Very weird. [Y/N] has no idea what's gotten into him, but Draco's cruel insults seem to have veered off course and taken a very dramatic turn. He still yells at her in the hallways, but not to make some harmful jibe [Y/N] has heard thousands of times before. Instead Draco—yes, Draco Malfoy, the same boy who has never once failed to torment her in the past years they've known each other—has now made it a habit to yell pick-up lines. At her. At [Y/N]. At the same girl he's been bad-mouthing for the past four years.

The first time it happens, [Y/N] can't believe her ears. She thinks he's yelling at someone else other than her, because there is no way bloody Draco Malfoy is shouting "DO YOU PLAY QUIDDITCH? BECAUSE YOU SEEM LIKE A KEEPER" at her from halfway across the Great Hall.

But he's definitely staring at her, grinning widely in that conceited sort of way that [Y/N] has always despised.

"Is he talking to me?" [Y/N] asks Hermione, bewildered.

"Looks like it." Hermione looks just as surprised as her. "Knowing Malfoy, he's not up to anything good. Ignore him, [Y/N]."

But ignoring Draco Malfoy is not something [Y/N] is capable of; the feistiness in her makes sure of that. So instead of moving on and turning a blind eye, she cups her hands over her mouth and yells, just as loud, "ARE YOU A BLUDGER? BECAUSE I'D LOVE TO BASH A BEATER'S BAT INTO YOUR—"

Whatever Malfoy is up to, [Y/N] isn't entirely sure she's enjoying it. The next afternoon—also in the Great Hall, while [Y/N] is doing her homework instead of eating lunch (because Snape apparently thinks it's a good idea to ask for a four-page essay when the school year has barely even started), there's a thump and [Y/N] looks up to see that there's a little red envelope sitting on her empty plate. Looking even further up, she sees an owl flying away from the table and out of the roof of the Great Hall, where the owls always come from to deliver letters—although that only happens at breakfast. Which means this is from someone else, likely another student.

[Y/N] stares.

"It's a Howler," Harry says from next to her, like she doesn't already know.

"I'm aware," she mutters, narrowing her eyes at it before she sets down her quill to grab it.

"Who would send you a Howler?" Ron has looked up from where he'd been shoveling beans into his plate. He crowds into her space, peering at the envelope she now holds in her hands; and she can't really answer him, because only her name is scribbled across the front in handwriting she doesn't recognize. Whoever sent it to her didn't bother with writing their own name.

She hesitates, brows furrowed as she, too, wonders where it's from. Her parents don't have a reason to send her a Howler—unless she's done something wrong that she isn't aware of. But it's only been a week since school has started and as far as she can tell, she hasn't done anything worthy of being sent a Howler. Or at least not yet.

"Might as well," she sighs—it's going to deliver its message one way or the other, anyway, and [Y/N] prefers to open it herself than have it burst into flames, rain ashes down upon her homework, and then start talking—so she opens the envelope.

The Howler jumps to life in front of her, hovering in front of her face, and [Y/N] has never seen a piece of stationery look so angry before. A forked tongue slips out of the envelope—[Y/N] braces herself for the worst, despite not knowing who on earth might have sent it—until a familiar voice booms around the Great Hall.

"ARE YOU A BASILISK? BECAUSE WHEN I SAW YOU, I FROZE."

Ron's shoulders automatically start shaking with laughter. Most of the Great Hall—or at least the ones close enough to hear the Howler—have turned around to watch the spectacle unfold, giggling behind their palms and pointing at [Y/N] like she can't see them. [Y/N], in the meantime, stares, completely dead to the world and everything else around her, because she knows that voice.

But then the Howler keeps talking. "IF YOU LET ME TAKE YOU ON A DATE, I CAN PROMISE YOU THINGS THOSE FILTHY PEASANTS CAN NEVER GIVE YOU."

The entire hall has fallen completely silent. [Y/N] feels her face burning up, but not with embarrassment—[Y/N] is angry. She feels it thrumming in her veins, curling around her lungs, clouding all of her senses.

With a single flick of [Y/N]'s wand, the Howler bursts into flames with a final feeble wheeze of I'm also a fairly good snogger. Ron is roaring with laughter and Harry has also joined in. Two-faced gits.

[Y/N] slams her palms down on the table and vaguely even registers the pain this gives her as she steps out from behind the bench and turns around to face the Slytherin table because of course she knows who sent the Howler. Of course she knows who would go out of his way to humiliate her in front of the entirety of Hogwarts, because that extremely irritating, maddeningly haughty voice can only belong to one person—and sure enough, the idiot in question is standing there on top of the benches, arms outstretched towards her and that proud, snooty look on his face like he expects her to actually be impressed.

Over Ron and Harry's laughter, [Y/N] shouts angrily, "Malfoy!"

Malfoy drops his arms to his sides, hops off the bench, and swaggers towards her. She meets him halfway—and when she does, she doesn't hesitate to shove him angrily by the shoulders. He stumbles back a little, but he's still grinning annoyingly wide. "Have you come to me bearing an answer?" he says, his tone mocking, and [Y/N] just barely suppresses herself from whipping out her wand and jabbing it somewhere she wouldn't want a wand anywhere near. They are still surrounded by teachers. "I imagine it's a yes—who would turn me down, after all—"

"Drop the fucking act," she hisses; all eyes are on them, because Hogwarts never passes up a chance for gossip, and this might be the most exciting one yet. Draco Malfoy publicly asking out the girl everyone knows he's hated, and has hated him, for a long time—what a spectacle. But [Y/N] knows that his intentions are far from genuine; this is just another way to humiliate her and get on her nerves. And as much as she hates to admit it, it's a pretty good fucking move, because she hasn't been this annoyed by him in a long time.

Her teeth are gritted together so hard her words barely come out coherent. "I don't know what you're playing at," she practically growls, taking a step closer to get in his face, "But I encourage you to get yourself together."

But Malfoy seems unaffected. "Pity you didn't let the Howler finish," he drawls, still with that same smirk on his lips as he wriggles his brows suggestively. "I could've told you more about my superior snogging skills."

"Which is exactly why I didn't," she fumes. "We're in the middle of lunch—any more of you talking about your 'superior snogging skills' and the entirety of this hall would've thrown up on themselves. I know I would've."

At this, the smile on Malfoy's face droops a little, a ghost of his familiar sneer seeping in. [Y/N] takes a step back away from him, because she can't stand being more than a few feet near the prat. "You've got a lot of nerve, pulling this," she scoffs. "Try it again and you'll regret it. Now excuse me while I go do my bloody homework."

And then she turns around, goes back to the Gryffindor table, and does her bloody homework.

—

But Malfoy, as it turns out, isn't as weak-willed as he lets on. She's started receiving Howlers every morning at breakfast, all of which burst into flames every time to rain ashes upon her innocent plate of eggs and toast, but only after loudly blurting out some ridiculously bad pick-up line. It's been four days since the first Howler and they've only gotten progressively worse ever since—"you must be a Boggart because I'm terrified of pretty women"—and [Y/N] is beginning to grow so very tired.

Today, she hexes him in the middle of the hallway just as he's coming out of Potions class. She had warned him, all those days ago, that he'd regret it if he didn't let up. So [Y/N] watches, terribly amused as Draco starts wailing in the corridor, his hands splayed over his face in a measly attempt to cover the sardines falling out of his nostrils. It's an irreversible hex—or at least for eight hours—but until then, Draco will have to deal with the tiny fishes that shoot out of his nose at random intervals. [Y/N] can't bring herself to feel bad, not when he's humiliated her time and time again in front of so many people.

No Howlers arrive the morning after. There's a sense of what feels like disappointment coming off of the Great Hall; some people have actually turned around in their seats to watch her in anticipation for an owl to come swooping down upon her bearing a red envelope. Unfortunately for them, it doesn't happen. [Y/N], meanwhile, is finally at peace.

Or at least until Ron jabs her in the side and goes, "So are you?" he's grinning. "A Boggart, I mean."

It's a reference to the Howler she received yesterday. Her movements are dangerously swift; immediately she smacks the back of his head, sending him into a complaining frenzy. She rolls her eyes. "Stupid Malfoy."

"As much as I hate to say this," Harry begins, "I kind of wish you hadn't hexed him into stopping. His pick-up lines were pretty funny."

"Ha!" [Y/N] points a finger at Harry and nods approvingly, laughing a little. "That's a good one, Harry."

Harry stares at her dead in the eye. "Oh, I wasn't joking."

Her face falls.

"I suppose being on the receiving end of Malfoy's affection isn't any better than being hated by him," says Hermione, offering [Y/N] a sympathetic smile. "It's a good thing you showed him not to mess with you any further, [Y/N]."

[Y/N] tries for a smile of her own, but it comes out all stiff and crooked. "I feel like the past few days have been a fever dream," she says, shuddering. "This new form of—bullying, I don't know—has just been so weird. The bad names I've gotten used to, but—the compliments? The pick-up lines?"

"D'you think he's gone off his rocker?" Ron suggests.

"Maybe he fancies you," says Hermione off-handedly.

The effect this has on the three is instantaneous; Ron, Harry, and [Y/N] simultaneously blanch as though they've all swallowed something sour at the same time. Ron is choking on a piece of toast and Harry has spit water everywhere.

"Absolutely not," [Y/N] is shaking her head, nose wrinkled in distaste. "He can't possibly—that's ridiculous. We've hated each other for years."

"Feelings do change," Hermione shrugs, rolling her eyes at Ron and Harry, who have yet to recover from their initial shock. "And besides, it was just a suggestion. Although I don't see why he'd go out of his way to send you Howlers repeatedly asking you out if he doesn't fancy you."

"Because he wants to humiliate me in front of everyone!"

"Oh, alright, alright," Hermione sighs, sensing her defeat. "But you never know."

Ron has gathered his bearings once more. He turns to Hermione, genuine concern flooding his features, and blubbers, "Did I hear you right? Malfoy—fancying [Y/N]?"

"Yes, Ronald." Another eye-roll. "It's not that outlandish. Boys are boys—even Malfoy."

"Merlin's beard," he slumps down in his seat, shaking his head. "I don't think I've ever been this surprised. Not since I heard that Percy managed to score himself a girlfriend, and that was three years ago."

A few days pass, and while no more Howlers arrive, Malfoy is still as insistent as ever in his attempts to "woo" her—or, well, whatever it is he's trying to do. [Y/N] doesn’t quite know what to call it anymore; for some reason, it no longer feels like an attempt to bully or humiliate her. It's not as though he's insulting her, and it's not like her reputation is in any way being lessened. In fact, most of Hogwarts, it seems, enjoys the so-called "love-hate relationship" they've got going on, and expects them to get together sometime in the near future.

[Y/N] learns all of this from Fred and George, who are always a good source of gossip.

"What better love story than two sworn enemies falling in love?" George gushes, clasping his hands together.

"So romantic," Fred sings, closing his eyes and swaying his hips as though listening to a sultry tune only he can hear. “Setting aside their differences to answer the call of their hearts."

"Oh, Malfoy's still an arse, of course."

"But it's still romantic."

Part of [Y/N] wishes that the twins hadn’t told her that, because it makes it all the more confusing on her part. If, by some miracle, Malfoy does fancy her—what is she supposed to do? Ride off with him into the sunset? They are enemies—they have been for four, supposedly five years now, except this year Malfoy is being an insufferable twat who won't stop yelling pick-up lines at her in the hallways.

[Y/N] decides to turn a blind eye on him. If she ignores him for long enough, he's bound to stop.

Right?

—

Despite being a close friend to the famous Harry Potter, [Y/N] can say she’s made a name for herself at school that stretches far beyond just that girl who hangs out with the Chosen One. She’s been playing for the Gryffindor Quidditch team for two years and has contributed to some of the house’s most fantastic wins as a Chaser, and she’s also a fairly good student. She may have a penchant for trouble-making, but she knows how to limit herself. She prides herself for her work ethic and thus her grades are above average—enough for her to earn the favor of most of her teachers and for eager first-years to sometimes come up to her asking for help doing homework.

But enough for those very same first-years to come up to her in the hallway ready to do all of her biddings for the day, practically demanding her to hand over her books so that they can carry them for her? No. Certainly not. [Y/N] may have made a name for herself, but definitely not one renowned enough to earn the eleven-year-olds now crowded around her moments after she steps out of potions class, telling her that, “We’re here at your disposal! If you need us to do anything, just say the word!”

[Y/N] stares at the three children clustered around her, all wide-eyed and for some reason incredibly eager for her to start bossing them around.

Taken aback, she ushers them into a corner; the hallway is busy and people will keep bumping into them if they stay in the middle of the hallway like that.

Once away from the bustling main corridor, she bends down a little so that she’s at eye-level with all of them. “At my disposal?” she repeats, eyes narrowing playfully. “What do you mean?”

“We’re here to carry your books for you or grab you snacks from the kitchens or tie your shoelaces if you need us to!” one of them exclaims, bouncing on his toes.

Alright—this is getting ridiculous. [Y/N] pauses, lips pressed together into a thin line as she stares at each one of the first-years in turn; all three of them are staring at her as though waiting for her to start asking them to do push-ups.

She inhales. Someone must have put them up to this, because there is no way these children woke up this morning and simultaneously decided to become her servants for the day.

“Well,” she begins, smiling at them—and good grief, did she really look that young when she was eleven? “Thank you for offering to help me. I appreciate it, really—but lucky for me I’ve got some very capable arms and I think I can handle tying my shoelaces and carrying my books around and whatnot. But again—thank you. You’re all very nice.”

She pauses to look at their reactions; the smiles on their faces have drooped a little as they turn to one another, seemingly at a loss for words. “But,” the one girl says, frowning, “We’re supposed to help you.”

[Y/N] raises her eyebrows. “Supposed to?”

Someone definitely put them up to this—[Y/N] is certain of it now. And she has a good guess as to who.

She starts by saying, tone gentle, “Did someone tell you to do this? Because that’s really kind, and I’d love to thank them.”

The girl bunches up her lips in thought, shuffling her feet against the ground. “We’re not supposed to say,” she mutters, glancing at the two boys next to her nervously.

[Y/N] inhales. She needs confirmation, so she crouches down so that she’s the same height as them, and offers them all the friendliest, most trustworthy smile she can muster. The kind that wins over eleven-year-olds. “You won’t get in trouble if you tell me,” she tells them gently, and waits for them to nod in understanding before she goes, “Was it Malfoy? Draco Malfoy?”

They don’t have to respond—the looks on their faces are enough confirmation. [Y/N] suppresses the urge to roll her eyes, because of course Malfoy is the kind of person to somehow get first-years to do something like this. And she’s pretty sure it has something to do with bribery.

“Did he promise to give you anything, maybe?” [Y/N] presses on patiently.

The girl leans in and cups her hand over her mouth to whisper excitedly, “Chocolate frogs. Five for each of us.”

Ah. Of course. [Y/N] sighs inwardly and nods, standing up properly to once more tower over the tiny first-years. As much as she would love to have her own personal butlers, there is absolutely no way she is agreeing to take any part in exploiting these young kids. So she ruffles all of their hair in turn and promises to give them much, much more chocolate frogs than Malfoy will ever be able to offer if they swear to ignore him for the rest of their lives.

So she stands there in the hallway, a minute late for Transfiguration, watching the three first-years skip down the hallway, grinning excitedly to themselves—no doubt because they’ve just been promised what could be an infinite supply of chocolate frogs.

Which [Y/N] will now have to spend a lump of her summer savings on. Great. Bloody fantastic.

She didn’t think she could hate Draco Malfoy even more than she already did, but now, with the burden of buying chocolate frogs resting on her shoulders, she realizes that anything is possible.

[Y/N] finds Draco later on in the day when she’s heading to the Great Hall for dinner; as she’s passing by a window that coincidentally overlooks the Quidditch pitch, she sees him zooming around the stadium by himself, no doubt practicing to better his (in [Y/N]’s opinion) ghastly Seeker skills.

So she trudges off to the pitch, arms folded over her chest as she yells, “Malfoy!”

He notices, stops in mid-air, and immediately flies down to land in front of her, one hand on his hip and the other resting on top of his broom. That signature smirk is already on his face, mirrored by [Y/N]'s angry scowl. “Here to take me up on my offer for a date?” he grins, shaking his (sweaty, wet) hair out of his eyes. [Y/N] watches the movement, unimpressed. “Or were you just planning to watch me practice?”

She scoffs, tearing her eyes away from the way he’s running a hand through his blond hair. “Neither. I thought you were bad enough, Malfoy, but bribing first-years into doing my bidding for me? In exchange for bloody chocolate frogs?”

Malfoy’s hand pauses in carding through his hair. He drops it back to his side. “So you figured it out.”

”Why else would first-years be so eager for me to boss them around?”

”Maybe because they find you just as beautiful as I do?” he suggests, eyes glinting, the smile on his face growing even wider. [Y/N] lets out a quick breath of incredulous laughter, because is he really still keeping this act up when no one is around to see? Is he that desperate to get on her nerves?

“Just stop it, Malfoy,” she says through gritted teeth, taking a step closer to him. At this, he whistles a little, eyebrows rising, and for some reason [Y/N] tries very, very hard not to look at the sweat trickling down his forehead, the pale pink hue of his cheeks from the strain of practicing—“Please for the love of Merlin can you just drop the whole I’m-in-love-with-you act? You got what you wanted. You’ve annoyed me enough.”

Draco's nose wrinkles. “Oh, but that’s not what I wanted,” the smile on his face falters a little. ”Did you really think I did all of this just to annoy you?”

[Y/N]’s eyebrows furrow—and is that her heart skipping a beat? No. No, definitely not. Falling quiet for a few moments, she finally sniffs and says, “Why else would you go out of your way to act absolutely smitten by me?”

An echo of Hermione's voice from several days ago reverberates through her head. Maybe he fancies you.

Malfoy shrugs, his smirk falling just the tiniest bit to be replaced by a semblance of sincerity. But that can’t be. And then he says, “Maybe I fancy you,” and [Y/N]’s eyes widen.

That can’t be right. Flabbergasted, she blinks, taking a step back. This has to be some sort of joke—no, yes, that’s exactly what this is: another way to crawl under her skin and annoy the daylights out of her. She has to applaud him for his creativity.

Pinching the space between her eyes in irritation, she looks up at Malfoy, inhales, and says, deadpan, “I’m being serious.”

“I am too,” Malfoy counters, eyebrows raised innocently, and [Y/N] has never wanted to smack him more than she does now.

She lets out another incredulous laugh, because this entire situation is just so bloody ridiculous that she can’t quite wrap her head around it. Throwing her hands up in the air in frustration, she turns to him and says, “Alright—okay. Let’s say you do fancy me. I’m going to pretend for a few seconds that you do—okay?”

Draco watches her, evidently amused judging by his grin, shrugs, and nods.

“Okay,” she huffs. “If you do fancy me—why on earth would you?”

Draco opens his mouth, but she cuts him off: “We hate each other, Malfoy. We’ve hated each other since the moment you laid eyes on me and I laid eyes on you. What could have possibly changed your rotten mind?”

He rolls his eyes at this, shifting a little on where he stands. “For starters,” he begins, like he’s talking to a five-year-old, “I didn’t hate you. I disliked the fact that you hung out with the wrong sort of people.”

”The wrong sort of people,” she repeats, deadpan.

“The Weasleys. Blood traitors. Mudbloods.”

She scowls at him, brain struggling to fathom what the bloody hell he’s trying to tell her. Managing to once more plow through her confusion, she says, “Your point is?”

“I’d have asked you out long ago if only you were smarter with who you chose to befriend,” and there it is—that familiar, distasteful sneer [Y/N] hasn’t seen in a long time. “Your family’s one of the oldest wizarding families around. It’s a shame.”

She lets out another scoff of disbelief, but the first few of Draco's words have something inside of her stirring. She refuses to address it and instead says, “So—and again, I’m pretending—you fancy me because of my family?”

He lets out a little sniff. “Not what I said.”

”What is it you’re trying to say, then?”

“Blimey, how long is it going to take you to realize that I actually bloody fancy you?”

Draco has dropped all pretense of nonchalant arrogance; he’s staring at her, obviously frustrated and a little annoyed. He stops leaning on his broom and lets it drop to the ground in favor of advancing towards her until he’s mere inches away from her face.

”I fancy you,” he repeats, and it’s funny, how he says it, because declarations of love are supposed to be sweet and gentle—not scathing and angry. He’s scowling down at her, lip curling, brows drawn in together in the middle in a tight frown. “I’ve decided that I don’t care who you hang around anymore because I fancy you. Do you get it now?”

[Y/N] swallows, staring at him, momentarily frozen. Malfoy doesn’t seem as though he’s joking—and now she doesn’t know what to say. She’s never been this close to him before—close enough to see herself in the reflection of his eyes, which are a striking grey and remind her of thunderstorms brewing behind dark clouds—

She takes in a deep breath and swivels around, turning away from him. “Stop sending children to be my servants,” she says, and starts to walk away—until Malfoy grabs her wrist and forces her to look at him again.

For a moment the look in his eyes convinces [Y/N] that he’s about to apologize, but then his lips are splitting into a wide grin again and he says, “What if I bribe a seventh year into doing your homework for you?”

Another scoff. She tears her wrist away from his grip and stalks off, in complete and utter disbelief.

”Or a house-elf to bring you food?” he calls after her. “Someone to do your hair for you in the morning? Or someone to yell at me for you?”

She halts at the last one, and for some odd, unknown reason, she feels like smiling. But she doesn’t, because that will open a door into something she isn’t sure she wants to explore. So she turns around, suppressing that mysterious little smile, already twenty feet away from Malfoy as she says, loudly, “I like doing that last one myself, thanks.”

From this distance, she thinks Malfoy might be smiling. But she doesn’t stay long enough to find out.

click here to read pt. 2!

[fandomlit]

neutral, chap. 2 (dream smp x reader)

series summary (in game!au) when an exiled tommy finally rebels against a manipulative dream, he finds safety in neutral territory, a place owned and guarded by you. staying in your safe haven opens up the younger one’s eyes to your way of life, while also revealing your deeper past before neutral; a past that involved a war for your love.

chapter summary tommy learns a little bit more about your relationship with dream before spending his day with ghostbur, exploring neutral territory and learning of the war that sparked its creation.

warning mentions of war, violence, and injuries

previous | series masterlist | next

gif cred belongs to @chillcrafting

“you have a package, y/n!” ghostbur called out just as you placed tommy’s breakfast in front of him. the ghoul’s words went completely ignored by tommy, whose gaze was solely focused on the beautiful stack of pancakes placed in front of him.

y/n smiled to herself. “you can bring it in, bur. i know who it’s from.” she shuffled syrup and butter over to tommy just as ghostbur came in with the fateful package.

tommy was already half way through scarfing down the stack of pancakes when y/n managed to open the package, ghostbur gazing over her shoulder. she took out a note set atop of the contents.

she read aloud, “y/n, i’m sorry i haven’t properly stopped by in a while. my work requires much of my undivided attention right now, which i’m sure you understand. please work your magic for me with the clothes included, and i will be sure to drop by for them and a meal soon. there are a few extra gifts included for you. i hope tommy isn’t burdening you. signed dream.”

“i’m not a burden!” tommy spoke offendedly through a mouthful of pancakes.

“you’re right, tommy,” y/n hummed, handing him a napkin to wipe some syrup off of his chin. “you’re perfect company.” tommy smiled to himself as he finished off his stack of pancakes. y/n sighed to herself, “clay really knows how to ruin a good piece of clothing..”

“so you and dream are close, y/n?” tommy grumbled, picking up his glass of milk.

she shrugged. “as close as you can be with someone you barely see.” she placed his battered clothes to the side, sighing again when she saw the rest of the contents of the box. tommy didn’t realize this, continuing with his questions.

“i remember that he respected your territory when he stepped into it,” he recalled. “he was going to kill me, but then he realized he was in neutral.”

y/n nodded. “when i made claimed this territory as neutral, i made a deal with everyone: i would mend and tailor anything you needed as long as you respected my territory as neutral.” she held up a box of diamonds and a smaller box of netherite to tommy’s view, making his mouth drop open with surprise. y/n held out another napkin to him for the milk that had sputtered out of his open mouth while ghostbur laughed into his hand. “clay is the only one who still tries to pay me.”

“with netherite?!” tommy exclaimed, letting out a surprised laugh.

y/n shrugged, seemingly not phased by the generous gift. “the nether..” she shook her head, placing the valuable materials onto the table, “is not a place i like to go. and most of this will probably be going toward dream’s armor, anyway.” she sighed, placing the gifts back into the box and laying the tattered shirts on top of them. “trust me, he’s still too kind for his own good with these sorts of materials.”

“how much netherite does that man have?” ghostbur scoffed, looking at how much was contained in the box.

“probably quadruple that amount,” y/n chuckled. “he has far too much free time.”

“and he doesn’t even spend it with you,” ghostbur sighed, shaking his head with a goofy smile.

“i know!” y/n spoke sarcastically before laughing out. she closed the box and set it under the table. “i’ll deal with that later. do you want any more pancakes, tommy?”

“no, i’m stuffed,” the teen yawned. “but thank you.”

she nodded. “well, then how about ghostbur shows you around the territory today?”

the boys perked up immediately. “really?”

“yeah,” she laughed, taking tommy’s empty plate. “you two can take the day to explore and have fun. go be a kid, kid.”

tommy excitedly looked up to his ghost friend. “fancy a game of ultimate tag?”

“you’re gonna get crushed,” ghostbur laughed before they both ran out of the house, laughing. y/n smiled.

“oh! i should make them lunch..”

...

“how big is this place?” tommy laughed after a few rounds of tag. they had found their way to a pond in a forested area, tommy deciding his knee needed a break after all of their running. 

“it’s bigger than you think,” ghostbur assured, making sure to keep an appropriate distance from the water as they sat along the small shore. “y/n claimed the territory before l’manberg, so there really wasn’t any need for a turf war of any sorts for what she settled.”

“how long has she lived here?” tommy questioned.

ghostbur shrugged. “almost two years, i think. she’s made quite the life for herself since.” more to himself, he muttered, “god, has it really been that long since it happened?”

“since what happened?” tommy asked, leaning closer to his friend with sparkling, curious eyes.

ghostbur sighed, “i’ll admit, i don’t remember too much.. but i know there was a fight. one of the first wars of our time, and it was all over y/n.”

“they were fighting for her?” tommy spoke with confusion. “she’s not an object.”

“very good, tommy,” ghostbur prided, patting his friend on the shoulder. “you’re right, she’s not. that’s why y/n left her original home and sought to create neutral territory; to end the fighting and create a place where peace could reign. in exchange, she’d offer her goods and services.”

“so they were fighting over her for her skills,” tommy understood. ghostbur made a face. “..or not?”

“both sides obviously wanted her skills, but i think y/n tends to neglect the fact that they were all madly in love with her,” ghostbur sighed, shaking his head.

tommy raised his eyebrows. “a crime of passion, eh?” he joked, making them both laugh out before he asked, “who was it?”

“let me think,” ghostbur sighed, tapping his chin. “i know one was dream, but the other.. i think it was-”

“boys! lunch is ready when you are!”

tommy turned back to ghostbur. “well? who?”

ghostbur shook his head. “sorry, tommy, i don’t remember that far. that’s as much as i can tell you.”

tommy couldn’t help but fel disappointed, but he knew he couldn’t blame his friend. “that’s alright, ghostbur. let’s go get lunch before y/n comes looking for us.”

...

after lunch and an insistent rematch of tag, ghostbur and tommy made their way to the organized garden area.

“y/n grows anything you can imagine,” ghostbur bragged as tommy marveled as the fluorescent, beautifully natural area. “she’s been to nearly every biome to complete her garden.”

“you can grow cocoa?!” tommy exclaimed when he finally spotted y/n, who was swinging an axe at a low jungle tree.

“y/n found a way,” ghostbur shrugged, guiding tommy over to her. “hey, y/n!”

“hi, boys,” she smiled, plucking off the plant she had loosened from the tree. “was lunch good? im sorry i didn’t stay and chat.”

“it was delicious,” ghostbur complimented, tommy nodding in agreement as his mind drifted back to the mouth watering coleslaw and toasted sandwiches she had prepared.

“that’s good!” she smiled, placing the cocoa plant on the ground. “you boys may want to step back.” they did as told as y/n swung her axe over her head, splitting the cocoa clean in half and revealing the delicious beans inside of it. “voila!”

ghostbur clapped politely. “thank you,” y/n laughed, dropping her axe and picking up the split plant. “would you boys like a sample?”

“sure,” tommy shrugged, stepping forward with ghostbur. he picked out a few beans before popping them into his mouth. breaking through the semi-tough shell, the delicious, dark taste flooded his taste buds and made him nearly moan, as y/n’s food often did. he and ghostbur shared a look of satisfaction before he voiced, “oh, y/n.. they’re perfect.”

“that’s good,” she laughed before nudging her bucket closer to her and scooping the seeds out into it. “how has your day around the territory been?”

“entertaining,” tommy spoke before asking, “how did you get into gardening, y/n?”

y/n gave ghostbur a knowing smile before she answered the younger boy’s question, “i was tired of eating only meat and bread. gardening was a way to expand my diet to more than just carbs and proteins. also, it’s very calming.” they followed when she hiked up her bucket and moved to the next jungle tree.

“is it?” tommy questioned.

she affirmed with a nod. “it’s nice to be able to spend a day tending to things you made. the fruits of your own harvest are the sweetest, they say.” they watched as she knocked down another cocoa plant.

“they are,” tommy nodded solemnly, his mind drifting to a sadder, more familiar place. “that’s why i miss l’manberg.”

y/n was barely surprised by the boy’s open confession. she tossed her axe down again, going to place a hand on tommy’s shoulder. “i know you do, tommy, and i know it’s rough right now. but what we’re playing here is a waiting game; we’re waiting for a safe opportunity to get you home, and in the meantime, i’ll take care of you, kid.”

tommy offered you another nod and a smile. “we?”

y/n gave him a kind grin. “im going to help you as best as i can from where i am. and i know that’s not much from me, but i know that everyone deserves a home that they love. and you can’t get there alone, kid.”

“you’re right about that,” tommy sighed before looking into her kind eyes. “thank you, y/n. your help means a lot.”

she squeezed his shoulder. “of course, tommy. you and ghostbur go explore some more; try to keep your mind on the things you can control.” she picked her axe back up.

tommy looked to the pitying ghoul beside him before looking back to y/n, a new thought fresh in his mind. “can you teach me how to cook?”

y/n grinned as she lifted her axe over her head again. “of course i can, tommy.”

tommy smiled as she cracked open the plant. he looked back to ghostbur. “wanna go for a swim?” the ghost shot him a fearful look. “im kidding! im kidding, let’s go use some pigs for target practice.” they both began to walk off, chatting and giggling before tommy turned and called, “y/n!” she looked up attentively. “what’s for dinner?”

she smiled. “i was thinking ribs!”

tommy’s mouth watered at the thought. “oh my god, i can’t wait to learn how to cook..”

tag list!! @vanhakirja @victory-is-here @inkyynki @airiour @sylum @kiritokunuwu @221bee-slytherin @bllatrixcarpnter @soullesstaco @stxrryb1tch​ comment below or message me if you would like to be added <3

[imaginemcyt]

village fever

sbi x gn!reader

content/trigger warnings: mentions of sickness including vomiting, medication, cursing. reader is called “big man” and “mate”, intended in a completely gender neutral way. i think that’s it!

you woke up feeling… off. something felt strange and you knew it, but you couldn’t quite place what it was so you carried on with your day. you went downstairs into the kitchen, where your father was making breakfast. your brothers were already up, tommy and wilbur sitting at the table bickering while techno sat on the couch with his face buried in some mythology book.

upon hearing you enter, phil looked up from the pan full of eggs. he smiled upon first seeing you, but his smile soon turned to a frown. “you alright, kiddo? you look awfully pale.” you smiled at him. “yeah, i’m fine. just tired i think.” but even as you said it, you knew it wasn’t true. phil’s voice sounded far away and you felt extremely out of it.

phil looked at you skeptically but didn’t push it. “alright, well breakfast should be done soon, would you mind setting the table?” you mumbled a ‘sure’ and grabbed the plates. you set them on the table one at a time, yet you paused with the last one. you hadn’t realized before how dizzy you felt. the next thing you knew, there was a crash and four pairs of eyes looked up at you. when had you dropped that plate? and why was the world spinning? you looked up at phil once more. “i don’t feel so good…” you heard yourself say. then everything went black as you fell to the floor.

you woke up again after the sun had set. had you slept all day? you weren’t sure, but you had a headache and you were cold, so terribly cold. you stood up and took in your surroundings for a moment before you felt a wave of nausea hit you and you were rushing to the bathroom. the contents of your stomach (which was pretty much nothing) had betrayed you and was now in the toilet. you groaned before feeling someone lift your hair up and tie it back. you looked up to see techno with his usual blank stare. he waited until you were sure you were done throwing up before helping you stand. you flushed the toilet and brushed your teeth.

“you should get back into bed. i’ll get you some water.” you mumbled a thank you before he nodded and headed downstairs to the kitchen. you then headed into your room and collapsed into your warm bed. techno returned a few minutes later with water, toast, and painkillers. “how did you know about my headache?” you asked, your voice weak and raspy. “i didn’t, you’re burning up. it’s to bring down the fever, but it’ll help with your headache, too.”

you took the medication and drank the water, feeling parched. you nibbled at the toast, not feeling hungry but also knowing you hadn’t eaten anything all day and then thrown up, and should probably eat. as you worked on that, techno sat at the end of your bed and pulled out his book. the cover read ‘heroic fantasy short stories’. he began to read silently to himself.

as you finished the last bites of your toast, you yawned and felt sleep trying to take you again. “tech?” he looked up. “will you read to me?” he regarded you for a moment before looking back down at the text. you thought he would ignore you and keep reading in his head, but after a few seconds you heard his deep monotone voice. “here we entered, but so dark was the night that some god must have brought us in, for there was nothing whatever to be seen. A thick mist hung all round our ships; the moon was hidden behind a mass of clouds so that no one could have seen the island if he had looked for it…”

the next time you woke, you smelled oatmeal and heard birds chirping outside. light streamed through your curtains, casting a bright and yellowish glow anywhere it hit. the world seemed to be in full swing, which contrasted heavily to your groggy and feverish self. you contemplated getting up, but didn’t feel it was worth the effort.

a few moments went by of you lying there coughing before you heard gentle knocking on your door. it opened to reveal a worried looking phil, holding a tray. “hey there, mate. techno told me you got sick last night, are you feeling better?” you pushed yourself to where you were sitting up. “a little bit. i still feel horrible, but i’m not nauseous, and maybe even a little hungry.” phil made his way to you and chuckled. “good thing i brought you some food, then.” he placed the tray on your lap, which contained a bowl of oatmeal and a warm mug of tea. you smiled at him. “thanks dad.” he caught his breath before smiling at you and stroking your hair gently. you could tell he still wasn’t used to being called ‘dad’. he made his way out of the room, telling you to eat and then take it easy.

you didn’t have much to do after that, seeing as you were bed-ridden, but it was just as well, seeing as you were too tired and your body too weak to do much anyway. after a couple hours of boredom went by, you heard a soft knock on your door again. you thought it might be phil checking on you, until wilbur poked his head in. “hey there, i haven’t seen you since yesterday morning. how are you feeling?” you looked at him and saw he was wearing his yellow jumper and had his guitar with him. “not great.” he frowned. “bored out of your mind, yeah?” you nodded and he gave a small laugh. “can i play you a song? i just finished writing it and wanted to show you.” you smiled and nodded enthusiastically, or as enthusiastically as you could while feeling so awful.

he smiled and made his way over to you. he took a seat on your bed and got his guitar ready to play. clearing his throat, he began to strum and sing. “the cute bomber jacket you’ve had since sixth form, adorned with patches of places you’ve been, is nothing on my khaki coat i got from a roadside when i was sixteen…” you smiled. your brother was extremely talented, and you loved hearing him play. “my boots are from airports, my backpack’s from friends, I’m not a man of substance and so I’ll pretend, to be a wanderer wandering, leaving ascetic belongings in hostels and restaurant bins…” you closed your eyes, taking in the melody and the beautiful strumming. when he was finished, he looked up at you. you gave him a genuine smile. “it’s beautiful, wilbur. what’s is called?” “i’m not sure yet, i’m thinking of calling it ‘since i saw vienna’,” he smiled back. “well i love it.”

with a few words of thanks, he made his way to the door. “you should get some rest. phil thinks you’ve caught village fever from your visit to that village the other day, so you’ll be down for a while.” you groaned. “don’t worry, y/n. tommy has to do all your chores while you’re sick.” you both laughed at tommy’s expense, leading to another coughing fit. wilbur frowned at you and ducked out of the room, leaving you with nothing but your thoughts once more.

around dinner time, tommy brought you food. on the plate was meatloaf, green beans, and mashed potatoes. he also brought a glass of water with him. “how you feelin’, big man? dadza didn’t want me to bring you food because he said i’m ‘tOo LoUd”! can you believe this fuckin’ guy?” you chuckled and coughed a bit. “thanks for the food, tommy. i’m doing a bit better now, so hopefully i’ll be back to my usual self in no time,” you said. he gave you a smile. “that’s what i like to hear.”

you felt miserable, but you knew that with time, you’d be just fine. besides, you had a great family to take care of you, and you could get used to seeing tommy do your chores.

[the-al-chemist]

Artemis Hexley and the Portrait of the Vault

Chapter 3: Trials and Tribulations

A/N: Artemis helps Jae Kim make some sauce and a first year make a friend. Professor Rakepick takes her first lesson of the year, and Orion Amari holds tryouts for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. This chapter features my goddaughter Lizzie Jameson, who belongs to @lifeofkaze. Warnings: discussion of Unforgivable Curses and Jae Kim’s jokes.

The first week of term passed by in a blur, and for the fifth years, it was not a fun week at all. It seemed as if every lesson, the teachers kept mentioning the importance of the exams they would be taking at the end of the year. By Friday, Artemis was sick of hearing about the O.W.L.s.

“I don’t even care about my Arithmancy grade,” she muttered to Rowan after their first Arithmancy lesson of the year, which Professor Vector had started with a fifteen minute speech on revision techniques. “We all know I’m going to fail it.”

Rowan, predictably, had already made a timetable for her revision, and was studying every single night in the library. In the interest of being responsible, Artemis had taken to joining her and doing the same, until Friday night, when she had her first detention in the kitchens.

When she arrived, she realised that she was not the only student there. Sitting on a low table was Jae Kim, a Gryffindor boy in her own year.

“What are you doing here?” she asked him, hopping up onto the table next to him.

“Got caught smuggling ever-bashing boomerangs into the castle in my trunk,” Jae said. “McGonagall sent me here as punishment. Apparently she got the idea from Sprout. What about you, what are you in here for?”

“Let’s see,” Artemis started to count on her fingers, “sneaking out after hours, flying into the Forbidden Forest, breaking into Filch’s office, directly disobeying Professor Dumbledore...”

“You really are a funny kind of prefect.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“Jae Kim! Artemis Hexley!” a high-pitched voice called out. Artemis turned around to see a house elf, clad in a pillow case, standing on the bench next to her. “My name is Pitts, Sir and Miss, and I am in charge of the kitchens. Follow me, please and thank you.”

Artemis shrugged at Jae, and the two of them followed Pitts the house elf to large stove, a sink, and a pile of pots and pans.

“There is pots and pans to be cleaned, and food to be cooked,” he told them. “Professor Dumbledore tells me you cannot use magic!”

“Do you want to cook or clean?” Jae asked, after Pitts had walked away.

“Don’t mind, really. Maybe cooking?”

“Are you any good at cooking?”

“I’m alright. My mum sometimes isn’t well enough to cook, so I learnt how to make some things.”

“Like what?”

“Eggs on toast, beans on toast, marmite on toast...”

“What a wide and varied repertoire,” Jae said, sarcastically. “Can you make anything that isn’t toast-based?”

He smirked at her. Artemis thought for a moment, before grinning back at him.

“Rarebit,” she said, proudly.

“That’s just cheese on toast.”

“Fine, I’ll clean.”

It turned out that Jae was quite the chef. Artemis watched over the top of the dishes as he threw ingredients around, occasionally stopping to dip a spoon into his concoction and taste a small amount, frowning slightly before reaching across for something to add. After an hour and a half, both he and Artemis had finished their respective tasks.

Artemis wasn’t sure what Jae had made exactly, but it looked like a sauce of some kind, and it smelt good. She wiped her damp hands on the front of her robes, and leant over to dip her finger into the mixture.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jae said, slapping her hand away. “Use a spoon, you animal!”

“But then I’d have to wash up the spoon!”

“I don’t care, you are not sticking your grubby little fingers in my cooking. Godric knows where they’ve been.”

“They’ve not been anywhere!”

“Oh yeah,” Jae sniggered. “Forgot which Hufflepuff prefect I was talking to for a minute there.”

Artemis rolled her eyes at him, and fetched a spoon from the draining board. She dipped it into the sauce, and placed it in her mouth. The sauce was rich, warm, and densely spiced. It was delicious. She went to put the spoon back into the sauce, but this time, Jae grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her arm back.

“Hygiene, Artemis!” he said. Artemis sighed, and washed up the spoon.

Pitts dismissed them, after a brief inspection of Jae’s sauce (“Jae Kim has put in too much pepper!”) and Artemis’ dishes (“Artemis Hexley has missed a spot!”), and the two of them started to walk back to the Great Hall.

“I didn’t think you put in too much pepper,” Artemis told Jae.

“Thank you. A compliment like that really means a lot, coming from a culinary mastermind such as yourself.”

“Where did you learn to cook like that?”

“My grandma taught me.”

“She taught you well. You must be brilliant at Potions.”

“I’m alright,” Jae nodded. “The problem with Potions is that Snape makes you follow a recipe. I’m much better at just making it up as I go along.”

“Can you do that with Potions?”

“I do. Nothing’s gone wrong yet.”

Artemis nodded slowly. The year before, Jae had made and sold bottles of Beautification Potion in the lead up to the Celestial Ball. From what she could remember, the results had been unreliable, to say the least. She made a mental note to never buy a potion from Jae.

In the Great Hall, she took a seat with Rowan, Penny and Tonks, and food appeared on the table. She helped herself to a large portion of Jae’s cooking.

“Trust me,” she told her friends, “it’s really good.”

As she was eating, a first year girl with a round face and even rounder glasses approached her.

“Um, Artemis,” said the girl, in a timid voice. Artemis swallowed.

“Yes, um...”

“Elora. Elora Dunn.”

“What’s up, Elora?”

“Well, you said at the start of term feast that when you were in first year you got bullied.”

“Well, not really. My friend Ben got bullied more than me, but I did almost get murdered,” Artemis told Elora. behind her, Rowan tutted and Penny sighed. “What? I did.”

“There’s a boy in my year, and he keeps calling me names. Because I’m Muggleborn.”

“Right,” said Artemis, laying down her cutlery and standing up, “where is this boy? I’ll deal with him”

“Please don’t! He’ll only be worse if I get him into trouble.”

“You can’t let him get away with it,” Artemis said, but Elora shook her head. She looked as if she might cry. Artemis softened. “Elora, what do your friends say you should do?”

“I don’t... I don’t have any friends,” Elora said, miserably. “I just don’t fit in with the other girls in my dormitory.”

“You know, I thought that too, when I first came to Hogwarts, but look at all of us now,” Artemis gestured to Rowan, Tonks and Penny. Looking at Penny gave her a sudden idea. “Tell you what, Elora, let’s find you a friend, and then I’ll talk to this boy’s prefect. Hey, Beatrice!”

Penny’s sister’s little blonde head popped up over the top of the row of students, and she peered at Artemis like a meerkat. Artemis beckoned her with her hand, and she came over to where Artemis was standing with Elora.

“Beatrice, this is Elora. After dinner, I want you two to go into my dormitory, take the box of Gobstones off the bookcase, and take it to the Common Room to play games. You can stay up as late as you like, I don’t care. Just keep playing until you’re friends, okay?” the two girls nodded, and so did Artemis. “Good. Now, what house is this boy in?”

“Slytherin.”

“Fine,” Artemis said, and she stormed over to the Slytherin table, where she stood, bearing down over Merula Snyde, hands on her hips. “Oi, Merula!”

Merula looked up at her, slowly, a disinterested look on her pale, pointed face

“What do you want this time, Hexley?” she drawled.

“I want you to control your bloody first years, that’s what I want.”

“What are you on about?”

“One of your students has been bullying one of mine.”

“Maybe one of your students just can’t take a joke.”

“Oh, no. Don’t you give me that,” Artemis said. She hadn’t realised that her voice was raised, but by the number of people sitting nearby who were now openly listening to the conversation, she must have been talking rather loudly. “This is serious. I know you had no problem being a bully in your first year, but you’re a prefect now. Get your act together, and put a stop to it.”

“How do you expect me to do that, Hexley?”

“I don’t know, Merula. You’re the most powerful witch at Hogwarts, you figure it out.”

Artemis and Merula glared at each other, before Merula made a disdainful noise and returned to her food, scowling. Artemis turned on her heel and strode back over to the Hufflepuff table. On her way past Beatrice and Elora, who were chatting away to each other, she bent down and muttered to them:

“If that boy gives you any more trouble, you tell me, okay?”

The two girls nodded their heads, and returned to their conversation.

Skye Parkin approached Artemis in the common room that evening. She didn’t look any happier than when Artemis had seen her with Professor Sprout.

“Amari is nae going tae budge, the tadger,” she said to Artemis, who squinted at her as she tried to understand what she meant. “So, it looks like yer going tae have tae try out like everyone else. Including the team.”

“Right,” Artemis nodded. “When are the tryouts?”

“Next Sunday. Are ye still keen?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Smashing. See ye then, hen.”

“Did you understand a word of that?” Tonks asked, as Skye walked away.

“Not every word. But I knew what she meant. Can I borrow your broomstick next Sunday? I promise I won’t take it into the Forbidden Forest.”

There was one other thing Artemis needed to ask permission for before she could attend the Quidditch tryouts.

“Madam Rakepick,” she said, approaching her new teacher before the start of her first Defence Against the Dark Arts Lesson.

“Professor Rakepick,” the former Curse-Breaker corrected her.

“Professor. Yeah, of course.”

“I doubt that you came here to quibble over my title, Miss Hexley. Say what it is you have to say and take your seat so that I can start my lesson.”

“Right, well, I know last year we had our Curse-Breaking sessions on Sunday mornings, and I wanted to know if that’s going to be the same this year, too, and if so, could I miss this Sunday?” Madam Rakepick said nothing, she merely raised one eyebrow at Artemis, who continued, “It’s just that the Quidditch tryouts are then, and I really want to try and make the team. As Chaser. So I can’t come to Curse-Breaking on Sunday.”

“First, you asked me if you could miss it. Now, you’re telling me that you won’t be there. Decide whether you’re asking or telling me, and stick to your decision.”

Artemis frowned, and nodded her head.

“I’m telling you, Professor. I’m not going to be there,” she said.

“Thank you for letting me know,” Rakepick smiled curtly. “Now, sit down.”

Artemis took a seat in the front row, next to Tonks. Madam - no, Professor - Rakepick stood at the front of the classroom and watched in silence as the class chattered quietly, waiting for the class to begin. The noise faded away as one by one, the students noticed Rakepick regarding them with a disinterested expression.

“Three minutes,” she said, once the class was silent. “Three minutes you have been sitting and talking, when you could have been learning. Next time you enter my classroom, you will be ready to start immediately.”

It was an order, not a question. Several of Artemis’ peers shared apprehensive looks. Rakepick continued, ignoring them.

“Judging by the quality of your previous instruction in the subject - or, more accurately, the lack thereof - I would have expected you to have realised that you cannot waste single moment of our lesson time on idle chitchat. You must know why these classes are important,” she paused, and raised her eyebrows. No one dared speak. Rakepick tutted. “I am waiting for one of you to give me the reason.”

“Because we have our O.W.L.s this year,” Rowan said.

“What an incredibly puerile answer, Miss Khanna. No, I have absolutely no interest in getting you to pass exams. I am here to teach you to defend yourselves against dark magic, not how to jump through hoops for the Ministry of Magic. However, as arbitrary as the Ministry’s testing may be, I am still expected to cover the syllabus. With that in mind, let’s start today’s lesson. Be sure to pay attention. Listening to what I tell you could save your lives one day.”

The class shuffled in their seats uncomfortably in their seats as Professor Rakepick leant against her desk.

“The curses we are covering today are three of the most dangerous and dark spells known to wizard - and witch - kind. They are collectively known as the Unforgivable Curses, so called because the use of any one of them is enough to legally justify an Azkaban sentence.”

“And ethically, too,” said Tulip, her almond-shaped-eyes narrowed at the Professor. Rakepick blinked.

“I don’t take kindly to interruptions, Miss Karasu,” she said, shortly. “If I want someone to speak, I shall ask a direct question, or at least pause and indicate facially that I wish for verbal contribution. Do I make myself clear?”

Professor Rakepick cocked an eyebrow at Tulip, who glowered back at her in silence.

“Now, that was a direct question, and I did pause and indicate facially that I wished for you to make a verbal contribution. Let’s try that again, Miss Karasu. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes,” Tulip said, grudgingly, her face still tense. Rakepick pursed her lips, and Tulip added, “Professor.”

“Good. Perhaps you would like to tell the class about one of the Unforgivable Curses. I understand your parents both work in the Ministry of Magic, you must have some knowledge on the subject.”

“The Imperius Curse,” Tulip suggested. “It gives someone total control over the victim. Turns them into a magical slave.”

“Indeed it does. Does anyone else know any Unforgivable Curses?”

Unsurprisingly, both Rowan - who knew everything about everything - and Tonks - whose favourite subject was Defence Against the Dark Arts - both raised their hands. Professor Rakepick nodded her head at Rowan.

“There’s the Cruciatus Curse,” Rowan said. “It causes intense and unbearable pain in the victim, and is used as a form of magical torture.”

“A textbook definition if ever I heard one,” Rakepick flashed an insincere smile. “Two down, one to go. Mr Winger, the last curse, if you please.”

At the back of the classroom, Talbott Winger broke his usual silence to answer Professor Rakepick.

“The Killing Curse,” he said, slowly.

Artemis bit her bottom lip. She knew that Talbott’s parents had been killed by Death Eaters during the war, but had never considered how. She tried to meet Talbott’s eye so that she could give him a reassuring smile, but his eyes were firmly forward, and he was determinedly not looking at anyone.

“Precisely. You should all be able to guess what the effect of the Killing Curse is,” Rakepick said, seemingly not noticing Talbott’s discomfort. She stood up, and waved her wand, and writing appeared on the board behind her. “Open your books. You’ll want to take notes on this.”

Artemis listened, enraptured, as Professor Rakepick discussed in detail the history, effects and detection of the Unforgivable Curses. The former Curse-Breaker was direct and engaging, and she ruled over the classroom like an imperious queen. Not one person spoke out of turn for the whole lesson, and as the class packed their bags, having been dismissed by Rakepick - not by the bell - there were general murmurs of admiration.

Not everyone had warmed to their new instructor, however.

“She’s awful,” muttered Tulip, as she walked back to the Great Hall with Penny, Tonks, and Artemis. “So full of herself, like she’s the only person to have ever dealt with dark magic before.”

“Well, she is very respected in her field,” said Penny. “Bill says she’s going to get him an interview with Gringott’s Bank.”

“Is she?” Artemis asked.

“Oh, yes. She’s really trying to help him with his career. She has the power to do that, after all.”

With Rakepick’s consent to not attend the Curse-Breaking meeting, Artemis - Tonks’ broom in hand - made her way down to the Quidditch pitch on Sunday morning, feeling more excited than nervous. Around twelve or so students from various years were milling about, all of them holding broomsticks. She caught sight of a glimpse of blue hair, and walked over to Skye, who grinned at her, despite looking more tense than usual.

“Hullo, Hexley. Are ye ready tae try out?”

“Yeah,” Artemis nodded. “Who are we trying out for, exactly?”

“See over there, by McNully?”

Murphy McNully, the Quidditch commentator, was a blonde-haired, broad-shouldered boy in Artemis’ own year. She caught sight of him in his wheelchair, next to a tall boy who must have been a year or two older than herself, with a tanned complexion, shoulder-length dark hair and dark eyes.

“That’s Amari. Orion Amari,” Skye informed her, with a scowl. “He’s the new captain. This whole bloody faff was his idea.”

“Why’s Murphy here? I thought commentators were supposed to be impartial.”

“Aye, but Amari trusts McNully’s opinion more than anyone else. If ye want tae make the team, ye will have tae impress him an’ aw.”

Artemis nodded, and Amari strode into the centre of the pitch, positioning himself in the middle of the scattered students.

“Greetings, everyone. Thank you all for your presence,” he said. He didn’t raise his voice, but it still carried through the air, “and thank you for your understanding. I know that many of you had misgivings about trying out for your previous positions, but this is a new year, and a new beginning.”

Beside Artemis, Skye was growing restless. Artemis heard her make a quiet but unmistakable noise of contempt.

“Let us begin with a warm up,” Amari continued. “I shall lead you through some stretches, and then we shall attempt to find balance.”

Skye groaned loudly. Orion Amari taught them all to stretch, before making them all hover above the ground, standing on their broomsticks. As they wobbled in mid-air, trying not to fall, he started to make his way around the group, talking to them individually.

“And who might we have here?” he said, as he reached Skye.

“Ye ken bloody well who I am, Amari. We’ve been teammates for four years, though that does nae seem tae count for anything wi’ ye now that yer the captain.”

“In Quidditch, we are all equals, on and off the pitch. It does not matter whether you are the captain, a chaser, or a new player. Everyone deserves an opportunity to try and make the team, which means holding fair tryouts for all of us, including myself.”

“How can it be fair if you are trying out and you’re deciding who makes the team?” Artemis asked Orion Amari.

“I will not be making the decision. The fate of each and every one of us will be in the capable hands of Murphy,” he smiled serenely. “I do not think that we have encountered one another before.”

“We haven’t. I’m Artemis. Artemis Hexley.”

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. And have you considered which position you would like to try out for?”

“Yeah,” Artemis nodded. “I quite fancy Chaser, actually. Like Skye.”

“And like myself. You will be our sixth potential Chaser today. But as I said, this shall be a fair tryout.”

Artemis hadn’t known what she had been expecting from a Quidditch tryout, but this hadn’t been it. After balancing on their broomsticks, Amari had them fly laps around the pitch, and in turn complete a bizarre obstacle course. In turn, the potential players weaved around the goalposts, threw a Quaffle over a strip of ribbon floating in the air, swooped under the ribbon to catch the ball again, before flying up to the stands and throwing it into a waste paper bin. Once the Quaffle was in the bin, they had to dive down from the stands to the pitch to pick up a wooden bat and use it to hit a brightly coloured ball the size of a grapefruit (each of which had the name of the person hitting written on it) as far as possible.

Murphy McNully scribbled notes throughout the tryouts, and after everyone had completed the obstacle course, wheeled over to the where the colourful balls lay on the ground. Having examined each one, and collected them, he wheeled over to Orion, and the pair of them started to whisper to one another over the top of Murphy’s notebook, occasionally throwing glances towards the other students.

Artemis walked over towards Skye and one of her friends, a pretty girl with a friendly face and wavy light-brown hair pulled into a high ponytail.

“That was no bad, Hexley,” Skye told her, “no bad at aw.”

“Thanks,” said Artemis. “Dunno if it was good enough, though.”

She didn’t feel as if she had flown particularly well. She had completed the obstacle course faster than many of the other fliers, but there were definitely things she could have done better. She had managed the weaving, and had flown under the ribbon quickly enough to catch her own Quaffle, but she had missed getting it into the bin in the stands by a matter of inches, and although she had no problems diving down to pick up the Beater’s bat, she had hit her coloured ball a much shorter distance compared to most of the others.

“Don’t worry about too much,” the girl stood next to Skye smiled at her. “We’re all in the same position as you.”

“Aye, but some of our spots on the team are safer than other’s, Lizzie. After aw, not everyone has the benefit of being the captain’s girlfriend.”

“That’s not fair, Skye,” Lizzie chastised, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Orion’s not even the one choosing who makes the team. And even if he was, he wouldn’t be biased like that.”

Skye pulled a doubtful face, and Orion Amari and Murphy McNully returned from across the pitch.

“That was fantastic flying from all of you,” Murphy said, enthusiastically nodding his head. “We only have seven positions to fill, sadly, so I’m afraid not all of you will be able to make the team itself. However, it is always a good strategy to have reserve players - just look at the Gryffindor team - so Orion might contact you in the future if you’re needed,” he cleared his throat, and opened his notebook. “Amari, Jameson, Parkin, Gwithers, Bean, Willows. Congratulations.”

Artemis felt her heart sink. She really hadn’t done enough.

“I would like to talk to the new team in the changing tent shortly,” said Orion, calmly. “If you could wait for me in there, I have one more matter to deliberate with Murphy. Everyone else, thank you for your time, and your efforts. I do hope that you are not too disenchanted, and that we shall not return to being strangers now that we have at last become acquainted.”

The students began to clear the pitch. Disappointed, Artemis started to follow them, but she stopped in her tracks when she heard Amari calling out her name.

“Artemis? Would you mind lingering here a while longer?”

Frowning, Artemis walked back over to the Quidditch captain and the commentator.

“You were probably able to tell that I only called out six names,” Murphy said. Artemis nodded, although in truth she hadn’t been counting. “Sadly, no one wanted to try out for the position of Seeker. Generally speaking, Seekers are the smallest and fastest players on the pitch. You’re the smallest of everyone trying out, and you were one of the fastest at completing the obstacle course. What do you think?”

“You’d like me to play Seeker?”

“I think you should try out for Seeker,” said Murphy. “Can you show us another dive? One from a higher position?”

“I guess,” Artemis shrugged. “How high, and how steep do you want the dive?”

“As high and steep as you can.”

Artemis mounted her broom, and started to ascend, far above where the boys remained on the ground, higher than the hoops of the goalposts, as high as the flags on top of the towers of the stands. From her position in the air, she could see out over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest. Remembering how she had been taught to dive in order to land in the forest safely, she moved her hands forward, took a deep breath, and pushed downwards, flattening her body against her broom as she plummeted, accelerating towards the ground at a steep trajectory. As she neared the ground, she pulled upwards with all her strength, coming out of the dive and hovering a matter of feet above the heads of Orion and Murphy. She swooped down to the grass, and jumped off her broom once she was a metre or so from the ground.

“See?” Murphy said to Orion. “She flies like a Seeker.”

“She’s right here,” Artemis muttered. “And I was wanting to play Chaser, not Seeker.”

“Sometimes, we have to accept that who we are, and who we are meant to be, is not necessarily who we envisioned,” Orion mused. “Murphy is right, you fly like a Seeker. You should embrace that.”

Artemis sighed, but nodded her head. It hadn’t been her first choice, but it was better to be on the team as Seeker than not on the team at all.