#i am still focusing a lot on school. but i am slowly beginning to lurk again

[frenemies-to-lovers]

The Glint of Your Blade | Jurdan Fluff (Jude POV)

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Just some Jude/Cardan fluff inspired by the Folktober 2020 prompt (I am phenomenally late to the party). Set after QON. There’s some sparring, some magic, and some making out.  

((One-shot. 3820 words. Just fluff.  Heat level: somewhere between mild and medium))

[Read on AO3]

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“I thought I might find you here,” Cardan’s familiar voice says from behind me, startling me and breaking my concentration. I lower Nightfell and turn to face him.

“You could have tried to make a little noise when you entered the room. It isn’t wise to startle someone with a sword in their hand,” I say, pushing my sweat-dampened hair out of my face.

“Perhaps. But you didn’t so much as point it at me, so perhaps I needn’t worry whether you’re armed or not,” he grins.

“Don’t think I wouldn’t stab you,” I retort. He merely hums in response, and I wonder what the truth is. Whether he believes I would or I wouldn’t, he’s unwilling to say.

He takes a step closer and I notice that his face is bare of it's usual golden shimmer and he’s wearing a plain black cloak. He must have had some time to wash and change before heading down to the Court of Shadows, where I’ve been practicing my swordsmanship since I left the brugh after dinner.  Leaving Cardan to the revelry on his own.

“Are you planning on sneaking out this evening?” I ask, sweeping the tip of my sword up to point out his attire.

“Only if you wish to. I came to see if I could lure you away. You’ve been down here for quite some time,” he says.

That makes me smile. That he missed me.

“I didn’t realize,” I say honestly. “I’m having a hard time unwinding.” Despite having no immediate threats, court politics are always stressful.  There are always dangers lurking throughout Elfhame, and I worry that I cannot anticipate them all.

“Why aren’t you sparring with The Ghost?” he asks.

“I sent him home. I knew he’d rather be spending time with Taryn. And every time we spar lately, I can’t stop thinking about the fact that he’s probably old enough to be our father but he’s also my sister’s... boyfriend? It’s distracting. And kind of gross,” I say, making a face. He laughs.

“Then why not just drink some wine to ease your tension like the rest of us do?” I know he is teasing. I still haven’t developed a taste for alcohol, and do not drink beyond making toasts at feasts and revels.

“I needed to burn off some nervous energy. Wine doesn’t really help with that,” I answer.

“I know something that can help burn off that nervous energy,” Cardan murmurs, voice all honey and silk. He raises a black eyebrow and gives me his most mischievous grin. A sudden spike of heat rushes through me, and I know my face is flushed.

It has been months since I returned to Elfhame, since Cardan was cursed and then restored, since we began ruling together. Since we began sleeping together, and sharing the royal chambers. Since it became public knowledge that we are married -- something that is definitely still weird if I think about it too hard. The better part of a year has passed, and I still get a little flustered whenever he’s particularly forward. It probably encourages him, actually.

Not that I mind it. Not really.

“How about… I’ll try your way if you can disarm me.” I nod at the rack of weapons on a wall of the training room. My training room.

The Roach told me that it was something Cardan had insisted on for the new Court of Shadows. For me. Cardan and I had never actually talked about my training habits, but he must have made some assumptions about them based on what he had seen, what he had known. Those assumptions had made me feel truly and completely seen.

“My way?” That mischievous grin seems to grow wider. “Very well, Jude.”

Cardan goes to the rack, removing and hanging up his cloak before retrieving his sword -- his own sword, made for him by the newest resident smith at the palace. I was a little surprised when he had  recruited my help in having it commissioned for him, as I knew he wasn’t partial to swordplay.

He had responded by telling me that perhaps he would find it more interesting with an instructor he was fond of looking at.

He turns back toward me and slices his sword through the air in large, sweeping strokes and then smaller ones. I catch myself looking him up and down as he moves. He is wearing plain black clothing, but it is still perfectly tailored to his frame. He catches my eye and I know he caught me staring, that he knows I wasn’t even thinking about critiquing his form. He grins at me again, and I glare back at him.

“Are you ready, then?” I ask, trying to sound detached.

He takes another few passes with his sword, these ones more purposeful.  His skills with a blade are improving, but he still has a long way to go.  He seems to sense the same thing in those few movements.

“I may have been a little overconfident in agreeing to your terms.  How about we spar until I get under your guard, rather than disarming you?” he asks.

You’re always under my guard. The thought comes to me unbidden, comforting and startling in equal measure. Rather than say that, I try to appear as though I am considering his proposal.

“Alright,” I finally respond. “As a reward for your humility in acknowledging my superior swordsmanship, I will accept your terms.”

“Very generous, my queen,” he says, giving me a small bow and taking up a ready position.  

I step toward him and raise Nightfell.  His gaze sweeps over me slowly, his face full of determination and desire. I feel the force of his attention like a caress, intimate and possessive.  I find my cheeks heating, unsure if his reaction is sincere or if it is an attempt to throw me off balance before we even begin.

I clear my throat.

“Are you quite done ogling me?” I raise an eyebrow as his eyes meet mine.

“I wasn’t ogling. I was. . . admiring your form.” He grins and lets his eyes wander again.  I’m pretty sure there’s a blush all the way to my toes, but I refuse to be distracted by it.  I hate that he knows how to use his charm on me, and that I’m responsible for the fact that he views it as a weapon to be wielded.

“Let’s begin, then,” I say.

Because his sword is at the ready, I don’t give him any other warning before I advance. I take a cautious swing to test his reflexes, neither as fast nor as strong as I know he is capable of deflecting.  He blocks it effortlessly and I am pleased that he was still paying enough attention to be ready for my attack.

He does not return to a defensive position as I expect, but immediately presses into the offense.  He swings quickly, but I parry. I see him ready to strike again and step out of his reach, allowing him to waste the effort.  There are two ways I usually win with Cardan: I either let him tire himself out with repeated attempts to land a blow, or I tire him out by putting him on the defensive until he makes a mistake.  

Since we have been practicing regularly, he has the skill to hold his own in a sparring match, but not the stamina. He has gotten strong, but he still moves a half a beat too slowly, still having to think about what he will do before he moves.  My own body reacts more automatically, a lifetime of training and practice informing my steps without conscious thought.

He swings and jabs and strikes, over and over again.  I deflect and parry and avoid his attacks, watching as the effort begins to take its toll on him.  His breath is coming more rapidly, and his face is beginning to slip just a little.  While he never wears the haughty expression I am used to seeing him deploy in public, he tries to keep his face cool and neutral when we spar.  Now he looks intently focused on our battle, his eyebrows furrowed just a little in frustration.

“You seem to be tiring, my king,” I say, twisting away from him as he tries to press me backward toward the wall. “Are you ready to concede?”

His movements have become slower, his strike not as powerful as it was when we began.  To his credit, I am also moving more slowly and my hair is damp with sweat. Each of his movements seems to be taking more and more concentration.

“Perhaps, my queen.” He strikes, and I block his blow but he continues pressing, our blades locked together.  He presses forward and brings his face in as close as possible while avoiding the path of our crossed swords.  He gives me a coy smile.  “But I will save enough strength to ensure you’re properly spent before we’re finished.”

He withdraws his sword and readies to strike again. I automatically move to avoid the blow, but I am surprised to find myself falling backward. I bring my sword arm up in defense as I hit the hard packed earth of the floor. My free arm and hip are going to be bruised from the impact. I look down and see a vine coiled around the toe of my boot.

A cheap move, but effective.

Much like some of my own best moves.

He is turning out to be a much more apt pupil than I anticipated. He may have a lot to learn about swordplay, but he is an excellent strategist.

I look up, trying to school my expression away from wide-eyed shock to something more menacing. He is advancing on me slowly, his sword still raised, but he isn’t moving quickly enough to press his advantage. If he thinks he can best me by tripping me, he’s going to be sorely disappointed.

I point my toe and begin to pull my foot out of my boot, but as I go to move my body, I realize too late that there are more vines sprouting up from the floor. I try to scramble backward, but there are too many and I am caught around my legs, my hips, and the arm I landed on when I fell.

Cardan wasn’t being cocky with his slow advancement, he was using my moment of confusion to continue focusing on using his magic.  I’ve never seen him do that before, invoke his connection to the land without his full attention.

I move to cut myself free from the encroaching vines with my sword, but the creeping plants have finally reached up my side and are beginning to pull even my sword arm down. I am well and truly trapped. Cardan tosses his sword to the side and stands above me for a moment, one side of his mouth lifting in a rakish grin that is taunting and beautiful. I am propped up on my elbows, vines covering my body, holding me in place. My hand still grips Nightfell uselessly.

“Clever,” I admit. “The initial maneuver was a distraction to buy you enough time for the finishing move. You’ve been paying attention.”

His grin widens, bright and mischievous.

“You haven’t seen my finishing move yet,” he says, kneeling over me, one of his legs between mine. He pulls Nightfell from my hand. To his credit, he doesn’t toss it aside the way he did with his own, but gently places it behind him, far out of my reach.

He turns back to me and my heart speeds at his proximity.

“I seem to have won,” he says, eyes dragging down my pinned form and then back up. Then, movements slow, he leans over me and the moment stretches until his soft mouth brushes mine. A ghost of a kiss.  

“This hardly feels like losing,” I breathe against his lips. He lets out a laugh as he kisses me again.

I feel the vines around my arms loosen, although the ones around my torso begin to tug at me. Cardan slips his hand beneath my head and he lays me down gently, using his magic as an extension of himself.  His mouth continues to move against mine as I yield, my back against the floor. His kisses are still soft. A question. A plea. He pulls back momentarily and searches my flushed face.

My arms fully freed, I trace a line from his hand to his shoulder then sink my fingers into his curls.  I look into his black eyes, his pupils blown wide with desire.  

“Is this okay?” he asks in a whisper. He knows how much I dislike being out of control, and his asking makes me feel safe.

I nod, and tighten my fingers in his hair, pulling him back to me, kissing him hard. I bite his lower lip and I feel his arm move underneath me, clutching me tighter, pressing my body closer into his. The vines are still coiled around me from the waist down, rendering me unable to shift my hips against him the way my body wants to.  

As he trails kisses down the column of my throat, I glance down and see flowers budding and blooming everywhere.  Tiny, fragrant blooms in every shade of red, from crimson so dark it is almost black, to the faintest pink. I can feel them now.  Not just the physical touch against my body, but the sensation of them brushing up against my own connection to the land.

Cardan can sense that something has changed, and he begins to pull away and rise to his knees.  His breathing is ragged and his hair is a mess.

“Don’t stop,” I say, fisting a hand in the front of his shirt and yanking him back toward me.  He looks briefly surprised but allows me to tug him down, bracing his hands on either side of my head.  “I was just. . . distracted by the flowers.  I’m okay.”

His eyes scan the floor around me, the vines still holding me around the waist, pinning down my legs. He looks surprised to see them covered in blooms.

“I didn’t even mean to do that,” he admits.  That makes me give a short laugh.

“You do that on accident kind of a lot,” I say.  

My hand is still clenched in the fabric of his shirt and I pull him down further, our mouths sliding together again.  

“You seem rather unperturbed by being rendered defenseless,” he whispers between kisses. His mouth moves back to my neck, leaving a trail of burning kisses down to my collarbone “You must like being at my mercy.”

I hum noncommittally and angle my chin to give him better access. I focus again on feeling him, feeling his magic through the connection we both share with the land.  I peek down at him briefly, and see that he is totally lost in the moment, eyes closed and cheeks flushed.

“You know what I like even better?” I ask, unclenching my hand from the front of his shirt and slowly raking it down his chest, brushing my fingertips down the flat plane of his stomach. After a perilously long descent, I finally hook a finger inside the waist of his pants.  His eyes flash up to mine and I feel the heat, the intensity like a physical blow.

“Tell me,” he demands, voice rough.

“Winning,” I say with a grin.  

With my other hand, I swiftly pull the dagger from my boot and hold the flat of the blade against his throat.  He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe as the vines fall away from my body.

“Your distraction was better than mine,” he says, grinning. “Although a different opponent would not be able to escape so easily.”

“I’m glad you thought that was easy.  I still have difficulty calling on the land. And it doesn’t like to work against you,” I say.  

“It doesn’t like to work against you, either. But I, unlike you, always have the purest of intentions.”

I raise an eyebrow and open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off.

“I merely sought to disarm you.  You’re the one holding a knife to my throat,” he points out.

“This is just a reminder that you didn’t disarm me. I’m not even touching you with any of the sharp parts,” I protest.  

I begin to pull the knife away, but his hand shoots to my wrist and holds it there.

“Don’t,” he says, his head dipping down again, his forehead coming to rest against mine. He turns my hand and brings the razor-shape edge into just the barest contact with his skin.

“This,” he whispers, letting go of my wrist but not pulling away at all as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, “the glint of your blade, the edge of your dagger against my throat . . . it brings back a very fond memory.”

“You really do have depraved tastes.” I kiss him then, remembering that first kiss as our mouths collide and I hold my blade still against his neck. It is different now, of course.  It doesn’t feel as dangerous, but the desire is still just as potent as it was the first time. Maybe more potent now that he knows exactly how to kiss me, exactly where to touch to elicit the fastest and most powerful responses from me.  I expect him to make one of those moves now, but his kiss remains gentle.

A little frustrated at being one-handed, I stab my knife into the dirt floor. Cardan chuckles at the sound and pulls back. He looks at me with a kind of reverence, bringing a hand to cup my face and brushing his thumb back and forth across my cheekbone.

“Are you ready to go tire yourself out my way?” he asks softly. I don’t trust my voice, so I just nod and plant another kiss on his soft mouth before he rises.  

He offers me his hand, and I allow him to help pull me to my feet. I pluck my dagger from the earth, and put it back in my boot, then retrieve Nightfell and return it to the scabbard at my hip.  Cardan has returned his sword to its rightful place and pulled on his cloak.  He holds up another cloak, as though to help me into it.

“That seems like overkill when we have direct access to our chambers,” I say.

“We aren’t going to our chambers,” he responds, mischief lighting his face again. I know he wants me to ask, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction. Instead, I let him envelop me in the dark fabric.

We pull up our hoods and I follow him out of the Court of Shadows and through the secret passageways beneath the palace. I know these tunnels just as well as he does, but I am surprised to find him leading me to a secret entrance to the Great Hall. Cardan cracks the door and peers out. I can hear music and chatter, the revel still carrying on in the hours since we left.

He grabs me by the hand and pulls me out, but we stick to the shadows as we make our way around the back of the dais.  I try to move as silently as Cardan as I follow him to what I now think of as our secret room, the doorway covered in ivy.  He barely brushes it aside and opens the door only far enough for both of us to slip inside.

Before I can even react to what I assume he’s brought me here for, he grabs me around the waist and pulls my body close to his. But instead of pulling me in for a kiss, I realize he's pulled me in for a dance. His other hand is grasping my own and his feet are already beginning to move to the sound of the music from outside.

I lift my eyes to his and find him grinning down at me.

“My way,” he says as he leads me gracefully around the little room.  

For as long as I have been teaching him the sword, he has been teaching me skills I thought would be useful to me as the queen.  Dancing is one of them.

I have found that knowing the steps to a dance makes it easier to stay a little more in control, even when I get swept up by the compulsion of faerie music.  Although I still cannot pull myself out of a dance once it has begun, I can choose my own steps rather than feeling as though the music is making them for me. When I do so, I am able to feel more of the exhilaration of the dance, and less of the dread.

At revels now, Cardan always looks for my signal at the end of any dance for which he is not my partner.  If I touch my ruby ring, he will make his way toward me, cut in to dance with me, and pull me out of the crowd.  Knowing that he is watching, knowing that he will always get me out if I am overset, is yet another way Cardan has helped me overcome some of the powerlessness I have felt all my life.

The music that I hear coming through the wall now is faint enough that it has hardly any pull on me.  I could stop if I wished, but instead I try to feel the dance the way I felt the steps when we were sparring.  Our skills are reversed here, Cardan gliding through the steps without any thought at all, while my movements are just slightly delayed -- the product of my having to consciously think about what comes next.

For a while, we continue dancing without much conversation.  He says nothing when I make a misstep, simply leads me through it with the poise of someone who has done this his whole life.  

The music outside grows quieter and slower, even the revelry beginning to die down. Cardan pulls me in close enough for me to lean my head against his shoulder.

“Jude?” his voice is soft, and I feel him running the tip of his finger along the rounded top of my ear.  I open my eyes and look up at him.  I hadn’t realized they’d drifted closed.

I realize suddenly that I love this room.  It feels as though no matter what is going on outside these walls, only we exist within.

“Shall we go back to our chambers?” he asks.

“No,” I answer. I pull him with me to the low couch where we lie down together, his arms wrapped around me, my head on his chest.

“Let’s stay here a while.”

[fanfictionaries]

Oh So Many Years: Ch. 13 - Uh Oh

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fred Weasley

Summary:

So they’ve kissed...now what?

Warnings: Swearing, Death, Smut/18+ NSFW

Author’s Note:

I update every week before midnight on Sundays (US MST) (except that one time)!

Please feel free to like, comment, and reblog! xoxo

Masterlist

<<Chapter 12

 If I breathe I will misplace my fear I won't walk away in anger dear Or in time I will forget And I stumble toward you with hands around your neck

 She was floating – floating in deep frigid water and while her eyes were closed, she did not need to open them to know this. The weightlessness of her body and the pressure on her ears told her she was somewhere she really shouldn’t be. Her body wasn’t meant to be there, so far below the water where only creatures of the deep lurked through the thick slimy seagrass and cavernous rock.

I shouldn’t be here, I shouldn’t be here, the voice in Hermione’s head repeated endlessly. It grew louder and louder, giving her the strength to break from the body-binding paralysis that kept her lifeless and still. Wrenching open her eyes; she was greeted with an endless black. How far beneath the water’s surface did she have to be to see so little? Turning her head blindly, she tried to find anything that showed a way out, but again there was nothing. A great expanse of nothing. With her consciousness came the overwhelming need to breathe, but Hermione knew that she couldn’t. Unless she’d suddenly sprouted gills, it would be impossible to fill her aching lungs with anything but ice-cold water. She had to get out. Kicking her feet, she stroked through the water desperately pushing herself upwards, but it was no use. Something had her caught around the ankle, holding her in place. Frantically, she reached down and felt the rough surface of rope under her wrinkled fingertips. She grasped at the rope, pulling and twisting, trying to find the knot as she held her breath. Her heart was beginning to pound violently in her chest and her lungs screamed for the sweet relief of oxygen, but still she fought. Just as she felt the material start to give, it changed from coarse cotton to slick flesh. Hermione let out a startled scream, muffled by the water, and kicked her feet wildly at whatever was holding onto her. It’s searching fingers traveled up her calf, inch by inch. With a violent kick, she broke free from its grasp, pushing herself upwards with all the strength she had. She wasn’t confident that the way she swam was right, the darkness concealing all sense of direction, but then, she saw the light. The beautiful brightness that illuminated the water above her. Kicking with all her might she pushed herself until she broke through the surface gasping and sputtering.

Too preoccupied with letting her burning lungs fill with air, she was completely caught off guard when the world shifted around her. While floating on the water’s surface moments before, she was now falling. The sensation sending her stomach up into her throat as she let out a blood curdling scream. Hermione hit the ground hard, the soft grass beneath her doing nothing to pillow the impact. Panting heavily, she pushed up onto her hands and knees and looked around her. She was on the Hogwarts grounds. It was dusk, the sun not yet set enough to give way to the moon and stars. The grounds were empty, not a soul in sight, but the muffled sounds of a crowd could be heard. Getting to her feet, she saw in the distance, a large stadium brightly lit. There were people – they could help her. Limping towards the stadium, the sounds of the crowd grew louder and louder. By the time Hermione reached the arched entrance it was almost deafening, but when she turned the corner expecting to see hundreds of people sat on the stands, she saw no one. The voices were gone, and she was alone. Alone except for someone lying in the grass just a jog away.

“Hello?” Hermione called out, her voice echoing around her.

She took a few steps forward, the person coming into focus. A flash of jet-black hair and round-rimmed glasses were all she needed to see to know who it was. Hermione sprinted to Harry, coming to his side to find him pale and lifeless. Grasping his arm, she shook his rigid body, a tightness forming in her chest and a burning behind her eyes.

“Harry? Harry!” she shouted, continuing to shake him.

The sound of something heavy hitting the ground with force broke her focus and she turned to see a second body lying nearby. Crawling to it, she saw the dead and empty eyes of Ron as his body lay twisted and crumpled on the grass. She had barely reached him when there was another thud. And another. And another. All around her she watched as bodies hit the dewy grass with a sickening squelch of flesh and bone. So many – one after another. Everyone she knew and loved falling through the air and landing dead at her feet. She turned her tear-streaked face up to the sky slowly, afraid of what she might find. With horror she saw hundreds of bodies floating through an endless sea in the sky. They looked so peaceful, almost like they were sleeping, but Hermione knew better.

“Well, well, well…what do we have here?” asked a breathy, ominous voice.

Hermione gasped, looking back down to see a group concealed by masks and long hooded robes surrounding her. Stumbling backwards, she tripped over one of the bodies, landing hard on her bottom. Looking down she saw the helpless body of Cedric Diggory – the Hufflepuff champion. Desperately Hermione searched for her wand but found it nowhere on her person.

“Hermione,” Hermione heard a distant call of her name, but it was overpowered by the ominous voice speaking once again.

“Looking for this?” asked the voice. Hermione looked up. One of the masked and hooded figures stepped forward, towering over her, and holding out her wand. She reached for it, but before she could grasp the familiar wood, the figure snatched it away.

“Hermione,” called the distant voice again – this time coming through clearer.

The figure above her laughed, a bone chilling creaking sound. “I’m sorry dear – only witches own wands.”

“Hermione!”

Hermione shook her head, looking up at her mother’s concerned face from across the kitchen table. She’d been thinking about her nightmare again.

“Sorry mum – what did you say?” she asked, inhaling deeply, and sitting forward in her chair.

“Your father asked if you wanted one or two pancakes,” said her mother, cocking her head to the side and staring worriedly at Hermione.

“Oh—” Hermione twisted in her seat to where her father stood in front of the stove “—I’ll just have one dad. Thank you.”

“I’m worried about you, dear,” said her mother sweetly. “We just got you back for the summer and yet these past two weeks you’ve been so far away.”

“I’m sorry mum. I truly am happy to be here with you both. I just have a lot on my mind, is all,” said Hermione guiltily, looking down at her orange juice.

“Did something happen at school before you left? Something with that boy you wrote to us about? The one who took you to the dance?”

“No, no. Nothing happened. In fact, I received a letter from him the other day. He made it back to Bulgaria safely, and has started quidditch practice up again for the new season,” Hermione informed them, purposefully leaving out the true end of term events. They didn’t need to know what happened. It would only worry them. So instead she focused on the contents of Krum’s recent letter and thought fondly of him and how he’d all but begged her to write to him when they parted ways at the end of year. They’d grown quite close over the second of the term.

“Is he your boyfriend now then?” asked her father cheekily.

“Dad!” Hermione cried in embarrassment.

“Dan don’t tease the poor girl. If Hermione had a boyfriend, she would tell us…you would tell us, right?” her mother asked with false casualty.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Yes. Of course, I would tell you. But he’s not my boyfriend so there’s nothing to tell. He and I both agreed that furthering any relationship would not be wise. He’s all the way in Bulgaria and graduated, while I still have three more years at school. It wouldn’t work,” Hermione stated diplomatically.

“Well then, that still doesn’t explain why you’ve been so absent these past few weeks. Are you sure there isn’t something bothering you dear? You can tell us. You know we’ll support you in whatever it is.”

“Stop pestering her Jean,” said Dan, placing a plate with eggs, sausage, and a single pancake on the table in front of Hermione, before grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her out of her seat. He reached over and turned up the radio that had been playing soft music in the background. A new song picked up, lilting an old jazz tune through the small kitchen. Her father spun her in place, Hermione’s sock-ladened feet sliding easily over the linoleum, before he pulled her back into his arms and began to dance with her. “She’s a teenager now, dear. She’s probably tired of spending so much time with her boring old parents!” he declared with flourish as he dipped Hermione lightly and tapped the end of her nose with his spatula.

A giggle slipped past Hermione’s lips and she scrunched her nose.

“Old and boring? You two?” Hermione laughed as her father deposited her back into her chair. Jean’s expression was lighter now as she watched her smiling daughter begin to dig into her breakfast.

“Speaking of old and boring—” began Jean, looking teasingly at her husband.

“Watch it,” interjected Dan in a mock warning.

“We were thinking we would go and visit your father’s parents in France again this summer. We’d leave in a week.”

“Oh—” Hermione stopped mid-bite, the egg on her fork slipping back onto the plate “—again? What about your practice?”

They’d spent the last three summers in France and while Hermione did enjoy the country and seeing her grandparents, she hoped to spend at least a little time at home in Britain.

“The practice will survive without us for a month or so – no one’s getting their teeth cleaned in the summer anyways. They’re all too busy sunbathing and traveling,” said Dan, flipping a pancake over.

“As much as I love Gran and Gramps, I thought I’d spend a majority of my time this summer preparing for my O.W.L.s. I hoped to be able to go into Diagon Alley for books if I needed and I’m afraid I won’t be very fun to be around,” said Hermione, putting her fork down and pushing her plate away from her. Jean frowned at Hermione’s barely touched breakfast.

“I had a feeling you might not be keen on going—” Jean pushed Hermione’s plate back in front of her “—I hadn’t told you yet, but your father and I received a letter yesterday.”

“A letter?” Hermione’s pulse quickened – she’d artfully hidden the letter Hogwarts sent out to parents about the events of the Triwizard Tournament. How on earth was she supposed to explain to them that a student had died? Better yet – how was she supposed to explain to them that the darkest and most vile wizard Britain had ever known was back once again? They’d ask questions. They’d want answers. But most importantly, they might think twice about allowing her to go back to Hogwarts and she very well couldn’t let that happen. So, when her mother mentioned a letter, Hermione worried for a moment that perhaps Hogwarts had decided to start sending out letters through the muggle post as well.

“Yes, from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.”

Hermione’s eyebrows rose. She opened her mouth to ask why they hadn’t given her the letter, but her mother spoke again, reading her mind.

“It wasn’t for you. It was for your father and I. They wanted to ask if it was alright if you came and stayed with them this summer holiday. Apparently, your friend Ron misses you,” said Jean, giving Hermione a wry grin.

“He does?” asked Hermione in surprise.

“Yes, it seems so.”

“Did…” Hermione paused, swallowing thickly. “Did they mention anyone…else, or anything?” she asked, feeling a tightness in her chest.

Her mother cocked an eyebrow. “No. Why?”

“No reason—” Hermione let out a shaky laugh “—I was curious if Harry was there yet or not.”

Jean nodded, but the look in her eye told Hermione that she didn’t believe her for a second.

“Anyway, your father and I wanted to wait to respond until we spoke to you.”

“Oh…well—" Hermione chewed the inner corner of her bottom lip “—can I think about it?”

“Really?” asked her mother looking slightly taken aback.

“No need to put up false pretenses for our sake, Hermione. We know you’d much rather spend your summer with your friends, than in France with us and your Gran’s five cats,” said Dan, placing a plate of food down in front of his wife and taking a seat with his own.

“Crookshanks does dislike them…” commented Hermione, looking over to where her fluffy orange cat sat on top of the refrigerator. His tail twitched back and forth as he stared down at them with a bored yet scrutinizing look.

“See, exactly. Nothing to think about!” exclaimed her father.

“Only if you two are sure. I’d hate for you to think I don’t want to spend time with you,” Hermione said, feeling both guilty for leaving her parents so soon, and nervous for spending the rest of the summer at the Burrow.

“Nonsense. We know you love us, honey. Go have fun with your friends! I think it might be good for you.” Her mother’s words were light and kind, but Hermione could tell that there was a deeper meaning behind them.

“Alright, I’ll go upstairs and pen a letter now.” Hermione scooted out of her chair, placed a quick kiss to her mother and father’s cheeks, and sprinted up the stairs to her room. When she reached the solitude of her four walls, a wave of anxiety overtook her. Hesitating in front of the white-painted desk of her youth, she contemplated for a moment whether she truly did want to spend the rest of her summer with the Weasleys. Or more accurately, one Weasley in particular. Sitting down on the small wooden chair, she allowed her mind to drift back to that night. The night of the Yule Ball.

Truly a night to remember, Viktor was more of a gentleman than Hermione could have ever imagined. She felt like Cinderella on the night of the ball, arriving in a beautiful gown and spending the evening on Prince Charming’s arm as everyone stared and gawked. She relished in the dumbfounded looks on Harry and Ron’s faces as Viktor spun her around the dancefloor. And Viktor was an excellent dance partner – not quite as good as Fred due to his general lack of grace on the ground, but still fantastic, nonetheless. But his prowess as a date didn’t end at dancing. He was complimentary, considerate, good-humored, and an enthusiastic conversationalist. Needless to say, by the time the Weird Sisters were on their fourth song, she was quite taken with Viktor Krum. So, when he locked eyes with her as a ballad played on, Hermione found no reason to object or run away. She wanted Viktor to kiss her. Unfortunately, before his lips could connect with hers, a nearby couple bumped into them, breaking the moment and also Hermione’s calm demeanor.

“Shall I get us some refreshments, Her-my-oh-nee?” asked Krum. Hermione blushed, touched that he had taken the time since they’d last spoke to practice her name. He’d gotten it right nearly every time that night.

Hermione nodded, allowing Krum to lead her off of the dance floor and over to a nearby table. “I’m actually going to use the loo. Meet you back here?” she asked, feeling a rush of warmth overtake her.

Krum nodded before turning and heading in the direction of the refreshment table. Hermione turned, exiting the ballroom, and walking towards the long hallway that held the girl’s lavatory. However, she’d only made it a few meters when a tightness formed in her chest and the world began to shift on its axis. Bracing herself against the stone wall to her left, she breathed slowly trying to calm herself, but it was no use. The air around her felt stifling and her dress was suddenly two sizes too small. Spotting a terrace across the hall, Hermione ran to it, flinging the French doors open and allowing the icy air to envelope her. She leant forwards on the stone railing, already covered in a light smattering of snow, and closed her eyes.

I just almost kissed Viktor Krum, she thought in delight. I just almost kissed Viktor Krum, she thought to herself again, this time in abject horror. Her first kiss. She’d just almost had her first kiss and gave it no thought! Was she even ready for her first kiss? She was 15. Weren’t most girls having there first kiss at 15? Hermione hated to admit she wasn’t quite sure. She didn’t know the first thing about kissing and dating. In fact, she didn’t know how to kiss at all…Oh dear, what if Viktor tried to kiss her again? What if she mucked it up? The mortifying thought grew larger and larger in her mind as she continued to stand in the freezing cold, until it was the only thing she could think about. So far trapped in her own head, Hermione didn’t hear the French doors to the terrace open behind her.

“What are you doing out here? It’s freezing!” yelled a familiar voice, breaking Hermione from her thoughts and making her jump. Her heeled feet slipped on a slick spot on the terrace and she grabbed onto the railing in front of her more firmly. Bringing a hand up to her pounding heart, she turned to see Fred.

“Merlin Fred, you scared me!” she exclaimed, taking in the sight of him. He wore a dashing set of midnight black dress robes and a purple tie. A tie that matched the deep purple of his date’s dress. Of Angelina Johnson’s dress. The sting of his extended invitation to the Gryffindor chaser was still slightly fresh. It had been stupid of her to think, for even a moment, that when Fred swore she’d receive a second invitation to the ball he meant himself. Even if he did say it after detailing just how beautiful he thought she was. She should have known they were empty words meant only to make her feel better. Still, she couldn’t help but get swept up in the moment – alone in a corridor, in front of a portrait that only he knew calmed her racing mind, with him lamenting sweet words of her lioness mane and ferocity.

“What are you doing out here?” Fred asked, taking a few steps away from the doors.

“Nothing…Viktor went to get drinks and I needed a bit of fresh air,” Hermione half-lied. She really had no desire to subject Fred to another one of her trivial problems. But this was Fred, and much to her dismay he’d become the easiest person to talk to in her life. So, when he gave her that look – the look he gave her when he knew she was lying – she couldn’t help but spill every bit of her soul.

“Oh god, Fred. I don’t know what to do!” she cried, bringing a hand up to rub at her temple, hoping it would bring her some form of mental clarity. Pushing away from the railing, she began to pace back and forth. Her whole body felt on edge, like she could burst into a full sprint and it still wouldn’t be enough to burn off the anxious feeling of self-doubt.

Fred caught her by the shoulders, bringing her to a stop in front of him. “What happened? What’s the matter?” he asked in worry, his eyes tracing up and down her person. Hermione noticed he did that a lot these days – scan her as if he were searching for something. It always put her on edge, making her wish that he’d look away and also never stop.

“Nothing, well no that’s not true. It is something, but it hasn’t necessarily happened yet and I—”

“Just tell me why you’re out here trying to freeze to death, please Hermione,” said Fred firmly. Hermione was grateful for him halting her racing words.

“I…” she hesitated, unsure of how to say what was on her mind. But ultimately, she concluded that simplicity was probably in her favor. “What if he tries to kiss me?” she asked in embarrassment, eyes falling to her feet and the building snow around them.

“I mean, you kiss him back. If that’s what you want and if it’s not what you want, then kick him in the shins. You’ve got a killer kick – I can attest to that personally,” said Fred plainly.

Hermione smiled at Fred’s attempt to use humor to diffuse her worries, but still it didn’t quell her racing mind. Looking up into the depths of his hazel eyes she confessed her deepest worry, “I just…I was dancing with him and there was a moment where I thought he might kiss me and then someone interrupted us and so we didn’t. But I had the realization that he might try to kiss me again and I’ve never kissed anyone before. What if I’m bad at it, Fred?”

Fred looked back down at her, his face twisting inscrutably. “It’s a first kiss – everyone’s first kiss is a little awkward.”

Hermione knew he was right, but she had opened the flood gates and the silly intrusive thoughts left her mouth without giving any time for her brain to process them, “Yes, but what if I’m so bad that he never wants to kiss me again? I just…I don’t know what to expect or what to do and I—”

Soft lips pressed against her own, stopping her blabbering and also her brain. The reality that she was being kissed by Fred Weasley was completely lost on her in that moment. Instead the only thing she could comprehend was the firm warmth of lips against her own. The hands that had gripped her shoulders moments before made their way in opposite directions – one sliding up to cup her face while the other wrapped around her back and gripped her waist tightly. Hermione melted into the touch, feeling a fire ignite all across her body as Fred’s lips parted, taking her lower lip between his own. She moved in tandem with him, allowing him to take the lead. Truly she did not know why she’d been so worried about kissing Viktor. This was easy, Hermione thought as she parted her lips in a gentle sigh. Then she felt the wet warmth of Fred’s tongue swipe between her open lips and something in her broke. Reaching up she wrapped her arms around his neck, lifting onto her toes to meet his kisses stroke for stroke in enthusiasm. Fred seemed to enjoy that, for he held her body tighter to his, allowing her to feel every hard plane of him through their clothes. He slid his tongue past her lips entirely then, meeting her own tongue tentatively. Hermione welcomed the invasion, a small whimper escaping the back of her throat. She wanted more, needed more.

But she didn’t get more. Instead, Fred broke the kiss, pulling away from her harshly. Hermione released her hold on his neck as he stepped back, putting her at arm’s length. Her breaths came in harsh pants as she stared up at Fred. She knew for a fact she must look like an absolute mess. She could feel the blush on her face and chest, and the swell in her lips. But Fred. Fred looked completely fine. Unbothered almost. The only evidence of their kiss, the slight pink tinge to his lips.

Fred cleared his throat, bringing a hand up to scratch the back of his head. “There. Now you know what to expect.”

“What?” asked Hermione dumbly, unable to process his words after what had just happened.

“You were worried about messing up your first kiss and not knowing what to expect. Now you know,” explained Fred casually.

“Oh, yeah. Of course. Thank you,” she mumbled, unsure of what else to say. “Well, I should be getting back inside. Viktor’s probably waiting for me.”

She didn’t wait for Fred to reply. Instead Hermione stepped around him and headed back into the castle, feeling the icy sting of her cold flesh as the warmth of the stone walls surrounded her once again.

A tapping on her window broke Hermione from her memory. Looking to her right she saw the familiar sight of Errol standing on her window ledge, a letter in his beak. Hermione opened the window, allowing the bird to enter. She gave him a treat in exchange for the letter and paused when she saw that it wasn’t one letter, but two. Opening the first she saw Ron’s familiar messy scrawl.

Dear Hermione,

Mum says she sent a letter to your parents three days ago through the muggle post. Have you gotten it yet? If not, it says that you’re invited to come and spend some of the summer holiday with us. If you have, please respond to this letter via Errol. You won’t believe what’s going on! I can’t say much through by letter, but I’ll explain everything once you get here.

Sincerely,

Ron

Hermione scrunched her brow in confusion. What was going on at the Burrow that made Ron so insistent she visit this summer? She didn’t usually spend summers with the Weasleys. That was more Harry’s thing. Setting Ron’s letter down and picking up the second, she stared at it with trepidation. Was it from Fred? Delicately she tore open the envelope and read:

Dear Miss Hermione Brunhilda Granger (Fred and I didn’t know your middle name, so we took a wild guess),

Ron’s told us that our mum and dad have invited you to spend the summer with us, but that you haven’t written back. What’s keeping your response and why is it the fact that you’re hopelessly in love with me (George) and you don’t know how to tell me?

No, but seriously. Please come stay with us this summer. I don’t think you’ll want to miss out on what’s going on here. Considering you’re the busy, nosy sort.

Yours truly,

Fred and George

George and Fred

P.S. – We’ve been doing a lot of inventing and we really would like your help and input.

P.P.S. – Fred’s been a mopey git lately and I need you to come and help me put him in a better mood.

Hermione stared down at the two letters in front of her for a very long time. So long in fact that Errol grew impatient and nipped harshly at her hand.

“Ouch! Errol,” she scolded the bird, picking up her quill and two spare pieces of parchment.

Dear Ron,

Tell your mum and dad that I’ve spoken with my parents and would be happy to join you and your family for the remainder of the summer holiday. My parents are to leave for France in a week’s time. Would Saturday, the 17th work?

Best,

Hermione

She finished the letter quickly, signing her name and placing it into an envelope addressed to Ron. Then picking up the next piece of parchment, she took a moment longer to stare hard at the blank page before putting ink to parchment. She could do this. All she had to do is pretend like nothing was wrong.

Dear George and Fred,

I’m afraid you’ve figured me out. I’m hopelessly in love with you George and have decided that I can’t take the distance between us any longer. Therefore, I will be spending the rest of the summer with you and your family. I hope we can use this time to explore our undying love for one another. Please, refrain from breaking my heart.

On a more serious note – I should have known that you two only wanted me for my brain. You realize at some point you’ll be responsible for your own inventions without my help. Yes?

Either way, I guess it won’t hurt for me to take a look at these new products of yours. You know, to make sure you haven’t mucked them up entirely.

Best,

Hermione

P.S. – Have you considered Fred’s only mopey because he’s jealous of our timeless love?

P.P.S – My middle name is Jean.

She finished, hoping the short letter held enough joking and light-heartedness to match George’s and seem normal. The last thing she needed was for anyone to find out that she was helplessly in love with not George, but Frederick Weasley.

***

“See, I told you she was in love with me, Freddie,” remarked George, placing Hermione’s letter down on the old wooden desk. A puff of dust floated up into the air as soon as the parchment hit the surface. Despite their mother’s best efforts, every surface of the ancient Black home still leeched grime and dirt. They’d spent the last two weeks, ever since they got back from school really, deep cleaning and attempting to bring the childhood home of Sirius Black back to life. However, Fred was beginning to feel as though it was a futile effort. Every surface cleaned, revealed a new layer of grit and dust just for them to clean again. It was beginning to weight heavily on Fred’s nerves. What was the point of having all those galleons Harry gave them from the tournament and more ideas than they knew what to do with, if they didn’t have any time to actually work on anything?

He almost wondered if his mum was doing it on purpose. Heaven forbid they spend a single moment not dedicated to clearing out pixie infestations and polishing furniture. Who knows what they’d do if left up to their own devices – why they very well might invent something that made them incredibly rich and successful? Well, their dear mum couldn’t have that, no. Not when the means of their success came from less than reputable avenues like jokes and pranks.

“She’s not in with love you, you smarmy git. If anything, she’s humoring you,” said Fred, taking advantage of their free morning to do some research for their new line of products. George, on the other hand was more preoccupied with testing out some of the few items they’d been able to successfully create. Absentmindedly, he picked up the pair of Extendable Ears and began to untangle the line between the two ends.

“Someone’s still in a right fowl mood. You know, we can’t all be lucky enough to have girlfriends. Some of us still have to play the field,” said George casually, successfully untangling the Extendable Ears and leaning against the desk, crossing his arms.

“For the last time, I’m not in a fowl mood or mopey. I’m busy.”

“Ah yes, busy. Too busy inventing and writing your girlfriend to have a bit of fun. You know, if I knew that this business idea would turn you into Percy, I never would have suggested it. What’s the use of inventing prank items for a living, if you don’t know how to have fun anymore?”

Fred looked up at his twin brother in offense. “Compare me to Percy again and I’ll show you just how wrong you are, Georgie,” Fred warned, throwing his book down onto the messy bed and rolling over to lie on his back.

George crossed the room, standing next to the foot of the four-post bed and leaning against the ornately carved wood. He stared down at Fred, giving him a look that Fred was trying very hard to ignore. Times like this he very much disliked having a twin – it wasn’t always great having someone know every sordid detail of your life and your feelings.

“Still haven’t heard back from Angelina then?” asked George, although it came out as more of a statement, really. Fred shot him a look that clearly stated that they both already knew the answer. “Well, I mean – she is at that quidditch camp thing…right? Maybe she’s not getting your letters?”

It was a suggestion George had made after Angelina neglected to respond to his second and third letter. After the fourth, Fred had decided to just give up. If Angelina cared any at all about his summer, she would write back. He sighed, bringing a hand up to run through his newly cropped hair. The first thing they’d done with the money Harry gave them was go and get proper haircuts. Harry Potter – what a saint. The mad boy didn’t have to go and give them all of his Triwizard Tournament winnings, and they genuinely tried to turn him down. It was much too much money. But he had insisted, saying he already had all the money he needed, and he didn’t feel right keeping it. He and George didn’t hold the same qualms.

“Look on the bright side, Freddie. Hermione’ll be here in a week and then we can use that big brain of hers to finish off some of these inventions,” said George, sitting down on the bed next to Fred and pulling out a piece of taffy from his pocket. Fred watched him unwrap the colorful candy before popping it into his mouth. “And she’ll have all the time in the world to do it, since her little Bulgarian boyfriend won’t be taking up all her time. Relationships really do muck up everything…” George lamented, rolling his eyes, and chewing thoughtfully.

It was true. After the Yule Ball, Hermione had been distinctly absent from the little forgotten classroom they used to house all their work. It had started small – her reasons for not hanging around. At first, she was busy with the upstart of classes again. Then, she needed to help Harry with the second task. Eventually, it was Viktor wanting to study in the library with her or accompany her to Hogsmeade weekends. One reason after another for her not to see them, to help with their inventions or to just hang out. A small part of him wondered if that was his fault. Maybe his kiss at the Yule Ball had offended her so much that she was purposefully avoiding him. But he knew Hermione, if she had considered the kiss to be any kind of insult or affront, she would have made it known. But instead, she thanked him and hadn’t brought it up since. Most likely for the best, he thought. Still, despite his nagging guilty conscience, there was the possibility that Hermione was just truly busy. Merlin knows he had been busy too.

The Yule Ball had solidified his and Angelina’s relationship. They walked the halls hand in hand. He carried her books between classes. They spent afternoons walking the grounds, talking, and kissing. Every Hogsmeade weekend was spent together. It was…nice. Angelina was a great girl, and the relationship was easy. Sure, it took quite a bit of time away from his other endeavors like pulling pranks with George and concocting products, but he supposed the sex that came with it more than made up for it.

“Yes, I’m sure having Hermione here will be much more convenient. So long as she hasn’t replaced Viktor Krum for our little brother,” spat Fred bitterly, surprising even himself with his harsh tone.

“What makes you think she’ll even give him the time of day now?” asked George, raising an eyebrow.

Fred scoffed. “Please, why do you think she broke up with Krum at the end of the school year?”

“You don’t think someone other than our baby brother could have been the cause of that?”

“Who else could it have been?” questioned Fred, giving his twin an exasperated look.

George stared at him hard for a moment before shaking his head with a small smile and answering, “No one. You’re probably right. I mean, who else could break up the happy couple but an obnoxious Weasley git?”

Fred tried not to focus on the double-meaning laced within George’s words. He couldn’t know. There was no way he could know that he had kissed Hermione. Mainly because he hadn’t told him. He hadn’t told anyone. It wasn’t like him to keep things from George. In fact, it was an entirely foreign concept to him. He’d shared everything with his twin since before he could even comprehend the concept of privacy or boundaries. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of hope at George’s speculative statement. Did he know something that Fred did not? Shaking his head at the foolish thoughts, he picked up his book again and stared at the printed words. There was no reason to feel hopeful about anything. He was dating Angelina. Hermione had a crush on Ron. Their kiss had been nothing – inconsequential really. Was he physically attracted to Hermione? Sure, but that didn’t mean anything. He was physically attracted to a lot of people. He was human after all. Therefore, it shouldn’t bother him if she were to stare googly-eyed at his baby brother while she was there for the rest of the summer. And even if it did, it would only be because it took time away from her helping them with their products.

Roughly slamming his book closed once again, he looked to George who was currently picking at a loose thread on the bed’s duvet cover. “Wanna’ go see if we can levitate Ron’s shoes to make him float upside-down?” he asked.

George let out a large breath of relief, jumping from the bed with overt enthusiasm. “Thank Merlin. I thought you’d never ask.”

Chapter 14>>>

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"I'm Your Father, Love!"

Tuesday 18th May 2021

Hello again everyone! Hope you're all doing okay, I'm back with another post and tonight I'll be reviewing Tuesday's post episode. However before we get started I have a little bit of news to share, which I'm sure the majority of you might've heard by now. Adam Woodyatt has announced that he's not going to be returning to Albert Square until at least 2022! So of course, for me, that raises the question - What has Ian been doing all of this time? Where did he go when he wondered off into the night? I know that there's going to be some major questions to be asked. We all last saw Ian leave the Square after he realised that his new wife, Sharon was poisoning him after she found out about his involvement in her son, Dennis's death. I hope Ian's return will be a big one, considering the way he left - with no money, no phone - just the clothes on his back, I'm eager to see where he has been and what he's been doing. What do you guys think?

Anyway, focusing on the episode at hand, firstly I'm going to begin with Katy and Frankie. Considering that Monday's episode ended with Katy returning to the Square, it wasn't going to be long until she crossed someone's path. Unfortunately for Frankie, it turns out her Mum has come back to the Square to see her. As Frankie is sat quietly in the club, she's startled as she looks up to see her Mum standing over her. Katy tries to plead with her to have one last drink with her before she gets locked up, but Frankie is having none of it. Although when she escapes from her Mum arrives back at the Vic, she realises that Mick's victim statement is all placed in an envelope and ready to be read out loud in court. 

To me it seems that Frankie was struggling whether to go and see her Mum or not, because at the end of the day, she is her Mum. Eventually Frankie agrees to meet with her Mum in the park, without anyone else around. At first it looks as if they're bonding as Katy recalls about the time she took her daughter to the beach around Christmas time. It looks as if Katy is still holding onto the hope that she can be seen as a good person in her daughter's eyes. Eventually it becomes perfectly clear what Katy is wanting from her daughter, she questions whether Frankie will give her a character reference so the court can see what kind of person she can be. But Frankie realises that once again she's being used by her Mum, she walks away completely ignoring her Mother. I do feel for Frankie as she is kind of in the middle of all of this, but she needs to realise that she has no blame in any of it, all the blame leads directly to Katy. 

Returning to the Vic, Frankie confides in Shirley, informing her of her Mother's request but she makes it known that she completely refused, much to Shirley's delight. Shirley claims she's proud of Frankie for doing the right thing and how she always knew she was on their side. I think as much as Frankie is wanting to stand by her Dad and help him through this ordeal, I guess a part of her is also thinking that she's also losing her Mum in all of this. I think I do feel for Frankie right now, but I am really intrigued to see the court scenes when they air. Will Mick be able to read his statement in court with Katy sat right there in the room?!

--

Elsewhere on the Square, Sharon is prepping herself for the launch of her new gym, however she's getting very little help from Zack. As she voices her ideas to him, he's insulting every single suggestion. He informs her that she needs to think bigger and advertise on social media and consider that people are going to be wanting to join the gym, so she should have some fresh smoothies made etc etc. 

As Zack tries to, once again, show off, Martin and Ruby happen to be walking with Lily across the Square. Is it me, or does this Zack think that he's God's gift to women? Showing off and flirting with anything that moves, but it seems his eyes are focused on Ruby at the moment - and Martin is really noticing which is making him incredibly jealous and possibly even cautious. Only did you guys happen to see the look on Lily's face? Do you think she has sussed out that her Dad may be jealous of Zack? 

Later as Zack is trying out a new cocktail, I'm not 100% sure whether it was something new for the club or something he was working on for the gym launch, but regardless he gets Ruby to be his guinea pig. However, lurking in the corner, sitting and watching everything unfold in front of her, is Lily. Ruby happens to notice her step-daughter and questions why she's not in school. Lily makes up an excuse and instantly asks her step-mum whether she has a crush on Zack, which of course Ruby firmly denies and informs her not to get involved in "Adult Business!" 

However, it looks as if the cogs are turning in Lily's mind. I'm assuming she still really doesn't look Ruby and will do anything to make her life a misery, maybe even split her and her Dad up. As she returns him and is sat watching TV with her Dad, Martin asks about what she's been doing whilst he's been away. It's then that Lily spins a web of lies, telling her Dad that Ruby wasn't around much and she was hanging around with Zack a lot, even mentioning that Zack had stayed over. Knowing full well how this would make her Dad feel, I think it's simply to do with Lily getting back at Ruby, purely for her Mum's sake. Is there anything Lily won't do to ruin Martin and Ruby's marriage?!

--

Another thing I have to mention is Bernie! Now Bailey has returned home, the Taylor family are slowly getting back to normal and having the family together again. Even though the family are terrified to let Bailey out of their sight. Bailey overhears Karen shouting for her in a blind panic, but once Karen realises that she's still safe and sound in the apartment, Bailey realises how worried her family were about it, claiming that she's seen all the online posts about her online. Does Bailey now feel guilty for running out on her family? Did she really believe that her family would be better off without her? The poor kid! 

But it seems that Karen isn't the only one who's concerned about Bailey's whereabouts, it looks as if Keegan is eager to keep a close eye on her also. He mentions to Tiffany that he and Bernie will be taking Bailey out for some lunch. Later as they all gather at McKlunky's, Keegan asks his sister about this "bonus" she'll be getting from Kheerat. But Bernie reassures her brother that he doesn't have to match her money, and he doesn't have to pay her back either. As a sweet and joking gesture, she informs him that as soon he has made his first million, that he can pay her back! 

However, the previous episode, Rainie informed Bernadette that she and Stuart are going to be finding another surrogate, so if Bernie is eager to make some quick cash for her family then she needs to act fast! Desperately she approaches Rainie begging her to give her a chance, to the point where she pushes herself to inform Rainie that she can lose the weight within a month! Rainie realises that Bernie is deeply serious about her surrogate and agrees to give her the one month deadline for her to lose weight so she can be their surrogate and carry a baby safely. 

Now I fear that this is where Bernie's eating disorder is going to come in, I know what it's like to lose weight, it can be a long and hard process - weight does not simply drop off you within a month! I fear that Bernie may make some drastic and hard decisions when it comes to her eating now. Will she perhaps start making herself sick? Or will she not eat at all and eventually go light headed and pass out? There could so many different and dark roads this storyline will take, I just hope there will be no lasting damage to both Bernadette, and the soon to be baby she'll be carrying - if it ever gets to that point! What do you guys think of this current storyline? I'm really interested in hearing your thoughts on this one! 

--

The final thing I have to mention is Sonia! Oh poor Sonia! After overhearing Dotty and Tiffany taking the mick out of her and calling her horrendous names, it looks as if Sonia is feeling as if she's aged since leaving the Square. Almost to the point where she feels it's time for her to change her look, she approaches Denise in the salon and asks her to give her a new do - from what we gather, something along the lines of what Dua Lipa has! 

Now Denise questions Sonia's decision and can see that maybe Sonia is having some kind of breakdown. She swiftly talks her into having a drink with her at the Vic. I have to say though, this scene between Sonia and Denise I absolutely loved. We don't get to see these two women socialise enough, it was just so lovely to see Denise reassure Sonia that she's not as "Boring" as some people think she is! She is a very important part of the community and mentions rightly how much Sonia has had to cope with over the last year, being a nurse and regards to the pandemic. It made it feel quite realistic for me, everyone knows how much we have needed the NHS this last year or so and how hard every single NHS employee has worked to keep us all safe! Even though the pandemic is real and Sonia is a fictional character, it was just nice for someone to reassure her that she is important and she is deeply loved within the community. I also have to say how much I love Denise also - I don't think Diane Parish gets the recognition she deserves! 

However as the drinks begin to flow, Denise and Sonia begin talking about Dotty. Denise informs her that she shouldn't listen to anything Dotty has to say, but unfortunately lets slip that Dotty has been performing as a hostess at the club. Learning this news, Sonia storms right over to the club and instructs Dotty to stop doing what she's doing, flaunting herself over middle aged men for money! However, she happens to insult a man standing by the bar, calling him a pervert! Dotty is left absolutely humiliated, but personally - it felt good to see Dotty be told straight! Don't get me wrong, I don't dislike Dotty, but I think becoming a hostess and dragging Tiffany in to doing it also, just doesn't seem right. I don't think she's no where near as bad as her Father, but I think she'll always have a rebel side to her! 

Oh so finally Brian Connelly has made his first appearance on the Square as Terry Cant. His first encounter was accidently bumping into Rainie. But as he continued to wonder Walford, he found himself in Ruby's club, working up an audience telling them a really interesting story, from what I could make out! However, he happened to be the one who was caught up in Sonia's confrontation with Dotty, being the one called a pervert. 

As Sonia returned back to the Square and began chatting once again with Denise and Tiffany, she was horrified to see that the "Pervert Man" had followed her back to the Vic. As she makes herself scarce by hiding underneath the table, Terry begins to ask for Sonia Fowler. But as Denise questions what he wants her for and whether she's done anything wrong, Terry informs them that she in fact hasn't done anything wrong, but called her Dad a pervert! Yep, that's right! Terry Cant is Sonia's Dad!!!! Where has he been all this time? How will Sonia react to her Father rolling up on the Square?

I know that Thursday's episode has already aired, but I'm looking forward to reviewing that episode tomorrow! Do you hope that Terry will become a permanent member of the cast? What else will bring him to Walford other than reconnecting with his daughter? I have to be honest, I'm looking forward to seeing what Brian Connelly will bring to the Square. I know he's well known for his comedy, but I'll be interested to see if they bring a more serious and maybe dark side to his character. I just think it'll give Brian Connelly that chance to shine and prove he can be a brilliant actor as well as a brilliant comedian! What do you guys think?? 

Thank you all for reading, it truly means the world! Please feel free to leave me a comment or leave me a message regarding anything currently happening in EastEnders right now. I'm looking forward to hearing your thoughts, opinions and theories! Love you all xXx

[shesthewindandsea]

if the lord dont forgive me, i’d still have my baby (and my babe would have me)

Summary: It's snowing tonight in Soho. The air is frigid and the ground is wet. Inside a bookshop, there's a demon experiencing the greatest crisis in known human history, but the angel sitting with him thinks he may be able to help.

Beginning Notes: So I’m starting to pick up on a pattern. Seems like whenever I wanna write something this bastard is always at the center of everything and really, what am I gonna do about that? Plug him apparently. @ineffablefool Go read this idiot’s stuff, it’s kind of good I guess I’m totally joking it’s all fantastic but yall should know that by now if you’re here. And!! @scribblemakes go look at all his art right now!!! It’s absolutely fantastic and beautiful and honestly freckled Crowley is one of my favorite things in the world which is why that’s basically what half this fic is about. The other half is just Aziraphale being chubby and getting kisses everywhere. This is literally the softest thing I have ever and will ever write in my entire existence. I have nowhere to go but down. 

Oh and the title is from a Hozier song, yeah we’re all really surprised I know. The song is called Work Song and I recommend you listen to this version just because it’s fantastic

-

Outside the doors of the bookshop, the evening air is still and quiet. Snow is falling silently from the clouds passing slowly in front of the moon. It’s quite a spectacle to all the children watching from their bedroom windows, eyelids heavy and blankets tucked up to their chins. All eyes, though laden with sleep, are ashine with a kind of innocent joy that can only come from a child. They’ll fall asleep thinking about a day off from school spent making snow angels and throwing snowballs and causing a general ruckus as they run in-between strangers on the sidewalk. They’ll certainly be disappointed when the morning comes and the world outside is barren of any snow, the lingering warmth in the stonework from the overcast sun that afternoon melting the snow once it touched the ground. Tears will, no doubt, be shed over the lack of highly anticipated snowman building material. This is, quite possibly, the biggest upset in known human history.

Inside the bookshop, however, a much different story is being told. The cold winter air pushes up from the floorboards, through the gap in the front doors, through the crack in a window frame. Even with the sharp cut of the frigid air filtering into the close quarters of the backroom, it didn’t have the chance to make the room any colder than Aziraphale willed it to be. The space heater glowing with a warm orange light in the corner may have also helped the process along and replaced the silence with a gentle hum and the occasional sputter.* 

*Aziraphale had initially started out with an ornate fireplace at the back of the room. He was rather proud of his craftsmanship and was excited to show off his recent update to Crowley once he arrived. That was, until his demon burst through the door with a slam and in a deranged panic, raving about the pungent smell of smoke and wallpaper burning, tears streaming down his cheeks and I couldn’t find you. Aziraphale wasn’t particularly attached to the fireplace, anyhow. A space heater will do the job just as well, dear, no need to fret.

Read on AO3!

 The air smells faintly of old parchment paper, book binding glue, and leather. The scent never seems to fade and Crowley suspects Aziraphale has something to do with that as well. Most humans find it somewhat distasteful and often find themselves making a rather startled face upon entering the shop followed immediately by an amusing and unattractive nose crinkle. 

That doesn’t always drive them away, though, and Crowley becomes further amused while Aziraphale would get rather frumpy, forming the most ridiculous and petulant pout he’d ever seen. The angel would make sure to use extra binding glue those days, making the smell all the more pungent. 

It makes Crowley want to kiss him. So sometimes, he does. He’ll lean over the front of Aziraphale’s workstation, tap the angel on the shoulder, and when he looks up, Crowley will try to snag a kiss from the angel’s lips. Occasionally, he’ll miss and land on his forehead or cheek, but nonetheless, Crowley is satisfied. 

Other times he’ll let Aziraphale brood loudly about the shop. He’ll put a little more force into his step and his double chin will become just a bit more pronounced as he tips his head down to keep his glare directed toward the floor. The emotions flicker across his face clearly displaying the war going on inside his angel’s brain, torn between politeness and some drastic steps that would “gently” encourage any potential customers quickly back out the door and onto the street.

You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here and all that. Thank you and have a nice day.

 Crowley would lean next to the till and watch, just basking in the presence of his grumpy angel. He used to pretend like he wasn’t watching. Like every minute he spent around Aziraphale wasn’t worth every second of secrecy and denial. His glasses did a lot of that work for him then. But now, things were different and Crowley didn’t want to waste a moment of their time together pretending anything. 

Moonlight lurks in the gaps of the shutters and gently attempts to creep across the floor hoping to reach the back of the old, lumpy settee. The moonlight hopes it can linger in the white curls of the angel currently residing there before the demon in his lap notices and gets jealous. Let it never be said that the moonlight is frightened of Crowley’s jealous indignation — though it will admit it’s become quite familiar with being on the receiving side of Crowley’s hissing and it knows well what it’s like to face the demon head on. 

The biggest upset in human history inside the bookshop? Well, it’s just that Crowley couldn’t press his face any closer into Aziraphale’s belly. Not without knitting their skin together, fusing cell by cell, permanently pressing his cheek into the grooves of each individual stretch mark kissing the angel’s stomach, thighs, arms.

 If only, he laments. If only he could remain here forever, his nose pushing into the available skin between Aziraphale’s waistband and where his shirt has come untucked, waistcoat and coat discarded long ago. 

If he could just bask until the end of time in the skin-on-skin contact, the soothing scrape of Aziraphale’s perfectly manicured nails gliding through his hair and along his scalp while the angel’s plush thighs pillow Crowley’s head and neck. He longs to kiss the plump flesh there hidden beneath Aziraphaple’s sensible trousers. In the pitch black of the room, save for the warm glow of the heater and the errant beam of moonlight stretching towards them, (as if he wouldn’t notice it) he can’t imagine moving a single muscle for the next century..

 If only.

Rather than linger on this particular tragedy, Crowley focuses his energy on appreciating exactly what he has in front of him right now, which is to say, absolute perfection. Even knowing he really has nowhere left to go, Crowley pushes his nose into the fat of Aziraphale’s stomach, groaning at the all warmth and love stored there. His arms snake tighter around his angel, squeezing. His fingers just barely brush each other behind Aziraphale’s back, forcing him to sit forward just a bit. 

Aziraphale makes a noise that Crowley thinks is supposed to be something like annoyance and scolding, but it ends up sounding more fond to him than anything else.

“Really now, dear. Your nose is poking me and it’s quite unpleasant. You’re going to have to release me.” In response, Crowley chooses not to move a single inch and grumbles something low into Aziraphale’s tummy. The angel can’t help but shake with laughter at the sensation. Crowley’s face curls up in an impossibly doting grin and though Aziraphale can’t see the full extent of Crowley’s adoration, he can feel it pressed into his body and somewhere low in his rib cage where he is positively thrumming with unadulterated affection.

“I’m sorry?” Aziraphale speaks around his smile. One hand remains in Crowley’s hair while the other skirts over his shoulders and under the collar of his shirt to rest his palm on Crowley’s bare back. He can feel the curve of Crowley’s spine and the way he moves with each inhale and exhale. He can feel Crowley’s heartbeat in his hands.

 The demon pulls back just enough to speak.

“I said,” Crowley drawls, “‘S impossible. Can’t move.” Each word comes out a hot puff of air against Aziraphale’s skin and it sends a shiver through his entire body.

“Is that so?”

“Mm. It is. Wouldn’t lie to you, would I, angel?”

“Ah, well,” Aziraphale teases, “wily and cunning serpent that you are, I never know when to trust you.”

“Shall I prove it to you then? I’m more than willing.” Crowley rolls away from Aziraphale’s soft middle just enough to stare up at the angel. His eyes glow like fireflies in the dim light and Aziraphale can imagine being swallowed by them, losing himself there for as long as it takes Crowley to blink. The hand in Crowley’s hair trails down the side of his face, caressing a sharp cheekbone and soothing his thumb over wrinkles in the corner of Crowley’s eye.

“You’re so beautiful,” Aziraphale whispers suddenly. He didn’t mean to say them, those words, but before he could stop and think, they were rushing up his throat, dancing across his tongue, sung from his lips like a prayer. Well, maybe not a prayer. Perhaps more like a song.

That happens sometimes, where he just can’t help himself. Crowley really is the most beautiful being Aziraphale has ever had the fortune to happen upon. And the words just come so naturally. The need to show Crowley how much he loves him, how much he positively adores him, fills him up like a helium balloon. 

The guilt consumes him, sometimes, when Crowley isn’t looking, when he isn’t around to remind him. All that wasted time and all the hurt he had caused. He knew and yet everything felt so hopeless. It felt like vines weaving throughout the gaps in his rib cage, his heart and lungs constricted, struggling to beat and inflate. 

 And then Crowley would be there, standing in front of Aziraphale with hands on shoulders, grounding him, asking if he was alright. Or he’d look up from across the room, abandoning whatever he was distracted with and meet Aziraphale’s eyes. Crowley would always just know from the look in his angel’s eyes, from the tight lines he held in his face. 

And then Crowley would just look at him and Aziraphale would look back. And oh the poetry he could wax about everything he sees in Crowley’s eyes. His brilliant, splendid eyes saying the most brilliant and splendid things. I see you and I understand and I love you and perhaps, most importantly, I forgave you a long time ago. It’s okay. You never have to ask.

Crowley’s giving him that look right now, saying all the right things without saying them. His lips twist up in a soft smile that lights up his entire face and Aziraphale feels like he’s about to float away with all the love in his chest lifting him up.

 Crowley rolls back onto his side, his face cupped by Aziraphale’s hand as it tenderly traces the edge of his mark. It stays there even as he turns toward Aziraphale’s round, soft belly and pushes the untucked clothing further up Aziraphale’s body. It rests precariously on the shelf of his stomach, exposing him to the musty air of the bookshop and Crowley’s sweeping gaze. His eyes are glazed over, half-lidded leaving Aziraphale waiting with bated breath.

Crowley has made it very clear to Aziraphale how much he appreciates the soft roundness of his angel’s corporation. Always kissing the swell of his cheeks and the folds in his neck, grabbing at his sides and hips. Aziraphale really hadn’t felt any inclinations either which way about the size and shape of his corporation over the last six thousand years or so; though, he had become rather sentimental after having it for so long. The same way one grows attached to a well-loved sweater. But being on the receiving end of all of Crowley’s reverent touches and constant praise certainly helped all those feelings along. And if it made Aziraphale feel more wanted and desirable, well no harm no foul.

Crowley releases his hold from around Aziraphale for a moment to grab hold of the hand covering his face, lacing their fingers together and slotting his bony fingers between the spaces of Aziraphale’s chubbier ones. His lips ghost over the generous give of the angel’s gut, starting from underside up the gentle slope until he reaches the edge of Aziraphale’s rucked up shirt. Then he makes his way across and then diagonal and eventually just anywhere he feels deserves more attention, slowly applying more pressure, lingering longer over each stretch of skin.

“You’re beautiful too, angel, so bloody beautiful. Wish you could see you the way I do,” he hums into Aziraphale’s tummy and sides and chest like he’s trying to tattoo the words there and Aziraphale is so overwhelmed by the brushing of lips against his bare skin that he can’t stop the long groan that escapes him. The urge to tug Crowley up, lose his hands in the long messy curls and just kiss every single freckle painted on the demon’s cheeks and forehead, wrists and knuckles, shoulders and back is overpowering.

“Oh, my darling. My dear sweet boy. My love.” Aziraphale could go on for ages. He’d call Crowley every endearment he’d ever read, heard and wasted time thinking up until he was red in the face. Until the galaxy was swallowed by darkness and the stars went supernova and the universe imploded. Until there was absolutely no question about the depth of Aziraphale’s love for him. 

He would if he could, if he thought that they didn’t have time. He’d spend every moment making sure Crowley knew what he felt before they ran out. But that’s not the case. They have forever, infinity times infinity, and so he has the opportunity to take Crowley’s hand and led him into it. He doesn’t need to push him in and hope he knows how to swim. 

Maybe he would try anyway if he felt he had any control over the irresistible need, the want, to pull Crowley’s lithe, lean body flush with his own. But as it turns out, Aziraphale is easily tempted and when it comes to his demon, he truly doesn’t have that control. He very quickly finds himself hauling Crowley up off his lap and pressing their bodies so close together that they could create a vacuum. 

Their lips slot together and if the whole world didn’t already fall away every second they were together, it would now. All the tiny variations — the nuances of each individual moment, of every individual kiss — spark across the connected skin like neurons firing through the brain. Aziraphale can feel Crowley’s knees knocking into his hips on either side. He can feel Crowley’s eyelashes brushing against the skin just under his eyes. He feels that long skinny nose that poked him in the stomach earlier smushed against his cheek and he hears the sure rhythm of Crowley’s heady breathing echoing in his head. 

Both pairs of hands wander — touching and testing patches of naked skin and soothing over wrinkled shirts, clutching handfuls of curls — and lips are soon to follow. Aziraphale keeps the promise he made to himself and thoroughly enjoys pecking at the hundreds of constellations of freckles he’s left behind, his kisses. Each spot overlaid becomes a shade darker, shines brighter against the white background. When he’s gone over every one he can reach, he begins to create new ones — one under Crowley’s chin, in the center of his cupid’s bow, just to the right of his Adam’s Apple — and they bloom like flowers, petals pushing apart and ready to greet the sun.

Crowley waits for Aziraphale to finish indulging himself while happily occupying himself with the skin connecting his angel’s neck to his shoulder — kissing, nipping, soothing over the marks with his tongue, rinse and repeat — by working around and under the collar of his shirt. His hands skirt up outside of his angel’s thighs and creep over his hips in of search the abundant flesh waiting for him at his angel’s waist. Once he feels the lack of clothing separating his hands from Aziraphale, he latches on, squeezing in random intervals. There’s just something so satisfying about the way it crowds his spread palms and fills the emptiness between his fingers. Something that makes him think, Mine. This is finally mine. 

“Had your fill of me yet, angel?” Crowley teases lightly as Aziraphale finally sits back and looks Crowley in the eyes. His hands rub up and down Crowley’s back under his shirt.

“Not in a million years, my love.” Aziraphale places a final kiss on the tip of Crowley’s nose. The demon’s face scrunches up a bit in an attempt to cover up an utterly besotted grin, but he can’t quite manage. 

“Got a reputation to uphold, you know.” Crowley says very seriously before wrapping his arms around Aziraphale’s neck and laying his head against his shoulder.

“I do know. Quite important, this reputation business. Perhaps we ought to refrain from such activities in the future. For the sake of your reputation, of course.” The audible smirk in Aziraphale’s tone is unbearable.

“Bastard. Don’t even joke about that,” Crowley growls, worming his way around his angel’s shirt to carve out his own section of bare shoulder, smacking it with a kiss which makes Aziraphale giggle at the sound and sensation.

“Well, then. I think we ought to head up to bed, don’t you? We’ve done quite enough sitting in the dark. I think I’d rather enjoy a bit of light reading.” Before Crowley can come up with a response, Aziraphale is standing up from the couch and lifting Crowley with him. He decides a contented hum and lazily wrapping his legs around his angel’s hips will do nicely instead.

Aziraphale’s socked feet make a muted thumping noise as he ascends the stairs to the flat above the shop. Soon enough, Aziraphale is using Crowley’s back to push the bedroom door open causing the demon to murmur some mild irritation and vague threat. He’s quite comfortable resting up against Aziraphale as he’s carried around though, much too comfortable to raise a real fuss.

That is, until he’s tossed onto their bed like a sack of potatoes, something like a oof! pushed out of him. He’s left cold on top of the covers while Aziraphale pretends to putter around the room, far too smug for his own good. 

And so Crowley remains there, cold and uncovered, purely out of spite. 

After changing into his pajamas, (a hideous set of mis-matching tartan, or so Crowley seemed inclined to voice on multiple occasions. Aziraphale finds them both stylish and comfortable) Aziraphale stands at the edge of the bed, tutting at Crowley’s behavior. 

“Come now, Crowley. Get changed and budge over.” Crowley fixes him with a glare that lasts all of five seconds before he’s snapping his fingers — clothes changed and eyeliner removed — and rolls over to his side of the bed. He pulls down the covers on his side, flopping down onto his pillow, hair a fiery blaze behind him. Aziraphale does likewise and scoots into his spot, wiggling around to get comfortable. Crowley watches on with unfiltered glee.

He continues to watch his angel closely as he clicks on the lamp beside him and peels back the cover of some hundred-year-old Dickinson collection, his reading glasses having appeared on the bridge of his nose at one point or another. Eventually, Aziraphale looks over at Crowley, feeling his eyes on him.

“Yes, dear?”

“I love you,” he blurts out. “I love you with all your moldy books and useless glasses and your ridiculous lovely body. I love all of it.” Aziraphale smiles brilliantly and the room is suddenly much brighter. Crowley could swear celestial light is leaking from Aziraphale’s pores and shining from behind his eyes.

“And I love you with your reckless driving and your useless glasses and your pointy nose, knees and toes, elbows and ankles. I love every last piece of you, mitting.” (This was one of those phrases that Aziraphale had sat on for quite a while before he finally had a chance to put it to use.)

Aziraphale lifts an arm for Crowley and he’s immediately curled up against the angel’s side, arms stretching across the long expansive of the angel’s belly while leaving space for the book to balance against Aziraphale’s chest. Legs twist together hidden beneath the blankets and toes wriggle about in cozy socks. Crowley rubs his leg up against Aziraphale’s, pushing up the pant legs of both their pajama bottoms.

It’s not long before Crowley falls asleep still tucked under Aziraphale’s arm and eventually, the angel decides it would be best to get some sleep himself. He places the book on top of his nightstand, not bothering to mark the page, and miracles the lights out. Gingerly, he moves his arm out from around Crowley and instead, manages to sneak his palm under Crowley’s head while the other arm pulls Crowley in closer, tucking his head beneath Aziraphale’s chin. He allows himself a brief moment of appreciation, brushing his fingertips over the flat plane of Crowley back.

“Until the morning,” he whispers into Crowley’s hair. He finally starts to drift off while watching the shadow of each snowflake tumble across the top of the duvet.

The now silent world within the bookshop remains so until daybreak, the night’s snow a puddle on the sidewalk and the flakes’ shadows replaced with a combination of orange, red, and gold light.

Until a red-headed demon slowly wakes in the early morning light to the soft, vulnerable skin of an angel’s throat pressing into his cheek. He’ll lay there for a long time, basking in the morning light and the happiness he feels in that moment with the knowledge that he’ll have that feeling many, many times in the distant, and not so distant, future.

Then he’ll clamber out of bed, trying not to wake the sleeping angel, to start making breakfast in a dusty, outdated kitchen. 

Until the angel will wake to find a vacant spot next to him, still warm. He too will get up from bed, though with far more coordination and less flailing of limbs. He’ll enter the kitchen and wrap his arms around the demon’s waist and inquire as to just what it is the demon is making.

“Nothing good with this kitchen, angel. Some bloody hedonist you are. Can’t even maintain a proper kitchen to make your own food.”

“Now, now, if you’re going to be that way, maybe I’ll just go to dinner without you tonight.” The demon will grumble and mumble but refrains from any further comment. The angel will force the demon to turn his head and offer a kiss as payment for the meal that will no doubt turn out very delicious. He accepts, of course.

Until that night when it starts snowing as the two walk home from dinner, the temperature dropping to temperatures much too cold for a fussy angel and his serpent. So the night ends much the same way it did previously: with the soft glow of the space heater in the corner where there once was a fireplace and curious moonbeams scampering across the floor. 

It ends with an angel and a demon so absolutely besides themselves with kindness and hope and love that they forgot what the cold feels like.

[wichols]

This is my first time ever doing any type of fan prompted writing event for myself and let me tell you I have some thoughts!!

But before thoughts let’s talk numbers.

Start Date: 1/8/2020

End Date: 1/24/2020

Total Fics Created: 9

Total Word Count Posted: 11,935

Prompts Received Anonymously: 5

Prompts Received By Users: 4

Longest Fic: Burning Intentions (2,203)

Shortest Fic: Attorney First, Wife Second (754)

Thoughts:

It was interesting to see which pairs and couples my general audience was requesting. By far the two most popular requests where anything to deal with Kyoya (my OTP) and Mori. You wanted my two favorite boys to get some comfort and happy endings and I was happy to supply them. Now that I step back and look at them, I will give you little fun facts or interesting thoughts I had while writing each one (mostly because I think it is interesting how writers explain their process of writing or their opinions on their own writings). The list starts chronologically from first to last fic posted.

1. Bland Cereal & Pregnancy Brain (Mori x Haruhi) 

I imagine that of all the hosts these two will have the closest thing to what Haruhi would deem a normal life. They will make time for each other and always try to check in on each other. If Haruhi wants normal life filled with a steady stream of love then Mori is her guy. I giggled my way through this prompt at Haruhi and her oblivious nature (my favorite quality about her). This prompt took two sittings to complete. The first to write it and second to edit. Overall one of the quicker ones I wrote in this batch.

2. Attorney First, Wife Second (Kyoya x Haruhi)

 This fic is one of my favorites that I have written.  It is also the first posted fic where stuff gets steamy. I was gasping and eeping the whole time writing their steamy elevator interactions. This story took 1 sitting to write, edit, and post.

3. Solemn Tears (Kyoya x Mori)

As stated in the original post this is the first-ever M/M fic I have written. IT WAS SO HARD. Not because it was M/M but because both characters don’t really ever let their guards down long enough for them to cry. Not only that, I really had to dig and analyze what would really push them to the point that they would cry. Have you ever seen two brick walls cry? Cause I sure haven’t! Their dynamic is interesting and I am glad that I got this prompt to stretch my writing skills. Multiple sittings required because I had no idea how I was going to write it.

4. Shrouded Kiss (Kyoya x Haruhi x Tamaki)

Oh, the angst! Out of all the fics posted this one felt the most OOC. My first thought when I received the prompt was, “Kyoya never does anything by accident.” Haruhi was a little OOC in my opinion but that’s because of how Kyoya proposed the idea of finding love. Do I believe what he says about only knowing once you have tried things with different people? No, but there is merit to say that each relationship and person you are with is going to feel different. Some people are just naturally passionate people while others are more subtle with their love. From what I recall this was a pretty easy write and edit.   

5. Obliviously Pregnant (Kyoya x Haruhi)

Haruhi probably couldn’t even surprise Kyoya with a pregnancy even if she tried. She might not have married a doctor but when you marry into a family who is a leader in the medical business nothing will stay a secret for long. On top of that, I am sure that Haruhi is so focused on work that she would actually just convince herself that she is sick rather than being pregnant. Now reader, I know you are curious as to why I decided to bless them with twins. Well, you see…..plot device. That’s really it. Plus, after I asked Google about multiples and pregnancy I was plagued with diaper ads. Note to self, use incognito more often when asking questionable questions.

6. Salmon Side Effects (Tamaki x Haruhi)

This was the first “Free Space” prompt. And I was in the thick of writing and posting. By the time I got to this prompt, I was tired. Not long after I got this prompt I experienced a depressive episode and spent the week slowly crawling out of the pit. I just couldn’t bring myself to work on this fic. I knew I would have to write Tamaki super excited and all I could think about was trying to make it throughout the day without crying. But I got out of the pit and finished it. Multiple sittings needed for completion.

7. Unyielding Devotion (Mori x Haruhi)

I am not sure when it comes to other writers but I cannot read and write fic at the same time. And after binge writing the last few fics I needed a break. I needed to read some fic! One night I was scrolling through FF.Net and decided it was time to start working through my 70+ fics waiting to be read. Picked a fic and I was off to the races (Something Honorable This Way Comes by ilovemori9). It was sweet and wonderful and totally the opposite of a break-up prompt. I think with the break up he was trying to do right by her, wanting her to not be held back by what was required of him. When I first started brainstorming this prompt I was going to have Kyoya lurking in the shadows waiting to take Haruhi as his own but the story wrote itself and it wrote Kyoya out of the story. I think it is better that way.

8. Broken Banner (Mori x Haruhi)

TINY HAMMER! Running joke between @ohshcscenerios and myself. This was such a fun story to write! Once I started I just had to finish. I don’t normally lean towards cute and innocent so it was a nice change of pace. Mori is held in high regard but he is, after all, a high school 3rd year. And he has a soft spot for Haruhi. Also, did you know that Mori is 6’2” while Haruhi is 5’1”? How do you accidentally kiss someone who is a foot taller than you?? So part of the issue in creating this story was how to get their mouths close enough to bump lips. I think the outcome suited the prompt. This was a two sitting story. 

9. Burning Intentions (All Characters)

The final prompt….this prompt I tell you what. I will be honest I loathed this prompt in the beginning. I was utterly at a loss as to how I was going to write this. I opened the doc, stared at the prompt and closed the doc multiple times over the span of a week. It was like that episode of Spongebob where he had to write an essay and he felt like he was doing so much work but all he did was the fancy-looking “The”. I almost gave up on it. I almost posted an apology instead of actually trying to write something. In a last-ditch effort, I pulled up Pinterest and searched the word ‘fire’. And then an idea hit me! I wrote part of it one night and finished it up the next day. This story quickly became a favorite because of the witty banter between the hosts. I was laughing at my own writing. I am now very proud of this story!

Final Thoughts & What’s Next?

Throughout the last 16 days, I have accomplished many things when it comes to writing! I went from only having posted 4 fics to now having 13 fics. Today (1/24/2020) on FF.Net Boundless Opportunities (Kyoya x Haruhi) reached 200+ views. On top of the 11,935 words I have posted I have also written an additional 9,124 words for other projects I am currently working on. That is a grand total of 21,059 words written from January 1-24! In my free time, I also finished The Girl on the Train by Paula Hawkins and am 13 chapters deep with The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood. On top of everything else, I created a beta profile! I have done so much this month and I want to thank everyone for their support and kind words! They really do me so much to me!

January has been busy! So I am looking forward to celebrating Freedom February!! I am giving myself permission to do whatever I want in February. I still have 11 more paper books to finish as well as 100+ fanfiction stories waiting patiently waiting to be shown attention. Basically what I am saying is I want to spend more time doing other hobbies as well as work on some of my wips that I have been neglecting since I started this project. 

Speaking of wips I will be spending February obviously working on my Kasanoda x Haruhi fic but also an idea that sprung up into my head this past week produced a very interesting idea for an AU bad boy fic with Hikaru x Haruhi that has some potential to become another multi-chapter story. Too soon to say if anything will come of it but I want to keep my options open!

TL;DR: January was crazy. Lots of writing. Background information for each fic posted from the bingo prompts. A list of January achievements. Don’t expect me to post anything prolific in February. Using my free time to explore hobbies other than writing. Diving headfirst into digital and paperback stories. Hopefully, make progress on my two main unposted projects. Stay tuned for updates and questions regarding my wips. Thanks! 

Special shout out to @ohshcscenerios for helping me out so much! Half of my stories wouldn’t be nearly as good without your help!! Thanks for pushing me to write some fluff instead of just sad angsty fics! Go check out the blog for all your burning host club asks.

If you would like to read any of these fics you can find them on Tumblr, AO3, or FF.Net.

[padfootagain]

The Prank War

Answering a request I received a few months ago for Sirius, where he and the reader face each other for a prank war in Hogwarts. If Sirius wins, she will have to go on a date with him.

This is just cute, nothing harmful here.

Hope you all like this!

Gif not mine

Word Count : 4005

"Y/N, you are out of your mind."

"You are the one who's delusional right now."

"Oh, is it so?"

"Of course! Sirius, we both know that I am better than you at making pranks."

"You know, it could play against you… this tendency you have to overestimate your skills."

You snorted, drawing annoyed glances from the students studying quietly in the Library around you.

"Remind me who planned the prank against Filch last month? Dare to say that it wasn't a masterpiece!"

"I'm not saying that you're bad at it," Sirius admitted. "I'm only saying that I'm better than you."

"You're not."

"I am."

"You're not."

"I am."

"You're not!"

"If you two don't shut up, I will silence you both," Remus interrupted you and your friend before he could reply.

"You are ridiculous," Lily admonished. "You are having an argument about who can break the rules the best, do you realize how idiotic this is?"

You and Sirius exchanged a glance, before answering together to Lily.

"No."

She rolled her eyes, before focusing on her book again, heaving a defeated sigh. By her side, James was chuckling.

"It's not the first time they have this argument, you know," James told her.

"It's a recurring problem," Peter nodded. "Last time they argued about it for three days."

"And the time before that they ended up not talking to each other for a full week because of it," Remus added.

"Perhaps you should decide about it, once and for all," Marlene proposed.

"What do you mean?" you asked back.

"A competition," she smiled.

"Marls, no, don't make things worse," Lily moaned.

"A tournament," James slowly smiled, sparkles shining in his hazel eyes.

"A prank war," Sirius grinned excitedly.

"I'm in," you nodded with the same excitement enlightening your features.

"By Merlin's beard," Peter frowned. "This is going to be…"

"…Utterly crazy," Remus finished in his friend's state.

"I was going to say 'interesting', but…" Peter shrugged.

"This is going to be brilliant," James grinned.

"How should we do it?" you asked.

"Both of you should set up a prank in limited time," Remus mumbled, thinking hard.

"A same target would be more difficult too," James nodded.

"You are not planning a prank war," Lily firmly ordered, but she was completely ignored.

"How should we choose the target?"

"Let's luck decide," you proposed.

Sirius nodded, picking up a piece of parchment, and tearing it into little pieces. He then proceeded in giving each of his friend a piece.

"Everyone writes down a name, and Lily here will pick up the victim."

"Why me?" Lily frowned, picking up her quill.

"I thought the most innocent one always picked in this kind of things," Sirius grinned.

Lily rolled her eyes but replied nothing, merely heaving a sigh and writing down a name on her parchment.

"I thought you were against that whole thing," James pointed out.

"You're going to do it anyway," she replied nonchalantly.

"She has a point," Marlene agreed.

All of you wrote down a name on a piece of parchment, folded them and threw them on the table. Sirius magically mixed the papers together, before turning to Lily.

"If the Head Girl would do us the honour," he grinned.

Lily merely smiled at the teasing, and picked up a piece of paper, that she opened. And the shock on her face and her nervous laugh were enough to give you a taste of your fate.

"You are both so dead," she giggled.

"Why?"

"Who is it?"

She turned the parchment around, so both you and Sirius could read the name written in dark ink, in a handwriting that you immediately recognized as James's.

"No… I mean," you shook your head, "we can't target her!"

"She's way too scary!" Sirius agreed. "I bet she would kill us. Literally."

"It's the game!" James chimed next to Sirius.

"I hate you, Prongs," his friend replied.

"Better for you two not to get caught for this one," Remus noted.

"Are you sure you still want to do this?" Peter asked, clearly worried. "That would be a shame for the two of you to be expelled just a few months before finishing school."

You and Sirius exchanged a glance, but he merely shrugged, silently accepting the challenge.

You couldn't help but wonder how by Merlin's beard you would manage to set up a prank against Minerva McGonagall and getting out of it alive.

"We also need to decide about the wager," Sirius added nonchalantly.

"What do you mean?" Lily asked. "The title of being the best at pranks isn't enough for you?"

"It's no fun if we don't have a real bet."

He turned to you with a warm smile on his lips.

"What would you like me to do if you win?"

You let out a chuckle.

"Easy. Help me for the next Transfiguration essay."

"Deal. That's not that much," he rolled his eyes. "As if I wouldn't help you if you asked nicely."

"You didn't help me last week for the potions essay," you pointed out.

"Perhaps you didn't ask nicely enough."

"Perhaps you were too busy playing Quidditch with James."

"Alright, alright… And if I win, besides getting the title that rightfully belongs to me," he teased you, "I want you to go to Hogsmeade with me."

You raised an eyebrow.

"Well, that isn't much hard either."

"Good, it's settled then?"

"It's settled."

He checked his watch, and reminded James of the Quidditch practice. The four boys quickly picked up their stuff, before hurrying towards the library, making way too much noise to the taste of the busy students around them.

You couldn't help but frown as both Marlene and Lily were staring at you.

"What? Do I have ink on my nose?" you asked, robbing the tip of your nose and checking if it was dirty.

"Sirius wants you to go to Hogsmeade with him," Marlene said slowly.

"Yes… and what about it? He's silly though, I would have gone with him anyway if he had asked."

"Really?" Lily asked, surprised.

"Of course. He's my best friend. It's always fun to spend some time with him."

Marlene and Lily exchanged a glance before looking at you again.

"Y/N… Next time we go to Hogsmeade is for Valentine's Day… he was asking for a date," Lily told you slowly, her words carefully chosen to try to delicately bring the news to you.

But you only met her remark with a loud laugh, that drew many glares towards you and your friends.

"Lils! It's Sirius! Of course, he wasn't asking for a date!" you laughed at your friend.

"Why would he make such a fuss of it then?" Marlene replied.

"He was just joking!"

"It's Valentine's Day!"

"It's just Hogsmeade."

"He was asking for a date, Y/N. He's expecting to take you on a date to Hogsmeade," Lily firmly stated.

"You two have such a wild imagination!"

"No, you're being blind, Y/N. Sirius has been making moves towards you for months!"

"What are you talking about? He's my friend."

"Y/N, listen to us. Sirius is interested in you. I mean… more than as a friend," Marlene replied.

"You two are mad," you shook your head, focusing on your essay again.

Their words echoed through your mind though, and you were soon unable to focus on the parchment before you. The more you came to think of it, the more you wondered…

… what if they were not that mad after all…

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

 You had chosen something classic and yet difficult to accomplish. Controlling a statue of the Castle was far from easy. You had already performed the spell with the Marauders, but it had asked you quite a lot of preparation to do it again on your own. The main advantage was that this prank allowed you a fair chance to get out of it without getting caught. And that was undoubtedly something you needed to think about, especially when your target was Minerva McGonagall.

You knew that Sirius would have to make a prank this afternoon as well. And you wanted to be the first to do it. Because then, McGonagall would be less angry…

You watched her walking down the corridor in an energetic pace, counting the seconds before she would reach the statue you had planned on controlling.

It was now or never. Just a few more seconds to wait before the awakening of the statue.

You wondered what kind of prank Sirius would have planned. In the week that had gone by since the beginning of the competition, you had barely talked to each other. You were playing it cool and blaming the sense of competition that coursed through your veins as well as Sirius's, you blamed the time required to plan this prank… but the truth was that you were merely avoiding him.

Marlene and Lily's words would not disappear from your mind. There was something in them that followed you everywhere, shadows lurking a step behind you. You could barely sleep because of this thought these days.

You doubted that Sirius really meant to ask you on a date. And yet… yet, now that the idea had been planted in your mind, you couldn't help but think about it as a possibility.

You were torn away from your worries again as your teacher finally reached the statue. But just as you spoke the spell…

… All the paintings of the corridor started to sing.

You jumped, just like your teacher, before you clenched your jaw in frustration.

Sirius… he had to plan his prank at the exact same spot as you, of course.

No matter the now chanting paintings, you proceeded with your own spell while McGonagall frowned hard at the loud voices that surrounded her. You guided the statue to try to hug and kiss the professor on the cheek, and McGonagall, after being startled by the statue's movements, heaved a tired sigh as she hurried down the corridor, away from the statue.

"I know it's you five again!" she cried through the corridor. "And you're targeting me this time?!"

The teacher was coming dangerously close to you, as she ran through the passage to escape from the statue, while the paintings were still singing a strange version of a Queen song.

You could read on the professor's face that she was pissed… thoroughly pissed… it was more than time to run for your life, although you took a few more seconds to carve the scene before you in your mind.

Minerva McGonagall running down a corridor at the sound of Killer Queen, purchased by a tall statue of a monk who desperately tried to kiss her…

That was worth the hours of detention that would await you if you were caught. But you had to eventually tear yourself away from this hilarious view.

You turned around and rushed towards the closest cupboard, one corner away. You hurried inside and closed the door in such a hurry, that you didn't even notice that the closet wasn't empty…

You pressed your ear against the wooden door, listening closely. The song faded away as the spell seemed to be lifted, and you could hear McGonagall's steps echoing in the passage now, still chased by the statue.

And as you focused all your attention on the teacher on the other side of the door, you failed again to notice the amused boy behind you.

Instead, you looked in your pocket for the magical map you had 'borrowed' to James without his permission to monitor McGonagall's movements. But your fingers met nothing but air in your pocket…

You checked inside, lighting up the tip of your wand.

"Is that what you're looking for?"

You shrieked in surprise at the sound of a low voice behind you. And Sirius let out a barking laugh at the sight of your scared expression.

"Easy! Easy!" he laughed.

You immediately covered your mouth, thinking about the teacher in the corridor.

"Relax, I put a soundproofing spell when I hid in here," Sirius reassured you, his grey eyes still sparkling with laughter.

You let out a relieved sigh.

"Godric! What are you doing here?!" you asked quite aggressively.

"I'm… hiding," he grinned like an idiot.

You rolled your eyes.

"I mean… what are you doing here?! Did you follow me?"

"I was here first," he pointed out. "And… I'm just hiding."

"Why did you set your prank now?"

"It's the only moment in the whole afternoon where McGonagall isn't locked up in her office. And I guess it's also why you chose to perform your prank at this moment."

You heaved a sigh.

"Great… and you stole the Map from me, right?"

"You stole it first from James. And, as I'm one of its creators, I didn't steal anything. I merely claimed back what rightfully belongs to me."

"That and the title for the best prank, huh?" you joked.

"Exactly," he grinned, unfolding the piece of parchment you had been looking for and making the map of Hogwarts appear in dark ink.

"When did you take it from me, by the way?" you asked, curious.

"This morning, at breakfast."

"That… was well played."

"Thank you."

He heaved a frustrated sigh as his eyes seemed to follow the movements of someone on the map.

"Merlin, I knew it!" he sighed. "McGonagall is looking for us."

"She'll soon check the cupboard, we should get out."

"Not for now, look."

Indeed, McGonagall was for now in the only corridor leading towards the staircase. You were trapped.

"I guess all we can do is wait for her to get back in the passage where we set up the prank and then sneak out the cupboard and make a run for the stairs."

Sirius nodded in agreement.

"This could take a while. She's not moving," he noticed.

"Great, we're under siege…"

"So… what are we going to do? I mean… to kill time."

"I have a book to read," you answered, struggling to sit down in the narrow space available.

"Great…"

"I also have the crosswords of today's Prophet, if you'd like."

Sirius grinned down at you, letting himself slide against the wall to sit by your side, and you gave him your copy of the newspaper so he wouldn't get bored.

In the tiny space, the two of you were sitting close to each other, his shoulder resting against yours. He didn't seem to have even noticed that fact, but you had. And Merlin, it made your heart pounder in your chest…

Your friends' words came back to your mind once more, and again, you wondered if they were right.

For the first time since the Library, you were alone with Sirius. And you wondered if you should ask him directly the question that had been burning your tongue for days. Perhaps it was for the best if you just let it all out and asked him what he truly meant. You didn't think that he would be mad at you for asking, especially if you argued that it was because of Lily's and Marlene's words. No, your fear was coming from something else entirely.

Deep down, as the question kept on coming back to your mind again and again, you had started to hope that it was true. It had made you think about how you truly felt for him, forcing an introspection upon you. And the result was terrifying, the consequence terrible.

You really hoped that Sirius meant more than spending a nice afternoon with a friend now.

Your eyes drifted from your open book to his features, lingered on the lock of dark hair that fell before his grey eyes, down his jawline and then up to the curve of his lips.

Your heartrate quickened and you knew then that you had been lying to yourself for a long while now. You saw much more than a best friend in him.

You suddenly realized that Sirius had been watching you as well for several seconds, a quirked eyebrow marking his surprise.

"Are you okay?" he asked with humour in his voice.

You shook yourself out of your thoughts and felt your cheeks warming up fiercely.

"Of course! Why?" you asked back.

"Because… you're staring at me in a weird way."

Your cheeks felt even warmer, and you looked away, resting your gaze back onto the pages before you.

"No, I wasn't," you lied.

"Y/N… is everything alright?"

"Of course! I'm just… nervous… about McGonagall finding us, I mean."

"Don't worry about Minnie. She loves us both too much to throw us out of Hogwarts anyway."

"I'm sure you're right."

He put the newspaper away and before you could protest, he tore your book out of your grip, and put it away as well.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked, and he seemed almost annoyed now.

"Nothing," you frowned.

"You've been avoiding me since we started this bet… look… I don't want this thing to ruin our friendship. I don't really care about that, I was just teasing."

"I know… it's not that."

"What is it then?"

You bit down your lip in hesitation, wondering what to do… but you couldn't keep this for yourself.

"Lily and Marlene… we talked after you left for Quidditch practice…"

"What about it?"

"They… they think that… you wanting to go to Hogsmeade with me was… a… date…"

You shyly looked at him, your eyes meeting his two grey orbs. He narrowed his eyes at you, looking quite puzzled.

"Yeah… it was."

Your eyes grew round in shock.

"You… You were asking me on a date?" you asked, stuttering.

"Yeah."

"Oh…"

He winced, but a more amused expression formed on his features quickly after.

"You… you didn't think that I was asking for a date, right?"

"No."

"You thought I was just asking 'cause we're friends."

"Yes."

"Well… If you don't feel comfortable with the idea, you don't have to come with me to Hogsmeade," he went on slowly, his careful tone turning into a humorous one as he went on. "I mean… you would then have to give up, and I would win our bet and I would tease you for it forever but… you can."

You couldn’t refrain a chuckle, and neither did he.

"I'm pretty confident that we could have a good time if you gave me a chance, though," he added after a short silence.

You stared at him for a while, both of you wrapped in silence, the only light in the room coming from your two wands, your bodies still made so close to each other by the narrow cupboard you were trapped into. The air filled with dust was still but for your two breaths mingling halfway in the small space between the two of you.

"Well… over-confident… as usual," you tried to joke despite your voice that sounded lower than usual.

He answered with a bright wave of laughter.

"So… what do you want to do?" Sirius asked more seriously.

"Well… I can't let you win that bet so easily, can I?"

The two of you exchanged a shy smile.

"Good to hear. But I'm going to win. My prank was very good!"

"Mine was better."

"No, it wasn't…"

"It was!"

"Wasn't!"

"Was!"

You both exploded with laughter, and the weight you had carried on your shoulders for the past few days finally seemed to be lifted.

And Sirius felt just as relieved by your decision.

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

 "What do you mean?"

"We mean that we can't decide based on this prank."

"Guys, we barely escaped alive!"

"Don't overreact!"

"Overreact? It was McGonagall!"

"You both performed a prank at the same time and they were both just as difficult to perform. We can't decide."

You heaved a sigh. After an hour spent locked in this cupboard with Sirius (not that any of you had complained about being stuck together in such a little space) you had finally reached the Library. And now, your friends were getting on your nerves.

"So what do you propose?" Sirius asked.

"Why don't you prank each other?"

"Prank each other?"

"Yes. The first to be able to set a prank against the other wins," James decided.

You and Sirius exchanged a glance, before you would both shrug.

"Alright then," Sirius agreed, offering you his open hand. "Good luck."

"Good luck," you shook his hand.

"I would watch my back, if I were you," he warned you with a wink.

"You should live by these words, Sirius," you replied.

The prank war was far from over…

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

 For three days the two of you lived with a threat hovering above your two heads. You were always suspicious and expecting Sirius to strike at any moment. And judging by the way Sirius always kept an eye on you, he was expecting the same from you.

But eventually, you were ready. The potion you had brewed would turn his skin green for a couple of hours, you merely had to pour it down discreetly in his drink.

And indeed, you managed to do so at dinner. While he was in a heated discussion with James and Peter, you ceased the occasion to put a few droplets in his glass.

And with a content sigh, you picked up your own glass of water to drink a little, trying to focus on Lily's and Remus's conversation again.

But Sirius fell silent next to you, staring at you as you rose your glass to your lips, and you frowned at his strange behaviour, suspicion now awakened in your mind.

But Sirius gave you a bright smile, and picked up his own glass, as to encourage you to act normally and drink.

And you were certain then that he had poured something in your drink too. When? You had no idea, he had been good hiding it, without a doubt.

You watched him raising his cup to his lips, but you stopped him before he would drink, grabbing his forearm.

He frowned hard at you.

But if he drank first, then he would lose his bet…

… so you emptied your drink in one long gulp, before meeting Sirius's eyes again.

And judging by the look on his face, he knew about your plan as well.

"Why did you stop me? You could have won," he asked softly, a little frown crossing his brow.

"What is your potion going to do to me?" you ignored his question.

He slowly grinned.

"Your hair has turned pink," he let out with a loud wave of laughter that almost sounded like he was barking.

You joined his laughter, ignoring the mocking glances thrown your way from all around the Great Hall now.

"What was yours supposed to do?" he asked.

"Turn your skin green."

"I may avoid that one, if you don't mind. Green has never been my colour."

You both chuckled again, before Sirius would ask the same question.

"Why did you stop me?"

You finally let go of his wrist, letting him put the cup down on the table. You shrugged, before shyly answering him.

"Maybe… maybe I don't mind losing this bet."

His stare became more intense, and his voice sounded a little deeper as he spoke again, a soft smile gracing his lips.

"Are you finally admitting that I'm better at setting pranks than you are?" he teased.

But there was something full of unspoken feelings in his grey eyes, a variety of glints you didn't quite understand yet… but something was telling you that if you waited long enough, he would reveal their secrets to you one day.

"Only in your wildest dreams," you replied. "But… I think… that I'd like to lose that bet of ours, just this one time."

He raised his fingers to brush his thumb across your cheekbone, and you found yourself breathless under his delicate touch.

You exchanged a bright grin.

"Well then… I guess I'll have to plan that date after all," he whispered. "And if I may…"

"Yes?"

"Pink is definitely your colour."

*********************

Tag list : @geeksareunique @giggleberts @justanothermaraudersblog @sad-orange-thoughts @aylinnmaslow @benbarnes-world @ladyblablabla @drinix @joelynnp @mxrihollxnd @mikeselevennn @knowledgeisthebomb @ponycake27 @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx @jbluevelvet @daynight-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss @stuckupstucky @snek-shit

[chronal-anomaly]

💬~!

Memories || accepting

“Backup engine.”

“Check.”

“Comms unit.”

“Check.”

“Lifeline.”

“Check. Y’know, Winston, I’m not quite sure why ya need the Lifeline. It’s gonna be okay.”

“Focus, Tracer. Secondary comm unit.”

“Check. All systems a go. Starting bootup.”

A hum filled the control room, the sound of the small plane’s engines clicking on and warming up. A blue glow emitted from the craft, the visual appearance of time. They had designed it to be tiny, barely capable of holding the small, 100lb woman. The rest was dedicated to systems, secondary systems and tertiary systems designed to save her in case of failure in the other two. If everything was lost, she could use the Lifeline and the craft would immediately return to this current moment in time. It was almost ingenious. 

The on-board camera showed her smiling as she flipped switches and pressed buttons, preparing for takeoff. This was a huge honor, something that she had been training for, for years. After Lorenzo broke his arm in a simulation accident, Lena had been left the last one left standing. And so she had trained; under the watchful eye of Jack and Gabe and Winston, Lena had run hours and hours of simulation, often working for almost sixteen hours a day before calling it a night and going to bed, only to be up hours later to train again. 

It had been a long two years under the watch eye of Overwatch, but finally, the prodigy was ready to fly. 

The cameras flashed, held back by some security. Inside the observation booth, a team of the world’s best quantum scientists, Winston, Ana, Jack and Gabe all watched her taxi the craft down the runaway, listening to the quiet engine hum. This was it–Overwatch’s saving grace. The future of the organization weighed one her shoulders; too many failed missions, too many upsets, they needed a success story. And Lena was going to be that success story. 

Lena grunted as the plane lifted off, murmuring a prayer to the Celtic goddess Arainhod. She didn’t pray much, but now seemed like the time to return to the Old Religion. Winston muttered in her ear, along with an on-ground flight master. Small reminders, stuff she did naturally. 

Now it was time to accelerate. 

The craft groaned and shuddered as it approached the speed of sound–this was her favorite part. Crashing through the sound barrier, protected by the headset over her ears, watching the shockwave behind her. But this time, she wasn’t to watch that shockwave. 

One second she was here, the next, she was gone. 

Cheers erupted in her ears, those on ground excited for what happened. Gabe was in her ear, demanding what she’s seeing, what’s happening. Quietly, Lena responded. 

“It’s… black. Expansive. Gorgeous.” She gasped, staring around at the galaxy-like surroundings. Colors and stars in the distance like a massive painting, calling to her. “Piloting into the first time space.” 

The craft reappeared, moments before she took off, looking down at herself getting into the plane. It was certainly… scary, but they warned her about this. Winston continued to talk her through, pulling her back into the Time space. 

“Good. Oxton, try ten years now. Visualize where you’re going.” Lena obeyed, diving into the Timeline again, looking down at a young version of herself at the military academy. It was her senior prank, dropping almost three hundred peeled potatoes down the stairs of her school. The general, spitting mad, chasing her down–something was so fun about those days. 

“I’ve got some turbulence on reentry, Winston.” Lena reported as she reentered the time line. 

“Check, Tracer. It’s probably normal. Stay alert.”

“Yessir. Moving back 200 years.”

“Go ahead. Be careful, Tracer.” 

It was then, there, that Lena felt another wave of turbulence. “Turbulence, Winston. Am I a go?”

There’s conversation on the otherside. Winston talking to the Commanders and the Captain. Finally, Gabe came back over the airwaves. “You’re a go, Tracer. Gotta break a couple eggs, right?”

Lena smiled and nodded, visible on the camera. The plane soared through the galaxyscape, Lena marveling at the sight as she hovered over the next time portal. Hovering just above it, she could see the lives of those below her; what a shock it’ll give them. 

“Entering portal.”

“Check. Stay safe.”

Lena nods on camera before slowly navigating the Slipstream into portal. Successfully through, Lena flew the pressed the cloaking device designed to prevent those from seeing her craft. Before the plane managed to disguise itself, though, Lena was struck by an overwhelming shudder. Metal groaned and creaked and a sharp yell escaped her.

The plane was wrenched back into the galaxyscape, none-too-gently, flipping her on her head and cutting ties to the camera feed at the base. In her ear, people began yelling. Gabe and Jack, to her, Winston, to the scientists, demanding some kind of feed on her. 

“Tracer--fuck--Lena, can you hear me?” Gabe called. Lena gave him nothing but a grunt back as she tried to wrench controls back from whatever had struck the plane. “Listen, Lena, you need to get control, you need to get back online!”

Winston’s voice came over next, giving her commands to attempt to retake the plane with. Things that she had already tried--and they had worked, to a certain extent, but Lena was still barreling toward nothing and everything, toward the massive purple sky in the distance, so far away from home, all alone. Her hands flew over the commands, shutting down the primary engines, hoping whatever it was would release her. Second engines kicked on, giving her a second wind. 

Something wrenched her harder, dragging Lena against the side, bashing her skull open. Lena let out a sharp yell as blood dripped into her eyes. 

“Oxton, can you hear me?” Jack’s voice came over the waves next, trying to reach her. Dazed and disoriented, her head hurt too much and Lena was incapable of remembering her own name, let alone how to operate this craft. 

“....Mayday.” She finally managed out, bringing her brain back around. If she could just focus on the voices in her ears, getting back to them. Making them proud. If she could just get back to them, they’d be proud of her. “Mayday. Craft has been compromised. Activating Lifeline.” 

Winston nodded, flipping switches on his end. Ana pulled the two commanders back--they’d just get in the way. Scientists, reporters, the whole damn world was watching this moment, listening to the desperate calls of the woman trapped in space. Jack looked ready to strike Ana, Gabe just looked... frozen. Scared. 

“LifeLine is activated. Hold on, Lena.” 

Lena waited with baited breath, waiting for the plane to jerk back toward the beginning of her journey. 

The jerk happened, though it was a lot less smooth. Whatever clung to the craft, it wasn’t letting go without a fight. Lena grunted, pulling the controls back against the force.

Two fingers flipped on the secondary comms unit, giving the observation booth another visual. The cameras were choppier, but they worked, showing her pinched and bleeding face. Desperation and fear lurked behind dark eyes and she focused solely on escape. The mission be damned, she just needed out of this, out of this enclosure. Out of Time. 

Jack, Gabe, Ana and Winston got a live-time picture of Lena’s face screwing up before she screamed, breaking the violent silence. Her face seemed to pull apart in front of their very eyes, ripping down the center along with the plane. 

“Mayday, mayday, Slipstream is down, I repeat, Slipstream is down--!

This is Overwatch’s Tracer, signing off. Thank you, commander Morrison and Reyes. Captain Amari. Thank you, Winston. 

The comms unit cut off and the plane exploded in front of their very eyes. 

[jojotier]

Really quick update on random projects I have going on for gk fics, under the cut so as to not take up too much space:

- On The Subject Of Character Bombs, like I’m planning with Tsukishima- Honestly it’s a toss up on when this first character bomb will be done, just bc one of the five fics to be uploaded at once (Frost Heart, a story taking place in siren au) is getting up to 8-10k in length, and I wanna keep it a oneshot

- I may replace Frost Heart for the moment with a second TsukiKoi canon divergent oneshot idea I’ve had, Tightrope, which includes Koito tightrope walking Tsukishima to safety over a ravine

- For now the plan for TsukiBomb is:

1. Eat Up: Heiji Koito, in Sado for a military parade, confounds everyone when he glosses over dozens of noble families and seemingly snubs military kids by inviting Tsukishima, the hated son of a murderer, to eat with him instead. Also includes Baby Otonoshin, aka the Grumpiest Infant Alive

2. Update on the Tsukishima with Dog fic but it’s kinda become a Monty Python skit because Ogata is inexplicably stuck in a tree. He won’t say he’s stuck though. Mostly an exercise in walking the thin line between Tsukishima’s survivor guilt upon meeting Tsurumi again after months and seeing that the brain damage is still being treated, his rightful bitterness over the military venture and essentially being used, and a lighthearted tone to keep it from slipping too far into despair. 

3. A vaguely canon-divergent fic where Tsukishima defects to Sugimoto’s group, set after 190; told from Shiraishi’s POV as he kinda tries to help Tsukishima with the obvious existential crisis he’s going through with a lot of vaguely disarming talk and a drop of alcohol. Also focuses on Sugimoto and Asirpa, with their sibling relationship and the connection they have, untainted by Sugimoto’s brain injury and acting as a foil to Tsukishima’s implied thoughts about Tsurumi, since I’m versed in neuroanatomy and know for a FACT that the same injury isn’t going to cause the exact same effects, particularly when the base personalities are different

4. The second half of that TsukiKoi modern boxer’s au- much less trauma on Tsukishima’s end, a lot more lighthearted banter, and Koito being encouraging in his kind roundabout way as he tells Tsukishima to stop giving those weaksauce punches Jesus Fuck give me all you HAVE already

5. Frost Heart, which goes over Tsukishima’s sudden introduction into the world of magic, Harry Potter style. Kind of. I mean, there’s no magic school, and he doesn’t even know he has magic. He meets a mermaid Igogusa, they help each other survive as they learn more about the other’s species, and he slowly learns that he has an innate ability over water magic, bit by bit. Which is a bit complicated, since as a kid, Tsukishima is deathly afraid of deep, open water... It’s a mild coming of age story, basically, with a lot of magic elements, and it’s a balancing act, since Tsukishima’s father lurks always just off screen... 

- I do want to do similar “Character Bombs” in the future, where I drop like 5-7 fics all at once centered around one character, and the next one I wanna do is Asirpa- but that one’s taking me a long while, because I want to do some canon compliant things with her exclusively with other Ainu characters, and it’s taking a lot of research and careful review of ideas. I’ve already revised or outright scrapped quite a few ideas, but one that I’m sure of is one where a little Ekasiotonpuy (Asirpa) spends time with Inkarmat, telling stories and teaching magic...

- Another is “Ozoni Wars”, a modern little ditty where Shiraishi and Sugimoto compete with two different styles of ozoni to impress our young judge Asirpa and her Huci, trying to prove that either Kanto or Kansai style is OBVIOUSLY the best kind of ozoni. Might be SugiShira, but probably not, just to focus it more on Asirpa

- The more immediate project that you might see update in the next few days is Vainglory, with more SugiShira shenanigans! More magic! Kumagashi trying to come through and trade a seemingly powerful artifact for an Ainu artifact produced centuries ago (protected and kept new by magic, of course), meeting carefully mistrusting eyes from quite a few in the kotan...

- Another one you may see in the next month is a new Sinfonietta Paper for siren au, centered around both TsukiKoi and the golden trio separately coming to hunt down the same magic sea creature- a sandbar hag, leagues long and only coming from the depths of the ocean once every 25 years- one group to plunder a few of the magical artifacts on its long back, the other to take a strip of tail meat...

- I wanna do an Edogai centric fic exploring how he began his grisly “hobby”, the beginning scene based in part off of the time I went to a cadaver lab and worked with the dead bodies when I was 17. I’ll never forget that med student who flippantly told me that oil based soap gets the smell off your hands, or how giddy the instructor looked while pulling up those mostly mummified intestines...

- I currently have two out of three possible choice paths fully planned out for Phase 2 of the Starchasers upload- it’s taken a bit, mostly because I’m trying to determine which items a reader doesn’t necessarily have to find to reach a good ending at the end of Phase 4 and what options may lead to a reader having a harder time in Phases 3 and 4, elevating the struggle to reach at least one of the Good Ends- it’s not impossible, it’s just a little more difficult, depending on what you’ve chosen previously

- Of Phase 2 the trees I have fully planned, with the list of possible chapters, are the First One where Sugimoto and co. are outside the space station and choose whether to wait for something to pass or explore immediately and ending with landing inside the station, and the Wait path, stemming from if you choose for Sugimoto and co. wait for whatever might be outside the ship (if there’s anything) to come into view or pass.

- I just have the “Explore Immediately” tree of branching options to plan out for phase 2 and then I can start writing in earnest. 

- I’ve also decided to implement a “morality” system which more or less decides whether or not Sugimoto is allowed to adopt Asirpa as family by the end and am planning a possible SugiShira dating sim element to later phases

- Formatting for Phase 1 is going to be a Bitch, so I’ve decided to put up a checkpoint chapter that will be deleted once all the text has been officially uploaded, after which I’ll start linking all the chapters together

- Art is hard. But I’m doing it. I’ll do it for you, Starchasers

[ncislaficexchange]

Blackmail is Such an Ugly Word

A/N: Dear reader, I hope you enjoy this fic. Please know that a lot of love, frustration and often confusion went into this story. Based on your preferences I focused on Densi (and Deeks), but also the team as friends to both Kensi and Deeks. I hope you won’t mind my creative interpretation of your preferences. It was done with the very best of intentions.

This story occurs about six months from the season eight finale. Happy reading!

***

Kensi raises an eyebrow, catching Deeks’ gaze as he sidles into the mission, once again just a few minutes short of being late. His lips twitch in what she supposes is meant to be a smile, but it turns into more of a grimace. The twisted feeling in her stomach amps up another notch with each step he takes.

“Cutting it a little short, aren’t we, Deeks?” Callen observes mildly though his gaze is just as focused on the detective. She makes an effort to look away which is difficult given Deeks’ exhausted appearance, his posture slumped in a way that spells defeat. If not for the presence of Sam and Callen she’d be pulling him into her arms as she does every night when he returns home.

“Yeah, my mom is, uh, having some issues with her landlord and asked me for some advice,” Deeks says distractedly. Technically it’s true, though that particular call had come three days ago at 10pm rather than this morning.

“I didn’t know your license was current,” Sam comments, as though he has an actual interest in discussing Deeks’ former career. Kensi wonders just how much they know since neither he nor Callen has called them on the strange schedule Deeks is keeping of late or the guilt she knows is lurking in the back of their eyes.  

“I’m afraid Deeks’ extracurricular activities will have to wait,” Eric announces, arriving at the top of the stairs and cutting Deeks’ reply short. He hooks a thumb behind him, pulling a face. “You’re needed in OPS.”

As the others make their way upstairs, Kensi pulls Deeks to the side, giving him a concerned look.

“What happened? You were gone all night again,” she hisses. The chance that Hetty might materialize behind them at any moment has her glancing around nervously. If she doesn’t end up with an ulcer by the end of this whole mess, she it will be a miracle.

Deeks heaves a sigh, closing his eyes briefly as he shakes his head.

“I’ll tell you later,” he murmurs, his voice just as low as Kensi’s though it appears to be due to exhaustion rather than fear of discovery. Kensi cants her head, questioning his decision to be silent; he’s been pretty good about filling her in and she really doesn’t want him to start hiding things again. “It’s not that,” Deeks adds quickly, seeing her look. “It’s just getting a lot more complicated than I thought it would, which is saying something, and I don’t have the time to explain it now.”

“Is there a problem, Miss Blye?” They both school their expressions as Hetty’s voice drifts down from above though Kensi’s certain that the older woman isn’t fooled in the least.

“No, we’re coming,” Deeks answers for both of them. “I just wanted to tell Kensi about Monty’s vet appointment.” As far as excuses go, it’s fairly believable; Monty has had his share of ill health in the last few months. At the very least it’s better than chronic plumbing problems. Hetty merely accepts it with a slight nod of her head, waiting for them to start up the steps.

***

“We can’t keep this up,” Kensi says in a low voice an hour later. Feeling ridiculously covert, she checks over her shoulder once more before following Deeks into the burn room. Deeks comes to rest against the nearest available surface, his posture slumping again as he brings both hands to his eyes and lets out an unsteady breath. In an instant Kensi’s irritation is gone with the obvious distress she sees in every fiber of his body.

“Baby,” she murmurs and closes the small distance between them to wrap her arms around his broader frame. After a moment’s hesitation she feels his arms lift and settle on her back, his head lowering until his nose is burrowed in her neck. Keeping a soothing rhythm Kensi gently runs her fingers over his muscles, feeling a collection of knots that are courtesy of the ridiculous amount of tension he’s been under recently. His ribs are slightly more prominent as she slides her hands up his sides and along with the loser fit of his clothes, it’s just another item on her list of worries.

“I’m sorry about this,” he says into her neck. “I know I keep saying it, but I never wanted you to have to deal with this crap.” Placing a hand on his jaw, she lifts his head and makes sure she has his full attention before she speaks.

“I want you to stop apologizing because this is not your fault,” she says firmly, punctuating the statement with a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah, but if I hadn’t told Whiting–” he begins miserably. It’s an argument that Kensi has heard far too many times to count in the last few months and she treats it with the same level of import as always.

“Deeks, it’s not your fault that Whiting is an opportunistic, blackmailing hag.” Deeks blows out a shaky breath that might just have a hint of a laugh at her unbiased summation. “The point is that you saved her life and told her the truth. And if she can’t see that you’re an honorable man who was just trying to protect a vulnerable girl, then there’s something wrong with her.” Deeks nods, looking even more overwhelmed by her unfailing support.

“Now, I’m not saying that things wouldn’t be a lot easier if you hadn’t told her…” she continues, eliciting the closest thing she’s seen to a grin from him in a long time.

“Yeah, next time I’ll have to remember that,” he says almost playfully. “I love you,” he adds. Lifting a hand, he mirrors her own position, carefully cradling Kensi’s jaw as he brings their lips together.

“I love you too,” Kensi breathes against his lips, slipping a hand up his neck and into the hair curling around the edge of his collar. He’s never let it get this long since she’s known him and though she doesn’t exactly hate it, she can’t help but associate it with his current predicament.

Abandoning all pretense, Kensi tugs at Deeks’ arm, leading them farther into the room until her back hits an unknown piece of equipment. Deeks presses his body tight against hers, his weight welcome after the uncertainty of the night apart. She moans slightly as Deeks angles his head to deepen the kiss and drops a hand to her hip.

The creak of the door opening stills Deeks’ hand which had been slowly creeping towards the edge of her bra.

“I bet they’re in here.” Callen’s voice says, his head popping around the door. “Ha, told you they wouldn’t be in the showers,” he adds to whoever is on the other side of the door before taking in the still embracing couple in front of him.

“I thought you guys had a rule,” he says with vague interest as he and Sam, closely followed by Nell and Eric trail through the door.

“Didn’t really work out for us,” Deeks explains as Kensi gives him one last squeeze and steps back slightly. She keeps one arm low on his back, silently supporting him.

“Right. So you want to tell us what’s going on? Cause I gotta tell you, Sam’s not taking all the secrecy too well.”

“I wasn’t the one who wanted to show up at their house at 12:30 AM when and I quote ‘their guard will be down’ and demand answers,” Sam says irritably. Rolling her eyes, Nell cuts in before either of the older agents can continue their bickering.

“What they’re trying to say, and doing a really bad job of it, I might say, is that we’re worried and we want to know what’s going on. So, who wants to start before Hetty actually comes looking for us?”

“It’s personal and doesn’t need to affect anyone else here,” Deeks answers shortly. Withholding a sigh of exasperation, because she knows he’s just doing what he thinks is best, Kensi squeezes Deeks’ hand briefly until he looks down at her.

“We should tell them,” she says, ignoring the four pairs of curious eyes watching them with various levels of suspicion and interest.

“Kens, you know they can’t get involved in this.” Deeks nods his head in the rest of the team’s direction as he speaks. “No offense, but subtlety isn’t really NCIS’ strong point. And I really don’t need you guys rushing in with guns blazing.”

“Ok, first of all, I personally am very offended,” Callen says, earning another eye roll, this time from Sam. “Second, when has going solo ever worked for any of us?” There is an overabundance of agreement to Callen’s comment, particularly from Sam who seems to have forgotten his own forays into rogueness. Even if we can’t be directly involved, at least will know why you look like you’ve gone one-on-one with a character from The Walking Dead.”

“I do not look that bad,” Deeks mutters, as though it’s the relevant part of the conversation.

“Your eyes have been bloodshot for a week,” Callen rebuts remorselessly. Behind him, Sam makes an irritated noise, pushing past the others so he’s standing directly in front of Kensi and Deeks.

“Deeks, we all know you can counter-argue in your sleep, but why don’t you just make it easy on everyone and spill? Callen’s right, you are exhausted. Maybe it’s not effecting you yet, but the way you’ve been overextending yourself is gonna get you hurt. So just tell us what’s going on with LAPD.” Nell makes a harsh hissing sound.

“You weren’t supposed to mention that,” she murmurs as though she won’t be heard from three feet away.

“You’ve been spying on Deeks,” Kensi says flatly. She shares a glance with her partner who looks equally ticked off at the prospect. No matter their good intentions, they should have known that following Deeks would not go down well. Nell merely shrugs her minute shoulders. As if to say, ‘what did you expect?’

“Well, both of you really,” Eric adds helpfully. “You see, we didn’t know if both you were involved or just Deeks.”

“Awesome,” Deeks mutters under his breath. Kensi gently squeezes his hand again, reminding him that he’s not alone in this. She knows how much he wanted to keep his dealings with Whiting a secret and fears the repercussions if any one of them knows too much or became involved.

“If you still don’t feel like telling us,” Callen begins in an offhand tone, “we can always go to Bates and ask him what’s going on,” Kensi glares at Callen, angry that he would threaten Deeks, when he’s feeling so cornered and overwhelmed.

“Yeah, and I’ll let slip who really knocked over that rare plant Hetty has in her office,” Deeks says after a moment, not to be outdone in the blackmail department. Grabbing Deeks’ shoulder, Kensi turns him so their bodies are facing away from the others, giving the illusion of privacy.

“Deeks, we need to tell them something or they’re not going to give up,” she murmurs. Deeks instantly tenses up as expected, giving her a look of betrayal. “We knew it might come to this. And imagine the trouble they could cause if they think their helping somehow, but only end up making it worse?”  

He sighs, the sound short and exhaustive, running a hand through his hair and turns back to glance at the four people openly watching their every move. Kensi catches Sam’s eye, hoping he’ll have some sense of the added pressure this is putting on Deeks. He nods discreetly and casts a brief glance at his cohorts before clapping his hands together like a coach gathering his wayward players.

“Alright guys, why don’t we give these two a little time to sort things out?” he suggests. Eric and Nell both take a look at his will-not-budge expression and easily agree, scurrying from the room while Callen is less cooperative. Sam places a large hand on his shoulder, gently but firmly steering his partner towards the doorway, he turns the knob, pausing briefly after Callen exits.

“We’ll be looking into Lieutenant Madison’s acquaintances when you get things figured out,” he informs them, clearly insinuating that while he’s giving them a moment to talk without an audience, copping out isn’t an option.

“I’d like to go on record as saying this is a terrible idea,” Deeks says the moment Sam leaves the room. The comment is Deeks through and through, but his tone lacks any of his usual humor and his face is decidedly grim. What she wouldn’t do to make it disappear and have him home again without this miserable worry and threat hanging over both their heads.

“Baby,” she murmurs, wrapping her arms back around him and pulling his head into the crook of her neck. “You know we can’t keep this up. They’re going to find out one way or another and like you said, we won’t be able to control what they decide to do.” Deeks shudders into her neck, the motion working its way straight up his spine and into Kensi. Comfortingly, she runs her fingers through his hair.

“If I tell them what I’m doing for Whiting then I’ll also have to explain what she has on me,” he says, bringing up a point that has been discussed multiple times in the past few weeks and caused quite a bit of dissension.

“Deeks, you told me you thought Sam and Callen already knew, chances are they do. And even if this is a revelation for them, you’ve stood by them without question when their actions have been less than by-the-book,” Kensi reminds him. He has a terrible habit of believing that he’s better off alienating people and having them think the worse than know the truth. There’s good reason for his secrecy she knows, but she also knows their team and whole heartedly believes they will stand behind Deeks.

“What if it changes how they treat me?” he asks, finally voicing his main fear, the same one he later admitted to Kensi after confessing about killing Boyle. “You know how long it took everyone to accept me…” shaking his head as though he can’t quite voice such thoughts, he ducks his head and presses his forehead against Kensi’s shoulder. “I don’t think I could take that,” he finally murmurs in a creaking voice. He sounds so unsure and vulnerable, terrified of losing what he considers his family.

“I know you’re scared,” she whispers into his ear. “I am too. But you can’t keep this up, you know you can’t. You’ve barely slept in three weeks, you’re not eating and you’re so tense I’m worried you’re going to have an aneurysm at any moment. And I don’t care how many times you tell me, I know that what Whiting has you doing is dangerous.”

“Going on the run is sounding better and better,” he mutters into her neck. “We don’t even need to have ice cream.”

“I will buy you an entire gallon of that expensive organic stuff with the free-range milk,” Kensi offers as though she’s compromising a visit to the doctor with a reluctant child rather than the reveal of Deeks’ deepest secret.

“I thought they only sold it in pints,” he points out, his words still muffled by her skin. Kensi snorts but doesn’t say anything, waiting for him to make his decision and silently holding him as tightly as she can. No matter how much it hurts her to see him in this situation, she knows that the decision to tell the others is fully his to make.

“Ok,” Deeks says a few minutes later, lifting his head from Kensi’s shoulder. It takes a bit of restraint not to pull him back to the safety of her embrace. He sniffs loudly and blows out a short breath. “Let’s do this,” he says in a determined voice.

“I am so proud of you,” Kensi tells him, overcome by a sudden wave of emotion. “Don’t think for a minute that I don’t realize how hard this is for you or the possible implications. I just want you to be able to live without anything hanging over your head.” Deeks nods, now reassuring her.

“I know,” he says simply. His gaze is filled with love as he leans down to kiss Kensi, his hand pressing hard against the back of her head for a moment before he lets go.

***

The rest of the team waits by their desks as promised with a collection of files open before them which seem to be mostly for appearance sake. Eric and Nell have commandeered Kensi and Deeks spots momentarily and appear to be in the middle of a somewhat heated conversation when they arrive, fingers linked.

“You know, it’s rude to talk about people when they’re still in the building,” Deeks interrupts, bringing an abrupt halt to the bickering. Callen turns with an expectant expression, not bothering to comment while Sam’s gaze flicks between Kensi and Deeks linked hands and up to their faces. He nods once in admiration as he notes the resolve in Deeks’ posture. Despite the snarkiness it’s obvious that he’s made a decision.

Deeks turns his head slightly, glancing at Kensi out of the corner of his eye. She may have pushed him to be open with the team, but she knows that ultimately what he tells them and how much is his decision. With that thought in mind she squeezes Deeks’ hand and waits.

He clears his throat once, not to gain attention because everyone is already completely focused on him, but rather to gain some sort of control in this less than desirable situation.

“Ok, I know I owe you all the truth, but before I tell you anything I need you to promise me that you won’t try to interfere. Even if you think it’s the right thing to do,” Deeks says, earning a few looks of surprise that the confession hasn’t begun though Sam nods once more with a mixture of approval and understanding. “Things are already terrible and bringing NCIS into it will only make it ten times worse.” When he receives four various signs of assent, he blows out a short breath and continues,

“About six months ago, Detective Whiting contacted me asking if I wanted to get coffee and talk.”

“Ok, I didn’t see that coming,” Nell comments. “She’s the last person I expected you to be having a tete-a-tete with.”

“Well, she wasn’t exactly my first choice either,” Deeks says dryly, his dislike of Whiting momentarily overcoming his worry and allowing a hint of sarcasm through. He sucks in a long breath, immediately releasing it and rolls his shoulders as though psyching himself up for a difficult pitch. “Beverages aside, Whiting also had another request.”

“What did she want, Deeks?” Sam asks gently.

“To help her investigate Bates without him knowing. She thinks he’s dirty,” he responds in one rushed breath as though getting it out before he can stop himself. A little bit of tension eases from his shoulders with that first hurdle behind him.

“How does she think you can help?” Nell asks, her brows furrowed. “I mean, you haven’t really worked any LAPD cases in like, what, 4 or 5 years.”

“Whiting thinks Bates likes and at the very least, trusts me, which means he’ll be less suspicious if I’m snooping.”

“Like that worked so well last time,” Nell says under her breath.

“So that’s what you’ve been doing for the last 2 months,” Callen surmises. “Spying on Bates.” He pauses to share a look with his partner that clearly says, ‘I told you so’ but Sam just shakes his head, pointing his chin in Deeks’ direction.

“I do what I can when I’m not needed here, although Whiting’s been pushing for me to spend more time at the station,” Deeks allows. He follows the statement up with a deep sigh, likely thinking of the arguments this particular point has brought on. The first time he’d come home after a full 48 hours without contact Kensi had been sick with worry which quickly morphed into anger when Deeks had shrugged off her concern with an exhausted and evasive shake of his head. It feels good that someone else knows, even if there’s nothing they can do about it.

“For my cover, Whiting spun this story that I’m actually investigating two other questionable cops in the precinct. Bates things Hetty agreed to let me help out in a show of interagency cooperation,” he adds. Eric snorts, speaking for the first time since they entered the room.

“Seriously?” At the teams’ questioning looks he clarifies. “If Bates actually believes that then he doesn’t know Hetty very well. Plus Deeks has a clause in his NCIS contract that says she has to sign off on any LAPD run operations. There’s no way Hetty would just ok an op like this without talking to Bates at all.” Eric’s voice holds a note of irritation and perhaps worry at what he clearly feels is a poorly thought out cover story.

Deeks shrugs. “Bates has so much going on right now with demands for more cops, increased accountability, not to mention the constant threat of budget cuts that I doubt he can remember what he had for breakfast let alone whether or not he signed a paper with my name at the top,” he explains, a touch of defensiveness leaking through on behalf a man he has grown to respect.

“Well, that answers the ‘what’, now how about the ‘why’?” Nell prompts, ever the pragmatic. “Clearly Detective Whiting is blackmailing you for something.” Deeks flinches as though Nell’s words have physically hurt him. Making a soothing noise, Kensi smooths her hand down his back, past the point of caring what anyone thinks of her hands-on approach.

“He hasn’t done anything wrong,” she says, instantly jumping to his defense. It earns five varied looks of surprise and interest, but again, she finds she doesn’t care what they think.

“Nell didn’t say he did, Kensi,” Sam reminds her softly. Only slightly mollified, Kensi sends a sweeping glare around the room. She had promised Deeks that the team would be supportive and while they’re not exactly accusing him of anything, the leading questions have her on edge. Just as she’s taking a step forward, readying another barb, Deeks interrupts.

“Before you offer any more help or implicate yourselves in this gigantic mess, you should know that Whiting is blackmailing me and her charges against me were legitimate. I did kill Francis Boyle. I could go into all kinds of explanation and excuses, but I’ll just stick with: Boyle hurt Tiffany and I stopped him from ever having that opportunity again,” Deeks says in a purposeful, even and unapologetic tone. He doesn’t pause once in his explanation. There’s a rather disappointing lack of response when he finishes; no one gasps or looks horrified, confirming their theory that at least certain members know. Kensi is perhaps the most surprised by Deeks’ sudden reveal.

“Feel better?” Callen asks simply.

“That’s a lot of weight to carry for a lotta years, it’s good to have it out in the open,” Sam says gravely, but sounding once again oddly proud at the same time.

“You don’t care?” Deeks asks, his voice caught between disbelief, perhaps a little anger and definitely a lot of shock.

“Babe, don’t push it,” Kensi instructs quietly. Although she says it somewhat jokingly, there’s absolutely no reason so invite trouble. She’s feeling a little light-headed herself and is struggling not to pepper their team with questions.

Callen takes one look at Deeks’ slightly pale complexion and bewildered expression and hooks a foot around a spare chair, sliding it towards the other man.

“You look like you could use this,” he says with a smirk. Deeks wordlessly sinks into it, looking immensely grateful for the support before Sam starts speaking again.

“I think we all understand the kind of secret you’ve been keeping, we’ve all had them,” Sam explains, gesturing at each person in turn. Somehow Kensi sincerely doubts that any of them have felt the pressure of knowing they actually killed someone, but she accepts the pardon without question. “We know the kind of man you are and the kind of man Francis Boyle was. That’s enough. You protected an innocent person, I would hope the rest of us would do the same given the situation.”

Beside her, Kensi sees Deeks’ lip caught between his teeth as he attempts to deal with the emotional upheaval of the last few minutes. She know that the five people currently staring at him with varying levels of fondness and exasperation aren’t helping any so she leans down to wrap her arm around his shoulders and presses a kiss to the side of his head.

“And you all feel the same way?” she feels the need to ask. Eric and Nell have both been fairly silent and she wants to be completely certain there’s no hesitation on their part. Nell appears slightly hurt by the implication but it’s Eric who speaks up, his voice quiet and as serious as she’s ever heard it.

“I had a chance to see Steadman’s work firsthand and I trolled through so many reports against him and Boyle that…Tiffany was lucky you were there for her,” he concludes.

Deeks shakes his head. “I don’t…I don’t even know what to say,” he stutters, his voice horse. He presses his hand tight against his mouth, as though he can keep the overwhelming emotion inside by sheer force.

“That’s a first,” Callen chimes in, drawing a derisive snort from his partner. They give Deeks a few minutes to compose himself, the chatter starting back up while Kensi rubs his shoulders. While she greatly appreciates their support, she can’t help but wish for another minute alone.

“So what have you found out?” Nell asks “Is Bates guilty or is he the most unlucky man when it comes to IA investigations? Second to you, of course.”

“I don’t know. All I can tell is that Bates has been running a lot of undercover operations and working to weed out some bad apples. It means he doesn’t particularly care that I’m working on Whiting’s little project. But in order to back up my cover story, I actually have to spend time around these guys, which also means the occasional shift as back up. It’s not exactly easy to hang out with an LAPD lieutenant as it is, seems kind of suspicious and all, but now my time is just about cut in half.”

“You said you were making progress,” Kensi admonishes quietly.

“I didn’t want you to worry and compared to how things were going the first couple weeks, I am making progress,” he explains.

“You didn’t answer the question,” Callen points out, catching on to his obvious reluctance to implicate his superior. “Come on Deeks. You’ve never had a problem saying it like it is before this. If you think Bates might be involved in something, then spill.”

“Look, all I can tell is that there’s been a lot of compromised covers and operations in the last few years, but whether or not Bates is involved in some way, I don’t know. I got a chance to look over some paperwork from a botched job and it seems like Bates did everything by the book,” Deeks explains tiredly.

“You said Whiting mentioned something about finding evidence while investigating you,” Kensi reminds him suddenly, bringing up a bit of information that had obviously slipped through Deeks’ already overcrowded mind. “Do you know what that evidence was?” He shakes his head, dispelling Kensi’s momentary excitement.

“No clue…I’d need to see the files but I have restricted access to all files from my case. But the only way I can think Bates could possibly be involved is if Whiting found out he helped me bust out of LAPD and that’s not something to start this kind of investigation over,”

“Maybe he enacted a little…social justice himself,” Nell suggests slowly, her voice rising higher as she speaks. Perhaps she’s worried that Deeks’ will lash out or react in some other negative way, but he merely shakes his head.

“Bates has way too much control for that.”

“So what’s your plan moving forward?” Callen asks.

“I don’t know, man. What I do know is that I can’t let it interfere with my work with NCIS or Hetty will decide to intervene, but I also can’t put Whiting off any more than I have,” Deeks says and Kensi is disappointed to notice that any positive effects of the last half hour have completely disappeared, leaving his mood as despondent as ever.

“I might be able to help with that,” Nell slips a hand into the pocket of her cardigan and removes a familiar looking object. “It’s not exactly the cavalry, but it should help if you get into trouble,” she says, extending the earwig in Deeks’ direction. He stands and silently takes it, his expression unreadable.

“Nell, I appreciate this but…”

“I set it to its own private frequency so no one else should be able to access it unless they’re already linked in and an agent-in-distress alert will be sent to all of our phones if you have it turned on and use the distress word three times in a row,” she continues, talking over Deeks’ protest and then again at his reluctant expression. “This is more important than anything Hetty can do if and when she inevitably finds out. I am not going to let you play Whiting’s fall guy.” Her expression is so fierce and determined that Deeks would be stupid to attempt further protest.

“Alright then,” he murmurs with a very faint smirk.

“And um, if Hetty mentions something about a two week long LAPD training seminar, just go along with it?” Eric adds, looking just as fierce as Nell and somewhat pleased with himself. “That should give you a little more time to investigate without taking a graveyard shift.”

“Do I even want to know how you generated that memo?” Deeks asks, looking overwhelmed by the generosity of their friends.

“Nope,” Eric answers immediately and definitively. “Suffice it to say that the course coordination office had a little snafu with their database.”

“Guys, we really don’t want you to get in any trouble,” Kensi reiterates. “This doesn’t even come close to a sanctioned operation and you’re using NCIS resources, hacking LAPD…” she trails off, letting the mounting pile of minor offenses sink in. Sparing a glance at Deeks, she worries for a moment that she’s overstepped her bounds, but he’s nodding in agreement.

“You don’t know how much I appreciate everything you guys are doing, have done, but I need you to understand that Whiting is not afraid of bringing down anyone who gets in her way. She’s already threatened to bring Kensi in for questioning which is part of the reason why I haven’t pushed back. And she’s knows it.” Deeks says, glancing at Kensi in particular. He knows that this is a sore spot with her; she hates being a weakness of any sort.

“If we don’t do anything, then she’s just gonna get her claws in deeper and deeper, Deeks,” Callen points out, sounding frustrated by the constant requests to stand down. “You need to show her that she doesn’t hold all the power.”

“Well right now she does,” he snaps back, blowing out a short breath a second later and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Whiting’s smart and plays mostly by the book from what I can tell. If she’s been blackmailing other officers into helping her, there’s no evidence. Not that I haven’t been looking when I have the chance. It’d have to be pretty damning though and I’d have to be sure she had absolutely no conclusive proof I was guilty.”

“Then we have a plan: Nell and Eric, find something on Whiting that is worthy of counter-blackmail without being too obvious, Deeks will keep Whiting happy and the rest of us will make sure he doesn’t get himself arrested again or killed,” Callen sums up, wearing a self-satisfied expression.

A shrill beeping interrupts suddenly, the sound drawing everyone’s gaze to Eric’s right pocket.

“Ah, Hetty’s just left the Commissioner’s office,” he explains, silencing the alarm. “We better get to ops.”

“We’ll go with you,” Sam says, getting up from his chair.

“But there’s nothing for us to do in ops,” Callen complains, earning an eye roll from his partner.

“We’ll find something for you to do,” Sam retorts while tugging a mildly resisting Callen away from his desk. On the way past, Sam squeezes Deeks’ shoulder. “I’m sure Nell has lots of files that need to be destroyed.”

“Do you ever get the feeling we’re not in control of our lives?” Kensi asks as they watch the pair argue their way up to ops.

“Every single day since I met you,” he jokes.  

***

Later that day, well night really, Kensi is driving home, one hand on the steering wheel and the other grasping Deeks’. His body is angled away from her, forehead propped against the passenger window. She might think that he’s angry with her if it weren’t for the almost undetectable brushing of his thumb across her knuckle.

They’re driving home together for the first time in over a week and despite Deeks’ solemn mood, she can’t help but feel a touch of contentment.

“What did Whiting say when you told her you weren’t coming in tonight?” she asks, partially out of curiosity but also hoping that it will draw Deeks out of his own thoughts.

“I don’t know. Left a voicemail,” he answers in short, clipped sentences. After a few more moments of silence he slowly shifts himself around until he’s facing her, a groan or two slipping out when his legs get caught in the small space. “I thought about what Callen’s said earlier and he’s right,”

“Wow, I’m pretty sure that’s the firsts time those words have ever left your mouth,” she jokes, pleased when it earns her a brief smirk. Deeks brings her hand to his lips and presses a soft, lingering kiss there.

“Well, today’s been full of surprises, so why not?” he murmurs. “I can’t let Whiting have this kind of control over me. If I make it through this investigation with my badge, and that’s a big if, she’s still going to have Boyle to hang over my head. There’s nothing to stop her from using me as her personal mole indefinitely.”

“So what are you going to do?” Kensi asks, internally relieved that he’s being sensible. Deeks sighs, letting go of her hand to run his fingers through his hair. She misses the contact immediately and once again realizes how little time they’ve had together recently.

“Figure I’ll start with any officers she’s investigated and look for evidence of misconduct…anything that will give me an edge,” He shrugs, his expression bleak as he goes back to watching the darkened blurs that represent trees and bushes.

“Well I’m down for any plan that gets Whiting off our backs for good,” Kensi says lightly although deep down she’d rather approach the IA detective in a more hands-on manner. When she’d heard that Whiting had been shot, she’d been sympathetic, putting aside her dislike. Any compassion had evaporated the second Whiting had approached Deeks with her proposition.

“I need you to do something for me,” Deeks says suddenly, still staring out the window.

“Of course,” she agrees immediately in her eagerness to help. It’s only a moment later that Kensi recognizes the guilt and hesitation in his voice for what it is. “You’re going to say something really stupid now, aren’t you,” she predicts. Deeks presses his lips together.

“You have to stay away from Whiting and LAPD this time. I don’t care what she does or says but I don’t want her to have another opportunity to threaten you or force you into testifying against me. If you think it’s bad now, it’s probably only going to get worse and you can’t play into her hands.”

“If you remember, it didn’t work last time she tried,” Kensi points out, her mouth dry at what she things Deeks is suggesting. He’s already pushed her away enough as it is and she’s terrified he’ll try something really stupid, like putting off their engagement.

Deeks makes a derisive noise in the back of his throat. “Yeah, only because you were abducted and Whiting got shot,” he retorts. Pulling into the driveway, Kensi puts the car in park before throwing up her hands in exasperation.

“Fine, I won’t provoke her. But if I find out she’s putting you in danger or risking your career, I will not just stand by.” Deeks nods at her fierce words. “We’re partners,” she continues in a softer voice. “Here at home, at work, wherever, whatever we do, no matter how many IA Detectives come after you. I’m not going to abandon you and there is no way in hell I’m letting this force us apart. I said it earlier and I’ll say it again since you apparently are experiencing short term memory loss: “I love you and I am not going anywhere, ever.” Deeks sniffs a couple times, refusing to meet her gaze.

“This has the potential to get a lot worse,” he whispers again.

“Only if you try and go off by yourself like an idiot,” she replies stubbornly. She watches Deeks’ face in his window, waiting for him to react with his typical wit and when he doesn’t, she grabs his, kissing it in the same place he had hers. His head falls then, that guilty, miserable expression she hates so much back again. She’d give anything to see him smiling and laughing once more.

“This isn’t fair,” he whispers. Scooting over in her seat until the console impedes further movement, she places her palms on Deeks’ cheeks, ignoring his mild resistance. She gently pulls his forehead down to meet hers and relishes the moments when he finally leans into her touch.

“None of the crap we’ve been through in the last eight years has been fair,” she reminds him. “But we’ve always made it through together and this is no different.”

“I don’t know how I’m going to get out of this one,” he admits on a sigh, the sounds making Kensi’s chest throb. “Even if I find evidence against Whiting, it might not be enough or in time to be go any good.

“We will,” she assures him. “We will. And when this is all over we are going to plan out wedding and get married and go on a ridiculously expensive honeymoon in the middle of nowhere, where Hetty won’t even be able to find us.” Deeks chuckles weakly at her fierce tone and nods his head again.

“Ok,” he agrees, leaning down until his lips meet Kensi’s, his hands clasping the back of her head to pull that much closer. He is exquisitely gentle as he eases her lips apart.

“I love you so much,” he breathes into her mouth. As they stumble from the car and through the front door, Kensi knows that one night of lovemaking isn’t going to fix anything. She’s desperate for the reprieve though and as Deeks presses her against their bedroom wall, she silently vows to do whatever it takes to keep him safe.

by - @ejzah

[crimsonrevolt]

Congratulations Alex you’ve been accepted to Crimson Revolt as Frank Longbottom!

↳ please refer to our character checklist

We’re so excited to have you back in the rp, Alex! The way you fleshed out Frank’s app was beautiful and the thought and dedication that you placed into it shone through. There’s a lot of complexities to his character, and the struggles he’s going to face in the future were completely evident. We can’t wait to see how you develop Frank further and how his story progresses in this different timeline of the Marauders! 

application beneath the cut (tw: Torture, Kidnapping, PTSD, Violence)

OUT OF CHARACTER ♔ INTRODUCTION

Name: Alex

Age: 20

Pronouns: She/her

Timezone: EST

♔ ACTIVITY

6-7/10 I sam online a lot of the time however I am in college so there are some times when I get very busy. That being said I am normally online at least once a day and tend to lurk more than that. So 6-7 maybe lower than winds up being accurate but that it the minimum of how often I will be on.

♔ ROLEPLAY EXPERIENCE

I’ve been roleplaying on tumblr for over 5 years now on my River Song roleplay blog. Recently my muse from her has been a bit less so my most recent threads aren’t my favorites but I have gained a lot of experience from the blog. I love the character and writing her I’ve just been having a hard time because after 5 years the fandom has died down.

http://riverxxsong.tumblr.com/

My old Lucinda blog:

https://lucindaxxtalkalot.tumblr.com/

My old Frank blong:

https://frankxlongbottom.tumblr.com/

♔ TRIGGERS

*removed for privacy

♔ HOW DID YOU FIND US?

I was in CRT for a long time! <3

♔ ANYTHING ELSE?

I’ve missed Frank and the CRT community so much since I’ve left I would love the opportunity to continue to develop his character. IN CHARACTER ♔ DESIRED CHARACTER Frank Longbottom

♔ FACE CLAIM Penn Badgley ♔ REASON FOR CHOSEN CHARACTER First Application Reasons:

I had never really thought about Frank Longbottom until joining this group, but as I started interacting more and reading all of the threads I fell in love with Frank. Then also when Lucinda got together with Alice I fell in love with her and just because Lucinda has to lose her doesn’t mean I want to. I really love Frank’s story line and had wanted to take on the challenge of writing as a person of the opposite gender. I am really hopeful that I will get to play him and develop his character, his deep love for Alice, his dark side, his frustration with the war, and all the other things that makes him such an amazing and complex character.

I am extremely excited to play on the idea of Frank’s dark side; I think far too often he is portrayed as a big teddy bear when in fact I think he might be one of the most vicious of the “good guys”. I don’t think Frank would ever hurt anyone just for pleasure, but he sees the line between good and evil as blurry especially during war times. During school he saw far too many of his house mates tortured to let it slide without any acknowledgement. Being from the Longbottom family, one of the sacred 28, other purebloods often expected him to fall on their side, that is until he got the reputation of breaking their noses. People who don’t know him often find him jaded and aggressive and he can come off as a flirt. He is unrelenting in his pursual of a better world, but he doesn’t always see where the lines lay.

It is because of this more aggressive nature that Frank first became affiliated with Aversio.  The group was a better match for his personal ideologies and were willing to see that the ends justify the means. Frank is often surprised that even among Aversio he is on the more aggressive end of the spectrum. He is highly impulsive and will push for, as well as take on dangerous missions, before thinking through the consequences for himself and others. He lacks a sense of self preservation and considers the war a worthy cause to die for. He fluctuates between being extremely self confident and extremely insecure depending on the situation and how long he’s taken to think.

Thinking has actually often time been a hindrance to Frank as he finds that once he starts thinking things through he’s nervous and worrying side surfaces. It is when this side emerges that he finds it harder to be a good member of Aversio and do what needs to be done. However this is in stark contrast to how is more worrisome side is seen in the Order where caution and careful planning and strategy are praised.

Second Application Reasons:

I simply adore Frank Longbottom. I think he can be one of the most complex characters in the series especially with the way his skeleton is written in our group. I have missed him since I left the group a few months ago and would love to get to write as him again. I think Frank is dynamic and real and struggles with the questions of morality which many of us don’t need to think about in our life. I think he has so much growth left in his character and in his current state he is so angry and focused, I think as he grows his views may change rapidly.

I would love to dive more into his darker tendencies because I think at certain levels he could rival some of the death eaters for cruelty. His views right now are extremely polarized, you are either good or you’re bad. He feels as though people in the Order are good but when he allows himself to be honest about what he thinks about them he feels they are cowards and are afraid to do what is necessary. Frank believes that Death Eaters lives are worthless and if they are not helping him further the goal of ending the war than they should be terminated from existence. I would love to have the people who love him who aren’t in aversio slowly bring him toward a more moderate view but I would also love for him to have one or two people in Aversio who encourage this extremist view and push him forward with his plans.

I think there could be some extremely interesting plays with insanity with Frank allowing us to see the lengths that one will go to in order to do what they see as right. Frank believes in his mission and thinks he is entirely right and righteous in his beliefs. One of the most fascinating aspects of the potencial I see with this starting point I am seeing for him is having his behaviors be almost identical to those of the death eaters but serving the Aversio agenda. Getting to write him being unaware of the extremes which he is reaching and having the characters around him see him unraveling could be fascinating.

Following this downward spiral, which I think would be amazing also having it tied in with him being newly engaged with Alice and having them be adversaries for a few months in their ideologies, I think he needs to come to a breaking point. Most people are made of a series of moments and I believe that but I also think that there are some moments which are more defining than others and I think Frank’s path will be violent and cruel in the beginning of this new era for him, I think that part of the character was lost and I became too involved in the relationship between Frank and Alice. I still am planning to have Alice be a large part of Frank’s narrative but I would love for him to have some other characters to support that. I would love to collaborate with one or two other Aversio players who also want to take their characters down this morally ambiguous path in the pursuit of a better world. On the other side I want Frank to have work friends who are in the Order and more in line with Alice’s way of thinking. I think Frank would confess to Alice his allegiance and if she couldn’t convince him to change his ways I think calling in backup of these individuals who are morally aligned with the Order, I’d love to see the fight which could even turn physical. In a huge fight like this I would love the insanity to appear in full and have Frank either injure or almost severely injure people he cares about. At that point I think Frank would break down and he’d change his allegiance leaving behind Aversio forever. However, the anger which naturally exists within him would still be there and he would still have an internal struggle over the actions which should be taken. The transitioning allegiance going quickly to be fully aligned with the Order. Additionally, what Frank would do with the information he had gained while in Aversio.

Overall, I’d love to see Frank as a character who build in extremist beliefs until it hits a point where he either would lose the people he cares for most or switch sides and I would like to have him switch sides. However, I think switching sides would be painful and he would struggle with identity and guilt and his own morals. Overtime I think he would come to see Aversio as a terrorist organization and be a major public advocate against it as well as being on a possible anti Aversio task force within the order. I would love Frank’s story to be one of misguided good intentions and the dangers of thinking that the ends justify the means and the corrupting power of a seemingly quick solution and self distributed justice.

Elaborate on why you would like to play this character. Just tell us, what made you pick this character and what made you feel in love with them. This can be as long or as short as you want to, though showing your love for the character is encouraged as it is something we look at when we can’t decide between applications. In this section you should also describe the character and how you see them. At least in a few sentences that offer additional information to what we provided in the character’s bio. You don’t have to do a complete personality analysis here, but just glimpse us of them by giving reasons for why you decided for this character. Don’t write what you think that we want to hear, but just make this character your own. ♔ CHARACTER’S SEXUALITY Heterosexual. Frank has never really had the urge to be with a man. He thinks his friends are good looking blokes but that’s about it. That being said he has no judgement about who people choose to love and encourages his loved ones to do what makes them happy. Before he and Alice were serious he was a big flirt, his lovelife consisting mainly of hookups. Until Alice came into his life, friends were his only priority and he had no interest in finding a girlfriend. He was a major fuckboy but had his own code about hooking up with girls, never spreading rumors or bragging about the people he would hook up with.

I love Fralice!

♔ PERSONALITY TRAITS Please elaborate on at least 2 of the traits listed on the bio (one positive and one negative). Explain why you believe they were assigned these traits and what they mean in the context of the character.

✓ Dependable

Frank always considered himself lucky, he grew up in a happy stable family without all of the normal stigma that came with being a pureblood. Frank is extremely dedicated to those he loved and because of that he will never fail to be there when they need him. Frank’s dedication runs to an extreme level that it never wanes even when being there for a friend could put himself in danger, in that situation he would just run faster to help the ones he cares for.

Frank will always be there to protect Alice, it is the only reason he didn’t ask for a change of partner after they broke up. He needs to be there for her, to protect her, even though it kills him inside. There is a physical pain in his chest when he sees Alice and remembers she doesn’t want to be with him, but he can’t stand the idea that she would run into danger without him at her side. ✓ Loving

Frank’s friends are a central part of his life. He would do anything for them and drop everything in his life to help them. It is this platonic form of love that has dominated Frank’s life so far and only in his developing relationship with Alice do we see how romantic love looks for him. Frank is amazingly loyal to his friends at school he would often find getting into fights trying to protect them. He is definitely what people would describe as rough around the edges, but those who get to know him would describe him as a true Hufflepuff, loyal to a fault. ✓ Ready-mind

As a Hufflepuff through and through, Frank always had an open mind and was ready and willing to learn new things. What set him apart is his dedication to his studies during school, although he was not a bookworm, he was a dedicated hard worker and would often be seen with his brow furrowed as he completed homework in the Hufflepuff common room. ✓ Unstoppable

Frank is an oncoming storm. He would burn cities to the ground for those he loves. He is not afraid of using force to get what he wants, and once he sets his mind to something you better get out of his way or get crushed in the process. This is a great benefit when you are on his side as he will stop at nothing to keep his word and protect those he loves. Those who stand against him though should be wary as when he sees someone as opposition, he feels no remorse for what he does to meet his goal. ✕ Doesn’t know limits

Frank doesn’t know when to stop. He struggles to not lose himself in the war. He finds himself more inline with the ideals of Aversio than with the Order of the Phoenix as he has trouble waiting to take action. He oftentimes has to fight to prevent the extent of his aggression from being seen. He doesn’t just want the Death Eaters locked up, he wants them dead with their homes burnt to the ground and any trace of them destroyed. He thinks they are traitors to the wizarding world and shouldn’t be allowed the privilege of having existing. He wants to see the end of their regime with no trace of it left to be built upon and thinks it is worth exterminating the entire population in order to fulfill that goal. ✕ Lacks self-control

He is highly impulsive and has a desire to take action. Frank will volunteer often volunteer for missions before thinking of the risks to himself or the others on his team. He has no sense of self preservation which adds to his likelihood of doing something that could get himself hurt.

Frank sees his impulsivity as a strength it allows him to act when he needs to and prevents him from missing a moment when he should have gone. He thinks the personal danger this lack of self control puts him in is negligible given the amount of good he feels these actions accomplish. ✕ Worrier

Frank has no regard for his own well being and is only worried about his friends and loved ones. He thinks about them all the time and is extremely concerned about their safety during these uncertain times. His loved ones are his main concern at all times, but it is often his worrying breaks his determination. In stopping to think he realizes the risk to himself and others and feels he can’t fight in the war as well. He thinks of his lack of self control as a positive and strives to not think about things to deeply in order to avoid being bogged down by his thoughts. ✕ Dark thoughts

Frank offer suffers from very dark thoughts. He doesn’t just want to win the war but he oftentimes finds his thoughts drifting to the idea of obliterating the opposition. He wants to be the type of person who is patient, kind and merciful, but he feels war is not the times for this virtues. During school he worked to always keep himself in check and to ensure he (usually) played by the rules, but war has allowed him to explore, this other side of himself which had stayed buried for so long. His only fear is he kind of likes it .

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE

The following section should be looked at like a survey for your character. Answer them in character and feel free to use gifs. Or, if you’d rather, answer them in third person or OOC without gifs. Answers do not have to be extremely lengthy.

♔ If you were able to invent one spell, potion, or charm, what would it do, what would you use it for or how would you use it? Feel free to name it:

“I would invent a spell which allows me to locate people who use the unforgivable curses. I would have the auror department run it at all times because if we were able to know where these curses were being used it would make finding and destroying death eaters much easier.”

♔ You have to venture deep into the Forbidden Forest one night. Pick one other character and one object (muggle or magical), besides your wand, that you’d want with you:

“I would bring Alice Prewett. She’s always had my back in the feild and I know she’d have my back in the forest. I easily trust her with my life. As for an object… I would bring a flashlight, so I could have my wand ready in case I need to immediately cast a spell for self defense.”

♔ What kinds of decisions are the most difficult for you to make?

“I am worst a making decisions which involve not immediately punishing those doing wrong in the hopes of a longer plan. I understand that it may not be best to stop things when we know they are occuring, due to the sensitivity of sources but when there is an injustice occurring… I can’t help but want to take actions and when someone tells me it’s impulsive or short sighted I just find myself getting angry.”

♔ What is one thing you would never want said about you?

“I would never want someone to say I’m disloyal. Loyalty to the people who matter to me in my life is one of the most important things to me. My friends and family are most important to me. I am always on their side so anyone suggesting I’m not would break my heart.”

EXTRAS (SEMI-OPTIONAL) This portion is not obligatory, but it is heavily encouraged. This section can include, but is not limited to: mock blogs, future plot points, a questionnaire, your character’s wand, boggart, patronus quotes, playlists, moodboards, edits and everything else you can think of. It’s kind of a ‘everything can, nothing must’-section. Even if this section is in no way required, please keep in mind that this can be something that makes me decide for one applicant or another if I can’t decide just looking at the obligatory part. This doesn’t mean I’ll only have a look at it if I can’t decide- for that I’m far too curious what awesome things you’re all going to do-, but is something that plays great importance when I can’t decide for one applicant.

https://frankxlongbottom.tumblr.com/

PlayList:

Frank in Love (Fralice songs):

Lucky by Jason Mraz and Colbie Caillet

*Come to me by the goo goo dolls*

Angel with a Shotgun by the Cab

Say You won’t go - James Arthur

Backseat Serenade-All Time Low

Frank’s anthem:

The Phoenix - Fall out boy

Smells like Teen Spirit - Nirvana

Uprising - Muse

Burn It To The Ground - Nickelback

Ready Aim Fire - Imagine Dragons

The Crimson Bow & Arrow - Jonathan Young

The World - Jonathan Young

For Alice Post Break Up Feeling

Iris - The goo goo dolls

Impossible Year- Panic! At The Disco

Young Frank:

The Good, The Bad And The Dirty - Panic! At The Disco

Girls/Girls/Boys - Panic! At The Disco

Head cannon:

Frank got into a lot of fights in school (mostly) protecting others and standing up for his beliefs.

Frank enjoys his darker impulses and worries that they will one day take him over however he also feels justified in the actions he’s taking given that he is at war.

Frank was a flirt and a player during his school days.

Frank’s friends are the most important thing to him (Alice too later)

Frank’s sense of loyalty is deeply ingrained but his impulses take control when it comes to his loved ones.

Frank is happy to die for the war and gives very little thought to his life down the road.

I think this would vary depending his state of mind but at times when he feels disconnected from most things or during some of his largest fights with Alice and during the time she left him he escalated his commitment to the cause to an almost suicidal level

I think these impulses will settle as Frank grows older but he still will not hesitate to throw himself in front of danger to protect his loved ones

Frank really struggles with his dark impulses and despite knowledge that he should want to take the moral high ground he finds himself drawn to extremely violent and extreme plans that may kill more death eaters rather than trying to break up the organization

Frank often find himself wanting to slaughter the death eaters and finds them to be irredeemable

I’d love for this to be challenged by someone close in his life where a close friend of his is in truth a DE or someone switches sides

James, Lily, Frank and Alice are couple friends and will at times go on double dates. They relate very well to each other and struggle to be newly married in a period of such chaos

James, Lily, Frank and Alice spend time talking with each other about their hopes and fears of being a new parent and rely on each other for support.

Frank will be an extremely dedicated new parent but I am unsure if having a child will lead to an escalation of his extreme thoughts to try and end the war quickly or if a child would bring him to see things from more of a moderate view to the point where he moves almost entirely to the order.

Frank is a year older than Alice so he would currently be 20.

Future Plot Points:

Flashback-  Frank and guy friends at school talking about girls and the future

Flashback- Frank’s various hogwarts adventuress

Flashback- Frank’s start as an auror

Frank tries to start a bar fight with a pureblood

Frank pushes an even more aggressive Aversio

Alice finds out Frank is in Aversio

Frank and Alice move in together

Frank and Alice get married

Frank wants to start a family or Alice gets pregnant

Frank and Alice have Neville

Frank becomes a major aggressor in the war and starts trying to pursue Death Eaters to a larger extent

Frank attempts to sabotage the lives of people who he suspects to be death eaters

Frank has a few HUGE fights with people he loves about his being in Aversio (Moody, Alice, Augusta, anyone he is very close with)

Frank leaves Aversio

Frank struggles with switching over to the mentality of the Order

Frank eventually perceives Aversio as a terrorist group WRITING SAMPLE

Prompt:

The last sane night. We all know how the dreaded-end-game occurs; but what if your character had the insight to know things were going to come to a quick end for him? How would he spend his last night before he is tortured to the brink?

TW: Torutre, sexul assault

The ground was cold beneath him; the packed dirt floor of the cell slowing drinking the heat from his body. As Frank stirred slowly from the numb comfort of unconsciousness, he felt as if the world was trying to pull him down to its core. The weight on his chest made each breath agony, he tried to open his eyes. His eyes seemed stuck shut at first unwilling to open,he took another agonizing breath before forcing his eyes open. The light from the hall wasn’t much, but in that moment it felt like he had stared directly into the sun. He panicked for a moment waiting for the world to come into focus, as it did he remembered, Alice. Where was Alice? The pain in his body shifted to the background as the thought of his wife came fully into the forefront of his mind. Tears welled in his eyes, the war had ended. Frank had let his guard down for only a moment, he remembered the night in horror.

Voldemort had been destroyed. The war was finally over. That was the mantra Frank had been repeating to himself since he had first heard the news. He still had trouble believing it was true, it was as if he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Frank knew he need to move past it. This was a new chapter in his life, the one he had been fighting for. They had won the war, and now he could relax and enjoy his family.

It was for that reason that Frank had come home late. He had just made one stop after work. Frank had bought a nice dinner for he and Alice to share together; he had even purchased champagne. He hadn’t been worried about leaving at home alone; the war was over and they had won. He didn’t even sense something was wrong until he got home.

As he walked up to the front door he saw it was open, a pit formed in his stomach his throat clenched making it hard to breathe. We’re not at war he tried to reassure himself his hands shaking slightly. He walked closer to the door stepping slowly not wanting to over react and scare Alice and Neville.

The packages fell to the ground, Frank had gotten close enough to the door to see that it had been opened by force. He couldn’t remember what happened next, but he found himself in the hallway wand in hand. “Alice!” He cried voice shaking in a panick. “Please, Ali, please answer me and tell me you and Neville are fine.” He couldn’t breathe, he should have been home over an hour ago. He should have been here. It was amidst all these thoughts that a cold feminine laugh escaped him. He whipped around staring into the living room in horror at the scene before him. Before him stood four of Voldemort’s most loyal followers, the Lestrange brothers had Alice restrained, their hands running all over the pieces of her that were only for him. Frank’s entire body shook, “If you touch her again I,”

“What will you do?” Bellatrix Lestrange stood in front of him her sharp features had grown ever more gaunt during the war, now she look somewhere between dead and alive. “We have your wife and son.” She said in a voice which was almost sweet looking down at Neville who she held in her arms. “You wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to them now would you.” She then turned and held Neville by his feet waking him and starting him to start screaming. “Now put down your wand slowly.” Barty Crouch Jr. stood at the ready want aimed at him even if he were to risk Alice and Neville by trying something

Tears began streaking down Frank’s face and he slowly bent towards the floor and placed his wand down. “Please,” His voice was distorted by a choked sob. “Take me instead just leave Alice and Neville, I will do anything!” He had failed them. He had failed to protect his family at the time when it counted most, and he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to fix it.

Rodolphus looked Alice over his eyes filled with lust. “Bella, we get to keep her right? You said this would be fun.” He looked over at Bellatrix like a puppy waiting for a treat. “Yes, I did Rod. You can play with her for now. Just don’t break her… Yet.” Bellatrix replied her voice calm and cool as if giving someone permission to borrow a book. Rodolphus smiled a malicious, smile before ripping Alice’s shirt revealing her breasts now contained only by her bra.

“No!” Frank shouted, he couldn’t let them hurt her. He’d rather die than let them lay their filthy hands on her. He started to run towards he his core impulse taking control. He told her he’d always protect her and he’d be damned if he failed now.

“Petrificus totalus!” Frank had only taken three steps when he was hit. Every muscle in his body suddenly stopped he fell forward because of the momentum he had gained from trying to reach Alice. Tears clouded his vision as Crouch came over and sat him up so that he could still see Alice and Neville. There was red on Alice now, and her chest was entirely exposed. Her cream skin had been sliced by Rodolphus and he was powerless to stop it. He watched as those men continued to grab at his wife, at his Alice. How could he have failed her like this? How could he be so powerless.

Frank couldn’t believe that had only been a day ago, or at least he thought it was a day. He rolled to his side ignoring the shrieking of his every nerve in his body. He took a deep breath not focused on his own pain any longer. His mind was only Alice, he didn’t care if he lived or died he never had it had always been about her. Frank pushed himself up slowly so he was in a seated position as he scanned the room for her, his beautiful wife, the only thing, besides their son, that he had ever cared about.

He looked around trying to find her in this cavernous cell. His heart froze for a moment when he thought she might not be here but that was when he saw it. It was just a tiny movement from the back dark corner of the room but it had to be her. Frank couldn’t let himself believe otherwise. He shook as he tried to stand cursing his own body for failing him. It seemed as though he weren’t good for anything as of late. So he crawled on his hands and knees, probably looking like the broken man he was. “Hey, Al is that you?” He said as softly as he could his voice dry and raspy. He moved closer finding her small scarcely clothed form curled up in the corner.

The sight of her like this brought tears to his eyes. “I don’t deserve you. I never have.” He said softly. “Ali, what have they done to you?” His voice shook in horror as he began to notice smaller details. She had cuts all over her body and her eyes. Something had changed. “Alice, what happened? How long have we been here?”

Alice, the love of his life, his wife and the mother of his child, merely tilted her head as if confused. “Who are you?” She said her voice nervous but intrigued. “Who is Alice?”

[impishnature]

The Light Keeper (Part 12)

AO3

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11

Rating: T

Summary: A beast lurks in the waters. Stan loses Ford to the waves, the lighthouse his only point of contact and hope of ever getting him back. …He used to love the sea, now it’s taken everything from him.

Lighthouse Keeper AU.

Series of One-shots.

AN: Commission and story collab with @garrulousgibberish​ based on their Lighthouse Keeper AU (link above). ♥ Mooooooore lighthouse keeper. Drown me in this au.

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Part 12: Short Steps

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The stairs creaked beneath multiple sets of feet, the first real noise that Stan had heard that morning.

He gave a wry grin, glancing down at the mounting plates of food that had been growing beside him.

He’d grown restless that particular early morning. Mabel had forbidden him from working on exhibits unless she was around to help in the hopes he might stay in bed longer. As far as she knew she’d done just that, but suffice to say the reality of the situation was just a bit different to what Stan had been telling her. So between boring quiet early morning TV and the same old magazines he’d had lying around for years, his only real options were tidying up or cooking.

…He’d decided on cooking fairly quickly.

Plus he’d been hopeful that before long, some very curious and hungry kids would be enticed down to have breakfast with him and alleviate the boredom that was thrumming through him. He gave a soft chuckle as the footsteps, slower than usual, finally made their way to the bottom, whispers that he couldn’t quite hear hissing through the air.

It would seem his plan had been a success.

Stan raised an eyebrow as an echoing cheer reverberated from the kitchen doorway. A soft smile slid on to his face as he put the spatula down, casting a glance behind him in amusement. He hadn’t expected that much of a reaction. “What? It’s not that- oh.”

No one was visible outside the door.

He shook his head, taking the frying pan off the heat as he went to check up on the kids and whatever trouble they’d gotten themselves into now.

“What are you two-”

“No, stay in there!”

Stan blinked at the shout, body following the command even as his smile slipped, suspicion seeping into his tone. “Kids…”

“It’s a surprise, Grunkle Stan. Just- please?”

“Alright, alright, I’m waiting.” Stan put his hands up even though neither of them were there to see, shaking his head at the pleas. “But you better hurry otherwise your foods going to go cold.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that. I’ve made it all the way down here for that.”

Stan jumped as a third voice joined the fray, his brother poking his head around the door frame with a triumphant beam, two small children hanging around his feet with matching ecstatic expressions. A voice in Stan’s head told him to scold him, to tell him that he should have waited for him in case anything happened on the way downstairs- but it was drowned out by Ford’s proud expression and the warm glow in his chest that Ford was on the mend. “Heh, look at you, Sixer. Up and about.” A bright smile was worming on to his face to match Ford’s until he caught sight of a sudden flash and he gave a gruff groan, mock glaring at Mabel. “I mean- took you long enough, I was beginning to worry.”

“I think you’ll find a very diligent doctor was making sure I got better before I attempted it.” Ford jokingly huffed, rolling his eyes as he came into the room. He kept a tight grip on the doorframe as he shuffled forwards before gripping the worktop instead. He paused for a second there, fingers running over the tile, dotting across the dips and lumps with an intrigued smile before focusing again on Stan.

Stan laughed, a small chuff as he gave Ford a knowing smile. “Need a hand there?”

“Maybe… I’m still getting there though.” Ford was looking at him in slight apprehension and Stan’s heart panged at the confliction that was there, the slight fear showing through the cracks in the pride that Stan would scold him and make him go back upstairs like a small child.

He couldn’t have that, he was only trying to help. He didn’t mean to fuss.

“Yeah, you’re doing great, Ford. But let’s not push too far.” Stan walked towards him but instead of wrapping an arm around his waist he stood with his back to him, letting him use his shoulder to keep him upright as he walked on his own.

“Thanks.” The word was heartfelt and made a gleeful bubble rest in Stan’s throat as his brother gave his shoulder a tight squeeze before finally sitting down at the table.

“Don’t mention it.” Stan clapped him on the back before playfully ruffling his hair. “Though, I am a bit confused. This doctor of yours… were they about when you decided to make that trek?”

“Nope.” Ford gave him a cheeky albeit sheepish look. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Well, you definitely did that. It’s good to see you back on your feet.” Stan shook his head, still holding the back of the chair, though he continued to give Ford a knowing look. “That the only reason, though? Your face says otherwise.”

“…I thought my doctor might disagree with my methods.”

“That sounds much more like it.”

“And- I couldn’t resist that smell. Can we eat?”

Stan let out a bark of laughter at the gleeful childish expression on Ford’s face as he looked around excitedly for whatever smelt so good. “Alright, hold your horses, I wasn’t exactly expecting an audience. Let me grab what’s done for you.”

There was a clatter of movement behind him as he turned back to the stove, his back straightening as he froze up for a second. He slowly turned his head back around, Ford’s bemused expression catching his eye before his gaze landed on the twins now sat at the table as if they’d been there the entire time instead of outside the room waiting for them to be done talking. “I take it you two are hungry too then?”

Mabel shrugged innocently as Dipper nodded. “I mean, I wouldn’t say no…”

Stan huffed. “Wow, such enthusiasm. In that case Ford gets the first batch.”

“Aww, what-”

Stan ignored the whine, knowing without looking that there was still a smile on Mabel’s face instead of actual disappointment. He’d learnt to tell the difference between their joking voices and actual true distress, something that had been highlighted in stark contrast recently though he pushed that far from his mind.

After all, he’d only cooked up one of their favourite breakfasts for the ulterior motive of getting someone down to stop him tugging his hair out from boredom. It had nothing to do with hoping they’d forgive him for scaring them like that.

Nope, nothing to do with that all, he wasn’t making anything up to them. Anyone who said otherwise was a liar.

“Well, I’m glad I made pancakes now. Maybe part of me knew we’d be celebrating something this morning.”

“Pancakes?!” The yell was jarring even from where he stood, but considering all three of them had shouted at the same time, he assumed that none of them were hearing the ringing in his ears like he was.

He chuckled, gaze darting back to the three starry eyed gleams behind him before he went back to divvying up the pancakes he’d made so far. “Yup. Grab what toppings you want, but let’s try to not go overboard? I don’t want anyone being sick- actually, can you two grab some juice as well for everyone while you’re at it?” He pointed his spatula warningly without turning around. “No coffee just yet.”

He didn’t get a response, only a sudden flurry of movement as both kids set about covering the table top in different toppings, both babbling about what the best ones were.

“You have to try your pancakes with this one, Grunkle Ford- and maybe this one-”

“Oh, wow, I would never have put those flavours together.”

“Grunkle Stan’s pancakes are the best, we normally only get them on his day off.”

“Is that so? Perhaps I should try some without anything on them first then.”

“Settle down you two, settle down.” Stan felt his shoulders shaking with the silent laughter bubbling through his chest. He stood for a second with his back to them, trying to school the fond expression on his face. Once he was sure he didn’t look quite so sappy he turned back to them, putting the plates down in front of them. He raised an eyebrow as they seemed to thrum with excitement, the joy spreading to Ford. He gave a gruff embarrassed cough, eyes darting away even as he felt heartened by their response. “Guys? Earth to you lot. They’re only pancakes-”

Before he could even finish the sentence Ford had dived into the stack.

The room was silent for a second as the kids covered theirs in toppings and Ford continued to devour the stack without much room to talk.

Stan just watched him in bemusement. “So… going to assume they’re good?”

Ford gave him a thumbs up, nodding only enough to continue swallowing before cutting another section. “They’re great. I didn’t realise quite how hungry I was.”

“Well, I’m glad you’ve got an appetite. But let’s slow down a little, yeah? You haven’t exactly eaten much in a long time.”

“Exactly! I haven’t.” Ford twisted his fork in the air as he ate through another mouthful, gesturing frantically. He gulped down the food with a grin. “I haven’t eaten in years, I need to make up for that.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.” Stan ran a hand down his face in endearing exasperation. “You know, your science sometimes seems a bit off, Sixer. I haven’t eaten in thirty years I’ll make up for that now, I’ve slept for thirty years I don’t need to sleep now-”

“But I have.”

“Doesn’t mean to say you can stay up all day and night.” Stan turned back to the stove, pouring some more batter into the pan. “But, before you argue anymore- do you want seconds?”

“Maybe after you’ve made yourself some and sat down for a bit.”

Stan blinked at the words, realising then that he hadn’t actually kept any back for himself. “Oh yeah, good point. Then we can see if you are actually still hungry once those have gone down.” He hummed, pulling another plate closer as he worked. “One stack of stancakes coming up for me.”

“Stancakes?”

“Yeah, well they’re not ordinary pancakes, now are they?”

“Grunkle Stan won’t give me the recipe.” Mabel’s fork hit the table with a chink that had Stan grinning.

“Trade secret. Otherwise you won’t come back to me for the best pancakes, now will you?”

“I’ll figure it out!” She waved her fork at him before becoming distracted. “Oh, Grunkle Ford, you should really try the sprinkles and chocolate chips and-”

“Whoa there. Let’s not pile them too high. We just talked about not getting sick.” Stan glanced back to see the mound of chocolate syrup that had been added to Ford’s stack with unfiltered glee. He narrowed his eyes as Ford stared at him innocently. “…Is this because I said you couldn’t have coffee?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Mabel tells me this is the best way to eat them.” Ford covered the monstrosity with a heaping of sprinkles, eyes still locked to Stan’s.

“Yeah? ‘Cause it looks to me like you’re taking measures to make sure I don’t try and make you go to sleep at some point.”

“It looks like your science was flawed too. You shouldn’t have made excellent pancakes then if you didn’t think of that possibility.” Ford munched into the pile before Stan could say anything, mock innocence morphing into shocked delight halfway through. “Wow, this is pure sugar.”

“…That a good thing?”

“At the moment, it’s perfect.”

“Definitely no coffee for you today.” Stan sighed, grumbling loudly though without any bite to it as he turned back to the stove in defeat. He could still hear Mabel telling Ford about other combinations he should have on his next stack and mildly debated taking back the offer of seconds.

But on the other hand having the kitchen full of laughter and fun was one of those things he did love. Having the entire family sat around the table for as long as he could have them there sounded like a good way to spend the morning before he went to work.

Besides, he really had asked for this by making pancakes. It couldn’t hurt too much to just let things go and enjoy himself with them.

Though, he might follow Dipper’s route and skip out on most of Mabel’s concoctions, pancakes tasted good with just a few toppings not toppings with a dash of pancake.

“Wait, didn’t you say you two only got these on days off? Isn’t the Mystery… Shack reopening today?”

The steady clatter of cutlery faltered as Stan felt three sets of beady eyes heating up the back of his neck. “What? So I wanted to make pancakes this morning too, that a bad thing?”

“Grunkle Stan, have you been up all night making pancakes?”

“What? Of course not. They were still warm, weren’t they?” Stan gestured behind him wildly, not quite trusting himself if he turned around and looked at them. “I’ve only been up for an hour or so. Getting myself ready for the tours.”

“But we made sure you didn’t have an early one.”

Stan shrugged. “My clock’s still ticking to an old schedule, sweetie. It’s hard to break the habits. But honestly, I haven’t been making pancakes for that long this morning.” He bit his tongue as he grabbed his plate and sat down with them, stuffing in a bite to stop having to answer more questions and taking the burning batter as punishment.

After all, technically it wasn’t a lie. He had only been making pancakes for a short amount of time that morning.

The fact that he’d been up before then hadn’t been the question.

He gulped the bite down, wincing at the heat travelling down his throat. “S-so- that gives us time to work on that mermaid exhibit you were helping me with, doesn’t it?”

“Oh yeah! We still need to paint her, right?”

Stan nodded. “Yup, that’s the one. She won’t be ready for today probably, don’t want to rush, now do we?”

“Do you think I can join?”

Stan turned to Ford, eyebrows furrowing at the hesitant question. “No need to ask, of course you can join in. We could use your expertise on the colours.”

“Oh well, merpeople come in a variety of species and therefore their tail colourations can be based on a range of- but no, that wasn’t what I was asking.” Ford rubbed his neck nervously. “I meant, could I watch you do one of your tours?”

“Oh.” Stan felt shock permeate the air and the word as he looked down at his plate, gruff embarrassment bubbling up again nervously. “I mean, yeah, sure you can. If you really want to. I mean I don’t exactly stick to the facts… not that you heard that from me. So as long as you don’t interject and stuff, feel free. Don’t want the punters thinking I don’t know my stuff.”

“Of course not. I’ll try to… keep quiet.” Ford grinned, the hesitance vanishing quickly behind the sparkle in his eyes. “Besides I think it’ll be a lot of fun to be part of it.”

“If you say so.”

“I do. I’m looking forward to it. After all, you’ve put a lot of work and effort into this place.” Ford looked outside the kitchen into the rest of the house with an interested hint to his gaze. “From what I’ve heard, you give quite the tour.”

“Yeah? W-who told you that?” Stan didn’t quite know what to do with the happy keenness to Ford’s voice or the proud grins the twins seemed to be throwing at him. He coughed into his drink for a second to get his thoughts back on track and to come up with some kind of grouchy retort. “Well, just make sure not to tire yourself out either.”

A voice inside his head laughed at him for the attempted brush off.

“Of course not. And on that note-” Ford held up his empty plate with a grin. “Can I have some more please?”

“… Yep, absolutely no coffee for you today.”

A bubble of infectious laughter ran around the room at that point. After a bit more bantering conversation, the kids finished up, both of them cleaning up quick for different reasons as Ford continued to eat.

Mabel darted in and out of the room, bringing with her various craft supplies for their joint venture, though Stan thought it best to go grab the ‘creature’ himself, worried that it was just a tad heavy for the twelve year old. Whilst he did though, he couldn’t quite help listening in as Dipper also vanished, only to return with his journal and ever clicking pen, pushing the closest chair even closer to Ford and sitting up straight, eyes gleaming with intrigue.

“So, Grunkle Ford, how many mermaids have you met? You said there’re more than one species so-”

Stan huffed out a laugh as Ford gulped down another bite of pancake before answering, his focus equally divided by conversation and good food in a way Stan had never actually thought would ever be possible. As it was, Ford seemed to ramble a lengthy answer to each of Dipper’s questions, hands gesturing eagerly as he went before taking another bite as Dipper scribbled it down, or chewing thoughtfully whilst toying with an answer to a more difficult question the boy threw at him.

Then again, Stan couldn’t really talk about being divided between jobs. The nerdy conversation and building excitement at someone else speaking on the same frequency was somehow more endearing than it usually would be. He was so busy listening to Ford and Dipper chatter away, that he was finding it increasingly difficult to veto Mabel’s design ideas for the exhibit.

So far, the mermaid was sporting a lot of bright colours that he felt would not do well for camouflage in the murky seas, nor would she actually fit in with many of his other exhibits, a beacon glowing painfully amongst the blues and greens. But Mabel’s comments that the mermaid might not need to camouflage, and that she in fact would want to be seen to help sailors, had made it difficult for him to point out other myths and legends that gave the creatures a much less desirable attitude to humans.

There was, however, a tight clasp on one particular bottle that Mabel had brought with her, and her frustrations were mounting at his steadfast refusal.

“Grunkle Ford!”

“Well, that would be because- oh, yes, Mabel?”

“You know mermaids, right? Grunkle Stan won’t agree with me that mermaids are meant to be beautiful and sparkly.”

“Well, I have to agree with you on that one… so what seems to be the issue?”

“He won’t let me add any glitter to her. It needs to look like she’s just come out of the water and is glittering in the sunlight.”

Ford turned to Stan, smile suspiciously smug as he nodded. “Of course. That makes perfect sense. Her tail scales at the very least should be glittery then.”

“See? I told you!”

“Well, I guess if the expert has spoken, I don’t know anything at all about these things.” Stan’s voice dripped with sarcasm as he dropped the small bottle of glitter to the table. “Can you at least go for the same colour as you’ve painted the tail?”

“Nope, it’s got to be blue cause it’s water that’s dripping off of her, of course.”

“Of course.” Stan glared as Ford bit his lip, trying to stem the giggles that were shaking through his entire body. “That makes so much sense, doesn’t it, expert?”

“All the sense in the world.” Ford turned back to Dipper, trying to school his face into a less self-satisfied smile. “Where were we?”

Dipper, however, stared at Stan, his face curious as if he was puzzling over a particularly hard riddle that had been laid before him.

Stan tilted his head at him, waving a hand in front of his face. “Earth to Dipper? I’m surprised anything can distract you when you’ve got someone right here to answer all your questions.”

“I actually have a question for you, Grunkle Stan.”

“…Oh.” Stan tried not to be unnerved by the determined glaze to the boy’s face. “Shoot?”

“Well, considering Grunkle Ford’s telling us about when he met merpeople, can you finally tell me what you meant when we were beach combing? You’ve met them too, right?”

“Wait what?”

Stan grinned as Ford turned sharply to him, mouth already open and full of questions. “What? You think I haven’t met a few creatures when I’ve lived here for so long?”

“That’s- of course, but you never said anything!”

Stan huffed at the betrayed look on Ford’s face as if he’d kept something from him. “I haven’t exactly had that much time yet. We’ve been answering a lot of other questions I recall… and making sure you weren’t going to keel over on me.”

“That’s not the point.” Ford scooted his chair closer. “So? What have you met? When? Actually, was it always here? Did you meet anything before you came here?”

“Whoa, slow down, slow down, you’re as bad as Dipper.”

“Hey!”

“Besides, Dipper asked first.” Stan was tempted to stick his tongue out as Ford looked about ready to explode with all his questions. “So, kid? What did you want to know?”

“What you meant by not trusting a mermaid if you met one.”

“Well, they’re tricky creatures, kid. Some are great and want to help you get out of the bad situations you got yourself into, some are more inclined to trick you into the water and make the situation ten times worse, that’s all.”

“That’s all? How many subspecies have you met, Stan?”

Stan shrugged, standing up as his eyes found the clock. “Hmm, well would you look at the time. I need to get dressed before the tour starts.” A litany of disappointed cries echoed back at him, all three of them ready for stories.

“That’s not fair, Stan. You can’t leave us hanging like that.”

“I can and I will. Guess you’ll just have to not force yourself too much throughout the day so you can be awake later to hear the stories.” Stan looked nonchalantly at his hand as he shrugged. “Unless you don’t want to join in the tour like you said you did.”

Ford’s eyes narrowed challengingly, the pout vanishing into a thin line of determination. “Fine, it’s a deal. Tour now and stories later- and I intend to be awake for them so no thinking you can get out of it.”

“Whatever you say, Sixer.” Stan winked at the kids as he made his way to the door. Both gave him defiant looks, as if adamant that Ford right and that he wasn’t getting out of telling stories later.

He poked his head back in the door just as he left. “You know, if you think that’s a good story. Wait until you hear about the sea serpent.” And with that he vanished, slipping up the stairs and hearing a cacophony of spluttering behind him.

“Wait, did you just say-? Stan? Stan!”

“What are you looking so worried for?” Ford tried not to smirk as Stan jumped, adjusting his shirt in the mirror before he went out to greet the customers milling about outside.

“I’m not worried. I do this job every day, what would I have to be worried about?” Stan coughed, surly look marring the face in the mirror.

Ford refrained from saying the expression looked particularly like their father. Or perhaps it didn’t, a bead of fretfulness buried deep within his eyes and present in the set of his mouth that would never have been in Filbrick’s. “Quite right, you’ve done this for years. So what’s different this time?”

Stan snorted. “Oh, nothing at all. Just the crowd out there is full of familiar faces from around town and this is the first tour I’ve given since- you know.”

“Oh.” Ford’s mouth went slack for a second, mind blanking before it rebooted with a soft fuzzy feeling. “They wanted to see how you were doing.”

Stan let out a bark of disbelieving laughter. “Yeah, right. Nosy parkers probably want to know the whole story. It’s a small town, people gossip, it’s all they’ve got to do.”

Ford shook his head, laughing along with him as he stood beside him, making sure he was at least staring at his reflection if not him. “Well, I’m sure you’ve already thought up a story- or even the truth, it’s one hell of a tale.”

Stan nodded, shrugging. “I guess so, I’d rather not though.”

“Well, maybe I’m right and they won’t even ask. They want to see one of your tours again, they’ve missed them.” Ford gave him a soft shove, grinning when it was reciprocated.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, nerd.” Stan turned away from him, steeling himself at the door. “Besides, I guess the biggest difference is you’re here to see one.”

Before Ford could answer, the sudden realisation that he might be the reason Stan was nervous blooming thick and fast, Stan opened the door, a bright showman’s smile on his face.

“Well, looks like I’ve got a few return visitors today! You couldn’t get enough of this old man’s tales, eh? Well, I hope you listen carefully this time- you don’t want to be caught unaware by the creatures of the deep!”

“You can say that again.” Ford muttered, the words spilling out without conscious effort, something he found happened a lot now. He couldn’t help but smile apologetically as Stan turned back to him for a second irritated before turning back to the crowd with some half-hearted apology for his talkative brother.

Stan shook his head, gesturing the others inside before him. It didn’t go amiss as he did so how Ford waved tepidly at them all, face nervous at the sudden attention as all eyes locked on him. Stan struggled passed the group once they were all inside, starting up his spiel to drag any nosy gazes still directed behind the group back to him. He waited until they were all firmly hooked to glance around, nodding when he saw Ford standing right at the back and looking back at him gratefully. If he was honest he was relieved his twin wasn’t situated in the middle of the group in case he did decide it was too much and try to leave without drawing more attention to himself.

It really wasn’t the time to be thinking about any of that though. Stan straightened his back, gesturing with his cane for them to go into the first room before him again, whilst leading them forward with the myth of the occupant of their first exhibit. He grinned when even though he knew many had heard the story before they still shuffled around the edge as his story continued, as if they were hearing it for the first time and hadn’t expected the twisted tale.

Just as he was about to follow, his cane tapping the floor, a quick idea came to mind. He turned to Ford who had stood just inside the door, the last person to enter and seemed quite happy to stay as close to Stan as he could. “Here.” Stan whispered, taking Ford’s hand and placing it on to the top of the cane. “Might as well give you a helping hand if I want you to stay and watch the whole thing.”

The bright cheery beam he got in response was reward enough as Ford took the words he refused to say earlier to heart – that he wanted his brother there to watch him perform. “Now, where were we? Oh yes, how to escape the lure of this particular beast. Well, that’s quite a tricky one…”

The tour continued on, small short bursts of excitement filled with gasps of shock and awe. There was a buzz of anticipation that filtered through as Stan went on, helping him relax further and further into the persona without any more trouble.

There was something about Ford watching too, something about his brother’s face filled with pride and joining in with the eager anticipation that just filled him up, made him feel ten times bigger than he’d felt in a very long time.

Not that Ford was exactly keeping his tone the same as the other townspeople. There was a distinct mirth to him, a quiver to his shoulders and a softly raised eyebrow as the others chirped and chittered at Stan’s words, soaking them up like sponges. But the stories themselves seemed to draw him in, the quake in his shoulders vanishing as he listened intently to Stan’s dramatic recreations of scenes long past. His eyes would dart around the displays when he had a chance to be near the front, a nod of approval and a quirk to his mouth that for some reason just hit Stan in waves of warm happiness.

He likes it. He approves. He doesn’t think this is all a farce- Well no, he probably does think it’s a farce still, considering. But- at least it’s not an insulting farce.

Stan tried not to let the feeling overtake him though, continuing on with his tour. He was sure he could hear a familiar chuckle bubbling up every so often as they continued, whether in response to Stan or the crowd, he wasn’t sure but as long as Ford was having fun he couldn’t really bring it in himself to care.

Although, as much as he’d hate to admit it, it really was becoming difficult to keep up his act through ghostly tales and horror stories when his mouth kept wanting to twitch up into a smile. A feeling he was finding harder and harder to ignore. He kept trying to scold himself, school it back into a stern expression but there was a lighter joyful atmosphere to the entire group than usual. A possible side effect of seeing him safe and sound perhaps, as well as his own feelings that all in all were making it increasingly difficult to give out warnings about the sea and its unseen inhabitants.

All too soon it was over though, the last exhibit appearing that led into the gift shop where he left the group to do as they pleased. He managed to give his last speech with a straight face, the round of applause all he needed to at least know that in some way the tour had been a success. He gave a deep bow before ushering them further, the gruffness in his voice laced with affection he couldn’t quite hold back when all of them were friends and acquaintances he’d known for years and the brother he had lost for just as many.

The chuckling grew louder as they all fell away, Ford slipping over to stand beside him, right next to the display.

“What are you laughing at?”

“Well…” Ford glanced down at the taxidermy ‘mermaid’ between them, the very same exhibit he had seen the few times he had been able to before. He couldn’t stop his laughter as he glanced back at the group and then at Stan who also started to join in, face mischievous and pleased as he caught on to what Ford was getting at.

“I still can’t believe they think your- ahh- quaint? Taxidermy attempt there is a mermaid.” It took a moment for him to get the words out, his arms shaking against the cane that Stan had given him as he shook his head. It was all so brilliant. There was something about it all that even though he knew it was fake, that didn’t mean he hadn’t had a fun time listening. If anything it had made it far more relaxing. He didn’t have to worry, didn’t have to really think at all, and could just let himself get swept up in the intrigue, in the pull of a mystery with no real bite. Stan gave an indignant noise through the laughter, trying to school his face into something more irate but the look was ruined by his still shaking shoulders and the obvious glee he took in tricking people quite so easily.

“Hey, that ‘quaint’ attempt as you called it was one of my first.” Stan growled playfully, grabbing him in a headlock and running his knuckles over his head for just a moment before letting him free. He gave a sheepish smile, looking over the exhibit thoughtfully. “You’re right though, I probably should try again now I’m better at it, I could probably at least hide some of the stitches better…” The last words came out in a whisper just for Ford before he shrugged. “I don’t know though, never been able to get myself to. I was always proud of this particular display.” He chuckled, thoughts elsewhere. “How weird do you think it’d be to put Mabel’s up next to this one in the same display?”

“Well, they’re quite different subspecies, that’s for sure.” Ford bit his lip, trying not to laugh too loudly though at least Stan seemed to be doing the same. “But it’s a good one, this one. You should keep it.” He shrugged when Stan looked at him in disbelief. “Hey, for one of your first taxidermy attempts I’d say it’s damn good. I’d love to see some of your newer ones.” He couldn’t help the playful nudge, glad that he didn’t dislodge Stan’s arm from around his shoulder in the same instance. There was a lightness to the air though, Stan’s disbelief turning to a flustered embarrassment as he rubbed at the back of his head at Ford’s words.

“Oh, right, I mean, there are a few in the lighthouse that haven’t seen the light of day yet. Would you like to be my tester for new attractions?”

“I’d love to but I think the kids would be disappointed.” Ford grinned as Stan gave an exasperated sigh.

“Hmm, well if you put it that way I guess I can do a family only tour… just this once. I’m not sure if it should be free, mind, that’s quite the private event there.” Stan hummed, hand rubbing at his chin as he gave Ford a sly grin.

“I’m sure we could come up with something. Mabel would pay you in hugs.”

Stan laughed, shaking his head. “That’s because that’s a gift for her! She’s been trying to get me to give her more hugs all summer.”

“Uh-huh? So what’s this then?”

Stan looked perplexed between Ford and Ford’s own gaze directed at his hand and back again before realising that he was still giving him a one armed hug. “Oh, well this is- one of the ten hugs that Mabel’s prescribed you! Yeah, that- of course.”

“Of course.”

The pair went quiet, Ford’s arm snaking around Stan to return the gesture with a small muttered ‘Mabel prescribed the same to you’ as they watched the punters go through the last exhibit into the gift shop. There were a few bubbles of laughter whenever the pair took in the mermaid, or when Ford pointed out the mermaids purses that Stan had collected with a curious amusement, which escalated quickly as Stan pointed out in turn just how many he’d sold and how much for to tourists over the years.

It settled into a quiet hum though, the tour finishing quietly, a few goodbyes here and there that had Stan shifting back into his persona and telling them to stay safe, even whilst some scolded him for not following his own words.

It took a while for something that Ford had said earlier though to really filter through his head, his eyes finding him again as his fingers skimmed the small plaque before one of his glass cases.

“Still… you said you still couldn’t believe it.”

“Stan?”

Stan stared into the middle distance as Ford turned to him from across the room. There was something in the words, something in it all that was making him wonder if maybe he hadn’t been imagining things all this time. “You’re not just here in spirit anymore.”

“What was that?” Ford frowned, tilting his head at Stan as he waited for him to elaborate.

Stan smiled, a soft genuine thing that confused Ford to no end. “Hmm? Oh, nothing, nothing, just talking to myself.”

.

AN: I am far too happy about the thought of Ford being proud of Stan’s work on the shack. And hugs. Plenty of hugs. And Ford liking alllllll the food instead of nutritional pills -o- ...PINES FAMILY FLUFF *THROWS CONFETTI*

[survivingart]

ART AND ENTERTAINMENT

More and more you see art shows being coupled with support programs that, to an art goer from a couple of decades ago, would resemble more a visit to the local club than an actually gallery — albeit a club that, for whatever reason, seems to also have some “art” on the walls.

But why is that?

I hear a lot of people in the business say that the market has shifted and that — just like with any other commodity in today’s competitive business environment — the target audiences have changed, so the products and presentation have to change, too.

Well, I don’t believe that, at least not to the extent that such galleries describe the state of the “casual art consumer” to be.

The main issue I have is that a lot less energy and commitment is being given to figuring out where exactly the art market (or the art world in general) is going, but quick and careless decisions by people who operate in these “middle ground” segments cause weird and probably quite negative effects on the all-around well-being of the arts precisely by blatantly coupling arts with entertainment.

And here, it’s time for a very brief history check:

If we take a peek at what has been happening over the last few decades, it’s quite obvious that art  used to be whatever the antonym of commodity is (I am yet to find out and I find this incredibly fitting for the times we are living in), where the production was scarce and quality was judged on actual craftsmanship and “objective” skill — like being able to paint a person’s portrait to the point where one could hardly distinguish between the painting and the real thing.

After science and society evolved, this merit upon which good artistic expression was evaluated had to go, at least for a while (it comes back in cycles and my guess is, it’s slowly coming back again), and exploration of “What art can be?” lead the development of both taste and the markets.

Picasso and Braque, the Futurists and Dada sealed the deal of what the Impressionists, Fauvists and Expressionists began and both the industrial and societal revolutions during that time correlated to it: the defining factor for great art became philosophical and political reflection in all its glory.

After Elsa von Freytag-Loringhoven’s urinal (that by a combination of chance, old-school misogyny and the influence of Marcel Duchamp is still being fought over as to who really “made” the artwork that would forever change contemporary art), well, things changed.

The question of “What is art?”, or more precisely “What can be art?” was answered just a few decades after the 1917 exhibition by the Society of Independent Artists in New York, when people began to talk and discuss the oddity; while people still love to quarrel about the real definition of art, the objective fact (if there ever is one) is that art can be and therefore is, everything we decide.

There’s no heavenly blueprint of what art looks like and as such anything can be art.

This was a turning point for our business as suddenly anyone could become an artist. But one can imagine such a lack of functional barriers to entry (there’s really no official national exam for becoming an artist anywhere in the world) could not stand for long, and a merit by which artistic status was to be decided upon had to be drawn up.

And so it happened.

Economic growth and the long periods of abundance caused a lot of new money to appear and (depending on your country) legislation on tax-cuts and other subsidies for art offered the affluent a wonderful mechanism for not only saving money, but making it.

A lot of money to be exact.

Art that sold for 800€ in 1920 now sells for tens of millions — a prime example to such rising prices is the current record-holder, the alleged Da Vinci painting titled Salvator Mundi, that sold for a humble 450 million. And the best part; the art world is already happily chirping away about the first billion euro work of art coming soon.

The top end of the market has risen to heights where one can’t but start to wonder when the sun will burn down its wings and send it tumbling into a depression.

But, this is something for another blunder, today I’m focusing on a different segment that came to be exactly because of this rise in contemporary and modern art sales (and prices), but in the end could not be more disparate.

It’s the well-off but not rich folks in their 20% bigger-than-average apartments located 20% closer-to-the-city-centre-than-most-others that drive just a bit better cars and eat just a tad healthier.

I’m talking about the high end of the middle class.

This “target market” is the playground for all the primary beta galleries (the bottom feeders of the art world) as well as for some of the top players (like Saatchiart, or Saatchionline as it was once called, when it still belonged to Charles Saatchi). And this part of the market is also where more or less most of us are currently located.

But it’s not a shabby place to be, if that’s what you’re thinking.

In fact, it’s the most common place where the majority of all artists in the world can be found and, the ineffable amount of competition aside, for me a very interesting space to work in.

Let me explain:

I believe we are in the midst of an enormous change, the era of a new and dare I say never before seen market is about to unfold (the beginnings of which have been happening for almost 10 years). 

Soon, a new kind of collector will arise, because her messenger — the art buyer — has already appeared.

The art buyers, distinct from the art collectors and as the name already implies, do not collect nor do they wish to use their art purchases for the same means as those that do; they only wish to be part of the action, the money action.

Art buyers are more or less real-estate flippers with a tad more cash and maybe a semi-functional understanding of art (no offence to anyone, but basic psychology agrees). They rarely care for the product they flip, and even rarer appreciate it. 

All they appreciate is to buy low and flip high. And such a view is symptomatic of a degradation in standards or rules by which any game is played, because one gets a bunch of new players that completely forwent the rule-learning stage and just came to have a blast.

It’s the trust fund and second generation oligarch families that tend to appear in this group; the people in power that never learned, but more precisely understood, how power is earned, maintained and lost, and that came to lead a highly complex and decades long chess game their parents and sometimes parent’s parents started and plunge it into a gradual and slow oblivion by playing checkers.

But the art buyers are just the beginning, now we’re going to see (and already are in more developed markets) that because of the sheer amount of purchasing power and capital, floating about in our wonderful world, something’s happening with the middle class, too.

And the best part, the model for what is happening is as old as society itself, and anyone of us that wishes to ride the coming waves of potential abundance is welcome to do so with more or less a step-by-step guide lurking in every history book — all one has to do is replace carriage or copper pick-axe with computer and wi-fi, really.

The middle class is getting more and more affluent and the same thing that happens whenever a segment of the population grows in purchasing power is happening in the arts — and it’s not just more art sales in that particular segment (300€  -1000€ give or take), it’s a more specific and more refined taste in the art that is being bought that is accompanying them.

That’s why Instagram shops, Etsy and Facebook Marketplace are working so well for a lot of artists right now. And, to finally get to the main, juicy part of today’s blunder, it’s why arts and entertainment have risen as a spectacle in many a gallery and will eventually fail as a model of operation for most if not all such galleries. 

People think that mid-tier art collectors need DJs and beanbags to buy art, while the main issue really resides in the fact that nobody wants to be looked down upon — especially not by a shabby, 2nd or 3rd tier gallerist that was never allowed to sit at the adult’s table and whose rooster of artists were never accepted to an evening sale at Sotheby’s.

Of course you have people that come to such openings that genuinely enjoy the lights, music and the superfluous conversations about art that happen at many an opening, but as the gallery owners are slowly beginning to find out, such people really do come for the music and wine, not to actually buy the art that’s being displayed.

This, coupled with the fact that playing in the big league now requires tens if not hundreds of millions of liquid cash in the bank, it’s no wonder that galleries are closing by the hundreds.

What the art world in this segment currently lacks is humility and understanding for the newly formed segment and a business model to back it up. 

Many of them behave like textbook examples of what no to do: 1st) Dumb down your product and marketing so you’ll reach “everyone”, 2nd) package it in shiny, superfluous glitter and do a circus act to try to sell it and 3rd) magically reach a strong market saturation and expect the sophisticated buyers you’ve been targeting all along to just magically become interested in the light and music show, because a couple of hundred folks came to your opening and drank your cartoned-up Cabernet Sauvignon.

It just doesn’t work like that.

That’s why my personal belief is that a lot of us artists that have either not been born into a well-connected family or are incapable of becoming well-connected (more or less because of introversion or some other form of inability), to completely change the way we think about the art world and stop dreaming about ever getting representation by a gallery.

It’s not that it’s impossible — more than ever, our chances of getting signed are quite strong if indeed we are up to the task of delivering a quality product and are capable enough in getting to know the right people to deliver it to — but it’s improbable that such a model will work in the lower segment of the market, where more or less all of us will stay, forever.

The facilitators of art just aren’t up to the task and it will take a long time before this changes (if ever).

It’s much better to partner up with a friend or acquaintance that can help you out with marketing and finances and split the profits, because they are much more likely to actually know what the hell is going on with the people that are really going to buy the work in that segment, than many of the so called gallerists in the primary beta segment of the art market.

And to be honest, there’s a lot of good social media marketeers and a lot of fresh economic graduates to go around, many of them squirming at the thought of becoming another cog in their perspective industry’s machines in order to either sell a few more knickers or getting the cost basis for said knickers down by 3.2 percent in the next quarter.

People need and want fun and excitement, they yearn for a purpose and by god if a possibility of someday becoming professionally involved in one of the most subjective and creative industries in human existence doesn’t present itself as the universe stretching out an olive branch amongst the bleak and pointless populist nihilism of today, I don’t know what can. 

from Surviving Art https://ift.tt/33gTpXV via IFTTT

[goingtosee-theworld]

im toolazy to make a header

Pet’s Questionnaire

Name: Pet

Characters: Jane Porter, Howl Pendragon, Eva Grimhelde, Roger Radcliffe, Calliope Harper, Daisy Duck, Jake Long, Lymantria Khan, Al McWiggin, mystery character 10 wow when the fuck did i get so many

Pick a thread from the past six months that you’re proud of and talk about why.

What HAVENT I been proud of in the last six months haha---ok jk jk.

Not really a thread but the whole arc of Howl turns into demon bird was really a thrill to write. I was a bit slow with it because school (ahhh schoooolll), but I was really proud of how it all ended up. From the intial unbecoming—which was short, but action-paced—to the kidnapping of the egg, to Kiki searching for Howl, then the reunion with Mel, and confronting Suliman—ugh it was so action-packed and fun and the egg has yet to unveil herself dun dun dun. (I do realize the first few paras of this fell before the six month line, but we will ignore that).

One of the things I find difficult in writing is, well, action sequences when a lot of things happened at once and this whole arc was full of them, so it really forced me to think about character placement and what a good next move would be. And I want to thank MK and Lauryl for being good partners with this (and being patient when I was slow) and just giving me a lot to work with and ugh yeah.

An honorable mention is the Titsy closet thread (lmao) not just for the smut but because I think that moment was like really character defining for both of them. There was a lot going on. It was also hot and steamy.

Another honorable mention is MILANO BREAKS INTO A MUSEUM AND WAKES A MUMMY AND OH GOD THE REPURCUSSIONS ARE JUST BEING FELT AHHH. Yeah that still has to play out but wow it is fun.

Identify a challenge you’ve faced in this rp. Reflect on why this is a challenge for you. Are there any strategies you can develop to overcome this challenge?

I’m too shy. And I know that is my one big weakness. And I know it might not seem that way in the group chat because I’m a jokester and I say weird shit and am generally jovial and talkative, but like one on one I am…so…anxious and shy and asdkjadlks. I swear to god no matter who you are if we’re talking one on one I get really anxious and im like oh god they noticed I was typing but then I realized I didn’t say anything oh god I feel awful maybe I should clarify wait no I shouldn’t wait no I should wait no it’s too late //screaMs and then I think you hate me. Rinse, repeat.  

This is a challenge, of course, because it makes it really hard for me to plot—because it’s not just me going to approach people, but like people approaching me and I don’t know WHY because 9/10 I love their ideas/they love my ideas. And like I am trying my best to slowly get over it. Im trying to branch out and hit more people up and I am starting by outlining my goals for my characters and then trying to contact people who would be relevant and hopefully I don’t like combust with anxiety whilst doing so wish me luck;;

Pick one of your characters and talk about their growth (we recommend choosing an older character, but it’s up to you! ) What about their story has surprised you? What are you proud of? How have they changed from their original inception to now?

I did Howl last time so now it’s time for Miss Jane Porter.

Ah, Jane, Jane, Jane. SO like a little TMI background into the creation of Jane. I’ve roleplayed Jane Porter for like 6 years now. My original Jane was much different from this Jane. This Jane grew from quite a dark time in my life and her early days were very reflective of that dark time (only getting darker for those first months I had her). Thus, without me even intending it, she got quite depressed. I hadn’t expected it, but that’s the sort of thing that happens when you trap someone who never wanted to make a real commitment in a small town.

Jane was supposed to be fun, energetic, just happening to be weighed down by a dark secret—what she is now is more reflective of what I wanted for her. Instead, the idea of being trapped in one place, the idea of death lurking at the corner of her vision consumed her. She was lonely. She shut herself to the world. She regressed in a way that I did not anticipate. The only way out was for her to crash and burn.

So, I made Jane crash. I gave her everything she feared—the chance of falling in love, the potential of a child, a glimpse of a life that she could live in another world, basically what could be’s that she had been trying to stay away from. And she crashed and those few months were her darkest (like right after rejecting Milo, the time jump, then the pregnancy thing).

Now she’s coming back around. What’s fun with Jane (and by extension Milo) is that they have this—and I’m using a Lauryl ™ term for this—complicated happiness. Where they are happy, but ya know, there are issues. At their best, they are an unstoppable team—they hunt demons, they sneak into museums, they make each other brave (they are both brave, I think, in different ways, but the way that they are not brave is exactly what the other is brave in, so it like complements each other). But at their worst, they become scared: Milo frets, Jane avoids, Milo overanalyzes, Jane tries not to acknowledge. And so far there hasn’t been a real issue with that, but they should have a Talk sooner or later.

I’m proud that Jane was able to pull herself up. But what I want her to do is recognize her problems. She’s very avoidant that way, turning to alcohol/sex when she’s really down or simply ignoring the little things when she’s on a high. She fits her enneagram type to a tee. She ignores bad things and just tries to focus on something new, something exciting, something good. But she needs to recognize problems and work to fix them before they become Big Problems.

Pick another character and talk a little about where you WANT them to go. What are your plans for them for the rest of the year?

I’m going to go with Daisy on this one.

So Daisy, Daisy, Daisy. My little flower. Daisy is always weird for me because literally everything I ever planned for her went in the complete opposite direction. Date Stan? Nope. Interact with Tito just for fun? Lol. Fake-date Lou in the Hogwarts-verse? Hahaha. Even the long term things ended up getting derailed by events (titsy wasn’t supposed to like get together for a bit, but then valentine’s happened, for example). So with Daisy a plan is more like a rough guideline. (which is so FUCKING META IF YOU THINK ABOUT IT BECAUSE SHE LITERALLY PLANS EVERYTHING AHHH)/

There are two paths I envision for Daisy: the first requires a lot more work, but may be more fulfilling in terms of character development and lead to a happy ending. The second is more comfortable and honestly, more unexpected and might be more interesting.

The first is that Daisy rejects the notions of class and wealth she was bred into, which as I mentioned before, would require a lot of work in changing her thinking, but it can be done. Not to be super Sorting Hat Chats in here (okay but when are we not), her primary is Ravenclaw and right now her system is in a bit of a flux and she’s trying to rebuild it. She would need the right type of influence—not just from Tito, mind you, because she feels that she is biased should she solely listen to him (Daisy’s quite analytical and logical and will try to put her own feelings aside when it comes to that decision). It would need to be a mix of outside forces, and this I can see ending in her graduating and doing what she wants to do, instead of what approved jobs her mom would have picked out for her (so maybe trying to strike it out on her own and starting her own lifestyle blog, or working at a smaller company, or maybe one focused on social justice instead of just haute couture idk) and most importantly, choosing her heart over preapproved options.

Now this is the option that would represent the most character growth, but my hesitation? It’s cliché. It’s a bit overdone. It’s Rose from Titanic. It’s been done, and for the way it would pan out with Daisy, it would not be super unique. Would it be the happier ending? Well, yes. I’ve not closed it off completely and tbh I am a sucker for happy endings, so this might be the way to go, I’m just leaving room to think of option two.

Option Two is that Daisy decides that her whole system of class and wealth and status is the one for her. This would just need little nudges from her family, from her friends of high status, reminders of people who have fallen, glimpses into a future that is glamorous and glittering—where she has access to her wealth and name and can use that to better the lives of others. Without having to focus on meeting her own needs, she can turn to the world. (That would be the argument there). Now this has a clear end for Daisy—she graduates, she moves to London or Paris or New York. Will she be satisfied? We won’t know. Her story in Swynlake will end. It ends with a whimper, not a bang. It’s classy, it’s literary, it’s Sister Carrie achieving her dreams, yet feeling empty in her rocking chair..

Now these two options are by no means the only paths for Daisy to follow (and heaven knows she’s done an amazing job at skirting around literally every other plan I’ve set up for her)—so we will see! Maybe it will be some weird combo of those two. Maybe something will happen to expedite one or the other. Maybe she’ll turn into a zombie.

OPTIONAL (REQUIRED FOR THOSE WHO DIDN’T DO THE LAST QUESTIONNAIRE): In terms of your own writing, identify 1-3 strengths and talk about why you think it’s one of your strengths.

Uhhhhhhhhh. Srry ive felt bad about my writing lately but here goes:

Structure: now this is like. A weird one?? Idk it stood out to me when I wrote Ly’s one-shot about her brother, but I like playing with structure and having set forms and beginning sentences certain ways and having repetition and idk this is weird but I really enjoy doing this so I do think I do it well.

Description: I think I do this well. When I do it I mean. I try. I think I do it the best with magic, Howl’s and Ly’s specifically. Also Daisy’s outfits lmao.

Humor: This one I will say I do well. I make myself chuckle.

OPTIONAL (REQUIRED FOR THOSE WHO DIDN’T DO THE LAST QUESTIONNAIRE): In terms of your own writing, identify 1-3 areas of improvement.

Dialogue: last questionnaire I said I did dialogue well but I take it back. I feel like all my characters sound the same. Idk. Except for like Howl maybe, and Roger. I guess it’s like the cluster of Ly/Daisy/Eva with their weird accents that don’t actually exist in youtube videos so I cant quite pin them down.

Setting: im really trying to improve on this! And just add like little details in general! It’s still a work in progress but it’s getting there!!

Like action/forwarding things this is vague: I remember very specifically in one of my creative writing classes, I had written something I was very proud of and someone told me something along the lines of “I enjoyed reading this and it was well-written…but it was just people sitting around and talking for the most part. Nothing happened.” And that really resonated with me because ya know, I do that well. I do sitting around and talking and thinking and longing and sighing quite well. It’s the like actually furthering things along part I am bad at. This rp has definitely forced me to do that and I am definitely improving, but it is still something I need to work on.

OPTIONAL (REQUIRED FOR THOSE WHO DIDN’T DO THE LAST QUESTIONNAIRE): Reflect on other writers you love– in the rp or out! How have they influenced you? What do you love about their writing that you want to bring to your own?

Every1 is great, again. 

IF YOU DID THE LAST QUESTIONNAIRE: Alright, now pick an item from the Wishlist you completed in January that you’ve started to pursue. How far are you from completing this goal? Talk about the steps you took to make it happen.

Jane and the cheating thing. Not that Jane is going to cheat, not by a long shot. (Actually in the most recent of my replies to the Jane/Paul thread, I think Jane like drunkenly had the epiphany that she was just lusting over Paul because he represented her could-have-beens—will she remember that come morning? Find out.)

This is a thing that I don’t think will be resolved-resolved till Jane brings it up to Milo whenever they have that Talk that they need to have that’s kinda been building up haha.

I actually can’t remember if Lauryl offered Paul as the sacrificial lamb first or we had LADS interact with all our characters and Jane and Paul kinda hit it off (they’re both naturally flirty)—but whichever one it was, we took it off and just kept playing with it. It did take a brief hold up as my school picked up (darn you school), but I think it’s back on track and combined with this mummy plot. Well. Should be a fun time.

IF YOU DID THE LAST QUESTIONNAIRE: Pick another item on your wishlist that hasn’t happened yet. We’re gonna do a MOCK-PLOT!!! Pick a character who could help with this goal, and plan at least three threads or “steps” that would kick-start this plot. Need help? Remember to look at the plotting tips and tricks! See the end of this questionnaire for an example. You do not have to follow through with the plot as you planned it here– but it can kickstart brainstorming and get you thinking in terms of cause/effect.

Ok im cheating a bit for this and picking a character with a plot that I did not have on the wishlist (and then adding someone that I did bc why not)

LYMANTRIA GOES OFF THE DEEP END

Have someone further influence Lymantria into believing that she’s nothing without her magic (Mel or Mellie)

Lymantria seeks someone who will take Fey’s with her. They do the drug together. (Alice)

A trusted friend notices what’s going on and tries to intervene. (Maui or Meg)

Lymantria does not listen. Stronger forces must get involved (depending probably on who it was in the previous thread but most likely Esme or Copper/law enforcement in general (lmao or both)).

DAISY ADMITS SHE NEEDS THERAPY

There’s a thing that’s supposed to happen which will result in a big fight. (Tito)

Daisy most likely will go to Lou for advice. (Lou)

Most likely, she will not feel any the better from that and will probably save face since she hates seeming weak (especially in front of Lou lol) and then will be like let’s do what normal college aged girls do and go clubbing! And then get a full blown panic attack while clubbing. (Annette probably does daisy have any female friends idk---oh maybe Hermes tbh)

Either ends up at home or in the hospital, and like the boys will come so this is between Tito/Lou idk who is more likely to suggest that to her. Heck maybe Stan. Or ya know maybe a medical professional—Minnie? Sweet? Idk this end part is really up in the air and I think depends on what happens in the previous part.

AL LEARNS ABOUT FEMINISM

While online gaming, Al is confronted by a female gamer who calls him out for being a chauvinist. He relates this experience to a friend who further calls him out. (Gogo)

Al wants to find out what the heck he is doing wrong. Don’t women have it good already? He seeks out a woman he knows who has a better education than him and a better job, because he was definitely qualified to get into a good school he just couldn’t ya know and he wants to find out /why/ women think they are at a disadvantage. (Nala)

Al can’t believe it! He tries to find a man whom he respects who agrees with Nala. (a man Al respects—Wade, idk. Who is a nerd here?)

Finally: write a NEW wish list for the upcoming half of the year. It’s fine if you use a lot from your previous wish list if you still haven’t completed them and you still want to!

1.       Family connections—leftover from my last list, but in the works as we speak mwhaha

2.       I know I have already had a few love triangles, but I want one where the two outer points are like actually close and would hate to hurt each other by picking the love interest (like Angelica-Eliza-Hamilton, tbh) ‘cuz the ones I have right now the two outer points don’t really care about each other remotely.

3.       POLYAMOROUS RELATIONSHIP—who knows, could be the solution to the above conflict haha.

4.       Threesome—I’ve been pitching this endlessly. Someone write a threesome with me.

5.       Explore Jake’s magic: I think his is the most undeveloped. I need an opportunity to bring it to light. I want him to either heroically help someone OR get in trouble and have to face the Dragon order repercussions, etc ,etc.

[lurkofficial-blog]

Chapter Four

~~~ Ren's POV ~~~ Ren sits on the edge of her bed, staring down at her half-claw half-hands. She thinks she hears something, her long fox ears perking up, and pulls her head up to look around her room. Nothing happens; she's just hearing things. Probably from her recently heightened senses. She relaxes her shoulders and looks over at the alarm clock on her bedside table. It reads 5:49 AM, and Ren sighs. It's a dark fall morning, early October.

She can't wait to see all the colors of autumn when the sun comes up. Leaves of brilliant different colors, warm sweatshirts....but....what about being a lurk? She can't live in her home anymore; she will have to live out in the forest with Exxy and Colin. She knows it'll get cold out there, and she'll have nowhere to go inside and roll up in a fuzzy blanket. She lets out another sigh, looking out the window and thinking to herself. I'd better go find Exxy and Colin now before Dad wakes up. As she stands up, her eyes widen. Is this the last time I'll ever come to my house? Will I ever come back? Ren pushes the thought away and sneaks down the stairs, tiptoeing past her father's bedroom and closing the back door quietly behind her as she leaves. She walks in the quickly fading shadows towards the woods, pulling her hood up and shoving her claw-hands into her sweatshirt pockets. Ren continues walking and looking around before hearing a rustling of leaves nearby. Is it Colin and Exxy? she thinks, ears perking up before she sees a squirrel jump out from behind the tree and run to another. She looks up into the trees and scans them. Exxy might be up there... as he was the last time we met. Ren is suddenly caught off-guard by a bright, enthusiastic voice calling her name from behind a tree. "Ren! Hi there," the voice calls. She whirls around, only to see the friendly wave and the round, alert face of Colin standing in front of her. Naturally, she takes a step back, but she feels a little bad for coming back out so early; she didn't really give him time to sleep. "S-Sorry I came back so quick," she says apologetically. "I know it's o-only been about two hours, but my d-dad will get up soon, and I know he'd punish me for what I did last night... so I just thought it would be better to come out before he gets up. He gets up r-really early. D-Did you get any sleep?" Colin yawns as he steps out from behind the tree, rubbing his eyes and then recoiling as he accidentally pokes one of his scratches. "Um---well----not as much as usual, but---don't worry! I'll be okay," he says quickly before offering a small smile. "I mean---at least I don't have to get up this early to go to----go to school, right? At least I just get to, well, uh----spend time with my---my new friends." Exxy pops up from behind a tree next to Colin, his x-shaped pupils focused on Ren. "Good morning," he says in a friendly tone. Ren jumps at Exxy's sudden appearance and tries to keep her balance so she doesn't fall, failing. She falls back, sitting down on the forest floor. She looks back up at the two standing in front of her, her hood falling off. Ren begins brushing the leaves from her legs and stands up again awkwardly. Colin speaks up quietly. "Hey," he says, approaching Ren, "Um.....so....." He doesn't seem quite sure what to ask. "I guess we're just gonna--sort of---stick together? Like--Kinda like a little family? And, well, if we do, can you maybe tell me some stuff about yourself, possibly?" He pauses and turns to Exxy. "I don't know much about either of you, actually." "Well, that is true," he replies, turning to face Colin and running his claws through his thick, cherry red hair. He looks at Ren. "We're going to have to explain as much as both of us know about lurk history for you to know what's going on, Ren." "Uh----okay," Colin says, staring off as if searching his memory for any bit of information or history he can recount. "Well--for me, I just heard stuff through rumors and scary stories," he begins slowly. "See, I mostly just overheard how these animals roamed the forest, but they were------weird, and-----and dark, with fangs and horns, and could speak, and I was always scared of them, like all the other kids. I suppose I still am, a bit," he continues as he looks down at one of his clawed hands. "But now I am one, so it, uh------it makes less sense, I guess." "I can go off that," Exxy replies, starting up. "I heard a lot of things from the lurks around here. They say that scientists experimented on them and mutated them, turning them into 'genetically altered' creatures... At least, that's what I'm told." He pauses for a moment to look down at his hand, studying his almost glowing veins with deep contemplation. "As for us? Well, I'm told we're pretty rare, as far as human/lurk hybrids go." He looks back up at Colin. "I told you a bit about the four types of lurks before, and I'm assuming you don't know much more beyond that. Want me to talk more about that?" "Y-Yeah," Colin says, looking a bit embarrassed. "I----I really know hardly anything about lurks at all, sorry." "It's kind of hard to explain, but lurks have a chemical composition differing from that of a human," Exxy says. "I can only describe it as having 'dark and light' traits. Humans are a balance of dark and light, as are demonics, making them able to touch them. Passives are completely neutral, so they can touch people, too. Shades are made up of darkness and glimmers are made up of light, so it hurts them when they touch people, as they lack the other trait to balance everything out." Exxy continues. "All four types have special abilities, too. Demonics can run incredibly fast in darkness or under some sort of cover, such as trees and the shadows of buildings, for example. Shades have the ability to completely hide in shadows and gain more energy when they're there. Glimmers can hide in the brightest of areas and are energized by the sun. Passives, being completely null or neutral, don't have anything really special about them besides the whole touching thing." He pauses, facing Ren and making her flinch briefly. "As for you, Ren... The lurk that marked you was a passive fox type, making you a passive fox type." "T-That's really interesting, seeing as I've never r-really heard anything about l-lurks," Ren stutters. "Though, I'll admit, I-I'm kind of interested in them now. I-I guess it's because I am one n-now, huh?" She gives a weak smile. "I-I'm also curious to know how you were before y-you were... marked," she says, still unfamiliar with that word. "Before I was marked?" Colin repeats the question uneasily. "Umm......well......I guess I was---okay, I mean, I----I lived down the hill, with my mom, and I went to school. I liked to-----make stuff, like-----well, I liked knitting." He pauses. "Also--I mean--a lot of bad stuff happened at school." He sighs morosely. "I d-didn't have a lot of friends, and---these boys liked to bully me and make fun of me and call me names, like---a chubby crybaby and a short wimp." He shivers. "I was trying to g-g-get away from them when I got bitten." Exxy grips his hands together and says slowly, "My parents were killed in a house fire when I was five. I was too scared to go into foster care, so I lived in the woods, and have been living here for ten years." He shrugs. "I'd been going to school, too, and not one teacher had confronted me about it. I never got in trouble, so I never really gave them the chance to. I only had two really close friends there--Aurora and Jet. Haven't spoken to them in a long time." He laughs dryly. "I guess becoming lurk was a great way to make friends, huh?" Ren looks down at her feet. "As far as my story goes, it's really nothing -extrava-ext-extravaga-...it's really nothing big. All I knew growing up were my dad and my sister who I haven't seen in years... Sh-She left a long time ago a-and never really came back. School is-er... or was fine, I mean, I had a few friends, but that's really all I need..." She hesitates before saying quietly, "I wond-wonder what they'll think now." Ren looks back up nervously. Colin asks her a timid question. "Hey, uh---I was wondering---Did we go to the same school?" "Oh uh, maybe? I went to R-Red Cedar High a-as a junior. W-Wha-What about you?" She looks down at him with sudden curiosity. Colin perks up. "Yeah, I did, actually---I mean, I just started there a few weeks ago as a freshman---but I don't know if I saw you. Uh---do you think you ever---saw me? Like, in passing, maybe?" "Um... yeah maybe? Well, of course I've seen a lot of s-students in the halls, but I don't think I'd really remember all of them if you un-understand what I'm saying? But it was always a generally small school, so I'm sure I've seen you some time or ano-another." "I never went back to school for obvious reasons. I was marked in July, the middle of summer." Exxy shrugs. "Anyway, we should be pretty close to the clearing by the stream again." A smile cracks upon his jagged lips. "There's this pretty huge tree which has very big branches. I've intertwined some to make it kind of like flooring, so... you could say it's a treehouse of sorts." Ren replies, "Well, that sure sounds cool! How lucky is it that you found a tree that big between all these smaller ones?" She looks around at the fragile trees around her, noticing all the spots where branches have broken. "Oh, boy! That does sound cool!" Colin pauses. "Wait, do you live there? If you do, I bet it's really fun up there!" "Oh yeah," says Exxy. "I've lived there for a long time." He chuckles, beginning to lead the way, tail swinging back and forth. "Let's go!" The three of them walk through the forest, Ren occasionally hearing an animal and turning to see if she can spot it. A few squirrels run along the trees overhead before a large area opens up, sunlight flickering in through the leaves above. Exxy stops in front of one of the largest angel oak trees in the entire state. Branches tangle together, stretching out towards the ground and curling around each other. He raises a talon to the tree, showing where small footholds have been made in the tree's trunk disappearing into the leaves above. "Up there," he says, beginning to climb with ease. Ren looks over at Colin next to her, waiting for him to step forward, but when he motions for her to go first, she steps up to the large angel oak. She puts her hands against the trunk and secures her foot to the first foothold, following Exxy up into the mess of branches and leaves. As Colin falls in behind her, Ren peeks her head up from a clump of leaves hiding the footholds. She sees Exxy standing up on a large platform of branches completely concealed by the rest of tree. In one corner, bed-looking cloth lays neatly over the bark. In another, a collection of childhood things, Ren guesses. Various braids of vines hang around the small hiding place, acting as reinforcements of privacy. "So," he says proudly, "what do you guys think?" Ren stands up and helps Colin out of the leaves as well, his eyes widening at the beauty of the tree's structure. "It's---Wow, it's so cool!" he exclaims, looking around. "This looks like a really fun place to live! You did such a great job!" Ren continues to admire the work put into it. "Yeah, y-you payed close attention to detail." This place is pretty cool, she thinks, but I don't think I could ever live here. She glances over at Exxy. "So, you made all these platforms and such, er- or kind of did the we-weaving of the branches? It looks like it would've taken a lot of work and patience, but, I mean, I guess you have this kind of patience out in the middle of the...woods like this..." Ren trails off, not wanting to upset him. "Yeah, thanks, I had plenty of time to waste out here," he replies, holding a braided vine in his giant hand. "What else am I supposed to do? Might as well make it nice." "And.....gee, it's so well-thought out," Colin mutters in awe as he runs his tiny clawed hands over one of the twisted branches. He looks around the tree-room once more. "So---do you sleep over there?" he asks Exxy, pointing to the bed-cloth corner. "No, not really," Exxy admits. "That's just where I store blankets and such. I'd rather sleep under the stars, out in a clearing, or up against a tree. Besides, if anyone ever saw me, I'd hear them, and they wouldn't dare come near something so hideous." He gives a weak smile. "Er... moving on, how about we explore the rest of the tree?" With a nod of agreement from both Ren and Colin, Exxy leads the way up a different route; instead of having carved out footholds in the tree, there are vines tangling around branches and acting as grips to climb higher. They all venture up to the second floor of the treehouse, the same sort of platform with braided vines and leaves acting as walls. This time there's a lot more cloths stuffed with cornmeal throughout the tree-room, acting sort of as beanbags. "This is the lounge," he says. "I... don't really have company, but this is definitely the comfiest place to hang out in the forest." He rubs the back of his neck. "It was fun to make, at least." "Hmm, it looks pretty comfy," Colin observes, still admiring everything. Ren follows suit, walking over to one of the beanbag things and prodding it with her foot. It seems soft enough. Exxy speaks up again. "Hey, how about I show you two the rest of the forest? I can point out landmarks to find if you ever get lost and need to return back here. I've made a few of my own, scratching in a few marks on rocks here and there." "All right!" Colin says cheerfully. "S-Sounds good," Ren adds. She leads the way back down to the first floor of the treehouse and all the way to the ground. She waits for Exxy to pick up where she left off, following a light path down a hill and towards the stream. ~~~ Ace's POV ~~~ Ace's mind races as he walks briskly through the woods. Why did Mary think it was a good idea to look for Colin in here?? She always gets these "feelings" about things and acts like she knows the outcomes of things that haven't happened yet. The scary thing is, her feelings are usually right. However, Ace just doesn't see why he has to be the one to go into the forest. If Colin has been missing for five days and he's really in here, how the hell would he still be alive? What about the rumor? Everyone says he was killed. What would have happened to him if he were brought here? Ace quickly cuts off that thought before any gruesome images enter his mind. He sighs and cups his hands around his mouth. "Colin?" he calls. "Buddy? You in here??" He freezes when he hears a small rustle nearby, then keeps going, walking more quickly this time. "Oh, God, this is so pointless, I bet he's dead----Where are you?? Uh--" His eyes wander down to his feet and he trails off as he realizes the path is gone. He looks at the forest floor around him; the path is nowhere to be seen. "Great, now I'm lost in a forest infested by those monster things," he mutters, his heart racing. He slows down and eventually stops in a clearing, where a small sliver of sunlight is just poking through. "S-So--" he continues calling, now a bit out of breath. "Uh---I'm in kind of a situation here--I was looking for you, right, and, well, see---now I'm kinda lost? So now would be a great time to come out, Colin. If you're here, oh, and alive, and anything else you may be, uh, yeah." He jumps back at another small noise coming from a nearby shrub. "This is how I'm gonna die, isn't it?" he mutters, backing into a tree. "God, these woods are making me crazy--Colin? Are you alive, dude??" ~~~ Colin's POV ~~~ Colin freezes along with everyone else when he hears the distant voice----distant, but not too distant. It's coming from another place in the forest. He thinks he can hear his name. And he thinks he knows who's calling him. He looks over at Exxy, who had moved wordlessly in front of him when he'd heard the voice, too. Colin speaks up timidly. "Um," he says, "I think--I think someone I know might be nearby, Exxy." From Colin's left, Ren steps forward as well, looking between Colin and Exxy with wide eyes. "Wait, what? I'm very confused," she says, "What's happening?" "Another human has come into the forest, far beyond the usual running trail," Exxy mumbles. He then proceeds to crack his neck. "We can't just let this kid wander the forest alone. It's dangerous out here. We better get him back to the town." He heads off in the direction of the boy's voice. Colin begins to panic as Exxy leaves, running forward to catch up with him. "Wait---Wait, Exxy, don't you think I should talk to him?" he says breathlessly. "That's your choice," Exxy replies, not stopping. "You do what you want to do. I'll be watching from the trees, then." He leaps up and disappears into the leaves, though Colin can still see a pair of glowing white x's peeking down at him and Ren through the dense canopy. He suddenly stops short as he looks ahead; now that Exxy has moved out of the way, he can look at something new. Colin can now see that, several feet away, in a partially sunlit clearing, the tall, slim figure of his friend Ace is standing. He usually stands at a little over a foot taller than Colin, but now he looks to be hunched over in fear. He's backed up against a tree. Colin thinks quickly and puts up his hood, pulling the strings as tightly as possible before stuffing his clawed hands in his sweatshirt pocket. He doesn't hide; he slowly walks forward, approaching his friend cautiously. Ace turns towards the sound of Colin's footsteps and flinches, shielding his eyes, before he finally peeks out from behind his fingers and quickly lights up when he sees Colin's silhouette. He runs up and embraces him, and Colin recoils, yelping; his touch on his neck and hands feel like scalding water. To Colin's dismay, however, Ace doesn't seem to care; he pulls away and begins to talk very quickly. "Colin!" he exclaims. He looks happy, but then his expression almost immediately changes to one of mixed worry and exasperation. "What're you doing all the way out here?" he shouts, shaking Colin roughly by the shoulders. "Colin, did you run away?? Did you?? That's not the kind of thing you do, kid! Your mom was worried sick, when we went to see her, she said that a monster had broken into her house, and she was afraid it got you! She's terrified! God, Colin, the whole town's looking for you! Why, I have half a mind to slap you! Don't worry, man, I won't, but----anyway--dude! We need to get you back home!" Ace grabs Colin's hand again, intending to lead him away, but looks surprised to see him yelp and pull back again. Colin shakes out his hand in an attempt to get rid of the burning sensation, now on the verge of panic. Ace turns back to his friend with a confused look on his face. "Hey, kid---you okay? Did you get hurt?" Ace asks worriedly. Colin quickly shakes his head no in reply. Ace watches Colin tend to his hand, adjusting his glasses and squinting to get a better look at him. "Umm----hey, man, you don't look so good," he says quietly, a nervous edge in his voice. He blinks. "Did----Did you dye your hair purple?" he asks incredulously. Colin shakes his head vigorously, his eyes wide as his hood starts to slip off. He rushes to pull it back up, but he's finding it rather difficult; his hands are shaking uncontrollably. "N-No," he says in a weak attempt to throw Ace off. "No, how----how would I be able to do that out h-h-here in the woods? I'm----I'm blond, remember?" He quickly moves to cover up his face with one of his dark-clawed hands as a last resort. Ace seems to grow more and more uneasy as he scans his friend more thoroughly. He looks Colin up and down until his eyes finally rest on his large, paw-like feet. He looks back up to Colin and opens his mouth to say something, but, when he finally gets a good look at his face, he screams and stumbles back, pressing himself up against the tree. "Dude, what happened to your face?! Your eye!?" he yells, startled. Colin is suddenly flooded with fear. "My---My face?" He stammers, moving his hand off it as if that will somehow help. Ace whimpers and tries to back up more when he does so, his eyes wide and his glasses slowly slipping off. "Yeah, you---You're the thing that got my friend! You're the wolf monster!" Colin realizes what he's done and instantly moves to cover his face with both pudgy hands again. "No," he mutters, "No, no no no nonononono! I'm not!" He tries to approach Ace again, but his friend suddenly swerves away from the tree and falls on the ground. "Ace," Colin says, "Don't freak out, it's just me! I'm okay, I'm not dead!" Colin tries to look as nonthreatening as possible as he steps fully into the sunlight, cringing a bit as he does so and inching slowly towards Ace, who promptly backs into another tree. "No----Really, I swear! It's just me, your friend! You know me, I---I'm not going to hurt you!" "Yeah---Yeah you are!" Ace shouts back, his eyes wide and terrified. "You're-----You're one of those monsters that people sometimes see in the woods... those creatures!" He tries to back up more, but he's already as far up against the tree as he can go; his feet drag uselessly in the dirt. Colin, who's feeling at least as scared as his friend, puts on a concerned face and tries to come a bit closer, one of his clawed hands outstretched. Ace grabs a flimsy twig and holds it up like a weapon of some sort, causing Colin to stop. "S-Stay back, thing!" he says, his voice shaking badly. "You---You probably want to kill me, too, don't you?" "No," a familiar voice says from the trees above as Exxy jumps down from the branch he was sitting on. His curved, spiky tail-tip crashes down into the earth and he lifts it back up, shaking off bits of grass. Colin sighs with relief. "Not him," Exxy continues, "he doesn't want to kill you." Ace quickly jumps to his feet, looking even more alarmed by Exxy's sudden appearance. "Wait---What? Who----What----Who are you??" He switches his gaze to Exxy, then looks between him and Colin with panic written across his face. "Oh my God, oh my God, I'm going to die, they're going to kill me and I'm going to be dead," he mutters wildly. "You are not going to die," Exxy replies with a sigh. "Calm down. Do I look threatening to you?" He extends his arms, then puts them back to his sides. "Don't answer that. The point is, stop freaking out, take a deep breath, and hopefully it'll be quiet enough to get the information around. There's obviously miscommunication between you two," he says calmly. Ace shakes his head, his dark hair now completely messed up, his glasses on the verge of falling off. "Well---look, just---God, just please don't hurt me," he says again. "I don't know what's going on, but---look, I was just looking for my friend, and----I ran into the thing that killed him---tryin' to trick me, no doubt, and---now you're here, too? I don't know what happened--God, I just wanted to find Colin! I thought I found him, but....." He trails off, looking towards Colin. Colin quickly tries to hide his face again and hugs his arms, his tail between his legs. "Well, you found him," Exxy says again in a steady tone, "and he's been bitten by a lurk. Not his fault. You causing the uproar of fear? Not his fault either. He's just as terrified as you are, if not more." He puts a finger up to his chin. "Now, you two, chat. Confide in each other. Ignore me." Colin isn't sure what to do, so he just inches closer to Exxy and continues to peer at Ace from the side. Thankfully, Ace prevents silence from falling between them; he speaks up first. "Colin?" He whispers after hesitating for a second. "I don't feel like this guy's bluffing----It's really you, right? You're really---not dead?" Colin sniffs and quickly wipes his eyes on his sleeve; he still feels like he might cry. "Y-Yeah," he stammers in reply, looking up a bit and peeking out from beneath his disheveled hood with wide eyes. "I'm----I'm so sorry about all this." He takes a deep, shaky breath before continuing. "I---I really didn't mean to disappear, I really didn't, but---my mom wouldn't let me back inside after I got attacked." His lip quivers and he lowers his head again, a few tears rolling down his cheeks. Ace's eyes widen in realization as he pushes his glasses back up. "Oh-----Oh, man," he says, running his hand through his hair and looking down, "that----The monster they were talking about, the one she drove out----that was you, wasn't it?" Colin's eyes meet Ace's. "She---She called me a monster?" he asks, his voice low and shaky. When Ace nods, he turns away to wipe away more tears, thinking wildly. Why would she do that? he asks himself, now on the verge of sobbing. I didn't think it could get worse! She wouldn't call me a monster, she loves me----but she attacked me! Why? No, she wouldn't, she wouldn't! He glances up at his friend again, who now looks rather shocked and extremely guilty. "I----I got b-b-bitten by a w-w-wolf, s-see?" he says between shuddering gasps, rolling up his sleeve and showing Ace four deep bite marks on his thick left wrist. "I----I didn't know what to do, and-----I tried to go home, but-----she hurt me again, and----" he runs his fingers over the scratches across his eye, trailing off into more sobs. Colin falls silent as he hears a twig snap; after staying quiet for such a long time, Ren steps out from behind another nearby tree and stands behind Exxy, peering out from behind him. She looks at Ace, and, when he meets her gaze, she flinches and takes a step back. "H-Hi," she speaks quietly. Ace peers back at Ren. He looks much less afraid of her than he was of Colin and Exxy. "And you're not going to hurt me, either, dude?" he asks her, sounding like he knows the answer already. Ren slowly shakes her head and replies, "N-No." "Oh." Ace sighs deeply and looks down at Colin, who feels like he might start crying more. "Look--I'm sorry about all that," he says in an effort to console him. "I was, admittedly, being a little dramatic----okay, really dramatic----but it's okay now. Come on, kid, don't cry, it's okay." He smiles and tries to rest his hand on his, but Colin flinches and backs up when that scalding hot sensation returns. Ace had only just barely touched his hand. Ace frowns. "Oh---sorry," he says, "I---I didn't notice that. It hurts you if I touch you?" Colin nods and massages his burned hand, still sniffing. "Yeah, it----it hurts if any person-----human----touches me, because of light. I'm a shade, which-----uh-----I think it means I'm made of---dark, right?" He looks to Exxy, who nods, and then returns his gaze to Ace. "But-----it's okay, don't worry, it's not that bad, I'm fine," he says quickly. Exxy's ears suddenly perk and he stands up, towering over the other three. He takes a long sniff before narrowing his eyes. "I recognize that scent..." he freezes. "She warned me about him, and... he finally found...?" Exxy doesn't finish that thought, looking between Ren, Colin, and Ace with wide eyes. He says, voice shocked, "Guys, there's a man here... a not very friendly man."