#can feel so lonely calling into the void. thank you to everyone who's ever commented‚ ever left a kind tag. appreciate you guys

[poppiesforthirteen]

sappy hours don't look at me

[cadence-talle]

Lavender-Inked Silence

Pairing: Fitz Vacker/Keefe Sencen

Wordcount: 1,883

Summary: Peer grading isn’t fun by any measure, but they can trust each other not to judge. And it’s nice, having a little note to look at before he goes home and has to explain to his father why he only got a 95 on the science test. 

(Keefe keeps all these notes in a box under his bed, ripping them out of tests and rereading them when he can’t sleep. He’s not quite sure why, but they help.)

(There are quite a lot of notes, over the years.)

Notes: Thanks to @loverofallthingssmart for the prompt and @vibing-in-the-void for betaing! (Also for coming up with the title “a for effort, g for gay”, which is the best thing i’ve ever heard. 

Taglist: @everyonehasthoughts, @clearlykeefitz, @loverofallthingssmart, @a-lonely-tatertot, @enbies-and-felonies, @molly-sencen, @lemontarto, @appalyneinstitute1, @ruewen-and-rising, @silver-snow, @linhamon-roll, @hyperlollypop, @never-ever-too-many-fandoms, @keeper-of-the-lost-queers, @impostertamsong, @vibing-in-the-void, @yeetersofthelostcities, @mistythegirlfluxmess, @diamond-dreamerr, @we-have-no-bananas-today, @an-absolute-travesty

(Sometimes, there are words that can’t be understood.)

Spelling tests are, in Keefe’s opinion, the worst thing in the world. 

Some words are easy; “fan”, for example, or “kitten”. They’re written exactly how they sound, so Keefe has no problem with them. It’s only with others that he gets tripped up, the extra vowels and unnecessary consonants, combined with Keefe’s terrible spelling, twisting words into unrecognizable shapes. 

The worst part is, he knows most of these words- he’s seen them in books his father has made him read. He can see the letters in his mind, can see the definition of the word. When he tries to write them down, though, it turns into something completely different. 

“Neither,” the teacher says, walking slowly around the room. “Neither. ‘Not the one nor the other of two people or things; not either’. Neither.”

Niether, Keefe writes, then scribbles it out and changes it to netheir. That doesn’t look right either, but the teacher has already moved on. 

“All right, last one,” she calls as Keefe adds a bill and tiny feet to the duck he’s doodled earlier. “Beer. ‘An alcoholic drink made from yeast-fermented malt flavored with hops.’ Beer.”

To be quite honest, Keefe is pretty sure he knows how to spell beer. Although, with everything he’s learned about spelling, it’s very possible there’s another vowel in there somewhere. Maybe an a? 

But that would be bear, and time’s running out. 

Baer, he scribbles down just as the teacher comes to collect his paper. She gives it a cursory glance, raising an eyebrow in an expression that reminds Keefe of his father. “We’ll be partner-grading these,” she says cooly. “So when you get someone else’s test, I’ll put the answers on the board and you can mark which ones are wrong.”

Keefe sighs a little, tapping the edge of his desk with his pencil. He’s positive he got almost everything wrong, and now one of his classmates will know too. 

Figures. 

He corrects the (few) errors on the test he’s given angrily, not even glancing at the name on the top until he’s done. When he does, his stomach drops a little. 

Fitzroy A. Vacker, the signature at the top reads. Fitz; one of the best students in their class, so well known he can’t walk down the hall without being high-fived. And if Keefe has his test, that means-

“Here you go.” Keefe’s test drops back onto his desk, the other boy appearing next to him. Wordlessly, Keefe hands him his test. Fitz nods and walks back to his seat, and Keefe picks up the paper. 

It’s not as bad as he was expecting. He made a lot of mistakes, true- apparently beer is not, in fact, spelled with an a- but there are no rude comments. Just corrections made in light purple pen. 

And in the corner, next to Keefe’s halfhearted doodle of a duck, is a little note. 

I like your drawing, it says, and then, you’re a really good artist. 

You’re a really good artist. 

No one’s ever said that to Keefe. Art isn’t a thing he’s good at, because it’s not a thing he does for fun- it’s not a thing he’s allowed to do for fun. 

But here, out of the blue, this compliment from someone he barely knows because he drew a stupid duck.

Keefe stares at the paper and smiles. 

(He doesn’t know, not yet. But this, in the form of a lavender-inked note on a spelling test, is the start of something amazing.)

-/-

He doesn’t talk to Fitz, of course. That would be stupid. They’re not friends, so no matter how much he’d like to thank the other boy, he doesn’t. He stays silent, keeps to himself, doesn’t ask his father to arrange a playdate. (Father would be overjoyed if he asked. That’s probably why Keefe doesn't.)  

No, he doesn’t do anything until they have a math quiz.

Keefe is actually pretty good at math. Addition and subtraction have always come easy to him, so he breezes through the questions and is done with time to spare. When Fitz’s quiz lands on his desk again, he’s barely even surprised; they’ll probably just be partnered up for the rest of the year. 

He is surprised, though, when the grade comes out to an 85/100. Not bad, but not good either; certainly not what Keefe would have expected for everyone’s favorite Golden Boy.

But then he remembers the way his father had sneered when he’d come home with his spelling test. The hours he’d had to study on a subject he didn’t understand, words swimming in front of his eyes.

Everyone’s bound to have one bad subject. Maybe this is Fitz’s. 

So Keefe puts a little :) next to the grade, writing great job! before standing up and handing it off to Fitz. The other boy looks at the paper, his face scrunching up as he reads the grade then melting into surprise when he sees the note. 

“Thanks,” he says, looking up at Keefe. “You too.”

(Sometimes, there are words that can’t be understood. Things that can’t be said out loud for fear of breaking them.) 

(But Fitz’s smile, right then, speaks volumes.)

-/-

By third grade, Fitz has switched to using a sky blue pen, and by fifth, he’s writing with green. One thing never changes, though- he and Keefe are always in the same class, and they always grade each other’s work. 

It’s more a decision than a teacher-mandated thing. Peer grading isn’t fun by any measure, but they can trust each other not to judge. And it’s nice, having a little note to look at before he goes home and has to explain to his father why he only got a 95 on the science test. 

(Keefe keeps all these notes in a box under his bed, ripping them out of tests and rereading them when he can’t sleep. He’s not quite sure why, but they help.)

(There are quite a lot of notes, over the years.)

CHEMICAL CHANGES QUIZ: Fitzroy A. Vacker, Class 302

98/100. Pretty sure a flame test isn’t setting something on fire, but good job anyway! I drew you a flower in compinsashun so you would feel better. -Keefe

Basic Fractions Worksheet: Keefe S, Class 401 

100/100! You’re so good at math. -Fitz

Exports & Taxation in the American Revolution: Fitz Vacker, Class 503

100/100. This was really good! I couldn’t stop laughing at the sentence “the colonists rebelled by throwing tea in the ocean”, though. -Keefe

(And there are others, too, not written on schoolwork; tiny messages scrawled in the margin of a sheet of paper and folded into a tight square.)

(Blue ones.)

I passed the principal on my way to class. She’s… not happy. Did you really cover her office in paint? -F

They have no proof. -K

(Green ones.)

Hey, can you come over this afternoon? -K

Yeah, sure. What’s up? -F

I just… I don't want to be alone with my parents. They’re always… nicer. When you’re around. -K

Ok. -F

(And in eighth grade, when Fitz has run out of different colors of pens and is back to purple, there are purple ones.)

Are you going to Stina’s party next weekend? -F

I might. If you’re there. -K

(Sometimes, there are words that can’t be understood. Things that can’t be said out loud for fear of breaking them. Of breaking yourself.) 

(There are a lot of messages. None of them mean much.)

(Keefe keeps them anyway.)

-/-

The house is packed, people laughing and whooping over the loud music. The lights are flashing, there’s something suspiciously bitter in the punch, and almost everyone here is a stranger. 

Keefe’s been at this party for five minutes. He already regrets coming. 

In the crowd, someone lets out a high shout. Fitz flinches slightly at Keefe’s side, taking a step closer to the other boy. 

“You want to get out of here?” Keefe murmurs in his ear. Fitz nods and they turn towards the door. 

The diner they stop at on the way home is bright, but the lights are constant and the slowly rotating cheesecake in the display case is as familiar as it is inedible. Keefe breathes a sigh of relief. “That was terrible,” he says, taking a seat at the counter. Fitz laughs. 

“It really was, wasn’t it? I think most of the people there were highschoolers.”

Keefe nods, thanking the man behind the bar who’s handed him a burger. Fitz is drinking a strawberry milkshake.

“Honestly, I don’t want to go to high school if that’s what people are like.”

Fitz raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think you have much of a choice there, unfortunately.”

“Eh, I don’t know.” Keefe takes a bite of his burger, chewing thoughtfully. “I could always just get held back a year. Wouldn’t be too hard, with my track record.”

Fitz laughs again, bright and happy under the fluorescent lights. Keefe watches him, watches the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, the way his nose scrunches up. He’s beautiful. 

Beautiful. Where did that come from? 

(Sometimes, there are words that can’t be understood. Things that can’t be said out loud for fear of breaking them. Of breaking yourself. Sometimes there are realizations under bright-bright lights that you can never say.)

Beautiful.

Hmm. 

Shit. 

-/-

As it turns out, being in love with your best friend isn’t as hard as it sounds. 

Keefe hasn’t managed to get rid of his feelings, by tenth grade, but he’s managed to ignore them. Ignore the way his gut clenches whenever Fitz grins at him, ignore the flush that appears on his cheeks whenever their hands brush. Ignore, ignore, and hope Fitz ignores too. 

There’s less peer-grading in high school. Tests and projects are more important now, so the teachers grade them in most of his classes. 

Except in Spanish, because apparently the teacher just doesn’t care.

Keefe marks the last incorrect verb conjugation on Fitz’s test, doodling a tiny heart in the paper’s margin and handing the paper to the boy sitting across the aisle from him. Fitz glances at it, eyes narrowing slightly. Keefe knows that look- that’s his determined look. 

He’s not quite sure why Fitz would have something to prove right now, though. He scored a solid 97. Unless-

Shaking his head, Keefe forcefully directs that train of thought.

It comes crashing back in just a second, though, when Fitz hands him his graded test. 

100! It says at the top in purple pen. Do you want to get dinner with me? 

Keefe glances up and towards the other boy, who’s staring at the board as if it contains the secrets of the universe instead of the quiz answers. With shaking fingers, he writes a single word and passes the paper back. 

(Sometimes, there are words that can’t be understood. Things that can’t be said out loud for fear of breaking them. Of breaking yourself. Sometimes there are realizations under bright-bright lights that you can never say.)

(And sometimes, there are notes written in multicolored pens, years and years of silent conversations. A message on top of a Spanish quiz that promises something amazing. Sometimes, there is a word, unspoken but still heard.)

Yes. 

(Sometimes, a lavender-inked note is all you need.)

[probably-writing-x]

Two sides.

Polo x Reader

Request by anon: Request // from ep 1 polo’s entrance returning to school after the incident, the reader can’t choose a side between her best friend (polo) and her other friends (everyone else) i hope that makes sense

Gif is not my own

Requests are open 🤍

The tension that fell around school felt like enough to bring the walls crashing down around you. Everyone silenced. So much so that the lack of sound felt deafening. Nothing. Nobody dare utter a word at the sight of who stood before them. Slowly, but with such cautious certainty, Polo came walking down the stairs. He looked like he should be the boy from before. He still had the rucksack over his shoulders and his uniform pristine as always. But the cold, deathly look on his face sent a shiver down your spine. Like he was void of all emotion now.

“Come on (Y/n), he’s not worth our attention,” Lu encourages from beside you and you notice then that the rest of the group had started leaving. You’d been frozen to your spot.

“Right, yeah, lets go,” You shake out of your daze, trying to avoid taking another glance in Polo’s direction.

The group blend into chatting about something and you force yourself to remain involved, laughing whenever they do even if your responses are a little delayed. Before it had been revealed that Polo was the one responsible for Marina’s death, you’d always been the closest of friends. You’d known each other since you were little, been the one to get him with Carla in the first place, and slowly fallen for him whilst he dated her. When you’d found out what he’d done, it was like that whole opinion of him came crashing down painfully quickly. You were reluctant to call him a murderer. How could you possibly give such a title to one of your best friends?!

“What do you think (Y/n)?” Carla speaks up, “Don’t you agree?”

You glance at her and feel yourself fighting against the urge to scream at her for betraying him in the way she had. She’d convinced him that he was no longer good enough. Maybe that had been what had triggered his downward spiral. That he had become so caught up in proving his worth to Carla. Or maybe there would never be a valid way of excusing what they boy had done.

“Yeah, sure, excuse me,” You stand up from the table and head out into the empty corridor, wanting nothing more than to catch your breath from the mental marathon youd been trying to keep up with.

An empty corridor might have been a slight exaggeration. In fact, there was one other person that made these corridors feel far from empty. Sat on the stairs that he’d made his entrance on only moments ago, was Polo.

“(Y/n),” He says, standing up when he sees you.

“Hey,” You respond, folding your arms over yourself, “How are you?”

“As okay as I can be,” He replies, “You?”

“Likewise,” You force a smile.

“I would’ve told you I was coming back but it-“ He stops himself, “You know what my Mums are like.”

“Yeah, yeah, I guess so,” You nod, pulling your arms even tighter around your torso like you somehow wanted to protect yourself.

“Listen (Y/n), I...” He strifes one step forward and it’s simply instinct when you flinch back, practically cowering away from him.

Your heart races unnaturally in your chest as you glance back up to meet his eyes.

“You’re scared of me?” He speaks it as though it’s a question but the drop of his shoulders tells you he already knows the answer.

You look over your shoulder to make sure there’s nobody else around to see you conversing with the sworn enemy, “I should go.”

“So this is how it is now? Them over me?” He questions as you turn your back to him, “I’ve lost you too?”

Your path away from him tells him an answer louder than your words could’ve done.

You take your seat back at the desk and try to relax back into the class as though your best friend accused of murder was not just one walk away. Guzmán turns in his chair and looks at you with a frown settling between his brows.

“Everything good (y/n)?” He asks quietly, quiet enough that nobody else had to hear.

You look at him and force a gentle smile, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

He reaches back a hand and squeezes yours in a friendly manner, “You know where I am.”

You couldn’t imagine how he was feeling. Understanding that one of his closest friends had ended his sisters life sounded like something overwhelming to even think about, let alone be living in. What scared you was that you were now becoming real friends with him, whilst your best friend had been the one that caused all of his suffering.

- - - - - -

The next day you’re sat around for lunch with everyone, adamant that today could just be a normal day. Ander makes a joke about something and Lu makes a sassy comment in response. Somehow, it feels like you could just settle into this group and feel no guilt or remorse for what had happened with you and Polo.

That doesn’t last long in a place like this.

“(Y/n), can I speak to you?”

The words are simple but they feel like a dead weight falling flat on the centre of the table. Everyone stops eating like the food has become completely sickening. And you all simply just freeze for a second that seems to last forever.

When you turn around, Polo is looking at you with pleading, lonely eyes.

“Please, (Y/n)...” He trails off, “I need to talk to you.”

“Share with the group, Polito,” Lu encourages, gesturing around the table, “We’re all friends here.”

“Just leave Polo,” You say quietly, “Please.”

“(Y/n) I just need to-“

“She told you to go,” Guzmán speaks up beside you, his words like daggers through the thick settling of tension.

“It’s okay Guzmán,” You try to assure him but his eyes are already red with fury.

“She told you to fucking go!” He raises his voice, standing up from his chair as he gets a grasp on Polo and shoves him back.

The weakened boy stumbles against the force and has no hope of fighting back. Or maybe just sees no reason in doing so.

“Stay the fuck away from me, away from all of us. Do you understand me?” Guzmán yells through seething anger, “You’re a fucking murderer!”

Polo flinches and cowers at the words. You stand up like you have any hope of doing something but you’re not really sure what you would do if you could. Would you reach out for Guzmán and tell him it’s okay, even hug him if he got upset? Or would you pull him away from Polo and take that boy as far away as you could? It terrifies you that you even have to consider the options.

“It’s okay (Y/n),” Guzmán sighs as he sits down beside you, “He won’t be bothering you anymore.”

You sink back down into your seat but it doesn’t feel the same. You stick out like a sore thumb around this group without the boy that had always been by your side. Lunch doesn’t feel the same when he’s not there to hoover up any leftovers you have or share his drink with you. Your food is left untouched and your words kept to yourself, simply just holding the fork in your hand until you feel the first tear drop against the reflective metal. You’re thankful when nobody says a word, all wrapped up in their own silence just like you.

- - - - - -

It’s as you’re walking into school the next day that things change. Polo rushes over and grabs your arm just as you’re about to walk through the doors.

“(Y/n) please just talk to me...” He sighs, a frown falling between his brows and accenting the lonely shadow of his eyes.

You glance around you and finally back to him, “Not here.”

With that, you lead him away and round the back of school where the two of you find a dry spot amongst the grass to sit on. You pull your knees to your chest and pray that you aren’t as scared as you were last time you were alone with him.

“I’m completely alone (Y/n). I’ve lost Carla, Christian, Guzmán, Ander... I’ve lost you,” He shakes his head, “I’m supposed to be coming back to school to continue a normal life, this feels far from normal.”

“Can you blame us? You were accused of murder, Polo!” You raise your voice a little bit drop it to a hushed tone soon after, “I apologise if we’re all a little shaken up by that.”

“Do you think I did it?” He asks, brows furrowing as he looks at you so intensely you feel like there’s nobody else in the world.

You take a deep, shaky breath and look at the boy you’d managed to flip your opinion of so rapidly that it scared you, “I want you to tell me if you did. Be completely honest with me Polo. Because I’ve got people convinced that you have and people convinced you havent. And I need just once for someone to tell me the fucking truth.”

He’s silent, consumed so heavily by the words that would follow, “I didn’t mean to do it... I never wanted to...”

“It was an accident,” You state simply, already knowing the answer he’d just spoken before the words left his lips, you’d known long ago, “But that still doesn’t change the fact that you killed Marina.”

“I never wanted to hurt her... I just-“

“Polo stop,” You stand up instantly, “I can’t do this, I need to get to class.”

“So what is it then?” He speaks up, your back now facing him as he does, “Them over me?”

It pained you to think it but that was the case. Despite never being 100% certain that Polo had killed Marina, you’d chosen that group. The innocent over the possibly guilty. It was the easy choice of course. Did you have an obligation to remain loyal to Polo? Maybe. But sometimes obligations have their exceptions. And as you walked away from him, you took it as the complete biggest exception that you could.

When you walk back up to school, Guzmán is stood near the lockers. He smiles when he sees you and waves, walking to catch up with your path and walk beside you.

“Everything okay?” He asks, offering you a little frown as he must see the fear in your face.

You glance to him and blink a few times to try to focus on anything but the idea of a murder confession happening on the grass outside of school.

“I’m really sorry about Marina, Guzmán. I don’t think I’ve ever fully said that to you.”

He stops in his tracks and frowns, “What are you talking about?”

You swallow the lump in your throat, “I guess I just felt guilty, like I had some part in it because of-“

“Polo,” He states for you, “What did he say to you (Y/n)?”

You look towards the doors that have just opened as Polo walks inside. So oddly calm after such a confession.

“What did he tell you?”

“I’m so sorry Guzmán,” You whisper, giving him the confession he didn’t need to hear before he’s launching in the direction of his past best friend. Those words had given him more than he needed to know. Everything he’d been reluctant to accept.

Polo glances up and swallows the lump in his throat, his eyes not faltering to leave yours. In that moment, he’s completely certain that he’s too far gone now. He’d never get his best friend back.

[emiwrites3reads]

His Mate Pt.3

Klaus while being part werewolf never believed he would find a mate, while their are werewolves that don’t believe in them, he does, just that he doesn’t have one. That is until he met a young werewolf, friend of the Salvatores.

Warnings: angst and graphic descriptions of gore

Part two: https://emiwrites3reads.tumblr.com/post/189765059236/his-mate-pt2

His mate masterlist; https://emiwrites3reads.tumblr.com/post/190164847716/his-mate-masterlist

Y/n runs out of the house as fast as possible, before any vampire can tell her what to do. Seeing the worry in Romi’s eyes sparked something in her wolf, determination. She could tell someone was wrong. Something bad. And oh was she right.

She practically races Romi to the larger camp. He beta tells her of an attack, but the details go out the other end. She needs to get there and fast, especially with the word “injuries” being thrown around.

Pulling up to the camp, her heart drops. It wasn’t just Sarah, August, and Julia hurt. No, most of the pack was. Blood turns the grass red. A body lays lone near a tree. Seeing the softness of the face, the blood stained blonde hair, and what would be blue eyes, it’s Sanvi. Y/n rushes to the side of her childhood friend, tears streaming from her eyes.

“Your going for medical school right....? You think...” Romi says behind her. Y/N feels her focus shifting, blurring even. Seeing the ruby colored surp covering her friend, leaking from vicious flashes of a wolf. A bite wound showing an animal ripped her friends neck, leaving only half of it. The tactics of the attackers. She has seen this before, only in rumors. A gang of rouges traveling, seeking to rip the hearts of packs to fill their own void. Bone from the spine and the arteries and veins stick out, her pale skin tainted red with blood.

“We need real medical professionals Romi.... I-I don’t think I can handle this...”

“They’re going the ask questions, mass animal attack? That’s going to hunters, which I’m suprised none showed yet” Romi contradicts. Y/n slips out her phone, whipping her tears away and fiery filling her eyes.

“Damon... uuuh I need you to do some compelling.... some friends of mine got hurt and if nurses and doctors start asking questions, it won’t look good” Y/N says, the line going straight to voicemail. The originals are still in control.

“I suppose I might be able to help” Klaus. Y/N turns to the hybrid who steps from behind a tree. Y/N feels her heart start racing. This is the last thing her pack needs. A original helping them, especially Klaus. They only want what’s good for them.

“Right, like your suddenly nice and cheery and wanting to help” Y/N replies. She can feel Romi’s breathing accelerating. “Why help us”

“I-I uh... I don’t know” the hybrid looks down, in thought. He looks up and clears his throat, “but having a pack owing me a favor could do me wonders”

“Of course” Romi’s voice echoes behind her. Y/n feels fear surfacing. Her wolf, telling her to run yet at the same time telling her to trust the original. Y/N believed she could trust her wolf, but now her instincts are keeping things from her. She no longer knows who to trust if she can’t even trust herself.

“Fine. But don’t you dare turn them into hybrids” Y/N practically challenges the originals. His response, suprises her. The hybrid smirks, almost enjoying her fire. He walks past her and to the main cabin. The cabin house. The scent of blood reaks from it.

“You know, I’m not as bad once you get to know me” the hybrids voice picks up. His eyes flash something towards her, sending tingles throughout her. Y/n turns away from his gaze.

Stepping into the house, the survivors are helping those injured. Bringing water, fruits and food, and new bandages. They turn to look at her with quizzical eyes, falling to the original hybrid. “Don’t worry, he’s here to help... why I don’t know”

“By blood will heal them” Klaus turns to Y/N.

“Okay, feed who you can, but remember what I said”

After some hours later, the supernatural blood of the hybrid heals the pack members. Y/n and Romi burry the bodies of those who didn’t make it in time. 5 in total. The pack tells the family of those who know of werewolves and supernatural the truth, and covered it up as a camping accident for those who don’t.

“Why” Y/n looks to close, who sits with her in front of a large bon fire held to celebrate those who’ve fallen. She watches him carefully. His demeanor changes. It softens, showing another side of the hybrid she knows.

“I wish I could say” Klaus looks to her, his eye sparkling. He turns away as Elijah walks in, clearing his throat. Klaus hides the disappointment and annoyance. “Brother”

“Interesting, I thought her blood would of been scattered through these woods but it appears I’m wrong” he gestures to the toe sitting on a log together. Y/n looks over to her Beta who sits with his boyfriend. An unknown feels fills through her as she turns back to klaus.

“No, but the pack’s blood that attacked her will be” Klaus’ eyes flash yellow. Y/n feels at peace with this. Happy even. She can’t explain it. She still doesn’t trust klaus but he seems different when he’s not... afraid.

Klaus walks her into the Salvatore house. The building feels stuffy already and the Klaus she saw at the camp disappears. Damon and Stephen run to her, shock on their faces seeing her unharmed. “Did he torture you and then heal you?” Damon says.

“No, he helped me...... with an issue at my friends” Y/n walks away before they could ask any questions. Everything turns back to normal like nothing happened at all. It almost saddens her.

“What was the issue?” Stephen says.

“His uh.... cat got chased up a tree” as soon as she says it she realizes how lousy of a excuse it is.

“Right, because werewolves and cats mixed really well” Damon says.

“You do realize I have 2 cats right?” Y/n turns to Damon, her brows raising at him. She gives the two brothers a look saying she doesn’t want to talk about it. She throws herself in the couch and scavenges through her tumblr feed.

The weight on the couch shifts and she sees Klaus siting next to her. She closes off her phone and turns to him to see him looks down at her. His arm practically around her neck. “Hey....?” She questions.

“So, I was thinking, staying here isn’t a safe place, we need another and then I remember that place you showed me today, it seemed really safe”

“No- no way, no way are you staying there....you can stay at my house if you really need to” she looks to him, glare and spice flickering in her eyes. A grin spreads across his face, making her regret everything back at the camp.

Klaus gets up and Elijah joins him. The two Salvatore brothers watch curiously at the trio. Leads the way to her home.

When they enter her house, klaus turns to her. “You know why I did that? Do you?”

“Because your still a jerk and will always be?”

“No, I know you don’t want those two knows about your little settlement there, so I figure if we plan somewhere away it’ll get things done quicker” Y/n looks to klaus and to Elijah who seemingly follows him everywhere.

“Fine, lets get planning” Y/n goes over to the coffee table in her living room and opens up her laptop. Her fingers gracefully travel across the keyboard, typing away and clicking away as she searches for rumors of The Blood Stone pack. She clicks on an article, one that has been recently updated.

At first it looks like a dead end. the outdated colors and coding of the website, it not even starting about the pack but about legends of werewolves and vampires. The further she scrolled, more comments about the constant odd murder cases being closed off as animal attacks, with bodies drained of blood and bodies torn by bears.

“What’s this?”

“A thread, I think I know who did it, I’m seeing if they are in town but this thread is a dead-“ she stops. A name appears on the thread, Jessica Banes. She is the supposed leader of the pack. She simply states that the local folklore doesn’t have to do anything with vampires and werewolves and that everyone here is speaking nonsense. The replies to that are asking her about Blood Stone pack. “It’s the leader- well supposed leader”

“Interesting” Klaus sits down next to you, his demeanor once again soft yet stronger. He reads the form with her, she continues to scroll but he stops her for a second, placing his hand on hers and then awkwardly pulling away as they both feel tingles climb up their arms.

“Ehem, um this name here, I saw him taking to one of the bartenders here in town, there was a pretty red head with him as well, she seemed to control him like there was a leash on him” Klaus points to the commenter, Jared Jones.

“I think I’ve seen him around too, with a red head as well, tall long dark hair, yeah” Y/N ignores how she feels about klaus calling someone pretty. She wonders how they will get them near them.

“I have an idea, I’ll host a ball” Y/N blinks in response. Confused spreads wide across her face. She wonders, how will a ball help? Sure, maybe they will show up, but there’s so many people.

“How will that help? There’s going to be so many people”

“They don’t knkw we know their identities, and trust me those aren’t rumors, I’ve been alive awhile to know, I’ll have a bouncer check names and sign people in and we can send them to talk to me about a deal when really I’ll be tearing their heart out”

“You mean when I will be tearing their heart out” Klaus smirks. His gaze filled with pride and wonder. Y/n smiles back at him as his smirk turns to a smile.

“I think you’re starting to grow on me” he murmurs.

“I can say the same thing”

Taglist:

@chloe-skywalker

@chaoticneutralpizza

Thank you guys so much for reading this far! I don’t think I ever updated this much with this many parts before. I hope you really enjoy it and I was wondering, if klaus should ever fully turn, what do you think his wolf would look like in the show?

[katie-dub]

Rapture on the Lonely Shore

Fleabag fic

Summary: Social distancing has come into play and suddenly Fleabag finds herself unable to be close to her best friend right when she needs him the most, but will it bring them closer than ever?

AO3

It’s more Fleabag fic, prompted by a lovely new fandom friend who wishes to remain anonymous. Dedicated to @eirabach​ who is my hero. Thanks to @profdanglaisstuff​ for inspiring the title and for being endlessly supportive and encouraging, along with @ohmightydevviepuu​ and @thisonesatellite​

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!" I scream into the silent void of my living room for no other reason than there's no one here with me and I fucking well can.

I am handling this coronavirus shit like a fucking pro.

Tonight Bojo told everyone to stay away from pubs, restaurants and cafes, whatever the fuck that means. Hillarys is likely fucked. I think of Joe, my regular, wondering how he'll cope without Chatty Wednesdays and the food I provide, which could quite easily send me spiralling off into a major fucking crisis, if I weren't already at least 90% of the way there.

Like I said, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!

The worst part of it is that my best friend, my rock, my Priest is busy doing the Lord's work and visiting the housebound so I can't fucking see him in case he gives me the plague or vice versa. Apparently his God has a really twisted sense of humour.

My phone rings, mercifully dragging me from my thoughts.

"What are you doing right now?"

"Well, hello, Father," I say with a grin.

"Oh fuck off," he chides with a laugh, "can you go to your door?"

"Is that some kind of code?"

"Just open your fucking door."

Intrigued, I cross over to the door and throw it open. My Priest stands two metres away from it, grinning at the sight of me.

"Sorry Father, I've got to go, I've had a hot delivery." I hang up, watching his beautiful neck as he throws his head back and laughs. I love making him laugh.

The only thing worse than being mildly obsessed with your best friend who you can never be with because he's a priest, is being mildly obsessed with your best friend who you can never be with because he's a priest when you aren't even allowed to touch him. In a purely platonic way, you understand, he gives the best hugs.

Oh fuck off.

"What a line!" he says, calming down and wiping tears from his eyes.

"There's more where that came from."

"Save me." He holds up his hands in a gesture of defeat, I ignore it. I've got to get my kicks somehow.

"Have you got coronavirus? Because you definitely look hot."

"Oh God help me, that was bad."

There's a loud bang from in my house that startles me. I whip around to try and see what has happened, I hate it when He does that.

I hate that my Priest has me thinking that there is a God, and that he is messing with me.

I look back to see him smirking at me, raising his eyebrows as though defying me to comment on what just happened.

“Not that I’m not pleased to see you, but what are you doing here?”

“Do you want to go for a walk? I’d love to go for a walk with you.”

“Doesn’t that go against the rules?” I say, already reaching for my coat..

“We can maintain our distance, just like spies.” He has a twinkle in his eyes, delighted by his own cleverness.

I pull on my trench coat. “You wanted to be James Bond as a kid, didn’t you?” I bet he was a cute kid.

“That tosser? Fuck no, although I wouldn’t have complained if Miss Moneypenny had wanted to check out my concealed weapon.”

“Father!” I gasp in mock horror even as I try to hide the snort that escapes me.

"I wasn't always a priest," he says lightly, "you know that." He turns and walks back through my gate and onto the street. He turns back to me, smiling and waiting for me to join him.

"Oh fuck, I should wash my hands, shouldn't I?"

Look, I run a cafe, I understand basic hygiene, despite what Claire might think. But since all this started the hand washing has been intense.

He nods. "Safety first. It's OK, I'll wait."

And wait he does as I diligently wash my hands for a full twenty seconds, all the while thinking about my Priest waiting patiently out there for me. Or maybe not patiently? Maybe bursting with eagerness for me to get back to him?

Oh who the fuck am I kidding? That man has the patience of a saint.

I return to my doorstep, and pause a moment to enjoy the sight of him, shirt rolled up to his sleeves and hands clasped behind his back as he stares down the eerily quiet street. It’s magic hour and the glow of the sinking sun lights him up beautifully. He turns before I reach him, a beaming smile on his face. He tilts his head thoughtfully, apparently searching hard for signs of.. I don't know, distress maybe?

He nods to himself, a slight smile in his eyes and he turns to head out of the gate, stepping back and letting me walk ahead of him. What a gentleman.

"Checking out my arse, Father?" I toss back to him over my shoulder.

He snorts. "I'm more of a tits man myself."

Damn.

There go my hopes that he's secretly burning a torch for me, mine are barely there, any smaller and you'd need a microscope to find them. I do better with arse men.

But you knew that already.

"Aren't you a happily celibate man?"

"I'm a priest, I'm not blind. I'm merely appreciating the glory of God's creations."

"So you believe in 'look, don't touch'?"

"I believe that you're trying to get me in trouble. And you'll get a crick in your neck if you keep looking back at me like that."

"Not really much of a walk together if I can't look at you, talk to you, or stand anywhere near you."

"These things are sent to try us," he states calmly, completely at ease with the idea that his God has inflicted an Old Testament style plague upon the world. Like humanity as a whole is the villain of the latest gripping installment of His story.

The thought doesn't sit well with me. Admittedly, I probably deserve a little damnation, but the entire human race? Or at least our most vulnerable members? I thought the meak were supposed to inherit the earth?

I stop and turn to face him fully, enjoying the way he starts as though he's bumped into me, even though he's a full two metres away. It’s still not quite dark but the street lights have yet to kick in, so it's a little hard to make out his expression. I glare at him with his arrogant nonchalance. Next he'll be pulling some kind of awful but horribly truthful platitude out of his arse like "It'll pass."

True it may be, but it's hardly the fucking point.

We continue on until I spot a bench in front of me and desperate to actually talk to my friend, sit down at one end. He diligently sits at the other, hands in his lap, as he maintains the appropriate social distance. Seriously, fuck coronavirus.

"How are you?" he asks, looking at me with what I can only assume is deep concern.

"Well my livelihood and best friend's legacy -" there's a flash in his eyes that I almost want to call jealousy "- has been totally fucked by our prime minister, how are you?"

His hand twitches, an awkward jerk that gives me the sense that he'd wanted to reach out to me. He's flexing his fingers, grasping and releasing his knee, suggesting that he's buzzing with energy, full to the brim of untapped potential and excitement that belies his otherwise calm outward demeanour.

"I'm sorry, I know how much Hillary's means to you."

That may be one of my favourite things about my Priest, his willingness to just sit with sadness. Too many people rush you to feeling better, to reassuring you that things aren't actually as bad as you think. Not my Priest. He lets you feel what you feel. And somehow he just knows what people need, whether it's silence or speaking, space or physical comfort.

Not that he can give me that right now.

"It's just a café." I don't know why I'm so quick to deflect, not with him. He knows me too well to buy that.

"You don't have to do that,” his voice just oozes softness, treading carefully as he speaks like he’s dealing with a wild cat. His fingers are drumming on his knee again. “It’s ok to hate how fucked up this is.”

We sit for a minute, him patiently waiting as I try to gather my confused thoughts and feelings into something coherent. “I know that you think this is all about Boo for me.”

“Do I?” he challenges, I frown at him from the corner of my eye.

“Don’t you?”

He shrugs. I once again fumble for words. “Do I want Boo’s cafe to close? Of course not. Do I want what we built and I made into a success to be fucked? Of course not. But that’s not what makes me want to scream. It’s the people who need Chatty Wednesdays, who need someone to talk to, even if they’re just a stranger who bought a cup of tea in the same bloody cafe as them. It’s Joe who’s in every day and now I might never see again because this pestilence could take him. It’s everyone who’s popped in for a sandwich and has nearly cried with relief that I actually have bread because some dipshits panicked and bought it all. It’s just a cafe, but it - it matters.”

He huffs and when I look to him there are tears in his eyes. “Have I ever told you how fucking wonderful you are?”

“Easy there, Father.”

“No, really, you’re fucking brilliant.” He shakes his head. “I hate that I can’t hold you right now. I want to, so much. I want to just wrap my arms around you and bury my face in your neck and breathe you in. Maybe some of your brilliance would rub off on me.”

God I can imagine one of those hugs. They always leave me somewhere between cherished and horny. The feeling of his breath on my neck just feels so delicious, sending desire rippling right through me.

I should probably tell him, but it feels so fucking good that I don’t want him to stop it. And he probably knows the effect it has on me anyway. I kind of think he’s counting on it.

“Wanting to rub off on me, Father? What will the bishop say?”

Sometimes it’s just easier to go for the innuendo than handle all the feelings brimming below the surface.

He laughs. “You wish.”

I watch as he reaches out for me, jerks his hand back before reaching it towards me again.

“I want to hold your hand too,” I finally say, nodding down to his hand and reaching towards him with my own. Not trying to touch him, just to be that bit closer to him.

A silence falls between us. It’s comfortable and easy, although my thoughts are anything but. At last I notice that the sun has set and the street lights are on. Reluctantly I realise that I should go back home now.

My Priest feels it too.

“We should probably-” “I better get -”

We laugh as one and without another word rise to leave.

“Don’t catch the fucking plague,” I say.

“Same to you. Stay well.” And we both go our separate ways.

***

It’s been a day. I’ve been trying my best to keep the cafe going but with half of London seemingly already in self isolation and the other half frightened of people, it feels a little too close to the painful times after Boo died.

I’ve been delivering food to my elderly regulars, trying to do my bit to keep them safe. Taking sandwiches to Joe and chatting with him through the door to make sure he gets his daily interaction along with his sustenance.

It took Joe a long time to answer the door today. It filled my heart with absolute dread, I was on the verge of calling 999 when he finally came to the door, brimming with apologies. I was so relieved to see him that I nearly hugged him in relief.

And to think once upon a time he used to drive me crazy at times with his eager need to chat.

I really need to hold my Priest. I know I can’t. I just need to.

I text him from his bench in his garden asking me to meet me.

“Is everything alright?” he says when he appears, dishevelled and breathless, rushing towards me before remembering and standing back.

“No it’s not, I fucking hate all this,” I burst out, my eyes welling up. “I’m scared and I’m tired and my hands are fucking bleeding from how often I wash them now -” his eyes widen and dart down to my hands, his mouth twisting in distress “- and I just need a fucking hug from my best friend.”

A tear slides down my cheek, I don’t wipe it away, I can’t bear to wash my hands again.

He sits on the other end of the bench.

“I’m holding you right now,” he says. I side eye him. “Don’t give me that look. I’m holding you, don’t you feel how warm my arms are?”

I smile, it’s a nice fantasy, he does have such beautiful arms.

“You’re tucking your head into my neck and your breath tickles, but I don’t say anything, because it feels good to be close to you.”

I love snuggling into that spot.

“One of my hands is on the back of your head so I can run my fingers through your hair. You know that way you like? You always say it soothes you when I do it, your hair is so gorgeously curly that I have to be careful not to tug on it, easing my fingers through it and tugging gently.”

It does feel good, I close my eyes and just let myself get lost in the memories of the last time he did that.

“My other hand is splayed out across your back, rubbing firmly against you in circles where I can feel your muscles tight beneath my fingers. I feel how it relaxes you, as you melt into me, sinking deeper into my arms.”

I sigh, feeling some of the tension I’d been holding disappearing as he talks.

“When your breathing has evened out so I know that you’re deeply relaxed I gently move back and kiss your cheek, grateful that I can be here for you, whenever you need me.”

He stops talking, I take a few moments to just appreciate the deep calm he’s brought to me before opening my eyes and looking at him. He’s smiling but I can see the tension in his jaw that tells me it hurts him as much as me that he can’t do all that for real.

“Thank you,” I say quietly. What else can I say?

***

The Priest is staring at me so intently that I don't know how to feel. There's just so much feeling in his gaze, wonder and joy and this uncomfortable sense that he's trying to imprint me on his heart. It's only been half an hour since lockdown was announced and he's already losing it.

You'd think he'd be used to loneliness by now.

He asked for a video call five minutes ago. I’m not sure he’s actually said a word since we connected yet.

"Are you alright?"

He chuckles, eyes turning sad as he does. "No. No, I'm really not. I finally figure out what I want, just when I can't have it."

He's completely lost me. I don't know how to react, or if I even should. I feel like I'm intruding on a private confession, like he's forgotten he's talking to me instead of his God.

He starts fidgeting, dragging his hands through his hair until it looks as wild as I'm guessing he feels.

"You're too much, you know?" I start at the accusation, not sure where I come into this crisis of his. "You're so… No, it's not you, it's me."

At least it seems like he's confusing himself as much as me.

"When I think of this - this plague taking you from me -" he breaks off, choking up at the thought and grasping at his heart as though in physical pain.

"You don't have to worry about me," I downplay, "pretty sure those human viruses don't affect us robots." I force out a laugh, it's really not funny.

"Don't say that!" he all but snarls at me, "no heartless creature could love like you."

I don't know how to feel about this. He's never seen me in love. I'm not even sure if I've ever been in love, maybe once I thought I could feel something for him, but nothing ever came of it. And sure I still want him, I'm only fucking human, but I know enough now to know sex isn't love. A scoff escapes me, his eyes narrow in response.

"You don't even know, do you? What you do?"

I'm fucking baffled.

That fury that drove him before melts away before my eyes, and he's just so… soft. The way he looks at me is so tender. It's a bit much really.

Hillary squeaks indignantly at me from inside her cage, the best friend being mad at me is one thing, but the fucking guinea pig? Give me a fucking break!

"Look at me." I drag my eyes from the squeaking fluff ball. He lifts his hand up to the screen, I can't see what it's doing, the webcam unable to follow his movements. I kind of wish he was stroking my face the way he sometimes strokes my hair or my arms. A gentle affection that sparks something deep inside me. Not in that way, you dirty bastard.

"You are - everything -" he takes a deep breath "- I need you. I need to touch you."

"I didn't think you were that sort of priest," I tease.

"I don't want to be a priest."

"What?"

"Well, I do, being a priest brings me peace, brings me joy, but that's all meaningless if I can't have you."

He's not one to joke at times like this, but I just can't believe that this is real.

"I think you've had a little too much of the communion wine, Father." I chuckle. "You didn't need to drink it all in your congregation's absence."

"I'm not drunk," he seethes, "I'm in love. With you. If you don't feel the same do me a fucking favour and say it, don't just laugh at me." He glares at me.

My chest is tight, so is my jaw, this is all - is all - it's unbelievable. That's it: unbelievable.

"You don't."

"Fuck you telling me what I feel, you infuriating -"

"Bitch?" I suggest, leaping to the change in subject. "Oooh, or jezebel, that's a good one, biblical too, I know you like that." His hand goes to his face. "Don't touch your face, Father."

He drops his hand, staring at me in disbelief. "Are you fucking serious right now? I'm unburdening my fucking soul, and you're scolding me for touching myself?"

The urge to laugh at his unthinking innuendo bubbles up in me. I try my best to fight it, wanting to be serious even as we have a conversation that feels like it has to be a fucking joke. At least he seems to have realised his mistake, cringing at what just came out of his mouth.

"I just don't want to drive you to touching yourself, I gather your God doesn't like it." He laughs, it sounds ever so slightly deranged. "I mean, personally, I'm pro touching yourself, you might even call it my favourite hobby, but if you want to keep your job, best not."

"I touch myself a lot when I think about you," he replies earnestly.

"Can't stop tearing your hair out at your ridiculous heathen's antics?"

He shakes his head. "I love your antics. Please, hear me." There's so much sincerity in his voice, he's so earnest, that part of me finally acknowledges that he might really mean this, a tiny spark igniting in my heart. "I'm not joking or drunk or having a crisis of faith. I realised that this could be the end, and I couldn't live with myself if I didn't take a chance on this. I want you. I want to kiss you and hold you -” he’s being so romantic and I really do not know how to handle this. People aren’t romantic with me, unless they’re Harry and it’s one part romance to nine parts whining tedium. “- and suck on your tits."

That’s more like it.

"Oh my god," I gasp, feeling equal parts scandalised by his bluntness and confused by the idea of anyone being that interested in my tiny tits. I glance down, involuntarily thrusting my chest forward and shoulders back as I try to see what he apparently does. "They're not much to look at."

"You've got gorgeous tits," he says sincerely, eyes locked on them and lips parted for just a moment. He looks back up at my eyes and frowns. "You do. I see them and just want to -" he breaks off, biting his lip and twisting and rubbing his fingers in midair in a way that has me imagining those fingers on my nipples.

Christ, I'm going to hell for sure.

"If you don't stop all this dirty talk, you'll make me want to get my tits out and touch myself -"

"Please do."

"- it'll be so disappoint- what?"

"I mean -" he fidgets, going to run a hand over his face then remembering all the covid rules last minute and nervously fiddling with his sleeve instead. "Fuck me. I dream about eating you out, you know? I wake up from dreams of fucking you to find my sheets wet."

My mouth is dry. Just how are you meant to react when you hear that your best friend fantasises about you even in his sleep? And I felt guilty for wanking off to thoughts of him. You know, occasionally, when I was feeling desperate or he had been particularly hot one day or it was a Tuesday.

My vibrator was in daily use.

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to wake up with a hard on and not touch yourself? To just pray to God to stop messing with you and let you get through the day without looking like a sex-crazed teen who took viagra for a dare?"

I snort with laughter and he gives into the need to scrub at his face.

"Yes, luckily for me you can't tell how wet I get when you lick your lips and I have visions of sitting on your face."

He groans, sounding genuinely pained.

"God, I wish you would.” He’s so breathless, am I really meant to believe that he’s saying all this to me totally sober? “What if the world ends tomorrow and I never get to taste your cunt?"

I can’t believe this is happening, it feels much more likely that I have in fact contracted that killer disease and am lying in my flat, hallucinating through the fever.

"Lucky you believe in an afterlife."

"True, I'm sure they have 69s in heaven."

I’m not sure if they do, I mean, we’re talking about heaven, is God a fan of simultaneous oral? Does God even get to have oral? These are questions I never thought I’d consider, I don’t voice them out loud, of course, I’m a classy lady. "Do you really think so?"

"I don't fucking know!" His hands are back in his hair, raking through it, I wish they were my hands. "I just know that I want to be with you for real before I leave this world. It'd be a fucking nightmare if I got to heaven and found myself incapable of fucking you like you deserve."

"Right?" I’m pretty sure that I’ve already died and gone to heaven.

"Right." He nods, gazing at me like he’s staring right into my soul. Or through my top, something like that.

"So ... what happens now?"

"Well I love you, but I need to end this call. I'm in a very hard position right now." How does this man manage to look bashful as he’s telling me that he’s turned on by his own dirty talk?

"I love you too, for what it's worth.” I figure why not tell him? Chances are this isn’t even real. “Maybe we could help each other out? I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

"I'd rather our first time wasn't awkward video call sex, if it's all the same to you?" he says.

I’m sure I must be pouting but the man I’ve wanted for a year now, the man I’ve always known that I could never be with, has just told me he loved me, filled my head with filth and now he wants me to leave me to deal with that myself? It’s fucking rude. “I mean, one way to handle that would’ve been to hold in all the fucking sex talk.”

“I’m sorry” He does look contrite, but there’s a twinkle in his eye all the same.

“No you’re not, you love that you’ve made me wet.”

“How wet?” His voice has dropped an octave to a barely audible growl.

“Fuck off. You want me to tell you all the things you’ve done to me and all the things I’m going to do to myself then you stay on the phone for that awkward video call sex. Otherwise that’s between me and my vibrator.”

He groans in clear distress, I’ll be honest, I kind of enjoy it. The man has just got me all wound up and doesn’t even want to help me finish. Revenge is sweet.

Both hands are rubbing at his cheeks as he breathes deeply, before pulling them away and glaring at me, like it’s my fault we’re both turned on with nowhere to go. "Coronavirus has a lot to answer for."

"Well if you're determined to leave me to take care of myself alone, I best be going. Wet dreams!"

"I love you, you filthy heathen."

"I love you too, you dirty priest, good night."

He gives me a look that somehow manages to be filled with fire and tenderness, as contradictory as my Hot Priest himself. "Good night," he says at last, sadly reaching out and ending our call.

Right, vibrator time.

Unless.

***

In the history of spectacularly stupid choices I've made, I cannot decide if dragging a suitcase to the house of my best friend who just announced his undying love for - and vivid fantasy life about - me is the best or worst thing I've ever done. I'm not sure what I'd say if the police stop me for making a nonessential trip. And God forbid they look in my suitcase at the collection of lingerie, sex toys and lube in there.

We aren't allowed out of the house, what do you think we'll be doing?

I get to his front door and thank a God that I don't believe in for packing Pam off to her son's for quarantine, there's no way I could do this if she were here.

I don't know if I can do this anyway.

I should've had a drink first, though I'm glad that I didn't.

I have a momentary panic at the thought of having sex with real feelings, would that be making love? My throat is closing up and I'm finding it hard to breathe. Maybe I best go home, I might be coming down with coronavirus.

My phone rings, I pull it out and answer it before stopping to think.

"What are you doing right now?" my Priest asks.

Shit.

"I thought we weren't doing that?" I deflect, "but I can get out my vibrator if I need it?"

"Are you outside my house?"

I look up, he's staring at me out of the window, disbelief and joy spread across his handsome face. I nod, and he nods back.

"Come to your door," I say then hang up.

My heart is pounding, I'm highly aware that this is no ordinary hook up, this is the start of something… Something extraordinary. I take a deep breath, trying to draw in the courage to make this leap into the unknown, but it does little to calm my jitters. This is my Priest, my world, if I fuck this up - he'll be there to catch me.

I don't know how I know this, just that I do. Would you look at that? He's made me a believer.

I hear the jingle of keys, the thunk of the lock twisting, the creak of the handle.

I'm ready for this, for him, for love.

Now fuck off, this is private.

[hookedontaronfics]

I’ll Be Home For Christmas - Part 1

Title: I’ll Be Home For Christmas - Part 1 Pairing: Taron x OC Rating: T Warning: None A/N: I wanted to write a sweet little 2-part series for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day as a way of saying thank you for giving so much back to me through this blog. Every like, follow, reblog, comment and ask is so appreciated. I hope you enjoy this fluffy fluff and have a happy and healthy holiday season. Love! X

Andi sat tucked up on the window seat, staring out into the wintery afternoon as swirls of snowflakes blew across the landscape, blanketing everything in white. She was clutching a steaming cup of rich hot cocoa, made the way her mam had always done on Christmas morns. She idly traced the patterns of frost on the window, leaving a couple of smudges, her fingertips going slightly numb, and sighed to herself. She’d tried to distract herself with a book, but she couldn’t ignore the nagging absence in the room.

She sighed heavily and cast a glance around the living room, lights twinkling on the Christmas tree and amongst the fresh boughs strung along the fireplace mantel. She’d worked hard to make the place feel homey for the holidays, but none of that mattered if her husband couldn’t be home to see it.

“I’ll be home for Christmas!” he’d promised her, but he was quickly running out of time. Andi checked her watch again, the clockface reading just after 3 p.m. on Christmas Eve. Another year, another promise broken. He’d kept telling her, time and again, that the next time he wouldn’t miss the big important things, that she was the priority in his life. And yet, time after time, he’s missed the birthday, the big promotion, the office party, Boxing Day, Bank Holiday, but this - this was quite possibly the worst.

She tried to tamp down the hints of anger roiling her stomach; anger wouldn’t make him come home. She had accepted long ago when they’d first started dating that sometimes his job would mean he’d miss a holiday here or there. And she was proud of all of his success. She didn’t begrudge him for what he did; only that it left her lonely on nights like these, when she wanted nothing more than to share the special moments with him.

She finally got up from the seat, tired of staring out the window and hoping. Taron wouldn’t be walking through that door no matter how long she watched for him, so she might as well get on with the rest of her plans. She had a pheasant and some cranberry sauce to prepare for dinner at her parents’ later that evening before church service.

She ground up some herbs for the dry rub, pounding them harder than was probably necessary, slapping them onto the bird and imagining if she were on a cooking show, someone might ask “What did that bird ever do to you?” But right now, that bird, not her husband, was the only thing in front of her, and so she took her frustration out on it. Once she was done dressing it, she wrapped it in foil, set it carefully in the roasting pan, and slid it into the pre-heated oven. She popped the cranberries in the sink to wash them off, tossing them about in the colander to make sure they were good and clean, and to get rid of any lingering stem bits. She dried her hands and sighed again, staring at the wall of the kitchen they had designed together, in the house they had dreamed about owning together, lost in thought.

A jiggling at the door brought her sharply back into reality. “Who’s there!” she called out, even though that was a stupid thing to say. She grabbed the cast iron skillet off the stove top and tiptoed around the kitchen to peek around into the hallway leading to the door, which swung wide open, letting a blast of snow in around a shrouded figure who stepped inside and quickly shut the door behind him, keys jangling in his hand as he lugged his suitcase around.

“Don’t you come any closer!” she gasped, holding out the skillet with both hands as if it were a lightsaber.

“What are you going on about? Babe, it’s just me,” Taron chuckled, pulling his hood down and shaking snow out of his hair. “I’m no stranger.”

“Well I wouldn’t know it as I haven’t heard from you all day,” Andi said, crossing her arms over her chest, the skillet still in her hand. “I just figured you weren’t coming home at all.”

“What? I … Of course I was coming home. The snowstorm buggered all the flight schedules up and I probably should have texted you but I guess I wanted it to be a surprise,” he replied sheepishly, taking a step toward her and watching her take a step back. “I wasn’t going to miss this,” he tried to explain. “I promised you.”

“Like all the other promises you’ve made and broken? All the other holidays I’ve celebrated alone?” Andi said with a huff, returning to the kitchen and slamming the skillet back down on the burner.

“I … deserved that,” Taron sighed, shedding his coat and kicking off his boots, leaving them to make a dripping mess in the hallway as the snow melted off. “I know you’re angry at me…”

“Really? What gave that away?” she asked tersely, knowing she was being unfair but unable to keep the pent-up irritation out of her voice.

“It’s Christmas Eve, hun. Can’t this argument wait until later?” Taron asked, holding his hands out in a peaceable manner, but Andi was having none of it.

“Until when, Taron? The next time I see you, in a goddamn month? Or maybe longer? How are we even having a relationship when you’re never here?” she said, running her hands through her hair, clearly upset. “It’s been like this for years. You keep telling me it will get better, but it only gets worse the more successful you get. And I love what you do, I’m so fucking proud of you, I am. But I don’t know how much longer I can take not being the priority in your life.”

She sniffed and turned away from him, facing the sink and rocking on her heels slightly as her tears fell off her cheeks and splashed down onto the cranberries still waiting to be stewed and mashed. Their fat grey tabby, Tibbs, peeked around the corner to see what the commotion was all about, stalking into the kitchen and weaving his way around Taron’s feet, looking for attention. They’d adopted Tiberius from the shelter a year ago, mostly to fill a void they’d so far been unable to fill.

“Babe...Andi… I’m so, so sorry. I had no idea you felt that way. After this project wraps up, I’ll make changes, I promise. And I’ll keep that one. You’re the most important part of my life, and that you don’t feel that way… I’ve failed you, somehow,” Taron spoke haltingly.

“It’s fine. I’m being irrational,” Andi said, wiping quickly at her face to try and scrub the tears away.

“It’s not okay, darling, at all,” he said, stepping closer as she turned back around to face him.

“This isn’t quite the reception I’m sure you hoped for. I am happy you’re home,” she said, trying not to sniffle again. “I’ve just missed you so much.”

“And gods, I’ve missed you too,” he said nearly in a whisper. “There hasn’t been a single night I didn’t think of you as my head hit the pillow, wishing you were next to me. I love filming, and I’m incredibly grateful to be able to do it, but I’d give it all up if that meant you’d be happy.”

“That’s not… what I’m asking for, Taron. God, I’d never make you choose between me and your job. That’s just silly. All I want is more of a balance, you know? Ever since Rocketman, it’s just been project after project and we’re lucky if we get a small vacation in between. And the scripts don’t stop coming, you know. There are boxes of them in the basement with your trophies. I can’t stand to look at them because they make me yearn for you more. I know you’re kind of a hot commodity right now, and I mean, why wouldn’t you be? Look at you…” she smirked at him lightly, making a show of looking him up and down playfully. “Everyone wants you, but I’m the one that gets to keep you. And I’m very lucky. I’m just tired of only having the in-between. Maybe it’s selfish, but I want more of you.”

“And you’ll have it darling,” Taron said, stepping forward until he could wrap his arms around his wife’s waist. “Once this project wraps, I’ll take a much-needed break. I haven’t signed on to anything after that, and yeah, maybe I’m just tired of it all too. Tired of the lonely nights, taking dinner by myself, watching telly and thinking how funny you’d find it too, if only you were with me. This has affected me too, and it can, and will, change,” he said, brushing away the hair that had fallen across her face. He leaned in and kissed her sweetly, and whatever anger she had been holding onto finally faded away as she tangled her fingers into his hair which had, admittedly, gotten a little too long.

They embraced a few minutes longer until Tibb’s indignant meow at being ignored broke the silence, making them both laugh. “So needy,” Taron chuckled, bending over to scratch Tibbs under the chin. The kitchen timer dinged, and he stood back up. “When’s dinner again?” he asked, as Andi raced to pull the pheasant out of the oven.

“In an hour and a half. Can you baste the bird while I get the berries started?” she asked.

“Of course. I’ll baste this bird within an inch of its life,” he smirked as she handed over the baster.

“You do realize it’s already dead, right?” she grinned, shaking her head at him. She dumped the cranberries in a saucepan and mixed in a cup of sugar and a couple twists of orange zest before setting it on the burner over low heat while Taron got the pheasant properly basted. He’d stuck his tongue out slightly as he concentrated, looking up and catching his wife gazing at him slightly.

“Yes?” he smiled at her, his eyes fairly twinkling at her.

“Oh, nothing. You’re just adorable, you know,” she couldn’t help but grin.

“In my travel clothes and everything?” he asked, raising that eyebrow she so loved again.

“What wife wouldn’t love seeing her husband helping out in the kitchen, hmmm?” she grinned, tossing the kitchen towel at him and making him just chuckle. He slid the pheasant back in the oven before going to get himself cleaned up and dressed in something more appropriate for a Christmas Eve dinner and service.

Andi busied herself with the cranberry sauce, watching the skin of the berries bursting, stirring occasionally and making sure it got to the right consistency. Taron returned, hair freshly combed, in black slacks and a grey pullover sweater, looking every bit as handsome and stealing her breath away.

“Your turn, love. I can finish up here,” he grinned, pulling her to him and giving her a sweet kiss before gently pushing her toward the stairs.

“You sure?” she asked.

“Just go,” he laughed. “I think I can handle a few cranberries.”

Andi smiled to herself before running upstairs. She dashed some makeup on and ran the hot iron through her hair before pulling on a nice green sweater over her grey skirt. She smoothed it down, her hands pausing slightly over her stomach. She pulled on some warm winter leggings because of how cold and snowy it was outside, and fastened one of the many sparkly necklaces Taron had gotten her over the years around her neck. She deemed her appearance good enough for her family and returned downstairs to find that Taron had already packaged the cranberry sauce in a bowl covered in foil and had transferred the pheasant to a nice baking dish.

“Everything’s ready to go, my love,” he smiled in that charming way he had. “We should probably head out if we’re to get there on time,” he said, checking his watch briefly.

“In a minute,” Andi said, sounding nervous for a moment. “I wanted to give you something first, before we go. Something that’s been waiting for you to get home.” She grabbed Taron’s hand and pulled him along to the Christmas tree in the living room, it’s white lights twinkling merrily among the pine boughs, red poinsettias offering a contrast of color against the silver bulbs. “Here,” she said, handing Taron a rectangular wrapped box and biting her lip.

“You want me to open it now?” he asked, and she nodded enthusiastically. He pulled the ribbon to undo it, dropping the string to the floor, where Tibbs pounced on it with gusto.

Taron slowly opened the hinged box and gasped slightly at the grainy black and white picture taped to the inside lid, and the positive pregnancy test nestled lovingly in tissue paper inside.

“Andi! You are… We are ... ?” he said, tears already springing into his eyes.

“I am,” she nodded, her eyes bright in the glow of the lights. “About 10 weeks now. I just had the ultrasound last week. I heard its little heartbeat. It’s really real this time, babe,” she said softly as he gathered her into his arms and peppered her face with kisses. “It’s why I needed you home so badly. I’ve very nearly told you on the phone every day this week,” she said, giggling along with her own tears.

“I’m going to be a dad,” Taron said, in total awe of his wife, pride shining in his eyes.

“There’s still a risk, of course, you know… We’ve lost the last two so quickly,” she said, both of their faces darkening at those painful memories. “But the doctor said everything looked perfect this time. So I’m daring to hope.”

“I think it’s high time that we were able to dream a little,” he agreed, inspecting the grainy black and white image more closely, tracing the little blob that was their baby with his fingers and looking completely overwhelmed.

“I wanted to tell you first, so I could surprise my mam and papa too,” she smiled.

“And tomorrow, my folks,” he grinned back at her, and she nodded excitedly.

“One step ahead of you, dear. I’ve already made them up surprise gifts,” she grinned, holding up the wrapped gifts as Taron chuckled, wiping at his eyes. “But we really should go now or everyone will start eating without us.”

They grabbed the food and gifts and loaded the car before heading across town, Taron driving carefully now that he had a precious baby to protect as well. They were welcomed into her family’s home, the smells of delicious homemade food wafting out into the evening air. They were both embraced with many hugs, from her mother and father, her sister Hannah and brother-in-law Jude. Andi’s sister was a mirror opposite of her, as naturally blonde as she was brunette, ice blue eyes to Andi’s deep chocolate brown ones.

“Let me help with those!” her father said, grabbing the bowl of cranberry sauce from her as Taron carried the pheasant into the kitchen. Her mum and sister helped with putting the gifts under the tree, and soon they were seated around the table, filling their bellies with good food and their hearts with plenty of laughter, reminiscing about past family Christmases and stories from when Andi and Hannah were little girls.

They went to Christmas Eve service next, and even if Taron wasn’t particularly religious, he didn’t mind sitting through the service with her family. It was important to her, and he supported that. Once they had retired back to the house, Andi and Taron’s secret nearly got spoiled when her mum ladled up cups of mulled wine for everyone. Andi took her cup hesitantly, realizing that if she declined her mam would instantly be suspicious. She shrugged to Taron, and set her cup on the sofa end table, where it would remain untouched for the rest of the night.

They gathered around to open presents, and Andi insisted on going first. Taron tried to stuff his nervous excitement down long enough to not spoil the surprise when she handed her parents both a gift. She’d explained on the car ride over what was in them, and they both waited in anticipation as her parents opened the gifts.

“What do I need this for?” her father asked, holding up a bib in a confused manner, but her mother instantly squealed when she held up a sippy cup. Hannah joined in the squealing and rushed over to hug Andi, as her dad was still utterly confused.

“She’s pregnant, dear!” Andi’s mom laughed, wiping happy tears away as her dad finally joined in with the celebration.

“I just thought this meant you all thought I was messy!” he chuckled, as they all excitedly talked over one another, her mother of course wanting to know a full run-down of all the details, some she hadn’t even managed to share with Taron. But he didn’t mind, just happy to see her excitement over it all; it was infectious, and everyone was just beaming over the good news.

They eventually got around to opening the rest of the gifts, though her sister quipped that there was no way to top that gift this year. The evening was a lovely time, but eventually it was time to say goodnight. They’d be driving to Aberystwyth in the morning to spend Christmas Day with Taron’s family, so getting some decent sleep was probably the best idea. Plus, Taron was fighting some serious jet lag at that point, hiding his yawns behind his hand and fooling no one.

“Best get you to bed, lover mine,” Andi giggled softly once they were seated in their car and headed home.

“Only if you’re right there with me,” he grinned, but kept his eyes on the road.

“No place I’d rather be, T,” she replied sweetly, running her fingers lightly over her belly. “So is it too soon to start thinking of names?” she laughed softly.

“I think we still have a little time for that,” he smiled in reply.

“But you’ll still have to return to the film again, and that’s going to be months before you’re done. This is why I told you how I felt, because things are really going to have to change now,” she added.

“And they will change. And I will be here for this little one, and for you. You’re not going to go through this alone. And if you need me to come home, at any point, I will, and the film schedule is just going to have to understand. I don’t want to miss these moments either,” he said, squeezing her hand. “We’ll figure out our way through it, I’ll wrap that film, and then you’ll have me for as long as we can stand before you send me off packing to work again,” he teased her.

“Oh please,” she rolled her eyes, but seemed happy with this commitment. They settled into a comfortable silence, Christmas tunes playing low on the radio until they gratefully parked at home. They unloaded their gifts and the dishes and made sure to refill Tibbs’ food and water dishes before heading upstairs to bed.

They brushed their teeth and changed into jammies and crawled in under the covers together. Taron pulled Andi sweetly to him, wrapping his arms around her, their legs intertwining, but they were both far too tired to do anything else even if the want was there, pulled tight like a string about to burst. Taron’s eyes were already drooping shut as he kissed his wife, both sweetly and passionately, the spark that had originally ignited in them years before still burning strong, steady and sure.

“I love you so much,” he murmured gently, their foreheads nearly touching as they laid on the pillow, gazing tiredly at each other. “Today couldn’t have been better, truly.”

“Aside from that part where you were running really late and I got pissed off and nearly threw a skillet at your head,” Andi joked lightly, and Taron cracked a smile.

“Nope, even that part was perfect because it was so painfully and utterly my strong-willed, independent, spirited wife. And those things I fell madly in love with you for, hook, line and sinker.”

“You’re such a romantic, babe,” she said dryly before giggling.

“And you know you love it,” he grinned, as she nodded and then yawned herself.

“Sleep?” she asked plaintively.

“Sleep,” he agreed with a nod, kissing her a couple of last times before they settled into their normal sleeping positions, feeling happy and over the moon with each other all over again. Andi couldn’t wait to see what tomorrow had in store for them, as she genuinely loved his family as much as her own. Though they didn’t spend a ton of time together over the year because of the distance, they still welcomed her in every time, and she absolutely adored his sisters. Seeing Taron interact with them had always made the part of her that wanted children ache a bit inside, but now, well, now things were about to change.

Taron was already softly snoring next to her, and she relished the sound, the warmth of his body next to hers, the way the bed leaned slightly so she’d sometimes roll into him, the way his arm would sometimes drift across her body even in his sleep, the sleepy smile and messy bedhead in the morning, even the kisses before either of them had brushed their teeth in the morning. He was perfect to her in every way, though he wasn’t perfect in and of himself. No one was, but they made each other stronger in their union, and that was what truly mattered.

Tibbs scratched at the door slightly, so she tiptoed across the hardwood and cracked the bedroom door open, letting him in. He jumped onto the bed and settled at their feet, maybe sensing things in their lives were about to change, maybe not. Andi sent a little Christmas wish up to the stars, hidden somewhere beyond the clouded sky, that everything with this pregnancy would go well, that this little miracle would be theirs to keep and cherish forever, as she slowly drifted off to sleep, ready for what Christmas Day would have in store for them.

Part 2 on Christmas Day - Read it here!

[sweetbyte]

Title: Magical Mistletoe Woes  | (Apart of Lessons in Magic series) 

Rating: T 

Pairing: Shouto Todoroki | Momo Yaoyorozu

Summary: The thing about magical mistletoe was that it was conniving. It was a pesky plant and if not careful enough, one would find themselves trapped into forced intimacy at the mercy of said plant, with a perfect stranger even, until this plant was satisfied. What a wicked and perverse weed. 

The thing about magical mistletoe was that it was conniving. It was a pesky plant and if not careful enough, one would find themselves trapped into forced intimacy at the mercy of said plant, with a perfect stranger even, until this plant was satisfied. What a wicked and perverse weed.

Yes, mistletoe was a staple for the holiday festivities, but it was simply inappropriate given the nature of the plant. Muggles had a similar tradition, but theirs was innocent. Just a peck would do, and if truly bothered, one could leave without repercussions. Simple, sweet and classy. Theirs wasn’t…magical, in the literal sense of course.

In hindsight, maybe she should have paid more attention to the planning of the Christmas party. As Head Girl, she should have inspected all of the minor details that went into it. But she hadn’t. She had much on her plate at the time, still does, and she was happy to let the Prefects take charge of the whole ordeal. She should have known better given the fact that the Gryffindor Prefects were just extremely too giddy to be given the honor. So giddy that even Head Boy Bakugou had commented on her decision being a mistake. She had waved it off then, touched by the energy, eagerness and initiative they were showing. Plus, Bakugou was always belittling the courageous house.  

At the first sight of the mistletoe, Yaoyorozu immediately set to work in taking them down -replacing them with transfigured artificial mistletoe- after having a word with Prefect Mina, who pouted, not at all perturbed by the fact that she had just seen a fourth year being dragged by the ankle back to a petrified fifth year, bound by the mistletoe.

Midway through her hunt, she recruited Bakugou to assist her who looked positively overjoyed at the chance to blast something, which she reminded him he absolutely could not do. She also requested assistance from her Ravenclaw prefects, Iida and Jirou, as she knew they were reliable and competent to get the task done with minor explanation. Call it bias, but they were efficient.

They tackled the great hall being used first, as that’s where the majority of the students were. It was completed in a decent amount of time, and Momo thanked her two prefects and wished them to enjoy the rest of the party, which seemed to be turning out to be a success, mistletoe fiasco aside.

Instead of joining the party, she set off into the corridors to make sure they were clear from the treacherous mistletoe as well. They were not. She had run into 3 sprigs and by the fourth one, she was starting to run out of patience. Or maybe it was seeing Mineta camping underneath trying to lure in a victim before she sent him off with a warning.

She was aware she was missing most of the party, but she also had no interest in attending. Her heart wasn’t in it and the last thing she wanted to do was ruin the festivities for others.

As she stalked the rest of the corridors and checked the alcoves, she was beginning to feel triumphant in her quest. Content and convinced that she had cleared all of the offending vines, she started to make her way back to the great hall.

She sighed half-heartily, thinking about how she was near the end of her time at Hogwarts. It felt bittersweet to reminisce on all the events and changes that had taken control of her life in only the last year. Mainly, the person who had changed everything. If she focused on him, maybe she could ignore the chaos around her. Completely mental and inaccurate, seeing as he was ironically the center of her chaos.

Nearing another alcove, she paused when she heard murmurs and frowned. She wasn’t particularly fond of eavesdropping but if it was the start of explicitly inappropriate conduct, she would have no choice but to intervene.  

She didn’t make out much other than an apology in a low timbre. It was the same timbre that had been making her knees weak all year and she held her breath.

“I’m sorry for wasting your time.” A female voiced rushed out and Momo heard the clicks of heels on the floor nearing her direction. She knew she should have made to move, but she found she was rooted on the spot, wide-eyed, as a girl she recognized as a Hufflepuff ran past her, close to tears. It was obvious, what the conversation she heard was about, and she felt a mix of guilt and relief engulf her.

By the time Todoroki came into her sights, she decidedly chose to bite the inside of her cheek, a horrid habit she had developed this year, and refused to look at him, even when he stopped in front of her.

“Yaoyorozu.” The way he said her name made her flinch. It was void of anything that would betray his feelings, his mask was set into place.

It was interesting really, how different each of their masks worked. Katsuki hid behind wrath, Midoriya behind hope, Shouto behind indifference, and she, well she was still figuring it out.

“Todoroki.” She managed to murmur; the name almost foreign on her tongue after months of not using it. He’d been Shouto to her, until he couldn’t be anymore.

“You shouldn’t be out here, alone.”

She bit her cheek one final time before finally looking up at him. He indeed sounded emotionless, but his eyes said otherwise. She wished she hadn’t looked.

“As Head Girl, there is no one more qualified to be in these corridors, alone.” She begins haughtily, as she practiced. “Not that I have to explain my actions, much less to someone beneath me.” Her words are accusing, biting and offensive and his eyes finally narrowed at her. She feels sick the moment they leave her, but it has to be done. Constant vigilance.

“Very well.” He bites, and she expects him to move, she wants nothing but to run away herself, but she can’t.

Her eyes widen in horror, when she looks up and sees the despicable mistletoe disgustingly hidden in a nook overhead.

“Fuck.” She hears Shouto mutters and it’s ridiculous how it she still can’t control the shivers. He’s not one to use such profanities. She watches him send hexes, intricate ones, but the plant remains intact.

“Once a pair is locked, its binds them until it is satisfied, no curse will work.” She supplies, sounding more bitter than ever at being caught by the blasted mistletoe what starts to entangle around them.

“I know.” He snaps a little too harshly causing her to look down in shame.

Her eyes sweep around the corridor and when she’s content that absolutely no one is in sight, she mutters a small apology only to be shocked to hear him apologize at the same time.

“This is harder than I thought it would be.” She confesses quietly, only wanting her words to reach him.  

Shouto sighs tiredly and the mask falls, leaving an exhausted broken boy in front of her. “This is how it has to be.” For now lingers between them like the damned mistletoe.

“Get on with it, then.” Momo demands softly and she catches his smirk before his lips finally brush against hers. Its soft and tender at first, and she wants to sob at the innocence of it. It’s been too long. It turns needy, and she’s fine with that, for she truly is needy for him.  She wills her hands to stay by her side, but the will is broken once she feels his hands cradle her face and she ends up clutching any part of him she can reach.

It’s torture when they part to confirm the plant had subsided because as much as disdain the forsaken mistletoe had brought her, it also gave her this moment with him again.

“Not that I’m complaining, but perhaps this was too much.” She manages to whisper and Shouto only shakes his head while bringing her into his arms. She misses him. She misses him so much, but what they are doing in dangerous. “Shouto we can’t-“

“I’ve already cast a disillusionment and silencing charm.” Her mutters into the crook of her neck causing her to sigh and bring her hands to rub circles along his back. Of course, he’s always been steps ahead of her. They stay like that for a moment making the most of it before they pull away.

“You really shouldn’t be out alone, where is Bakugou?” He asks tersely causing her to roll her eyes.

“I’ll be fine, it’s you who should really be careful. Don’t be reckless.” She chides gently. “Besides, it’s only until the end of the year.”

“You would think he’d keep a better eye on you.” He complains causing her to tut in response. “Contrary to popular belief, I am not the one who needs to be watched.” She rebukes pointedly while banishing the mistletoe above them with her wand. He's quick to drop one last lingering kiss on her lips before he swishes his and she knows the charms giving them privacy are gone with the return of his cold mask.

“I recommend you watch your back Todoroki, wouldn’t want anything unfortunate to happen to you in these lonely halls, now would we?” She taunts before she brushes past him. ‘Be careful’ She stresses.

She waits until she’s in the comfort of her quarters to touch her lips, reliving the touches and kiss they had managed to share, if only for a moment underneath the blasted mistletoe.

But that was the thing about magical mistletoe, wasn’t it?

A/N: Happy Holidays everyone! As you can see, I’m still in such a HP mood. 

[elderstiefel]

A Night to Forget - Miles Edgeworth x Phoenix Wright

Read also on AO3! Leave a comment & kudos if you want!

Summary :  Closeted gay man Miles Edgeworth decides to step out of his comfort zone for a night out on the town. But it all comes crumbling down when he bumps into a familiar face

The chain of events that led Miles Edgeworth to be standing in the middle of a gay club on a Saturday night was an interesting yet all too familiar one.

It started with the usual stress. Many sleepless nights mulling over cases; falling asleep on the office couch and waking up as the sun peeked through the blinds, ringing in another day of work. Rinse and repeat.

Stress can make you do some interesting things, many of which Miles thought he was immune to. Though he had come close to ripping his hair out from the root or throwing an expensive brandy glass against the wall, he always seemed to manage to calm himself down and be rational.

Managing the usual work-related stress was something that was second nature to him.

The stress of being a 25-year-old closeted gay man in the city with no time to do anything was something he was still trying to figure out.

It didn’t help when his two worlds collided, and he had to spend the day staring the stupidly handsome and annoyingly persistent Phoenix Wright in the face during a court session.

He convinced himself that his crush on Wright was brought about by the two sides of himself battling it out in his mind; his suave professional persona and the scared gay boy in the closet who just wanted to come out and have some fun.

Besides, he couldn’t seriously have feelings for Phoenix Wright. They were natural enemies. Wright was so annoying…brilliant, but annoying.

Going out on the town was one of those things way out of Miles’ comfort zone. He was rightfully accused of “not getting out much” but God, he didn’t think he was that terminal. It took a quick swig of vodka and a 20-minute pep talk to get him out the door.

He felt rather…sexy in his tight-fitting grey sweater and even tighter fitting burgundy pants. Not uncomfortably tight, more like made to fit his body just so. There was something about the way his clothes were tailored that made him irresistible to look at…or so he’d been told. He wasn’t planning on bringing anyone home tonight but he knew he definitely could if the opportunity came about.

This night spending too much money on drinks and pretending to know how to dance to popular songs was supposed to help him blow off steam. Let loose a little bit. God knows he didn’t have any opportunity while living in a Von Karma household, but being a grown man with a more than adequate income and one free night to himself, he wasn’t going to pass it up.

Forget the cases. Forget the court. Forget Manfred Von Karma. Forget that stupid Phoenix Wright. To hell with it. Tonight was his night.

Or so he thought.

He felt a vein pop in his neck when he spotted Phoenix Wright, dressed in a shirt and jeans that were impossibly tight, sitting at the end of the bar. He was wearing that stupid dorky grin on his face, and his stupid giggle as he cracked a joke with the bartender could be heard over the music. And My God, he looks so stupidly gorgeous-

It wasn’t until Phoenix was offering up an awkward wave that Miles realized his cover had been blown. Blown to absolute fucking smithereens.

It wasn’t like Miles could pretend he hadn’t seen Phoenix. He was still staring at him, wide-eyed, his feet glued to the club floor like a deer caught in the headlights of a semi-truck.

He couldn’t run, at least not that far. Sure the club was crowded but the shock of grey hair scrambling away would be easy to track down in the crowd.

The thump thump thump of the music turned into a dull buzz in the back of Edgeworth’s head as he tried to plan his escape. Panic made his vision go blurry, but he was quickly brought back from the void when that familiar voice called out to him.

“Miles? Hey, Miles!”

He was absolutely appalled by the greeting, his hands flying up to cover his mouth as if he was about to be sick.

Don’t scream my name in here you moron, I can’t be spotted in here, don’t act like this is so fucking casual why the fuck are you here-

“Edgeworth, are you alright?”

As soon as he noticed Phoenix had left his chair and oh fuck he’s coming this way, his feet finally let him move to hightail it out the door.

He didn’t create any scene at all, but Miles’ anxiety made it feel like every eye in the room was on him as he crashed out the door.

Everyone knows. Everyone saw me. Miles Edgeworth, the demon prosecutor, also a massive queer.

He held his head in his hands and tried to catch his breath in the alley beside the club. The dull thumping of the music bled through the brick wall he leaned up against.

Strings of words repeated over and over in his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to breathe but the words grew louder and louder. That voice…

Von Karma might be on death row but his words would forever live on in Miles’ head.

Failure. Queer. Pansy. Degenerate.

“…Miles?”

He jumped when a warm hand rested on his shoulder. He peeked up through his fingers at Phoenix, who wore an expression that was the perfect mix of awkward and sympathetic.

As much as he hated being seen like this, especially by someone like Wright, he couldn’t find the strength to straighten his posture and make eye contact. His eyes remained pasted on the concrete.

“… Wright. I-”

“Didn’t expect to see me here? I could say the same thing to you.” Phoenix offered a warm smile, one that persisted he was being genuine and not trying to poke fun.

“…please don’t-”

“Miles, trust me…I won’t tell anyone. Not even Maya, when she starts pestering the life outta me, asking where I’ve been. If you don’t want anyone to know…I get it.”

Miles’ eyes darted up to Phoenix for a brief moment, and he felt a jolt in his stomach that sent his eyes flying back to the ground.

Bracing himself on the brick wall, Miles straightened his back and cleared his throat as if nothing was wrong and he didn’t just have a near mental collapse in front of his work rival.

“I just…I found myself free this evening. And this- it’s not something I usually enjoy but-”

“You don’t have to explain it to me, I get it. Work is, uh…it’s a bitch! Let’s be honest.” Phoenix chuckled, reaching to scratch the back of his head.

Miles hated himself for noticing the fabric of Phoenix’s shirt stretch over his chest and how the sleeves strained at the biceps.

Miles crossed his arms over his chest and cleared his throat once again as if that would help him assert himself in this situation.

“I didn’t know you were gay.” He said bluntly, his eyes darting back and forth between Phoenix and the wall in front of him.

“Yeah, well… being gay is one thing. Being a lawyer is another. I think I do a good job of keeping my personal and professional life separate. But…damn, being a gay lawyer, there isn’t time to do anything!” Phoenix threw his hands up in exaggerated exasperation, offering another chuckle that Miles warmly responded to.

“You’ve got that right…” Miles felt just the tiniest bit more comfortable, much to his surprise. Because God, this was awkward. He knew the working relationship he and Phoenix had would be forever changed but for some reason…he didn’t give two shits. Something about Phoenix’s openness made all the shame melt away.

“But when you’ve got time…you might as well use it.” Phoenix slid his hands into his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels. “And being a lonely gay in the club can be intimidating…”

“What are you implying, Wright?”

“Can I buy you a drink?”

____________________

Miles didn’t know what came over him, but he found himself, sitting next to Phoenix Wright of all people, at a gay bar, sipping on a $14 drink.

And it wasn’t his first $14 drink either. Phoenix started out getting them some cocktails that came with little paper umbrellas and candied fruit.

Experience tells us that these drinks are the most dangerous because they sneak up on you.

Miles twiddled the tiny paper umbrella between his fingers and sighed a bit more wantonly than he would ever care to admit.

“So…I never really came out to Von Karma, God knows I couldn’t. I thought I hid it pretty well but…he found my diary and…”

“Damn…I’m so sorry. I can only imagine how he reacted.” Phoenix rested his cheek in his hand and downed the rest of his drink.

Miles shivered a little bit as the memory flashed through his mind. “It wasn’t my proudest moment. I like to think everything he put me through shaped me into a better man but that was…terrifying. I thought he would send me away or…worse. All for writing about sneaking a kiss with a boy during lunchtime.”

Phoenix moved in a little closer to Miles. He could tell Miles needed a shift from cold memories to more awkward and funny ones. He wanted to see him smile.

“My parents never really suspected, y'know…I went through law school, and I never really had time to experiment or date. I had a few girlfriends in grad school but uh…well.” Phoenix gestured to the club around him. “You can imagine why those didn’t work out.”

Miles smirked and chuckled to himself, thankful for the change of subject. “Ah, the first girlfriends…I remember mine. Lovely girl.”

“Nice tits?”

“Oh, the nicest. And such a… curvy, womanly behind.” Miles tried his best to match Phoenix’s vulgarity.

They both snickered and simultaneously reached for their glasses, only to realize they were both empty.

“Ah, well…I’m outta cash.” Phoenix patted his pockets with a sad sigh.

“I’ll get the next round, pick your poison.” Miles reached for his wallet and pulled out $40 cash. Phoenix gasped and crossed his arms in such a childish way it almost made Miles lose it.

“Damn, Mr. Prosecutor came loaded! Why was I paying this whole time?!”

Miles let out a laugh that would certainly be deemed ungentlemanly and Phoenix melted a little in his seat.

“You offered the first drink. And you got so tipsy you just kept going.”

“What can I say, I can’t help but buy a handsome man a drink. Or two. Or four.”

Both of them felt the same flush in their cheeks, and they didn’t know if it was the alcohol or that they were both becoming aware of how much they shifted closer to each other during their conversation.

“Well…I can return the favor. I too enjoy splurging on handsome men.” Miles fiddled with his paper umbrella again, his eyes darting up to meet Phoenix’s.

The fruity drinks were certainly filling him with confidence, and he reached up and tucked the umbrella behind Phoenix’s ear, letting his fingers brush ever so gently across the skin of his neck on the way back.

The shiver that traveled through Phoenix was ungodlike and it nearly knocked him off his chair.

“I mean…maybe we could just take this back to your place? I know you have that good shit. The expensive stuff, aged for 40 years in an oak barrel and filtered through gold.”

Miles rolled his eyes and stuffed the cash back in his wallet. “It’s such a sophisticated drink, you can’t just down it like these subordinate cocktails.”

It wasn’t until Miles slipped his wallet back into his pocket that the reality of Phoenix’s question hit him like a ton of bricks.

He just asked to come home with me.

The next breath that left Miles’ lips was shaky. He glanced over at Phoenix, who was looking at his shoes and absentmindedly swirling the fruit in the bottom of his empty glass, staining it maraschino cherry red. He could tell he was just as nervous as he was.

“…it’s a bit of a walk.”

“It’s a nice night.”

____________________

Miles awoke the next morning on his living room couch, a painful crick in his neck and a pounding pressure swelling behind his eyes.

The first sight that greeted him, aside from the blinding sunlight that he immediately resented, was two empty glasses sitting on the coffee table. A few puddles of spilled brandy speckled the glass tabletop.

The night before was returning to him in bits and pieces. The club, Phoenix Wright, the paper umbrellas, the walk home…

He glanced down and drew in a quick breath at the sight of Phoenix sprawled on top of him, out like a light with a small string of saliva trailing from his lip onto Miles’ sweater.

Both of the men were fully clothed, minus shoes and socks, and both equally looking like absolute hungover messes.

A wave of relief washed over Miles as he realized they didn’t…do anything last night.

He’d never forgive himself if he and Phoenix Wright shared a night of passion and he couldn’t remember it.

As he lay there with Phoenix snoozing on top of him, a few more pieces of the night before came back to him.

They continued their talk about Miles’ closeted childhood. About how Von Karma drilled it into his mind that it was a phase he’d outgrow, and that if he didn’t, Von Karma would scare it out of him.

They talked about failed girlfriends, failed straight sex, and had a hardy laugh over that.

They talked about their first times with other boys…how liberating it felt. How good it felt to realize they weren’t broken.

After that, the night became a blur.

God, did Phoenix mention if he was a top or bottom? I can’t remember…

The sleeping man stirred on Miles’ chest and let out a rather loud yawn.

“Urgh… God damn it. This is why I don’t do this often.” Phoenix groaned, forgetting where he was and nuzzling into Miles’ chest.

“The aftermath certainly doesn’t seem worth it…” Miles tried to sit up but Phoenix kept him in his reclined position. He didn’t mind.

After sitting in comfortable silence for a bit, the gravity of the situation started to hit both of them. Miles cleared his throat and decided to break the silence first.

“Um… Wright.”

Phoenix scrunched his nose up and shifted to sit up. Leave it to Edgeworth to make things professional again.

“I know you mentioned you keep your personal and professional life separate…I strive to do the same.”

Phoenix rubbed his eyes and sat on the opposite end of the couch, distancing himself from the other man (as much as he didn’t want to, as much as he just wanted to snuggle back up with him and fall asleep).

“Yeah…you don’t have to tell me twice. This was… I had fun last night. But I don’t see how this has to change anything.” Phoenix offered a smile, to which Edgeworth returned.

“Yes, I agree. I had…fun.” Miles ruffled his hair, trying to smooth it out to no avail. “You’re right, this doesn’t have to change anything. I will remain vigilant in court and-”

“And I’ll be there to kick your ass.” Phoenix cut him off, smirking proudly.

Miles rolled his eyes and shot a look at Phoenix. And then another look. And then a sharp feeling rose in his stomach that was much more urgent than the hangover nausea that was cursing him this morning.

“What are you looking at? Do I have something on my face?”

His eyes were glued to the red and purple splotches left all over Phoenix’s neck and collarbone.

He swallowed hard as his eyes darted to the button of Phoenix’s jeans, his fly wide open just like his own. He shuffled his legs at his sudden realization.

Phoenix’s hair, instead of its usual spiky glory, was tousled like it had been previously ravished by hungry hands.

His heart in his throat, Miles returned his eyes to the messy coffee table in front of him. More memories of last night came seeping back into his mind and he felt his face grow hot.

“Uh… nothing. I had a good time with you last night. Good talk.” Miles’ hand flew to his own neck on instinct, and both him and Phoenix blushed wildly, knowing they were both sporting matching neck accessories.

It’s a good thing the next trial isn’t until Wednesday…

[this-is-a-new-me]

I’m gonna be honest, I don’t really know why I’m posting this. Maybe just as a call into the void. Maybe because I don’t have anyone who gives enough of a shit about me to care. Or maybe in case there are others out there like me. Who knows. I’m not even sure how many people will care to read, and in the end I guess it doesn’t really matter.

This is I guess half coming out story, half venting about the present so, if you care to read here goes. If not this one’s just for me. It’s pretty long so, kudos to those who do read and get to the end.

To be frank, my story isn’t a great one. It’s not a heroic show of bravery, it was actually pretty cowardly. It didn’t make my life better, at best it stayed the same. It didn’t end with me running off into the night with the love of my life, in the end I lost her.

My first girlfriend was also my first relationship period. We met freshman year of college and were instant best friends. There’s some backstory that isn’t important for this, but by second semester sophomore year we started dating. In the end we dated for just shy of 5 years. 2 years in, she proposed and I accepted. At that point, my family knew nothing. They didn’t know I was gay. They obviously didn’t know she was my girlfriend/fiancé. They knew her only as my best friend.

Some people have loving families that they easily feel comfortable coming out to. That was not my family. Over the years some had made comments that made me know they wouldn’t accept me, at least not the way I wanted to be. My sister and two cousins I trusted were the only ones who knew. But I just couldn’t tell my parents.

Even though we were engaged, my fiancé and I decided not to get married right away. We agreed I should finish school first, and we wanted to be more financially stable. As my last year of school wound down, we decided it was time and picked a date for the following July (we were impatient by that point). Now, considering I was pretty sure my family wouldn’t be fully accepting, some would say we should have just gotten married and said fuck them. Even my fiancé felt we should elope. But I couldn’t feel that way. Fears aside, I have always loved my family and wanted them to at least be given the chance to be there. Plus, a part of me felt that just eloping or getting married without them knowing would be betraying myself. Like admitting it was wrong or that I didn’t deserve the same kind of wedding day straight couples get to have.

So, I decided to tell them. Problem is, I’m a coward when it comes to confrontation. I avoid it at all cost because I have this horrible personal quality that thends to make me value others’ feelings over my own. And given how I thought they would react, I guess part of me wanted to give them a chance to know and...understand? process?....before speaking to me. So I left a letter explaining everything. That I’m gay, that my best friend was my girlfriend then fiancé, and that we were getting married. I left the note and went to work, knowing my parents would both get home before me. When I was eventually asked to come home I was terrified.

Now, I should clarify. I don’t believe in comparing situations. The same way I don’t believe in comments like “you shouldn’t be sad when others have it worse” I don’t believe any bad coming out can be objectively better or worse than others. That said, I always imagined that the reaction to my secret would be either acceptance (even if it was slow to come) or outright rejection. That’s not what I got. I got yelled at for two days. Questioned on how I knew we were in love. Made to question every feeling I ever had. And then....nothing.

After those two days, the topic of my relationship and my sexuality became a black hole topic. It has never been mentioned. I wasn’t kicked out, but I wasn’t accepted either. I just...am. I have never had the experience of talking through the ups and downs of my relationship with my mom. Never got to ask for relationship advice. When my fiancé and I eventually broke up I couldn’t even go to them for comfort, I suffered in silence hiding myself away in my room so they couldn’t see the pain and the tears. My mom has since realized on her own we’re no longer together, but the only comment she’s ever made on the topic came when she saw I was texting my ex (who I have stayed friends with) and said “I thought you didn’t speak to her anymore.” Not a question, just a comment with no follow up.

For financial reasons I still live with my parents (what I’m starting to think is a new normal among millennials). At the moment we’re getting ready to move. I bothered writing this story down because as I was helping pack some things, I saw the letter. I saw that damned letter and almost fainted. Then all I felt was rage. A damned piece of paper that led to screaming, silence, and eventually a broken heart. A letter detailing a life they won’t even acknowledge and it’s stashed among family photos and baby books like it’s an important artifact.

I don’t even know if my rage is justified. Part of me says maybe she kept it because she really does accept me. But then I say if that was true why is the topic of my sexuality still treated like a secret that needs kept behind a locked vault away from the ears of everyone around us?

Now that I’ve written this out, it sounds like little more than babbling. But I guess that’s what a blog is for. To babble. Clear the mind. Scream into a digital abyss when life wants to kick you. I’m frustrated and angry and so fucking lonely that I don’t even have anyone to talk to about it. So, I guess if you’ve read it I should thank you. I can’t say it made me feel better, but it’s a story I’ve held in for...hell almost three years now. If I do have anything I want to come through from this story: if you are someone who came out to family and the result was falling between the cracks to a place that makes you stuck in a purgatory neither accepted nor rejected, just exisisting, I feel you. If you’re a parent and your child has come out to you, they deserve to be heard and understood and given some kind of reaction. I would hope rejection isn’t it, but sometimes I think rejection would have been better than nothing.

There is no good way to end a babbling post so, for anyone who made it this far in reading, thanks. Peace ✌️

[freakie-deakie]

Hyunjin // If We Let Go (Part 2)

Guys oh my gosh I didn't think you were gonna like the first part so much and all the positive responses made me so happy I just 😭🙏❤️💕💓💞 tyty I love you all sm

Okay so this was originally a one shot, but I decided to make it into a mini series. I feel like this chapter is a little slow, but I've already started on the next one I promise it gets more exciting. I hope you enjoy it~💕

Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Hyunjin x Reader (angst mini series // 3k words)

There was a soft knock at his door, drawing Jeongin's attention back to the outside world after several hours of appreciated solitary confinement. It felt nice for him to blow off some steam through listening to music and napping in his familiar area. His roommates didn't even bother him, which felt like a rare blessing that grew from roots of pity, but he'd take solace in quietness wherever he could find it.

"Do you..." Chan's voice faded away as he gathered his thoughts. "Do you wanna talk about it?" he tried. "I made breakfast for us."

Bang Chan didn't make breakfast for everyone in the shared apartment. Part of him wanted to, and to have everyone eat together when morning came, thinking maybe it would dispell some tension between his teammates. The other part of him knew that it wouldn't work. Even if he had cooked for eight, Felix having been absent and at your aid, many of the members didn't want to look at each other after the bomb had been so casually dropped into yesterday's conversation.

Jeongin's refreshing period of isolation was probably the only reason he didn't get instantly defensive, yet it still hadn't drained his habit of sarcastically shrugging off serious situations.

"You mean about how I totally embarrassed myself and let everyone know about my crush on my friend's ex?" He laughed bitterly. "Thanks hyung, but I'm good."

A sigh could be heard through the thin wood that separated them. "I'm gonna come in," Chan spoke softly.

Before he could even jiggle the door handle, the youngest was already out of bed and holding the door shut. "Hyung, I don't want to talk about it. I just want to forget it."

"Let's talk for just a minute," Chan bargained. "Please."

There was a moment if silence and contemplation on both sides of the door. It was so fragile that it was eventually broken by only a soft huff and a click, the younger swiftly opening the door, pulling his older brother inside, and closing it once more.

"Felix is gonna stay with Y/N until things settle down a little bit but-" Chan cut himself off when he saw Jeongin's eyes start to squint to hold back tears. "Hey, hey, what's wrong?" He was quickly at his side, pulling his head to his shoulder in a masculine attempt of comfort. The other could have cared less about his masculinity at that moment as he wrapped his arms around his hyung's torso as tightly as his unsteady muscles could let him hold on to someone.

"How could someone be so cruel?" he begged the answer. "And why did I have to say that? I kept it a secret for so long, why did I have to say it at the worst time, in front of everyone?"

Chan held the back of the younger's head, wrapping his spare arm around him to pat his back. "I don't know what they were thinking, honestly."

"I really like her," Jeongin confessed. "I want her to be happy. Why are they so unfair to her? And she'll never know how unfair they've been. It's not fair," he cried, pushing his face harder into the other's shoulder, focusing on trying to keep his breathing under control. Chan mentally noted that Jeongin was still unaware that Y/N had heard the majority of the conversation that took place as he had stormed off before they'd detected her presence.

"I know," Chan soothed, running his hand over the baby hairs at the base of Jeongin's neck. "I know."

•

"Wakey wakey, eggs and bacy," Felix taunted, moving the plate of fresh cooked breakfast foods under your nose, approximately half of your body being draped off the side of your cramped couch. He shook you lightly, trying once more. "Rise and shine, sleeping beauty~"

Your eyes fluttered open, still feeling heavy and bound by the seal of dried tears. "You're too good to me," you croaked, slowly sitting up and taking in your surroundings.

"Someone has to be," he commented sideways. There was a small pause before you both broke out into a series of awkward chuckles. "Too soon?"

"Too soon," you agreed.

"Aish, I'm sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood a bit." He put your plate in your lap and went to fetch his own.

When he sat down, he slowly placed a bite of egg in his mouth, eyeing every one of your movements closely as you ate, acting as if he expected you to break down at any moment. He wanted to talk, hoping venting would help you, but he had no idea how to start a conversation about-

"Maybe I'll just become a lesbian," you stated simply, popping a grape in your mouth.

He choked on his bite, holding a hand to the base of his throat and coughing. 'I guess that's one way to do it.'

"I mean, I find girls attractive. Like, maybe not as in I'm attracted to them, but I'm not blind. Who knows, maybe I'll end up gay? Women seem so much easier. Like, I know what a girl wants, 'cause I am one. I don't know how to play my cards with guys. I don't understand how much care I can give them before it hurts their stupid dick-pride, or how much care I can ask for before I get annoying and needy-"

"I'm gonna have to stop you right there." He glared at you from your side. He knew you had a tendency to hide your feelings with twisted humor, laced with self depreciation. "You're not annoying or needy. You just had a bad apple for a boyfriend."

You sighed, laughing with void emotion. "I don't know.. I don't wanna dwell on this."

"It hasn't even been a day. No one will judge you if you take some time to heal-"

"I've had plenty of time. Time is a virtue. In the time I've had, I decided I want to forget everything. Close a chapter, get a fresh start."

"You've literally been awake for like two minutes."

"And in those two minutes I decided to become a lesbian and not care that giving someone four months of my undivided love and attention was only for a bet because my significant other was actually repulsed by me. Look at me, gettin' on with my life."

"Look, Hyunj-" he stopped himself when he saw your eyes flicker with petty anger. "The guy was undeniably a brainless dick, but like you said, up his. So now, self-care. And self-care starts with talking out the things you need to talk out to prevent bottling. I know this because I watched a lot of Dr. Phill."

You poked his leg with your fork, earning a yelp. "I'm not bottling, I'm just being the bigger person and letting go."

You both ate in silence until your brain formulated another question. You were about to ask, but Felix confessed before he even knew you were on the same page.

"By the way, I had to pick your lock last night. I got the door open, low-key might have broken your handle though. Someone is bringing your purse later."

You eyed him with such false disgust that he gave you one of his own biscuits as an apology.

You laughed lightly, putting it back on his plate and standing, done with your own. You dropped it off by your sink and rewrapped yourself in your comforter.

Felix finished eating just in enough time to move his plate from his lap to the coffee table and allow you to take its place.

"I don't wanna cry on you," you chuckled, tears coming back to your eyes. "I don't wanna be weak; but if you don't leave, I'm going to."

Yet again, Felix tried another not-well-timed joke to sooth you. "Well you just laid on me, fatty. I don't really have an option now, do I?" More tears threatened to spill from your eyes at that. You buried your face in his chest, a small sniffle escaping you. "I'm sorry, that was mean. And it's not true, you're beautiful and I want you to cry on me."

"Do you think that's why he didn't like me? Because I'm-"

"Don't you even call yourself fat." He looked down at you, his hand that wasn't holding you up and rubbing your back threatening to flick your forehead. "Or clingy, or needy. Sure, you sometimes one-eighty your emotions, but that's part of your perfection. You're perfect; it's that dick that needs some serious readjustments."

You softly hit his chest, chuckling to yourself as your face continued to become a fully functioning water park. "Shh, this ain't about your opinions. Just let me rant." He removed your hand from his chest and held it, his thumb running over the back of it.

"I want you to rant in a healthy way then. No self deprecation, understand?" You pitifully nodded, wiping at your eyes until the skin of your cheeks was raw.

"I don't wanna do this. I'm not good with talking through actual emotions. Can we just go lay in bed and watch movies? I think I wanna call in sick today anyways."

He gave you a couple of minutes to calm down before lifting you and stumbling to your bedroom. He plopped you on the bed and moved to get your laptop. "The Lion King, Frozen, The Lone Ranger? What are you in the mood for."

"Fifty Shades," you said just to tip him off.

"My Little Pony it is."

•

The first thing Hyunjin did when he got up was stretch and check his messages out of habit. But there were none.

On any normal day, the group chat would have been being spammed with the names of Spanish foods beginning with letters A through Z, or an argument about which horse breed is the best. If not that, there was always your message waiting in his in-box. Today, there was nothing.

His room was empty, too. He figured his roommates had probably crashed with someone else.

He rolled out of his bed, slipping his feet into his slippers and straightening his pajama-bottoms. Scratching the back of his neck, he padded down the hallway and into the kitchen. There was nobody.

Everything was eerily quiet.

He found two plates of food on the stove top, but as no one in the dorms had ever made breakfast for all of them, he knew their owners would return for them soon. He poured himself cereal and sat at the counter.

Low and behold, he was right. As he scrolled through media pages on his phone, two bodies joined him in the kitchen. One, the baby of the group with tears running down his face, his red puffy eyes being more than enough to make Hyunjin freeze and rest his spoon in his bowl and phone on the counter. Neither, though both noticing his presence, decided to acknowledge him.

"Jeongin.." Hyunjin tried. The maknae didn't turn to him, taking his plate from Chan and heading towards the door, the leader right behind him. "Jeongin, what's wrong?"

"Screw off, hyung."

Being the responsible figure in loco parentis, Chan obviously wasn't in support of his members fighting. Tension only made everything more horrible, from tight living conditions to an already stressful work environment. At the same time, he felt Hyunjin deserved to hear those words. He still deeply cared about him, and didn't want him to think badly of himself, but he wasn't against someone telling him to reevaluate himself.

Hyunjin received the silent treatment from the majority of his members all week. Others involved in the scandal hid away in their rooms most of the time. Felix had come home, but refused to sleep in the same room as Jisung, opting to sleep in the couch instead. You hadn't reached out to any of them since you kicked Felix out of your apartment so you could cry in peace. Most of you found yourselves drowning in work to avoid the problem that resided between you all.

All lines of communication were too quiet. Not even the members texted each other. Social silence.

And so, for the third time, Felix finds himself picking the lock on your door. A sigh of relief fell off his lips when a soft click and low creek alerted him that he now had safe entry.

He slipped inside, passing the kitchenette and into the living area. He found you sprawled out on the sofa, catching Z's while anime played in the background.

Upon further investigation, he discovered your bed made, not a wrinkle in it's sheets, and two empty boxes of microwavable popcorn. The trashcan was overflowing with butter lined bags that smelled of (favorite seasoning), the smell so far past being intensely olfactible that he gagged.

There weren't any used dishes laying around, aside from the mug of a suspicious liquid on the coffee table in front of you and the half eaten bowl of popcorn ready to slip out of your grasp.

On your work desk sat a completed stack of papers that stood impossibly high for a stack of papers. 'She's overworking herself.'

He shook his head, closing the door and making his way back towards the entrance to your kitchen. He was going to break your unhealthy food cycle that consisted of popcorn and what he assumed to be some sort of caffeine. He started at an ungodly hour, seeing as he was going to be cooking for a decently large group of people.

--a few hours--

When you woke up, you didn't even clock the other people in your house. You pulled yourself off of the couch and slumped to the bathroom.

"Wow, she looks like death," Changbin commented to the boy at his side who sipped his coffee and nodded.

When you finished your business, you washed your hands and looked in the mirror. Your hair was distraught, clothes disheveled, and skin under the attack of a light break out.

Groaning, you turned on the shower to let it heat up and ungraceful stumbled out to turn on the coffee machine. It wasn't until you had passed them and noticed the already made coffee that you noticed the six boys who resided in your kitchen and were watching every one of your movements closely.

Changbin and Chan sat at your island bar, Jeongin leaning most of his weight on the prior. Woojin stood by the cabinets, and Seungmin leaned in the fake marble countertop. The artificial ginger with the thick accent stood over the stove, a spatula hovering above the scrambled eggs.

You all looked at each other.

Silence.

Awkward silence.

"Well, uhm," you started, trying to gather your thoughts before your mouth ran off and left you behind. At least, you tried to but all you could really process was the fact that you looked like an absolute mess and you had no idea why there were people in your apartment. "Since you already started the coffee, I guess I'm gonna hit the shower," you said quietly, holding up a peace sign and backing out of the open space.

When you returned, everyone ate in uncomfortable banter, most of which was praising Felix for his cooking skills. Finally, you got around to asking, "So why are you guys here?"

They looked at one another with confusion. "You sent us all messages last night telling us to visit you today," voiced the leader. Felix's mouth stretched into a wide, impossibly-missed grin.

"You little snake," you said, narrowing your eyes at the boy who sat across from you. "I gave you my phone password for emergencies! How did you even get my- Did you break into my house again?"

"This was an emergency," he whined. "We miss you! We want to make you happy. And you needed to eat something that wasn't junk food."

You huffed, sticking another bite in your mouth. "You're such a worrywart. I'm fine."

"Y/N," Changbin cut in, "we're never gonna stop worrying about you."

Breakfast continued, eventually falling into more inviting idle chat about anything and everything that was not involving the tree people who were missing from the crowd. Afterwards, four of the boys excused themselves for work.

"Jeongin, Felix, it's cool if you two want to stay or go home since you recorded your parts yesterday."

You chuckled at the hard working men standing by your door. "You guys really still have to work on your days off?"

Chan sent a wink in your direction. "We'll sleep when we're dead, babygirl. Don't worry about us."

"Speak for yourself, hyung. I need my naps," Seungmin butted in.

"We're off to the studio if you need anything," Woojin restated before walking his children out the door.

You played video games for a while with the two that were left. After a while, you ended up just watching them because you were still moderately tired from pulling late nights. Work had been drowning recently, but it made for a good escape, almost convincing you to stop swimming away from it. Almost convincing you to sink.

A couple of weeks went by like that. Working, working, working, spending time with Felix, working, working, spending time with Jeongin, working, working, being occasionally visited or checked in on by one of your friends that didn't stab you in the back, working, working, and more working.

You unintentionally used work as a way to distance yourself from everyone. You voluntarily let your job as a(n) (occupation) consume you. You didn't have time to worry about your boys, or boys in general. You didn't have time to remember that you loved someone who had bet against you or that one of his best friends had admitted to liking you in the fire of the moment.

It felt like heaven to have none of that be relevant anymore.

But it was more than relevant to Hyunjin, who was now missing a surprisingly large piece of his day.

You.

Even he couldn't believe how long it took him to come around to the idea that you were important to him.

[the-green-little-lion]

The Chat Latte

  lotidge cat cafe au

💜💚💜💚

  “Remind me why we're here again.” Lotor said for what had to have been the fifth time as Ezor dragged him through the streets.

    “To that cute cafe.” she replishewith that impish grin that always seemed to be plastered on Ezors face. “Now stop asking and just go along with it.”

    A sigh crossed Lotors lips as they waited for the crosswalk sign to light up. “It's hard to go along when you refuse to tell me anything about the destination. What's so great about this coffee shop anyway?”

    Ezor only rolled her eyes as they crossed the street. “Why must you doubt me?”

    “Because not even Zethred would come. Usually that's a good sign that whatever you're up to is not worth the headache.”

    His friend gasped dramatically as if what he said had actually bothered her. “So mean! I'll have you know that this will be worth the trip. They have great coffee, plenty of treats, its next to a bookstore…” then that evil grin widened. “And plenty of pussy to choose from.”

    Lotor groaned. “Ezor I swear if this is another one of your schemes to get me a date, I will dangle you from the balcony with your own ponytail.”

    She smugly flipped her bright pink hair over her shoulder. “So dramatic.”

   “If only I were.”

    Ezor ignored the comment and skipped ahead before stopping in front of a building, holding out her arms toward it as if it would help her show off. “Ta da!”

    Lotor finally looked at the pastel sign that hung above the door, The Chat Latte. A look into the big shop window revealed cats all over the place as they lounged on pillows and chairs or being pet by the customers.

    “oh ha ha, Pussy as in cats. You think you're so clever.”

    “ I don't have to think when I know. Now come on!” She looped a slender arm around his and pranced inside the shop.

    “Welcome.” A petite girl behind the counter greeted. “Can I help you?”

    Ezor scanned the menu behind the counter. “Uh...a large green tea for me. And…” she turned her head to him. “What about you?”

   “I'll take a black coffee.”

   The girl nodded as she rang them up. Then gestured to the doorway by the counter into the next room that held all the seating. “You can go in there and enjoy all the cats. I'll bring your drinks right away.

   Ezor practically bounced towards the cat room, Lotor trailing behind, carefully opening the divider in the doorway. There were not many people there that day, and they had found plenty of empty seating by the window that looked onto the street. 

   Ezor had wasted no time in dumping her purse on the table and going to coo at the nearest cat that lazing around in a cat tree. ”Aren't you the cutest,fluffy, little thing?” 

    Lotor only chuckled at his friend as he looked around the room. This place was clearly an old house that had been converted into a business. The aged and carved shelves that had been built into the walls had been painted pastel pink and mint green. They were filled to the brim with books and feline themed knick knacks. The walls were plastered with vintage looking art of cats and coffee. Along with a board of cats that had been adopted from this place pinned to it.

    As he examined the room, he felt a nudge against his foot, looking down the tiniest kitten he had ever seen greeted him. It was a small thing with large blue eyes that bore into him. 

   “Well hello there.” He greeted it gently, slowing scooping the kitten off the floor. “Come to keep me company?” A pleased purr was it's only reply.

   “Wow.Rover seems to like you.” 

    Looking away, he saw the petite girl that had taken their orders setting down two cups in the table. “It seems he does. Is he always this friendly?”

    “Actually no.” The girl replied, reaching over to pet Rover behind the ear. “He's our newest cat, and he's usually very shy.” 

    “Well it looks like he has good taste.”

    “I would hope so. Up until now he only seemed to like me.”

   “Oh really.” He looked at little Rover in his arms. “Then you do have excellent tastes my friend.” A meow that came out more like a squeak was his only reply. Lotor chuckled and looked back at the girl. Her short hair had been pulled back with a green bandana, putting a face full of freckles and bright eyes in full display. She was rather cute. Rover had good taste indeed. “I'm Lotor by the way.”

    “Katie.” She said. “But everyone around here calls me Pidge.”

   “Do I want to know why?”

   Pidge shook her head. “Its a long, very dumb story. I'll spare you the pain.”

   Lotor grinned at her. Pidge looked away from him and glanced at the table where she had placed their drinks. “Would you like anything else?”

    “Not for now, thank you.” He watched her walk away, back to the counter to wait for other customers that could come in.

    “She's a cutie.” Lotor had not noticed Ezor sit in the seat across the table, the fluffy white cat she had been cooing now sprawled on her lap. That impish smirk looking more like a Cheshire grin with each passing moment.

    “Your point being…?”

    Ezor rolled her eyes. “Cute girl. You haven't been on a date in months. It's not busy here. Do the math.”

   “Your dedication to getting me a girlfriend knows no bounds. I almost admire it.” He tried to put little Rover down so he could drink the coffee, but the little one wouldn't have it. So he sat comfortably on Lotors lap as he drank. “Besides, she working. It's rude to flirt with someone on the job.”

    Ezor rolled her eyes. “Fine. Stay a sad lonely boy. See if I care.”

   “Thank you.” Lotor smirked as he sipped his coffee once more.

    He did not think much of it in the days that followed. After he and Ezor had wasted a couple of hours drinking their coffee and petting cats, they had left. By then Pidge had left the counter for her pig tailed coworker to take over. He felt a  pang of disappointment, but let it pass. 

    However a couple weeks afterward, Lotor dragged his feet through downtown, this time on his own. He had to take care of things at his father's office, and the irritation from the idiots he was forced to work with still grated on his nerves. The gray clouds loomed over head, heavy with rain that would fall at any moment, as if his day has not been crappy enough. 

    He sighed and leaned against a lamppost for a moment. Calm. He needed to take some time to calm down. Maybe grab something to eat, he had barely had any breakfast and was only now feeling the void in his stomach.

    Scanning the street for a place to grab a bite, his eyes saw a familiar pastel awning with a cat shaped sign. Maybe petting a cat and perhaps seeing a cute barista would be what he needed for his foul mood. Without any other thought, he walked over to the cafe just as the rain began to come pouring down.

     Upon entering the Chat Latte, he was greeted by the same blond girl in pigtails that had taken Pidges place when they had left. He felt the wash of disappointment once more. A quick peek into the cat room told she wasn't there either. It didn't seem like she was working today.

     With nothing else better to do, Lotor ordered and sat in table near the window. After a few minutes a tiny meow was heard by his feet. A familiar kitten looked up at him and meowed again. “Well hello there,” scooping Rover up, he pet the little creature beneath the chin. He purred in approval. “Come to keep me company?”

    “Hey, he still likes you.” Someone laughed.

    Looking away, Lotor was greeted to the sight of Pidge, who grinned where she stood. Hands buried in the pockets of her jacket that covered her work shirt. “Oh, its you,” Lotor blinked in surprise. “It didn't seem like you were working today.”

    “I just finished.” She replied, reaching out to pet Rover. “I didn't expect to see you here again.”

    “Oh really? And why is that?”

    "You just don't seem like the usual customers that come here. We get kids, and families, and school girls. Not a lot of guys in nice suits.” She grinned. 

    “I'll have you know I am an avid cat lover. That's why my friend dragged me down here the other day.”

    She smirked. "Oh really?"

    "Yes really," he pulled out his phone from his pocket and flashed a picture of his cat sprawled out on the couch. "His name is Kova."

    "That's the angriest looking cat I've ever seen."

    "Yes, he is a grumpy old man. But he's  my grumpy old man." Lotor put his phone back in his pocket. "What about you? Have any pets?"

    "One dog. "She replied. Then reached over to pet Rover, who was still content in Lotors arms. "Though I think this one is coming home with me very soon."

     "He won you over?" He grinned.

     "I don't think I have much choice." Pidge laughed. "Besides you he doesn't seem to like anyone else."

     "Well of course," he scratched Rover behind the ear. "He has excellent taste after all. Only the finest will do."

    Pidge snorted, then blushed and covered her mouth before clearing her throat. "Any tips on raising a kitten?"

    Lotor only shrugged. "Not really. I've had my cat for years. It was my mom who did the raising. Though I will say this one seems just as picky as mine."

    Pidge dug her hands back into the pockets of her dark green jacket and bit her lip. Eyes looking all over the room like she was thinking something over. "Hey um...If I buy you coffee mind giving me some advice?"

    Lotor could not help but grin and gestured to the chair across from him. "Have a seat then, we could be here all day."

[potentiallymrsdevorak]

In Fields of Flowers (The Arcana)

Chapter Two: Pink Camellias (Longing for You)

Pairing: Julian x Nijah (my female apprentice)

Summary: Nijah just found out that she had slept with her new mentor. How will he react when she tries to reach out? Will an old flame she had long forgotten spark something new in the doctor?

Word Count: 6,176 (a little less bc no smut soz)

Author’s Note: finally, here is the next chapter! I’m really enjoying writing this series, even though I’m...not very consistent. Lol. I do wanna let y’all know that there is a scene in here that can be very triggering to readers. If you’re uncomfortable with a man forcing himself on a woman, then you will want to skip a certain part with Luka and Nijah about to go out and about the Lazaret (slight spoiler). But otherwise, please enjoy!

Tagging: @drunkenomnist, @juliandevoraknsfw

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Nijah’s nerves had never been so strained.

Just the night before, she had lost her virginity, a very intimate act, to the Dr. Julian Devorak? The man that she would be training under to help cure the plague?

If she wasn’t still wearing her plague doctor’s mask, she would have covered her face in her hands by now.

But Dr. Devorak seemingly kept his composure, continuing to read off the list of names.

“Katja Kuznetsov.”

“Present.”

The voice comes from the desk next to Nijah. She glances over to see the wavy hair of the girl who spoke pinned back in a loose ponytail. She seems nice, she thinks, as Dr. Devorak’s voice pulls her back to reality.

“Luka Pavlov.”

“Present.”

Wait a moment. I know that voice, she thought, turning around her shoulder to see where the sound came from. Luka slid off his mask, sending a wink in her direction.

She remembers him well. Luka was her first crush in primary school. He was also the first boy to ever reject her.

“Well, it seems that everyone has arrived safely.” Dr. Devorak concluded. “Now, if you all get in a single file line, I will take you through the Lazaret. Leave your personal belongings behind, they will get picked up and placed in your new rooms.”

Everyone else follows his command, as if he’s put everyone under an eerie spell. Nijah follows suit, finding herself standing right behind Katja. It looks a little strange, Nijah thought, to have all of us in a line wearing the exact same thing, huh. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought it was a funeral march.

Katja turns her head a little bit and whispers just so she can hear.

“Are you nervous?”

Boy, if she really knew.

“A little bit.”

“You’re Nijah, right?”

“Mhmm.”

“Okay, we should stick with each ot-”

“I did not ask you to speak.” Dr. Devorak glares at Nijah and Katja through his mask. Silence echoes through the room as no one dares to make a sound.

“Then, follow me.” The doctor demands as he takes the lead, opening up the door to the rest of the Lazaret. The apprentices follow behind, accepting their new fate.

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The tour through Lazaret was...frightening, to say the least.

The walls, though made of brick, seemed colorless and void of anything but darkness. The patient’s wing was rather depressing, seeing so many citizens of Vesuvia essentially sentenced to their deaths with no way of escaping. They were to die in the darkness, away from their families, their loved ones...it nearly broke Nijah’s heart, wishing that she was with her family right now.

She did get a little excited when she saw the medical lab. Various tools and tables were set out in the space, letting Nijah’s imagination run wild. She wondered what sort of tests and examinations she would be conducting in this room, and if she could potentially find a link to help cure the plague.

“My office is right next door, here.” Dr. Devorak continued, pointing to the door with his name written on a large sign. “Dr. Satrinava and Dr. Valdemar’s offices are further down, but they are not always here. If you need assistance or have any questions, please feel free to ask me.”

Oh, believe me, I have questions, Nijah thought as she rolled her eyes, thankful that they were still wearing their plague masks so her sarcasm could not be detected.

Torches lit their way up the stairwell the doctor was leading them to. “And up here is the apprentice wing. This is the only space that you are guaranteed not to catch the plague.” With that said, he unfastened his plague mask, letting his curls fall in front of his face. “You may take your masks off now.”

One by one, every apprentice began to take their mask off. Nijah felt the stale air hit her face as she blinked to adjust her eyes to the dim lighting. She began to take in the faces of her fellow comrades, and tried her best to not focus on the man she found between her legs the night prior.

Katja turns around to see everyone else around her, and Nijah is nearly struck at her natural beauty. Her skin is the color of deep honey, her eyes shining a deep hazel. Her wavy ponytail frames her face perfectly. A simple golden nose ring hung from her septum. She looks like she would be a character in a storybook.

“Strange to see the masks off, hmm?” Katja commented.

“Yeah…” Nijah trailed off, eyes lingering on Dr. Devorak for a moment too long. Her new friend notices.

“Seems you’re a little shocked with the looks of the good doctor.” Katja winks, nudging Nijah in the ribs with her elbow.

The group continues up the stairs until Dr. Devorak reaches a tall, wooden door.

“This is as far as I am taking you,” he states, “for this is the apprentice dormitory. You will all share this space together, which is why it is imperative that no one brings the plague up here. This is the end of the tour. I expect all of you to be seen in the dining hall at sundown for dinner, which is on the floor beneath you. Do not be late.”

With that, he opens the door, the apprentices filing in one by one. Nijah thought that possibly, for one second, she would catch his gaze as she walked by, or possibly a smile…

But she saw nothing, not even a passing glance.

Disappointed, she stepped into the apprentice’s wing, eyes widening at the sight of the windows streaming sunlight in the room. A smile crept over her face as she stepped towards one, the city of Vesuvia far away from her now. Even though it was terribly far, it gave her hope. Hope that she would one day return.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Katja placed a hand on Nijah’s shoulder. “I swore we would be locked in a dungeon the entire time.”

“Me too.” Nijah turned her head to see Katja’s profile, illuminated by the light. She was glad to have gained a friend today.

“Well, we don’t have much time to dwell.” Katja said, sitting on the bed next to her. “Looks like we’ll be right next to each other!”

Nijah looked at the foot of the bed, noticing her bags and violin case were placed there carefully. She sits on the mattress, immediately feeling the stiffness in her spine.

��Oof…” she mutters. “They never said it would be the most lavish way of living…”

As the two women conversed, a figure that Nijah remembered all too well approached them. He looked almost the same, except his facial hair had grown in, trimmed perfectly for a gentleman, and his hair no longer sat on his forehead, but was styled upwards. On top of that, he had definitely grown and spent some time working on his...physique.

“Nijah,” Luka chuckled, extending his hand for her to shake, “It’s been some time, huh?”

She accepted it, giving it a strong shake. “It has. I’m not the little girl with the crush on you anymore.”

“Really? Aw, that’s too bad.” He smiled playfully, sitting on the mattress next to her. Katja shot Nijah a confused look, watching over Luka skeptically.

“Katja,” Nijah explained, “Luka and I were in primary school together. He moved after we had met, so I hadn’t seen him since.”

“How old were we then...around eight? Nine?” Luke pondered, running his fingers over his beard. “That seems like forever ago.”

“Yes, so it seems,” Katja replied, rather coldly. It was clear to Nijah that she did not like him.

“So, what do you guys have planned for the next few hours?” Luka asked, running his hands along the wrinkles of his doctor’s coat. “Anyone up for a little exploration?”

“Pass.” Katja spat, pulling a book out of a bright yellow bag and burying her nose into it.

“Okay, how about you, Nijah? For old time’s sake?”

Nijah pondered his proposal. She definitely would not mind spending time with him (as a friend, of course), and reminisce on their old times. But, she knew no one would be bothering Dr. Devorak right now, and there were some questions that she desperately needed answers for.

“Sorry, Luka, I have a few medical questions to ask the doctor.”

His shoulders slumped as a small frown crossed his features. “I understand. I’ll catch you at dinner, okay?” He patted Nijah on the back as he left her alone with her thoughts.

I have to do this now, or else I never will, Nijah told herself as she stood up from the mattress, sneaking out of the apprentice’s wing without a sound.

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Nijah approached the office of Dr. Devorak quietly, anxious to see him once again. She was worried that she wasn’t going to get the answers she wanted. She rehearsed what she wanted to say to him over and over again, but knew that it would never be perfect.

She raises her hand, allowing her knuckles to rap among the door.

Knock, knock, knock.

A disgruntled sigh.

“Enter.”

Nijah opened the door to see Dr. Devorak sitting in a chair over his desk, facing away from the door. A lone candle was the only source of light in the room, leaving a warm glow around his sihoulette. A cot laid on the side of his desk, complete with a pillow and two blankets. Does he sleep down here?

Dr. Devorak turned over his shoulder, his expression one of surprise. “Nijah. Shut the door behind you, please.”

She listened, letting the door slam with a dull thud behind her. “Ilya, I-”

“Don’t call me that here.” He interrupted her, his voice growing menacingly low. “No one ever calls me that, ever.”

“Oh, sorry…” Nijah twirled a strand of her hair in her fingers. This already isn’t going well, she thought. “Uh, Dr. Devorak, I can’t help but ask you a few things.”

“If you are going to ask of the status of our relationship, don’t even bother.” He turns back around, scribbling something rather quickly. “You are my apprentice, and I am your teacher. There is nothing else.”

Nijah’s brows furrow as she crosses her arms. “How can you just hide everything like this? It’s not natural, Dr. Devorak.”

“Not only am I a skilled doctor, but I also spent some time in the theatre,” he responded, “I can be whoever I need to be.”

His confession broke Nijah’s heart in two. “Does this mean you were acting last night? Was everything you told me a lie?”

“If that is what you need to believe to get rid of your obvious feelings for me, then yes.”

“You…” her lip was quivering, her whole body shaking, “...you’re a monster! What kind of man do you think you are?”

“You’re right,” he stood quickly from his chair, moving fast enough to corner her in the small office. His fist banged on the wall next to Nijah’s head, making her nearly jump out of her shoes. “I am a terrible man. I have done things that you will never know, that you could never comprehend. If you stay with me, there’s no guarantee that I won’t hurt you, too. So, for your sake,” he stared intensely into her baby blue eyes, watching them fill with tears, “forget everything. Forget what I may have said, what I may have done. I’ll only bring you more pain.”

He backed away from her slowly, his expression laced with pure anger. Nijah could barely breathe, she was so frightened. He was nothing like the man she thought he was.

And he saw it in her eyes that she could never trust him again.

“...you are dismissed.”

Nijah wasted no time in leaving, her hand practically on the handle before he uttered his last phrase. As the door shut behind her, she pressed her body to the wall, letting it slide down to the floor. As she crouched with her knees to her chin, she let her tears fall silently. This was the last place she wanted to be. All she wanted to do was to go home and forget that everything had ever happened.

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Julian Devorak sighed as he sat in his chair.

What were you thinking, scaring that poor girl like that? He thought, diving back into his work. His mind went to war, going back and forth with the different possibilities of how he could have made the situation better. His quill scribbled quicker the more he fought with himself, dipping it back in the ink more frequently than earlier.

She needed to hear that from you. She has no right trying to romance you as an apprentice.

But she has no ill will towards you. She just wants to see the good in you.

There is no good in you! There are still some things you refuse to forgive yourself over.

She would find it in her heart to love you.

There’s no way she would love a monster like you.

But it seems there’s a way for a monster like you to fall in love with her.

The tip of his quill broke, and he realized just how tightly he was gripping the writing utensil. He released another heavy sigh as he ran his fingers through his hair.

“What...what am I going to do?”

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Learning about the different procedures in the medical lab was something Nijah found to enjoy. Dr. Valdemar, Dr. Satrinava, and Dr. Devorak were extremely knowledgeable in their content, and taught the apprentices thoroughly. Even though they were a little...strange, at times, she was definitely getting better at her craft.

“Make sure the incision in the patient doesn’t get too deep, keep it in a fine, straight line.” Dr. Satrinava demonstrated, making sure everyone was paying attention.

“If you cut it too deep, bring it to me so I can...ah, clean it up for you.” Dr. Valdemar insisted, licking their lips.

The whole room went silent. Nijah could hear Dr. Devorak swallowing heavily.

Dr. Satrinava rolled their eyes. “Ignore Dr. Valdemar…”

The apprentices spent the first few days testing out their new knowledge in the lab. Since the doctors didn’t want to risk losing more patient’s lives (and to the disappointment of Dr. Valdemar), they all used cloth dummies to practice their procedures. They were also assigned to work in groups and take turns performing on the dummy. Katja and Nijah teamed up together and, of course, Luka joined them.

“All right! Let’s get going!” He said, holding the scalpel in the air. Katja took a small step away from him.

As the apprentices began to practice their incisions, the doctors walked around the groups, observing their work. Whenever they may have noticed something was going wrong, they would step in and correct their work. However, Nijah and the rest of her group noticed that Dr. Devorak was being very careful to stay as far away from them as possible.

“Is it just me,” Katja muttered, “or is Dr. Devorak watching us?” Her snarky tone was aimed right at him, as he observed her motions from across the room.

“I’m sure he means nothing by it.” Nijah said, wondering why the hell she was defending him.

“With the mask on, it just seems more creepy.” Luka added. “Don’t you think?”

Up until this moment, Nijah had even refused to give him a passing glance. Now, as she saw him for the first time since the incident, her entire body trembled in fear. Her blood ran cold as his eyes flashed on her through his plague mask, remembering how those eyes were when he had cornered her in his office. Angry, fiery, wanting nothing but to get rid of her entirely…

“Hey, you’re up, Nijah.” Luka elbowed her in the ribs, trying to snap her back in to reality.

“Oh. Thank you…” She took the scalpel, angling it just so perfectly to cut a thin line. Dr. Satrinava walked by, observing her every move.

“Not bad, apprentice! You have some really nice skills.” They sounded rather cheerful, yet Nijah wasn’t able to read their expression. Still, she couldn’t help but feel a little warm inside.

At least one of the doctors thought she was good enough.

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A little over a week has passed since the new apprentices first came to Lazaret. None of them had died yet, and everyone was starting to get used to each other’s company. Some, like Nijah and Katja, had become fast friends, spending time together quite a bit. Others cast themselves out, labelling themselves as loners. If people don’t bother them, they won’t bother you kinda deal.

Then, there were the small group of people trying to get together with others.

As time went by, Katja could see that Luka was trying to ask Nijah to spend a night with him. She could see it in the way he looked at her, the way he was always trying to butt into their conversations, his little touches going unnoticed to those who might not suspect anything.

Katja didn’t like it one bit.

Still, she kept her mouth quiet as she watched Luka ask Nijah to spend some time with him, one on one, as they all finished up their project in the medical lab before it was time to leave. “We could walk along the beach, see what lies in the forest…” he was nervous, running his hands through his hair as he asked this of her.

“I wouldn’t mind that.” She nodded. Katja was curious to see her expression through that mask of hers.

He took a step back in shock. “Really? Uh, great! So...I’ll see you after dinner?”

“See you then.”

He walked off, a pep in his step as he left the two women alone. The doctors still lingered, cleaning up the last bits of mess. They ignored the two apprentices, busying themselves in their work.

“Nijah, you really think that hanging out with him is a good idea?” Katja questioned her.

“I don’t think he means any harm.” Nijah answered. “I mean, he was my crush over ten years ago. It’s not like I have any feelings for him now.”

Katja crossed her arms at her chest. “All right. But please do be careful. I just can’t trust him.”

“I mean, if you’re that concerned…”

“No no no, I don’t want to stop you! Just please…” Katja took Nijah’s hand in hers. “...I want you to make it back okay. Holler if you need anything, okay?”

“Of course. Thanks for being such a great friend.” Nijah knew Katja couldn’t see through her mask, but anyone could tell by the look on her face that she was telling the truth.

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After Nijah finished her dinner, she snuck off into the main hallway of the Lazaret. Holding her plague mask close to her pounding chest, she waited for Luka to show up. I know Katja said to be cautious, but...what’s a little harm in spending time with him?

She knew he was coming from the telltale clack of his shoes. Soon, he came into her vision, a huge smile slapped onto his face. He was much taller than she remembered, probably towering over 6’0 at this point. With the shoes, she bet he was even taller.

“Hello, Nijah.” He said, wrapping his arms around her shoulder and bringing her close to his body, embracing her tightly. “I’ve been looking forward to this moment all day.”

“Hello, Luka.” She patted his shoulder blade, not expecting him to be holding her so tightly. He let her go, hands still snaking around her body.

“What would you like to do tonight?”

“I don’t know. There’s so much to do, yet so little time.”

“Ah,” he grinned, “then I guess I can lead the way?”

He opened the door, allowing Nijah to slide through to the outside. Luka looked over the foyer, making sure no one was following, then shut the door behind him.

Nijah felt much more refreshed outside, the cool breeze kissing her skin. The sun had set, and the only light to guide them was from the moon, now half present. Crickets chirped, owls hooted, and the hum of the city could still be heard on Lazaret. The city might be busy during the day, but it can really come alive at night. This seemed true of the Lazaret...at least, the wildlife on the island.

Luka led Nijah around the perimeter of the Lazaret. The further they walked from the entrance, the darker it seemed to get. The torches that decorated the front were just specks in the darkness, unable to provide any further guidance. Nijah’s fingers trailed along the wall for assistance, straining her eyes to follow Luka. Something about him really felt off, as if he had something up his sleeve. In her gut, she just knew that something terrible was going to happen. But she shook it off, thinking that the island was giving her the creeps.

As she and Luka turned the corner, he stopped dead in his tracks, turning around to face her. “You know why I wanted you to come out here?”

“Uhh...so we could hang out?” Nijah let her back press up against the wall, waiting to hear Luka’s response.

“Hmm...yes, but I want a little more than that.” Luka’s hands rested by her shoulders on the brick, fingers splayed out like the legs of spiders. He was getting a little too close for Nijah’s taste, feeling his breath on her neck as he inched closer and closer.

“Um,” she said, turning to face away from him, “what do you want?”

He grabbed her jaw with his hand, forcing her to face him. “I want you, Nijah.”

He took her lips in his own, moaning at their first contact. His other hand wrapped around her body, pulling her right up to his chest. His hand trailed from her jaw to her hair, trapping her in his clutches. It was the most uncomfortable she had ever felt, and every nerve in her body was telling her to get out.

“Ngh…” he moaned, his lips barely brushing hers, “I’m gonna make sweet, sweet love to you. Take it as an apology for denying you so many years ago.”

Nijah pushes herself off of his chest, trying her best to get away from him. “I-I would really rather you not, Luka…”

“You have no say in this.” Luka growled. “You should be thankful someone wants to stick it in you.”

Nijah gasped, surprised that Luka could be so goddamn rude. She took a fistful of his hair to steady herself, and shoved her knee right in Luka’s crotch. As he kneeled over, crying out in pain, she made a run for it.

Damn, Katja was right, she thought as her feet started to go quicker and quicker. I should never have been so stupid...

Suddenly, Nijah felt herself falling in the grass rather abruptly. No sooner had she hit the ground, she felt some force pulling her ankle, back the way she came. 

“No, stop!”

She tried to grab onto the grass blades, dig her fingers in the dirt, but it was no use. Whatever was pulling her back was much stronger than she ever could be. As she turned over her shoulder to see what was pulling her back, her face nearly went white.

Luka was using his magic to literally pull her back.

“Told you that you had no choice, Nijah.” His magic continued to pull her until she was lying at his feet, her doctor’s outfit covered in dirt. “Guess I forgot to tell you that my parents were traveling magicians?”

“You...you won’t get away with this!” She shouted, trying her best to set herself upright.

He just laughed. “Oh, but I already have.”

As he held his hand out, slowly closing it into a fist, Nijah felt him choke her out.

Her eyes went wide as she tried to pull them away, but it was no use. She had no magic powers, could never fend him off. She felt utterly helpless against him.

“If you give me your body, then I won’t have to kill you. Seems fair, Nijah?”

Either way, she would feel dead after he was done with her.

“Never,” she spat, nearly snarling at him like an animal as he shook his head.

“That’s quite a shame,” he said, “I quite enjoyed getting to know you.”

His magic propelled her to the brick wall, hanging her up as if he was pushing his hand up to her throat. Nijah struggled, fingers still clawing at her neck. Her feet were dangling over the ground, like a rag doll being carried like a child.

“Let...ack, me go!” Nijah kicked and shouted, trying to get help from someone, anyone, for her to get away from Luka.

He stepped closer to her, his face level with her own. A sinister smile grew over his face, making Nijah’s blood nearly turn to ice. He squeezed his fist even tighter, and she felt more lightheaded than before, the edges of her vision starting to grow black.

“Goodbye, Nijah. It’s not like you’ll be missed, anyway.”

Nijah shut her eyes, accepting that this would be her last moment. This is how she would remember the world - dark, cold, and unwelcoming.

But just as she thought she was about to slip under, she felt herself falling to the ground, the imaginary hand around her neck gone completely. She took a few deep breaths as she laid in the dirt, her eyes slowly opening to see how she was set free.

She couldn’t see much in front of her. A dark cloak was covering her vision.

“What business do you have here, Dr. Devorak?” Luka’s voice hit her ears, echoing against the brick walls.

Wait, that’s...Dr. Devorak?

“Mr. Pavlov, I hope you remember that apprentices using magic at the Lazaret is strictly prohibited, correct?” Her gaze trailed up the cloak to find the signature tuft of curly auburn hair. He really did come to save her.

“So? It’s not like I was harming a patient!”

“Are you saying hurting another apprentice isn’t a crime?” He scoffed at him. Nijah imagined his silver eyes piercing right through Luka’s skin. “And that’s another thing, Mr. Pavlov. I hope you feel disgusted with the way you treated Nijah. What kind of man do you think you are?”

“I…ah...” Luka started, but this was clearly not his battle to win.

“Go, pack up your things. You will leave when the first boat arrives at the Lazaret. I hope you learned your lesson. And Mr. Pavlov?”

“Y...yes, doctor?”

“I have eyes and ears all over Vesuvia. If I hear that you try to hurt another woman the same way you did to her...it’ll be more than a rock thrown at your head.”

Nijah heard Luka gasp audibly, then the scramble of his feet as he ran off.

Once he was gone, Dr. Devorak turned around and bent down on his knees. His cloak uncovered her vision, revealing that he was wearing a dark colored coat, one that she had never seen before. “Nijah…” his voice softened, the edge completely gone, “are you all right?”

She was speechless, unable to form words. He held his hand out to her, and she backed herself up on the wall, eyes spilling over with worry. When she looked in his eyes, she saw the man that threatened that he would hurt her, that he was a terrible person who did terrible things. She was afraid of him, literally cowering below him, anticipating his next move.

Julian saw this. And he was ashamed in himself.

“Nijah…” His fisted hand dropped in the dirt, knowing how much he hurt her, “I’m so sorry. I never should have yelled at you, or pushed you away.” He sighed, running a free hand through his hair. “I will hurting you for the rest of my life. I hope you will someday find it in your heart to forgive me.”

She couldn’t bear herself to look at him yet. But she knew his words were pure.

Cautiously, Nijah reached her hand out to his, eyes still gazing on the ground. Her throat hurt too much to speak, but he saw it all in the small smile tickling her lips, all in the warmth of her fingers brushing on his gloved skin. It’s okay, everything will be okay.

Julian let out a sigh of relief, thankful that she felt something, whether it was love or forgiveness, for him. He gazed over her dirty figure, only one thing on his mind:

“May...may I hold you?” Julian asked.

Nijah nodded, finally facing him as she extending her arms out to him. He accepted her willingly, pulling her to his chest as her legs splayed out on the ground. His heartbeat quickened as he felt her body against his again, this time in an act that felt even more intimate than their last. As her face nuzzled against his doctor’s coat, he felt happy. Happy that she was here, happy that he had found her before it was too late.

It was then that he realized that Luka will still be staying in the dormitory before he goes off the next morning.

“Nijah, are you comfortable sleeping in your bed tonight?”

He felt her shake her head on his chest, a solid “no.”

“Would you...want to stay in my room? It’s not the room with the cot, I promise.”

This time, it’s a frantic “yes,” a nod that makes him chuckle lightly.

“Ah, let’s go then. Upsy-daisy…”

He hooked his arms under her legs, much the same way he carried her not too long ago, and escorted her to his bed chambers. As he carried her through the Lazaret, long after everyone had fallen asleep, she was thankful that he had rescued her. She felt safer in his arms than anywhere else.

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He carried her all the way to his office, and when the door behind them had been shut, she found her footing on the solid ground. He lifted the cot from its place to reveal a trap door. As he opened it, a staircase consumed with darkness opened itself up to them.

“Follow me,” Julian whispered, one hand holding a lit candle and the other snaking its way between Nijah’s fingers. Her head was much clearer now, and she accepted it, allowing him to lead her wherever he wanted to go.

He guided her down the dark stairwell, leading into a small room with a large bed occupying the space. The blankets and pillows smelled like they had just been cleaned. The scent relaxed Nijah as Julian guided her to sit on the edge.

“I hope you enjoy your rest.” He says before taking one of the pillows. “If you need me, I’ll be down here.” Without another word, he plopped down onto the cobblestone floor and laid his head down to rest, blowing the candle out to envelope them in complete darkness.

Um...okay, Nijah’s eyebrows twisted in confusion. He still must have some physical boundaries with me. Letting Julian off to do his own thing, she climbed to the top of the bed and snuggled herself under the covers.

She closed her eyes to sleep, but the frightening memories of Luka still haunted her mind. She could vividly remember how his lips hungered like a bloodthirsty animal on hers, how his deep voice shook her to the bone, how she felt like there was no way to escape. And his eyes, oh hells, his eyes. He stared at her like she was nothing more but prey. And how his grin turned devilish as he tightened the grip around her neck, watching her take her last few breaths before…

“Ah!” Nijah gasped as she shot up in bed. She hadn’t been sleeping for long, but she already felt a warm rush fill her cheeks and a cold sweat on her brow. She did not like the things he was doing to her. Secretly, she wondered if it was his magic still at work...

“Nijah?” A voice called out in the darkness. A flick of a wrist, and the candle was burning brightly again.

“...yes?” she squeaked timidly.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Not really.”

“How can I help you?”

Nijah looked down and realized she was still wearing her dirty doctor’s clothes. Slowly, she began unbuttoning them and discarding them to the side of the bed. As her feverish skin met the chilly air of the underground bedroom, she knew exactly what she needed.

“Julian...can you come sleep up here?”

On the floor, Julian made a startled noise.

“Ah, I don’t...are you...do you…” he cleared his throat, popping his head up so Nijah could see his gleaming eyes. “Are you sure thahhhhhhh...”

His eyes lingered over her bare skin. She was wearing the shirt that he gave to her less than a fortnight ago, the plunging neckline bringing back his memories from that night. It clung on to her womanly form, just sliding off of her left shoulder. Julian couldn’t see what was hiding underneath the covers, but he wanted to find out. If, of course, she would be willing.

“Oh! Ah…” she pulled the covers a little higher, slightly embarrassed that he had seen her in such a state. “I don’t need you to touch me that way...I just need you to hold me.”

Nijah swore he heard him sigh in relief, but she would never be able to tell. “That...that I can do.” Julian smiled as he stood up from his place, making his way next to her on the covers. He blew out the candle as he was next to her, placing it on the floor as he tucked himself in, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close to his chest.

“Is this what you wanted?” Julian whispered, his lips resting at the crown of her head as his fingers intertwined with hers, resting near her chest.

Nijah took in a deep breath, filling her senses with his presence. His musky, yet charming scent filled her lungs and relaxed her. His cooling touch made her feel like herself again. Hearing his voice comforted her when it once frightened her. Her relationship with Dr. Julian Devorak might be quite the roller coaster, but right now, she had never been happier.

“Yes. Thank you.”

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In her dreams, she was in a much happier place. There was not a cloud in sight, only sunshine fell through the trees of the forest she was running through. A happier tune played through her head as her bare feet touched the ground. She was running towards something, but what?

Finally, she stopped in front of a field of flowers, spreading as far as the eye could see. Many colors filled her vision - pinks, purples, blues, and the many meanings of the flowers resounded through her mind. Some of them her favorites, some of them she had never seen before, that must hail from a different world. Although it was a wondrous place, a beautiful place, she couldn’t help but wonder…

Why am I here?

But soon, she knew her answer.

She was running toward a man she had grown to become quite fond of. As he turned around to see her, his auburn curls blew in the wind, making him out to be the most gorgeous man Nijah had ever seen. He was wearing his white, billowy shirt and his black pants, definitely her favorite outfit he had ever worn. He opened his arms to catch her, to hold her close to him and spin her around in his embrace. When she held him, she felt like she was home at last.

Julian set her down gently, smiling as if he had a surprise for her. She felt a wave of excitement flood her body as he reached into his chest pocket and pulled out a simple flower, blowing gently in the breeze.

A pink camellia, she whispered to him.

One by one, he began to pick off the petals, letting them take flight in the air. She loves me, she loves me not, she loves me, she loves me not… He sang, his eyes never leaving her own.

As he played his little game, Nijah saw the sky become dark with storm clouds, cutting off any possible light from the sun. A frosty gust of wind blew through the field, and all the flowers around her fell to the ground, brown and withered. Still, Julian pursued, even though the world was falling apart around them.

The angry clouds turned red, thunder crackling through the sky. Nijah had never felt more terrified in her life.

Julian, stop! Let’s get out of here! She screamed, but her cries fell to deaf ears.

Then, the last petal was pulled, and a creepy grin stretched over his face.

She loves me.

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[erlenmeyertrash]

screw it i’m doin it

so this is a short lil blurb of an au i’m writing that i just figured i’d throw out into the void

please comment on/critique this (if you want!), especially/particularly the writing style! i don’t normally (see: ever) write in present tense, and i usually use a lot more dialogue and the sentences are much much much much shorter. i’m aware they can be ridiculously long; i was going more for stream-of-consciousness storytelling here with exposition of characters being pretty slow and/or more indirect as it progressed. this probably isn’t the final draft of this part by any means so if there’s anything you particularly liked, stylistically or story-wise, or anything you thought didn’t add up or flowed poorly, please let me know!!

He is seven when he first makes things move.

He is sitting on the grassy slope of a hill, knees hugged to his chest, watching his brothers play below. He idly hears their playful shouts but does not focus on making out the words; though they are rowdy, they’re also kind and protective, and he knows he won’t be bothered or teased for not joining in.

So instead, he focuses his thoughts on the daffodil to his left, standing at attention without a breeze to battle. He raises his hand above it, small fingers splayed but steady. A slow exhale.

Concentration.

A pregnant pause.

The petals quiver.

He exhales again, feels some strange outpouring from his palm, and the flower is uprooted and floats slowly into the air, tiny roots outstretched in all directions. He hears an exclamation but does not raise his eyes as his oldest brother races over and tumbles into the grass at his feet.

They tell their parents in a jumble of words, each of the other boys clambering to be the bringer of the news while Virgil blushes and stares at the toes of his shoes. His hair is ruffled and his mother makes his favorite dinner that evening. Later, in bed, staring at the ceiling, he lets out a quiet exhale, thankful he was not the first to be an outcast. Despite the chill in the air- a silent promise of autumn weather to come- his palm is still warm.

It continues to be the main story over breakfast; he earns a playful jab to the side, more hair ruffles, talk of how “it’s so early!” and that means “you must be a really powerful wizard, Vee” and when one of them asks if that means he’ll get to go to school sooner, their father laughs and laughs. No, he must wait. Virgil is fine with this. He fiddles with a flayed string on his sweater. He can wait. Not an Obscurus, not a Squib. A wizard.

Before he dons his mittens, his mother calls him into the kitchen. Smiling, she cautions him: don’t go telling the whole world just yet, Virgil, dearest. He nods, amber eyes wide, and she kisses the top of his head before sprinkling him with flour; he lets out a squeal and swipes at the white flecks now dusting his shoulders. She laughs and the sound is warmer than the sunlight streaking across the floors. Run along now. Don’t be late for dinner.

He waits by the hollowed tree with the yellow ribbon tied to the branch. She meets him there and leads him into town, down the cobbled road to the little ice cream parlor where she buys them each a scoop of vanilla. He holds his tongue and doesn’t try to make the spoon move of its own accord and grins as she shows him how to play the piano song she learned on the edge of the table. The only sounds her slender fingers make are muted taps, but they hear a blazing orchestra. There are bits of vanilla caught in her wild dark hair and they drip onto her jacket; he teases her, laughing, and she chases him all the way back to the woods. He hums his newfound melody as he ambles home, keeping time with the sunset dripping down blades of grass.

As time marches onward, he reads the Muggle books his father brings and learns about fairy tales and history and math and watches his older brothers practice their magic as they earn their wands year by year; he silently copies their hand motions with brittle sticks he finds on the forest floor. He learns more piano but meets the girl less and less as each autumn comes and trailblazes the woods as a lone explorer until the sun sets and shadows grow too quickly for him to roam very far. He practices making small flurries in the snow banks; sometimes it works and his world turns into a snowglobe, if only for a few precious moments. The brothers sleep in a dogpile at night, huddling tighter as the frost begins to cover the windows. The world outside is white and silent and frozen, but Virgil is warm as he is surrounded by six strong, steady heartbeats.

He blinks and somehow it is years later and he stands at a bustling station. A fluffy black cat winds itself around his left ankle and there are many, many other children surrounding him. One of his brothers grabs the hand not holding his trunk and drags him onto the train and into a too-crowded compartment, not that any of them mind. They all wave excitedly out the window to their parents. Virgil grips his luggage tightly, pale knuckles turning even lighter. The cat jumps onto his hands and meows loudly and he idly scratches her chin. He doesn’t think of his parents bent over the newspaper at the table early that morning when he had snuck downstairs because he couldn’t sleep. He doesn’t think of hushed whispers and worried glances. He doesn’t.

The train stops and they ride boats across a lake and Virgil’s brothers splash each other (but not him, never him, not when he’s afraid to look into the black, murky depths and keeps one hand on the bench at all times) and they’re ushered into a hall and then Virgil is sitting on a stool in front of everyone and he is suddenly terrified of magic.

He hears a strange word and one table starts cheering and he heads over there, as he supposes he should, and one of his brothers is already in this house so Virgil sits by him and ducks his head. These colors don’t seem to match, they’re too bright, this is a lot of pressure on him. He doesn’t do well under pressure, he thinks.

His wand is faulty; that must be it. That must be why his castings go awry, why the sparks that only occasionally fly out are the wrong color, out of tune. Ollivander must have been wrong, must have gotten his wand mixed up with one of his younger brothers’. At home he didn’t have any problems with magic. Nevertheless, he practices; he hides in the bathroom so he doesn’t wake his bunkmates and stares himself down in the mirror and whispers spells and loses sleep. The cat- Aeneid, a fitting name for her adventurous spirit- watches patiently with amber irises, her tail flicking from side to side. He sits with his brothers at meals; who would dare stop them? They are an inseparable clash of colors, bright and loud, and he can slip into the middle, unquestioned, unseen. He fits with them, in his home, not in some House with expectations of him beyond being the quiet brother they have all vowed to look after. They can teach him spells, revise his essays, and make sure all his Potions ingredients are labeled and organized- and they do. Don’t worry, Vee. You’ve got this. You’ve done it all before. Swish and flick- there you go!

Virgil knows he is not worthy of his House, but he hopes someday he is worthy of this outpouring of love. He is not brave, nor cunning, nor smart, nor hardworking, but he is protected, and that is enough. Little by little, the magic comes to him; an itch under the skin of his hands as he breathes in and out and some unseen power ebbs and flows at his command. His wand, though odd and imperfect, is a conduit for this force. He begins to think of it as a conductor’s baton and the magic soon flows like melodious music notes.

As he grows, as they grow (because they are simply fragments of a whole, interdependent beings, a unit that is more than the simple sum of its parts), as their last two brothers join them and for one grand year they all seven crowd the end of one singular Dining Hall table, his heart slows and his hackles smooth over and he settles in to a place he truly belongs- until he has the blaring epiphany over one November breakfast that this can not, will not last forever and it chills him to the core.

That night, heartbeat hammering against the icy fear that grips his chest, he silently sneaks out of the common room and heads to the library, a thousand compositions of stammered excuses drafted in his head as to why he is out so late. He sifts through the myriad of books until he finds one on protective spells and begins to commit them to memory on his own, one by one. He hums an old, nearly forgotten melody under his breath that reminds him of yellow and melting vanilla as he slowly moves his wand. He is a maestro, conducting a symphony of safeguarding, all the while shouldering the weight of knowing he can keep time but is powerless to stop it. His house colors are the rustic brown of well-trodden wood floors and lilac growing by the front porch, and though he is not a soldier, he will protect his house with his dying breath.

[theweekendbriefs]

Weekend Briefs - 19 June 2020

Hey Everyone!

The weekend is here again, bringing us all the much needed breathing space and relief. With our jobs taking a majority of our time, the constant need to be glued to our screens, and managing the many little things that make our home, the weekend is a perfect medicine to soothe our nerves. 

P.S : For all those feeling a little let down this week, please follow Recipes for Self Love’s Instagram Page. 

Image courtesy : Recipes for Self Love @ Instagram

All right, as usual what do we have for you to read this weekend....

Dreams. Dreams. Dreams.

What do you dream these days? What shapes or forms does your dreams take in these COVID times and do you make an effort to interpret them? or do you remember thedetails from your dreams. New York Times recently asked their readers what did they all dream in 2020? How scary, thrilling, moody or happy were there dreams. ? NYT has curated 20 such dreams from their readers and presented them as an interactive, dopey webpage. Some of my favorites were taking care of baby fishes, Armenian revolutions, Social Distancing etc. Take a look at this well curated, beautiful page on dreams. Don't forget to also check out the comments section for even spookier ones. 

Speaking on dreams, an interesting conversation with dear friend and visual artist Debasish Borah led us to talking about one of his most beautiful works called I Dream of Smoking in Toba Tek Singh. Toba Tek Singh is a satirical short short story by Sadat Hassan Manto capturing the chaos around the India- Pakistan Partition Period. Deba’s zine ( he makes extremely good ones ) is a satirical take on many of those issues we debate over and over. As his website describes, “ The zine questions the ideas of nation and nationalism, leaders, and partition of countries through objects, letters, photographs and documents found and created around stories of separation.”  While you are checking out Toba Tek Singh, also check out for this beautiful book called The Lonely Cloud.

Image Courtesy : Far Side Collective ( FAR ) 

People at work

This week during one of our morning briefs , a colleague mentioned however informal our meeting sessions are, its always on an official mode. Earlier when things were normal aka Before CoVID (B.C.) , we could walk into our offices, meet people on our way, breakout for a chai/coffee break, have lunches together and discuss many things apart from work. With the new normal, how much ever we try to replicate the ‘virtual office’ on our screens and platforms, we miss the people at work. Acclaimed author and columnist Manu S. Pillai, captures this missing feeling in his regular column at Mint. He mentions, we all enjoyed the relative emptiness, the joys of being at home during work and adjusting to a life void of hustle, crowd and chaos. However, now we miss the coffee and cigarette breaks, the excited debate on the country’s state of affairs and the simple face to face Good Mornings. As my colleague and dear friend Giby remarked, “ No matter how hard you try da...virtual is virtual, and people are people...”. You can read Manu S. Pillai’s article here. 

Video Calls

When was the first time you video-called someone? I distinctly remember my first video call when the 3G network allowed for such a thing to happen. I was more excited by how the then-latest cellular technology enabled you to see someone regardless of how far or oceans apart. This was 2010, I believed we were at the cusp of a revolutionary communication method. Goodbye Voice calls, Hello Video Calling! 

And then what happened? I never video-called anybody on a regular basis. Our phones and technologies improved over the decade and I still called people through voice calls. On occasions I would call someone over video and most times I used to dread picking up video calls because of infinite reasons. These two articles at NYT and Mint capture the same dread I experienced about video calls. However with the our lives being confined to our homes and with our eagerness to see others, Video Call has come back from the dead. Timezones can now be managed, appearances don't matter and most of all, you share an intimate, joyful moment in the lives on the other side. Video calls have been a life saver to meet my parents who live on the other side. And in the past decade I can count the number of times I have video called them. Now, 2330 hrs IST everyday is dedicated video calling time. ! You can read both the articles here and here. 

Image Courtesy : The New Yorker 

There is so much to read, tell us something to watch...

For the past two weeks, ever since I began writing for The Weekend Briefs, Thadi and Ammu ( my lovable children of ages 30 and 21 ) have been suggesting I watch a movie that goes by name,  Call me by your Name (2017).

Image Courtesy : Wikipedia 

And after much hesitation, I sat down to watch this yesterday. If there is a movie which dwells on silences, serene, tranquil moments of love it is this one. The movie is shot on 35mm film format, and is a visual treat to your eyes. More than everything, the storytelling is profound, nuanced and presented in a manner tugging on the viewer’s mind. My mind is still stuck in the beautiful Italian landscapes, the cycling rides of Oliver and Elio, the laidback weekend feels and the many frames that speak volumes to the viewer. If you are on the look out for a heart warming story of love, loss and a bit of melancholy, Call Me By Your Name is the perfect choice. 

Bonus : Please Please re-watch the last sequences with much earnest. I have never seen wiser, kinder monologues that reminds me of the many monologues of Robin Williams. 

Tell us something to listen to...

I have been listening to two brilliant soundtracks this past week while working. I was in double mind, because one soundtrack speaks of duty, honor, regales while the other speaks about love and melancholy. It was difficult for me to finally choose one, and I have decided to share both. 

The first, is The Crown ( streaming on Netflix ) original soundtrack composed by Rupert Gregson Williams with the main soundtrack composed by Hans Zimmer. I would recommend a binge listen to the main theme and Duck Shoot. You can stream  the complete soundtracks on Spotify , Apple Music or Youtube. 

Image Courtesy : Netflix 

My second selection for this weekend is Sufjan Stevens, “ Vision of Gideon” and “Mystery of Love” from the Original Soundtrack of Call me by your Name. This breezy soundtrack should make most of your weekend and recommends many repeats. 

___

Well that’s all from The Weekend Briefs for this weekend. Thank you to Debasish for sharing his work, Prasanth and Ammu for recommendations and all others for sharing our briefs on social media. 

Hope everyone has a refreshing weekend ! Eat, Read, Love and be Merry this weekend and fight the Monday Blues. 

See you all next week!

Signing off, 

The Weekend Briefs!

In Memoriam : Sushant Singh Rajput & Sachy. 

[kheprrison-arts]

Mianite Wilderness Chapter One

Plot: the heroes fall from the void, after being sent off by Ianite and defeating Dianite, find themselves in a world covered in nothing but snow. There’s no sign of civilization anywhere but the traps that Tom finds.

shipping: there’s no ship so far but I guess you could say there might be some syndisparklez?

warnings: there may be some blood and a dead animal corpse in this but nothing too bad. Maybe someone cursing.

Extra Notes:

I hope this isn’t too bad? This takes place after the first season, which means they’ve never been in Ruxomar or even heard of other realms existing. Also depending on if a lot of people like this I might actually be motivated to write more since this is just the first chapter.

please tell me how this is, I’d love to hear from you guys and maybe if I get enough notes and comments and stuff I’ll actually continue this.

Chapter one

Syndicate

I woke with a jolt, and was greeted with a sky full of white clouds and cold flakes dropping on my face. I realized that not only was it snowing but I was extremely cold. Did it snow on us after we fell?

I sat up, slowly, trying to ignore the numbness in my body and just… go. Layer after layer of snow on me fell off and allowed me to move again. Seeing so much snow on me kind of scared me a bit. Would I be able to find the others?

“Tom!” I heard Sparklez shout from behind me. I looked over my shoulder to see the rest of the group; Sparklez, Tucker, and Sonja. Sparklez came to me (granted with great difficulty) and grabbed my arm and helped me stand.

“It looks like it snowed a bunch,” Tucker said, staring at the sky, “we’re lucky we found you.”

“Yeah, you would’ve froze to death if you didn’t get up when you did,” Sparklez mumbled.

“Well thank you guys,” I nodded to them and I looked around as well. The whole place is covered in snow that’s around my knees in height and I wouldn’t doubt it were deeper anywhere else. It was just a flat white sheet, but in front of us is a huge forest, also covered in snow. I could tell most of the trees are pine trees as none of them froze to death and are fluffy. The ones that did die and wilt are thin and broken down from so much weight out on them. Off in the distance I could see a tall mountain peeking over the clouds. It was a lone mountain and looked nothing like the mountains at home. “Where are we?” I asked quietly. I only got a shrug from Sonja and a grunt from Tucker. Sparklez stayed silent as he was also looking around.

“It might be a bit of a stretch-” he said, pointing at the forest- “but I think we should explore the forest and find a place to stay before we get snowed in again.”

We all agreed, and Sparklez and I led the other two into the forest. I would say me though because I was ahead of everyone and Sparklez was just behind me, he was probably contemplating where we were knowing he’s probably the smartest of the three and always has something on his mind. He can solve things pretty quickly.

We found a good spot in the forest. A birch tree was tipped over and leaning on a pin tree. So we decided to take shelter there. We set up camp under the fallen tree, digging out the snow underneath and grabbing big fern branches to protect us from anymore snow. We set up a fire (with great difficulty) and camped out for a while. Sooner or later some of us got hungry, so I decided to go out and see if I can find rabbits or berries or something.

I shuffled around the forest, making sure I leave tracks deep enough so they don’t fill up with snow and I get lost. I got over my numbness after we hung out after the fire and I was hoping I’d stay generally warm for a while even without warm clothes.

I doubt that’d be the case.

As I shuffled around I started seeing something. I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming or hallucinating or something… but it actually got me a bit happy. I started seeing things like wires connected to trees and small wooden or bone spikes poking from the snow. This meant there’s someone here.

What was worrying was the blood coating all these traps. Whether or not they were for animals I knew that wherever we are we’re right in someone or something’s hunting grounds and they may not be too happy about that.

Suddenly I heard someone shout my name. “Tom!” They screeched and it almost sounded like Sonja. “Come back! You won’t believe this!”

So I did what I was told and started to run-shuffle my way back to camp, of course following my trail. When I arrived the group had the most excited faces, yet their eyes held some sort of fear? I knew fear when I saw it and that’s what I see. When I saw him was when I knew why they held fear in their eyes.

It was Dianite, yet shorter and stalkier… mainly he looked more masculine, giving him that short yet huge look. He was crouched down by a corpse of a big deer-like animal, a big one. Possibly an elk or caribou? When he looked at me I saw he had some sort of animalistic shine to his eyes which were… actually beautiful– they’re opalescent, shining different colors in vibrant flecks. His hair is dark burgundy and slicked back, but it seemed to stand up a bit in hostility while his tail twitched around in irritation. He wore animal skin, obviously different skins stitched to different skins to create some kind of protection against the snow. There were black strings wrapped around various parts of his body like his arms, legs, waist, and chest. All strings tied around teeth and broken bones of animals, possibly those he’s hunted. Some strings (the ones around his waist) tied around glass bottles and vials filled in some powdery or liquid substances of different colors. There was a pale beige looking powder in one and knew immediately it was some crushed bones made into bonemeal. In his left hand held a big and long blade, also of bone. Whatever animal that blade was made of I wouldn’t want to know. He stood slowly from his crouched position as he continued to stare at me in some wary gaze. I could tell he too is observing me. The way he stood I knew he was watching if I’d attack him. He stood on his toes, his feet dragon-like in nature but also big enough to keep him on the surface of the snow without sinking through… sort of like a lynx or polar bear.

“Hello,” I said quietly, hopefully not startling him and he continued to look at me. I cleared my throat and his ears perked up.

“Now that everyone is here–” his voice is deep, like rolling thunder, but he spoke quietly, “– I want to know who you are and why you want me to… help you.” I could tell he’s sort of animalistic with that voice of his. He spoke slightly choppy but he’s still understandable. What scared me was he still was staring at me.

“Well…” Tucker started slowly, a bit nervous, “I’m Tucker Jericho.”

“Captain Jordan Sparklez.”

“Sonja Firefoxx.”

“Tom Syndicate.”

We told him we didn’t know where we were and had recently woke up outside of the forest, and of course added that we almost froze to death before even waking up. Or at least I almost did. We said that we came from a place called Mianite and well… as I suspected that didn’t go too well.

“Excuse me?” He made a noise that I recognized, a deep rumbling in his throat and chest that meant he was infuriated. His hair seemed to stand even more on its end and his scales on the back of his neck down to his shoulder blades I could see started to ruffle, making a low shuttering noise when they moved in any way. This was the defensive system of his species… whatever he is. The Dianite I knew, definitely different from this one, had the same thing with his own scales but it was all around his neck to make him look larger. Obviously this is some sort of different breed that their back-scales are large and plated and shutter when in distress to scare their prey by both intense noise, vibration, and overall size. This Dianite is big and scary enough, I’d probably cry if he were to be angry with me in such a manner.

“W-what’s wrong?” Sonja asked.

“That bastard is throwing this whole world off balance,” he growled dangerously, his brows furrowed, “it’s been snowing like this for over three hundred years and it hasn’t stopped one bit. He also has a village atop the mountain over there–” he nodded off towards the tall mountain– “s'full of sick people. He spread some sort of disease and well… it isn’t going too well.”

“Mianite did this?” Tucker asked, his face contorted with some kind of disgust and unbelief.

Dianite looked at him oddly. “Yes.” He snorted and crouched back down by the caribou. “I smell you aren’t from this world. You don’t smell like them–” he placed his hand on the corpse and took his bone knife and started cutting into it, it started to bleed where he cut and Sonja and Tucker gagged. “Then again I haven’t smelled any kind of life since it started to freeze over.” he continued to cut off parts of the caribou, of course first it’s pelt and flesh. He set the layer of pelt and flesh down on the snow next to him after ripping the last remaining inches off the body. Blood started to coat the snow, giving it that pinkish-red coloring.

“If it’s been frozen for over a century than how are some of these trees still getting their nutrients?” Jordan asked while he stared at the skinless caribou with a glint of disgust in his eyes.

“It’s not. They’re all completely frozen,” Dianite said, standing up and walking over to one of the pine trees. He rested his hand on the trunk and spoke again, “it may sound stupid to you four, but the forest speaks its own. It always had something to say, you could just feel it. If you ever went into the forest and you felt watched, it’s the spirits in these trees. Each tree has a story, each blade of grass has a past… but ever since Mianite came into rule they never spoke again. It used to feel full of life here, but now it’s just… cold and dry.” I frowned as he didn’t look away from the tree, his tail hanging low and his ears hung back. “It’s been so long that I’m afraid this world will never be the way it used to.”

He turned around and looked at us, I could see determination and confidence thinking In his opalescent eyes. “If your were sent here from another world, then i imagine you were sent her for a reason. I think you’re hear to save this world.”

“Why do you think that?” Jordan asked, he too had gone up to a tree and felt it. He held his hand, probably trying to warm it up, when he walked over to us.

Dianite looked at him, “It’s not everyday you see four strangers fall from the sky with a scent as strange as yours.”

Thank you guys so much for reading this! I know I’m a bit late but I’ve been thinking about this au for a really long time. If I get enough comments and notes I’ll continue this here as well as start posting Starlight.

I hope y'all enjoyed!

Chapter two

[meetmeatthecoda]

#30 liz would be the obvious choice but I could see red doing this as well.

#30: “I was scared and I ran.” Well, anon, I went with the obvious choice. :) And I’m sorry this took so long, I had a hard time getting started, and I wanted this to be perfect and angsty and whatnot and it definitely is not perfect and I do think it’s angsty so I really hope you enjoy. :) Thank you for the prompt!

Liz knocks on theheavy oak door of Red’s latest safe house for the third time.

Nothing. Again.

She sighs, running ahand through her hair. She needs to talk to Red. And not about blacklisters orpretense or Tom but about them. As they are. Or as they used to be. Since shecame back from Cuba, things between her and Red have been… bad. Tense.Strained. Everyone has commented on it by this point and, while that wouldn’tnormally bother Liz, she has such an uneasy feeling inside whenever he won’tlook at her. Because he won’t. Not anymore. She knows it’s because they haven’tdiscussed her disastrous faked death and would-be vacation in Cuba. But Rednever stays in her presence long enough for her to say anything other than“Hello” and “Who’s our next blacklister?”. And perhapsthat’s by design but it simply can’t continue. Liz can’t take it. So she is determinedto make things right. And she’ll stand here all night if she has to.

She knocks for afourth time.

All of a sudden, shehears the dead bolt wrench back and the locks turn and the door opens to reveala carefully emotionless Red.

That’s odd. Shedidn’t hear any footsteps before the door opened. It’s almost as if he wasstanding behind the door waiting for her to leave.

Oh.

Yes, they need totalk.

Red is still standingin the doorway, staring blankly at her, apparently refusing to break thesilence. All right then.

“Hi,” Lizstarts, with a confidence she does not feel while Red is looking at her likethat. “May I come in? I think we need to talk.”

“About what? Itold you everything I know about number 102 at the Post Office today.” Hesays frostily.

“No, I know,it’s not about number 102.” She says. Why is her mouth so dry? “Ithink we should talk about us, Red. We have some serious issues that we haven’taddressed since… since I came back and people are starting to notice. I thinkwe should at least try to work things out.”

His expressionhardens. Wow, she didn’t think that was possible.

“Oh, so now you’re open to communication.”

“What’s thatsupposed to mean?” She’s trying desperately not to get defensive butthere’s something about this attitude of his that makes her want to raise herhackles and snarl.

“I think youknow what that means.” He says, coldly. “And now’s not a goodtime.”

And to her completesurprise and indignation, he begins to shut the door.

“What?Wait!”

Out of desperation, andbecause she can’t watch his face disappear behind that door, she just can’t,she quickly puts her foot out. The door collides painfully with her ankle butshe ignores it, determined to make him listen.

“Look, I knowyou’re upset with me but–”

“Oh, do you?Amazing!” He says, scathingly, starting to get angry now instead of justplain cold. Well, at least that’s some sort of emotion. She’ll take it.

“Hey! I can’tmake this right if you won’t talk to me!”

“Oh, so youthink you can still make this right. How charming.”

She blinks. What? Ishe serious? Every time she hurt him before, she would apologize or hint atremorse or sometimes just smile at him and he would just move on as if nothinghad happened. So why is this different? Sure, telling him he is a monster isn’tquite the same as faking her death but hurt is hurt, isn’t it? So why is heacting this way?

But finally he sighs,rolls his eyes, and let’s go of the door to cross his arms, looking for all theworld like a petulant little boy who doesn’t want to clean his room.

She hates this.

“But I supposeyou have a point.” he says begrudgingly. “We don’t want to make yourco-workers uncomfortable.”

Her co-workers? Sincewhen has Red cared about anybody at the Post Office besides her? What did shemiss while she was in Cuba?

“So, fine. Inthe interest of easing tensions, I’ll listen.”

And then he just standsthere and stares at her expectantly. She wonders vaguely if her mouth ishanging open. Has he always had these whiplash-inducing mood swings? No, surelynot. She would have noticed. But here he is, waiting for her to say something.

“Well?” hedemands.

“You want me tostart talking? Here?”

“Well, isn’tthat what you wanted?”

“I’m not goingto have this conversation on your doorstep!”

“Well perhaps Idon’t want to invite you in!”

“Well perhapsyou don’t but I’m not doing this with a door in between us. Either you come outhere or I’m going in there.”

They stare each otherdown for a tense minute, eyes assessing each other, blue piercing green andgreen glaring at blue.

Finally, withoutbreaking eye contact, Red moves slowly to the side, giving Liz just enough roomto squeeze past him and into the house.

But somehow, the movedoesn’t feel like acquiescence to Liz. It feels more like a warning. Thesewalls around Red are brand new and miles high. How is she supposed to scalethem?

Liz stops in theentrance hall, unsure where to go from there, not wanting to anger Red any morethan she already has. She wants this conversation to be as civil as possible.

“Turn right. Wecan talk in the kitchen.”

The kitchen. Wellthen. Civil might be a bit of a stretch.

Liz sighs.

She enters the clean,utilitarian kitchen, running a hand over the marble countertops before turningto lean against the counter and face Red.

Well. She might aswell be talking to the marble countertops. They certainly look more invitingthan Red does right now.

Liz takes a deepbreath. She had an idea of what she was going to say, didn’t she? She had aplan in the car on the way over here, didn’t she? So where did all her wordsgo? Her mind is blank, so she decides to just take the plunge.

“Okay, look, Iknow things weren’t easy for you when I was gone–”

Red’s eyes widen.

“Oh, you do? Youknow that? How, Lizzie? How could you know how it was for me when you were‘gone’, as you so eloquently put it? How could you know, since you were nodoubt sunbathing in Cuba waiting for your beloved Tom, reveling in a lifewithout me in it? How could you know? Howcould you?”

Now why did that lastquestion sound so different from all the others? They were the same words,after all. But there was so much more bitterness and betrayal in those wordsthan all the others. Why was that?

Liz stares at Red,trying desperately to read him as she was once able to, once again stunned bythe strength and depth of his animosity towards her.

She had known thatRed had hovered over her 'dead’ body in the back of the ambulance, so long thatMr. Kaplan and Dembe had had to plead with him to leave. Ressler had told herthat. She had known that he disappeared shortly after her 'death’, without aword to the team or Dembe. Samar had told her that. She had known that Redwasn’t going to come back to continue work on the blacklist after her ‘death’, Aramhad had to convince him. Aram had told her that.

They all had told herthese things in the briefest, most non-specific terms, looking at their shoes,quickly making excuses and hurrying off. She had been confused by theirbehavior at the time but she had been preoccupied with trying to find Agnes,thinking she would deal with it later. Perhaps the reason they hadn’t wanted toelaborate on Red’s actions after her death was because, could it be because–

“Red, I wasn’tenjoying my time away, all right? It wasn’t like that and–”

“Oh, really?Well, you could have fooled me, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth. Elizabeth?When was the last time Red had called her Lizzie, anyway? It had been a while,hadn’t it? Not since before she left, wasn’t it? Did that mean, no itcouldn’t–

“Red, I wastrying to protect Agnes, that’s all, I didn’t think–”

Oh. Well, that wasthe wrong thing to say, wasn’t it? She watches as Red’s normally warm, greeneyes turn hard as flint, his mouth pinching and his jaw clenching.

Oh.

“See, that’s theproblem, Elizabeth, you didn’t think!”He’s yelling now, he’s never yelled at her before, why– “Or rather, youdid, and it was only about yourself! You thought how nice it would be to getaway from me, the monster, and go away with your beloved fake husband, notgiving one thought to how that would affect me! Well, guess what, it did affectme! Your death? Yes, it affected me, Elizabeth!”

“Red–”

“No!” heroars, slamming his hand on the counter, making the dishes rattle in thecabinet behind her head. She suddenly realizes she is literally backed into acorner in the kitchen of his safe house and there is no one else here.

She has never beenscared of Red before. She is now.

“No, you don’tget to talk!” he bellows, his voice strangely unsteady. And are his eyeswet? “Not now because what could you possibly say? Because your death? It ruinedme! It sucked me into a void and I almost didn’t make it out the other side!Your death? It almost killed me!”

The awful silencefollowing his words seems to push on her ears, making them ache. She aches allover. Oh, what has she done? She didn’t know it was like this, how could sheknow? What has she done to Red–

And to her horror,she sees a single tear fall from his shining eyes and down his cheek.

Oh. Oh, she’s hurthim. Oh, she’s hurt Red so badly. And she had no idea.

Oh, Red.

He swipes at the lonetear and turns away from her. Suddenly she is terrified that he’ll leave theroom, leave her, and her previously frozen limbs unlock, lurching forwardtowards him.

“Red…” shewhispers, reaching out and tentatively touching his arm.

He jerks away fromher touch.

Oh. Oh, no.

“Red,please.”

She hears him take adeep, shaky breath. Still facing away from her, he turns his headever-so-slightly to the side, seemingly indicating that he’s listening.

Or maybe not. Itcould be either. But she decides to assume he’s listening. Because he has to.How else can she fix this?

“Red…”

Oh, what can she say?Red’s right. What could she possibly say to make this better? She’s hurt him sodeeply and she only just realized and he knows that and somehow that makes itworse and what can she say?

Oh. Stupid Liz.

Because suddenly it’sso simple. What do you say when you’ve hurt someone? Just two words. Two simplewords and why didn’t she think of this before, stupid, stupid Liz?

“Red,” shewhispers, meaning her next words more than she’s ever meant anything,“Red, I’m sorry.”

Yes. That was what heneeded.

She actually sees thetension leave his shoulders and his head falls forward and he lets out ashuttering sigh and she sees more tears fall and they can’t have that, no, soshe’s rushing around to face him and she’s putting her arms around him and hishead falls to her shoulder and his arms wrap around her waist and he’s cryingbut everything feels better and–

Yes. This was whatthey needed.

“Red,” shemurmurs, the words coming so easily now. “Red, I’m so sorry. I didn’t meanto hurt you. I was just trying to save my baby. The cabal was beating down thedoor and Kate offered me a way out and I didn’t have time to think, Red. I… Iwas scared and I ran. And I’m so sorry for what I did to you.”

And his tears aredrying on her shirt and he turns his head to breath her in and she closes hereyes and–

Yes. This is them.

And she thinks maybeshe’ll stay a while tonight.