#i feel like we should know more about her with how prominently she's loomed over eddie's life

[andavs]

I’m so fucking curious about Shannon’s life in LA.

She probably had a job, unless she got some amount of money from her mom after she died (but living on that while knowing how tight things were back home is uh…not great). She was charming and fun so I would assume she had friends, or at least friendly coworkers. Did they know she had a husband and son back in Texas? Neither of them were wearing their wedding rings by the time they reconnected. Eddie took his off when he moved to LA, so when did she stop wearing hers? Were they this huge secret she kept from everyone around her? Did she have anyone around her who knew and was like "Hey, so what’s the deal with your husband and son back in Texas?" There’s so many gaping holes in her side of things and I’m so curious.

[beesincognito]

Perfect Strangers- part eight: The Galgaridons

Viktor x Fem!reader (SFW)

part seven part nine   (start here!)

Takes place before Arcane and works its way there, did my best to combine the different versions of lore. (nsfw in parts)

(you and Viktor meet on your first day at the academy and bond over being habitual, awkward loners. The story revolves around class issues and a sense of belonging mixed with lore and Arcane plot. The story will split at some point and you choose which ending you want to read.)

*no warnings for this part*

Word count: 6,660

******

You were home. The air was crisp, clear of fumes from factories and cars despite still being so close to the city. Walls of trees and fields of green separated you from the looming buildings and you were able to pretend it was more isolated than it really was. The home was more of a large estate, wings and fountains greeted any visitor that would arrive. At the request of your mother, the ivy that adorned the walls for a decade was being removed by landscapers when you had arrived. It had been damaging the walls, but you still missed how it looked. Now it was bare and dull despite the decorative architecture. 

     Your mother rushed over to you with her arms outstretched and hugged you tightly the moment you stepped out of the cab. Gladly accepting her embrace, you followed her inside when she carried one of your small bags for you. She chatted wildly about the dress she sent you and hoped you enjoyed wearing it at the gala as your father simply greeted you politely and asked how your studies were going. 

     “Oh dear, let her have a breather every once in a while. We already know she’s excelling in her studies,” she quipped at your father, guiding you away from his study that he always lurked around.

     Lying to protect her feelings felt better than disappointing her altogether so you made up a simple story of your time at the spring dance. Meeting imaginary patrons and students that you had smart conversations with and sparked connections that could be useful in the future. Your mother believed every word since she only accepted the best for her daughter. 

     Just like every end of term, you unpacked your boxes that had been shipped to your room. Usually you would only be there for a few days before returning to the academy district since it was so close to home anyways. 

******

At the dinner table you asked your parents what their surprise was. You knew it most likely meant traveling out of Piltover since they never called anything a surprise. They exchanged glances, silently debating if they should tell you exactly where you were all going, but decided against it.

     “You’ll just have to wait and see, but it’ll prepare you to join the family business once you’re ready,” your father waved his utensil at you and you just smiled back at him.

     “Alright, as long as I don’t actually have to work,” you took a bite of your food when your mother laughed at your response, implying that you most likely would try something out that involved working or at least communicating with business partners.

     It was too easy to figure out their plan without anything too specific. The location was a mystery, but the activity was obvious. You were most likely going out of town and visiting with another prominent company somewhere that you had never worked with before. Learning how to negotiate and build a relationship with other people for business was important in your family’s line of work since most of the things they built were foundational to a region. 

     That night in your room you slept like the dead.

******

Traveling in one of your own family trains felt special as the cart bumped against the tracks. You had your own private cart with its own dining area and small private rooms. It was a long trip with many stops since the train still had to pick up and drop off other passengers. On longer stops you got to at least admire the station to get a breath of fresh air. You passed through many barren landscapes mixed with cities that looked more broken and fortified at the same time. 

     It made your stomach drop when you finally figured out where you were going. You bursted through the doors to the dining room where your parents were enjoying a morning coffee.

     “We’re in Noxus,” you panted, feeling a heaviness in your shoulders.

     “You got us, dear,” your father held up a hand in a you caught us gesture and smiled at you. “Is it not exciting? Don’t worry, we're perfectly safe where we're heading.”

     Sweat beaded on your forehead as you tried to feign excitement, thinking about Caston. Just being in Noxus alone was a risk. You didn’t know much about it aside from what everyone else had told you and you wondered if it was wrong to assume. It was the same way your mother thought of Zaun so you wondered how she was allowing this trip to a war mongering place to begin with. 

     The rest of the train ride was quieter between the three of you. Your parents had no idea what had happened at school since you blamed your facial scars on an experiment gone wrong.

     At the train station in Noxus, you were met with a driver that guided you to a large and armored motorized carriage. His face was a permanent scowl despite how polite he was towards your family, holding your hand and your mothers to help you into the carriage. 

     The engine fired violently before the carriage began carrying you to what felt like your doom. You felt sick with nerves that twisted your stomach and made your past traumas surface against your will. 

     “Are you well, y/n?” your mother fawned over you, dapping your forehead with a handkerchief when you didn’t respond. “Motion sickness?”

     You longed for fresh air, but the carriage didn’t have any windows, only an orange light in the center of the ceiling that flickered every time the road bumped beneath you. Once it came to a stop you thanked your lucky stars, bursting out of the door before either of your parents had the chance to stand. The driver missed your hand when you hopped out onto the cobblestone surface that met the soles of your shoes with a hard thud. 

     It was colder than Piltover in Noxus at this time of year, apparently. It seemed like you were in a secluded box within towering walls. The fortress dwarfed your family home in Piltover, it was sharp and strong with the way its architecture commanded respect. You were unable to see the city beyond the height of the stone that encircled you. A large elaborate shield crest with a “G” adorned the face of the building above the door. 

     Staff stood on the doorsteps and ushered your family forward, guiding you through the front doors that shut with a loud clang of gears and locks once you were all inside. Your bags were carried away to rooms off upstairs. 

     A larger than life painting hung over a fireplace the size of a closet where a fire had smoldered into tiny embers. You froze, looking into the eyes of what looked to be a much younger Caston. 

     What were the fucking odds?

     Actually seeing him again never occurred to you as a possibility and it terrified you despite his letter you never told anyone about. It arrived long after the incident when you had been on the mend mentally. Stowing it away after reading it. It contained the secret of his soul and his grievances and how often he thought of you. Forgiveness was in your nature, but facing Caston after he nearly killed you in a drunken rage was more than a challenge. 

     “Handsome isn’t he?” an older woman approached your family in a tight, business styled, dress with deep red accents. She must have been the mistress of the house.

     Your mother responded instead, complimenting the woman on her son whom she knew nothing about. It prompted her to introduce you and you politely took her hand to greet her. She complimented your beauty, speaking of how strong willed you looked and that you must have been an excellent student just by the look in your eyes.

     If that look was anxiety and fear, she was right. 

     “House Galgaridon welcomes you and your family, we hope you enjoy the accommodations and we will all rejoin later at dinner in two hours, I apologize for my husband’s absence,” Mistress Galgaridon took your mother by the arm to walk your parents personally to their room, leaving you in the foyer with servants to babysit you.

     Sweat made you shift uncomfortably when it dampened the back of your neck. You followed a short man in a black suit up the stairs opposite from where your parents had walked up. In the room there was a large bed with long posts, curtains were tied up around the frame. Everything was simple, but elegant. Unlike the flowery romantic look of your family home. Instead the room felt cold with dark granite walls and tapestries, red rugs covered the stone floor that would otherwise have been like ice beneath your feet. 

     There was another painting above the fireplace opposite to your bed. It was more recent. Caston Galgaridon labeled in gold at the base of the painting confirmed the face you recognized instantly. He stood in a suit of dark Noxian armor. A large sword in hand was held out in front of him in adoration instead of being ready for combat. Red curtains decorated the background and a dragon’s skull sat at his feet. You couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out and running your fingers along the lines of the skull, feeling the way the paint was textured from each stroke.

     His face was changed from when you last saw him and his hair was cropped too short to see the curls anymore. Determined and serious, almost aged as if it had been a decade of war for him. 

     Since he was depicted as a Noxian soldier, you guessed he enlisted in the army instead of going back to school. He had failed to mention anything about enlisting in his letter you received unexpectedly before leaving school. It wasn’t your responsibility to worry about his future, but you couldn’t help but wonder if things could have been different. 

     Against your better judgment, you began snooping around the room. There was no way Caston used the space when his painting hung so high in such a gaudy manner on the wall. No one would have been vain enough to want to stare at themselves all night and day. You pulled open drawer after drawer. Finding most of them empty save for the writing desk that contained a stack of letters, notebooks, and a tally sheet with no labels. 

     The letters were addressed to you, but unsent and unsealed, still open and loose in a neat pile. You couldn’t stop yourself from reading as many as you could in the hours of privacy you had. They detailed his time in the army and how it changed him, how he wished he had never touched a drink or laid a hand on you. Regret seeped through the pages with his words and how he hoped you were doing well and able to move on despite the hurt he caused. 

     It made your body tremble with your nerves ablaze and terrified. You worried he was obsessed and what that meant for your safety in his domain despite all of the other bodies occupying the manor. 

     Disgruntled arguing broke your concentration and the large door swung open.

     “-a dozen rooms and you put her h-“ Caston froze when he saw you holding a letter and your eyes locked onto his. 

     He wasn’t angry towards you, instead his eyes softened. Apologizing for the intrusion and for not realizing you were in the room already, he politely backed out and closed the door gently. Refraining from engaging with you at all from the short distance between you both. The sound of his deep voice faded into the distance and you sank into the chair beside the desk, feeling your legs weaken. 

******

At dinner, Mistress Galgaridon assigned the seats, directing you to move next to Caston when his younger siblings arrived late for the meal. They all looked so different from him, the age gap separated them plus his tired and hardened face made him look older than you knew he was. You reluctantly left your mother’s side and joined him, sitting with a silent huff through your nose as he politely pushed your seat in under you.  

     When your parents and the mistress began exchanging pleasantries you refused the wine a server offered to pour into your glass. The same server skipped Caston, moving on to another guest without questioning him the same way they had with you. 

     Giving him a quick side glance you met his own awkward peak and you both looked away in a hurry. Bringing your water glass to your lips and gulping half of it down too quickly. 

     “I’m sorry for barging in on you earlier,” he whispered, still avoiding your gaze.

     “It’s… fine,” you mumbled, “I shouldn’t’ve been reading your letters.”

     “They were for you… even if I never sent them,” he cleared his throat and fidgeted with his utensil on the table instead of eating.

     The rest of the hall was boisterous with conversation that you both excluded yourselves from. 

     “Is this your doing?” you questioned him quietly, holding back the bite in your words. “I’m sure the timing of that letter was no coincidence since I’m here now.”

     “My parents were looking for a collaborator and I remembered your family business,” he answered sheepishly with hunched shoulders, “I didn’t think they’d bring you. I’m sorry.” 

     You didn’t accept the apology out loud, trying to take a bite of food instead. It was delicious, but your anxiety induced nausea stopped you from continuing. 

     “What was the tally sheet?” you couldn’t stop yourself from being curious. He was practically a different person. The cocky and flashy personality was gone and in its place was this quiet stranger.

     “Days sober,” he swallowed his food, turning his head and keeping it low, “everything you had time to read is true.”

     With your curiosity satisfied and your stomach unable to take another bite, you excused yourself from the table. Caston stood and watched you leave which drew the attention of both of your parents. He sat when he saw his mother eying him with interest, waiting out the rest of the meal in silence. 

******

In your room you exited the large double doors, stepping out onto a balcony that overlooked the walls. The city had a commanding presence and there was a raven perched on the wall opposite from you. Even in the distance you could see the redness of its eyes glowing in the night. All six of them. You shuddered at the sight of it and promptly returned to the room, sitting at the writing desk and finishing the letters. Leaving the notebooks and tally sheet untouched.

     “y/n?” you heard Caston’s low voice on the opposite side of the large ornamental wooden door.

     A lump formed in your throat, unwilling to answer his hushed call. Fear still cooled your nerves to ice, unmoving in a form of self preservation even though he could open the door himself at any time. The longer you waited the more you began to sweat again. Eventually you heard his footsteps calmly leave, tapping gently against the stone floor in the hallway and then the thud of a door opening and closing not too far off. 

     His room must have been close to yours. It didn’t bother you as much as you thought since nothing was more terrifying than being in a room alone with him so soon after your reunion, which would have happened if you answered him. 

     Another knock came after a long period of silence, this time the voice of a younger woman came through so you rose and opened the door slowly. In her hands was a tray with a teapot, a ceramic cup, and a small covered bowl. 

     “Young master Galgaridon asked me to bring you this,” she smiled, walking past you swiftly when you moved aside for her. 

     She lit a small candle under the burner, placing the teapot on top with a soft clink of the sturdy ceramic. With a towel, she grabbed the handle of the lid on the bowl and lifted it to reveal a light soup. The aroma was delightful and you were keen to try it once your stomach growled in response. 

     You thanked her and told her you needed nothing else on her way out.

     “Oh wait, I was also asked to give you this,” she turned on her heels and handed you a folded and sealed letter before curtsying, leaving you alone once again.

     Knowing yourself better than anyone, you set the letter aside to read after finishing your food. Whatever was written could wait and you didn’t want more nerves stopping you from getting a proper meal that day. 

     The taste of the familiar tea almost brought tears to your eyes, wondering why Caston would remember something so small as your regular order. You sipped it gratefully once your meal was finished, sitting back in the large soft chair and staring at the letter in your grip. 

     With the flick of your finger you broke the wax seal. He must have sealed it to stop the maid from getting too nosy and reading it, and you wouldn’t have blamed her for her curiosity either. 

Please know I will make myself scarce while your family is here if that is your wish. I am on leave from my military duties, but at your word I will return. Words cannot express the anguish I have felt all these years after what I did to you. Your forgiveness is all I can beg for and I will still accept that you may never grace me with it. 

There is a rope by your bed, pull it whenever you need something and a maid will come in case you never want to leave your room while you’re staying here. Though it would be a shame to be locked away for two weeks on my account.

I assure you, I’m not the same man you knew. 

-Caston

     Holding the letter with a trembling hand you lowered it into your lap. A weight seemed to lift from your chest. Yet the damage was still there, somewhere in the pit of your stomach when the memories would come unannounced, but time dulled it especially with the closure of seeing him again as a different man. 

     You were tempted to respond, but thought better of it, not wanting to open that door just yet. Sure he seemed different in every way. Waiting until more time had passed between you seemed best.

******

The next day you wished to remain in your room, much to the detriment of your father that insisted you at least sit in on the opening discussions. He ushered you out of your seat where you were comfortably reading. Begrudgingly following him out into the hallway. Listening to him begin lecturing you about the nature of business and how you needed to build a relationship with your clients in order to get what you wanted out of each other. It sounded shallow coming from him, but you ignored that feeling, trying to wake yourself up. 

     Feeling underdressed was an understatement when you entered the library where Caston sat with his parents and your mother at a large wooden table.

     Caston and his father stood when you entered, stiff and regal in their black military uniforms. Your mother and mistress Galgaridon were both in simple classy dresses and you got a disapproving look from your mother when she looked you up and down. 

     Ignoring the simplicity of your outfit, corduroy pants and a tucked in button up shirt, you let your father push your chair in beside Caston. Everyone was seated and settled in. Discussions began and you tried to listen intently, committing the way your parents spoke to memory in case this was really your future. 

     The Galgaridons had a vested interest in assisting their country’s military efforts and were in the middle of renovating a dilapidated factory where they wanted to forge an arsenal and armor. It was not a topic you heavily favored or would want to support as a business venture, but with Caston sitting beside you, you kept your opinions to yourself. You respected his view on how the army changed him and it took effort to keep the peace. 

     The discussions met a good place to break and your parents were offered to take a look at the factory to see what they would have to work with once the builders were finished with renovations. 

     “Caston, please show her around the manor and be a good host while we’re gone,” Master Galgaridon chuckled and left with your parents. 

     “But-“ Caston began to protest, but one sharp look from his mother silenced him and he held his hands behind his back. Following orders like a good soldier even if it was just a request from his parents. 

     You both watched everyone leave, even the butler that had been standing by in the corner of the room. It was deadly silent in the library where bookshelves towered over you. You couldn’t help but stare at the spines of the books, trying to read the titles with the temptation to pick them up and flip through their pages. 

     “You’re allowed,” he tilted his head towards you, noticing your hungry eyes.

     “To what?”

     “Read. The library is yours to roam,” he gave you space and stepped away to push in the chairs everyone left untucked. “But in case my mother asks you about our home, please bear with me on this tour. I’ll make it quick.” 

     Shrugging your shoulders in acceptance, you clasped your hands together and followed him out of the library. You let him tell you about the halls and rooms you passed through, detailing how old his home was and how his family occupied it for generations. Statues and art caught your attention as always. Lingering around the art, he let you take your time and enjoy the moments alone with your thoughts

     “Your family seems to love preserving themselves,” you commented when you stopped by a copper bust of Caston.

     “My mother insists on it,” he grimaced at the copy staring back at him with furrowed brows. He rubbed at his own real brow in the realization that he often scowled so it was no wonder that’s how the artists depicted him.

     “So does my father,” you remembered sitting for a new painter every few years in uncomfortable dresses, often holding objects that meant nothing to you, but resembled status for the family. 

     “How are you feeling?” he whispered as a maid crossed your path in a large military memorial room adorned with weapons, suits of armor, and relics from conquests. 

     “About the room?” you feigned ignorance to the true nature of his question.

     “About being around me… I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” he stopped his hand from reaching out to your sleeve when he thought of holding you back from walking off further into the room ahead of him.

     “Caston I can’t do this if you’re going to bring it up every chance you get,” you turned hotly on your heels. Approaching him with a confidence you didn’t know you had until that moment and pointed a stern finger in his face. “You don’t scare me anymore and what happened can't be undone so give it a rest already. I got your letters, I got your message at dinner, I got all of your friendly gestures sent by the maids last night from bringing me books to checking on me way too much! If you hoped for more I’d better retire to my room and be alone until the trip is over.” Your chest huffed when you were finished with bombarding him, lowering your finger and feeling rather satisfied with yourself. 

     Caston stood there looking down at you with bewilderment and held back an old familiar smirk.

     “I want for nothing anymore, I didn’t mean to upset you,” he apologized in a low voice, paying attention to who might have been nearby listening. “It’s nice to see you come out of your shell.”

     Waving him onwards wordlessly, he continued guiding you through the manor and made quick work of it. When the tour was finished you were led back to the library where he left you to your own devices after recommending a few sections to peruse. 

     You watched him leave, carefully pulling a large volume about the history of Noxus from a shelf he had not recommended for light reading. It made sense for you to broaden your horizons about the world you lived in instead of living off of the opinions of others and rumors that were thrown around. All your life you knew Noxus was an uncivilized dangerous place to be, yet here you were with your family on a business trip. Obviously not all places in Noxus were as safely locked away as House Galgaridon. It made sense that only the strong could survive in comfort and why Caston ended up the way he did, not that it excused his behavior. 

     The history book was filled with wars and a constant struggle for power, ruthless bloodshed in the name of Noxus. 

     You made it about halfway through the book before nightfall came and a maid arrived to light the fireplace. Since you didn’t send for her you assumed the staff were keeping tabs on you and knew you hadn’t moved from where he left you earlier that day. Trying to finish the book in the library was growing more difficult with the darker it became. Not from the darkness and being unable to see the words on the paper, because the fire was bright enough. Rather it was because you felt exposed in the cavernous library where every shift of your clothing against the material of the seat would echo. It was also getting colder despite the fire. 

     Holding the book to your chest you made your way back to your room and were quickly lost in the maze of halls. It must have been the private corridors the maids and other staff used to go about the manor unnoticed. You continued down a long narrow hall, feeling the cracks in the stone with your fingertips and listening to the scrape of your shoes against the wood. Soon there was no light at all and you thought of turning back when another pair of footsteps approached you in the darkness. A deafness came over your ears as the sound of the footsteps competed with your racing heart and you quickly walked back in the opposite direction.

     A strong hand gripped your arm and you yelped. 

     “It’s me. Sorry for the scare,” Caston’s deep voice surprisingly put you at ease, his grip was gentle and careful to not hurt you. “I was coming to get you, everyone is back and I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

     “I’m sorry I-“ you held your hand in front of your face and couldn’t make out anything, “I took a wrong turn somewhere. Once the sun finished setting, these halls became pitch black. How does anyone get around in these long stretches of nothing at night?”

     His quiet deep chuckle echoed against the stone and down the hall. You felt his fingers carefully cup your spare hand and place it in the crook of his elbow. “You get used to it, but that’s why we keep them empty,” he began to walk, slower than he usually would in the shadow. 

     With your eyes unnaturally wide you continued to stare into the black, waiting to see even the tiniest glimmer of light as your feet made the only noise. When Caston came to a stop you worried for a moment before he pushed a wooden door open. It had been a foot away from your face, but you didn’t even notice until the light from the main hall flooded the passageway. Squinting your eyes against the light, even though it came from dim candles, you noticed you were back by the door of your room. 

     “We didn’t take any turns did we?” you asked, taking your hand back from his arm and stepping towards your door. 

     “No, but you did at some point before I found you,” he gave a subtle bow, “I’ll have someone collect you in an hour for dinner if you’d like to join us.”

     You nodded, earning a soft smile from him in return. Shutting the door to your room once he left, you noticed the room was warm. Spending the hour reading more of the history book instead of changing into something more appropriate, you enjoyed the blazing fire as the heat kissed away the chill from your bare feet. The soft chair and reading table had  been pushed up to the fireplace in your absence.

     Having so many staff members in one home seemed excessive and you could never imagine growing comfortable letting people dote on your every need. A simpler life was what you craved, even your family home felt excessive at times once you experienced dorm living in the academy district of Piltover. 

     Thinking of Piltover made you wistful. Feeling Viktor’s absence and realizing how much you missed him after only a week of being gone since most of the trip had been the train ride up to Noxus. Viktor was most likely enjoying his vacation just fine, visiting your usual haunts alone ranging from the library, the café, or even the art store he occasionally stopped by with you. Imagining him relaxing put a smile on your face. You decided to write him a letter, telling him about the trip so far and letting him know you were safe despite the unexpected situation you landed in. 

     It was lengthy and word heavy, but you missed him so much you wrote the same way you would talk to him if he was sitting there in the room with you. You imagined how the trip would have gone if he accepted your invitation. The tension between him and Caston was something you hated to think of and felt relieved he wanted to stay behind and just work. 

     When you finished, you borrowed Caston’s stationary supplies from the writing desk to seal it with the only crest that was there. Lighting the candle with a match and holding the red wax over the flame, watching it swirl and melt in the golden ladle. Viktor was none the wiser on what the crest meant until he read the letter so there were no worries about it being tossed or not making it to him at all. 

     Once his name and the school address was penned on the folded wad of paper, you stuffed it into your pocket. Unsure of who to ask to mail it, you figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask Caston at dinner which was not far off. 

     The knock of a maid at the door broke your train of thought, thoughts of the trip back being too far away and getting to see Viktor again. 

     You followed her to the dining room, feeling calmer than the previous night and looking forward to the meal. This time you took your seat next to Caston willingly, letting him push your chair in again. 

     “Who would I talk to about sending mail?” you whispered, allowing him to lean into your bubble to hear you. 

     “Any of the staff, or I could give it to them if you’re not comfortable asking,” he held his hand out and you slipped the letter against his palm. His eyes read the name. If it stirred anything negative in him, nothing gave his feelings away. “I know it’s not my place to pry, but how is he?” he asked, it sounded genuine, as he carefully tucked the letter into his dress jacket. 

     “Um… he’s got some pain here and there,” you admitted, lifting your utensil to take a bite, “but he manages.”

     “I’m sorry to hear that,” he straightened his back, “I’ll make sure this gets out tonight,” he assured you, tilting his head towards you as you both continued with your meals after you thanked him. 

******

Caston was true to his word when your confirmation arrived in the response letter that was slipped under your door the following week. It was folded neatly and lacked a wax seal, but looked relatively undisturbed considering the length it must have traveled to get there. You were giddy unfolding it, overly excited to read whatever Viktor wrote even if it was a few meager lines. 

     Instead it was much like your letter to him, two pages stacked on top of each other made up the folded wad of paper and you read them front to back. Picturing everything he detailed about his work in the lab and getting accepted as a teaching assistant for the following semester. On top of that he listed books he treated himself to, and some surprises for you, from the second hand shop outside of the academy district. Meeting people in the aisles that talked enthusiastically about the books and their contents or complaining about the lack of organization on the shelves. The little successes of getting strangers outside of the academy to laugh at his dry humor were a joy to read about.

     His descriptions of the city and how refreshing it was now that the weather was turning and the chill was setting in made you miss home. The last of the flowers from summer were beginning to wilt so the school greenhouse brought their plants in before the frost set. Apparently he went days at a time without visiting the lab which you were glad to hear just knowing he was taking time to himself. Even learning that he was trying his hand at art that didn’t involve mechanical designs made your aching heart flutter. 

     You imagined him sitting outside with the first snow in the city, drawing on a sketch pad and content.

     He expressed many concerns about your situation, wishing you could return to the academy at once for your own safety, but trusted your intuition to keep yourself safe.

     There was a line about how he wasn’t sure about the flora that was in Noxus, but he thought you would appreciate a little piece of home. A tiny pressed white flower from the academy green room was tucked neatly between the pages. You touched it gingerly with your fingertips, not wanting to damage the delicate petals. Unexpected tears pooled in your eyes once you finished reading his letter, missing him so much seemed irrational and made you feel something awful inside. 

     Getting out of bed that day was impossible despite the maid’s best efforts. You kept your bed curtain closed and wrestled with the pull to sleep and her persistent visitations to try and rouse you.

     You figured you deserved a day of complete rest and isolation and you explained it to your mother when she eventually gave in and visited you when a staff member asked for her assistance. 

     “I’ve been participating in business meetings for days mother,” you insisted, “please let me have this one day to do nothing. I don’t want to see anyone else today,” you begged her from your warm cocoon of plush blankets. 

     She lovingly petted your unkempt hair, her reassuring smile let you know you had gotten your way with her for once. She kissed your forehead and let you rest which you were unbelievably grateful for. 

     Pulling out Viktor’s letter, you read it a few more times between naps and walking around the room in your pajamas. Feeling free and not needing to impress or entertain anyone. 

******

On the last day in Noxus, you let Caston show you the grounds outside the back of the manor. It was a lush garden, packed with all kinds of plants as they competed for space and attention. There were flowers of many deep and dark colors that you lingered by, listening to the hum of the city beyond the protective barrier that surrounded you. Despite the noise, there was a peace in the garden that even the safety of your room hadn’t given you. 

     Your conversation with him was light and the responses between you were brief. After spending so many days together the tension was eased enough to be friendly acquaintances once more. Similar to how it felt when you were just classmates, still strangers to the kind of people you were outside of a formal setting back then. 

     Prying questions from your mother over the course of your stay made you open up to her at least a little, only letting her know you and Caston dated, but ended on poor terms. She didn’t need to know anymore.

     Even his parents hadn’t a clue about your history with their son, instead they made jokes about how you two should date. Awkward laughs were all either of you were able to muster before losing yourselves in a thousand yard stare. 

     “I don’t regret our time together,” you told him from where you were kneeling among the flowers when he was facing away from you. 

     Standing rigidly against the bright sun with his eyes closed, basking in its warmth. His eyelids blinked a few times in surprise at your words. Since you scolded him the previous week he had respected your wishes and avoided speaking of the dirty laundry that was the end of your relationship. 

     “We don’t have to talk about it, y/n,” he was frozen in place, his broad back still facing you. 

     “Now I want to,” you sat back into the grass, “I don’t want you to keep punishing yourself for what happened.”

     You saw his shoulders tremble when his head dropped to his chest. 

     “Your face… you have to see it in the mirror everyday… the scars,” his voice caught in his throat, “This is your pain, not mine. Please don’t worry about me, I don’t deserve your pity.” 

     “I don’t pity you.”

     “Good.”

     “Would you have killed me… if I didn’t escape?” you asked without thinking. It was cruel, but your curiosity got the better of you with your guard lowered.

     He finally turned, his face was contorted with anguish.

     “I know you probably won’t believe me, but I don’t remember everything that happened,�� he admitted. “I just remember the enforcers, the arrest… perhaps I would have.”

     With a thud, he knelt beside you and pulled up his sleeves. Long scars trailed up his forearms where you remembered scratching him that night. 

     “I barely remember you doing this,” his voice cracked.

     In the privacy of the garden you both sat in silence, holding back tears and sniffling against the breeze when the tension began to dissipate once more. You apologized for bringing it up after you scolded him for doing the same, but you appreciated the honesty regardless. In an attempt to mitigate the pain, you both talked about the good times before his jealousy took over. He reminisced about your dates and the first time you kissed.

     “You should go back to school,” you suggested. “I know the academy isn’t the only place you could go.”

     “I serve my nation, just as my parents did,” he leaned on his hands, letting his head hang back.

     “You’re trying to get yourself killed and you know it,” you gave him a pointed look which he ignored. “Please go to school.”

     “I can’t just leave the army,” he explained, “I’d be a deserter. A traitor. I have to finish the time I’ve committed to serve.” 

     Nodding your head reluctantly in agreement you waited for time to pass before you had to leave. Most likely not seeing him again for a long time once you boarded the train back to Piltover.

******

Thanks for making it to the end! :)

[ladyyatexel]

You guys I saw the current tour of Les Miserables and it was FUCKING INCREDIBLE

I have seen Les Mis like ten times since I was ten years old and the things they did to revitalize it were STUNNING and the cast just utterly spectacular. I want to hear the man who preformed as Valjean sing the original end note from Glöckner's Wie aus Stein/Made of Stone very much.

Songs I never cared for and background stuff they enhanced, just, WOW, I enjoyed it all so much. There was personality and care put into every one of the barricade crew and you could kind of follow their little stories in the background of the larger main beats. The drunken existential dread delivered in a panicked flamboyant way I hadn't heard before, with Gavroche following him and him getting clearly attached with hugs and big brother protective buddies stuff and then after Gavroche is shot the guy is just there, holding him. Stuff starts happening around him and is like you see everything in strobe light slo mo as the deaths for this man hit like fireworks while he clings to a dead boy. Do you see him rush in a the last because he finally thinks it is worth it to fight or is basically suicide? I don't know, but watching it come together is magnificent. They clipped a few songs short or entirely (no more Little People beyond The first line used to tell off Javert) and they changed the speed of a few of them just slightly, and there were some lyrical modifications in places, but nothing made me mad it's always just like oh so they're doing this that's interesting!

Glad to see some race blind casting with our Black Fantine who wasn't wearing a blonde untextured wig. Korean Eponine. I think with what things are and what many people would benefit from seeing is a character we believe was unjustly treated and put in prison and then put on a parole which basically makes him a pariah which then makes him steal and lash out, who is then finally treated as a human and it lets him finally be what he deserved to be as a man who tried to help a starving child. I think a proper touring company would do good things for how people are seeing real people lately with a black man as unshakeable "doing right" Valjean. Ours was not, but I couldn't stop thinking that I would love to see a black performer get the chance to do the role and also see what his presence there could show and mean for people. Nuance would need to be investigated by people qualified to speak on such things further, but my strong feeling while watching was that a prominent production should explore this.

Back to the show I saw, they did some spectacular stuff with spotlighting. The barricade coming into stage just.. looms up over Eponine and all the shapes from these broken pieces of furniture are stark black and white because of the lighting and that's all that's there except for her bright red hat and she's there just standing in the middle staring at the audience and it is so fucking cool. Beautiful composition of individual big shots. A digital background that knows exactly when it is needed and doesn't over power or over stay its welcome.

Anyway hi I usually talk about dolls and Yu-Gi-Oh and distant levels of Star Trek but please consider going and seeing a really spectacular tour of Les Mis if it is hitting up your neck of the woods, especially if it's been a while since you saw it. I feel like I experienced it brand new even though I've known all the words for 25 years or so.

[lys1]

This is an Asra x fem!reader. NSFW for sure, porn WITH plot <3 this is my first post on tumblr so feedback appreciated.

——————

You walk through the dusty streets of the Market towards the palace. Hundreds of stalls loom up on either side, alive and vibrant with colors, smells, and tastes. It feels good to be back in the heart of Vesuvia.

You turn to look at Asra beside you, keeping your exhausted pace. It had been 8 days since Nadia had asked Asra and yourself to go check out some mysterious magic happenings on the outskirts of the city. You scoff to yourself, mysterious indeed, it took half the time to even track down the little pixie creatures causing ruckus and mayhem. Eventually, after some exhaustive spell casting and careful teamwork the two of you had managed to return the troublesome pixies to the proper magic realm they escaped from.

You yawn tiredly, loosening the emerald colored traveling scarf from around your neck. It was afternoon now, and the sun was beating down.

"Almost there now," Asra spoke up, breaking the silence. He looked fondly over at you, a smile lighting up his sun kissed face. Even so, you could see that the time away from home had taken its toll on him too. You were both more than ready to hit the hay.

You nod slightly, keeping back another yawn. "I hope Nadia has food for us, I'm starved." The villagers in the towns you had visited were kind and generous, but nothing could beat the delectable food that the palace prepared.

Asra chuckled, "I'm sure that right after we fill her in on the successful pixie management she'll immediately be tending to us like a mother hen. You know how she is, she loves to provide." He pushed back his curls from his face to wipe his brow of sweat, smiling as he too imagined the delicious array of food that was about to be offered. He picked up his pace at the thought, making you jog a bit to keep up.

The Palace gates soon loomed over the two of you, sparkling and gold in the summer sun. The guards at the gate looked up as you approached.

"Ah, the magicians! I trust everything went alright?" One asked, clearly recognizing the famous duo. He smiled warmly, maybe a little starstruck.

Asra returned his smile, "it was simply magical."

You rolled your eyes at the terribly overused pun as the guard gave a hearty laugh. The two of you were waved in and informed that the countess was waiting for you in the dining room.

"Oh even better," you groaned in appreciation. "We get to eat while we talk. I love Nadia." Your stomach growls in agreement. Asra flashes you a beautiful smile as his feet climb the stairs alongside yours.

"And clearly," he adds, "she loves us back!" He was particularly looking forward to some blue tongued skink, Nadia knew it was his favorite.

It only took a couple minutes to reach the dining hall. One of the servers was bustling out the moment You and Asra rounded the corner to the door.

"Oh, hello!" They said, giving a small polite now. "The countess is expecting you! Please, come right in." They moved aside, holding the large ornate door open with one of their hands.

You wink and whisper your thanks as the two of you make your way in. Immediately your mouth fills with saliva at the smell that filled the room. The table was large and being filled with platters of many foods of different origins. The gold dinnerware twinkled delightedly up at you and the red wine glimmered deep and inviting.

"Welcome, friends." Nadia opens her arms, rising from her chair. She had just been sipping on some pre-dinner tea while waiting for her guests. She was smiling, and looking absolutely magnificent in her shining purple and gold robes.

"Hello Nadi," Asra said, joining you and her in a quick hug before seating himself at the table. You follow, sitting beside him as Nadia resumes her seat. The servants bring the last platter of steaming dumplings out at that moment.

You sigh contentedly. "This looks amazing Nadia, I feel spoiled."

Nadia smiles, the faintest blush on her high cheeks. "Anything for my favorite magicians, willing to travel far and wide in aid of Vesuvians in need." She adores, raising her wine glass. "To my dear friends, what I would do without you, I wouldn't know."

You and Asra raise your glasses with her, each of your own cheeks now a healthy pink. Nadia declares the meal to begin and you all dig in.

"Oh my, what troublemakers!" Nadia declares, after hearing the story about the pixies. The food was being relished amongst every plate and the wine was flowing steadily. "I can't believe such tricky little creatures exists." She continues, eyes sparkling as she pours another cup of wine.

"Yes, well, the magic world is something else entirely." Asra laughs, relaxed and feeling full. He was lounging comfortably, one hand gripping your thigh, another holding his gold goblet. His skin was warm and aglow.

You had your own hand comfortably nestled in his snowy white locks, massaging slow circles into his scalp. It had been a long 8 days and you were both happy to finally be able to relax into each other while having pleasant conversation.

"You should have seen the way they caused mischief," you add. “Oh I felt terrible for that village. So many upside down cows to turn over." Asra smiles as you tell the story, closing his eyes and leaning into your gentle touch. It was, to put it simply, the best feeling he could imagine. Well, almost.

Nadia chuckles again. "Well, I'm just glad that they are gone and we can laugh about this." She says, sighing in slight relief. "Vesuvia is fortunate to have two talented magicians like yourself. I am fortunate to have you as my friends. Your well deserved payment is in your guest room."

Asra blinks, "oh, you're offering us a place to stay tonight?" He asked, the gratefulness clear in his tone. You couldn't help but agree, walking back to the shop did not really sound like something either of you wanted to do. Especially, you muse, lifting your glass to your lips, after how many wine jugs the three of you had emptied.

"Why of course," Nadia looks surprised that we even had to ask. "And," she continued, "use of my personal bath this evening. You two more than deserve some relaxation and.. fun." She ends her sentence after a slight pause, giving you both a side glance full of humor.

You feel your cheeks go slightly hotter at the obvious suggestion. However, embarrassment aside, nothing else sounded better right now. You look down at your lover who was now lounging against your lap and smile. Oh how far too long it had been, the pixies had been relentless and had not offered much down time.

Asra chuckles, clearly more comfortable with the suggestion. He always had been a bit more confident when it came to discussing your private life. You found it quite endearing.

"Oh Nadi," he smiles. "You just made this evening even better somehow. I can't wait to take my love there and-"

Nadia waves her hand, laughing at your horrified face. "Please, please, I certainly don't need to know details." She grins, "just go, and take the wine."

Asra didn't need more encouragement and sat up promptly. He looks down at you, a shadow of hunger in his lilac eyes, offering you his hand. You take it, biting your lip as his gaze continues to rake over your body in the sort of way that makes you squirm.

"Thank you, Nadia." You say breathlessly, and a little sheepishly.

Nadia smiles, "anytime." She says, laughter still ringing in her voice. "Now go, before Asra here makes love to you on this table."

Your eyes open wide, shocked to hear her say such dirty words before ducking your head down in embarrassment.

Asra rests his hand on your shoulder and leans down to whisper in your ear, "you heard the lady." His voice is sultry and thick with want. "The table is looking awfully inviting right now."

Quickly, you turn and head out the door, Asra following close behind. The bath is not far down the hall and the two of you make great time. Asra's hand is at your waist, pressing in such a way that you know means desire. You hadn't realized how badly he had been missing you.

You make it to the door and turn to look back at your lover. You gulp at the hot scene behind you. Asra's eyes are half-lidded, purple irises cloudy with lust. His shirt is already half unbuttoned, revealing his delicious golden tan skin, smooth and beautiful. He's looking at you in a way that makes you think he hasn't eaten in a week and you are a five course meal.

He closes in, pushing you against the door and reaching for the handle. "You're terribly slow," he says, voice already rough, desire prominent. He pushes the handle and the latch clicks, the door swings in behind you.

The two of you tumble into the sweet smelling room. Obviously Nadia informed a servant ahead of time of the use of this room because the bath was already filled and steaming. On top of the water pink rose petals float, filling the area with a soft floral scent.

Asra closes the door with a soft click and looks over his shoulder at you. "Oh my dear," he murmurs, taking the couple strides to wrap you up in his strong arms. "I've missed hearing you cry my name, kissing those lips, and feeling your skin." His fingers travel up your waist and over your stomach. They linger, just a moment at the swell under your breast before finally cupping your face in his hands.

You tremble under his touch, body suddenly aching with need. You bring your own hands up to his chest and splay your fingers out so you can feel his heart beating. It's fast and erratic, excited to be close to you.

"Sweetheart," Asra whispers, voice heady. It's intoxicating to hear him talk to you in such a way. You look up at him and catch him licking his lips. You bring your own up to meet his, tongue out to capture his. He groans, melting into the kiss, gripping your hair so tightly it's almost painful.

You gasp, mouth opening and he runs his tongue along your lips, tasting the wine you both had shared. "Delicious," he says against your skin, tasting more and more. His hot open mouth kisses travel from your lips to your cheek, jaw, and finally resting on your neck. Asra loves to leave marks, and he takes your skin between his teeth intending to do exactly that.

Your moan comes out hoarse and you feel heat starting to pool between your legs. They feel shaky and weak, unable to withstand such torment.

Asra steadies you and pulls back briefly, cheeks flushed hot, want written all over his face. "We," he states, "are wearing far too many clothes for a bath."

You laugh and take his shirt in your hands. "I agree," you say, pulling at the remaining buttons. They come free easily and soon a glorious, shirtless Asra is standing before you. You drink in the sight unashamedly, totally enthralled with your lover. Gradually, though slowed by each other's groping hands, you both end up undressed.

Asra grabs your thighs and hoists you up onto his hips. You wrap your arms around his neck and press your breasts into his soft skin. He groans appreciatively, nuzzling his face into your chest breathing deeply, and walks the two of you over to the edge of the bath.

The water is still very warm as it licks your skin. You jump in surprise and moan slightly as it overtakes your aching folds and up over your ass. "Ahh-" you sigh, slumping into the crook of Asra's neck. "This is so good."

Asra hums his agreement before taking your chin between his fingers and directing you too look at him. His eyes are swimming with love, need, and an absolute desire to ravish you. You swallow hard, unable to look away.

"I want you." He says simply, barely above a whisper. He maneuvers your body so your back is against his chest. You lean your head back into him and relax in the fragrant water. Asra snakes his left arm around your waist and trails his fingers from your belly button downwards.

You bite back a squeal as his trained fingers circle the small nub at the top of your slit. He adds pressure, rubbing you in a manner that makes you crazy. Your hips wiggle back and you feel him, hard and straining, pressing into your ass. His breath hitches only for a second before he leans down to pepper soft kisses on your neck and shoulders.

His other hand makes it’s way up to your right breast and he expertly rolls your perked nipples between two fingers. Your whole body shudders in response to his actions.

“Ah, fuck Asra,” you choke out, moving your hips to meet his fingers as he slides them down your slick towards your now dripping hole. He wastes no time plunging two in, enjoying the feeling of your walls tightening around him.

Asra lifts his lips from your skin and brings his mouth to your ear. “You’re so ready for me, aren’t you. Pretty and wet for my fingers, aching to be filled.” He curls them as he says that, relishing in the soft gasps that fall from your trembling lips.

You groan as he licks the shell of your ear, hot breath teasing on the sensitive skin. “You,” your voice falters a second as Asra’s fingers continue to explore your insides in a way that makes you grip his strong thighs on either side of you. “You are ready for me too.” You finally gasp out, finding the strength to grind back against Asra’s swollen cock. You knew if you could see it, it would be an angry red and leaking precum, desperate to be buried to the hilt inside of you.

Asra’s breath comes out in a short gasp that makes you smirk in satisfaction. At least you still have a little control left. That thought flies out your brain a second later when Asra pinches your nipple hard then twists, making you cry out in painful pleasure.

“Watch yourself, my love.” He coos playfully, no remorse in his words. You grit your teeth, taking in the torture that both of his skilled hands are laying upon you. You know what he wants, and it is oh so tempting to give in. You’re almost at war with yourself as your back arches on its own accord in rapt pleasure.

“Oh please, please.” You finally break, body shaking. You reach your arms back and thread your fingers through Asra’s fluffy locks before gripping hard. “Asra please fuck me already.” You plead, unable to care anymore that you were begging.

You feel Asra’s fingers slow to a stop inside you and then remove themselves. You almost groan in disappointment but you know better.

Asra flips your body around so you’re straddling his hips. You gasp when suddenly you’re faced to face with your beautiful lover. He looks positively stunning, the soft moonlight coming in from the high windows bathing him in a pearlescent light. His skin is glowing with a cool sheen, and his breath is leaving parted lips shallowly. Not to mention, his hard cock straining against your stomach, just begging for attention.

You bring your hand down and rest your index finger lightly on the slit. Asra shudders at the touch, but certainly not complaining. He’s slick, just as you expected, and you lightly circle his tip.

“You go on and on about how ready I am.” You tease, “but look at you, practically cumming into my hand already.” You lift your fingers and bring them to your mouth, tasting his salty sweetness. Asra’s diet is rich with fruit and vitamins, and oh how you loved how he tasted as a result.

Watching you lick your fingers coyly has Asra’s eyes drooping with lust. “My dear, oh my love,” he whispers. “How I am going to fuck you until I fill you with that cum you love so much. Because it’s true, you love it don’t you.” He says, voice sugar sweet, expecting an answer.

You blush, despite your best efforts. You look at him, but he only blinks in return, waiting.

“Yes,” you whisper, voice thicker with need than you realized. You give up trying to be bashful. “Yes, yes. I love your cum, how it tastes, how it feels when you fill me up. I want it so bad.” You beg, looping your arms around his neck so your lips are just inches apart. “You have my heart, soul, and body.” The words tumble out naturally, “and gods, do I need you now.”

Asra bites your bottom lip harshly before fully overtaking your mouth with his. He’s moaning, almost desperately, into you. “I love you, my dearest one.” He pants, gripping your ass with his hands. You feel your hips being lifted up and your body quakes knowing what’s coming.

You feel the tip of Asra on the heat of your slit and you sigh deeply, “I love you too, Asra.” You say, bending your neck so your head rests on his muscular shoulder. Your lips find a sweet spot on his neck, an anchor, as he lowers you down onto him. It’s tantalizingly slow, allowing you to feel every inch as you sink lower in the water until he’s fully sheathed in you.

“Oh gods,” Asra groans, both from feeling you pulse around him and from your playful lips on his neck. “You are a gift to me.” He says, breathless from the feelings.

You smile, in delight from your lovers sweet words. Slowly and carefully you lift your hips up, at the same time dragging your tongue up his smooth neck to his ear. You suck and nibble on the lobe as you find your rhythm, bouncing steadily on the thick shaft. He feels absolutely amazing in you, filling you perfectly.

Asra grips your butt underwater with his strong hands and leans his head to the side, giving you better access. He guides your hips to a steady pace, humming appreciatively when you comply. “It has been far too long since I’ve felt your sweet pussy squeezing me like this.” He says, without skipping a beat.

You don’t have time to blush before he picks up the pace, leaving you moaning loudly into his ear as he hits the spot that makes you crazy. “Ah fuck, I agree, I do agree.” You manage, finally finding the words.

The water sloshes around your two bodies, stirring the rosy scent into the air. It’s smells amazing and makes you dizzy with pleasure as every sense seems to be met. Asra huffs gently next to your ear, holding you tightly against his body.

You savor the feelings of your chests sliding against each other, the feeling sleek from the warm water and sweat mixing. Your hips meet his, snapping against each other with quick splashes, making you see stars as he hits every time the spot that has you go wild.

The muscles in your lower stomach tighten and you know it’s only a matter of time before you’re screaming Asra’s name for the whole palace to hear. “Baby,” you say breathlessly, kissing any skin you can reach. His cheek, the corner of his eye, his plump lips. “I’m going to cum.” You whisper into his mouth. He swallows your delicious words and licks your lips in response.

“I love when you do that,” he says, a slight chuckle in his words. He wraps his arms tightly around your middles before bringing his hands up to your shoulder blades and raking his nails down your spine. You shudder at the erotic feeling and arch your back against his hands. He sighs happily when you give him access to this gorgeous view, stretched out before him, stomach and tits shining gloriously in front of him. He puts his mouth on your bellybutton and licks up to the cavity between your breasts.

“Oh mmm,” he hums, pleased with the sweet taste of your skin. “You are a delicacy amongst gods.”

You flush looking down at his lustful face, sucking on your skin, leaving marks where only he will see. He latches on to one of your nipples, moaning in immense pleasure at the feel of it in his mouth. When he nips at the sensitive skin you jolt, a small disruption in the steady bounce of your bodies.

“Damn,” you curse, words choking in your throat. Your nails dig into Asra’s shoulders as he re-establishes the torturing rhythm that has you shaking desperately against him.

“Let go for me,” he suggests in a sultry whisper that has you reeling with a feverish desire. The pressure in your core is building at an alarming rate as Asra thrusts into you, filling you every time to the point where you can barely hang on.

“I-“ you falter, eyes rolling as you feel that familiar tingle across all your limbs. Oh gods, you can’t stop it now. “Asra, oh fuck, ASRA-!” You scream head thrown back. Your walls clench, and the knot comes undone. It’s amazing, you almost want to laugh in pleasure at the feeling of coming around Asra’s cock. It’s so good you almost forget to breath.

Asra curses under his own breath as he fucks you through your high, barely holding on himself. You bring your head back down and kiss him deeply, tongue joining his. It’s a short lived battle to hang on and in a flurry of short gasps you feel him cumming inside you, unable to stop himself from the uncontrollable waves of pleasure that come from your hot walls clenching around him.

You both continue to kiss each other lovingly, slowing down gradually until you’re sitting on his lap. Eventually, you pull away a couple of inches, looking into your beloved’s eyes.

“Hello,” you say, smiling at your favorite magician. Asra’s eyes crinkle as he smiles, looking at you through hazy eyes. He kisses you again, gently, pleasantly.

“Hello,” he returns, after a minute. He runs his hands up your back, massaging as he goes. “You,” he adds lovingly, “are so beautiful.”

You smile adoringly. “Thank you, Asra.” You remove yourself from his lap and wade through the water towards the collection of bottles on the wooden shelf nearby. You grab a few that you felt suited the two of you best and turned to your lover. Asra had lifted his arms to rest on the sides of the bath and was looking at you with admiration.

“May I wash your hair?” You ask setting down the bottles, but keeping a lilac scented shampoo for Asra. He smiled at you, his face soft and kind.

“That would be amazing, my love.” He said, leaning his head back into the water to dampen it. You squeezed some of the lovely smelling shampoo into your hand and waited. Asra emerged a moment later and kissed you adoringly on the nose.

“Thank you,” he breathed. “For always taking care of me.”

You kissed him back, a peck, before turning him so his back was facing you. You rub your hands into a lather before working them into Asra’s soft hair.

“I always will, forever.” You say softly, happier than ever.

[gesternchen]

7 Details You May Have Missed in Avatar (2009)

Avatar is undeniably one of the most beautiful, colorful, and immersive movies in cinematography, made with a lot of work put into details and backgrounds. In this short post I’d like to touch upon a couple of details that the audience and I myself may have missed when watching the movie for the first time or even rewatching it later on. If you noticed any of them before or could come up with some other, then let me know, it’d be entertaining to read what you guys think. Just a tiny disclamer: a couple of the details were found within the scenes from the extended cut, so make sure you’re familiar with it.

Number 1: Logo on Jake’s Shirt

The bar scene was initially edited out from the original cut, but was later added in the director’s one. Here we can spot Jake wearing a shirt with a logo, which anyone would barely notice. What this logo is about, is the Harley-Davidson Motor Company primarily renowned for manufacturing internationally worshiped motorbikes. Besides it supplied the U. S. Army during World War II. Marines used HD motorbikes with great pleasure back then. The company itself survived a long story of ups and downs, so it’s nice to see it still exists in 2148. The fact that Jake wears this shirt suggests that he may keep it as a piece of merch. It‘s also possible that he was keen on bikes when he was younger (God knows, maybe he still is), namely iconic Harley-Davidson‘s ones. Or he may have even ridden one.

Number 2: Sign of Jake’s Further Employment Behind the Agents’ Backs

Okay, I know it’s just a good timing, but believe me or not, it fits the moment really perfectly. The words 'work contract' emerging behind the agents’ backs almost forecast Jake being offered to sign a contract allowing him to join the Avatar Program.

Number 3: Omaticaya Are Actually Weaving

Over the years Omaticaya have been reproached with not having weaved enough. Partly, I agree, they don’t weave enough in the movie, since it’s a clan of WEAVERS producing one of a kind textiles (even 11 years after it feels like a joke that Grace Augustine portrayed by Sigourney Weaver formed the strongest bonds with the Omaticaya). Still, some footage of the clan members engaged in this activity was provided in the scene when Grace is back to the tribe after a while to meet her students. The scene also features the prominent giant loom of the clan!

Number 4: A Hexapede’s Skull?

Ever noticed a skull over Grace’s and Jake’s heads? Me too, but the question is, what animal does it belong to? The only closest one I can think of is hexapede — the skull’s shape is pretty similar. But guess what, hexapede doesn’t seem to have horns! Were the bones taken from another animal and then tied to the skull? Are these giant fangs? Claws? Pandorapedia doesn’t seem to have given us the answer yet.

Number 5: Grace is Picked Up by the Same Kids She Taught in School

One of the most heartwarming moments of the entire movie for me. Of course, it would be hard for you to come to such a conclusion by identifying the kids’ faces if you haven’t watched the extended cut, as the scene of Grace chatting with her students has been edited out from the original movie. What is also significant about this scene is the fact that five of them survived the fall of the Hometree except for only one, and it makes me sad. They must have found Grace right after the tragic event and suggested that she should stick to them and follow them on the way from the burning site.

Number 6: Golf Ball Display Case in Parker’s Office??

It seems like there are more trophies on the wall in Parker’s administration than we got to know before. Obviously, he’s got a bow, a necklace, and a couple of arrows, all taken from a certain clan. What they mean to him and RDA is a bit of a mystery: the items may symbolize the connection of the RDA Science Department to the indigenous people of Pandora or have been taken by force. If we checked other pieces on the shelves behind Parker’s back, we’d spot some interesting stuff there: plenty of awards, a certificate, and a weird ball-like model in a case next to it. What for the certificate, it’s clear that it marks the accomplishments of RDA as the pioneer space development company (I can guess by the letters in bold very much resembing the logo of the corporation). But the use of the model still remains unknown. Is it just a model of Earth? Or it is a model of Pandora moon? What if it’s a silver golf ball trophy in a display case? This could make a very nice assumption. It would tell us a bit more about Parker’s background before he became RDA’s official or about his achievements in golf on Earth in course of running his business. This would explain him being more passionate about the game, rather than serving as another cliche character.

Number 7: Jake Wearing Tsu’Tey’s Attire

Don’t you guys find this detail concerning? I mean, nothing is clearly wrong about that, we know Jake was meant to lead the clan. The thing is, how come he put on Tsu’Tey’s attire so fast? The clan’s former leader seems to have passed out just a couple of days ago, is it okay for Jake to claim himself Olo’eyktan this quickly? Would Neytiri approve such initiative? Too many questions, very few answers. Of course, I assume that Jake may wear this festive attire in honor of Tsu’Tey, who actually himself delegated leadership duties to Jake. Still, all of this happening way more rapidly than I’d prefer it to happen bothers me a bit.

[embrassemoi]

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 33

Pairings: Sirius B, F!Reader, Remus L   Warnings: Swearing, unhealthy defence mechanisms

【 Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Playlist 】

Chapter 33: Betray The Moon as Acolyte

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September 8th, 1976

Remus peered up to the night sky, resplendent with a coruscating kaleidoscope of stars and the full moon. He yawned, acutely aware of his bones shifting, aching and cracking. Resting on a small cot pressed against the wall in the corner of the shrieking shack, Remus felt his temperature rise and skin stretch too thinly across his body.

“I’ll be back once the sun rises, dearie,” Madam Pomfrey called out, the door millimetres from locking shut.

“Wait,” he said and Madam Pomfrey re-opened the door with a warm, motherly smile.

“Yes?”

“Thank you. For always helping, I know it can be… tiresome.”

How long has it been? That Pomfrey had been helping him out, every full moon — had known of his affliction and been there to assist? It was years now, countless hours of her time wasted on him.

Was he that much of a burden? The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth, that made his face pucker and heart lacerate itself in fresh wounds.

“Don’t concern yourself with me, honey.” Then the door clicked shut and he heard her utter a spell; to confine the beast within the four walls.

The tormenting plague increased every minute as the countdown to his transformation loomed. His heart thudded stridently and his breathing was ragged and strained. His teeth grinded against each other and his tongue swept across them, feeling them elongate and reshape in preparation.

Remus grabbed the hem of his jumper, exasperated by the overwhelming heat and because he didn’t want to shred it in the process. As he slipped out, feeling the adored red fabric, tattered with holes and frayed yarn in his hands, the door opened and he could already smell Peter and James. Subconsciously, he shielded his body from them, to avoid them from seeing all of his scars.

Remus became dizzy instantly. James wore a particularly strong perfume that day.

More than anything, over the pain and hint of repugnance, he was nervous. It would be the first full moon since… the prank that the Marauders would be together for his transformations. Or all the Marauders aside from one and nobody wanted to address it.

A sharp pain thundered through his skull and he knew time was slipping from him. Remus couldn’t recall the last time the moments before his transformation were that painful.

“You okay, Moons?” Wormtail asked, dropping down beside him. Prongs followed in suit, taking his sweater and folding it neatly.

“I’m fine — umph —”

“Shit! Prongs, get back and turn. Now!”

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After a week of lessons, there were considerable adjustments to the curriculum. Everyone noticed and it quickly dispersed a sombre milieu on all of Hogwarts.

Classes were smaller, many parents deciding to transfer their children to other magical schools around the world. Y/N even received a few worried letters from Matthew that there was an abundance of new British students attending Ilvermorny.

In his worried letters, Matthew informed her that the MACUSA and French Ministry of Magic had been stepping in, fighting forces against the wizarding war. It was all news to her. Ever since James’ parents cancelled their subscription to the Daily Prophet after their beliefs that they were biased, she hadn’t been able to catch up.

More defence and attack spells were taught and everyone became well aware of why someone of Professor Elway’s reputation and skill was there. The same went for the Duelling re-opening and even Flitwick initiated small tutorial sessions for students of all grades to teach them defensive spells.

Defence Against the Dark Arts became nothing more than a Muggle military camp. Elway drilled the students; attack and defence spell after the other, never stopping for a second. Transfigurations focused more on concealment and vanishing charm and every day McGonagall looked as if she aged a decade by the solemn, haunted look that nowadays was permanently carved into her.

Herbology went over a vast majority of life-saving plants, herbs and how to make their own medicine. And Potions heavily focused on identifying spiked potions with poisons and how to create reversal serums in case of emergencies.

The students of Hogwarts weren’t brainless. They knew they were training them for war.

She tried to ignore it, but if anything Y/N felt foolish. The magical world was meant to be an escape, not a guardhouse.

It didn’t help that the murders from the summer played heavily in her mind along with the rumours of Voldemort recruiting students from Hogwarts, prompting a spike of distrust to spread rampantly. It wasn’t time to fight or lose people but to keep those you trusted and loved close. So Lily keeping her distance had her worried.

Sorted into the same dorm as last year, she reckoned she would have some time with Lily but every day it seemed like she was busy with prefect duties, or had homework, or reading, or a new study group she needed to rush off to. She and Lily hadn’t resumed their usual nightly routines either, hadn’t sat with her in the Great Hall since the welcome back feast and hadn’t said more than a word to her.

It was evident that Lily was avoiding her and only her.

Maybe Y/N had gotten clingy, got too close too hastily because it felt too similar to how her mother treated her. It caused the imminent, spine-chilling feeling of wanting to push everyone away.

Extreme distress was starting to pile up.

Luckily, James stayed a constant consistency in her life and a lot of her pent-up fears dissipated by his presence. He never ignored her, if anything he went out of his way to be nearer. Even Peter and most notably, Remus, had become part of her daily life more than ever.

It was terrifying and everything told her to run. Don’t get too close, don’t get too comfortable. But it was hard not to.

That morning, James crept up to her dorm, knocking softly as she popped out, ready for the day. He looked exhausted; his eye bags were prominent, darkened and cradled in his arm, he held Remus’ rabbit.

“To keep him company,” James explained, yawning while escorting her down the staircase, passing the rabbit over. “It was a rough night.”

It would be the first time they would try to incorporate Y/N into replacing Black and balance out James’ other priorities with Remus’ moon cycles. And unable to reschedule Quidditch try-outs to another morning and James forced to leave prematurely, she would have to step in.

But her fears skyrocketed. Were they pushing it? She was only visiting him… It wasn’t out of pity and she genuinely wanted to be there to support Remus.

“What if he doesn’t want visitors?”

James rolled his eyes. “It will be fine. He’ll appreciate it more than he’ll let on.”

But then a faint floral and citrus smell flowed through the distilled air as she took a deep breath.

“James, you smell really good... Are you wearing perfume?”

His frown transformed into a prideful simper. “Bought the same perfume as my mum. Helps when I miss her.”

She gasped. “A mama’s boy!” And then pinched his cheek.

About to step out of the portrait, James must’ve accidentally activated a prank because the moment his hand brushed against the portrait, four Muggle stereos floated above his head, blasting break-up songs on the highest volume. It rattled the walls and made their ears bleed.

“Fucking hell!” James shouted, his wand swishing around to stop the music while Y/N stuffed Remus’ rabbit inside her bag and bewitched a silencing spell around it.

“Students are sleeping!” Lily shrieked, rushing down the stairs and charmed away the stereos.

“Oi! You think we don’t know?” James retorted, a hand clutching his ear. “Emmeline…”

“Emmeline?” Lily repeated, shaking her head. “May Merlin himself save the poor girl daft enough to end up with you.”

The only enlightened that took away from the war and recent murders was Emmeline and her friends pranking and wreaking havoc like the Marauders onto James as a punishment.

He deserved it and even James agreed.

“Where are you two headed?” Lily inquired and for the first time since the train ride, she addressed Y/N head-on.

A glimmer of hope.

“Aw, finally starting to care about me, Evans?” James joked although it’s laced with uncertainty.

Y/N cut off Lily before she had the chance to speak, eager to answer her question. “It’s Remus.”

Recognition filtered through her, gaze shooting up to the large grandfather clock beside the bookshelves. Lily’s head bobbed repeatedly, pressing her lips together sympathetically. She considered James for a moment.

“Will you be back in time for lessons?” Lily then whipped her hands around. “Y’know what, forget it. I’ll take notes for… both of you.”

Y/N felt James nudge her foot, simultaneously forcing out a cough. His hand went to scratch behind his neck. “R-right. Erm, I — we appreciate it, Evans, but ugh — we have a free period this morning.”

Lily’s jaw dropped. “Oh. Sorry.”

“NO!” James said a little too loud. “I mean, no. It’s fine. Thank you.”

Y/N pursed her lips, her neck bending as her shoulders tensed while watching their interaction play out. “Alrighty, we should go. Thank you, Petals.” She interjected. Her hands spun James around as they walked out of the common room and to the hospital wing.

Both students groaned out loudly. Black was there, sitting on the ground and back pressed against the wall to the wing.

“He doesn’t want to see you,” James challenged. His feet pivoted to Black, before her hands pressed against his chest, preventing him from touching Black and starting yet another fight. “Leave it.”

His eyes flickered from her to Black. Sighing, he made a slight rearward movement and removed his glasses to rub his eyes.

“Just don’t follow us.”

They walked inside without sparing him another glance.

“Here comes the fucking sun, Moons!” James chirped, his mood altering drastically. But she staggered behind a beat.

Remus was already awake, quietly chatting to Peter. His bed curtains were half drawn and she took his rabbit from her bag, pulling it close to her chest.

His head snapped in their direction, but instead of his eyes landing on James, it went squarely to her. She smiled, eyes analyzing every ripple of expression. He didn’t seem angry. No, not at all, but stunned.

Once James realized she wasn’t by his side anymore, he turned and looped an arm over her shoulder. He whispered, “Moony won’t bite. It’s okay.”

“I wasn’t expecting you.” Remus finally said, smiling.

“Of course I’d come.” Confidence now circulated her body as she approached him, handing over his rabbit. James was delighted at his response while the rabbit nuzzled its way into the crook of Remus’ neck, tickling him. She murmured into his ear, not wanting to peer pressure him by others' wants, “You don’t mind me being here, do you? I’ll leave, no hurt feelings.”

Remus shook his head, petting his rabbit. “No, please stay.” He croaked, voice deep and tired.

“Oi!” James said, albeit quietly.

“Flirt somewhere else,” Peter added with false annoyance.

James nodded. “So, little Moony —”

“Little Moony?” Remus groaned. “What?”

“Aw,” she teased, “Is moody Moony making an appearance?”

“Did you come just to make fun of me?”

But then Peter grinned cheekily, moving to softly slap his hand down on his thigh in the same tempo as Here Comes the Sun. Y/N and James immediately caught on, ready to chagrin while Remus shook his hands in front of his face to get them to stop.

“Don’t you —“

“Here comes the sun, moody Moony —“ “Crikey.”

“Here comes the sun, and we say it’s alright!” They sang, keeping their voices to a minimum to not worsen his potential headache. They had to hold back their laughter as Peter began to replicate the horrible instrumental with his voice. James sang the loudest. “Little Moony, it’s been a long cold moon cycle.”

Madam Pomfrey poked her head from her office, ready to tell the visitors to be quieter than a mouse — or kick them out in favour of Remus’ rest but she froze. Remus was poorly attempting to cover his smile, his cheeks burning a bright red and she hadn’t seen him that happy after full moons. And after what happened last year, his happiness was all she wanted. So she sat back down, smiling to herself at the horrid sing.

“Little Moony, the smiles returning to the faces —”

“Guys!”

“Little Moony, it feels like years since it’s been here.”

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James eventually left, rushing to tryouts with Marlene with a great deal of apprehension. When the bell rang, students rushing down for breakfast, both Y/N and Peter departed momentarily to the Great Hall, grabbing a few snacks and tea Remus requested.

But the moment Peter stepped foot outside the hospital wing, it was as if any sort of energy left his body. He became sluggish, moving slowly and yawned multiple times.

“Pete, go back to him, I’ll get everything,” she implored. “Or get some rest. I can’t imagine staying up all night can be good.”

“It’s —” A yawn. “— Sorry. I’ll be fine.”

She didn’t push. They made their way around fast and exited quickly before a group of seventh and sixth years swarmed Peter. A few even greeted her, attempting to strike a conversation.

Peter sent her a dejected look, passing her the rest of the snacks and teacup.

“I’ll meet you there.”

She rushed back in record time. Black was still sitting outside the wing and she could faintly hear him muttering her name but she disregarded him wholly.

But the sight inside the hospital made her heart shatter.

Remus was haggard, dishevelled and face screwed together in pain. He tried to push himself up multiple times to reach behind his head, to his pillow. But it was futile.

The crinkling of the wrapper in her hand made her wince; it became the loudest object in the world at that moment. It forewarned Remus and she gently padded over. She sat down gently on the edge of his bed, setting down everything on the metal tray.

“Don’t push yourself — here, let me.” Remus visibly reclined into himself, covering his scarred arms with the blanket coiled by his side. But he listened without complaints as she reached behind his head, fluffing his pillow and helped him lay back down gently. “Not feeling too good?”

“Like shit.”

It became awkward fast.

“Um… Peter’s coming. Was held up with a couple of seventh years.” “You can leave if you don’t want to be here,” Remus blurted out, “I won't force you —”

“Woah there!” She felt as if she was slapped by him. The sudden change had her wheeling. “Who said you’re forcing me? You’re my Moony, no?”

He breathed out a chuckle and shifted towards her. She glanced at the tray with a few potions. What he said stuck to her.

“Do you mind if you can pour those into my tea? Thanks.” Remus croaked.

She nodded, unscrewed the cork to the vials and mixed it into the drink. The clinking sound of the spoon tapping against the porcelain cup.

“What is this?”

“Um… a mixture of powder silver and Nightshade,” grumbled Remus, trying to push himself up as she handed him the cup. “Helps with the pain and fogginess.”

Her mind was restless. “Can I ask some questions?”

His eyebrows knitted together. “Questions?”

“Y’know, about being a werewolf.”

He took a giant gulp. “Did you just skip all the Werewolf questions on the OWLs?” Remus laughed.

“I bet half of it’s false.” She admitted truthfully. “Besides, how am I supposed to help next time if I don’t know?”

Remus stayed quiet for a long time after she said that and she wondered if she pushed a boundary. But then he nodded, urging her to continue.

“Okay… so silver doesn’t hurt you, right?” She watched as Remus sip his tea before having to put it down to laugh.

“Myth.”

“So all the silver bullet stuff..?”

He gave a full-body laugh. “Myth. Sorry, not what you were expecting?”

“No,” she admitted after a bit, embarrassed. All those children's stories were false…

“Silver can’t hurt me, I don’t grow hair rapidly. I like eating rare meat; I have trouble sleeping, I don’t have curved fingernails or low-set ears. I can’t run super fast but I can see better in the dark, can hear, smell and am stronger than the average Muggle or Wizard.”

“Can you always smell or hear better? Or does it increase near the full moon?”

“It becomes stronger near the full moon and after for a while.”

“Wait… Does that mean you can smell people. Like me?!” She was appalled and crossed her arms over herself as if the action would suddenly cover any scent.

Remus barked out laughing before wincing as a dull pain shocked through his system. “You smell fine. Don’t worry.”

Her hands found their way to cover her mouth. She was mortified. “You have a way with words, Lupin.”

Remus was on the verge of tears, nearly choking on himself to prevent laughing. He endured the deep bruise on the side of his ribs digging into him but he couldn’t stop.

She slapped his arm playfully and took the now empty teacup from his hand, setting it down on the metal tray and ushered him to slide over in his bed. He doesn’t hesitate.

Y/N slid beside him, and she could feel the fluctuating rise and fall of Remus’ chest as his chuckles came to a slow halt. She took the rabbit from his lap, holding it in her arms carefully.

“Does she have a name?” She questioned, scratching behind its floppy ears. Remus chose the least threatening rabbit.

“No.”

“We should think of one then.”

Remus watched her, listening to the words pouring out. But then he cringed inwardly, reminded of his cruelty to her a couple of months ago. He wasn’t expecting her to visit and it came as a pleasant surprise. It made his heart flutter. She wasn’t scared. She hadn’t been lying that night. He was accepted.

He tuned in to her heartbeat: steady and calm. Slow.

Her words echoed in his head. I feel safe with you.

Safe.

Remus felt a whisper of a smile worm it's way onto him. As soon the realization came, the dull ache in his body subdued, the burning in his throat faded and the hollow ache in his heart filled with a golden glow. Just a bit.

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September 10th, 1976

“I’m sorry,” Black said, his eyes wide and pleading as he sat beside her in the Great Hall. She ignored him.

“I need to explain, please,” Black begged in a hushed voice while she searched the library’s premises for Regulus. She ignored him yet again.

“Tesoro mio,” Black flirted, both sitting in the common room as she added notes in the werewolf section in her textbook. His new tactic caught her off guard but she prevailed, getting up and leaving.

“Talk to me,” Black whined. “Please.” She ignored him, continuing to walk to class calmly and held her head high. She just left the hospital wing and Black was trailing her.

But he grabbed her wrist and pulled her into a nearby broom closet and closed the door.

“Get off of me!” She nearly screamed. Thankfully, he was smart enough to keep a healthy distance away. She kept her hands balled into a fist, preventing herself from taking one of the dust brooms and smashing it on his head.

“Sorry! But you won’t talk to me any other way!”

Darkness enclosed them, only the light seeping through the cracks of the old wooden door illuminated Black as every ounce of restrengthen was pushed to the edge.

A flurry of apologies fell from his lips but she wouldn’t have it. Simply looking bored at her nails and tapping her foot against the ground.

“I know you’re mad — you have every right to be! I get that, I understand.”

“Then leave me alone?” She jeered sarcastically, handing grazing the doorknob.

“Wait! Please, just hear me out — let me explain —”

“Explain what?” She lashed out through gritted teeth. “You should count your stars that you don’t have an attempted murder charge.”

Her heart thumped rather fast and would have been distressing had she not been controlled by anger. Everything was overshadowed by a grim penumbra sweeping over them, closing in on her and Black and it wasn’t because of the lack of light in the dingy closet.

She was revolted by him. Sick of seeing his sad face, moping around the hospital wing or looking at her or the other Marauders in yearning.

“Do you think I’ll care about what you want to say?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Apology not accepted, dipshit.”

His head bowed. “I deserved that.” “You think?”

“It’s just that —”

Her temper spiked to the highest level and her hand drifted to her back pocket and grazed the tip of her wand.

“I —”

Something in her snap. “Shut up. Shut up! Stop trying to defend yourself! Stop it! I don’t want to hear it!”

Black was visibly shutting down. “Please, just calm down…”

And then everything poured out.

“Calm down? Calm down?! I gave — I put my trust in you and you immediately ran with it, breaking it twice and then broke everyone else’s! How am I supposed to talk to you like everything’s okay? I get that you don’t like me, that you don’t like Snape, but really? What do you not understand?!”

He was nodding his head, taking it, never once trying to defend himself. His head hung similar to a child being scolded, hands curled around himself.

“You must have never cared for them.”

Black went oddly still. “That's a bold lie and you know that.”

“Do I?” She ridiculed. “Do you want to know the funny part? I was starting to care for you. Apparently, you never did.”

“That’s not true.”

There, a flicker of rage. Finally a reaction other than pathetic regret and guilt. Something cold crept into his eyes, hardening and entirely stormy and silver, reminding her of last year where they constantly fought. But then, it was washed away with a blink.

“I was nothing but a toy to you!”

“Y/N...”

“You. Never. Cared. About —”

“Stop it! Of course I —”

“— Me. Or. The. Other —”

“— fucking cared —”

“— Marauders —” “ — about you!”

Her eyes stung with bitter unshed, frustrated tears and her throat burned, constricting together. Emotions she hadn’t taken a moment to consider hit her within seconds and everything was too overwhelming.

The material of her shirt suddenly turned itchy. Her skin was too tight and she felt herself rock back and forth in a way to calm down.

For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer as it fell silent but she struck a nerve.

“Stop saying that!” He shouted. Now not breaking her stare and took a step forward.

“You’re fucking selfish. You betrayed them.” A step forward.

“You only cared about yourself.” Black shook his head. Another step forward.

“If you ever cared about me — about anyone else you’ve hurt — you wouldn’t have done… that.” A step forward.

They were the closest they had been in months. Their breaths were laboured and ragged. Being that close to him raised all the hairs on her neck in a way she used to love but now hated herself for.

The very notion made her nauseous. Disgusted.

She missed him. Truly. It was such a profound hurt and longing that ran deeper than wanting a quick snog or shag. But that was her problem that she was going to have to hide, bury in an air-sealed chest and throw away.

He opened his mouth and he leant forward inappreciably. But whatever words he was about to spew, he stopped himself. She could feel his breath fan her face, both of their chest raised and fell rapidly.

They stayed like that for a while and she held back from crying, feeling her heart pound in her chest.

“Is there anything else you want to say?” He asked dejectedly.

Why did you have to be so stupid? We could’ve… you could’ve had everything.

Do you miss me?

Did you ever care, even a little?

“This time,” her voice was no louder than a rustle, “I mean it. I hate you. Truly.”

Lie.

Black gave her one last glance through heavy, desolate, half-lidded eyes, closing them shut. “Ti voglio bene.”

Her frown doubled, wondering if he mocked her. Why did he always do that?

“At least you’re consistent in one thing.”

She slipped out, her hand on the door and cracked it open, leaving him there.

“Being a fucking liar.”

She slammed the door shut with so much violence that it made a couple of bystanders passing by yelp and stare. The shattering of glass from within the closet echoed and it made her breathless.

She had to lean against the stone wall, her body buzzing and numb from the adrenaline.

Sometimes everything in her life seemed so… random. What if everything could have been avoided? One simple word, maybe if she said something different, or did something different, would the outcome have been better? Or worse?

What if she had two parents? What if she had been raised by a loving mother? Would she have been that hurt by his actions if opening up was less… impossible?

What ifs…

She stumbled her way to class mindlessly, horribly late. The floorboards creaked, cutting Slughorn off while she lurked in the doorway. The teacher’s head, along with everyone else in the room, snapped up.

Lily looked at her worriedly and concern was written in every inch of her face. James had a double-take and became alarmed while Marlene on the other side of the class looked around nervously.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“No worries, m’girl!” Slughorn smiled. “Please, take the seat next to… Severus! Now, I was saying, I have a small tradition I’d like to do every year with my students.”

Y/N didn’t even interject; too drained after what happened and sat by Snape.

“Can anyone tell me what this is?” The professor held up a tiny bottle. “Or can anyone tell me what Felix Felicis is?”

Lily raised her hand, casting a concerned gaze to her before answering. From the corner of her eye, she could see Barty and Avery, along with a few other students whispering to each other as Lily spoke; all of them forcing down a smile. Y/N vaguely sensed herself prickle.

“It’s known as Liquid Luck. As the name suggests, it makes the drinker lucky.”

“Beautiful answer! Quite right! Ten points for Gryffindor! Now, whoever brews the Draught of Living Death the closest will win this prize at the end of this lesson. Off you go!”

The class was scurrying off quickly while she made her way around leisurely. Snape’s sopophorous bean had been hitting her multiple times.

“Would you fucking —” she grabbed the bean with her hands and threw it at Snape and he hissed at. “Just take your knife blade and squeeze it down on the side with your dagger.”

Snape scoffed. “That’s not going to work you d —”

Snape shut up immediately as she crushed the bean with a sharp knife and flicked the juice into the cauldron.

“Now stop hitting me or I’ll pour your potion on the ground.”

Snape’s attention wasn’t on her, instead of trying to decipher her scribbles before taking her book away from his eyesight. She hit him with her book.

She completed the rest of the potion with ease. Snape was nearly done with his potion, she could tell he was on the right path before Slughorn sauntered around the classroom to observe the students. At James’ cauldron, he made no comment but instead helped stir his potion. Lily was given an approving nod, announcing to the class that she earned Gryffindor a few house points until making his way over to their table, peering into the cauldrons. At Snape’s concoction, he gave a bright smile and opened his mouth until he saw hers and a look of pure delight spread over him, his hands clapping together.

“Oho! Excellent! Miss L/N has done it! We have our winner!”

A small round of claps went around meanwhile James and Marlene cheered loudly, effectively embarrassing her.

“Show off,” Snape sneered. She ignored him.

Once the bell rang, Slughorn called her over to collect her vial of Liquid Luck. She slipped the bottle into her pocket for safekeeping.

But before she left, she stopped and spun around. “Professor Slughorn?”

“Yes?”

“I read in my Advanced Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook, but I found that there’s no Potion to help Werewolves. I was wondering if that’s still true? I know books can be outdated.”

Slughorn gave her a pensive look. “I think that’s a matter for Madam Pomfrey. Is there a reason why?”

“It’s just —” She made up a lie quickly. “I’m nervous about NEWTs and how I’ll do in my studies and it’s merely an interest.”

“Oh, my girl! You are excellent. By far one of the best students I’ve ever had. You don’t need to worry!” Slughorn cheered. Slughorn seemed genuine and she smiled at the praise. “And for your question, no. Sadly there isn’t.”

“At all?”

Slughorn thought for a while. “If I recall, there have been recent developments with stewed Mandrakes. It’s rumoured to help lycanthrope individuals ease their way back into the original human state.”

Y/N stored the newfound information in her head. She thanked him, turning to leave until calling out again. Slughorn twirled his head.

“I was wondering if I could practice more — like I said, I‘m nervous about my NEWTs.”

There wasn’t even a delay and Slughorn beamed. “Of course! As long as you clean up after yourself, you may come and go as you please. I’ll make sure to leave the doors open until curfew.

“Oh! I’m planning to host another Slugclub dinner soon, I expect you to be there?”

“... Of course, sir.”

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【 Next Chapter 】

Translations:

Tesoro mio = My treasure or 'honey'

Ti voglio bene = 'I love you' but its not like what you think. It's more of an unconditional and selfless love that means 'I want you to be well.' It places an emphasis on the tender and affectionate feelings you have for the other person. It's the safer option to say to your significant other if it's a very new relationship.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

© gotkindabored 2021. Do not repost or modify

[restlessfandoming]

“the president and the troublemaker” (part 2) (chilumi fic)

[part 1] 

“Lumine is the student council president and Childe is the school’s number one troublemaker. They cross paths more than they’d like. Especially when Childe finds out Lumine’s big secret. Highschool AU à la Kaichou wa Maid-sama.”

[Fic Masterlist] // [AO3 Link]

* * *

“the president and the troublemaker” (part 2)

“This is a surprise,” Childe said, “Madame President.” 

Lumine felt like she was sweating out an entire waterfall and experiencing winter in Snezhnaya simultaneously. “Ch-Childe,” she greeted, trying to remain calm. “What are you doing here?” 

The corner of his mouth was tweaked upwards in the faintest of smirks. “I should be asking you that. Me? This is somewhere I’m expected to be. You?” His smirk grew a little bigger. “Not so much.”

“I—” She took a breath in. “I am seeing what kind of places delinquents like you congregate. Seems like I was right,” she fibbed. She put on her President persona; hopefully that was enough to convince him. 

He tilted his head, blue eyes glimmering in amusement. “Tsk, tsk. I thought our student council president would be better at lying.” He eyed the fighter’s tape still on her hands. 

She quickly put her hands behind her back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Research is research.” 

There was silence as he just stared at her, his eyes calculating—something, she didn’t know what. 

“Well, I think I’ve seen enough. Looks like I’ll just have to report you to the school tomorrow,” she said quickly, turning to scurry away. 

“Outlander.”

Lumine froze. 

“Outlander,” Childe repeated. “That’s you, isn’t it?”

She heard his footsteps coming up behind her; she didn’t look at him as he circled her, observing her. 

“Same stature, same build,” he remarked. “Definitely explains the mask.”

He knows. He knows. Lumine felt her soul deflate out of her. 

Knowing Childe, this news would be all over the school within a matter of hours. Her spotless record was ruined. Her future was ruined. 

She bit the side of her cheek. Fine; no more pretending. “Yes, I’m The Outlander,” Lumine said lowly. She cast a glare at him. “What about it?”

Childe raised his brows, surprised at her admission. “What happened to, ‘Fighting isn’t fun.’?”

“It isn’t,” she sneered. “I do it because I have to.”

His eyes squinted in confusion. “Because you have to?”

“The money.” Her fists were clenched. “I need the money.” 

He blinked, staring at her in silence once more. 

Probably thinking of some way to torture me. What’s he going to do? Extort me for money? Blackmail me? 

It doesn’t matter. My life is over as of now. All because of Childe.

She readjusted her backpack, walking out the door. “Do what you want; I’m going home.”

He didn’t stop her. 

When the door shut behind her, Lumine ran as fast as she could, not even bothering to wait for the bus; she ran all the way home, trying her best to hold back her tears. 

Arriving home, she went straight to her room, ignoring Aether’s worried questioning, and laid face down on her bed. Her heart felt like it was going to burst.

The prospect that her future was going down the drain loomed over her shoulder like a thick, black cloud. On the other hand, her head felt like it was on fire: all the frustration and anger—at Childe for being there and finding her, and at herself for being so careless—bubbling over. 

She let out a quiet scream of frustration into her pillow, then sat up. She slipped off her hand wraps, taking a deep breath. 

No. She wasn’t going to let someone like Childe ruin everything she had worked for. 

She grabbed an energy drink from her bag, sat down at her desk, and continued studying through the night. 

Now isn’t the time to give up. 

* * *

It had been three days. Three days since Lumine had run into Childe at the arena. And yet, not a single person came to her asking questions, expelling her, arresting her. 

Did...did Childe really not tell anyone? Lumine wondered as she walked through the hallways. She had barely seen him at school these past few days—only brief glimpses of him in the crowded halls. He hadn’t even been stirring up trouble like he usually did. 

Maybe he’s still planning to do something with the information, Lumine reasoned. Or...maybe...he feels sympathy. 

Whatever it was, Lumine was glad nothing had happened. It seemed like her life was carrying on like normal. Maybe it had just been some crazy nightmare she dreamed up.

“Lumine!” a cheerful voice called. 

She turned, finding her friend, Xiangling skipping towards her, along with her other friend, Mona.

“Xiangling. Mona,” she greeted happily. 

“What’s wrong, Lumi?” Xiangling asked. “Your face was all scrunched up.”

The blonde offered a small smile. “Really? I guess I was just thinking about stuff.”

“Perhaps your duties as President are too strenuous,” Mona said. “I always find it relaxing to destress in a bath of honey and rose petals.” 

Xiangling’s eyes glittered. “Sounds yummy…” She shook her head. “Ah, forget that! We’re here to ask you to help us!” 

“Some inconsiderate brutes left their gym equipment in the stairwell, blocking the entrance to our club rooms,” Mona explained. 

Lumine sighed. “Let me take a look.” 

The three travelled across the courtyard, coming to a stop outside the club activities building where many clubs had their meeting rooms, including Xiangling’s cooking club and Mona’s astrology club. 

Blocking the stairwell was, indeed, a pile of heavy-looking punching bags. 

“Left by the boxing club, no doubt,” Lumine muttered. She turned to her friends. “No worries, I’ll get these out of your way, then have a talk with the boxing club about this.” 

“But they look really heavy…,” Xiangling said.

Mona raised her brows. “Will you be able to lift those on your own?” 

No different than lifting weights. Considering her fight training, the bags would be extremely easy for Lumine to move. However, of course, to everyone who didn’t know her intense training, she was of a small stature, the punching bags very obviously bigger than her. 

But it was her friends who needed help, and they wouldn’t be overly suspicious of her. 

“It’s fine,” Lumine reassured. “It’s just like...physics, right?” Judo, more like. “I just have to utilize my center of gravity versus its weight.” 

She grabbed the chain at the top of the bag, positioning it so it sat on her shoulder. Then, she swung her leg back, kicking the bottom while simultaneously pulling it, sending it flying over her shoulder, and out of the way. Just like a judo flip. She repeated it for the other bags until the staircase was cleared. 

“Wooow,” Xiangling sighed in awe. “You’re amazing, Lumi!”

“Very much so,” Mona agreed. 

Before Lumine could say it was no big deal, Xiangling leaned in a bit. 

“Say, isn’t that Childe, looking this way?” the cook whispered. 

The three glanced in the direction she was looking, and sure enough, the tall ginger was standing nearby, his blue eyes fixed on Lumine. 

Immediately, Lumine felt her fists clench. “Need something?” she gritted out. 

He blinked at her, then let out an amused chuckle, turning and walking away. Lumine glared daggers into his back until he was out of sight. 

“He’s so cool,” Xiangling said dreamily. “And so handsome.” 

Lumine rolled her eyes. Xiangling fawned over anyone remotely good-looking like they were food. She remembered a time when the cook looked at her like she was the best roast pig on the market. 

“He may have the looks,” Mona conceded, “but unfortunately, he doesn’t seem very interested in girls. He’s rejected every single confession he’s ever gotten—and that’s a lot.” The pigtailed witch put her hands on her hips. “Not very good karma in the stars for him, if you ask me.” 

Oh. Lumine almost laughed. Maybe he just didn’t tell anyone because he’s not interested?

Yes, that must be it. He was so uninterested, it would serve him no purpose to meddle in her life. 

Hopefully that means he stops causing me trouble wherever he goes. 

* * * 

Childe. 

Childe was in her manager’s office. 

Before any fight, Lumine had to report to the overseer of the arena, a man named Kaeya Alberich; he was in charge of paying her, and was the only person in the arena who knew her true identity. He had let her continue fighting because she was good at it—and he was in the business of putting on a good show. 

And now, Kaeya was talking to Childe. 

“What’s the meaning of this?” Lumine asked. 

Next to Kaeya, Childe gave her a smile like nothing was wrong. 

“Lumine! Perfect timing,” Kaeya said. “We have a proposition for you.”

“We?”

“Yes, me and Tartaglia here were discussing your future in this field,” Kaeya explained. 

Lumine’s face scrunched in confusion. “Tartaglia?” she echoed, looking at Childe, who innocently nodded. 

“Of course! Where are my manners? Lumine, this is Tartaglia; he’s a very prominent figure in our...community.” The older gentleman smiled. “And Tartaglia says he already knows who you are?” 

“We’re friends,” Childe supplied. 

“Friends?” Kaeya chuckled. “Lumine, you should have told me you knew Tartaglia.” 

“I don’t,” Lumine interjected. 

“We have a very odd way of joking,” the ginger said, winking at Lumine. 

Kaeya shrugged. “Anyhow, let’s get down to business.” He looked at Lumine. “How do you feel about Tartaglia being your new coach?”

Lumine choked on her spit. My...coach?!

“What...what does that mean?” she managed to get out. 

“Well, we both agreed that you seem like… a big fish in a small pond nowadays,” Alberich explained. 

“As your coach,” Childe said. “I can get you into different fighting arenas with my connections. More room for you to grow. And of course, more money.” 

“No,” Lumine said, almost instantaneously. Both men made a face. She continued, narrowing her eyes at Childe, “I don’t need your help.” Childe crossed his arms. 

Kaeya let out a nervous laugh. “Now, now, Lumine, this could be really good for you—”

“I’ll see you after the match for payment.” With that, Lumine rapidly left the room. 

Who the hell did Childe think he was? Barging into her life like this? 

She didn’t take handouts. If she wanted something, she’d get it, on her own. After her father left her family heartbroken and penniless, she learned that the hard way: she couldn’t rely on anyone else. 

During her match that night, she saw Childe sitting in one of the front rows, his eyes never leaving her. 

Damned creep, she thought as her fist slammed into her opponent, effectively winning the match. The crowd’s cheers swelled. See? I’m perfectly fine on my own. 

* * * 

“U-Uhm, Madame President?” Bennett called nervously. 

Lumine looked up from her laptop as she was typing in preparation for the student council meeting later. “Yes, Bennett?” 

“I, uhm, may have misplaced some of my reports for this week,” he admitted. 

Aether offered a smile. “That’s okay, Bennet,” Aether reassured. “We’ll go look for them.”

Lumine sighed and shook her head. “We have to turn them in tonight.” Knowing Bennett’s luck, the reports were probably at the bottom of the ocean somehow. “I’ll just rewrite them all later.”

Her twin looked at her, concerned. “Lumine, that’s a lot of work. Let me write them.”

Bennett tried to offer to rewrite them as well, but Lumine held her hand up. “I’m the President, it’s nothing to me. You two just worry about your other council duties, okay?” 

Bennett and Aether exchanged defeated looks—their President was stubborn, and once she had her mind set on something, there was no way of convincing her otherwise. 

Later, as the sun cast its sunset oranges through the windows of the empty school, Lumine still remained, hard at work typing away Bennett’s missing reports. 

Her head ached, but she still had a mountain of homework and student council paperwork to finish, not to mention preparing for work tonight. She let out a fit of coughs, before forcing herself to return to her work. 

“So I figure you’re some type of masochist,” Childe’s voice rang from the doorway. 

Lumine sighed, not having enough energy to be angry. “Do you need something?” she asked. 

“You know, you’ve practically worked yourself to death these past few days,” he said. “While I admire your resilience, it’s not healthy.” 

She stood, ready to throw him out of the room so she could go back to working in peace, but her head started swimming, the room becoming blurry around her, and she stumbled. Oh no—

Before she fell back, however, Childe was behind her, catching her. 

Within a second of his hands on her, she righted herself, shoving him away. “I don’t need your help,” she seethed. 

His expression was unreadable, his mouth in a tight line. “I see,” he said, robotically, before walking out of the room. 

Breathing heavily, she sat back in her chair, hand on her burning forehead. Shit…

* * * 

Just make it through the match. Just make it through the match. Lumine kept chanting to herself.

She was definitely coming down with something, her whole body rolling with heat, but she couldn’t afford to let it affect her—not when she had so many things that needed to get done. 

She wished Aether was with her, he would’ve made her feel better. But he was called in for work tonight at the grocery store, so she walked through the run-down streets alone. 

She was in a more dangerous part of town, but she and Aether had figured out certain routes to walk where they didn’t run into anyone else. 

Tonight, however, Lumine noticed a lone man coming towards her. She clenched her fist, ready to strike if needed. She got closer and closer to him, her muscles tensing with each step. 

She passed him, and nearly let out a sigh of relief. 

Suddenly, he grabbed her wrist from behind, twisting her arm against her back. 

Lumine cried out in shock, weakly trying to break out of his grasp. On any other night she could have easily taken him. Damn this sickness—!

She couldn’t stop him as his other hand inched closer to her jacket. She closed her eyes.

WHAM!

Lumine felt her arm get released, and she opened her eyes, turning around. 

The man who attacked her was on the ground, knocked out, and Childe stood over him, shaking out his hand after his powerful punch. 

“Childe?” she breathed out. Feeling lightheaded again, she found herself reaching out for him, unable to speak. 

Again, he caught her, but this time she didn’t force him away.

His hand was on her forehead, his other hand wrapped around her waist to support her. “You’re burning up,” he said. 

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, Childe.” 

He softly chuckled. “It’s okay. Just rest now,” he murmured back. 

Nodding against his hand, she let herself relax, for the first time in forever. All her exhaustion came flooding in, and she quickly passed out in Childe’s arms. 

* * *

[part 3]

[hoedorokishoto]

Trust - Part 2

Shoto Todoroki x Reader 

warnings - explicit sex, swearing 

previous | part | next

Todoroki had gotten taller since the last time I had been this close to him. His body also filling out and getting stronger from all the training. Changes that weren't noticeable until I was inches away from him, measuring his body for any new costume changes that might be required. From watching the training exercise I had concluded that putting a mesh suit under his current costume was the best course of action. One that was highly resistant to both hot and cold, to decrease the number of small burns and frostbite he seemed to get from using his quirk at high outputs. The same mesh being impenetrable and good if a villain ever decided to stab the future pro.

"Shinso said you are very good, and that I'm in good hands." Todoroki said, looking down at me as I continued to take his measurements.

"Were you worried beforehand?" I asked, quirking my eyebrow, and standing up. His dual-coloured eyes continued to burn holes in my back wherever I walked around the workshop.

"Is there a reason you keep staring at me?" I asked softly, not mad but uncomfortable with the constant attention.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable; I just like watching you work."

"I'm excited to see what you come up with."

Todoroki looked the part of being cool and confident but sometimes the way he spoke reminded me of what an awkward little bean he could truly be. Hitoshi stating that his social skills could still use a little work.

"Well, I'm glad you are excited. I think I could make a lot of cool improvements."

It wasn't a lie, I was excited. Any opportunity to further my career as Hero Support or be in the workshop creating new inventions was always a plus to me. It was the Hero in front of me that I had reservations about. Being with new people who I didn't really know wasn't my idea of fun. Neither was small talk. At least we had that in common, both of our silences falling over us like a heavy blanket, and it seemed that neither of us knew how to escape it.

"Are you-."

"You shou-."

You both said at the same time, looking at each other. A smile crept onto my face as Shoto's cheeks darkened with a small blush. Shoto looked down at his feet, his two-toned hair coming down to fall over his eyes.

"You were saying?" I asked, stepping closer to Todoroki, and looking up into his eyes, trying to keep him flustered, finding his awkwardness cute and endearing. He didn't step back, sizing me up.

We were so close I could feel the heat coming off his body, the proximity causing goosebumps to spread down my arms.

"I was saying you should have seen my first hero suit; it was really bad. Or as Ashido says tragic." Todoroki said, his voice low, his face still so close I could feel his breath. Todoroki was handsome, I would have to be blind to deny it. His features were sharp and prominent, his half and half colouring only adding to his air of mystery. I wanted to test the waters; see exactly how far I could push him.

"I have a feeling you could wear a sheet and still look good." I stated. Dropping back down in front of him and measuring his inseam.

"You think so?" Todoroki asked a smirk plastered across his face as he looked down at me.

"If I wanted to see you naked I think I know just how I could make that happen." I said.

Despite my brave statement I still blushed as he looked down at me still, his eyes never leaving mine.

"I bet you haven't seen anything like this." He answered quickly, leaving my mind racing. The position we were in doing nothing to help me try to get a handle on the situation.

"Are you trying to fluster me?" Todoroki asked, leaning down and putting his fingers under my chin, guiding me back up to stand with him.

"Is it working?" I asked, a similar smirk falling across my face. Leaning into his touch, his left hand warm on my skin.

"Maybe..." Is all he said, stepping off the platform and turning towards the door, picking up his bag and school uniform jacket as he went.

"Same time tomorrow?" He asked, turning around one more time to look at me, my eyes wide, trying to comprehend the situation. I didn't speak, just nodded my head in his direction and spun around. Heading to the workbench to write down all the measurements I took while it was fresh in my mind. I wanted my mind to be anywhere but thoughts of Todoroki and whatever had just happened.

                                                               *

The regular noise of the 3H dorm filled my ears as we all sat down for dinner, various pots of stew and bowls of rice steaming, spread out across the table. The day had ended like any other, covered in grease and staying in the workshop at least an hour later than you intended to only coming back to the dorm when one of the teachers turned off the lights and refused to put them back on.

"Todoroki huh, that's cool. He has a really cool quirk and you're a genius so it's like a match made in Heaven." Mei stated, her hair sticking up behind her goggles and her skin looking just as grease-stained as mine.

I just nodded, scooping rice into my mouth to avoid any real conversation, wanting to be showered and in bed as soon as possible. The exchange between Todoroki and I was still fresh in my mind even now. The intensity of his dual-coloured eyes burnt into my brain.

"Y/N lost for words? I never thought I'd see the day."

"I'm not lost for words; I just don't have anything to say..."

"So you are lost for words?" Mei laughed, swinging her arm around my shoulder, and hugging me close. I was grateful that I had found her, other than Hitoshi she was my first real friend, bonding over our love of machinery and design. She was quick to call me out on my bullshit when I needed it and quick to be a shoulder to cry on. On top of that she was a genius who always had insight into whatever project I was working on, helping, and lending advice whenever necessary. If you looked up mum friend in the dictionary she was it. If your mum stayed up all night, had big boobs, ran on coffee and had a steam punk obsession.

Ding

Sen – Hey, how was your day? You busy tonight?

Even the way he typed was perfect, down to the last comma. I wished that Sen could be anything other than someone I fucked around with but the feelings one should have just weren't there. I often wondered if I was keeping him from someone, someone who could return his feelings. Someone who deserved to receive nicely punctuated text messages over dinner wondering about how their day was.

Y/N – Your room or mine?

                                                             *

His grip on my waist was so hard I thought it might bruise, but that was an afterthought as I felt Sen thrust up into me, filling me up and hitting the spot inside me that caused a knot to grow in my stomach, a sign of my impending orgasm.

I looked down at him, his eyes closed as his head was thrown back, his face was cute in this situation. Different from the handsome angular face he usually wore. His brown hair was stuck to his temples, our bodies sweaty from the activities we were currently partaking in.

"You feel so good." Sen moaned out, his mouth starting to kiss up my neck, his handing snaking around and holding the back of my head and neck. Holding me somewhat steady as I continued to ride him.

We both picked up the pace, chasing our orgasms as the sound of skin on skin rang out throughout the room. He kissed me, hard. All teeth and tongues. Both of us coming together with a loud moan. I slumped into him, his arms circling around me pulling me closer as we both caught our breath. I wished I hated him, I wished I didn't care about his feelings. He was comforting, it was times like this that I really wished I could like him how he wanted me to. How he deserved.

I rolled off him, planting my feet on the ground, walking around the room looking for my clothes that had been thrown around the room. I heard Sen shuffle behind me, taking off the condom, tying it off, and throwing it in the trash can by the door.

He came up behind me, I could feel his presence looming over me like a ghost. He reached out and touched my side as I pulled my jeans back up and clipped my bra up.

"You don't have to go." Sen said quietly, almost a whisper. There it was, the words that had the power to cleave my heart in two. Not for my sake but for his, at every turn I was reminded how bad of a person I was, I reminded myself that no matter how nice people were to you or how good it felt when they were inside you, nothing ever really lasted, and the people who claimed to care the most were always the first ones to leave. Why couldn't Sen see that?  Romantic relationships were a distraction which I didn't want to get myself involved in and neither should he.

I turned and took the shirt from him that he held out, slipping it over my head. Collecting the last of my things like my phone and shoes and stopped in front of him once again.

"I'll text you later." I said softly, stepping up onto my tiptoes and kissing his cheek. Not looking back as I left his dorm and made my way to the elevator. Praying that all his classmates and Mr. Vlad were asleep.

I made it out of the 3B dorms without any fuss, no hero students, or pro heroes in sight. Thank God. The night air was cool and made the walk back to my dorm quite pleasant, I wasn't in a rush, taking in everything around me. The students jogging around the grounds and the dorms that were lit up with life. The 1st years loudly yelling and laughing, no doubt getting used to dorm life.

I came to a stop outside the 3A dorm, contemplating visiting Hitoshi knowing that regardless of the time he would be up and if he weren't he would wake up for me. I wanted to talk to him, but I also didn't want another weird almost lecture like he gave me the other day. It was hard to talk to people who knew me better than I knew myself sometimes because there was never any hiding. There wasn't anything that I could hide from Hitoshi, even if I tried.

Just as I was about to move on the large doors of the dorm swung open, a very pissed Todoroki stepping out, being followed by an equally as pissed Momo Yaoyorozu. Without thinking I ducked behind the nearest bush and hid. Not meaning to spy on their conversation but also not wanting to look like a creep who snuck around other people's dorms at night.

"I honestly don't know why you are being like this Shoto. Just get over it and we can go back to how everything was." Yaoyorozu said in the distance.

"It was almost 2 years ago; I don't want to do anything with you. Even if I did want any form of relationship with you I definitely wouldn't want it to be like how it was back then." Todoroki replied.

Both of their voices distant, further enough away from the dorm so their classmates wouldn't hear but not close enough to me that I could hear all their conversation.

"That's a bit harsh. We should be together. Both of our fathers think it's a good idea."

"When have I ever given a fuck what my father thinks?"

"Shoto, don't be vulgar. You have been hanging out with Bakugo for too long. He has started to rub off on you."

"I don't want to have this conversation with you anymore Yaomomo, I've said what I had to say, it's you that keeps bringing it up. I won't be getting back together with you, I won't be sleeping with you anymore and I won't even consider it just because our stuck-up scum bag fathers think it's right!" Shoto yelled loudly, there was no doubt that everyone in the vicinity had heard.

Yaoyorozu stomped her foot and pouted, turning on her heels and walking away.

"Well, I still have your cashmere sweater! I'm keeping it!" She shouted over her shoulder.

"Yeah well I still have your virginity, so I guess you win some you lose some." Shoto said back, causing Momo to huff and walk back towards the large doors. I chuckled at his statement, this Shoto vastly different from 1st year Shoto, different again from the Shoto that was in your workshop earlier today.

Yaoyorozu didn't look back as she entered the dorm, leaving Shoto Todoroki standing in the moonlight, looking even more ethereal than usual. If it were even possible.

And me, standing in a bush looking like a creep.

[sillyguyhotline]

17. “How is any of this ok?” with Joe and Sara maybe?

dude im gonna be completely honest i havent written anything in like a month so i think the quality isnt gonna be great but here goes nothing

God, Sara missed the feeling of home.

Every semblance of familiarity and comfort she’d once found in the town she’d grown up in, the house she’d spent her childhood running through, now felt chillingly foreign.

Perhaps it was the heavy burden of knowledge weighing fresh upon her shoulders: ASUNARO’s corruption seemed now to peer slyly around every corner, no matter where she went. She still didn’t know how much of the town had rotted away under its grasp, how much of the town its poison had pervaded… but she was probably better off not knowing.

Whatever was left of Midori, that miserable mix of pulsing blood and electronic emotion, had been ground to bits inside that coffin… but Sara couldn’t ignore the creeping fear that his burning, ever-present gaze would appear out of nowhere and terrorize her again.

But he wouldn’t. The death game was over, and they’d promised they would never hurt her or any of her loved ones again.

Most of the loved ones she still encountered day-to-day, gruesomely blood splattered and sitting like corpses propped up hastily in a corner, would be safe no matter if ASUNARO was fresh on her tail or a thousand miles away. What a cruel price to pay for safety, to never be hurt again.

They still lived on if Sara closed her eyes tight enough, if she listened to the twisting words of the hallucinations and let them convince her she was monstrous. But the second she dared to open her eyes, she knew they’d be dead again. Life worked in terrible ways, and that was all there was to it.

Joe’s house had always been a second home to her, ever since the two of them became friends. Joe was the farthest cry from Sara in terms of social interactions- it had taken at least 3 months for Sara to trust Joe enough to invite him over, but Joe had insisted she hang out at his house the very same day they became friendly enough to exchange more than a sentence with each other.

There was a certain sort of comfort to the warmth of his house, the constant scent of cooking food pervading the air and the little trinkets scattered in every corner. No surface of his house went without decoration, in its silly little way. It was full of pictures, too, some carefully framed and some dangling from the wall by pushpins, but Sara got the sense that none of the photos went unloved. Most of them were occupied by an orange-haired man, often carrying a younger Joe (back when he was still sporting that atrocious crew cut). Sara always assumed it was his dad, but thought it would be impolite to ask… particularly when the weeks stretched on and Sara had yet to meet that mysterious orange-haired man.

Eventually, pictures of Sara began to join the collage on the wall- pictures taken as she butchered yet another pop song during karaoke, or when they went out to get food, or when she mistakenly sat down on a traffic cone during gym (after many protests from Sara, he took that one down). As silly as the pictures were, and as obvious as it was that Joe had waited for the most embarrassing moments to take them, it was sort of sweet in a way.

Joe’s mother was always kind to her, though there was a constant weariness in her eyes that Sara always felt a bit uneasy about questioning. Sometimes she’d let the two of them cook things in the kitchen, but more often than not they’d go up to Joe’s room and screw around in there, with video games or music or the 50 times Joe tried to persuade Sara to climb out the window and sit on the roof with him before she finally agreed.

As rare as it was for Sara to agree to sit on the roof, it was even rarer for Joe to agree to study with her, much to Sara’s chagrin. Joe had always walked a fine line between passing and failing, but Sara had to admit he walked it well. When she did manage to convince him to study, though (usually the day before final exams), they’d sit on the cushy couch in his living room and somehow manage to bother each other as much as possible while feigning concentration.

The couch hadn’t changed after several years- Sara could tell that much the minute she sat down on it and avoided the urge to break eye contact with Joe’s mother. It was still well-worn, a couch that likely should have been replaced at least a decade ago but had never really been disposed of. Loose threads were protruding from the cover, drawn out from years of visitors fidgeting with them.

Sara shifted uncomfortably in her seat, the slight motion making her sink deeper into the couch’s soft cushioning. She’d only spent one minute in the house and was already sweating, whether from the heat of the home or the thousand-yard stare of the woman sitting across from her.

Ryoko was there, too, sitting to Sara’s left and gazing listlessly at the well-trodden carpet beneath her feet. …Ryoko.

Sara cast a hesitant glance around the room, duly noting the photos covering the walls. Not a single one of hers had been taken down, but several more photos had appeared with Joe’s beaming face featuring prominently in them. Joe’s presence was always enough to fill a room even when he wasn’t speaking; it took a lot to fill in the gaps left by his absence.

God, she missed him.

The wind whistled against the window-screen; Sara had memorized the familiar creak of the wooden window frame being lifted up to welcome in the mild autumn air. Sara had always thought of autumn as a beginning- she loved summer as much as any other kid, but as the haze of the weather began to wind down she was quick to grow impatient and look forward to the school year, to being productive again. Joe had always disagreed with her.

“Fall is the literal death of fun,” he’d complained once, walking home with Sara after finishing the first week of school. “Couldn’t they have pushed back the first day of school by, like, another week? You think if we got enough people to sign a petition, they’d give us an extra week of summer?”

“Oh, come on, we both know even if you had an extra week of summer you’d just be complaining a week later,” Sara had teased back.

The death of fun. It certainly felt like that, Sara decided. She’d never feared the looming darkness of fall and winter quite so much before. But now, she supposed, there was no sunshine who’d weather it with her.

“Well… Sara?” Joe’s mother spoke up, voice hoarse with the sound of repressed tears in her throat. Sara recognized the sound all too well.

There was no resentment in the woman’s eyes when Sara made eye contact with her. No anger, no frustration, nor had there been any in her measured motions when she welcomed Sara into the home. It didn’t take any words for Sara to tell that there was no blame to be foisted upon her.

She was still Joe’s best friend.

“I’m sorry to have dragged you out here on such short notice.” The woman’s voice was weak. “I don’t know all the details of what happened, of course. Haven’t heard anything, aside from the little tidbits the police told me when I dropped by the station.”

Sara’s shoulders stiffened at the mention of the police, at the idea of them pleasantly answering her questions as though they weren’t just as complicit in that tragedy as ASUNARO had been.

“And…” the woman glanced down at her hands, toughened from a lifetime of working. “I know something terrible happened to you. The circles under your eyes are darker than midnight, I know it’s so selfish of me to be dragging you out here, but… I haven’t slept a wink for weeks. Been so worried about Joe, and about you too.”

She nodded in the direction of the black-haired girl who hadn’t spoken a word the entire time. “Ryoko’s been worried about the both of you, too. Your parents weren’t answering the door, so she went to me. I hope you’ll forgive the two of us for disturbing you, Sara, but… you have the answers the police won’t give us, don’t you?”

God, her gaze was piercing.

“...Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

It was taking everything in Sara’s power not to look at the vacant seat to her right. If Joe was there, he would have been laughing and lightening the mood, completing the circle that had been left so jarringly empty.

But they wouldn’t have been having this conversation if Joe was there.

Ms. Tazuna nodded slowly. “This means the world to me, Sara. Don’t forget that.”

Sara did her best to muster a smile. “Don’t worry. I won’t.”

The woman gave another nod, eyes defocusing as though even now, she wasn’t quite sure why she was there. “Alright. Alright. Well, then…” She cleared her throat uncomfortably. “Guess I should get right to the point, yeah? Is he… is… how is he…?”

So she still hadn’t quite let go of that little thread of hope, even after seeing Sara return home safe and alive with no best friend in tow. Who was Sara to judge? When hope was the only thing to cling to, it only made sense to cling to it like a lifeline.

Sara twisted her hands, the same old nervous habit she’d had for years, and wondered briefly if she’d picked it up from Ms. Tazuna. How terrible it was, to carry the news that nobody, much less any mother, ever wanted to hear.

“I… I’m sorry, Ms. Tazuna. He didn’t make it out alive.”

Sara hadn’t expected the hush that immediately fell over the room. She’d expected immediate tears, the grieving cry of a mother in pain. Instead, the room became muffled, still as a painting captured in time.

Slowly, Ryoko looked up from her bitten-down fingers, eyes rimmed red already. Ryoko had always been an emotional person, the only person Sara knew who could fluctuate from full-on sobs to cheerful giggles in less than a minute. Sara was so unused to the look that was now filling her eyes- cold, solid misery. As though there were no tears in her eyes left to cry, no more tragedies to bemoan. Just a deep and horrified comprehension of just how many things in her life had gone wrong.

And, slowly, Ms. Tazuna began to cry.

Tears had become so uncomfortable for Sara to bear witness to. Was it selfish of her to look away? It couldn’t be, not when every raw sob reminded her of the art student seeing her first (and certainly not last) death, of the broken sibling openly weeping over apologies gone unspoken, of the unknowing siblings screaming their throats out with pleas for death so the other could survive.

Especially not now. Not when every tear rang in her mind as a reminder of cold tubes piercing her best friend’s chest, of his corpse slumping and falling in a pool of blood, because oh god he wasn’t supposed to have lost so much blood, how was he supposed to live without it, of the clickclickclickclickclicking rising in volume while her attempts to save him grew feebler and feebler.

Her hands were bloodstained, no matter how many times she tried to scrub them clean. Those dreadful hands of hers had failed her, failed Joe, failed the women sobbing openly in front of her.

She swallowed back the apologies that always rose in her throat as Ms. Tazuna rushed to sniffle back her tears.

“I… god, I… he’s really gone?”

Sara couldn’t bear to look her in the eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“Please… please tell me it was a peaceful death. He didn’t… suffer too much, did he?”

The resounding wave of clicks flooded her mind. “It was as peaceful as I could make it. I… he smiled at me, right before he died. I’d… very much like to think that means he was happy when he died.”

“What happened?” Ryoko’s voice came out rough, the first of it Sara had heard in weeks. “Joe told me, after our date, that he was going to walk you home, and then neither of you showed up at school the next day. And now… it’s been three weeks? And Joe… Joe’s dead? What the hell happened, Sara?”

“God,” Sara mumbled, mesmerizing herself with the twisting motions of her own hands. “I’m not sure if you’d even believe me if I told you. I don’t even know if I believe what happened myself.”

“I’d believe anything.” The sentence was firm. “I just want to know what happened.”

Sara nodded wearily. The familiar weight of her bright orange ponytail was notably missing- the day after she’d escaped, she’d demanded the hairdresser cut her hair short and crisp. She shuddered every time she thought about the ponytail brushing against her neck as she spent each argument screaming and protesting for her life. Even worse was the memory of how carefully Joe had styled her hair, forsaking his usual clumsiness to braid every strand with a remarkable tenderness. She didn’t want to remember any of it- even though, as the locks went cascading to the floor, she was reminded starkly of Keiji’s bleach-stained trauma response.

“For some reason, something to do with the mafia, we were kidnapped. And pulled into a death game. There were twenty of us, including me and Joe. I- I’m not going to get into all the specifics. It’s going to make me sick to my stomach if I do. But… they made us play this sadistic fucking game to narrow down the competition. Based on cards. Joe drew a bad card, and… they executed him.” Something in Sara’s throat tightened as she finished speaking, and she fell silent.

“Just like that?” His mother’s voice came out as a hoarse whisper. “How… how’d they kill him?”

“I’d rather not say.” There came the gushing sound of blood pulsing through the tubes. “He didn’t suffer too long” - she hoped - “but it was a gruesome way to die. I don’t want to think about it, please understand.”

It took a moment for his mother to register the words and nod, face still painted with horror.

“Why… how did the two of you even end up there in the first place?” Ryoko spoke up again. “You said something about the mafia? How the hell are you two connected with the mafia?”

“I don’t know how I am,” Sara responded immediately. “It must be something with my family. I couldn’t control any of this, I swear, but… Joe wasn’t meant to end up there at all.”

Ryoko paused. “He… he wasn’t meant to end up there?”

Sara swallowed back the lump in her throat. “The game… it was something that was being prepared for ages. There weren’t just a few ragtag kidnappers behind it, there was an entire organization. Even the police were involved. They ran AI tests, hundreds if not thousands of them, trying to calculate who’d be the most likely to win. And… when all the numbers came back, the person most likely to win… was me.”

She spread her arms wide, baring her sins and her cruelties to the world, and in that moment felt distinctly like the angel of death Keiji had branded her to be.

“They needed something to drag me down, I guess. Make the odds more balanced. So they dragged Joe into this fucking mess. I guess they thought that him being there would keep me steady enough to make everything fair.” A cold hand, dripping with tendrils of phantom blood, caressed her chin with a lethal grip. “...They were right.”

Ryoko’s gaze had gone cold again. “So Joe died just because you cared about him? What the fuck kind of death sentence is that?”

Sara shook her head numbly.

“Why did it have to be him?” The heartbreak in Ryoko’s voice was clearer than day. “So many people love you, Sara, why did it have to be him? Hell, I’m your best friend too, aren’t I? Why couldn’t it have been me? I’m a much worse person than Joe ever was, I deserved to be in his place way more. Couldn’t they have killed me instead?”

Sara winced at the growing desperation in her best friend’s voice, the raw crack she knew all too well. It should have been me, it should have been me, it should have been me. Sara could have almost fooled herself into seeing a crisp aquamarine when Ryoko’s hair flashed into the light.

“Ryoko… it could have been.”

The girl fell silent.

“They had files on you too. They knew how close we were, they knew how much you meant to me… but Joe was in the wrong place at the wrong time. And they fucking killed him for it.”

Oh, how she wished she could go back to that balmy early-autumn night, see the smile on Joe’s face and listen to his lighthearted laughter again. The desire to keep one’s friend safe had become a crime deserving of a death sentence.

Ryoko’s eyes remained locked to Sara’s, devoid of any dullness. In the look they exchanged was a deep, sinking understanding, one that had nauseated Sara to the core the first time the realization struck her.

It was by no crafty strategy that Joe had died instead of Ryoko, no favoritism biased against the kindest person either of them would ever know. It was a simple, terrible twist of fate. Ryoko could have taken his place had she done something as inconsequential as offering to walk Sara home instead.

But she hadn’t.

It took everything in Sara’s power to avoid wondering what would’ve changed if she had.

“How is any of this okay?” Ryoko broke the silence weakly. “They killed him- they could have killed me, too. He was seventeen. Seventeen. How did anybody let this happen? How did this happen, Sara?”

“I- I don’t know.” Ryoko’s wrath was simmering; even though Sara knew truly that she wasn’t the subject of the anger, she still felt scalded. “I miss him so much, Ryoko. I watched him die, and nothing in my power let me save him. I miss him, Ryoko, I miss him every waking minute of every day. We were supposed to escape together and get out safe and pretend this never happened, but…” the tears were beginning to well up again. She couldn’t bear the thought of breaking down in front of anyone, especially not over him.

“I’m going to go make some coffee,” his mother interrupted suddenly. She’d been noticeably quiet, but the still-fresh streaks of tears painted down her cheeks told the story she didn’t need to vocalize. “Some coffee, and some snacks. And we’ll keep talking from there, alright? Do you guys have your phones?”

The two girls nodded uneasily.

“Please… find any pictures you have of him. I want to make this wall as bright as possible.”

Without any other words, she hurried out of the room, and it fell to silence once more. Outside the window, the cool autumn breeze began to stir the leaves in the air, gusting forward to brush against Sara’s cheek just as the hallucination had done mere minutes ago.

And the Tazuna household began to feel more like home again.

[thespianbooks]

A Court of Nightmares and Starlight //Chapter 25//

(Masterlist)

(tags: @thron3ofbooks, @df3ndyr, @courtofjurdan, @art-e-mis, @herondamnn, @the-third-me, @im-still-trying-here, @emikadreams, @paytin77, @mis-lil-red, @sleeping-and-books, @lucieisabooknerd, @amandaraey-sunshine, @easy-p-lemon, @azymondias05, @dagypsygirl, @makeshift-utopia, @fantasyshadowhunters) *bold tags don't work!

Thank you all so much for your patience during ACONAS's hiatus! I hope you all enjoy this update! Chapter 26 will be coming on Monday, May 24th to keep in line with my regular posting schedule!

Sending all you beautiful readers love and healing! ❤️

-Rhysand-

I noticed the change in my mate almost immediately after her period of nesting had lasted a full week. The change was subtle at first; beginning after a long afternoon of Feyre rearranging clothes and ordering my brothers and I to move around the furniture in the nursery no less than ten times that day alone, then choosing to spend the rest of the evening walking the gardens with Elain. It was there, watching from the library window, that I felt the call in my blood—the call that urged me to find a sanctuary for my mate. Months ago, after the birth of his daughter, Kallias had warned me that this instinct would come. As mated fae males, the compulsions we felt in regard to our mates always traced back to the beasts our ancestors were and became especially prominent when they were with child. I had noted as much the minute I scented my offspring present in Feyre's womb, and though I had not been fully aware of her pregnancy until she was, I had instinctually known and formed a new attachment to her—to our son. Like the mating bond, the ties I formed with my unborn child were just as strong and prominent; however silent. I could sense those occasional glimmers that Feyre felt; had even felt that warning tug when they had been in trouble during the attack on Velaris. However, this tug, this preternatural warning, was different—stronger than before.

He was ready. Sebastian was ready to enter the world.

XXX

-Feyre-

"It's time, my love," Rhys purred in my ear as I stared out into the gardens, sitting on the cushioned loveseat on our balcony.

Once I had returned from my earlier walk with Elain, warm and content despite the late autumn chill—thanks to my mates magic warming the grounds, I chose to skip dinner. Somehow finding it more appealing to retreat to the privacy of my bedroom when I realized I had no appetite at all. While that should've alarmed me, my feelings of content remained as I changed into the comfiest clothes I could find; the softest pair of leggings I owned and a long-sleeved oversized tunic that was large enough to fit over my large belly comfortably. It wasn't long after I had found my seat on the balcony that Rhys was at my ear with a warm mug of tea in hand. I took it from him gratefully and relished in the warmth enveloping my face as I smiled at him in return.

"Time for what?" I asked softly, resting a hand on the apex of my belly.

He kneeled in front of me, hands holding either side of my belly as those star-flecked violet eyes looked into mine meaningfully. "For us to retreat to the Cabin," came his equally soft response.

My heart stuttered for a second as I realized what this meant, but instead of feeling the panic I thought I ought to have, I nodded slowly—an all too familiar glimmer pulsing between my mate and I, between that bond that existed between the three of us and loosed a calm exhale.

"Should we tell the others?" I quietly asked.

Rhys shook his head as he again stood, summoning those dark and beautiful Illyrian wings from the shadows. "I already told them, while you were up here getting comfortable," he said with a warm smile. "They expected as much, and they know how...sensitive this is, so they aren't expecting any heartfelt goodbyes."

I nodded, again surprised from the lack of emotion I felt at that sentiment; that I had no real urge to even say goodbye and be showered with well wishes from our family. Suddenly, I registered what was happening; my diffident state had finally arrived. It was such a strange and foreign feeling as the full weight of what was occurring naturally in my body overcame me. While part of me wanted to feel nervous and be comforted by our loved ones, all I could do was look at my mate and felt all the reassurance I needed.

Finishing my tea, I set the mug aside and allowed Rhys to help me to my feet; a small laugh escaping my lips at the effort it took to ease me upright and returned my stare into those violet eyes.

"Let's go," I whispered.

It was all he needed to hear before he lifted me into his arms with heartbreaking ease and took to the skies. I closed my eyes as the wind whipped through my hair, relishing in the cool breeze as I rested my head against Rhys's shoulder; one hand looped around his shoulders and the other caressing my belly. In spite of the awareness of what was to come looming in the back of my mind—the pain I would soon endure, my trepidation was nearly nonexistent.

The healer and our midwife had warned that my withdrawn state could last anywhere from a few hours to a few days before I officially went into labor, but some innate part of me felt that this notion wouldn't drag on for long at all. Sebastian had dropped into his head down position weeks ago and had calmed considerably since my period of nesting began. While his lack of movement had alarmed Rhys and I at first, Madja and the midwife assured that this was also normal. Our youngling, our son, was preparing himself for arrival. His loving glimmer still remained and pulsed through our bond, letting his father and I know that he was there, and that he was just as ready as we were to meet him.

As soon as we touched down to the front steps leading up to the Cabin, I let down my mental shields to Rhys, letting him read my thoughts as he carried me inside. His gentle kiss to my forehead was his only response until we were within the safe walls of the Cabin, the fireplace immediately springing to life as we entered the small living area and he set me on the couch. He came to kneel in front of me as he had earlier, the starlight in his eyes shimmering as they met mine again.

"However long this does last, at least we know we won't be leaving this Cabin until our son is born," Rhys said, a hand coming to stroke my belly gently.

I loosed a long breath as I nodded, my hand joining his. "The next time we go back to the estate...we'll have a baby," I mused as I watched our hands continue to caress the expanse of my stomach.

Our son, our baby Sebastian was just underneath layers of skin and muscle, lying in wait and ready to be born in what could be hours or days. The process would be grueling and long...but that intuitive and serene sense told me that I was prepared, that I could do this.

"You can," Rhysand interjected quietly; my mental shields still left down for him, "and I will be at your side through every second of it."

I gave him a slow smile in return, bringing my hand to touch his face gently. "I have no doubt about that, Rhysand," I said softly.

He kissed my palm before moving from his kneeled position to a seated one beside me, his hand lingering on my belly.

Will you tell me what happens in the Night Court when an heir is born now? I asked through the bond.

Rhys's chuckle sent a warm shudder down the bond as he pressed another kiss to my brow. "You'll find out soon enough, my love," he answered aloud.

Prick.

XXX

-Rhysand-

The labor pains began the next morning.

Only an hour after our arrival at the Cabin the night before, my mate had fallen into a deep slumber while we lingered together in the sitting area. I carried her to bed not long after, keeping a watchful eye on her during the night and sending as many updates as possible to our awaiting family in Velaris. After Mor's persistent "check-in's" every hour, at Cassian's insistence she claimed, I decided to communicate mind-to-mind with Az; who's ever-present composed demeanor was always a comfort no matter the situation, even as I could sense his underlying worry for his High Lady. However, in between the few hours of sleep I allowed myself through the night, I updated and reassured him of Feyre's condition. But, when my mate awoke with a furrowed brow and a pained expression, I sent a direct order for him to send for the midwife and healer.

XXX

-Feyre-

The labor pains came in waves.

When I first awoke from the most tranquil state of sleep I had ever found for the duration of my pregnancy, the muscle contractions in my lower abdomen had felt like the twinges of pain I experienced during my previous cycles—uncomfortable and excruciating, but in the last decade I had learned different techniques in order to cope, such as curling up in a certain position on my side or alternating between heating and cooling blankets laid across my abdomen and back. Like the cramps associated with my cycles, these contractions pulsed and throbbed through my lower body, ripping across my back, stomach, and thighs, but were thankfully manageable with Rhysand's help. The minute a groan escaped my lips, Rhys sprang into action, sitting on his knees beside me and helping me sit upright. He let me squeeze his hand and led me through the controlled breathing exercises the midwife had shown us in preparation for this moment, and for the first few hours they were completely doable.

The tightening would build and build, washing over my body in a flood; my deep and cleansing breaths pushing them back down into nothing...until it all happened again minutes later. From the time the first wave consumed me and dissipated, a minute had barely gone by, and Rhys was still at my ear whispering terms of endearment and encouragement until Madja and our midwife arrived. The duo immediately began setting up our space with the supplies needed for the duration of my labor, and I watched them in a trance. Thanks to the healer and midwife's many lectures leading up to this event, I knew that part of me would be so focused on making it through this arduous process that the rest of the world would melt away. However, there was still a small part of me—perhaps the part tethered to the bond I shared with my mate, that was acutely aware of everything that was happening.

It was all so...primal. As the hours passed, my body continued to endure the waves of contractions and pain that continued to surge, mount, and flood my entire being. I knew what was happening, and despite the pain affecting my innermost being, that innate female shouldered on. Meanwhile, a tiny part of my consciousness watched from a distance at the bridge that connected me to my mate. It was that part of my psyche, the only part unaffected by the unadulterated anguish brought on contraction after contraction, that could hear Rhysand's words; that could register them and find the encouragement I needed in order to push past pain after insurmountable pain.

XXX

-Rhysand-

Feyre's cries and shouts of agony were truly the worst form of torment I had ever withstood in the centuries I had been alive. For every pulse of pain that washed over her body, I wished with every fiber of my being that I could take it away. Despite knowing that I could was easily the hardest part in watching her suffer, but my mate had made me vow months in advance not to.

"Promise me you won't use your daemati abilities to ease my pain," Feyre had said softly.

It had still been fairly early in her pregnancy when she uttered those words; when we had taken a few days to ourselves in this very Cabin and whispered words of comfort and reassured each other that we would be different from our own parents. I had just promised my mate of the outstanding mother she would become for our son, and she assured me the same—dissuading any insecurities either of us had for our ability to be good parents. My forehead was still pressed against hers, eyes imploring as she stared at me meaningfully.

I raised my head, my gaze leveling with those stunning blue-grey eyes as I asked, "Are you sure, Feyre? The pain will be...considerable."

Kallias warned me as much in his letters following Eira's birth. While the experience had passed in a blur, those hours leading up to his daughter's birth had tortured a once vivacious and bright female. If the pains of labor could bring down even Viviane, I knew the same would be true for my mate.

Feyre simply nodded. "If Viviane could do it, if your mother could do it, then so can I," she insisted.

My gaze had softened as I cupped her face gently. "I have no doubt that you can do it Feyre, darling, but if I could make it easier for you-"

"No," she repeated. "Females have been doing it for centuries without any kind of pain relief, and as High Lady of the Night Court, I've more than proven I can handle this as well."

I brushed my thumb along her cheek gently as I nodded in agreement. While every feral instinct in me protested the allowance of my mates suffering, I shoved those intolerant compulsions away. This was Feyre's choice, she was the one carrying my child and would ultimately bring him into the world, so it was her decision on how she wanted to accomplish that task. My job now, as Kallias had outlined to me from his own account, was to support my mate through the ordeal.

"As my High Lady wishes," I purred before pressing another reassuring kiss to her brow.

Her returning smile was bright, those blue-grey eyes shimmering with adoration before either of us noticed the new tattoo forming in the shape of three small stars on both of our right pinky fingers. A small laugh rumbled in my chest as we both watched the stars take shape and solidify on our skin—evidence of our new promise.

"I must say, Feyre darling, if the centuries we have together are filled with more and more oaths between us, I may run out of skin," I teased.

My beautiful, perfect, mate only laughed, the sound resounding through our bond; its melody causing Sebastian's glimmer of delight to thrum between us a moment later.

XXX

-Feyre-

Rhys's was the only voice I could hear over my misery, and during those couple precious moments of respite in between surges of hurt. I was vaguely aware of my own howls of agony as my mate continued to coach me through each breathing exercise; guiding me back to calmer and more controlled breaths whenever they turned into angry or pain-filled sobs. I could hardly keep track of how much time had passed, or anything at all for that matter; my mind too focused on getting me to the end of each earth-shattering contraction. That innate part of me left on the bridge of my bond couldn't tell if the ground beneath me was actually trembling or not, and I was too exhausted to actually ask whenever the conscious part of my being was alert to my present surroundings.

There were slivers of minutes when I was able to hear Madja and the midwife, mostly talking to Rhys and offering advice; one suggestion being to actually get me out of bed and walking around the space of the Cabin. From what I could actually discern of the conversation the older females were having with my mate, they explained that any movement might help things along—staying idle and writhing in pain while lying in bed would apparently only prolong my suffering. So, while I was still aware, Rhys helped me out of bed; one arm wrapped around my back to keep me supported, and his free hand gripping mine. I kept my other on my hip, eyes closed as I shuffled out of the small bedroom with his help.

I could hear Rhys's voice again in my ear, full of nothing but love and support, as I felt the beginnings of the stabbing pain return. "You're doing so well, my love," he said softly.

I yearned for the peace the timbre of his voice once offered me, clung to the shreds of it as the next contraction sent me from my feet onto all fours on the ground beneath me. I could only feel Rhysand's hands on my back, rubbing soothing circles as I howled in pain, my groans staying loud as I followed the patterned breathing as best as I could. Somehow, this position—being on my hands and knees, made the contractions easier to cope with. Remembering the midwife's explanation that labor was such an exacting primal act in itself, that instinctual female in me realized that in order to carry on for the duration of this process I would need to follow whatever natural tendency wanted to take control.

Once the pain finally began to ebb away and my breathing regulated, I felt Rhys's hands try to lift me up. I shook my head immediately.

"No," I rasped. "This feels good," I said as I turned my head to meet his starlit gaze.

He nodded in return, hands resuming the comforting circles he made on my back whilst the magic of the Cabin supplied a plush blanket underneath me—to keep my bare hands and knees from being pressed to the hardwood floors. I realized then that my loose nighttime shift was the only piece of clothing I donned. Sometime between waking and now, Rhys must've used his magic to change me into simpler clothing.

"You won't be needing much else for this process," came the midwife's voice from behind my place on the floor in the middle of the sitting room; probably guessing my thoughts as I looked over my attire.

I raised my weary gaze to her, both her and Madja offering a kind smile in return as they sat on the settee across from me. "We've been performing hourly pelvic exams in order to check your progression in between contractions," the healer explained.

I nodded, vaguely remembering their voices explaining what they were doing and when during the few moments of alertness I had been granted thus far. Another part of me recalling the crucial details the midwife had previously explained to my mate and me. In order to reach the final stage of labor, the pushing stage, the opening of my womb had to reach a certain level of thinning out and my bag of waters hosting the baby would have to burst in order for him to pass through and officially enter the world.

"You're about halfway there," Rhys said, answering my unasked question.

"Of course, when the time comes, you'll feel that preternatural urge to begin pushing, which is a tall-tale sign for the final stage of delivery to occur," the midwife explained.

"How long has it been?" I asked, my voice hoarse from my earlier groans.

"Hours," Madja answered, waving a nonchalant hand. "The timing doesn't matter, so long as you and your youngling continue to tolerate the process well, there isn't anything to worry about."

"Which you are," the midwife added. "Doing well, I mean."

"You're doing brilliantly, Feyre darling," Rhys repeated, pressing a kiss to the side of my temple as he continued working those reposeful circles on my back.

I could only offer a brief smile in return before another gut-wrenching wave overwhelmed me once again.

XXX

-Rhysand-

There seemed to be no end to Feyre's suffering as pain continued to seize her body, the intervals of contractions growing shorter and shorter as the hours continued to pass. Still, in spite of my heart shattering every time the Cabin was filled with her agonizing wails, part of me watched my mate in admiration as she fought her way through the excruciating convulsions and followed whatever insights her body called her to do in order to manage each one. We switched from her position on the floor, to walking around the small space of the Cabin, leaning against walls and different pieces of furniture for support as the contractions persisted; the midwife and healer checking her progression with pelvic exams at every mark of the hour. The day was now transitioning into early evening, and the contractions were starting to last longer—to the point where Feyre could hardly speak, or barely register anything at all as she endured them. During those pain-free intervals, she was able to nod in acknowledgement at whatever few words were spoken to her, engage in brief conversation, or give a simple shake of her head when she wanted to continue moving around the room or into a new relieving position.

The stronger the contractions grew, so did Feyre's reaction to them. She still whimpered in pain, her groans nearly coming out as growls as she battled to keep pace with the breathing exercises I coached her through. But with my focus kept solely on my mate, I hadn't realized I was no longer updating Azriel until I felt a gentle plea from Mor. Feyre had just undergone another contraction when I heard Mor's timid entreatment. Apparently, my mate's roars of pain had been so profound, that they had shook the expanse of mountains across our court. I had been too engrossed with guiding Feyre's breathing to notice, but our family back in Velaris had. They knew it was a sign of things advancing; that the next heir of the Night Court would soon make his entrance. So, I updated them as quickly as possible, promising that my next update would come when Sebastian did, and turned my attention back onto Feyre.

XXX

-Feyre-

Somehow my journey around the Cabin had come full circle, and I ended up on all fours on the cushioned bed in the bedroom. In the time my last contraction ebbed away, and I found Rhysand's violet eyes to offer a bleary-eyed appreciative smile, I felt my body shift. Still panting and recovering the breath I had used during the last contraction, I gripped Rhys's hand, silently asking him to help me upright. He obeyed, and I leaned back against his chest for support as I rested on my knees with a sigh of relief...my eyes widening a second later when I felt a gush of water burst between my legs.

My head snapped in the direction of the mess now spreading on the once clean sheets of the bed before Rhys helped me off and back onto my feet, the magic of the house changing the sheets without a second thought. I stared wide-eyed at my mate, but he only smiled warmly in return before pressing a kiss to my brow.

"M-My...bag of waters broke," I said, still astonished.

He nodded. "Just like the midwife told us it would," he added, rubbing my back in reassuring strokes.

My hands held my stomach, suddenly feeling lighter at the loss of fluid that had built up over the last several months. "T-This is really happening, Rhys," I whispered, knowing this moment of clarity would soon pass as the next contraction started to edge back in.

"You're doing it, Feyre," he said with another kiss to my brow. "It's almost over."

I didn't have enough time to respond before the full weight of the contraction hit in an entirely different way than I had previously felt. Rhys helped me back onto the edge of the bed, and I gripped his hand hard as the pain began to mount and surge through me—a newfound pressure building at the base of my pelvis alongside with it, and my breaths came in fuller and deeper rasps. Madja and the healer, who had remained in another room of the Cabin to allow Rhys and me some privacy, must've heard the change in my breathing because they entered the room seconds later.

The words exchanged between the older females and my mate seemed far away, barely discernible to me as I closed my eyes in concentration. The painful pressure I felt continued to build, and I realized that preternatural urge to push was here. The groan that slipped through my lips must've been indication enough, because I soon found myself in the center of the bed with Rhys holding me upright and the midwife at my feet as she performed her final pelvic exam.

"It's time, my Lady," the midwife said, as I forced my attention on her. "It's time to start pushing."

My heart shuttered at the words, and I turned wide eyes to my mate, who kept an arm wrapped around my back, allowing me to partially rest against him while I squeezed his free hand.

You can do this, Feyre, darling

His warm voice echoed through the bond, reaching my innermost self left on the bridge between us, and I nodded as I felt the surge of pain return. I groaned as the intense pressure grew stronger, the urge to push becoming forceful by the second, and heard the combined voices of Madja and the midwife quickly instructing me on how to position myself on the bed. With my upper body being supported by Rhys, and my legs drawn up and open, I quickly sucked in a deep breath as the females instructed and bore down in my first push.

XXX

-Rhysand-

Feyre pushed and pushed for what felt like hours, but in reality, I knew it had only been one—judging by the path of vanishing sunlight outside the window that finally gave way to night as it always did; dark orange blending into a mix of magenta and indigo before the all-consuming dark sea of stars swallowed them up and lit up the sky. I was all too familiar with that pattern, had watched it countless times in my lifetime, but had never felt it drag on as long as it had tonight. Perhaps Feyre's continued screams of anguish as she pushed were the reason why it felt so prolonged now, but I forced myself not to linger on watching it as I honed in on my mate.

She slumped against my chest, exhausted and spent after offering another hard push, and I dabbed at her brow and neck with a cool, damp cloth. I lost track of how many she had done but kept a brave face as I encouraged her further. She was indeed the strongest female I had ever seen in my centuries of life, and I held onto that reverence in order to battle the guilt that raged within me. It was my offspring she had grown in her belly; mine she now choked back tears for as she drew in another deep breath and pushed again, brows sweaty and furrowed in pure concentration, face red with splotches as she growled in pain with her effort.

It was both the most beautiful I had ever seen her, and the most harrowing.

While my chest ached with remorse for seeing my mate in such a state, it was also filled with so much more love and devotion I had ever felt towards her. I pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze as she pushed, silently letting her know how much I loved her in this moment.

XXX

-Feyre-

"I can see the head my lady," Madja cheered as I pushed.

A snarl of agony ripped from my throat; my eyes still clenched in concentration. "Get it out!" I growled without breaking my effort.

"You're nearly there," came the midwife's response.

I groaned, panting heavily as I slumped against Rhys again. He whispered loving words of support as he dabbed at my face and neck to cool me down, and I knew the all-consuming heat I felt had nothing to do with my powers and everything to do with this struggle. Not even the messy bun I had thrown my hair into seemed to cool me down in between my endeavors, so I was grateful when Rhys had begun using a damp washcloth to provide relief—the only kind afforded to me during this ordeal. It was all starting to become too overwhelming to endure for much longer, and I felt my resolve slipping. My eyes met with Rhys's for a brief moment, and instead of offering him a tired half-smile I had done so far, I broke into sobs.

"I can't do this anymore, Rhys," I cried.

His hand squeezed mine, the starlight in his eyes flickering as the hand on my back tightened gently. "You can," he promised. "Sebastian is almost here, Feyre, just imagine our little Bash here at last,"

I sobbed at the thought, the images of my baby I had been dreaming of for months flashing through my mind before I felt the devastating pain returned. I cried again, loudly claiming I couldn't do it, and was met with a chorus of voices encouraging me—claiming I could, and would. Deciding not to keep fighting it, I rallied my strength together with another gulp of air and bore down with the hardest push I could offer.

My attempt heralded in another round of voices animatedly telling me to continue, and though I couldn't differentiate the female's voices, I heard one of them tell Rhys to watch as our son's head began to emerge. My eyes were squeezed shut with my effort, so I couldn't see the look on his face, but a yelp of pain emerged from my throat a second later as I felt the strain of my baby's head coming through with the force of my pushing. The midwife quickly told me to take several deep breaths instead, and I did as I was told, gasping aloud when I felt a painful burst.

"The head is out, my lady," the midwife said with a meaningful look as I finally opened my eyes.

I gasped for even breaths, nodding before I looked to Rhys; whose violet eyes were silver lined as they met mine. He had shifted to my side for a better view of our son coming forth, his and Madja's hands holding either side of me, balancing me upright.

"He's so beautiful, Feyre," Rhys said tearfully as he lowered his head to rest his forehead against mine, a tear trailing down the side of his cheek.

I sobbed again, bringing a hand to brush that tear away briefly before grasping his free one as my body yielded to another throbbing contraction. "Just one more big push, my lady, and your babe will be in your arms." Madja promised.

"One more, and you're done," Rhys vowed, repeating the healer's words.

Instead of voicing my agreement, I continued my hold on to Rhys's hand while I gripped my knee with the other and sucked in a quick gasp of air before offering what now had to be the strongest and hardest push my body could muster. My eyes squeezed shut as I fixed all of my attention into this push, near-feral growls emerging from my throat at the unbearable pain that tore through me, my cries drowning out the myriad of voices cheering me on.

Soon, however, all the pain vanished the second I heard the tiniest, most magnificent wail I would ever hear in my entire life.

[artxyra]

The Secret Life of MDC | Part 4

Part 4 - Riddle Me This!

Part 1 | 2 | 3 |

It just had to be the Riddler who decides to grace his appearance at the strip mall. Just looking at his outfit was a crime against her eyes. Marinette had her far shares of a run-in with the green suited villain, and after countless complaints, he still hasn’t changed his outfit let alone attempt to contact her about an outfit change. Catwoman literally has her number; he could have just asked.

“Now who wants to go first. Choose wisely and you shall survive, but choice wrong and you may get a bullet.” The Riddler taunts his capture victims. They squirm under the threat, eyes widen beyond belief.

From afar, Marinette could see the shaking figures of her classmates. Years of being under Hawkmoth’s terror, showing little to no emotions during an attack, and they are shaking to the sight of the Riddler. Perhaps it was because there was no Miraculous cure or they have forgotten their permanent residency.  To be honest, Marinette was just waiting for Lila to say something stupid that would most likely get them all killed.

“M-my Damiboo would save me!” Yup, there she goes. Everyone, that was not fooled by Lila’s words (ie. Gothamites), facepalmed and groans as she gains the interest of the Riddler.

Tapping his chin, he stares at her before introducing his first riddle of this heist, “It's raining, and you pass a bus stop. There are three people there; your trustworthy friend, the love of your life, and a woman about to go into labor. Your smart car only has two seats. What do you do?”

Lila blubbers her answer, something about taking the love of her life and leaving. She is then scared shitless as a bullet zooms past her, nearly hitting her ear. A shock facial expression stays prominent on her face until she falls down, fainting.

“Oh, how the fibber swoons to darkness. Batsy isn’t here yet and I really want someone to solve my riddles.” He searches the crowd for his next victim. The Parisian teens quickly try to wake up Lila, but they also hope not to be the Riddler’s next targets.

Marinette mentally goes through answering the riddle. Chloe and Adrien stare at one another before shaking their heads. They knew what Marinette was thinking and that is a bad idea. Then again it might bet the better option seeing as they have no idea when the bat crew would make it to the scene.

“You give the keys to your friend so that they can take the woman in labor to the hospital and wait for the bus with the boyfriend.” Marinette confidently answers. The GA Trio stare at the Marinette in awe.

“She does that a lot,” Adrien whispers just enough for their new friends to hear. That was true, Marinette has a tendency of solving riddles which were due to her time being Ladybug.

Chuckling happily, the Riddler turns his attention to Marinette. Marinette doesn’t falter at him glancing at her, but she does narrow her eyes just enough to enforce a challenge.

Dancing closer over to Marinette and her friends, the Riddler chuckles. Half of the weapons turn to them, it's Adrien and Chloe that hold their ground while the GA trio looks like they want to bounce to safety.

“No amount of sass can save you from this riddle, pick the correct answer and your friend shall do free but pick the wrong—”

“They die?” Marinette quirks an eyebrow at the villain.

The Riddler blanches and says, “Only one color, but not one size, stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies. Present in sun, but not in rain, doing no harm, and feeling no pain. What is it?”

Emotionless and quick, Marinette gives her answer, “It's a shadow.”

“How about this one: if eleven plus two equals one, what does nine plus five equals?”

Adrien turns to Marinette, he knows the answer as Chloe taps the ground giving away the crook with a gun behind them. Tensions slowly rise among the group of friends.

“Uh, it’s two o’clock. You’re adding the hours of time.” Marinette answers with a sigh of relief at the end. She knows they are aching to pull the trigger, but unknowingly to the Riddler if anything happens to her, well let's just say he might not live to see another day.

The Riddler growls clearly frustrated with the teen's ability to answer correctly. Only a handful of people can do this to him. “In that case, what is it that given one, you'll have either two or none?”

Marinette only smirks, riddles was also one of her favorite past time against Tim when they are both on the verge of death by lack of sleep. Those late-night twitter messages give much to their twisted mindset on a lack of caffeine.

As Marinette draws on the answer a little longer, Chloe and Adrien take down the henchmen behind them. The henchmen fall to the ground swiftly as the blonde duo nod their heads. Adrien quickly pulls out his phone to see if there were any messages in the group chat. There’s none.

“How long do you think we can hold him off until they get here?” Chloe whispers side glancing at the rooftops of buildings.

“No clue, they haven’t sent anything in the chat, should I try texting Jon?”

Chloe’s eyes narrow causing Adrien to gulp and quickly tap on his phone.

“It’s a choice.” The blonde duo turns their heads towards Marinette who was now toying with the green suit villain. It was clear that she was slowly becoming agitated. “You know, what I have a riddle for you. What’s green and yellow, has no sense of fashion, and is literally killing my eyesight?” She yells at the villain.

It’s like a pin drop as everything freezes once more. Her classmates on the verge of leaving the scene as they were no longer the targets. Seriously, you’re just going to leave them to fend for themselves. Yup, they are as they make a large dash out of the scene. This then creates confusion among the Gothamite as they are used to this and what did they expect, screaming?

“Uh, I—uh…” The Riddle tries to formulate an answer. It takes him a second before pointing to himself. “Me?”

Marinette, like a disappointed mom, nods her head. “Yes. You dare show your face in such a green that could put someone’s eyes out. Don't you dare get me started on the yellow question marks? That tone does not do well on your skin. Gosh, you had one job, Riddler, one fricking job.” Marinette begins to go off. The Riddler and his henchmen pale at every word she says.

Just as Marinette was beginning to calm down, a shadow in the shape of a bat looms over the Riddle.

“Finally,” Marinette huffs as the Riddle turns his attention from her to fight against the Batman.

“Hey, you guys okay?” It was Nightwing who asks appearing behind the blonde duo. If looks could kill, he would have been six feet under with the look Chloe was giving me.

“Oh, my lord, it Nightwing!” Allegra squeals in the background but she goes ignore as Nightwing rubs the back of his neck.

“Get us out of here, like now!” Chloe screams to the vigilante.

Robin rushes to Marinette and tries to take her away from the situation.

“Are you alright miss?” He asks bringing them to the safety of the public. Marinette stares at him deadpanned before nodding. As much as we would like to kiss her lips, he sends her a shrug over to her friends. “Where are your classmates?”

“Gone, unless Alya decided to do something stupid like try and get a film of you guys in action.” Realization began to set over Marinette’s eyes. “You’re going to need to find them. Hopefully, they made it back to the academy without any problems.”

Robin nods then proceed to send a message over the coms about the missing foreign class from Paris. He quickly joins the search as Marinette turns to her friends.

“Do you any idea how ridiculously stupid that decision was?” Chloe grills the designer before whispering, “You know we’re not even in our suits.”

“Sorry Bee, but did you see that outfit?” Marinette counters before going on a massive rant about the Riddler’s outfit and how he could choose it.

~*~

Nette @GothamsFashionSense Yo, some foreigner just grilled the Riddler on his outfit. I’m so proud of her. #prideful #doIseecompetition

Chloe B. @QueenBeeOfParis Replying to @GothamsFashionSense That was my sista @MarinetteMemes, she too loves your content.

Nette @GothamsFashionSense And I ❤️ her, that rant was amazing 🤩. Need any tips @MarinetteMemes? #futureapprentice #fashionmess

~*~

Case in point, Alya did separate from the class when they were trying to escape once word got out that the bats were on their way. She is quick to make sure that Lila was alright before dashing back to the “crime” scene with her phone recording.

Batman had found her, but before he could get a word out, Alya was blasting him with questions regarding the situation and personal questions. He, of course, ignores them. Alya even tries to bring up Lila’s name but he doesn’t answer. Nightwing pulls on up on his bike to take the “aspiring” journalist back to the academy against her pleases and constant questions.

Upon returning to the academy, Alya was heavily lectured by the GA’s headmistress before her own teacher baby her. Mlle. Bustier was never one to give punishments unless it was warranted and even then, she doesn’t do it right. Alya was lucky to return to her dorm with a slap on the wrist and detention.

~*~

Babe Bee @Iheartthebatboy23 Um… can we talk about the girl that grilled the Riddler and how she looked so much like a Wayne? #newWayne #theorieseverywhere #brucewayneexplainplease

~*~

After a week of grueling classwork (aka grading assessments), getting pestered by her former classmates in Mlle. Bustier's class, Marinette wakes up with a beating headache. She hasn’t felt that way since the last time she had gone days without sleep, running on twelve shots of expresso before crashing.

“C’mon buggy, it’s Saturday and Jon’s in town. You know how much the kitten would want to spend time with him.” Chloe states, standing in front of Marinette fully dress and with a businesswoman power pose.

“And here I thought you did want to be the fifth wheel.” Marinette retorts only to get a chuckle out of the mayor’s daughter.

“No, but I will be FaceTiming Gami while you and the boys have fun,” Chloe responds back as she laughs at the dismal look on Marinette’s face. “But seriously though, get dressed. We’re meeting the boys in thirty.”

Marinette rushes over to her wardrobe and picks out her clothes then rushes to the bathroom. She comes out in fifteen minutes wearing black leggings and one of Damian’s sweatshirts that look like a dress against her small frame.

As the teens exit the school, they were quick to avoid Lila who was making up another story as to where she’ll be this evening. It was something along the lines of going on a date with her Damiboo. It took everything in Marinette’s body to not grill the liar about her boyfriend, but with soothing words from Chloe, they managed to get out the building without bloodshed.

If only that wasn’t the case later on that day.

Part 5 >>

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[magesmiths]

Regency AU: let your heart be your guide

Chapter two: say we'll go slow but we never do

word count: 1,759

Read on AO3 / Chapter 1

Dearest Miss Sewell,

I trust you arrived safely in Bath, though I have yet to hear from you. One can only assume you have spent the past fortnight absorbed in a particularly good book, though I fail to see why that should stop you from fulfilling your promise, I quote, of writing me upon your arrival.

Little has occurred in London since your departure. I look forward to returning to the country soon. Your presence would be welcome.

I hope it is not too much of a task to assure your oldest friend of your continued safety.

Faithfully,

Ava du Mortain

---

My Dearest Ava,

I do apologise for not writing you sooner, Bath has been a more delightful experience thus far than I had anticipated. That is, however, no excuse for my lack of correspondence.

It is a beautiful city, more so than I had remembered. I feel as though I am seeing it through a new set of eyes. And perhaps I am.

In truth, I have written multiple letters. I find myself in raptures and pen lengthy prose that should be seen by none. My dear friend, how can I express to you the past weeks with merely my own words? I cannot do them justice and will spare you the overtures when I know you would rather I get to the point.

I would be more than happy to join you in the country once the season in London is over. I expect to be back in a fortnight, I look forward to being in your company again.

Yours,

Nat

---

Lottie wakes even before the sun the next morning. The anticipation is too much to sleep through, irresistible are the thoughts that feel as though they breathe life into her, all centred on one person.

She had oft considered her lack of interest in the men, wondered why she would rather watch her acquaintances than fawn over the latest potential suitor with them. It had become clearer to her over time, and startlingly obvious when her friendship with one seemed to transcend that which was appropriate for two women. Not - she remembers with a wry smile - that that had gone anywhere beyond a few careful touches of hands and shy, prolonged smiles before the friend was whisked away by matrimony.

No, it was not quite a surprise to her then to meet Miss Sewell and feel the way she did. The only shock had been the fervour with which her affection grows, like ivy crawling through her veins and becoming a part of her. She considers for a moment if that is too sinister a simile, too aggressive for that which makes her feel as though she could fly. And yet it is apt. For ivy is evergreen, it holds with vigour. Ivy is immortal.

(If Lottie were a more pragmatic woman, if perhaps she knew how to hold back a little, if there was a piece of her heart she did not give so willingly; she might protect herself more. She might be able to foresee danger in what she pursues, might even feel this proclamation comes a little too soon after their first meeting. Alas, she could not be herself if she did. If for a moment she concerned herself with feeling too much too soon, she reminded herself of friends who had professed their love for men they had scarcely met and those ended in marriages. No, if anything, the force of her feelings and the taboo nature of them assured her of her own curiosity. These feelings were something and she had to know what it could mean — what it could be.)

When finally, finally, the sun rises and the day can begin, Lottie is beyond having patience. The morning drags, her brother and aunt can provide no relief with their chatter and gossip. She joins in where she can, playing the dutiful, entertaining sister and niece, but a pair of brown eyes continue to occupy her thoughts.

“Charlotte.”

Lottie’s nose wrinkles at the use of her full name as she turns her attention to her aunt. She’s met with two admonishing looks, though her brother’s is more amused than irritated.

“I asked you a question, dear.”

“I apologise, Aunt. What was it you asked?”

Anne sighs and takes a long sip of her tea, watching Lottie over the teacup with narrowed eyes. Lottie’s jaw clenches, but she doesn’t break eye contact. Her aunt’s glare has long stopped having its desired effect.

“I asked if we should be expecting any suitors of yours.”

“Suitors?”

“Yes, dear. A man. One who might finally marry you, burden though it might be.”

“Aunt!” John’s face has always shown every emotion. The shock is in the way his eyebrows are raised, the lines on his forehead prominent, his mouth slightly ajar.

Lottie almost smiles at his shock, he has not needed to learn to delicately hide those emotions when one is being insulted so blatantly. At 25, she barely flinches anymore.

“Well I should hardly be privy to that information. Why would a man inform a woman of his intentions?” Lottie has not needed her brother’s protection from their aunt in years, knows that the only way to silence her is to be just as disrespectful. She stands, folding her napkin and sets it on the table. Her gaze flicks down over the older woman’s attire. “However, if your concern is about looking presentable for the day, Aunt, I’m sure you needn’t concern yourself.”

Her aunt hardly reacts to her words, merely raising an eyebrow and stating, “if you cannot find one yourself, I shall simply find a husband for you, Charlotte.”

Lottie gives a tight smile, bows her head and leaves the room before the other two can say anything more.

The journey to the library, one that should be filled with excitement and anticipation, is marred by the memory of her aunt’s words. The threat of a husband looms, an unknown darkness hanging over her life, her future. Thus far Lottie has been afforded freedoms many of her friends had not, and the good will of her brother kept her protected. But her aunt’s near constant presence these past two years had changed that.

This was not the first time Aunt Anne’s impatience and Lottie’s reluctance (or impertinence as her aunt was fond of calling it) regarding marriage came to a head. Her recent birthday, however, had brought with it a determination. It seemed 25 years may be her aunt’s limit.

Dread seeps in, settling itself in her mind. Seeing Miss Sewell no longer seems like a good idea — what good is any pretence of happiness? — and she almost resolves herself to tell the driver to turn around when the carriage comes to a stop and he announces they have arrived.

Lottie stares at her hands for a moment, clenched together. She can feel her nails pressing small crescent moons into her skin, focuses on that feeling and takes a deep breath. The door opens.

“Miss Fitzwilliam?”

The soft call of her name has Lottie raising her head and seeing the eyes that have featured prominently in her mind for the past two weeks.

And it’s as if her worries melt away upon meeting them again.

“Miss Sewell.” It seems impossible for her name to pass her lips without smiling as she says them. Miss Sewell’s own lips curve upwards in response and a moment passes where they speak no words.

She could not put it to words if asked to describe what it is that passes between them, what feeling it is that settles over her. She knows only that it embraces her, unfamiliar yet distinctly Miss Sewell. Whatever this pull may be, finding out is the only thing she can think of.

“Shall we?”

Miss Sewell gestures to the doorway in front of them and they fall into step next to one another. Their arms brush against one another as they walk, just briefly, barely touching, but enough that Lottie feels a shiver run down her arm afterwards. An accident, or so it might appear, it is hard to tell but regardless, it is another few moments before she can force words from her lips.

“Are you looking for a particular book, Miss Sewell?”

“No, not especially. I find there is no place quite so enjoyable as a library, and I am devoid of my own here in Bath. I thought it might be a pleasant way to pass time in your company.”

“You have your own library at home?”

Miss Sewell smiles down at her. “Oh yes. I have spent quite some time cultivating it.” There is a pause, Miss Sewell’s eyes seem to search her face and Lottie can feel herself warming under her gaze. “You should see it some time, I think you would like it.”

She feels brave, looking into those eyes. “I’m sure I should like anything if it were in your company, Miss Sewell.”

A risk. Only a small one; easy to ignore or misinterpret. A whisper in the wind, thrown out, willing to be caught in sails and brought safely to shore. Lottie feels her heart hammer against her chest as she waits.

They pause in front of bookshelves, not quite so close that they are touching, but near enough that Lottie can feel the warmth emanating from Miss Sewell. Or at least, she fancies that she can, and hopes that in return Miss Sewell can sense her own happiness in their proximity.

“Now we have at least a little more privacy,” her voice is but a murmur, low and for Lottie alone, “could you afford me the privilege of calling me by my name? At least for today. I do tire of ‘Miss Sewell’.”

Lottie feels a smile pull at her lips, hope fluttering within her. “Natalie, then?”

“Nat. If you will.”

“Nat.” Her eyes flick up towards the woman and the smile grows into a grin, matching the one on her companion’s face. “It suits you.” She turns back to look at the books on the shelf, reaching a hand towards them, fingers skirting over the spines as though pondering the titles, though she could not tell you their names if asked. “You could call me Lottie. If you would like.”

There is no immediate acknowledgement of what she has said, but then she hears the soft whisper of her name and she has to close her eyes, basking in the moment.

This, she thinks, this is everything.

[punkgrogg]

Doorway Duo pt.2

Pairing: Hybrid!Taehyung x Reader, Hybrid!Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Hybrid!BTS, Non idol AU, fluff

Warnings: Pregnancy

Summary: Y/n was abandoned by her long time boyfriend and moves back home to help prepare for the baby. She’s surprised to find two unfamiliar hybrids at her house.

Length: 2,456 words

Notes: Sorry for the long wait, this summer has been one disaster and tragedy (my grandpa, great grandma, and college friend have all passed) after another but I’m almost finished with part 3 so I’ll be posting that in the next couple of days. 

Date posted: 7/26/2020

Pregnancy sucks.  My back hurts and my feet are sore after just a few hours walking. Not to mention the overall discomfort of my body swelling up to accommodate the new human developing inside of it. Luckily I only have about three more months of this left and I could finally hold my baby boy. Yeah, Hobi was right. He claimed that it was his hybrid genes that made him privy to this information but Kook calls bullshit- he and Tae had been hoping it was a girl.

In the past two months of staying back home, I’ve seemed to bond super well with the two new hybrids. At first, it was easy to become friends with Tae, he was overly friendly and followed me around after our first-day meeting. Once my baby bump became prominent I could keep him away; he spent most of his waking hours cooing at my stomach. I had to work a bit harder to get Jungkook to open up to me and all it took was a few weeks of calling Taehyung his nickname.  Apparently, he was just shy and wanted to be my friend also but he was jealous that Tae got to be called Tae. I called him Kook since then and all shyness flew out the door. He and Tae were both so energized all the time and both so caring. Today they insisted on accompanying me to the store because they didn’t want me to accidentally overwork myself. Hobi tagged along too, not wanting to be left behind at the house alone.

I was flanked by both Jungkook and Taehyung the moment we entered the store but this is something I've had to get used to.  Another thing I’ve had to get used to is that Taehyung was very touchy. His hands are always in contact with some part of my body and today he had wrapped his arm around my waist and his fingers traced small circles into my side as we strolled down the aisles. Usually, I wasn’t someone who liked to be held all the time but with Tae, it never bothered me, it was actually comforting most of the time. Hobi strolled a few feet ahead of us while he was bickering with Taehyung over the chips that were tossed into the cart.  The great chip debate happened every time we went to the store, Hoseok had a weird taste when it came to snacks and my other brothers and I had long gotten over it. 

Jungkook was hovering on my right- so close that our knuckles brushed as we walked- his presence a constant that I’ve become accustomed to these last few weeks.  He was back to his quiet guy persona, it probably would stay this way until we got home. Hobi thought it was funny when we went out in public together- said that Jungkook changes gear into high alert one I became a variable. It was hard for me to imagine him outside of the two versions of him that I knew, the quiet and shy versus the playful and relaxed.  At home, Jungkook was the one to cajole me into chasing him throughout the house but whenever I turn a corner too fast he’s there with arms outstretched to catch me. 

Taehyung too acted a bit differently when we went out, usually he was a bundle of energy and excitement that couldn’t be contained but in public, he seemed to change into a startling somber man who would then meld himself to my side once out the door. I guess this fed into his protective instincts as well.  Tae was the one who was most concerned with my well being in the house. He responded to every grunt and whimper I’ve made since I’ve moved in. He forced me into weekly self-care nights and rushed to prevent me from overworking myself no matter the task. I would think that it was charming normally but because of him, I’ve been banned from dish duty after accidentally cutting my finger after moving in. 

My parents had warned me that the three hybrids in the house might change a bit while the pregnancy developed but if I were uncomfortable then I should let them know right away. Hoseok was the same Hoseok as ever- a beam of sunshine in my monotonous life. He has spent increasingly more time outside of our house - going on dates with some mysterious guy. He has stopped teasing me a much this past week or two and instead teases Jungkook and Taehyung twice as much. Jungkook and Tae have obviously turned into my pseudo bodyguards and that can probably be chalked up to their hybrid instincts. 

Why else would these two hang onto me so closely?   I thought to myself as I focused on a sign for a buy one get one half off deal for oatmeal. Dad liked oats in the morning but there didn’t seem to be any of his favored cinnamon flavors. Taehyung suddenly ripped me out of my peaceful bubble by tugging me into his side abruptly. Jungkook stood in front of me while I could hear Hoseok apologize profusely. Both Taehyung and Jungkook had their faces twisted into scowls as they peered down at the man huddled on the floor. He looked familiar.

His curly blonde hair seemed to be what struck me with a name on the tip of my tongue. I couldn’t quite place him, how many blonde men did I know? Not many other than that Jimin guy Hobi brought around since high school. I couldn’t place him until he glanced over where I was peeking out over Jungkook’s shoulder. His eyes were blue, an icy pale blue that was the same color as his. This was Henry’s little brother. Was it Darren? Or maybe David? It was hard to recall as Henry was coles with his family. Especially after their parents divorced and He had been the only child to go live with his dad. I had only met David a few times over the almost six years we had been together. 

“Y/n?”  He asked, his eyes lighting up in recognition. Hobi- who was interrupted mid apology for ramming into him with the cart- looked back at me with inquisitive eyes. Taehyung tried to pull me closer to his side but this once I resisted and stepped from the overwhelming protection of the Duo. 

“David? Last I saw you, you were a scrawny little beanpole.” I teased light-heartedly as I stood next to Hobi. David’s cheeks flushed as he stood up and straightened out his clothes. 

“Uh, well, I grew up. It’s been three years so how’s it been going? Henry said you guys split up.” His eyes seemed to be glued to my stomach. My stomach was big, especially for how far along I was at only six months of my pregnancy but I was already passing the size of a watermelon. My hands came up to cradle my stomach. 

I forced a smile, “Yeah, we did. It’s been about six months, I think? I’ve been doing good though.” 

It was then that my blood ran cold. Rounding the corner behind David was the man I never wanted to see again. Henry.  These last few months haven’t fully rid me of the sting of abandonment and no matter how much I’ve been coddled - it could never erase the pain and loneliness that I’ve had to overcome. I could feel my brother tense up beside and his threats to ‘rip out his throat’ came ringing in the back of my head. I calmly reached out and held onto his forearm gently.

Henry’s attention was fully focused on the bakery box in his hands and he only glanced up at his brother. He quickly did a double-take when he noticed that there were five looming figures instead of just the one. He skimmed over the group of strangers until he locked eyes with me. His feet took root and held him back a few feet away as he gawked. 

“Baby? That's my baby?” he managed to choke out while his eyes bugged out of his head. David’s jaw dropped and suddenly, with both their gazes trained on me, I felt so much smaller than just a few moments ago.  I could feel panic clawing at my throat as it rattled its way out of my chest at the sudden turn of events. That’s until a warm firm hand grasped onto my elbow as the familiar towering presence materialized behind me. Jungkook. His hold quelled my panic almost instantly. I fixed a terse smile at Henry, my face changing a calm disposition.

“No. You were right: there was no way it could be your baby.” I could feel the acid dripping from my lips as I forced a saccharine sweet smile at the asshole.

Henry’s face quickly snapped out of the shocked expression, almost as quickly as his face took on a reddened hue. “So you were a fucking whore and got knocked up by some hybrid? Should have known, your family is way too close to those fucking freaks.” He kept his eyes trained on Jungkook’s hand holding onto me.

“Oh, I knew you were a piece of shit the first time she brought you home.” Hoseok laughed unamused. He abandoned the cart only to stalk towards Henry, stopping with barely six inches left between the two. “The only thing keeping me from tearing you limb from limb right now is the fact that she begged me to, One more comment from your limp-dicked self will be more than enough to break my self-control. This is the last time you’ll ever speak to her or her children. Understood?” Henry nodded quickly with a face painted in fear. 

Taehyung stepped forward and turned the cart around. Jungkook tugged me along and rubbed his hand on my arm in comfort. Tae swiped a few boxes of snack cake of the shelf as we hurried away and a sudden ringing sound of a slap rang out through the aisle.  No-one turned around. As we approached the lines for check out I could hear the squeaking of Hobi’s sneakers as he ran to catch up with us.  His hands replaced Jungkook’s as he tugged me into his chest. 

He tucked my head under his chin and held me tightly, so tight that he managed to squeeze out the few tears I was managing to fight back. He only tightened his grasp as he pressed a kiss to the top of my head. He let go momentarily to wrench his wallet out of his back pocket so he could exchange it for keys from Jungkook. He pulled me out from under the judging stares of the cashiers and led me to the parking lot. As we neared the car he hugged me closer to his side so he could press his cheek against the top of my head. 

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. 

“No. I’m sorry I let you be with that asshole. I failed as a big brother.” he sighed despondently and I could feel the guilt twisting my stomach into knots.

“No, you’re the best one I got. I’m sorry he said that about you, I’ve never heard him say anything like that before. I love you Hobi, you’re my sunshine.” I cried as I held onto his shirt.

“I know you don’t think of me that way or the guys. I can remember you fighting punks like that at the park growing up. His dumbass will never affect how much I love my snot-nosed baby sister.” he pulled away and leveled me with a soft smile, forcing me to return one. 

“Did you hit him? You could get in a lot of trouble.” I bit onto my lip as I imagined the terrible consequences. He could lose his job at the shelter. He could be marked aggressively by the government and taken away. He could be arrested.

His warm soft hands squished my cheeks as he made me face him. “Aw, is our little Y/n worried about her big brother? Don’t worry my princess, bubby didn’t hurt him. His brother slapped the socks off him. I was shocked.”  His blinding smile finally returned and could hear a cart being pushed behind us. I turned to see Taehyung standing on the front of the cart with a big smile as he waved to us; Jungkook was running full speed at the handle of the cart. 

I laughed at the two idiots as they barely managed to stop before crashing into my car. Taehyung’s hands flew forward to brace himself against the trunk. Jungkook laughed heartily as Taehyung started to yell at him for almost squishing him. 

“Kook, are you driving us back?” I asked to save him from the snow leopard. He nodded as Hobi tossed him the keys. Kook popped the trunk while Hobi and Tae tossed in the few bags of groceries. Jungkook steered away from the cart and we all filed into the car wordlessly. I was in the passenger seat with Hobi behind me. There seemed to be a heavy curtain of silence surrounding us all. 

“Taehyung, Jungkook, I’m sorry for what Henry said.” I pointedly kept my attention at the fast-changing scenery. They were both silent until I could feel hot breath against my neck. A chin rested on my shoulder while a nose pressed itself between my ear and jawline. 

“Why are you sorry? Did you teach him to hate hybrids?” Tae’s deep voice was just barely louder than a whisper but it echoed in my heart. I whipped my head towards him, my eyebrows pinched together harshly, only to see the grin plastered on his face.

“You know I don’t think like that. Don’t tease me like that, I was apologizing because you guys don’t deserve to be spoken to like that. You’re people; kind, caring people.” I glared at him with no heat while his smile only widened. 

“We do know, that’s why we weren’t mad. It's something that happens and we can’t help that we’re used to it. We were actually pissed at that asshat.” Jungkook harrumphed in agreement and I could feel the knot loosen in my stomach. 

“I’ve been trying to join Team Hate Henry since we moved in and Hoseok hasn’t allowed it. I bet Namjoon will let us in now.” Jungkook smirked back at Hobi who squeaked in protest.

“Namjoon cannot know that we met with him. He would actually kill him.” I interjected, my fear helping me envision Joonie in an orange jumpsuit. 

Jungkook side-eyed me before smirking at me, “ Would that be so bad?”

 Tag list! just let me know if you want added.

@jelly-fishy-babie @nomimits7 @littlewolfieposts

[pastpatientlywaitingforimagines]

Orbit | Spencer Reid x Reader Platonic

Ayyyy this is for @veraiconcos fic writer palooza! I had a ton of fun working on this, check out their post for more details!

Summary: Since joining the BAU you have easily become one of Spencer’s best friends, and he is terrified he is going to lose you. (Gender neutral reader, platonic soulmates). 

Category: Fluff

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR 4x24-5x01. 

Word Count: 1830

As with all of my Galaxy Universe fics, the plot for this fic is fully standalone! If you like this relationship, I have a whole bunch of content that you can find in my  GALAXY MASTERLIST

Spencer Reid didn’t have to be a genius to know he was sporting some abandonment issues. In his defense, though, he had been left by too many prominent people in his life and he was only 27 years old.

Even though he had only known you for a short while, you had easily secured a spot as one of his favorite people. As much as he enjoyed spending time with you and liked that he could be unapologetically himself, it terrified him that he could be so comfortable with you.

He wanted to shut down and shut you out, not let you see the broken pieces left by his father, Elle, and Gideon, but every time he tried you would do something so unapologetically you that it was impossible to stop feeling like the universe had created the two of you for the sole purpose of knowing the other.

It was the twinkle in your eye when you would remind Morgan that you were authorized to carry a larger gun than he was. It was the way you perched on Spencer’s desk while debating the best way to eat an Oreo. It was the pen you always carried that Spencer suspected was for him because you preferred pencil.

You were the one person Spencer felt most relaxed around, and there was still the looming possibility that you could choose to leave.

It wasn’t until the Anthrax case that Spencer realized how much he was afraid of you leaving. When he woke up in the hospital Morgan was the only one there, and your absence was the first thing he noticed. He should have felt grateful that Morgan had chosen to stay and he felt guilty that he was upset about your absence until you showed up with as many jello cups as you could possibly carry.

“Oh good, you’re awake. Red or green?” Your words had been so casual and comfortable, exactly what Spencer needed as Derek filled him in on how the case had ended. You listened quietly from his other side, spooning sugary gelatin into your mouth.

Spencer wanted to tell you then how much he was afraid of you leaving, but he also didn’t want to speak it into existence. He decided to keep his mouth shut about it, let the secret fester in his soul until he figured out a better way to deal with it.

Then you went to Canada.

At first you were on the streets with Derek and Emily while Spencer stayed at the precinct to go over victimology. You called him right after you were done talking to the locals and on your way to meet back up with Morgan and Prentiss.

“I don’t know, Spence. Something about this feels off,” you told him when he asked how it had gone.

“How so?” he trusted your instincts, if you were able to pinpoint your source of uncertainty it could help him nail down the victimology.

“Everyone out here is being hyper vigilant. Nobody’s wandering off on their own, as far as I can tell. I don’t think this is just some guy who killed 10 people. There’s something bigger going on here, we just have to figure out what.”

As a man of science, Spencer was still working out how you knew the things you did from just a gut feeling. He wasn’t surprised when you were right.

Once the team had a better scope of things at the farm, Hotch assigned you and Spencer to learn as much as you could about Lucas Turner. After coming up empty in the house, it was your idea to check the barn. A comfortable, but serious silence fell between you as you found what you were looking for.

You were looking over his shoulder at the crayon drawing he was holding when Hotch came to check in on your findings.

“Hey Hotch,” you called to your unit chief as he started walking away, “do you ever get the feeling that a case isn’t going to end well?” Spencer wondered what cosmic events had to have occurred to give him the pleasure of knowing someone who mirrored his own thoughts so perfectly.

“Keep looking,” Hotch had said sternly before leaving, “this girl needs us.”

“That wasn’t the answer I was hoping for,” you sighed, turning back to the collection of objects in the barn.

“What did you want him to say?”

“Something validating, I guess. Sure, this girl needs us and I’m not saying we won’t find her, but even if she’s alive there’s still what- a hundred victims already dead? A hundred victims with families and lives. A hundred people…”

You were right, Spencer knew that. If he had learned anything while working with you, it was that your gut feelings usually had some merit to them. If you were feeling like this wasn’t going to end well, it probably wasn’t. He wondered if you would stay with the BAU if you were right, and with that came back the creeping fear he had been trying to avoid.

He didn’t have time to dwell on the fact that he hadn’t processed his issues with your abandonment he wasn’t even sure was coming.

You took the Metro home with him, he didn’t have to ask to know that you were too tired to drive and could take the metro back to work once you were better rested.

“Spencer,” you had murmured sleepily from the seat next to him in the almost empty car.

“Hmmm?”

“This might sound really stupid, but do you ever feel like we were meant to be friends?”

Spencer swore his heart skipped a beat. All the mathematical equations in the world couldn’t explain the way you seemed to know exactly what he was thinking.

“There's an old Buddhist saying that when you meet your soulmate, remember that the act to bring you together was 500 years in the making,” he quipped, “but yes. I do.”

“So you think we’re soulmates?” you smirked.

“Assuming one perfect soulmate exists for every person on the planet and you’re in the same age range as your soulmate, there’s still 500 million potential candidates. Mathematically speaking, of course.”

Your eyes sparked at the debate, though your eyelids were still heavy “I thought there was 500 years of prep work behind it though. 500 years is long enough to filter through 500 million. That’s one million a year.”

“If I wasn’t convinced we were soulmates before, your math skills have sealed the deal.”

“Of course they have. I’m smarter than I look,” you boasted.

“Is intelligence something you can determine by appearance?”

“You tell me, genius. I think you look pretty smart.”

“You know, (y/n), I think you’re just as smart as I am,” he told you honestly. You furrowed your brow in confusion.

“Are you kidding? I failed high school Algebra twice.”

“Academic achievement isn’t the only way to measure intelligence,” he reminded you, “the way your brain works is exceptional.”

“Not right now, it isn’t. I feel like mush. Do cases stop hitting this hard once you’ve been doing this for a while?”

“No, my brain feels like mush too.”

“Go home and get some sleep, ok?” you instructed when it was your stop. Spencer waved as you walked away.

He saw you again sooner than he thought, insomnia not allowing him to sleep so he was the first to receive JJ’s call. He took the Metro to your apartment, knocking on the door until you answered. He was surprised at how quickly you were ready to go, knocking your elbow into his as you left your building to go back into work.

“Old habits, I guess,” you shrugged when he brought it up. It ended up being the most casual interaction of your day, another whirlwind of a case happening with the whole team running on not much sleep.

While Spencer stayed with Dr. Barton to go over medical charts, you went to the school with Morgan and JJ to protect Jeffrey. It was irrational, he knew, but he couldn’t help but wish you were still with him to work on building the profile.

He didn’t want to admit it (he wanted the team to focus on the gunned down unsub and Dr. Barton), but he was glad you were the first one by his side when you finally made it back to the doctor’s house. You stayed with him, even when he told the team about Hotch. In fact, you didn’t leave his side the entire ambulance ride and his time at the hospital.

JJ came into his hospital room a few times to update the two of you on Hotch’s situation, and every time he expected you to leave with her but you didn’t. When he was released from the hospital you drove him home, helping him up to his apartment. Once he was settled, you busied yourself making his home more accessible for the injured man.

Spencer felt sort of awkward as you hummed to yourself, and rightly so. You hadn’t spent much time outside of work together and now he was stuck on his couch with limited mobility. All things considered though, he really didn’t want you to go. He didn’t want you to leave his apartment, he didn’t want you to leave the BAU, and he didn’t want you to leave his life like so many other people that he cared about had.

In a stroke of genius, he realized that he had to tell you. He had to open up the possibility for you to stay to figure out if you were going to leave.

“(y/n)?” he called to you as you finished up putting away his clean dishes in the kitchen.

“What’s up?”

“If I asked you to stay, would you?”

There was a moment of silence that Spencer quickly realized was you moving through his small apartment to grab your bag before you happily joined him on the couch, sitting down carefully as to not jostle his leg.

“Of course I would, did you think I was leaving?”

Spencer blushed, “I don’t know… people who I care about have a tendency to leave.” He watched your features soften.

“Spencer,” you started, “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you.”

You didn’t need to clarify further, you both knew the weight your words held and it relieved the tension Spencer had been sporting since the beginning of your friendship like a weighted blanket relieves anxiety.

“Do you want to watch this movie I got from the library about alien abductions in Alaska? I’ve heard it’s super creepy and I didn’t really want to watch it alone anyways.”

Spencer grinned at your suggestion, “there was actually a study that showed that people who claimed to be abducted by aliens were predisposed to sleep paralysis and hypnosis. Should we order some food? When was the last time you ate?”

[omgkatsudonplease]

[ficlet, bagginshield] a grand finish (bridgerton au)

To Bilbo, the Dwarf-mansions of Tumunzahar are just incredibly grand smials carved into mountains instead of hills. 

“I’m frankly astounded more Hobbits aren’t running off with Dwarves,” he jokes as Thorin helps him out of the carriage. “It’s just a bigger Bag End.”

Thorin snorts at that. “These halls date back to the First Age,” he points out. 

“An older Bag End,” corrects Bilbo. Thorin sweeps him off his feet, causing him to yelp in surprise. “Thorin! Where are you taking us?” 

“Inside,” replies Thorin vaguely, already heading up the seemingly-endless stairs into the mansion ahead of them. Bilbo cranes his head back over Thorin’s shoulder to see Balin and Dwalin following close behind with their bags. 

The trip from the Shire to the Ered Luin had taken a couple of days, as the mountain roads still aren’t the best for coaches, but they’re here at last, and all Bilbo can think about is just how much of a hullabaloo their sudden departure must have caused back in the Shire. Of course it will be obvious even to Lord Stormcrow that they had eloped. He can’t wait to see the look on Auntie Camellia’s face when he next encounters her. 

Thorin sets him down just over the threshold of the mansion. “You do have a mawkish side,” teases Bilbo the moment he does. “We’re not even married yet, and you’re already carrying me over thresholds.” He pauses. “This isn’t even your house, is it?”

“No,” agrees Thorin. “But we are only returning to Erebor in late summer.”

“And when will the wedding be?” asks a new voice. Bilbo turns to see a handsome Dwarf with the same piercing blue eyes and dark hair as Thorin, though clad in a dark blue dress with a light stole about her shoulders. “Brother, I am so glad you came to your senses.”

“Your sister knows?” The words come out more startled than Bilbo really feels, but Thorin chuckles sheepishly and goes to greet his sister nonetheless, pressing his forehead to hers briefly. 

“Of course I know,” says Thorin’s sister once she pulls back. “Balin kept me updated on the whole affair.” She cutsies to him. “Dís, at your service.”

“Bilbo Baggins at yours,” replies Bilbo. “And, well, as for the wedding. I suppose next spring?”

“Now that’s an idea.” Dís grins at her brother. “I won’t keep distracting the two of you, now; I’m sure there’s plenty of things my brother wants to do to you.”

“Dee,” complains Thorin. Bilbo can also feel his cheeks heating up. 

Dís winks at the two of them before striding off, ostensibly to find and press Balin and Dwalin for the gory details of their fake courtship. Thorin’s expression is apologetic as he turns back to Bilbo.

“There is still time to run,” he says. 

Bilbo scoffs. “I thought we were burning together,” he replies, taking Thorin’s hand. “What’s the first thing you want to do to me?”

“Maybe a tour,” says Thorin. “I come to the Blue Mountains for the hunt quite frequently, but I have not stayed here before.”

Bilbo hums. “I suppose you’ll be busy hunting for the next few weeks,” he notes.

“You are free to join us,” replies Thorin. “Provided, of course, that you can ride a pony.”

“Not as well as I’d like,” admits Bilbo. “Anyway, forget making someone else take us around. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

Thorin laughs, and his laughter only gets brighter as Bilbo pulls him down a hall at complete random. They poke their head through all of the rooms, commenting on the hunt trophies and weapons and suits of armour laid out on the walls as decorations. 

“There is to be a hunt ball tomorrow night,” says Thorin when Bilbo uncovers the banquet hall. “It will be at the Halls of the Lord of the Firebeards.”

Bilbo groans. “You should have told me there was going to be a ball; I could have packed a proper coat,” he says. As it is, he’d already realised too late he forgot to get a pocket handkerchief from Holman in his rush out of Bag End. The cheesecloths that had wrapped some of his provisions just wasn’t the same.

“Dwarvish balls are not so rigid with the dress code,” says Thorin. “What you are wearing will be just fine.”

“This is hardly ball attire,” retorts Bilbo, before opening the door to a bedroom where their bags have already been placed. “Oh, look, I found our rooms.”

“Finally,” says Thorin. Bilbo snorts at that.

“Finally?” he wonders. “If you had gotten a tour, I highly doubt the guide would take you here until the very end. Giver knows we’d lose all interest in everything else these halls have to offer.”

Thorin chuckles. “And the Giver would be right,” he says, pulling Bilbo in close to kiss him once again, his hands cupping both sides of Bilbo’s face. Bilbo leans in, drowning himself in the scents of Thorin’s soap and beard oil. 

“Well, we’ve run the gamut of a Hobbit courtship,” he breathes when they pull apart. “What is Dwarvish courtship like?”

Thorin’s eyes seem to darken at that, and he sweeps Bilbo off his feet again, depositing him onto the bed. “Like this,” he replies. Bilbo, whose breath had briefly left him when his back hit the feather mattress, slowly rises back up in realisation. 

“Oh,” he says intelligently, as Thorin tugs at his own neckcloth. “Not waiting for marriage?”

“That is an Elvish custom,” replies Thorin bluntly. Bilbo laughs, tugging off his own cravat and undoing the buttons on his waistcoat. 

“Alright then,” he says, clambering onto his knees to go help Thorin out of his boots and buttons. “Wouldn’t want to shirk tradition.”

They make short work of their clothes, though Bilbo does have some trouble getting Thorin’s shirt up off over his head. In return, Thorin almost yanks off the buttons of the fall panel of Bilbo’s breeches, which gets Bilbo laughing until he’s not. The moment Thorin’s hands brush against that part of him, it’s as if fireworks are exploding just under his skin. 

“I’ve dreamed of this moment,” Bilbo breathes, as he raises his hips to let Thorin tug his breeches fully off of him. “Of you. And me. Like this.”

“What was I doing to you?” wonders Thorin, leaning in to kiss him, soft and gentle. Bilbo exhales against his lips, his hands reaching up to cup his Dwarf’s face. 

“Wonderful things,” he replies. “I have to admit, I sowed my fair share of wild oats when I was much, much younger. Long before I entered the marriage mart, at any rate. It’s all in my past, and I don’t care much for it.”

Thorin considers it for a moment, before leaning in to kiss him again. “If you do not care, then I do not care,” he replies. 

“What about you, though?” wonders Bilbo. He thinks back to his initial assumptions about the Dwarf-king being in the Shire to rake around before leaving for the Blue Mountains. If he’s been wrong on every other assumption he’s made, surely this, too, would be inaccurate.

Sure enough, Thorin’s ears flush pink. “I know the mechanics,” he hedges. 

Bilbo chuckles, and the flush blooms fully in Thorin’s cheeks. “I’m not — I’m not laughing at you,” Bilbo explains quickly, pressing his nose briefly to Thorin’s with a grin. “It’s just, I thought, well if he’s a King, surely he’s got Dwarrowdams throwing themselves at his feet...”

“I did not give them hope,” admits Thorin, now pressing their foreheads together. He looms over Bilbo, his arms encircling Bilbo’s waist and stomach. Bilbo tangles his fingers into Thorin’s hair, marvelling at the texture. “At one point there had even been an offer from a prominent family here in Tumunzahar. But when I met her, I knew I could not reciprocate.”

“Why not?” wonders Bilbo.

“I did not wish to marry for pity,” replies Thorin, his own hands now pressed tight against Bilbo’s face, as if to hold him down to make sure he’s really there, that he really exists. Bilbo is breathless just looking up at him, bared and vulnerable as he is. 

“And here I thought you were rescuing me from Lobelia out of pity,” he jokes. Thorin grins, pinching his cheek in protest before swooping in to kiss it better. 

Bilbo’s hands move to undo the fall panel of Thorin’s own breeches. Once those are off him — as well as Thorin’s stockings, those silly and impractical things — he leans back against the pillows to admire Thorin properly. 

All of this, just for him. Bilbo can’t help but thank the Valar, just briefly, for his serendipitous decision to hide from Lobelia in the Long Cleeve Hall gardens that night. 

“Come here,” he commands, and Thorin obeys without question. His kisses are sweet and lingering, pressed everywhere kisses can be pressed. Bilbo in turn rewards him with soft sighs and moans, his hands finding their way back into Thorin’s hair to pull when Thorin finds a particularly sensitive spot. 

This is all still an exploration for Thorin, and Bilbo is just patient enough to let him map out his body. But eventually, his need for more burns through the rest of his rationality, and he reaches out and takes them both in hand. Thorin’s lashes flutter as he groans, his hips jerking into Bilbo’s touch. 

“Bilbo,” he breathes. Bilbo kisses him, savouring the way Thorin’s breathing grows ragged with each stroke of his hand, savouring the way Thorin keeps repeating nothing more than his name, his grasp of Common clearly slipping away from him in the growing pleasure between their bodies. One of Thorin’s hands comes to rest at the small of his back, pressing him closer like this is just another dance. In a way, Bilbo supposes it is. 

Between Thorin’s inexperience and his own lack of practice, release comes sooner than expected. It hits him suddenly, wonderfully, warmth spilling over his hands and onto his own stomach. Thorin, who had been peppering kisses down his neck, suddenly gasps against his collar as he follows. With a deep, satisfied sigh, Bilbo raises the hand he’d used up to his mouth, tasting a little bit of the bitterness with a slight grin. 

“How are you feeling?” he wonders, as Thorin rolls off of him onto the bed, his expression visibly winded. He uses the sheets to clean them both, though he suspects the smell will come back to plague them later. 

(Well, that’s a problem for future-Bilbo. Present-Bilbo can’t be arsed to care.)

Next to him, Thorin smiles lazily, his gaze hazy with adoration. “I feel exquisite,” he admits. “No wonder everyone keeps telling me this is a madness worth fighting for.”

Bilbo chuckles a little at that. “I’m glad you listened,” he replies, taking Thorin’s hands in his own once more. “I was this close to making a decision I’d surely regret for the rest of my life.”

“And I am glad I was able to stop you in time,” replies Thorin, squeezing his hands. He yawns. “After I sleep, I intend to put courting braids in your hair. So at the ball tomorrow everyone will know I am yours.”

Bilbo smiles, pressing one more kiss to Thorin’s hands. “Promise me this time it’s for real?” he jokes. 

Thorin’s grin is the softest he’s ever seen. “Absolutely.”

[gaygryffindorgal]

Chapter 1: What Lies Ahead

Summary: A new year is starting at Hogwarts and Verna Malinda is entering her fifth year. She may have a little too much on her plate for the upcoming year though, because she’s been elected prefect...

Pairings: Eventual OC/Merula Snyde

Word Count: 2.5K

Warnings: Mild swearing

A/N: Matthew Luther belongs to @hphmmatthewluther

As this is a rewrite, some of the dialogue is from the game either directly, or modified to fit the new narrative.

If anyone is interested in being tagged to new upates, let me know!

(Verna was born in December 1972, so she was 13 during the autumn term of her 2nd year)

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Chapter 1: What Lies Ahead

Verna Malinda had been anxiously awaiting the beginning of her fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, even with a detention of indeterminate length looming in front of her. She knew in her heart that this year was going to be important, and not just because of the O.W.L. examinations but because of the events of last June, and the chance of finding Jacob in the next vault. For Verna, summers had, for the past four years, felt like an inescapable limbo. Every year she longed to be back at Hogwarts, delving into the mystery of the Cursed Vaults. This year, however, she had been elected as a prefect to her great surprise. She hadn’t really considered prefectdom as something to aspire to, because all her time was spent either breaking the rules or planning to break them. Was it really appropriate for a Hogwarts prefect to be serving detention? Mysterious were the ways of Professor Dumbledore.

~

As the Hogwarts Express whistled as a signal for departure, Verna waved to her father from the train’s window and then turned to her friend, Rowan Khanna, the one out of the two of them who should’ve been the prefect. Rowan pushed their glasses up their nose and smiled.

“What is it?”

“I ought to go find Charlie,” Verna said as the train picked up speed. She’d been feeling all kinds of weird about talking to Rowan ever since she got the letter proclaiming her prefect. It had been Rowan’s ambition to claim that spot ever since year one, and somehow Verna had managed it even though she hadn’t even tried.

“Alright, I’ll find Ben. We’ll hold a spot for you, if you get a moment to come sit with us,” Rowan replied and the two headed their separate ways. So far it didn’t seem like Rowan was holding Verna’s election as a prefect against her. Even in their letters, Rowan had only seemed supportive and proud. They had been friends since first year, and Verna hadn’t exactly stolen Rowan’s spot on purpose. In fact, she was fairly certain she had entirely too much on her plate for this year even without being a prefect.

~

Once Verna located Charlie Weasley, Gryffindor’s resident Dragon-enthusiast and Quidditch hero, and as it happened, her fellow prefect, the two of them headed to the special carriage meant for prefects and the Head Boy and Girl.

“What in Merlin’s name possessed Professor Dumbledore and McGonagall to make you and I prefects?” asked Charlie, sounding genuinely confused, although in his defence, it was truly baffling.

“I have a theory that it’s to make us so busy we won’t have time to do any curse-breaking,” Verna reasoned.

“Bill’s a prefect and he’s had plenty of time,” Charlie argued but then added: “Though maybe that’s why he became the Head Boy… Wow, actually you might be right.”

“Thanks Chaz,” Verna laughed as the two entered the prefect carriage. It was already quite packed with new and old prefects, as well as Bill and the Head Girl, Ella Higgs.

“Are we late because I had to wait for you…?” Charlie whispered and Verna shushed him as Ella and Bill started to congratulate them on their achievement. Verna locked eyes with a certain Slytherin student across the carriage. Apparently Merula Snyde had also become a prefect. Verna should’ve expected as much. Her hair looked tousled as usual, but she had elected to sport a dark eye-makeup, which somehow made the purple of her eyes look even more prominent. Merula gave her a look of loathing and then promptly ignored her. Verna’s mood sunk.

“Hi Verna!” came a greeting from among the other fifth-year prefects. It was Matthew Luther, a Ravenclaw chaser who had given Verna a run for her galleons last quidditch season. Verna was pleased to see not only complete arseholes had become prefects.

“Hey!” Verna replied, taking her place among the others.

“Hi Luther,” Charlie whispered, smiling.

“Nice to see you two made it as prefects.”

Verna was about to answer but was quickly silenced by Bill who very deliberately raised his voice and started his introduction to the wonderful world of prefectdom, looking at the three of them meaningfully.

~

After nearly an hour of instruction, Bill and Ella bade them pleasant journey and reminded them of their job to patrol the corridors in regular intervals. After that, many returned to their friends or settled down in the prefects’ carriage. Bill walked up to Verna and Charlie.

“Congrats on becoming a prefect Verna!” he said and slapped her arm for good measure.

“Thanks, I’ll be sure to be as responsible as you, William.”

Bill laughed and Charlie rolled his eyes.

“Well, I for one think you two will do just fine,” added Bill.

“If you say so…” Charlie mused. “Should we find Rowan and Ben?” he asked Verna.

“Yeah, see you later Bill!”

“Remember to patrol the corridors! And don’t abuse your power!” Bill called after them as Verna and Charlie headed back to find the compartment their friends were sitting in.

“I don’t think he actually has as much faith in us as he lets on…” Charlie said.

“Yeah, probably not. After all he lives with you, and I’m the one who roped him into this curse-breaking stuff in the first place.”

“Yeah, at the ripe old age of 13.” reminded Charlie. Verna was really starting to doubt Professor Dumbledore’s judgement.

~

Rowan and Ben had found a carriage and reserved spots for them. The two seemed in good spirits and Verna felt much more relaxed. If Rowan was on her side, then everything was going to be okay. Even Ben seemed to be okay, even after he was used to attack Verna under the imperius curse last year.

“How was it?” asked Ben as Verna and Charlie took their seats. He glanced quickly at Rowan, who nodded encouragingly. Verna figured Rowan and Ben had been discussing the incident before she and Charlie arrived. The food trolley had passed ages ago, so Verna nicked a treacle tart from Rowan who gave her an exasperated but amused look.

“Pretty standard stuff, honestly. They explained everything we were told in the briefing about prefects at the end of last year,” explained Charlie.

“Who else was elected?” Rowan inquired.

“Oh you’ll never guess Slytherin’s-“

“Merula,” Rowan said before Charlie could finish.

“Yeah, and she seemed right pleased about it too, I bet she’s gonna have a blast abusing her position,” Verna grumbled. She really was not looking forward to yet another thing to compete over with Merula.

“Not if we abuse our position first,” Charlie said, grinning.

“No,” Rowan admonished them when they saw Verna’s matching grin.

“I’ll disown you both if you sink to her level.”

Both Charlie and Verna stopped grinning.

“Sorry Rowan,” Verna said bashfully. “We’ll try our best to make you proud.”

Rowan groaned in mock-annoyance, and all four of them laughed at the absurdity of the notion of Charlie and Verna as prefects. Even Ben. Verna’s hopes for the year were rejuvenated a little.

~

The rest of the journey went by in a relatively normal manner. Verna and Charlie patrolled the corridors every now and then but didn’t face any incidents. Tonks gave them both grief about becoming prefects though, and loudly announced that this is why she had trust issues. Verna couldn’t exactly blame her, they had after, pulled pranks together in the past and prefects had a well-earned reputation of being spoilsports. After sunset, the train arrived at the Hogsmeade Station and Charlie and Verna were again required to perform their new duties. Verna hadn’t really thought about how small the first years looked until they all filed out of the train and followed Hagrid to the boats. It wasn’t that long ago she had been in their shoes, completely terrified and anxious to start looking for her brother. Jacob. The thought stung like a wasp. It had taken four years and she was no closer to finding him as she was to finding the next cursed vault. Jacob had always been there to protect her and help her and what good was she, if she couldn’t do the same for him?

~

The Great Hall was all decked out for the Welcome Feast when they entered. Verna always felt a sense of belonging at the sight of Hogwarts, but it was also always mixed with something like dread. This year instead of Professor Dumbledore, it was Professor McGonagall taking the podium to hold the traditional speech after the Sorting. Apparently, the Headmaster was on an errand outside of Hogwarts. They were also going to have a new teacher for Defence Against the Dark Arts, which at this point surprised no one. The new DADA professor did surprise Verna, though. It was Madam Rakepick, the curse breaker Dumbledore had hired to investigate the vaults last year. Rakepick turned her eyes to Verna and something passed across her features, but Verna couldn’t place the expression. Then, just as fast as it had arrived, it passed, and McGonagall bid everyone dig in their food.

~

After the feast, as Verna and Charlie were getting ready to herd all the new Gryffindors (including Bill and Charlie’s little brother Percy) to their common room, Penny walked up to them, looking excited.

“Hey!” she beamed and tailing behind her was a small blonde girl who looked very much like Penny. “How was your summer?”

“Oh, you know, researching advanced curses, eagerly awaiting for my detention this year, the usual” Verna joked.

“I worked on my extra credit stuff for Professor Kettleburn,” Charlie said. “And hung out with my siblings. Fred and George have gotten it into their heads they wanna be the best quidditch players in the world and I have to be their coach.”

“That sounds really nice! We need to catch up more later, I just wanted to introduce you two to my sister, Beatrice,” Penny exclaimed, and the younger girl waved her hand at them.

“Hi,” she said, rather excitably.

“Hi Beatrice, I’m Verna and this is Charlie.”

Next to her Charlie smiled wide and shook Beatrice’s hand. It seemed to Verna that she appreciated being treated like a grown-up.

“Figured you were Penny’s sister when they called Haywood during the Sorting,” Charlie said.

Beatrice nodded. “And now we’re both in Hufflepuff! I was hoping for it, but I would’ve been happy with Gryffindor too.”

“Bea is… sort of a fan of yours,” Penny explained looking at Verna. “She’s always asking me to tell her stories of my adventures with the famous curse-breaker Verna Malinda.”

“Now I can join you!” Beatrice said. “To find your brother and the cursed vaults.”

This, admittedly, took Verna by surprise. She glanced at Penny who, by the look on her face, had not expected this either.

“Bea…” Penny whispered.

“I mean it, I want to help,” Beatrice insisted.

“Well… Maybe you can help with some small things, but I’ll be honest with you, it’s really dangerous stuff,” Verna told the young witch and hoped that was the end of it. No such luck.

“You investigated the cursed ice when you were just first-years,” Beatrice protested.

“That’s… true…” Penny admitted but didn’t look happy about it.

“And Harry Potter defeated You-Know-Who when he was just a baby!”

“She has a point, you know,” Charlie cut in.

“Knock it off, Weasley. There’ll be plenty of time for death-defying adventures when you’re older Bea, for now you can just show Verna what you made for her,” Penny said with a glare at Charlie, who seemed vaguely apologetic.

With only a little complaining, Beatrice presented Verna with a yellow, self-made puffskein toy. It was extremely cute, and the gesture made Verna wonder how much Penny had exaggerated her stories.

“Thank you, Beatrice, this is super cool,” she said as she inspected the stuffed animal. After that, she was served to a story about shaving the Haywoods’ pet puffskein every week for the hairs to make the toy, after which Penny had clearly had her fill, because she whisked Beatrice away and Charlie arched an eyebrow. “Wow, they really do just keep getting smaller.”

~

Up in the Gryffindor Tower, the young students were excited but obviously tired, so Verna kept her introduction short and let them explore on their own or just go to bed. After that, the two new prefects made their way to their favourite corner of the common room. The couch there was already occupied by Rowan and Ben.

“Hey guys,” said Ben meekly behind his new Charms textbook.

Charlie squished into the vacant spot between Rowan and the armrest, while Verna sat on the floor, not bothering to drag the nearest chair closer.

“I think I’m going to possibly have a mental breakdown this year,” she mused. “I mean I still have to find my brother, do normal homework, play Quidditch, study for O.W.L.s, and now be a prefect.”

“If you had started studying for the O.W.L.s first year like I told you, you wouldn’t be in this situation,” Rowan simply said. It’s not like they were wrong, but Verna still rolled her eyes.

“Literally no one else but you does that, Rowan” Charlie jumped into her defence, which Verna appreciated. She fist bumped Charlie over Rowan’s lap.

“You two are impossible,” Rowan said warmly and turned to look at Ben. Verna followed their gaze and noticed Ben looked distinctly uncomfortable. Well, more than usual.

“Ben…” she started.

“I just wanna say I’m sorry,” Ben blurted out. “I know you already said it’s fine last year, but I don’t think it’s fine. I’m too easy a target to use against you, and I don’t think you should include me in your plans anymore.”

Verna stared at him for a moment, trying to find words. Any one of her friends could’ve been used as a pawn by a dark wizard. After all, they were only students up against adult wizards.

“Ben, I get it. I’d probably feel the same way if it was me in your shoes right now, because it easily could be. You’re not weak for losing against an adult.”

Ben bit his lip nervously. “But I-“

“We need you. You’re one of my best friends and nobody blames you for what happened,” Verna countered before Ben could form a proper argument.

“In the train you lot acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary when everything is!” he slumped against the couch and let the textbook fall into his lap. “I’m going to bed.”

With that, Ben got up and disappeared into the boys’ dormitory, his friends’ pleas falling on deaf ears. Verna looked at Charlie and Rowan.

“Maybe he just needs some more time…” Charlie mused.

“I think I was too harsh on him last year,” Rowan said. “I apologized though. In the train. We had a whole chat about it.”

“I’m glad,” Verna said with a smile. It hadn’t felt right, when Ben and Rowan weren’t on speaking terms.

“He just hasn’t had the easiest time at Hogwarts,” Rowan continued. “And all this business with the vaults… I think it has us all on edge.”

“Understatement of the year…” muttered Charlie.

“Well… It’s only the first day of it, we’ll have plenty of time to make more understatements,” said Rowan gloomily.