#but enough dismal rambling!

[hmsannlett]

Hi, there! You don't sound like a downer, just realistic! I'm merely basing my theory on a tweet from Alex Rose, who told someone that TURN will be on AMC+. I'd think if anyone knows whether or not it will return to streaming, it'd be him! ;) We cannot be sure whether or not it'll be available for streaming, but I think we can be (cautiously) hopeful! TBC...

I didn't know that the fandom was responsible for a S3/S4 renewal! I mean, I understand why that would be true for any series in general, but that's interesting! And I'm sure the writers did the best they could, and perhaps, like us, were saddened that S5 wasn't happening. ☹ Nevertheless, like you so wisely said, that's the blessing of fanfiction! And what a gift in the broken pieces, to be inspired to write beautiful stories such as you're doing! 😊

Ah, I thought Turn was already on AMC+ (I thought someone on here mentioned that shortly after it was removed from Netflix, it had been made available on AMC+). Even so, I'm not very hopeful about a fandom revival, since AMC+ isn't nearly as popular as Netflix. And, of course, there's the perennial issue now of there being so many streaming services to choose from that people have to decide which will give them the biggest bang for their buck because it's so expensive subscribing to multiple services. And I don't see a lot people choosing AMC+ instead of or in addition to, say, Netflix or Hulu, when those both have large libraries and a wide variety of shows and movies to choose from.

If Turn ever returned to Netflix, there would be a chance former fans might return to the fandom/new fans would join the fandom, but I'm sure AMC would rather have Turn as part of their streaming service where they get direct revenue than licensing it out to Netflix, where there's less of a chance people would notice Turn among all of the shows and movies Netflix offers (and, depending on how Turn did on Netflix before, they may not try to license it again). Tbh, I don't know if Turn would be very popular on AMC+ either, since AMC's biggest shows (Better Call Saul, The Walking Dead, etc.) aren't similar to Turn and wouldn't attract the same audience.

(This is still sounding rather Eeyore-ish, I apologize!) Ultimately, for a lot of the fans who have disappeared over the past year, what they liked about Turn being on Netflix was the ease of accessing it because they already had Netflix subscriptions. I don't think AMC+ hosting Turn will make too much of a difference, unfortunately. :/ I'll be very happy to eat crow if Turn is restored to Netflix/the fandom inexplicably has an upswing, but given how quickly the fandom dropped off after Turn was removed from Netflix and how it's shrunken to almost nothing this year, I don't have a lot of hope of it even becoming half of what it was before.

I'm glad (and amazed, like I said before) that the fandom has lasted as long as it has, but I don't have the hope that I did back in January that people might come back. I'd hoped back then that it was just the combination of Turn being removed from Netflix and the holidays, which kill every fandom's activity levels, but as time went on, I realized that it was simply that nearly everyone had jumped ship. I've been coming to accept that this year, but it's been difficult watching fandom friends leave and feeling increasingly like I'm posting into a void (although I very much appreciate your continued enthusiasm! Knowing I'll find asks in my inbox from you makes it feel less like I'm posting into a void ❤︎).

Yep, that was the fandom's doing (at least for S4; I'm not certain about S3)! Oh, definitely. One of the writers, LaToya Morgan, shipped Annlett hard and was devastated that their story line couldn't be resolved as she wanted it to. (She even jokes on Twitter every so often about writing a fanfic of what she wanted their ending to be.) Alex Rose was also very fond of Hewlett; I think he even said Hewlett was his favorite character. I don't know where he stood on Annlett, but he rooted for Hewlett like the rest of us. He was disappointed about the nixing of S5, too, as I recall. So we're certainly not alone!

[pechaberriesandsoju]

hi! i’ve seen that you’ve been having a rough time recently, so i wanted to let you know that you’re someone i truly love seeing on my dash for so many reasons. even if it feels like everything is dark and dismal right now, just know that this world is lucky to have you, and so are your f/os :)

I'm not gonna lie. I'm genuinely tearing up at this message and this art. Thank you very much. I appreciate it so much.

I've just been overwhelmed so much by a lot, and sometimes I just tend to bottle it up a lot, and i know it's not healthy but it's kind of a defense mechanism until it's too late. I act like I'm tough and don't care a lot, but I actually just genuinely care a lot, especially when it comes to my friends that I tend to forget to actually care about my own feelings and wellbeing. I've been told I have a big heart, but I don't tend to give myself enough time to care for myself a lot. And now I have no clue if I'm making sense cause I'm rambling with tears in my eyes.

But seriously. Thank you. Thank you so much.

[tsukkismoonlight]

the sky is fading as the night draws near. The soft purple hues melt away into a deep and dark blue. Stars start to peek out from half formed clouds, and the moon watches down on you fondly, and you seem to hear a familiar name…

Hakkai Shiba

-Hakki is the kind of guy who is hard to read, everyone knows that

-He generally takes a while before he opens up to people, so for the most part, everyone just thinks that he is a quiet guy

-so in your case, Hakkai wasn’t exactly someone you thought you’d be super close with, as both of you tend to be a bit introverted

-but as you spent more time with Toman, you found yourself around him more

-you two shared a lot of quiet moments together, walking side by side, waiting to be dismissed from a meeting, or even just sitting next to each other at a cafe watching as the usual Toman trouble makers cause chaos

-eventually you two warmed up to each other enough to spend time together without everyone else, and boy was that something

-a lot of the times, you and Hakkai stay in, listening to music while one of you reads and the other scrolls through their phone

-your favorite moment was most likely when you introduced Hakkai to the FNAF game (this is my timeline now, fnaf exists in tokyo rev now thank you anyways)

-Hakkai is not very fond of jumpscares, but watching him focus, brows furrowed as his eyes dart back and forth over the screen, and watching him pull away from the screen as one of the animatronics pops out at him

-“you think this is funny?!” He would say as your laptop shows a dismal message of defeat, “how can anyone like this sort of thing?!”

-you'd only reply with a chuckle and tell him that its all about the story that lies behind the game.

-since that night the two of you are practically inseparable, where you go, Hakkai goes

-he doesn’t care when you act a little childish as he finds it nice to not be so serious all the time, and as much as he protests he loves when you tease him and flirt playfully (he would be absolutely red in the face and stuttering every time you did)

-he’s probably the only person you let be around you when you’re upset, and he knows exactly what you need in order to help you

-when it comes to being together, in a more romantic sense, Hakkai would want to make sure that it’s something you want (he would ask over and over again, at least twice a week)

-he would brush his hand on yours when you’re walking and eventually twine your fingers together

-he would love hugs, especially when he comes up behind you gently, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close to his chest

-he would want to treat you to any and all of your favorite things, you notice something in the window of a shop? He goes back to buy it for you later.

-anyways i feel like i could keep going but i feel like i'm rambling please feel free to let me know what you think !!!

Lockscreens/homescreens (i made a couple because i wasnt sure i liked them but i actually love the last one!!)

Matchup for @grellsglasses

[the-martyrfication-of-the-matron]

Okay so my general mru timetravel saga phase thing. + how I’m doing the YA.

Since I think focusing on timetravel instead of the multiverse would have been a better next saga since timetravel was set up formerly.

Also, champions and Runaways will likely feature but I need to defamiliarise myself with the comics to feel more comfortable deciding on HOW. But I’ll get to it, just not in this post.

(Ramble below the cut)

First Phase:

I would make the first phase AFTER endgame extremely chill. More grounded, focus on a smaller group of heroes and the affects of the snap. TFATWS would be my preferred first project but obviously could change when I go to write it. Maybe seven projects in all? Keep it small. Six main solo projects, an avengers team up. I want to make it clear that things aren’t running as smoothly as they could be post-Thanos, there’s a lot of tension, the team isn’t quite… teaming.

Steve shows up as cameos in TFATWS and the avengers teamup, but not to take away from the focus of Sam being the new Cap. He’s more of an… advisor. He has experience, but that’s all he’s got to offer. He’s done with the fight. I don’t think he should’ve died in endgame personally bc I think people need a main avengers to continue showing up to really keep their investment until another character proves worthy enough for focus.

Eli is the first Young Avenger to be included, which would make a whole ‘oooo Young avengers maybe??’ But he’s played off like a cameo that’s there because Isaiah is there, no need to rush into the YA.

Kamala is also showing up. Ms Marvel wouldn’t be a MAIN solo project and would be kind of hinted to be disconnected until Carol shows up in the last episode.

There will also probably be a Hawkeye series but I don’t want any of the YA to be heroes before the YA. So Kate will likely cameo but I don’t want her to be a Hawkeye yet. That’s YA stuff. It can wait.

Second Phase:

A little more funky now. The Marvels is a good guide to take for the balance of funky and grounded. Sure it’s in space but it’s a pretty typical movie, nothing too big. Of course, the marvels = Teddy introduction. I’ve not watched the movie yet (literally on the way there now) so I can’t promise how I’ll introduce him, but it’ll probably be a small ‘cameo type’ thing.

The phase starts on a lighter note but slowly degrades, the avengers are slipping apart. It ends on a Loki s1.

Introduction of Kid Loki also. And I’ll probably do Sylvie differently. But with the demolition of the sacred timeline, there comes chaos in the storyline.

Introduction of the champions might occur here, whilst things are still light and dandy. Depends on what I can swing.

Third Phase:

House of M. Wandavision, obviously, introduces the Twins. They’ll probably remain toddlers though, to keep them little and cute, plus terrible twos + superpowers would make it obvious she’s crazy when she CHOSE that. They’re the two YA introduced this phase, no America until the multiverse unfortunately.

The avengers are slowly falling apart even further, Loki s2, and then, bosh, kangs. Not THE Kang, though. Other kangs. Fighting aaa. Some avengers probably die, Scott definitely does. They win and have to fight THE Kang, don’t win, Kang escapes.

Idk how to explain my idea for that film considering I haven’t properly planned it. But, basic idea is that he WILL come back.

Phase four:

No avengers. They fell apart, like they did for infinity war. If things like this keep happening, there’s no point anymore. Womp womp everything sucks. Some people, like Sam, are trying to keep everyone together but it’s so… hard. They wonder if they’re really just making things worse. They probably are.

Yeah there are solo projects. But it’s mostly pretty dismal. They’re trying to prepare to fight kang but they know they’ll lose. In the final solo project, there’s an end credit scene. Someone in a suit appears in dark streets and picks up a loose newspaper. ‘The avengers disbanded’. In a robotic-ish voice: oh no.

And then, final avengers movie of the saga. Except… it opens up to kids being assholes and oh wait this is just an adaptation of the first Young Avengers comic with some more emphasis on the avengers. Why have a huge crossover movie when teenagers can stab people? This isn’t to say there won’t be any closure for other storylines, I just don’t think every storyline needs to end in an AVENGERS storyline. The big crossover movie will probably be phase 3’s big Kang gang up movie, with everyone fighting their own time travelling war lord. But Kang’s death belongs to Nate. So that’s how it’ll be. Other superhero team ups will probably happen. But the big bad will be slain by those who now carry the avengers torch. It’s to me the only way to actually get people interested in the Young Avengers.

Some post saga notes:

There are some things that will be included. Like fantastic four and Xmen. It’s just a little difficult to try and explain how they fit it without going into masses of detail.

The next saga will likely be multiverse based. The Young Avengers are pretty well prepped for that kind of storyline. I’ll likely reallocate TLAT to this saga. Multiverse works better for god-based movies than time travel. It’ll probably include Children’s Crusade and YA vol2 for some of the avengers movies.

[eluxcastar]

Can you please do one where Urd missed Y/N too much and After finishing his paperwork in his office he comes to the bedroom and Kisses your lips continuously? Please love your stories btw<3

Urd when he misses his s/o ♡

FEATURES: urd geales

CW: f l u f f, I mention a cat so if you're allergic you get to d i e /j

WC: 900

NOTES: thank you ♡ this idea is honestly precious I'm ngl eat up Urd simps

I forced myself to finish this at two a.m. 😭 this is not the time and I have stuff to do tomorrow but nahh this is what I was doing instead of sleeping

a hard day's work is hardly rewarding in the material sense, certain not with what his work entails at least, the life of a man enslaved by his own utopia and who spends a dismal amount of time at a desk rather than doing half the things Kings of his days used to get away with-- suffice it to say being King isn't what it used to be.

the one plus side is not actually being a King by birthright in his day means his marriage is someone he chose, and someone he loves rather dearly, someone he can't see when he is tied down by his responsibilities, sitting through reports and papers for what can be hours on end with only a brief glimpse as he hears you walk past his office and looks up to see what little of you is visible in the barely cracked door.

that little glimpse is enough to motivate him, because he knows as soon as he finishes even just enough of this work he can get a lot more than just a glimpse.

in a way, he enjoys the innocent little fantasising he does when you peek your head in to check on him, of the many affections and gestures of love he will shower you in, all the cuddles and kisses and the little things he knows you enjoy when you lay together as well as his own possibly self-indulgent desires when it comes to intimacy. It's nothing too explicit, just little things he likes, but it's there, and as he finishes up the last of his work he feels the wave of overwhelming relief wash over him, like he's finally able to relax.

a look up at the clock says that by now you would've gone to bed, though you may not be asleep quite yet, readying yourself for bed and perhaps waiting up for him a while. He is greater by the pleasant sight of you curled up with the blankets, the cat curled up by your side and keeping you company in his stead, just as he intended it to.

he thought at a glance you were sleeping, but hearing him enter has your eyes opening to see who’s there, comforted by the sight of someone you recognise all too well and you begin to pet the cat who unfurls to stretch right out and extends its claws momentarily. He finds it adorable to heard you say something to it like a little child, about how that was such a big stretch, all the while he’s discarding some of his clothes to be a little more dressed down and able to feel comfortable enough to relax beside you who is already in comfy cotton pyjamas and ready for bed.

your little ramblings to the cat about how its Dad is here is endearing, even if he may have resisted the notion of you referring to him as a cat’s Dad at first, but he grew accustomed to it eventually. Though he hates to interrupt you, there’s a part of him that feels like he doesn’t want to wait on a cat, admittedly the louder half and what possesses him to kiss your cheek for your attention mid-sentence and mid-tummy rub leaving the cat to roll back onto its side to wonder why you had stopped.

"Come sit down." when you pat a spot for him beside you on the bed he barely hesitates, having been eagerly awaiting this for some time now, and you don't need to ask twice for him to come to your side and sit in the place of the cat who gets up and brushes your leg the second it sees him.

you let yourself relax again, this time leaning your head on his shoulder, and it's strangely comfortable even when you can clearly feel a bone in your head. It would be nice if he could get rid of those but unfortunately even to those with inhuman limitations, some lines simply mustn't be crossed. You believe your comfort comes from the distinct smell of his clothes and the slightest of chills to him, like it's winter and he has cold hands—it's very familiar to your mind.

he lays you down, prompting you to lay on your pillow instead of using him like one, and he took that as his opportunity to kiss you again, gentle at first trying not to startle you but once you came around and realised he wanted your attention far more than the needy little cat who had wandered off to paw at a blanket somewhere. His hand reached over you, resting next to you to just barely keep him from any awkward leaning, meanwhile he left your hands to touch him as you pleased.

the both of you are always somewhat experimental at first, with shy little touches turning to deliberate and slower movements that don't hesitate as much, as process of easing yourselves in until you're comfortable and all the while he's still quite intent on not letting you leave you kiss, letting you squeeze the hand you come to find yourself holding as a way to tell him you need a short break to recollect yourself for just a moment, then you'll be all his for the rest of the night.

[xiaojunsmintchoco]

omg adding to the anon who asked for the nct dream reaction, can I ask for a sungtaro version as well? thankss

NCT Dream + sungtaro reaction: s/o doesn't do well in an exam

hey guys! so sorry for the long inactivity, I've been busy :") with a part time job and lots of flute practice my time is flying away lmaooo anyway as you can see I had 2 anons request this, and I'm finally finished with it! to the anons, I hope you enjoy this!

ps. we're gonna pretend the Shotaro one isn't kinda self-indulgent-

taglist: @moonsclover @bangchan-fairy (sorry guys I totally forgot about my taglist 😐)

Mark:

"y/n! y/n!" 

Turning around, you're greeted with the sight of Mark running up to you, grinning like a cheshire cat as he links his arm with yours. "School's finally over for the year! How should we celebrate?"

His rambling about post-examination plans soon fade and turn into background noise as you space out, the displeased glare of your teacher as she unceremoniously tossed your result slip onto your desk replaying in your mind like a broken DVD. As your feelings of failure and self-doubt consume you slowly, you fail to notice Mark waving his fingers in front of your face, having realised that you were in a world of your own.

"y/n? Dude, you good?" He inquires, eyes shining with concern. "You spaced out. Is something the matter?" 

"Thanks for your concern Mark, but I'm fine. It's nothing much, really," you reply, as you didn't want to ruin his post-examination celebratory mood by venting to him. However, the monotone in which you said that convinced Mark otherwise. 

"Dude, c'mon. After all this time we've been together, I can read you like an open book. Something's definitely up," Mark objects. "C'mon, spill the tea. You know you can tell me anything". 

You knew that because Mark watched out for you and your wellbeing like a hawk, he wouldn't drop the subject until you told him what was on your mind. With a disheartened huff, you told him everything. "I did worse than I expected for every subject, except Math, and even then I didn't get a stellar score on it. It just feels like all my mugging was for nothing. I'm sorry, but I don't feel like celebrating today – my dismal results aren't worthy of a celebration," you conclude.

"Dude, hey, listen". Mark interjects, bringing up his hands to wipe away the tears that you didn't realise had slipped out of your eyes. "You've done your best, and that's all anyone can ask for. It may not feel like enough sometimes – like now, but there are people who see how hard you work and acknowledge them, okay? I know for a fact you stayed late in school for weeks on end to study for these exams," he points out. "There's always more opportunities to try again," he reminds, moving in to give you a warm hug. 

"Thanks so much Mark, I do feel better," you say, tears having been replaced by a smile. 

"You deserve to relax after all the hard work, regardless of the results. Shall we go to my house and hang out? We can play on my Switch together!" Mark suggests, his previous exuberance having returned.

You nod eagerly, returning his excited grin. "Sure!"

Renjun:

The moment you brushed past Renjun and made a beeline for your shared room instead of greeting him with a warm hug as you usually did, he knew something was wrong. "Y/n? Hey, what's wrong?" He questions, voice tinged with notes of concern. Knocking on the door twice, he waits for you to tell him to come in, and his heart drops when he sees you sitting at your study table, head buried in your hands and shoulders shaking with every sob. He rushes over and begins rubbing circles on your back in an attempt to soothe you, and one look at the stack of papers beside you on the table told him that it was your results that you were so disheartened over. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asks comfortingly. 

"I…" you sniff, trying to calm yourself down. "I'm so disappointed. I studied my ass off for these exams, yet I did so horribly. Even my form teacher told me that she was disappointed in me," you explain, in between sniffles and cries.

"Oh, y/n…" At this moment, Renjun wraps his arms around you in a warm hug, allowing you to lean into him and soak up the comfort he was offering. "Hey, I know hearing such words can sting a lot, especially coming at a time when you're already feeling disappointed with yourself. But I see how hard you worked for these exams and the tremendous amount of effort you put in for these exams, and I think you've done well, okay? It's time to let yourself breathe – you've done what you can, and I'm so proud of you".

Hearing those words from your boyfriend struck something in you, and it made you realise that after all, there was someone who saw all your efforts, even in this time where it felt as if they were going down the drain unnoticed. The floodgates opened and you burst into tears as Renjun continued to keep you in his warm embrace, whispering sweet nothings into your ears. 

When you manage to calm down, Renjun releases you from his hold. "Is there anything I can do to help you feel better?" he asks.

"I don't know…honestly, I think a nap would be great. Maybe I'll feel better after I wake up," you respond.

"Okay. You definitely deserve a nap," Renjun replies, leading you to your bed. "What about we get your favourite takeout tonight for dinner?" he suggests.

You shoot him a small smile of gratitude and nod weakly. "That sounds great. Thank you so much, Renjun. I love you".

Renjun begins to make his exit from your room and closes the door slowly. "I love you too – and remember, that does not depend on the kinds of grades you get at all". 

Jeno:

The sound of your doorbell jolts you from your train of thought. Sighing, you rise from your seat on the couch with an air of reluctance and move to answer the door, knowing very well who was there – your boyfriend, Jeno. While you usually loved seeing him, because you were feeling down about your examination results, which had been less than ideal, you weren't in the mood to see anyone, not even your boyfriend. Still, you opened the door, only to be greeted by his trademark eye smile.

"Y/n!" Jeno greets, making his way into the house as you let him in. "I'm so happy to see you!"

"I'm happy to see you too," you respond and plaster on a smile, hoping it was convincing enough. However, Jeno noticed that your smile did not quite reach your eyes as it usually would. Nevertheless, he was sure that the surprise he had brought you would cheer you up, regardless of whatever had got you down.

"Since examinations are over, I thought I'd stop by the bakery and get you the cream puffs you love so much as a treat," he says, walking in and handing you the paper bag. "Here, enjoy!"

"Thanks Jeno, but…" your voice trails off as you gently push the bag away. "I don't deserve it. It's alright, you can have it".

"Y/n, why would you say that?" he asks, perplexed that you'd just refused something he'd bought for you for the first time.

"All my grades are either borderline passes or fails, and my teacher says it's because I didn't work hard enough," you explain. "I think she might be right". Tears well up in your eyes as the feeling of failure weighs down on you, and you swear you can hear your heart shattering into smithereens.

Within seconds, Jeno's arms are around you, engulfing you in a soothing embrace while silently piecing together words of comfort in his mind. "Your grades don't define you, y/n," he begins, rubbing comforting circles on your back. "You're so much more than just a stupid number on a silly piece of paper, don't let it define your worth. In doing so, you'll just make yourself miserable, you know? Those who truly care about you will definitely see past your grades, and recognise that what makes you you is stuff like your interests, personality and character. If they don't see that, then that's their loss. I love you for who you are, y/n, and nothing will ever change that – no matter whether you pass or fail your exams. I'll always be right here," he concludes. His touching words bring on a fresh wave of tears, not because you were still sad, but because his sincerity touched your heart, and because you felt reassured that your boyfriend really loved and valued you for who you are, regardless of what you did or didn't achieve. "It's alright. Let it all out," he reassures, tightening his hold around you.

You spend a few more minutes soaking up the warmth of his embrace as he continues to whisper sweet nothings into your ears. "Feel better now?" he asks softly, wiping away the last of your tears. 

"I do. Thank you, Jeno," you answer honestly. 

His eye smile reappears, glad that you were feeling much better than earlier. "Go ahead and eat the cream puffs. You definitely deserve them, especially after all the hard work you put in. After that, what do you say we chill on the couch with a movie?" he suggests. 

You smile back, nodding eagerly. "Sounds great".

Haechan:

The moment the creak of the door reached his ears, Haechan came speeding out of his room at a speed even Usain Bolt could only dream of. "Y/n-ahh!" he yells out with his usual exuberance, but slows down when you merely return his greeting with a half-hearted grunt. Something was wrong, and he could tell. 

"Y/n, what's wrong?" Haechan questions, placing a hand on your shoulder out of concern as you're making your way to your room.

"Haechan-ah, I think I'd like to be alone for a bit. It's nothing to do with you, I promise," you hurriedly squeeze out the words. 

Taken aback, Haechan takes a moment to read your expression and make his own inference about your situation. You'd just ended exams last week, and you'd just gotten back from school…"It's the exams, right? The results?" He picks his words carefully, afraid to upset you further. 

"Yeah, it's that," you sigh, shoulders sagging. Haechan nods, immediately comprehending. You needed your alone time right now, and that was fine. He could always check on you again later. 

"I'm sorry to hear that," Haechan muses in understanding. "I'll leave you alone for as long as you need. Then if you want, you can tell me more later?" he suggests, which you agree to. "Okay then. Go to your room first. I'll fix you a drink. And I want you to know, whatever grades you obtain won't change how I view you. I still love and care for you all the same, and you'll still be my precious y/n," he adds. 

Sure enough, a few minutes later, Haechan arrives at your room with a cup of tea. "Thank you so much, Haechan-ah. I really appreciate it," you say, expressing your sincere gratitude.

In return, he shoots you a bread smile. "Rest well," he whispers, shutting the door. As you sip on the tea, you feel it warm your heart as well, knowing that your boyfriend cared so much about you and loved you beyond your grades.

Jaemin:

Normally, the smell of food cooking as soon as you enter home was an instant refresher to you, but today, it failed to put even the slightest sliver of a smile on your face – and being ever so observant, Jaemin had realised that. "y/n-ah? You alright? You seem so sad," he asks while setting dishes on the table, the notes of concern in his voice reaching your ears. 

"Stupid end-of-years," you mumble, tossing your backpack to the side and shuffling into the house. "I study so hard, and the results come back trashier than ever". 

"Oh…I'm so sorry to hear that. That feeling sucks so bad," Jaemin grunts empathetically, wiping his hands on his apron and hurrying over to you. Before you know it, you're wrapped securely in his embrace, and he's uttering words of comfort to you. "You've done well, y/n. I really think you have. I know you might think the results show otherwise, but you put in so much effort and worked your head off the whole school. You deserve to rest. Great job for making it through, and I want you to know – I love you, no matter what," he whispers, running his fingers through your hair gently.

"Thank you so much, Jaemin. I love you too," you reply, feeling some of the heaviness in your heart lift. "Though this round of exams was disappointing, it's over- nothing much I can do about it. I might as well focus on the next one," you conclude. 

"That's the spirit," Jaemin affirms, lips curving into a fond smile. "Come, let's have dinner- I made your favourite. Hope it cheers you up," he adds, leading you to the dining table where an assortment of delectable dishes is arranged. 

"Thank you so much, Jaemin. I love you," you say, helping yourself to the food which your boyfriend had painstakingly prepared. 

"Love you too".

Chenle:

"I failed".

The second he registers the text that appears on his phone, Chenle already knows that you wouldn't be feeling your best. Hence, he immediately sprang into action and headed out to buy some of your favourite snacks, hoping that they would cheer you up. He even tells Daegal to be extra nice to you because you weren't feeling happy.

The moment you open the door, Chenle is waiting for you with Daegal in his arms. "y/n, I'm sorry to hear what happened," he begins, taking your bag from you and sitting you down on the couch with Daegal, before rushing to grab the snacks that he'd bought earlier. "Okay, come, spill. Unless you'd rather not talk about it, which is fine too," Chenle says, thrusting the bags of snacks into your arms.

Tearing open one of the packets, you begin your rant. "I don't know. I don't even know how to feel," you start. "Like, I studied so hard for these exams only to fail? Okay then, if that's what I get. Life isn't fair, anyway," you conclude, mouth stuffed full of the snacks while you pet Daegal. 

Chenle picks up on the resentment in your tone, and throws his arms around you, allowing you to lean on his shoulder. "I feel you. Remember when I was in my first year of junior college and I came so close to failing promos?" he reminds you.

"Yeah, you raged for weeks!" you reply, with a small laugh. "But I see why you were so mad – failing would have meant repeating the first year". 

"Luckily my teachers found ways to help me pass. But what I'm saying is," he continues. "I get how you feel. I know it feels like your hard work has gone down the drain and that it wasn't fair. But hey – like you said, life isn't always fair. What matters most is how we bounce back from whatever life throws at us and come back stronger," he exhorts you, reaching over to steal some of the snacks. "And knowing you, you'll do that. After all, you're my y/n – the tough cookie I've known since secondary 1. I believe in you," he finishes as he pats you on the head.

You return his smile and continue to stroke Daegal, feeling thankful that you had such a supportive boyfriend who believed in you no matter what. "Thank you so much, Chenle. This isn't the only exam I have in life, I guess what matters now is how I tackle the next one".

"Yeah! That's my y/n!" Chenle cheers, ruffling your hair affectionately. "Rest up, and then go out there and crush the next exam!"

Jisung:

Receiving bad results and then having to stay behind in school for extracurricular activities really sucked – however, those were the circumstances you found yourself in. Luckily, as a student himself, Jisung understood that and was ready to comfort you as soon as you made your situation known. 

"Seriously. All this hard work, and –" you whip out your report card and plonk it in front of your boyfriend. "I get this? Really? So all of whatever I did wasn't enough? Great. I swear, I can't do this no more. Maybe I should just fake sick and skip CCA- I don't even feel like going anymore". 

"Woah, calm down y/n," Jisung begins. "These results are by no means an accurate reflection of how much effort you put in. I know you worked really hard, we were studying together. Sometimes, other factors come into play. For example, this round the teachers decided to pull a little sneaky on us and give us weird exam questions. Which is why the whole batch didn't do well either – they literally gave us questions none of us had any practice with!" he points out with a huff. It was true, the whole batch had done so badly that the principal had asked your batch to stay behind for a "batch meeting" – which ended up as more of a grill session on how your batch was "lazy" and "unmotivated". 

"You're not wrong," you admit, calming down a little. "I mean, what was that biology essay question? God, I didn't understand any of it at all," you grumble. "Mr Jung still wants to believe that it's our fault, when really, it's the fault of the setter". 

Jisung shakes his head and sighs, a small smile on his face. "I don't get how he thinks. But anyway, enough harping about this round of examinations – nothing you or I can do about it, after all. I think what's important is that you know you did your best. I don't know what you think, but I know for sure you did your best, and nothing can dispute that," he reassures, reaching across the table to hold your hand to comfort you. 

"I sure did," you acknowledge, memories of the late nights spent mugging and endless consultations with teachers running through your head. "I guess this means I don't need to hold any regrets for this round of examinations. I did my best, and though the outcome wasn't satisfactory, it was out of my control". 

"You're right," Jisung replies, drawing circles on the back of your hand with his thumb. "Still, that feeling sucks, and you've still got CCA to deal with. I don't know if this would help, but what about we go for dinner together after our CCAs end? I can wait for you here," he suggests. "My treat". 

The thought of being able to spend dinner with your boyfriend after CCA sure was lifting your spirits, and had you motivated to attend CCA as well. "Sure thing! Thank you so much, Jisung. I love you," you answer, smiling up at him.

Jisung returns your smile, and stands up to leave. "I love you too. I've got to go for dance now, so see you later, yeah?" he says.

"Sure, see you!"

Shotaro:

With bated breath, you open the envelope that contains your O-levels result slip. The O-levels were a most critical examination – how well you fared on them determined which post-secondary institution you would attend, or whether you'd have to repeat secondary 4 – every student's worst fear. Slowly pulling out the result slip, you take a glance at the paper and feel your heart sink – you hadn't scored well. Fortunately you wouldn't have to retain, but it still wasn't a good enough score to go to your dream junior college. 

Curious about how your boyfriend Shotaro had fared, you turn to where you know he's sitting. You knew he'd done well as the principal had mentioned his name earlier in the list of top scorers in the school. Sure enough, there he is, eyes shining with happy tears as his friends congratulate him, and you decide to do the same. He really deserved it, having slogged away at assessment books and notes for the past two years since secondary 3.

"Shotaro! Congratulations," you announce excitedly, giving him a bear hug, which he promptly returns. "I'm so happy for you".  

"Thank you so much. I really didn't expect that, all I hoped for was to do well enough to get into my dream polytechnic course," he answers, breaking away from the hug to wipe away his tears. "How about you? How is it?" he asks curiously.

"I…" you're at a loss for words. You were afraid you'd disappoint Shotaro since he had spent so much time tutoring you in the subjects you were weak at. "I know I kept saying I wanted to go to LBJC, but my score won't allow that. I can't even make it into any of my top 5 junior college choices," you whisper despondently and show him the result slip. "Taro, I'm sorry. You're probably disappointed, because you spent so much time teaching me-"

Before you can finish, you find yourself back in his bone-crushing hug as he shushes you. "No. Don't say that," he commands, stroking your hair comfortingly. "I'm not disappointed at all. You're still my y/n, after all. And though society makes this out to be an exam that holds your whole future, it really isn't. Not all is lost, y/n. There's so much more to life than just this one national exam. You can always pick yourself up again, and I'll always be here to love and support you. You're doing great, y/n. You really are," he consoles, rummaging in his bag and passing you a tissue packet as soon as he sees you begin to shed tears. "I love you. Always".

Accepting the tissue gratefully, you dab at your eyes. "I love you too, Taro. I'm really happy for you, and thank you for being there for me throughout the past 2 stressful years. I couldn't have done it without you".

"I'd say the same for myself," he answers confidently. "Thank you for being my pillar of support since secondary 3".

A few more minutes pass in silence, until Shotaro breaks it. "Let's go do something fun together? We've worked hard, and regardless of our results we deserve a break," he suggests. "We can think of places to go to together".

You break into a smile, liking the idea. "Of course!" 

Sungchan:

The call connects, and the face of your boyfriend appears on the screen. "y/n!" he exclaims, doe eyes brightening as soon as he sees you.

"Sungchan! I've missed you," you answer honestly. He was overseas on vacation at the moment. "How's life been?"

Both of you carry on bantering over the call, talking about the recent events and happenings in your lives. It's mostly chill – up until Sungchan asks you this one question. "Oh yeah, you mentioned you had an exam recently? How did it go? I know you put your whole heart into the preparations," Sungchan inquires, genuinely interested to know.

The question he had just asked brought back an onslaught of emotions – first making you remember the initial shock at seeing the low scores on the papers, and then the searing pain of the sense of failure at having scored those low grades. "Sungchan, I scored badly. Even that's an understatement," you deadpan, not bothering to mince your words. "My grades were shit". 

Immediately his brown eyes pool with guilt, sensing that his question had upset you. "Y/n, I'm so sorry to hear that…" he trails off, catching sight of tears falling out of your eyes. "I know you did your best. I know you did".

"Even then, it wasn't enough," you sob. "Maybe I could have done better".

"No, no, y/n, you really did give your best effort, I can tell," Sungchan refutes, waving his hands frantically. "I hope you know that you've done all you can, and that that knowledge is of any comfort to you. If that doesn't help, please know I'm so so proud of you, and it doesn't matter what grades you score. I just want you to do your best, that's all," he adds, garbling out words in an attempt to comfort you. After all, there was so much he could do from behind a computer screen. "I'm sorry I can't be there with you in person, so I'll send you a virtual hug," Sungchan decides, moving towards the screen and making a hugging motion with his arms. "There. Feel better?" he asks.

Your boyfriend's adorable antics successfully cheer you up a little, and with a laugh, you copy the motion that he'd made earlier. "Yeah, I do feel better. Thank you Sungchan. I love you".

"Love you too. Hey, tell you what – I'll buy you something nice from here. You absolutely deserve it," Sungchan promises. "I'm coming back in 3 days – look forward to it".

A laugh escapes you, and you begin to look forward to your boyfriend's surprise for you. More than that, you appreciated that even though he wasn't there with you in person, he made his love for you so evident that you could feel it so tangibly, even if you both were miles away from each other. "Sure thing!"

[aniron48]

Home for 00Q? 💕 If it pleases you 😘😘

Hi, @stinastar! This one goes out to you and @mr-iskender, who also requested home.

Friends, I have no excuses for this. It was meant to be short, and somehow here it is, clocking in at almost 1700 words. Send help.

Fic under the cut, in light of a small amount of spice. It's also up on ao3, in case it's easier to read there, given the length. ::facepalm::

I hope you enjoy, lovely ones--thank you for this ask! <3

Bond didn’t hate his flat, not exactly. It was just that it was always meant to be a stopgap, a temporary landing place after he’d moved back to London eight months before. The rent was extortionate, to be sure; the views dismal; the heating insufficiently calibrated to the wet London weather. The lift was out of service more often than not; the kitchen was cramped; and his upstairs neighbor seemed to listen exclusively to music by James Blunt, but setting that aside—

Bond hated his flat.

Once he’d decided to move, there was nothing for it but to start browsing the listings. The problem was, he didn’t know what he wanted, exactly, other than the antithesis of his current place. Skyfall had been a home only by virtue of the fact that his parents were there, and because of the wide, rambling moor outside that had as much to do with raising him as his parents had. It was no coincidence that his best memories of the place were also his earliest, a fuzzy sense of waking up shivering in his bed in the drafty manor house and running through the halls to his parents’ room. He would climb in bed with them, snuggling under the duvet and keeping the cold at bay long enough to get another hour or so of sleep.

It had been years until he’d felt warmth like that again. Certainly not with the Oberhausers, or in his barracks in the Royal Navy. He’d never had the chance to make a home with Vesper, and the intervening years had mainly been a series of hotel rooms and temporary flats as he bounced from mission to mission.

And then there was Q.

When Bond and Q had finally fallen into bed six months ago, after an embarrassingly long period of mutual idiocy, Bond had been wary at first, bracing for an inevitable end before the relationship even fully began. Their saving grace had been Q’s equal and opposite assumption: that, having finally gotten his head out of his arse, Bond was there to stay.

And stay he did. Bond was helpless in the face of the easy, instinctive way that Q loved, the way he wrapped himself around Bond at night, as if anchoring him in place against any storm, the way he simply included Bond in his life and his plans, as if there were no question that he was wanted, and that he would be there.

That warmth extended to his house, too. There were no scratchy throw pillows or uncomfortable decorative sofas to be found—only Q’s soft bamboo sheets and fluffy blankets, his shelf of teas and his overflowing bookshelves and his beloved cats that seemed to make it their personal mission to convert Bond to the feline cause. If there was anyone who knew what a home ought to feel like, it was Q.

Bond rubbed a hand against his early morning scruff, clicking through the listings again. Perhaps it wouldn’t be quite as much of an ordeal if Q could look at places with him. He picked up his phone and dialed the number he knew by heart.

The first place they saw was a lost cause.

“I don’t really want an upstairs neighbor, is the thing,” Bond said, looking up at the ceiling as if waiting to see what horrendous music would issue forth at any moment.

“Right,” the estate agent said brightly. “So a flat on the top floor might do the trick.”

“No,” Bond said slowly. “I don’t really want a downstairs neighbor, either.” He had high hopes of enticing Q to spend more nights at his place, once he had a decent one, and Q, bless him, was not quiet in bed. The last thing Bond wanted was noise complaints of his own, not if they stood a chance of dampening all that lovely enthusiasm.

“So…you want a house?”

“Yes,” Bond said. “Yes, I think I do.”

“It’ll be a tall order,” Q warned. “Prices have gone up quite a bit. You may need the equivalent of a small inheritance, for something that meets your standards.”

“Well,” Bond said grimly, thinking of Skyfall, of the parents who had been gone, by now, for three quarters of his life, “as it turns out, I happen to have one.”

The second and third places they saw were better, but still not quite right. One was almost as drafty as Skyfall, and the cost to heat it would take another inheritance altogether. The other was too posh entirely, everything about its design suggesting that it was meant exclusively to be admired, rather than for something as passé as being comfortably inhabited.

The fourth was too far from Q’s to be an easy commute, and the fifth had floors that creaked in a way Bond was certain would drive him to distraction after any length of time. And the sixth—well.

“This is the best so far,” Q said, after they’d had a look around. “The floors have just been redone, as have the windows, so no creaks, and no drafts. And look, I think those are the original moldings on the ceilings.”

The estate agent beamed. “If you’d like, we can talk to the owners about making an initial offer. It’s likely to go quite fast, and—“

“I don’t know,” Bond said. “I’m not particularly keen on the bathroom lighting.”

“The bathroom lighting?” Q asked. “Since when is that a consideration?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Bond purred. “I’m rather fond of the lighting in your shower.”

Q’s cheeks pinked, no doubt recalling the time a few weeks back when he’d told Bond that he liked the idea of shower sex, in theory, but had doubts about the practice. Bond had enthusiastically devoted himself to proving him wrong. The frosted glass window in Q’s shower had let in enough of the evening light to set the water droplets on Q’s skin aglow, as Bond had braced them both against the tiled shower wall until the hot water finally ran out.

The estate agent coughed. “So, you’re not interested in making an offer, I take it?”

“So sorry,” Q said. “Maybe we’d better try again next weekend?”

Bond woke early on Saturday morning, after an uncomfortable night alone in his flat. His neighbor had kept the music on long past midnight, and when Bond had finally fallen asleep, it had been to “You’re Beautiful” on unending repeat. He’d hoped a shower would wake him up and ease the ache in his muscles from tossing and turning the night before, but when he got to the bathroom, the hot water heater had gone out, again.

Grumbling to himself, Bond threw himself down on the couch and pulled out his laptop, resigning himself to browsing listings again until it was late enough to call Q, who’d been stuck at MI6 until an ungodly hour the night before.

He sighed. Clearly a change in tack was needed. He pulled out a pen and pad of paper and started making a list of minimum requirements.

Cozy, he wrote down.

He considered the pathetic heating in his flat, his sporadic access to hot water. Q’s shower always had hot water, and good water pressure to boot. Maybe he ought to look somewhere nearby.

Warm, he added.

Followed by Cats a nice plus.

And then, before he could think about it too much, Q.

“Shit,” Bond muttered to himself. “I suppose that should have been obvious.” He sighed, gathering his nerve, and pulled out his phone.

“Hello, darling,” he said, when Q picked up. “Are you free this morning? It’s just that I’ve had a bit of a breakthrough with the flat search. I think I’ve found somewhere I could be happy.”

“That’s wonderful news,” Q said, and the warmth in his voice, even over the phone, settled what remained of Bond’s doubts. “Would you like me to come look at it with you?”

“Yes. Yes, I’d like that very much. Can I pop by in half an hour?”

“Of course. I’ll be here.”

Q kissed him hello at the door. “Do we have time for breakfast? There’s tea. And I made coffee as well, for the less civilized.”

“Oi,” Bond said, already walking into the kitchen to pour himself a cup.

“And we have time for breakfast,” he added as he sat down at the kitchen table. “Because, ah—here’s the thing.” Bond took a large swallow of coffee, wishing desperately he’d brought something stronger to spike it with. “None of the places we saw felt right, and I think it’s because I’ve been looking for this—this ineffable thing that would let me know it was the right place for me. But I don’t know how to replicate that feeling anywhere, because the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I’ve only ever felt it here. With you. So I was wondering—“

Bond took a deep breath, and met Q’s eyes. “What if I moved in here? With you?”

Q smiled, the dimples Bond loved so dearly appearing on his face. “Finally. That’s the best idea you’ve had all month.”

“Really? You wouldn’t mind?”

Q took a sip of tea and pulled a key out of his trouser pocket, sliding it across the table toward Bond.

Bond stared.

“I had it made two weeks ago,” Q said.

Bond swallowed, running a finger over the key. “How did you know?”

 Those dimples, again. “You hum to yourself in the shower, when you’re here.”

“And that’s enough?”

“That’s everything.”

Bond cleared his throat, not trusting himself to speak. Q laid his head on Bond’s shoulder, resting there a long moment before saying, “And then there are your other shower-related activities.”

“Mm. And what are those, exactly?”

“I can refresh your memory, if you like,” Q pushed his chair back from the table. “The light is lovely at this hour of the day.”

“A crucial feature.” Bond took Q’s hand, pulling Q up. “Shall I just make myself at home, then?”

“Of course you should,” Q said. “Go on, then. Lead the way.”

[eddysocs]

Don't Lose Your Head (Iracebeth Of Crims x OC)

Summary: Tillie makes a new friend outside of the palace, and when Iracebeth finds out, her possessive nature takes hold and Tillie has to make sure heads don’t roll.

Word Count: 1,183

Warnings: Threat of death

When not spending her time attending Iracebeth, Tillie could begin to feel quite alone. Not many in the palace dared to speak to her. She mostly received polite and respectful nods, and every once in a while a question as to how she was doing, but very little beyond that. It was as if the people feared befriending her. Certainly she hadn’t wrought that fear herself. Rather, it was Iracebeth that they didn’t wish to anger.

As a result of her predicament, Tillie spent a lot of time out in her red queen's beloved garden. On one such stroll, as had become common for her, she heard a rustling in the tall shrubbery at the garden's border. Edging cautiously forward to investigate, she jumped right back when a young man came tumbling out of the greenery moments later. "Heavens," Tillie exclaimed. She then leaned over him, so he was able to see her standing above. "Are you alright?"

The young man looked up at her from his place on the ground after his fall. "Quite, Miss. Just a spot of trouble, that’s all." Quickly, he sprang to his feet, turning to face her as he held out his hand to her. "Name's Thatch." Tillie shook his hand, surprised at the force behind it for such a scrawny looking fellow.

"I'm Tillie," she introduced as the handshake concluded. Thatch smiled and ran a hand through his thick brown curls. It was clear he wasn’t anyone on the palace's staff, otherwise he would have steered clear of her just as the rest did. She didn’t know where this stranger had come from, or what landed him through the queen's bushes, but she was glad of the company.

Tillie led Thatch through her favorite parts of the garden. While he didn’t seem disinterested in the flowers and trees, he seemed much more engaged with hearing Tillie talk about them than admiring the various blooms and blossoms himself. She may have rambled on a bit more than she would normally, but she’d just felt so dismally alone lately that the words just poured out of her. It was nearly dusk when Thatch finally made a move to stop her. "I must be going. I’m needed back home."

"Oh," Tillie replied, a little stunned and also a little disappointed.

He could feel the air rush out of her lungs with a defeated breath. "It’s alright. I’ll stop back by tomorrow. I know how to get in now. Meet me at that same bit of shrubbery?"

Tillie smiled and nodded. It would be ash enough to find, at least until the gardeners came around, as Thatch had made a proper mess of the leaves when he’d come crashing through. No matter, as she was thrilled at the notion of seeing Thatch again the following day. It had been so long since she’d had a proper friend.

Her spirits were still lifted when she went to Iracebeth the following morning. "You seem rather chipper this morning," the red queen noted. Tillie's cheeks colored when remembering her new friend. She felt like she was keeping a secret, and she supposed she was. She didn’t think anything good would come from telling Iracebeth about the young man in the garden.

Tillie went about her duties for the day, nothing too taxing, mostly keeping Iracebeth company, but she found herself antsy to get to the garden. Though the frequent visits had just started to bore her, she found a revived interest in the place when it held the promise of a friend.

The time when Iracebeth dismissed her could not come soon enough. She made no outward sign that she wished to leave, as Iracebeth already possessed a suspicious nature, but on the inside she was already sprinting towards the garden gate. This new routine persisted for several weeks. Tillie would sneak to the garden the moment Iracebeth no longer required her to be by her side and more often than not, Thatch would be there to meet her. The two were fast friends and having Thatch around really boosted Tillie's mood. But the two of them could not go unnoticed forever.

Tillie walked paths that were hardly tread by anyone other than herself when she was with Thatch. One could never be too careful when it came to idle gossip within the palace walls or its grounds. Yet for all her caution, she wasn’t quite careful enough.

It all came to a head one morning that didn’t quite go as usual. Iracebeth summoned her around the same time as always, but she was instructed to dress for an event. Tillie always knew when something special would be taking place and usually had planned for it hours, if not days, beforehand. But this came without warning. She was dressed in one of Iracebeth's favorites, a deep red velvet gown that was beaded with gold at the seams.

Tillie was escorted to Iracebeth, and yet no one breathed a word as to the nature of this special event. As she sat beside her, Tillie couldn’t help but shudder. The air felt tense and heavy around her. "Bring him in," Iracebeth announced, and Tillie winced at the suddenness and sheer volume of her command.

The sound of chains rattled as a familiar young man was ushered into the room by guards. Tillie tried to keep it together, but she couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her lips. "Tillie, dear, I believe you know this boy."

"Yes," Tillie choked out.

"And is he the one you’ve been secretly meeting in my gardens?"

Again, Tillie said, "Yes."

"Off with his head," Iracebeth declared without a second thought nor further question.

"Wait," Tillie cried, rising from her seat and clutching her queen's arm. "He’s done nothing wrong, I swear it," she pleaded.

"He has turned your head from me," Iracebeth rebutted, defending her stance, "and I shall not stand for a silly little commoner taking your attention from me."

"He is only a friend, Racie, and I only see him when you no longer need me for the day. When I’m not with you, I get frightfully bored. He hasn’t turned me away from you, only filled my time when I can’t be by your side." Tillie's argument was true enough, even if it did play to Iracebeth's ego. It was always Tillie's smartest strategy.

"Is what she says true, boy," Iracebeth demanded of Thatch.

"She speaks the truth, Your Majesty. I only see her when you’ve dismissed her for the day. She speaks ever so fondly of you."

"Does she now? Very well. You save your head for now, but if you deface my shrubbery again, it will be off your shoulders, do you understand?"

"No more coming through the hedge. Crystal clear, Your Majesty," Thatch confirmed with a gracious bow. Tillie exhaled, her chest relaxing now that the safety of her newfound friend was assured for the moment. She would have to meet him elsewhere from now on, but that was an easy enough compromise to make. She’d just have to tread lightly in the future.

Tillie Poppelwell: @iticaboopsyou, @borg-queer, @chickensarentcheap, @sintember

[castielmacleod]

You are such a King like that, putting all the controversial opinions on the table right after another. I just love it.

YELL. Thank you lol. Being literally clinically obsessed (I have OCD 😭) with a show that I just fucking despise like right down to the very core of it is really an indescribable experience. I cannot stress this enough that soupy natural is a show I would never talk about or think about ever beyond “oh god, remember that? Wow lmao. Anyway” if I was not the bearer of the curse but alas. I’ve never hated and disagreed with a show this much yet loved a handful of its characters this fiercely. I actually don’t think I’ve loved a fictional character as much as Crowley Supernatural in my entire life, which is just dismal. I truly do sometimes feel like I should be wearing a white towel robe in a facility somewhere but lieu of that I login here and post my unhinged takes.

So I AM glad that other people get a kick out of this poor sweet blog because it does make saying things here feel more purposeful in a way. I mean truthfully this place is most like a personal journal to me, I’m not desperate to have my posts blow up tf or anything, I would make all the same posts if I had no followers at all. But knowing other human beings vibe with some of what I ramble on about is always nice. ESPECIALLY the fringe takes, because having a fringe take on spnbIr is like Munchausen by proxy level shit lol Big DestieI starts acting like you have Symptoms. Yeah it’s the fuckin veldt out here genuinely. So like I said, I’m glad!

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

7 through 10 for all your girls 😈😈😈

7. Muffins or cupcakes? Write at least one page of their rant about muffins vs cupcakes. (these won't be a page long, but a fun glimpse into their different voices)

Ava - As someone with a sweet tooth I will never say no to a good cupcake. Do I think that makes them better? Not necessarily. Have you ever had a really good chocolate muffin? They can be incredible! Sorry, rambling. Anyway, I will present my thesis on why they are both important to my daily diet and no Max, it is not because I can just buy them in bulk and then pass them off as my own baking later...

Kit - Neither really provide much nutritional worth, before the nukes dropped and I ended up in this bunker, I used to get a blueberry muffin after my runs when I'd stop to grab a coffee. I would kill for a muffin right now, it's been years since I had one...

Nora - Okay, but clearly cupcakes. Those little gourmet ones you can buy, holy shit! My thighs won't be thanking me in the morning but good God, sometimes you've just gotta indulge! Besides that's what photoshop is for, hello airbrush my best friend...

Siobhan - There's this little bakery in the village outside the cathedral, they have the most incredible little cakes. They're massive! Can't get enough of 'em. Sam and I went there one weekend, it was dismal outside, said we had to ride the bike. I was trudging into the place, covered in mud and rain, I was fucking manky. Anyway, long story short, we got there when they were about to close. Sam wouldn't shut up and managed to get us a deal since the baked goods would be wasted. We ate soggy rolls out in the rain, never smelled anything quite so good though. Right, right, muffins or cupcakes...anyways, personally I'm still a fan of the classic soda bread me Nan used to bake...

8. Do they prefer arm day or leg day?

Ava - Leg day, she is a runner through and through.

Kit - Arm day. Her biceps are killer.

Nora - she prefers an all over approach. Cross fit for supes all the way.

Siobhan - oh no, no exercise for me. Thanks!

9. What is the longest they’ve ever slept in?

Ava - 6 AM (late to bed, early to rise for this lady)

Kit - I was knocked out for multiple days, does that count?

Nora - Noon, my beauty sleep is very important.

Siobhan - noon, pub crawl in uni. I regretted it afterwards.

10. They’re on their way to the hospital when they hit a parked car. They can’t stop, and don’t have paper for a note. They drive away without telling anyone what happened. How do they ease their conscience?

Ava - has a mild panic attack, her brain immediately goes to what if she gets her drivers license taken away. Would probably go to Max for advice as she does with most things. Then goes for a run to ease her nerves.

Kit - No one was hurt, she's not too worried. She might go to the shooting range to help her try and forget her fuck up.

Nora - that's what PR is for. They have insurance, why would it be her problem?

Siobhan - dives into her work, buries her head, drinks an entire pot of tea. She's done worse before.

[physicks-archive]

       *   ━━   summons  :   @lightrought​​​​ .

  “ time is a curious thing, don’t you think? ”    the scholar taps her lips as it breaks into a smile. her mind seemed to wander as her companion was nearly as quiet as she was, it felt a little too nice. so, she decided to snowball some thoughts at him. after all, they were warriors of light.  or at least nearly the same,  in stature and morals. but one thing was for certain, if given the chance, we loved to talk about our love for places and people.  she leans over to whisper in his ear rather playfully.     “   curiously enough, my mother warned me that time is more ruthless than any man she’d ever met.  ”   she leans back onto her heels again.  eyun stares at him before bursting into a hiccup of laughter.  the faerie stared at her with a look of disbelief as she was cradled in her arms like a cat. even, she wasn’t sure why she was laughing but she did so anyways, brightly and short-lived.    “   of course, aside from my own father,  she was right.  it is ruthless.  time takes more lives.  time ruins more friendships.  time doesn’t pause with sympathy.  yet, they still say time heals all wounds.   ”     her eyes don’t break contact. her smile seemed to never fade, albeit it be rather solemn. time only gave us an expansive scale in our troubles, loss, and all other ugly things that plague minds. yet, the seldom comfort of how the places or people loved us back. it was a lonely journey yet, sometimes we end up more broken with every smile we take and more fragile with every step we take. it’s not like we wanted to feel this bad. this isn’t how we should act, but we’ve gotten so good at fake smiles it’s gotten a little too sad for her or anyone really. 

    the scholar stares at the setting sun. savior’s respite.  what a name... but it sure is pretty that much is true.  the sight was enough to dwell over old words and mended wounds.  “   then again people like  ‘ saying ’  a lot of things.   for example, they say forewarned  is  forearmed  but i think some truths will cut deep regardless.   ”    eyun signals her faerie to go away for a second as she takes off her glasses. eyun sees the faerie mildly panic before she shuts her eyes and the faerie is temporarily gone. she feels it under her eyelids, his dormant and subconscious aether it’s strangely familiar. verdants hiding behind flesh began to ache at the sheer exposure to both of their aethers.  she bottles the pain for a bit, eyes still closed she spins on her heels. vertigo sits on her throat, making her feel unsure of her balance before planting her right foot firmly on the ground and opening her eyes once again. blurry. she turns. breathes. she laughs, a finger pointed at edge of the cliff   “    for example, if i know that this cliff was bound to erode when time came to it and even if someone tells me not to stand on cliff edges that are already crumbling. when i finally decide to challenge that truth... i am always surprised when i really do end up falling.  now, isn’t that strange?  i’m sure i’m alone on this blind stubbornness but it’s what keeps my patchwork heart all together.   ”   

  she smiles once more, this time more sincere than the last, as she resummons eos who seemed to be annoyed at her sudden dismal and instantly starts silently fuming at the glasses that sit on eyun’s lap. she toys with the frames in hand only making the faerie even more flared up.   “  alright, that’s enough of my odd ramblings. i am eyun vashai, scholar and tactician. pleasure to meet your acquaintance. oh — and this is eos, i guess. ow —  you little !  ”   the faerie pinches her wrist and points at the glasses again.  she shrugs and puts them back on, she was getting a headache, anyways.     “  geez, you worry for nothing !  —  as i was saying,  please feel free to ramble just as much as i have about any random thought. i tend to find that more entertaining than normal icebreakers.  ”

[noblehcart]

❝ so, what would you be? if you had to power to change all the things making you unhappy, what would your life look like? ❞

@lordofthestrix

" i don't know?"

the question had caught her off guard as she walked about her shop, arms filled with books to be reshelved as her guest and something more than a friend sat nearby. lips pressed into a soft line as she let silence fall between them while she thought on the subject. the power to change all the things that made her unhappy.

the question was really; what made her unhappy? rude customers? her brother's derision? dwindling profits? more talent? her dismal love life? her thin hair? she wasn't sure she could honestly name something without sounding either shallow, vain or completely realistic about life as it was. but was that his real question? fingers grasped the next book to re-shelve when jade eyes saw the title. utopia by thomas more. smiling she waved the book for his glancing look before putting it up with a soft laugh.

"its kind of silly to wish for a utopia isn't it?" she said still laughing to herself. "you may not believe in god and divine intervention, but i do. the only utopia or perfect life is in the after, i think. i don't know what else you'd call me finding this book in the midst of this anything else than a heaven sent reminder. or the omnipotent creator's idea of a joke."

that was the one thing she always found amusing between them. a chasm of shared beliefs wound together with strings and ropes and things that bind each other across the wide canyon that separated their different beliefs. perhaps that was the difference in the root of his question. his utopia could be in his grasp or so he would believe and hers was certain but out of her grasp. still she turned her back to him as she continued her work on returning books to their proper spots before pausing as she slid another into place before glancing back again.

"i can't think of anything i'd change, tristan." her hand moved to rest on a wooden shelf while one arm balanced the remaining stack. "would it be so hard to believe that i'm very content with my life? i'm surrounded by the creations of writers, poets and creators and I get to share their work every day. what better work is there? what else would anyone want?"

-other than someone to share it with.

she left unsaid as she tried to focus again on her work and ignore the desire to look at him again to see his reaction. she knew she shouldn't care so much what he thought of that. she also knew she shouldn't imagine what sharing her life would look like with him because....because she knew he'd never be content in the same manner. so she focused on finishing her work as she quietly and mostly cheerfully rambled on because no matter what she wished she knew to be grateful for what she had. a lovely flat upstairs. her two cats. a family that loved her and her own book shop and...she had him in her life. that was enough. that was what she'd keep telling herself.

"maybe i'd change my wine refrigerator so it would never be empty." was the laughing teasing note. "or get my brother a boyfriend or girlfriend so he'd stop being so grumpy as often as he is."

[whileiamdying]

Emily Brontë’s WUTHERING HEIGHTS; Chapter XVIII

The twelve years, continued Mrs. Dean, following that dismal period were the happiest of my life: my greatest troubles in their passage rose from our little lady’s trifling illnesses, which she had to experience in common with all children, rich and poor. For the rest, after the first six months, she grew like a larch, and could walk and talk too, in her own way, before the heath blossomed a second time over Mrs. Linton’s dust. She was the most winning thing that ever brought sunshine into a desolate house: a real beauty in face, with the Earnshaws’ handsome dark eyes, but the Lintons’ fair skin and small features, and yellow curling hair. Her spirit was high, though not rough, and qualified by a heart sensitive and lively to excess in its affections. That capacity for intense attachments reminded me of her mother: still she did not resemble her: for she could be soft and mild as a dove, and she had a gentle voice and pensive expression: her anger was never furious; her love never fierce: it was deep and tender. However, it must be acknowledged, she had faults to foil her gifts. A propensity to be saucy was one; and a perverse will, that indulged children invariably acquire, whether they be good tempered or cross. If a servant chanced to vex her, it was always—“I shall tell papa!” And if he reproved her, even by a look, you would have thought it a heart-breaking business: I don’t believe he ever did speak a harsh word to her. He took her education entirely on himself, and made it an amusement. Fortunately, curiosity and a quick intellect made her an apt scholar: she learned rapidly and eagerly, and did honour to his teaching.

Till she reached the age of thirteen she had not once been beyond the range of the park by herself. Mr. Linton would take her with him a mile or so outside, on rare occasions; but he trusted her to no one else. Gimmerton was an unsubstantial name in her ears; the chapel, the only building she had approached or entered, except her own home. Wuthering Heights and Mr. Heathcliff did not exist for her: she was a perfect recluse; and, apparently, perfectly contented. Sometimes, indeed, while surveying the country from her nursery window, she would observe—

“Ellen, how long will it be before I can walk to the top of those hills? I wonder what lies on the other side—is it the sea?”

“No, Miss Cathy,” I would answer; “it is hills again, just like these.”

“And what are those golden rocks like when you stand under them?” she once asked.

The abrupt descent of Penistone Crags particularly attracted her notice; especially when the setting sun shone on it and the topmost heights, and the whole extent of landscape besides lay in shadow. I explained that they were bare masses of stone, with hardly enough earth in their clefts to nourish a stunted tree.

“And why are they bright so long after it is evening here?” she pursued.

“Because they are a great deal higher up than we are,” replied I; “you could not climb them, they are too high and steep. In winter the frost is always there before it comes to us; and deep into summer I have found snow under that black hollow on the north-east side!”

“Oh, you have been on them!” she cried gleefully. “Then I can go, too, when I am a woman. Has papa been, Ellen?”

“Papa would tell you, Miss,” I answered, hastily, “that they are not worth the trouble of visiting. The moors, where you ramble with him, are much nicer; and Thrushcross Park is the finest place in the world.”

“But I know the park, and I don’t know those,” she murmured to herself. “And I should delight to look round me from the brow of that tallest point: my little pony Minny shall take me some time.”

One of the maids mentioning the Fairy Cave, quite turned her head with a desire to fulfil this project: she teased Mr. Linton about it; and he promised she should have the journey when she got older. But Miss Catherine measured her age by months, and, “Now, am I old enough to go to Penistone Crags?” was the constant question in her mouth. The road thither wound close by Wuthering Heights. Edgar had not the heart to pass it; so she received as constantly the answer, “Not yet, love: not yet.”

I said Mrs. Heathcliff lived above a dozen years after quitting her husband. Her family were of a delicate constitution: she and Edgar both lacked the ruddy health that you will generally meet in these parts. What her last illness was, I am not certain: I conjecture, they died of the same thing, a kind of fever, slow at its commencement, but incurable, and rapidly consuming life towards the close. She wrote to inform her brother of the probable conclusion of a four-months’ indisposition under which she had suffered, and entreated him to come to her, if possible; for she had much to settle, and she wished to bid him adieu, and deliver Linton safely into his hands. Her hope was that Linton might be left with him, as he had been with her: his father, she would fain convince herself, had no desire to assume the burden of his maintenance or education. My master hesitated not a moment in complying with her request: reluctant as he was to leave home at ordinary calls, he flew to answer this; commending Catherine to my peculiar vigilance, in his absence, with reiterated orders that she must not wander out of the park, even under my escort: he did not calculate on her going unaccompanied.

He was away three weeks. The first day or two my charge sat in a corner of the library, too sad for either reading or playing: in that quiet state she caused me little trouble; but it was succeeded by an interval of impatient, fretful weariness; and being too busy, and too old then, to run up and down amusing her, I hit on a method by which she might entertain herself. I used to send her on her travels round the grounds—now on foot, and now on a pony; indulging her with a patient audience of all her real and imaginary adventures when she returned.

The summer shone in full prime; and she took such a taste for this solitary rambling that she often contrived to remain out from breakfast till tea; and then the evenings were spent in recounting her fanciful tales. I did not fear her breaking bounds; because the gates were generally locked, and I thought she would scarcely venture forth alone, if they had stood wide open. Unluckily, my confidence proved misplaced. Catherine came to me, one morning, at eight o’clock, and said she was that day an Arabian merchant, going to cross the Desert with his caravan; and I must give her plenty of provision for herself and beasts: a horse, and three camels, personated by a large hound and a couple of pointers. I got together good store of dainties, and slung them in a basket on one side of the saddle; and she sprang up as gay as a fairy, sheltered by her wide-brimmed hat and gauze veil from the July sun, and trotted off with a merry laugh, mocking my cautious counsel to avoid galloping, and come back early. The naughty thing never made her appearance at tea. One traveller, the hound, being an old dog and fond of its ease, returned; but neither Cathy, nor the pony, nor the two pointers were visible in any direction: I despatched emissaries down this path, and that path, and at last went wandering in search of her myself. There was a labourer working at a fence round a plantation, on the borders of the grounds. I inquired of him if he had seen our young lady.

“I saw her at morn,” he replied: “she would have me to cut her a hazel switch, and then she leapt her Galloway over the hedge yonder, where it is lowest, and galloped out of sight.”

You may guess how I felt at hearing this news. It struck me directly she must have started for Penistone Crags. “What will become of her?” I ejaculated, pushing through a gap which the man was repairing, and making straight to the high-road. I walked as if for a wager, mile after mile, till a turn brought me in view of the Heights; but no Catherine could I detect, far or near. The Crags lie about a mile and a half beyond Mr. Heathcliff’s place, and that is four from the Grange, so I began to fear night would fall ere I could reach them. “And what if she should have slipped in clambering among them,” I reflected, “and been killed, or broken some of her bones?” My suspense was truly painful; and, at first, it gave me delightful relief to observe, in hurrying by the farmhouse, Charlie, the fiercest of the pointers, lying under a window, with swelled head and bleeding ear. I opened the wicket and ran to the door, knocking vehemently for admittance. A woman whom I knew, and who formerly lived at Gimmerton, answered: she had been servant there since the death of Mr. Earnshaw.

“Ah,” said she, “you are come a-seeking your little mistress! Don’t be frightened. She’s here safe: but I’m glad it isn’t the master.”

“He is not at home then, is he?” I panted, quite breathless with quick walking and alarm.

“No, no,” she replied: “both he and Joseph are off, and I think they won’t return this hour or more. Step in and rest you a bit.”

I entered, and beheld my stray lamb seated on the hearth, rocking herself in a little chair that had been her mother’s when a child. Her hat was hung against the wall, and she seemed perfectly at home, laughing and chattering, in the best spirits imaginable, to Hareton—now a great, strong lad of eighteen—who stared at her with considerable curiosity and astonishment: comprehending precious little of the fluent succession of remarks and questions which her tongue never ceased pouring forth.

“Very well, Miss!” I exclaimed, concealing my joy under an angry countenance. “This is your last ride, till papa comes back. I’ll not trust you over the threshold again, you naughty, naughty girl!”

“Aha, Ellen!” she cried, gaily, jumping up and running to my side. “I shall have a pretty story to tell to-night; and so you’ve found me out. Have you ever been here in your life before?”

“Put that hat on, and home at once,” said I. “I’m dreadfully grieved at you, Miss Cathy: you’ve done extremely wrong! It’s no use pouting and crying: that won’t repay the trouble I’ve had, scouring the country after you. To think how Mr. Linton charged me to keep you in; and you stealing off so! It shows you are a cunning little fox, and nobody will put faith in you any more.”

“What have I done?” sobbed she, instantly checked. “Papa charged me nothing: he’ll not scold me, Ellen—he’s never cross, like you!”

“Come, come!” I repeated. “I’ll tie the riband. Now, let us have no petulance. Oh, for shame! You thirteen years old, and such a baby!”

This exclamation was caused by her pushing the hat from her head, and retreating to the chimney out of my reach.

“Nay,” said the servant, “don’t be hard on the bonny lass, Mrs. Dean. We made her stop: she’d fain have ridden forwards, afeard you should be uneasy. Hareton offered to go with her, and I thought he should: it’s a wild road over the hills.”

Hareton, during the discussion, stood with his hands in his pockets, too awkward to speak; though he looked as if he did not relish my intrusion.

“How long am I to wait?” I continued, disregarding the woman’s interference. “It will be dark in ten minutes. Where is the pony, Miss Cathy? And where is Phoenix? I shall leave you, unless you be quick; so please yourself.”

“The pony is in the yard,” she replied, “and Phoenix is shut in there. He’s bitten—and so is Charlie. I was going to tell you all about it; but you are in a bad temper, and don’t deserve to hear.”

I picked up her hat, and approached to reinstate it; but perceiving that the people of the house took her part, she commenced capering round the room; and on my giving chase, ran like a mouse over and under and behind the furniture, rendering it ridiculous for me to pursue. Hareton and the woman laughed, and she joined them, and waxed more impertinent still; till I cried, in great irritation,—“Well, Miss Cathy, if you were aware whose house this is you’d be glad enough to get out.”

“It’s your father’s, isn’t it?” said she, turning to Hareton.

“Nay,” he replied, looking down, and blushing bashfully.

He could not stand a steady gaze from her eyes, though they were just his own.

“Whose then—your master’s?” she asked.

He coloured deeper, with a different feeling, muttered an oath, and turned away.

“Who is his master?” continued the tiresome girl, appealing to me. “He talked about ‘our house,’ and ‘our folk.’ I thought he had been the owner’s son. And he never said Miss: he should have done, shouldn’t he, if he’s a servant?”

Hareton grew black as a thunder-cloud at this childish speech. I silently shook my questioner, and at last succeeded in equipping her for departure.

“Now, get my horse,” she said, addressing her unknown kinsman as she would one of the stable-boys at the Grange. “And you may come with me. I want to see where the goblin-hunter rises in the marsh, and to hear about the fairishes, as you call them: but make haste! What’s the matter? Get my horse, I say.”

“I’ll see thee damned before I be thy servant!” growled the lad.

“You’ll see me what?” asked Catherine in surprise.

“Damned—thou saucy witch!” he replied.

“There, Miss Cathy! you see you have got into pretty company,” I interposed. “Nice words to be used to a young lady! Pray don’t begin to dispute with him. Come, let us seek for Minny ourselves, and begone.”

“But, Ellen,” cried she, staring fixed in astonishment, “how dare he speak so to me? Mustn’t he be made to do as I ask him? You wicked creature, I shall tell papa what you said.—Now, then!”

Hareton did not appear to feel this threat; so the tears sprang into her eyes with indignation. “You bring the pony,” she exclaimed, turning to the woman, “and let my dog free this moment!”

“Softly, Miss,” answered the addressed. “You’ll lose nothing by being civil. Though Mr. Hareton, there, be not the master’s son, he’s your cousin: and I was never hired to serve you.”

“He my cousin!” cried Cathy, with a scornful laugh.

“Yes, indeed,” responded her reprover.

“Oh, Ellen! don’t let them say such things,” she pursued in great trouble. “Papa is gone to fetch my cousin from London: my cousin is a gentleman’s son. That my—” she stopped, and wept outright; upset at the bare notion of relationship with such a clown.

“Hush, hush!” I whispered; “people can have many cousins and of all sorts, Miss Cathy, without being any the worse for it; only they needn’t keep their company, if they be disagreeable and bad.”

“He’s not—he’s not my cousin, Ellen!” she went on, gathering fresh grief from reflection, and flinging herself into my arms for refuge from the idea.

I was much vexed at her and the servant for their mutual revelations; having no doubt of Linton’s approaching arrival, communicated by the former, being reported to Mr. Heathcliff; and feeling as confident that Catherine’s first thought on her father’s return would be to seek an explanation of the latter’s assertion concerning her rude-bred kindred. Hareton, recovering from his disgust at being taken for a servant, seemed moved by her distress; and, having fetched the pony round to the door, he took, to propitiate her, a fine crooked-legged terrier whelp from the kennel, and putting it into her hand, bid her whist! for he meant nought. Pausing in her lamentations, she surveyed him with a glance of awe and horror, then burst forth anew.

I could scarcely refrain from smiling at this antipathy to the poor fellow; who was a well-made, athletic youth, good-looking in features, and stout and healthy, but attired in garments befitting his daily occupations of working on the farm and lounging among the moors after rabbits and game. Still, I thought I could detect in his physiognomy a mind owning better qualities than his father ever possessed. Good things lost amid a wilderness of weeds, to be sure, whose rankness far over-topped their neglected growth; yet, notwithstanding, evidence of a wealthy soil, that might yield luxuriant crops under other and favourable circumstances. Mr. Heathcliff, I believe, had not treated him physically ill; thanks to his fearless nature, which offered no temptation to that course of oppression: he had none of the timid susceptibility that would have given zest to ill-treatment, in Heathcliff’s judgment. He appeared to have bent his malevolence on making him a brute: he was never taught to read or write; never rebuked for any bad habit which did not annoy his keeper; never led a single step towards virtue, or guarded by a single precept against vice. And from what I heard, Joseph contributed much to his deterioration, by a narrow-minded partiality which prompted him to flatter and pet him, as a boy, because he was the head of the old family. And as he had been in the habit of accusing Catherine Earnshaw and Heathcliff, when children, of putting the master past his patience, and compelling him to seek solace in drink by what he termed their “offald ways,” so at present he laid the whole burden of Hareton’s faults on the shoulders of the usurper of his property. If the lad swore, he wouldn’t correct him: nor however culpably he behaved. It gave Joseph satisfaction, apparently, to watch him go the worst lengths: he allowed that the lad was ruined: that his soul was abandoned to perdition; but then he reflected that Heathcliff must answer for it. Hareton’s blood would be required at his hands; and there lay immense consolation in that thought. Joseph had instilled into him a pride of name, and of his lineage; he would, had he dared, have fostered hate between him and the present owner of the Heights: but his dread of that owner amounted to superstition; and he confined his feelings regarding him to muttered innuendoes and private comminations. I don’t pretend to be intimately acquainted with the mode of living customary in those days at Wuthering Heights: I only speak from hearsay; for I saw little. The villagers affirmed Mr. Heathcliff was near, and a cruel hard landlord to his tenants; but the house, inside, had regained its ancient aspect of comfort under female management, and the scenes of riot common in Hindley’s time were not now enacted within its walls. The master was too gloomy to seek companionship with any people, good or bad; and he is yet.

This, however, is not making progress with my story. Miss Cathy rejected the peace-offering of the terrier, and demanded her own dogs, Charlie and Phoenix. They came limping and hanging their heads; and we set out for home, sadly out of sorts, every one of us. I could not wring from my little lady how she had spent the day; except that, as I supposed, the goal of her pilgrimage was Penistone Crags; and she arrived without adventure to the gate of the farmhouse, when Hareton happened to issue forth, attended by some canine followers, who attacked her train. They had a smart battle, before their owners could separate them: that formed an introduction. Catherine told Hareton who she was, and where she was going; and asked him to show her the way: finally, beguiling him to accompany her. He opened the mysteries of the Fairy Cave, and twenty other queer places. But, being in disgrace, I was not favoured with a description of the interesting objects she saw. I could gather, however, that her guide had been a favourite till she hurt his feelings by addressing him as a servant; and Heathcliff’s housekeeper hurt hers by calling him her cousin. Then the language he had held to her rankled in her heart; she who was always “love,” and “darling,” and “queen,” and “angel,” with everybody at the Grange, to be insulted so shockingly by a stranger! She did not comprehend it; and hard work I had to obtain a promise that she would not lay the grievance before her father. I explained how he objected to the whole household at the Heights, and how sorry he would be to find she had been there; but I insisted most on the fact, that if she revealed my negligence of his orders, he would perhaps be so angry that I should have to leave; and Cathy couldn’t bear that prospect: she pledged her word, and kept it for my sake. After all, she was a sweet little girl.

[ruki--mukami]

Okay continuing to the magical girl s/o as well, to make her lore more developed! //

Oh poor, poor ruki.... He made a wish with a heavy, heavy price... He dragged himself down to a rabbit hole that will lead to utter destruction and despair....

Magical girl s/o who is absolutely bewildered to hear his wish as she healed magically, and she got up in a hurry and hugged him through heavy tears, flooding her eyes and raining down...

"R... Ruki... N.. No... You shouldn't have.... You... You wasted a wish... On someone.... As useless as me... "

She cried out while looking up at him, she was hiccuping as well, she was grateful. She truly, seriously was... And yet... she couldn't stop her grief-like tears from streaming down..

"Well then, ruki mukami, you're a magical boy now!"

The beast said happily as it's face brightened up, and it jumped on the girl's shoulder.

“Don’t call yourself ‘useless’ ever again. It simply isn’t true. I don’t want to see you suffer at the hands of someone else,” he spoke dismally as he held the wounded magical girl in his arms, her injuries and scratches vanishing like a miracle before his clouded cobalt eyes. “There is no reason for you to put yourself in harm’s way ever again. Not fighting these wretched abominations, at least. From now on, I’ll be the one to protect you from these supernatural beings out of your league. What better person for the task than a Vampire who has lived as long as I?”

When the beast announced of Ruki’s unexpected change, he shot it a look of utter disbelief, raising a brow suspiciously as he still held the magical girl in his tight embrace, standing up with one arm hooked under her knees and the other supporting her shoulders. 

“What nonsense are you rambling on about? I’m a Vampire. Not a so-called ‘magical boy’ as you crudely phrased it. Who are you to tell me what I am? No one knows better than myself that I will continue to lead my life as a bloodthirsty demon. That’s just the reality of it, and more importantly, it is the gift my benefactor bestowed onto me. So, enough of this drivel.”

Despite his threatening words towards the catlike creature, Ruki wondered how such a phenomenon could even be possible. An undead being turning into an animated magical boy, seemingly so full of life andsoul. The heirloom his beloved had shown him exhibited a refulgence of energy, brilliantly glowing with the essence of one’s ardor and spirit, perhaps merely a glimpse of her potential.

“Well, whatever it is, surely it’s nothing we cannot handle.”

Just then, he noticed a strange, unknown object weigh down in his pocket. When he took it out, it looked just like the gem the magical carried except its hue radiated a dark sapphire, desaturated like the ocean’s tides, weaving a maelstrom deep within. Although the jewel shone, void of vibrance, it certainly held potential to be clouded by a foreboding, spectral dusk.

Furthermore, it felt as though if he were to pick up a book in this strange realm, it would ignite and unleash power unimaginable. Though Ruki’s wish was not grand in scope as he only wished to shield the person he cherished most from danger, somehow the most cursed sorcery and darkest of aura coursed through his otherwise stagnant veins, hungering to smite all foes in its path.  

“…?! I don’t understand…” he glared at the small creature atop the girl’s shoulder. “What did you do to me?!” 

[merakiui]

Apricity

yandere!albedo x (gender neutral) reader art credit - miHoYo cw: nsfw elements, yandere, captivity/restraints, unhealthy behaviors note - please come home to me and take care on the journey, albedo! :D also kindly heed the warnings. thank you!

His eyes are unnaturally pretty. Like twin crystals glittering in an expansive, dismal cave, searching for secrets unheard of within Mondstadt. Somehow you’re always in his peripheral, not too close and yet impossibly far at the same time. The distance is harrowing, terribly so, and Albedo knows it should be nothing short of a coincidence. When he shows up at your quaint stall with Sucrose, claiming to be in need of the exact wares you happen to sell, you pay it no mind. After all, you’ve met your fair share of regulars, and their support is what keeps you afloat. 

But there is more to those beautiful irises than he lets on. Whether it’s intentional or not, you can’t exactly say. You suppose you would rather run into someone as well-respected as Albedo as opposed to an unlikable stranger with ill intent. And it’s always great to see a familiar face, especially when he chooses to peruse your stall rather the others around you. It isn’t all that strange; you’ve even become friends with Sucrose during your short interactions. Albedo has indulged in stiff conversations with you before, but most of them were meaningless. Simple throwaway chatter between two acquaintances. 

Oddly enough, Albedo finds himself wanting more. He doesn’t want to talk about the weather or the transitioning seasons; he wants to listen to you explain how your day was and if you made more profit than the day before that. He wants to stand there and immerse himself in your pleasant voice, ignorant to the hustle and bustle of the people around him. And yet he just can’t. For a variety of reasons that pull him out of the haze of intrigue, you’ll always remain in the background. And he simply can’t bear the thought of that.

It’s rude to deteriorate a relationship that’s only just begun to blossom. If your meager acquaintanceship with him were to wither away into dust, he would feel obligated to keep it going—as if he were simply beating a dead cow with a stick. Although your hobbies differ from his, it’s nothing he can’t handle. A genius must familiarize himself with other areas of study if he intends to craft solutions that are outside of the box.

“Albedo?” 

Your tone is meek and small, tinged with the slightest shiver. Part of him feels bad for lying to you, but you were just so trusting. It’s almost comical how easily you fell into his trap. If he gets to see you in such a delicious way all the time, he’s more than willing to forsake the truth to meet his own desires. A selfish wish, yes, but it’s absolutely wonderful.

“What is it?” 

He eyes you from his spot behind the easel, and even though you can’t see him you can feel his piercing gaze. Like the sun shining brightly in a wintry afternoon, his eyes smolder with unbearable heat and yet his expression is cold with brilliant focus. 

“A-Are you almost done? It’s really cold.” Your bare back touches the wall and you flinch, an instinctual response that makes Albedo’s brow quirk. “And this is sort of...weird.”

“How so?” 

He says that in such a dismissive manner, acting as if your current position isn’t compromising. As if this was a normal exchange between friendly strangers. You have trouble finding your voice in this situation, especially since talking seems like such a chore. You’re worried you’ll say the wrong thing and then it’ll leave a false imprint of who you are on Albedo. But you’ve always been nice, unable to refuse those who are kind in return, and so you’re forced to endure the discomfort that comes with modeling nude for this peculiar alchemist. 

“Think about it.” You distract yourself with a ramble of an explanation—certainly more than what’s necessary, but Albedo doesn’t mind. He finds solace in your voice. “You’re looking at me and I’m...n-naked. And we don’t really know each other. I’m not trying to vilify you when I say this, but I don’t want you to do anything bad to me. N-Not that you would! It’s just—this is really weird. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Hm.”

“And do I have to be tied up like this?” You shuffle in your bindings, fingers scrabbling over the cuffs and chains that jingle like horrible sleigh bells. 

“You were moving too much earlier. I won’t be able to get your anatomy right if you’re constantly fidgeting.”

But it’s uncomfortable, you think, chewing on your lip out of habit.

“I guess I understand. It must be an artist thing, right?”

“You could say that.”

His work on the canvas offers a display that’s just as lewd as the real model, down to the way your nipples perk and harden in the cold. He’s not even close to finishing and that’s a blessing in itself. He could stare at your figure for hours on end, committing every inch of your flesh to memory, and he wouldn’t grow weary. 

“Do artists normally blindfold their models? I don’t really know anything about this stuff, but it’s okay if it helps with the process.”

“I find it to be interesting,” he answers, simple and vague as ever. “It adds a mysterious touch to the finished piece.”

“So you draw the model with the blindfold?” You’re used to gazing upon paintings of flowers and portraits of influential historical figures rather than blatant nudity. “Artists are definitely unique.”

Albedo hums in response, secretly reveling in your naïveté. At the end of the day, you’re just a normal citizen of Mondstadt, who stands behind a wooden stall every single day and happily chats with potential customers. You excel in business, but when it comes to the inner workings of art you’re at a loss. And that makes it all the more easier for Albedo to spin all sorts of wild tales. He fears that gullible nature will harm you in the future, yet there isn’t a threat in sight. Not when you’re here in front of him, no longer confined to his peripheral. And you’ll stay there for however long it takes him to finish this painting. 

It’s a twisted infatuation. Albedo knows he shouldn’t take too much of your time or else he’ll become addicted and it will be impossible to focus on his studies. But he can’t stop himself or his wandering gaze, which trails up your midriff. Higher and higher until he’s staring at your face, eyes obscured behind the soft fabric of a blindfold. Your body is a temple he wishes to worship, and perhaps that’s a sacrilegious thought that ought to have him consider the weight of his emotions. 

And yet you’re far too irresistible. His thoughts are dangerously potent, swirling within his brain like a maddening hurricane. Surely your missing presence in the market won’t be questioned if he were to keep you just a little longer. Longer than the boundaries of sanity will allow, that is. There are other vendors who sell the same things you boast; the economy won’t shatter if you’re not there to provide.

The paintbrush moves along the canvas in even strokes and suddenly Albedo’s mind is wandering between subjects. From art to alchemy, love to lust, and the wondrous crevices in your anatomy that call out to him. The brush stills in his hand. If he’s not mistaken, Sucrose will be stopping by to assist him and the last thing he needs is staining his appearance in a suspicious color. 

“Albedo?” His name rolls off of your tongue in such a delectable way; it’s almost sinful how his thoughts race and race in an endless track. “Are you almost done? My back is sore and the floor’s really uncomfortable.”

“Sorry. This will take longer than I thought.” He sets his brush and palette down, and you listen to his footsteps as they draw near. “Something has come up, but I promise I won’t be long.” 

“Wait. You’re not going to leave me, are you? I need to get back to the marketplace!”

Before you know what’s happening, the blindfold is coming off and you’re locking eyes with Albedo, who peers at you with intense scrutiny. Certainly the look of a genius studying a textbook. You grow flustered all at once, just now coming to terms with the fact that he looked at your body for longer than you’d like to admit. Shyly, you shut your legs to obscure your private parts, but it’s not like that will help the embarrassment that claws its way onto your expression like a persistent beast. 

“You’re better off waiting here.” He shrugs off his coat, draping it over your shoulders as if that’ll keep the dreadful chill away. “As much as I would like to finish this now, I have other work that must be taken care of.”

“I get that, but you can’t just leave me here! That’s practically kidnapping!” you protest, hoping he’ll heed the desperation in your trembling vocals. “At least, that’s what this feels like.”

“I wouldn’t kidnap you,” he says, amusement flashing in his eyes. “You’re too funny.”

Yet he isn’t laughing and neither are you as you helplessly watch him depart. The floor is too cold for your liking and the idea of entrapment settles under your skin like a million maggots feasting on a decaying, chilled copse. Devoid of warmth and carrying an air of measured grace, Albedo doesn’t spare you another glance.

He doesn’t need to. He’ll have all the time in the world to study your body like it’s the finest artwork, and you’ll be powerless to object.

[bandaigaeru]

a spell for you - hwang hyunjin

→ synopsis: he had spontaneously chosen you as a victim, leaving you with nothing but the desire to return his motives. → word count: 11k → genre: hogwarts au, enemies to lovers → pairing: slytherin!hyunjin x gryffindor! gender neutral reader (feat. jihyo (twice))

→ warnings: one mention of the reader's period (it's not necessary for context, but just know that it is there) → author's note (super quick haha): i feel like i could have done a lot better with this, so perhaps there will be a rewrite in the future if this one disappoints you. happy, slightly belated, new year!

i.

His hair catches the light with a shimmering pang. He brushes a hand through it, tucking a pestering strand behind his ear. Intently, he watches beside him, where his friends are shoving each other and threatening a fight. His lips are parted, threatening a smile.

"Stop trying to steal my potion," Changbin shoves, his grip on the glass bottle tightening as Seungmin reaches for it.

"You're the one who took it from me!" Seungmin whines, defensively hitting the inner elbow wielding his potion.

"No fighting in my classroom," Professor Nam breathily warns, leaning back in her chair defeatedly. She found it too difficult to try corralling them anymore.

You scoff.

Hyunjin turns to you, a smirk pulling the corner of his lip. "What? Got a problem?"

You roll your eyes. "Your presence is breaking my concentration. Why don't you go fight with Seungmin and never come back? That sounds perfect."

"What're you even concentrating on? The test you're gonna fail anyway?" Hyunjin jabs, puffing out his bottom lip in fake sympathy.

"Says the one who has worse grades than me."

He drags his chair closer to your desk, robe trailing slightly behind. His heavy breath casts a warmth against the back of your hand. "That's no way to talk to a superior."

"Superior?" you glance up, laughing. "Slytherins will never be superior to Gryffindors."

"Why is that?" Hyunjin cocks his head, a small, amused smile playing on his lips. His eyebrows jump with curiosity.

"Because snakes will only ever stay in the grass. Lions can at least jump."

He nods. "True. But a snake can kill a lion with its venom, and then your jumping is pointless."

From the seat in front of you, Jeongin groans. "Shut up already. Ravenclaws are the best and it's time you all admit it."

In unison, you and Hyunjin mutter, "Never that."

You look to him, his eyes in the same amount of shock as yours. You slam your textbook closed, shoving it into your bag. "Gross."

As you're standing from your chair, he coos, "If you're going to the common room, you should change."

"Why would I change for you, Hwang Hyunjin?"

"Because there's a stain on your pants," he smirks.

You grimace, tossing a dismissive wave over your shoulder as you leave the classroom. Nam doesn't care. She's too busy filing her nails and trying to keep Seungmin and Changbin from decapitating each other. You know, a normal day in her classroom. Plus, the bell is nearing its drone.

The hidden entry shifts for you as you approach. "Thank you, madam," you shout to the portrait above you.

The lady hums. The cement crackly replenishes itself behind you as you relish in the abandoned common room. Everyone is in classes, or should be, at least. You rush up to your room, tossing your bag and immediately changing into a different set of pants.

Sure enough, on the butt of your previous plaid ones is a small brown splotch. It can't be your period, so you slowly get closer to look at it. The waft of chocolate tickles your nose.

"Hwang Hyunjin," you grumble. He's probably sitting in that classroom still, snickering with his friends at how gullible you are. But hey, at least the stain kind of blends in.

ii.

The idea of revenge had seemed a waste of time in your formative years. Until your eyes locked with Hwang Hyunjin's in your first year. Those beady little pupils that followed every move you made. Tactical. Always ready to sink his fangs.

His first prank had been a simple fart joke (as fresh teenagers love). With the wave of his wand, he summoned a low groan right behind you. His acting skills were put to use as he brought a hand to his nose. "Ew, Y/N farted!"

Your cheeks flushed as you confusedly turned to him. You snapped, "No, I didn't."

Though, his choir of laughs had drowned your defense and left you with the heat of shame. He smiled back at you as he sat down, his dark wand still poised in his fingers.

Now, as you sit in the dining hall with hyperactive attention and a dismal pull for hunger, the target enters. His blond hair is pulled back into a ponytail, with a few straying pieces. There is a quirk to his lips as he talks to the friends at his sides. You can feel the bass of his laughter in your shoulders.

"Hello? You in there?" Changbin waves a hand in front of your dazed eyes.

"What?" you turn back to him as Hyunjin takes a seat in his usual spot.

He sighs. "You scouting him again?"

"I have to get back at him," you mutter, picking up your fork before you stab the noodles on your plate.

"Y/N," Changbin whines. Your steely eyes look to him, and he immediately softens, caving in on himself.

"You're a Gryffindor," you start, twirling the noodles, "better start acting like one."

"Are you saying I can't be friends with both of you?"

You shake your head. "Never insinuated that. I'm standing my ground, and you shouldn't be preventing me from doing that."

Changbin looks to the other faces listening in, but all of them are little help. Jisung catches his eye, shaking his head. Defeated, he sighs, turning back to his meal. He drowns the words on his tongue with water.

The dinner session ends rather quickly (thanks to your rambled thoughts). Students bustle to return to designated common rooms for the night. Your eyes are glued to the back of Hyunjin's head. He's in no hurry, evidently, because he is still seated at the table, eyes crinkled with laughter. The cold wood of the wand is a familiar feeling in your palm. It's comforting. It reminds you of a time where Hwang Hyunjin was merely a classmate. How simple life was.

The hollowness he had claimed in your stomach deepens when he finally stands. You

point your wand at him carefully, suddenly grateful Changbin isn't here, and whisper, "Confundo."

The trademarked confident stride caves in on itself as the boy shrinks. He glances around. Upturned eyebrows and lost eyes. You rush to walk past him, a small wave and a smile. He doesn't seem to recognize you.

You can't help but laugh.

iii.

Your head is held high as you're walking to your first class of the day. Last night hasn't stopped replaying in your head, and the smile has yet to fade. He looked so lost. His eyes were wide and puppylike, and it even sent a jolt through your heart. Finally, he'd gotten a piece of his own medicine.

A barrier stops you from going further. It tugs you back by the sleeve of your blazer, leaving you to stare back into the somewhat lost eyes of the boy you had terrorized.

"What do you want?" you mumble, glancing down the hall. If anyone were to see you two, this close, they'd know something was up.

"What spell did you use? I can't shake it. I've been awake all night trying to get rid of it."

You chuckle and shrug. "Well, it's already lost some of its oomph. Only time can cure you."

You try to continue your path, but he grabs your shoulders and spins you back to look at him. He leans close to your face, and your breath chokes you. His eyes are no longer wide with innocence. They hold a knife back at you. "What spell did you use?"

"Confundo. Why, do you think I cursed you?" you scoff, squirming beneath his palms. "I'm not that mean, Hwang."

He lets go of your shoulders, staring at his shoes in defeat. You stumble a little. "Dumbass," he mutters, "We have an exam today. I can't concentrate on something like that, especially since I was up all night. Why would you do this?"

A sprout of something dizzying scratches your chest. You lean onto your toes as you whisper, "Should have thought about that before you started this mess."

You continue your walk to class with newfound guilt. Behind you, Hyunjin mutters, "I'll get back at you. Big time."

Your day had always been thwarted by the presence of Hwang Hyunjin, for he was always in every class. But today, he's not there. You presume he's caught in the Slytherin tower, curled in a ball as he tries to dispel his confusion. Mayhaps he's even sleeping. In a way, you kind of miss his antics. The way he tossed his head back and let his hair cascade at the fate of gravity simply for the muse that it 'helped him think.'

You found yourself smiling at your exam packet, and you instantly recoil. Hyunjin's an asshole, and he deserves everything he gets.

Changbin nudges you. You glance at him and he begins to fight a laugh. "What're you thinking of in that pretty little head of yours?"

You look back to your test in alarm. "Nothing," you whisper, warily glancing at Professor Nam, whose eyes wander up and down the aisles.

"Is it Hyunjin?" he leans toward you.

You shake your head, hissing, "Absolutely not."

Professor Nam skips over a row to you. "No talking. I'll take points if I catch you two again."

Changbin settles back into his test, leaving you with thoughts of your own. As you aimlessly bubbled in answers seemingly obvious, you thought to Hyunjin. Maybe you were a little out of line with the confundo incident, but it was your turn for revenge. You glance up at his empty chair when you finish the test. In the far corner of your head, you swear you can hear his obnoxious laugh and breathy, "I told you so."

Overhead, the bell rings. It dismisses everyone from their classes and momentarily dismisses Hyunjin from the warmth of your thoughts. You pass your exam forward, quickly scavenging your things together and following the pack into the halls. Nam's class is the last of the day, and it's Friday. Your weekend is free ahead of you, and you consider inviting Changbin and Jisung to a picnic or something.

A hand claps down on your shoulder before a deep laugh shakes in your ears. "Y/N! I heard what you did to Hyunjin. Genius, I must say."

You glance to the owner of the voice, meeting the glimmering eyes of Kim Seungmin. He looks down on you with a warm smile. So unlike a Slytherin.

"Thank you," you straighten your posture as you continue walking.

His hand doesn't move from your shoulder. His breath is hot against your ear as he whispers, "But if it's just between you and me, you're gonna wish you didn't do that."

Shivers trail the back of your neck to your wrists. When you look at him, he's still harboring that welcoming grin. "Ciao," he removes his hand to wave at you. Then, he starts in the opposite direction, against the wave of traffic.

You walk the rest of the way with your eyes glued ahead. A Gryffindor does not back down. They are brave, you remind yourself.

The Fat Lady allows you entry into the common room, but the hallway is backed up. You stretch your neck to try and see above the crowd, though nothing but heads of hair taints your view. There's a pit in your stomach, and before you can shove through, you already have an idea what's going on.

The Gryffindor common room has been plagued with the stench of Hwang Hyunjin's mischievous antics. It is drenched in a potion of Nidore, resembling the smell of untreated B.O. Han Jisung plugs his nose as he glances around. He catches your eye, muttering, "Do you smell this?"

Your eyes are lazed with irritation. Curtly, you nod. "Yeah. Hyunjin did this. I'm sure of it."

Jisung whines, tapping his foot impatiently, "Why can't you two just keep your tricks in class? This is violating school rules. He shouldn't be in here. He's a Slytherin!"

You bite on the inner piece of your lip as heeled steps echo closer. The presence of a tall woman sends anxious goosebumps down your spine. You turn to her, though you're sure you look pitiful.

"What is the meaning of this?" she shouts, looking among the students for any clue.

Jisung nudges your arm.

"We have reason to believe it was a Slytherin's doing, madam," another professor slips into the room, promptly covering his nose.

"Do we have a name for this Slytherin?" she crosses her arms and purses her lips.

The professor shakes his head, looking to his freshly shined shoes. Faintly, he wonders if the smell will ruin them. "No. Not yet."

The headmistress sighs, waving her hand. "Gryffindors are to report to the dining hall immediately until this mess is covered. Start an investigation at once."

"Yes, ma'am," the professor's head falls as he pushes back through the crowd, which is now graciously evacuating. Those simple words were all they needed.

You feel bolted to the floor. All you can do is stare at the bun atop the headmistress's head. Hyunjin had gone too far, but you had triggered this. Jisung grabs your wrist and pulls you out.

He takes you up the hall, into the bathroom. He closes the door behind you.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he whisper-shouts.

You shake your head, a rock lodging its way into your throat as you avert his sharp eyes. "I fucked up."

"Obviously."

Han Jisung is standing with his hands on his hips, his eyes looking like they're about to bulge from his head. He must be disappointed. "What're you gonna do about this?"

"I'm gonna have to tell McGonagall."

Jisung sighs, taking a long look at you. "If you think that's what's best, go on." He opens the door for you.

You trudge back to the Gryffindor common room. The Fat Lady grants you entrance, though she says, "It sure smells in there, love. I wouldn't stay long if I were you."

When you reach the end of the hallway, McGonagall is no longer there. Instead, there's a blond boy who laughs quietly to himself. He looks back at you. "I knew you'd come back."

"Hyunjin, what the hell do you think you're doing? You went too far. You could get expelled over this, you know?"

He shakes his head. "I won't get expelled. My family's donated too much to this school. You should have seen the look on your face, though."

You blink as he stands. "Have you ever stopped to think about other people for a change? I'm nothing without this school."

Hyunjin sucks his teeth. "Should have thought about that one."

You open your mouth to retaliate, but overhead a voice takes over. "Y/N Y/L/N of Gryffindor and Hwang Hyunjin of Slytherin, please report to the headmistress' office immediately."

Hyunjin wraps his arm around your shoulder, the tips of his fingers trailing a path along your collarbone. "Shall we?"

iv.

"I can expel you. Is that what you would like?" McGonagall inquires, pushing her glasses up on the bridge of her nose. Around her, papers float as she pointedly looks for one in specific.

"No," you mumble.

Hyunjin tips his head back, allowing his hair to fall back. There is a menacing curl to his lips.

"Your antics have been going on for how long? Nearly six years?"

Your gaze is locked on your shoes. They need a shining, you note.

Hyunjin begins chuckling. "You're not actually serious about expulsion, right? My family would never let you hear the end of it."

McGonagall plucks a paper from the air, looking at it. "No, Mr. Hwang. But keep up your attitude and I'll make the remainder of your time here a living hell."

You look at Hyunjin, whose eyes wait for yours. He smiles, offering a sharp pierce to your heart. Your eyes shoot back to the floor. The toe of his shoe pierces your vision, inching to nudge yours.

"What I think is appropriate," McGonagall starts, plucking another paper. "is that you two seek a middle ground. I am requesting that wizardry chores are to be saved for you two, and you will perform them together. I am uncertain on the duration, still, but I assure you it will not be comfortable."

Hyunjin scoffs. "You're gonna make us do laundry or something?"

McGonagall sighs, looking up at him. She offers a pitying smile. "It'll be much, much worse than that, Mr. Hwang."

"Thank you," he sarcastically remarks.

You look up to McGonagall, bowing your head gently. "Thank you for not resorting to expulsion."

"You two are immature wizards, which is incredibly dangerous in today's society. I need to knock sense into you, not allow you the means to rebel."

You don't dare look at Hyunjin, but you're sure he has smoke billowing from his ears. Because nobody, not even the headmistress, should talk down on him. "A Slytherin," you recall him saying, "is the top of the food chain."

"Now," she claps, sending a jolt through you. "Your first task is to remove the potion from the Gryffindor common room. That should be fairly easy for you, Mr. Hwang."

He grimaces, starting out of the office. He swears beneath his breath, and doesn't even make fun of you when you trip and nearly faceplant. Instead, he offers a glance back at you before continuing on his way. Not even a single sly comment.

When you return to the common room, Changbin waits outside. He pushes off the cement walls, arms crossed against his velvet robe. "Oh? Are you two finally allowing your love for each other to blossom?"

You shoot him a warning look, but it amasses to nothing when Hyunjin grabs him by the collar and pins him against the wall. "Watch your mouth."

He throws him to the ground before hesitantly entering the hallway.

"Who pissed in his Cheerios?" Changbin scrambles to stand up again. He seeks you for answers, but falls short when all you offer is a secured gaze on the floor.

The Gryffindor common room is still oozing with stench, but in the center of it is Hwang Hyunjin, the mastermind. He seems more bothered by McGonagall's comments than the smell. He raises his wand of Blackthorn, chanting an unknown spell. The odor vanquishes, leaving you only with the other elephant in the room.

Hyunjin starts out the door, bumping into your shoulder on the way. "Just stay out of my way and we won't have problems."

You huff, staring at the back of his neck, "Be mature for once."

He stops, his head slumping. He slowly turns back to you, venom laced with his words as he says, "You're the reason we're in this mess. Stay out of my way so we can get this over with, okay?"

Ice builds up your ankles. You cannot move. You cannot speak. You're left to watch as he storms out of the room. So much for a stable weekend.

v.

Things truly began with doing the laundry. Muttered remarks fluttered from Hyunjin's lips, though he does not speak directly to you. Nor does he even offer a spare glance.

Then, you had a trip to Hogsmeade. Though, under strict supervision by Professor Kim, whose gaze never left your necks. "Isn't the grocer that way, Mr. Hwang?" he had said. Hyunjin tensed, dark eyes looking back at the old man. Though, he did not speak. He simply moved on his way.

After that, McGonagall had sent for you two to clean the Slytherin dungeons. "Real Slytherins aren't this piggish," Hyunjin grumbled, scrubbing harshly at the moss buildup.

Hesitance built in your veins every time he was around. Though, his gaze has not crossed your skin once. His words, too, were never meant to travel over your robes. He treats you as though you are an imaginary friend who he vowed to erase from his life.

You release a shaky breath.

"I won't be at dinner," you warn your friends for the sixth day in a row. A setting sun peeks through the broad window panes.

"You serving time again?" Minho manages through sips of scalding coffee. For a Ravenclaw, he didn't always live up to the stereotype.

"They're not serving time, per se," Changbin counters. "But close enough."

Chan tugs at your sleeve, pulling you away from the crowd. "Are you okay?"

Tears prick the corners of your vision, but you nod. "Yeah. I'm fine. I just kinda wanna get this over with."

Chan offers a small, sheepish smile. "Okay. Just let me know if you need anything. I may be a Hufflepuff, but I can beat his ass if you want me to."

You giggle, bringing your sleeved arm to brush against your nose. "Thank you."

At the end of the hall, where it halts with the choice of the dining hall or the potions branch of the school, you take a left while everyone else turns right.

Today, McGonagall needed you to clean the bathrooms. Hyunjin, of course, was not looking forward to it. He didn't look forward to anything, you realize.

"Hey," you greet, gently setting down your bag outside the bathroom. The door is still closed.

Hyunjin looks up from his phone. He doesn't say anything, but at least he acknowledges you by slipping his phone into his pocket. His hand encases the doorknob before he pushes it open.

Disgust twists his face as he gags. "What the hell? Have these ever been used?"

"Evidently," you remark, peeking around the doorway to see a pile of green sludge accustomed to the floor.

Hyunjin sighs. "I guess we better get started."

You nod, picking up a mop that awaited. You work in silence. Hyunjin curses under his breath, grunting as he works. When you steal a glance, his face is reddened and there are beads of sweat threatening to drip from his brow.

The sludge, you presume, is mutated moss. It's actually quite common in castles like this one. Nonetheless, it's gross to eliminate. And the smell. Just thinking about it would send shivers down your spine.

On Hyunjin's end of the bathroom, behind the protection of a wall, there is a gurgle and an accompanying shout. "You're joking," he whines.

He steps out from the stall, the white of his undershirt blotched with green and orange. It looks like vomit, but it smells much worse. You don't have time to laugh, for he's gathering his things. "I'm tired of McGonagall making us do her stupid errands. Doesn't she have servants for this? I'm done!" he offers you one last glance before he leaves.

Silence was more comfortable when he sat in it with you.

vi.

You jolt with the realization. Certainly you weren't starting to enjoy Hyunjin's company. That's outright impossible. If anything at all, you were merely starting to see him as a comrade or acquaintance.

But you were not, absolutely not, starting to feel something for him.

The sun starts to leak through your curtains, portraying your sleeping roommate like a silhouette. You sigh, falling back onto the pillows. The ceiling stares back at you with an intimidating uncertainty. Hyunjin wasn't going to be doing the chores anymore, so it would be pointless in talking to him about it. So long as McGonagall doesn't find out that you're working solo, things should be okay.

You travel with the crowd, accepting breakfast alone. Your friends were probably still sleeping. Minho might be awake, but he's likely locked in the Ravenclaw chamber, hiding from the outside world on his rest day.

McGonagall's wishes for today, as delivered by Professor Kim, was to visit Hagrid's hut and obtain a dragon egg. The reason, she did not state. Probably official school business that you had no intention, nor desire, of searching into. If Hyunjin were with you, that'd likely be a different story.

You leave the castle at quarter to noon. It's chilly outside (you probably could have used a jacket) but the sun is held central in the sky. You take a deep breath, admiring the traveling scents of blossoms and lilies. The gravel path crunches beneath your shoes. A bright pink azalea catches your eye. It hangs on the edge of the forest, serving a bookmark among the green. You step off of the path, taking careful steps toward it.

"Wow," you mumble, bringing your palm to it. It's soft against your skin.

You wonder if Hyunjin likes flowers. A smile cracks your lips. "It'd be funny if he did," you whisper to yourself.

A squealing cry causes you to flinch. You turn in the direction of the noise, spotting a pig running for dear life. Its little legs overworking themselves in a blur. Close behind is a hippogriff, tall and muscular. It walks with leisure, for its legs equate to nearly thirty of the pig's.

You gulp. They're bigger than the textbooks lead on. You take a wary step back. A stick crunches beneath your weight. The hippogriff's gaze sways toward you. It cocks its head curiously.

You wished you paid more attention in Care of Magical Creatures. Stupid Hyunjin and his stupid distractions. Why did he even begin picking on you in the first place? Was it chance? Did he know you were a Gryffindor and simply nod and declare you were the one? For whatever reason, it has brought you here.

A Gryffindor shouldn't cry in a situation like this. They should stand tall and tame the beast. Fight if they have to, but that's a shrugging matter. You're not like other Gryffindors, though. Who are you kidding? You're a lousy one.

So you cry. If death is upon you, all you really can do is cry.

The hippogriff opens its beak and lets out a shrill cry. Its heavy footsteps echo into the trees, shaking birds from branches. It poises its hind legs in a crouch, preparing for the hunt. Like any predator, it expects you to run.

You shake your head, glancing to the pink azalea beside your head. You close your eyes, bracing yourself for the impact. You hear its footsteps drawing near.

"Alarte ascendare!" a voice yells. There is a boom and a crash.

Hesitant, you open your eyes. The hippogriff is laying in front of you, bloodied and gasping for breath. A wave of heat washes over you as you dizzily fall to your knees. You try to look for the source of the voice, but your vision is hazy.

Arms wrap around you. They steady you. You look up. "Hyunjin?"

"Shh, it's okay. I'm here," he pulls your head into his chest, resting his chin atop your head.

"What're you doing here?" Your mouth is dry. Any moment, you feel as though you might fall. Through the earth and into an abyss. But still, Hyunjin holds you.

"Same goes for you. Why're you out here unsupervised, huh?" his voice is in a calming whisper. His fingers trace repeating lines through your hair.

"McGonagall wanted us to go get an egg from Hagrid," you tell him, removing the detail of the flower. You didn't need him calling you stupid for straying from the path.

He sighs. For once, he's speechless. He just keeps playing with your hair, occasionally glancing to the hippogriff, who has since long stopped breathing.

vii.

Behind the large wooden doors of the infirmary, you hear a droning voice. "Slaughter of a magical creature on school grounds can be charged with expulsion. Are you aware of that, Mr. Hwang?"

The following voice is much quieter, though you don't have the energy to strain yourself. Your head is pounding, and there's a bandage around your ankle. Your eyes fall on the door. A nurse has her ear cupped to it. Heavy eyelids take their reign over you. The voice fades into the darkness, leaving you cold and lost.

When you finally open your eyes again, there is a face hanging over you. You slowly blink.

"Sleep well?" McGonagall inquires. Her glasses hang low on the bridge of her nose. You're afraid they might fall on you if she stays much longer.

You nod. "What time is it?"

McGonagall steps back, bringing her wristwatch into frame. She tilts her head. "Around 2:30. It's Thursday. You've been here nearly twenty-four hours, you know?"

You fight to sit up. Imaginary weights drag you back. "Don't expel Hyunjin," you find yourself saying, though the words seem foreign. You're not even sure you spoke them in your native tongue.

"Sorry?"

"I said," you pause, taking a deep breath, "Don't expel Hyunjin. It's not his fault."

McGonagall juts out her chin, pursing her lips. "And why shouldn't I?"

You sigh, as though you cannot believe that you're defending Hwang Hyunjin. "I was careless. I strayed from the path to Hagrid's because I saw a stupid flower. If it weren't for Hyunjin, I'd probably be dead meat."

She hums, removing her glasses and pointing the golden frames towards you. "So my plan, it worked?"

"What plan?"

"Of getting you two to mature and see each other as equals."

"I don't know about the whole equals thing-"

"Hush, I don't want to hear it. You two will meet in my office Saturday morning, I expect. I'll send a reminder tomorrow evening," McGonagall huffs, turning to leave. Her heels clobber against the tile all the way to the end of the hall.

Within no time, the nurse is at your bedside, offering you a glass of water and a blonde potion. "Can I get you anything else?" she asks, interlacing her fingers and resting them on the pocket of her apron.

You glance at your ankle. "What happened?"

She offers a weak smile. "I wouldn't be able to tell you. Ask that blond boy who brought you in. I'm sure he knows. Or at least, he'll be able to point you in the right direction."

You slowly nod. "Thank you."

"Yes, dear. Oh, and you should be able to return to your dormitory as soon as you're ready. Take it easy."

When she's disappeared into the office by the set of doors, you sigh. What mess did Hwang Hyunjin get you into? More accurately, what mess did you get yourself into? You can't even find it in you to be mad at him, though logically you should be. Especially with the way he stroked your hair before you fainted. At that moment, he seemed like an angel. A blond-headed angel, whose blood was tainted with the venom of snakes.

Even so, none of this would have happened had he not stormed off. And you'll remind yourself that every time an endearing thought crosses your mind. He may have saved you, but he had essentially set you as bait. Indirectly, but still.

Near dinnertime, you leave the infirmary to freshen up. Your hair was matted and there was dirt smudged on your cheeks. After a quick shower, wary of your wrapped foot, you hobble to the dining hall. Before you settle with a questioning Seo Changbin, you glance at the empty spot of the infamous Slytherin section. The setting sun failed to cast a glow on blond hair, for he was not there. Perhaps he had been pulled from school, and McGonagall has yet to hear the news. Or maybe he's punishing himself for even going after you. Regardless, a swollen hole burns through your chest. It sparks irritation as you push around tonight's meal with the tip of your fork.

"Hey, what happened to your ankle? Did Hyunjin do something? Why aren't you answering my questions? Why are you sulking?" Changbin racks off. "Hello? Anybody in there?" He nudges your shoulder.

"I don't know what happened. I need to talk to Hyunjin about it," you simply say, finally forcing yourself to eat the food. Despite not eating for nearly two days, you felt no sense of hunger. In fact, you felt as though you were about to explode. As if you had eaten too much.

"Ah, I see. You're sulking because you have to talk to Hyunjin."

"I don't think it's that," you sigh, slumping as you look back to his spot. Still, it's empty.

"Then what's the problem?"

You think hard about what you say next. You can't tell him about this weird concoction brewing in your chest, for he'll run with it and send the school into another Battle of Hogwarts. "I just feel off. I don't know."

Jisung nudges your shin from beneath the table. You look up to him. He mouths, slowly and deliberately, "Are you okay?"

You nod, half-certain.

Changbin continues to pester you, despite the lack of responses. Even when you stand to return your tray, he follows. All the way to the common room, he sticks close, leaning over you to whisper more questions. You can't even fathom how he hasn't run out yet.

He grabs your shoulders, spinning you around. "Look at me."

Your eyes feel slow as they scan for his. He continues, "I don't know what's gotten into you, but if you need to talk about it, I am here for you. If it's about Hyunjin, I won't run off to tell him, okay? Family before friends."

"Thanks, Binnie," you force a smile, before breaking away from his grasp and closing the gap to your room. You gently close the door before plummeting onto your bed.

viii.

Hyunjin fails to appear to any class other than Professor Nam's. His seat, though filled, holds a barren figure with bags pulling at his eyes. He spares you a small smile when he catches your stare. He even offers a spare remark about your shoes. "Don't you think it's time to retire those, Y/N? They're all shabby."

But that's all he can bring himself to say. When he turns back in his seat, he slumps a little. Seungmin whispers something to him, and his head barely shakes in response.

You try not to stare at the back of his head. Even it seems to have lost some kind of sparkle to it. The bell blares its dismissal, and the class evacuates immediately. You take your time, for Hwang Hyunjin appears to be in no rush.

"Hey, what's wrong with you?" you block his way when he tries to pass without a single word. "Don't you need to get your quota of insults in? The week's over, bud."

He looks at you like he's never met you. "Oh. Sorry."

He pushes through, brushing past your shoulder. Gently. Not the usual brash interaction.

You huff, stumbling after him. "We need to talk."

"Go ahead."

"Not if you're gonna be like this. C'mon, I wore my ugliest pair of pants to try and get a rouse from you."

He spares a glance at the bright plaid trousers. "Nice."

You smack his shoulder. "What is the matter with you?"

He shrugs. "I don't know."

You stop walking, merely watching as he continues down the hall. There's no point in this, you realize. Arguing with this Hyunjin is like talking to a brick wall encased by another brick wall. Things will resume to their normal pace in due time.

You pull yourself to the Gryffindor common room, barricading yourself in your room. The moment your head connects with your pillow, a single tear falls. It's hot against your cheek.

At quarter to six, you decide to skip out on dinner. You're not sure what you'd do if you saw him sitting at his table, drawn back from the usual conversations with Seungmin.

A card slips under your door, scraping against the hardwood. You sit up to retrieve it. On the front, in large, careful cursive letters is your name. A small letter is inside, reading, "Do not forget our meeting tomorrow morning. 9:00 A.M. sharp. If you are not here, I will have someone fetch you."

You begin laughing. McGonagall's going to have a fit when she sees you and Hyunjin. A vivacious boy with a tongue for quips turned hollow and you, a Gryffindor with a newfound fear of facing him.

ix.

The back of his neck is marked crimson by the amount of times he scratches it during that meeting. His gaze averts yours, even when you know you've burnt a hole in his cheek.

"I'm sure you're aware why I've called you in," McGonagall sighs, crossing her arms as she leans against her desk.

You force your gaze to rest on her, slowly shaking your head.

"I have no choice but to dismiss our project we had."

"You mean making us do chores together?" you question, sure Hyunjin would be proud of you for such a comment. When you glance at him, he doesn't even spare a blink out of routine.

"Well, if you view it as such I'm afraid I can't change that," she nods. You know that if Hyunjin had said that, he'd be getting yelled at. Good day to hold the Gryffindor title, you dejectedly admit.

She scans Hyunjin's face for any sign of life. "You in there, Mr. Hwang?"

His head shifts upward toward her. "Yes, sorry."

"You're awfully quiet," she mentions. He shrugs, returning his eyes to his lap. He fidgets with the dark wood at the tip of his wand.

"Well, if there are no further objections, you are free to leave."

Hyunjin runs with these words, taking his bag and rushing out. He barely even offers a polite quip. You follow him out, a few distancing steps in between. He heads for the Slytherin tower. For a moment, you consider calling out and inviting him to lunch. But you don't. Instead, you go back to the Gryffindor common room, nestling in for a game of chess with Changbin. He's not very good, but at least it serves as a laughing distraction.

The sun falls over the horizon rather slowly, as though someone tugs it back on a pulley system. Changbin wishes you goodnight a bit past eight, leaving you with a distant desire to study. You shuffle to your dorm, preparing to stare absentmindedly at a textbook, when your eyes fall over the emerald robe.

Hmm, you think. Should I? Or should I not? Well, he has been very weird. And you're overly curious. It's swallowing your life.

You sigh, picking it up and swinging it over your shoulders. You pull the hood up, slipping back out into the common room. The students continue their nightly games of Mafia. Not a single set of eyes shoot at you.

Breaking curfew is punishable by copious amounts of detention. Good thing you're invisible to the guard wandering the halls.

Sneaking into the Slytherin tower is rather easy, given the circumstances. The cobblestone corridor leads you to a darkened room emblazoned by the crackle of fire. A blond boy lays on the gray carpet, his eyes vacant as he blinks at the ceiling. His friend sits on a leather couch, shrugging as he says, "I don't know man, you've just been so weird lately."

Absently, the boy on the carpet mumbles, "Sorry, I guess."

"C'mon, talk to me. I'm your best friend, Hyunjin," Seungmin sighs. He rubs a distressed finger across his brow.

Hyunjin shakes his head. "There's just this weird feeling in my chest."

"What?" Seungmin leans forward on the couch, dangling his hand close to the boy's face.

He leans out of the way as he sits up, resting his palm on his heart. "I can't explain it. I feel full all of a sudden?"

"How long have you been like this?"

"Ever since the hippogriff situation."

Seungmin falls back against the plush of the couch. His mouth is agape until a smile creeps upon him and he laughs. "I hate to break this to you, Hyunjin, but I think you've developed a crush."

Your heart catches in your throat like a rock you're incapable of swallowing. It thrums louder than the conversation unfolding. Hyunjin's lips are loose as he glances around the room. His eyes sit on you a little too long, and you slowly back into the corridor.

What do you do with this information?

x.

A harsh sneeze interrupts your slumber. You glance around through tired eyes. It's still dark in the room. Your roommate is snoring lightly.

You rest back onto the mattress, trying your hardest to dismiss a quiet cough. A bead of sweat trickles down your neck. Just what you need, you think as you shut your eyes. Maybe this is karma for sneaking into Hyunjin's space.

You hate the euphoria you experienced when you settled into bed that night. Heart a fluttering mess and cheeks pummeled with heat. Changbin would kill to hear this. Both ends. Regardless, though, you feel way too guilty to talk to Hyunjin. Some crushes are best suppressed, you think. A Slytherin-Gryffindor duo traditionally doesn't end well.

By the time you fall asleep, the sun has begun to rise. Then, by the time you wake up, the sun is ready to fall. You moan when your roommate asks if you're feeling alright. Her shivering hand comes in contact with your forehead. "Oh my God, you're burning up!"

You hiss, trying to pull your covers over your head. She tugs them back down.

"You should go to the infirmary," she says. "I'll help you there."

Hesitantly, you sit up. There's a sour taste in your mouth that burns the back of your throat. A quick palm jumps to your lips as you rush to the bathroom.

"Here," Jihyo comes close behind you. She offers a Ginger Ale.

"Thanks," you say, rubbing your mouth with the back of your hand. You take a quick swig of it, swishing it around before spitting it into the toilet.

Jihyo leads you out of the room with an arm around your shoulder. The common room is empty, aside from a few who sit behind vast textbooks. "Everyone's at dinner," she informs.

You don't have the energy to nod. It's hard enough trying to keep a straight path, even when you're leaning against her shoulder.

"Welcome back," the nurse jokes. You try to smile.

She takes your temperature after Jihyo tells her your situation. "Ooh. 101. Thank you for bringing them, sweetheart."

You take to a bed, slowly leaning to sit on it. Jihyo leaves shortly after, telling you to seek her if you need anything.

"How's your ankle doing?" the nurse asks as she offers you a cup of pills (a fever reducer and an anti inflammatory).

After you struggle to swallow them, you say (through a crackly voice), "Good, I guess. Still haven't gotten the story to it."

She presses her lips into a line, "That boy. I'll have to talk to him."

A strange light feeling punctures your heart. She pushes gently on your shoulders, forcing you to lie down. "Get some rest, dear."

Sleep comes very naturally. There's only a few moments where you struggle to return to it. The next day, the nurse brings you a cup of pudding for breakfast. You ask her what time it is.

"It's around 10. Monday."

You sigh. "I'm missing classes."

"I'm sure your professors won't mind, given you're still feverish," she checks your forehead with the back of her hand.

You eat the pudding in solidarity, watching the small TV across from you. It's displaying The Desperate Housewives of the Wizarding World. It's on all day, which is fine by you, since you're not leaving anytime soon. The final dismissal bell jumps you from your daze.

Only a few moments pass before the large doors swing, followed by the pattering of feet. "Y/N!"

Jisung rushes toward you, his burgundy robes trailing behind him. He pushes his round frames up. "Are you okay? I heard from Jihyo."

You nod. "Yeah, I feel a bit better now."

His hand finds your shoulder and he shakes you gently. "You're not going to believe this."

Your thoughts jump to Hyunjin and your eyes widen eagerly as you wait for him to continue.

"Hyunjin was whining all day about you. He was all 'where are they?' and stuff. Did something happen when McGonagall started that chore thing?"

You fight a grossly parasitical smile, shaking your head. "No. Nothing really."

He stays a little longer, telling you things you missed from the classes you share. As he's departing, you stop him. "Hey, Sung, I got a question."

He turns back to you. "Shoot."

"Can I borrow that magic note passing thing you bought on vacation?"

The good thing about Jisung is he doesn't ask questions. So long as you're not harming anyone, he'll do just about anything for you. He simply returns ten minutes later, gently placing the notepad on the table beside you. "You just write your note and address it. It should be sent immediately. Oh, and the other person receives a pen too," he informs, passing you a normal looking pen.

"Thank you, I owe you."

He waves his hand. "Nah, it's no big deal."

You pick up the pad of paper. It appears no different from normal paper, though it smells rather lemony. You rethink the words over and over before you finally settle. In the center of the paper, you write: I heard you missed me :)

Then, you address it before you can find a reason to regret this.

xi.

You cannot find yourself an ounce of sleep, so you stare at the television screen. It's still playing reruns. A paper fizzles into your lap, the corners materializing before the center. Your note reads back to you. You flip it over, where a new pattern of ink lay.

To Y/N: I'm going to murder Han Jisung.

Your laugh echoes in the large, empty infirmary. The nurse has gone to her quarters, now that the sun has set.

You write back, He has cool magic though!

Not only because it's true, but because you would like to keep this conversation going for just a little longer. Even if it is useless and greedy to want something like this from him.

Few seconds pass before the paper returns. To Y/N: I will give him that. I didn't even know this was a thing. Can we meet up in the Charms hall?

You bring your hand to your forehead. After Jisung's visit and your nutritious dinner of pudding, you feel much better. Like normal, even. Plus, the nurse had told you it's up to you when you want to return to daily life.

So you gather your things and return to your dorm. "Hi, Jihyo," you say quickly before rushing to shower. She is left in a dismal state of shock, staring at the bathroom door.

"I'm meeting up with someone, don't wait up for me," you inform as you pull a sweater on.

"Who?" she asks, bouncing her wand as she jiggles a paper midair.

You glance at her as you pull shoes on. "Classified info."

"Just say it's Hyunjin," she starts. "I can read you like a book."

You giggle. "Then fine, it's Hyunjin."

"Don't set the school on fire, please. I would like to finish my seventh year in peace."

"I don't plan on it."

"Be safe!" she calls as you open the door.

"I will."

You shuffle through the common room and out into the halls. Curfew was nearing. Maybe you should've grabbed your invisibility cloak.

In all honesty, you weren't sure why you were doing this. Until the glimmer of blond hair beneath the moonlight pierces your view. Knowing fills your chest, warm fairies dazzling your skin.

He looks up to you, a smile rushing onto his face. "I thought you weren't gonna show."

"Well, I suppose you're in luck."

He grabs your wrist when you're in reach, "Come on, I wanna show you something."

You allow him to pull you out to the courtyard. A little way's past the quidditch fields, there is a flower box. Filled to the brim with peonies and lilies. There's even a couple pink azaleas.

"Tada," he says, opening his arms to the post.

"You snuck me out of the castle to look at flowers?" you laugh.

"Not just any flowers," he points, crouching down to look at them. "Healing flowers."

"Really?" you inquire.

He looks up at you. Beneath the moonlight, his hair shines and his eyes twinkle amongst the stars. "Yeah. They heal everything."

"How do you even know about this?"

He shrugs, looking into the stamen of a certain peony. "My mom's a flower nerd. When she called most recently, she told me about this spot."

You crouch beside him, "Did she plant these?"

"Some of them. I think she likes azaleas, so probably those."

Your heart skips a beat. "Do you like the azaleas?"

"I-"

From behind you, a voice shouts, "Now I can't keep you away from each other?"

In sync, you look back. McGonagall is standing at the top of the hill, her arms crossed against her silk black robes. "Come on, you two, it's past curfew."

You dawdle up the hill, slightly limping on your ankle. You suppose you should have asked him about it.

When you meet McGonagall, she whispers, "By the way, I'm getting more eyes on you two. No more late night meetings."

xii.

The moon takes its reign in the sky, passing time as though it never wants to leave the throne. There's a waft of nutmeg traveling through the vents. Felix must be baking again.

The lamp on your bedside table clicks on. You look over to Jihyo, who is very much asleep. Her mouth hangs open and her limbs are flailed in varying directions.

A piece of paper forms against your chest. To Y/N: I'm sorry for getting you in trouble.

You shake your head, heart taking fire, as you search for a small piece of room to write: It's okay, I willingly went with you.

You wonder why he's awake. More importantly, why he's apologizing. He's never been one for owning up to anything, so why start now and here?

Within minutes, you receive the paper. To Y/N: I guess she can't police these notes haha

In return, you write: I hope not. Can you smell that nutmeg?

To Y/N: YES IT KEEPS TICKLING MY NOSE!!

To Hyunjin: It's probably just Felix, so I'm letting it slide this once.

To Y/N: Even then, I'm still considering killing him.

To Hyunjin: Same time you're gonna kill Jisung?

To Y/N: Yeah, actually. Thank you for reminding me.

You stifle a laugh, cautiously looking at Jihyo. She releases an abrupt snore, which stands in solitude.

To Hyunjin: Hey btw, do you know what happened to my ankle?

A few moments turn into minutes of twirling your thumbs for a response. The nutmeg retracts its intensity, leaving room for the Sandman to tarnish your eyes with the temptation of sleep. You grow tired of waiting, turning off your lamp and settling into the covers.

Morning comes, but the receiving message does not. You prepare for your day, following the stream of students to the dining hall. Hyunjin is already there, and his eyebags prove his late night. He looks up upon Seungmin's pointing, offering you a wave and a grin.

Nice Hyunjin is so weird.

You smile back. Changbin waits at the end of the food line by the time you get there. "Hey, heard you got caught with Hwang last night," he nudges your arm, raising his eyebrows.

"Nothing happened," you assure.

He nods, though he's not sure he believes you.

You grab a muffin and a carton of orange juice before following Changbin to Jisung, who is nursing a bowl of burnt oatmeal.

"How can you eat that shit?" Changbin grimaces.

You steal a glance in Hyunjin's direction. He's playing a rather intense game of rock, paper, scissors, with another Slytherin. After several rounds of ties, he finally beats the other with scissors. He pumps his balled fists into the air and laughs. His hair falls over his shoulders when he throws his head back.

He looks beautiful.

Maybe you were succumbing to the greed of this desire to be near him. So what if he was a Slytherin? He could be a Hufflepuff and no one would care if you two began seeing each other as more than friends. So why should anyone care if he's a Slytherin?

Jisung presses the tip of his wand against your cheek. "Hello?"

You hastily turn back to him, nearly redirecting his wand into your iris. He flinches back. "Zoned out much?"

"Sorry," you mumble, peeling the wrapper from your muffin.

"It's all good. I was asking if you're coming to Hogsmeade with us this weekend."

You tilt your head, as if the answer is teetering to one side of your brain. "I don't know."

"Come on," Changbin whines. "You've been so disconnected from us recently."

"Plus," Jisung adds, "This is gonna be the last weekend until April."

It's October. You sigh. "Fine. I suppose I'll tag along. But you guys are paying for butterbeer."

You probably would have gone anyway, despite how little you showed interest. Hearing their pitiful whines was just too fun.

"Good. Invite your boyfriend," Changbin nods to Hyunjin, who is walking down the aisle to get breakfast. He marks your gaze, turning a bit to come talk to you. A heat jumps to your chest, slowly rising to your face as he claims the seat beside you.

"Hi," he simpers, his eyes squinted and his teeth glimmering beneath the drowning sunlight.

"Hi," you return the expression. Not because you have to out of politeness, no, but because it's so hard not to.

"Are you going to Hogsmeade this weekend?" he asks, the smile quickly dissipating when he realizes Changbin is just over your shoulder. Eyes of a hawk, that one has.

You open your mouth to speak, but Changbin has already gathered his words. "Yes. They're coming with us."

You thrust your elbow back, nailing right between his ribs. He wheezes, doubling over. "Yeah, I'm going," you tell Hyunjin.

"Good. Meet me at the sweet shop around one," he pauses, turning to Jisung, "I won't keep them long. Promise."

Jisung shakes a free hand as he pools oatmeal onto his spoon, "No, it's fine. Take as long as you need."

Hyunjin smiles. "Nice. Okay, I'll see you later," he stands, patting your shoulder as he walks by.

"What a nice guy," Changbin manages with a smile, though he's still clutching his chest.

xiii.

His gaze is tilted upward as he watches the chocolate dragonflies dart to and fro across the ceiling. There's the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of his lip. It twitches ever so slightly when a dragonfly threatens to sit on his nose.

"Hey," you greet. He jumps a little, turning to you. The chocolate bug has vanished, fluttering up to its haven.

"Oh, hi. I didn't think you'd get here so quick," he laughs.

You glance at your wrist. "It's 1:05."

He shrugs. "Aren't Gryffindors normally late?"

"Aren't Slytherins not the type to wait around for a Gryffindor?" you retaliate.

He nods, pointing a finger at you as his eyebrows furrow. "Touche."

He buys you a chocolate frog, despite your complaints that you could pay for your own. "No, no, it's on me," he insisted, shoving his money into the cashier's palm before you can say much else.

You perch atop floating stools, staring at him as he tries to wrangle his frog. His mouth hangs open with anticipation as he tries to guide it there. There's a tug at your chest that compels you to smile.

"So why'd you want to meet with me? I thought you were still in your sulky phase," you tease.

He looks up at you. There's a film of innocence to them. For a moment, you forget his reputation. He blinks, summoning a twinkle to the corner of his right eye. "I wanted to ask you for some advice," he finally says, rather confidently. His posture straightens and a cocky smile finds his lips. The Hyunjin you know.

"You didn't knock a girl up, did you? Because I will not be helping you get out of that one. You may be cool, but not that cool," you ramble.

His frog jumps from his palm, hopping away into the niche of chocolate animals with a poised ribbit. Hyunjin rolls his eyes, though a contradicting smile forms. "I was looking for this spell."

You lean closer, interested. "And? Which one?"

"Amortentia."

You pull back. That's a love potion. "Why would you need that?"

He sucks air in through his teeth, glancing away as he informs, "Well, I wanted to use it on you, but I thought maybe it's best not to drug you."

You laugh despite the thundering of your chest. Your fingers find the corner of a Wizard

Card, routinely picking at it to distract yourself. Hesitantly, you mumble,"What are you trying to say here?"

"God, Gryffindors are so dense," he throws his head back, a bubbling laugh bursting into

the air.

"No, I just want to hear you say it."

He groans, gaze slipping back to yours, "I like you a little bit."

"A little bit?" you challenge, recalling his fit in the Slytherin common room.

Hyunjin rests his arms on the table as he leans closer to you, your noses nearly touching. "It sounds like someone told you something. You don't seem very surprised," he hesitates before adding a quiet, "or appalled."

His lips are so close to yours. You can smell his green apple chapstick. You find yourself at a loss for words, for his lips keep your gaze. Oh, what the hell. You close the gap between you, allowing your lips to mingle for a few seconds before pulling away. There's a small giggle to your words as you say, "You're not good at hiding your emotions, Hwang Hyunjin. Aren't Slytherins supposed to be good at stuff like that?"

He scoffs. "Aren't Gryffindors supposed to be noble? You snuck into the Slytherin common room!"

"How'd you know?"

He chuckles, "Your shoulder kinda slipped out of the cloak."

This takes a minute to process. It seems like your usage of the invisibility cloak will now be put on hold. You can only look at the oak table, lips pursed in a disappointing defeat.

You rotate your ankles in small circles when you remember. "Hey, by the way, why was my ankle all messed up? You never answered my letter."

"Seungmin came in," he grabs your hand. "But when I was carrying you back to the castle I may have been a little careless and let your ankle run through a bush of thorns."

You smack his arm with your free hand, mouth agape. "You what?"

"It was an accident! I'll make it up to you," he promises.

"How so?"

He draws your lips to his for a quick peck. "What do you want?"

You think, squinting. "Hmm. I can get anything?"

"Within reason," he declares. "I'm not buying you a unicorn or anything."

You shake your head, for what you want is much more simple. "Can we go on cute dates?"

He hums, interlacing your fingers. "Of course."

"Oh! And we have to go to the Yule Ball together-"

"Sure."

"But we're wearing Gryffindor colors."

He drops your hand, pulling away as if your fingertips scalded him. "Absolutely not."

"C'mon, you owe me."

"Not that much. Your ankle will heal. My pride, however, will not."

You sigh. "Fine, we can settle for non-house colors."

"Deal."

xiv.

"I saw him playing with your fingers," Changbin shakes you vehemently after you sit down at the dining table.

"Why won't you let this go?" you ask.

"Well, you see, when a guy who traditionally hates someone randomly asks them to hang out, their friends should be a little concerned."

You look to Jisung, who is more interested in his soup. "Did you watch us too?" you ask.

He barely looks up. "No, I was at the book shop—I think."

You turn back to Changbin, though he's already shaking his hands in defense. "No, the difference between me and Jisung is-"

"That Jisung's smarter than you?" Hyunjin appears, sitting on the bench beside you.

"Yeah, I think it's that," you nod, sharing his smirked gaze.

"No," Changbin defends, "Jisung is only concerned for physical wellbeing after the fact. I care prior to the event happening."

"If we all lived your way, we'd be sheltered," Jisung adds, twirling his spoon.

They dive into a heated discussion bordering an argument. Hyunjin wraps his arm around you, and the sounds of Changbin whining fades to black. You look up at him, "Shouldn't you be sitting with Seungmin?"

He shakes his head. "I got banished for talking too much about you."

You roll your eyes. "Don't sacrifice your friends because of me."

"Hey, you're the one who makes me this way. If I could not be 'Y/N would like this' every time I saw anything that even remotely reminded me of you, trust me, I would."

"Do you really do that?"

"Any time I see flowers," he sheepishly admits. He catches glimpses of the flower beds every day, nearly four times. Sometimes five if he sneaks out to see you.

You chuckle. "Just say you're in love with me, geez."

"I don't want to inflate your ego," he kisses your temple.

A stray comment from Changbin floats into your bubble, "Gross!"

"Speaking of egos, do you have your suit for the ball?" you ask, pushing your spoon into the sea of spinach and kale.

"I guess I should tell my mom about that," he mumbles.

"Hyunjin! The ball is in a week!"

"Yeah, and I also need to tell her we're dating," he laughs dryly, suddenly absorbed with something down the aisle.

You shrug his arm off of your shoulder. "What? It's been nearly a month!"

He looks back at you as if you're arguing over spilled milk. "Life at the Hwangs is very hectic, okay?"

"He's lying," Changbin says. "They only see each other, pay the kids, and leave."

Hyunjin looks ready to punch the sly grin off of his face. Instead, he pats your thigh. "I'll call her tonight."

xv.

He calls to you from across the bustling room. You stand in awe as your eyes lay upon the black velvet of his blazer. In the chest pocket is a red and gold handkerchief, folded to perfection.

"You look great," he simpers, eyes slipping from your exposed collarbone down to the dark green fabric that expands out from your blanketed feet.

He wraps an arm around your waist, whispering, "You're wearing my color."

Butterflies take reign over your stomach, swarming out in packs. You grow shy as he pulls away.

"You look stunning," he presses a soft kiss on your lips.

He drags you over to Seungmin, who chats with Minho in carefully structured quips.

Seungmin takes a long look at your gown, smiling as he comments, "Slytherin colors."

"You know," Hyunjin turns to you, "I was going to get a red suit but they were incredibly ugly so I'm settling for a handkerchief."

You smile up at him, "It's okay, the sentiment is there."

Minho dismisses himself when he spots a cat swaying between dancing feet. Its eyes are wide with fright as it stares up at the unfamiliar faces in search of its owner. Seungmin smiles fondly as he watches the boy pick up the cat, delicately taking it out of the room.

"Where are Thing One and Thing Two?" Hyunjin inquires, leaning against the bar.

You scan the hall. "I'm not sure. Changbin said he'd be here. Jisung might skip out."

Seungmin laughs unexpectedly, receiving a few confused glares in return. He soon clarifies after taking a sip of water, "I was thinking about Changbin having a date. Weird."

He certainly doesn't have a date. When he arrives, the ball is nearly over and his tie is messily made up.

"Did you get dressed in the dark?" Seungmin stares as he approaches.

"Yes, actually. Long story."

A slower song comes on. It's a change in scenery from the previous publike songs. Hyunjin offers you his hand, dramatically asking, "May I have this dance?"

Your hand slips into his, "You may."

He guides you to an empty spot near the edges of the dance crowd, swiftly tucking his arms around your waist. You nestle yours around his neck. For a few seconds, you stare into his big brown eyes, watching as the twinkle shifts in the light. You fight a smile.

"What's the smile for?"

"Nothing," you say, pressing your cheek to his chest so you can grin in peace.

He sighs, though a vibration in his chest tells you he's also laughing. "I know we tease each other a lot, but I love you."

Your heart skips a beat and your breath clogs up in your throat, though your smile never falters. Each day that has passed, it has grown harder to fight saying those words. When you return them, you feel lighter. As though you have relinquished thirty pounds from your shoulders.

"Don't tell anyone I'm getting sappy with a Gryffindor," he fake gags.

"Same to you, snake."

You smile in these moments. With music guiding your feet and a boy who warms your heart, despite his stereotypically shivering attributes. He rests his chin atop your head as he repeats those cursed words, grounding you with him more and more each time. He's yours. And you're his.

Perhaps it's always been that way.