#i like being greeted with a hullo

[bloggingboutburgers]

hullo!

want some homemade garlic bread :3

Always èwé

[candied-heartss]

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐘

(𝑜𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑐𝑘 𝑥 𝑓𝑒𝑚! 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟)

𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗽𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻: 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗳𝗲𝗹𝗶𝘅'𝘀 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗻 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝘂𝗽 𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗮 𝗱𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗸, 𝘀𝗵𝗲 𝗴𝗲𝘁𝘀 𝗮 𝗹𝗼𝘁 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗮𝗹𝗰𝗼𝗵𝗼𝗹 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝘀𝗵𝗲 𝗿𝘂𝗻𝘀 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘀𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗼𝗹𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗲, 𝗼𝗹𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗾𝘂𝗶𝗰𝗸...

𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮: 𝑴𝑫𝑵𝑰 (18+), 𝑴!𝑫𝑶𝑴, 𝑭!𝑺𝑼𝑩, 𝑹𝑶𝑼𝑮𝑯 𝑶𝑹𝑨𝑳 𝑺𝑬𝑿 (𝑭 𝑹𝑬𝑪𝑬𝑰𝑽𝑰𝑵𝑮), 𝑭𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑬𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮, 𝑹𝑶𝑼𝑮𝑯 𝑷𝑬𝑵𝑬𝑻𝑹𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑽𝑬 𝑺𝑬𝑿 (𝑾𝑹𝑨𝑷 𝑰𝑻 𝑩𝑬𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑬 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑻𝑨𝑷 𝑰𝑻, 𝒀'𝑨𝑳𝑳!), 𝑶𝑹𝑨𝑳 𝑺𝑬𝑿 (𝑴 𝑹𝑬𝑪𝑬𝑰𝑽𝑰𝑵𝑮), 𝑫𝑬𝑮𝑹𝑨𝑫𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵, 𝑻𝑬𝑨𝑺𝑰𝑵𝑮, 𝑪𝑯𝑶𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑮, 𝑳𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 𝑺𝑳𝑨𝑷𝑷𝑰𝑵𝑮, 𝑶𝑽𝑬𝑹𝑺𝑻𝑰𝑴𝑼𝑳𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵, 𝑴𝑼𝑳𝑻𝑰𝑷𝑳𝑬 𝑶𝑹𝑮𝑨𝑺𝑴𝑺, 𝑷𝑼𝑩𝑳𝑰𝑪 𝑺𝑬𝑿 (𝑻𝑬𝑪𝑯𝑵𝑰𝑪𝑨𝑳𝑳𝒀)

ᴡᴏʀᴅs: 2,248

As you drank from your glass, you saw something flutter past you, only being able to see it from the very corner of your eye.

With your attention now transfixed on this, you turned your head to find none other than your cousin Felix's plus one from his university, Oliver Quick, walking down the manor's dark hall.

"Oh, hullo," you greeted him kindly, drink being held idly in your hand. Slowly (and somewhat awkwardly), the brunette young man turned to look at you, flashing you a slightly tense smile, though you could tell something was wrong with him due to the heavy dilation of his pupils.

"Oh, erm, good evening," he answered shortly, seeming like he was rather reluctant to converse with anyone at this hour, "what are you doing up at this time of night?"

You continued to smile, hoping that if you continued showing him kindness, he would eventually warm up to your presence, "Oh, nothing much. I just... couldn't sleep, so I decided to get a drink." As you spoke, you realized that Oliver's brow was still furrowed, and it seemed like there was a lot on his mind, it quickly also made you realize that this was indeed landing you nowhere.

"I'm so sorry to ask, but... Are you alright? You seem a little... agitated. Would you like to talk about it? I'm a very good listener." you offered him, hoping that this suggestion would aid him in wanting to talk.

"I'm alright," he told you plainly, nothing more, nothing less. You frowned upon hearing his words, hoping to try again, "Really? Are you absolutely sure? I mean, you don't have to-"

"I'm. Alright."

Your bottom lip quivered ever so slightly at the sound of his voice raising an octave. You had never heard a man speak to you in such a... intense way like this, and it sent a bit of a shudder down your spine. Nodding, you quickly fell silent, grasping tighter onto the glass in your hand as you felt your face heat up.

"Sorry..." you muttered, not wanting to offend Felix's guest. But, he didn't say anything about it, not even a word. He just stood there, his eyes staring down at you with his brow slightly raised.

"Why do you look like that?" he asked you, but the tone of his voice made it sound more like a statement than a question. Your cheeks burned as the embarrassment began to settle in for you, and you decided to not say anything.

Before you could even think about what to finally say to him, you felt his hand graze your cheek before tilting your chin up so that you and Oliver made eye contact with one another.

"C'mon, look at me when I'm speaking to you. Don't be rude, now..." he told you softly, but sternly, tilting his head to the side a little bit. You chewed on your bottom lip once again, not used to the attention and the gaze that you were now on the receiving end of.

"Now, speak up," Oliver ordered you, his eyes flickering down to look at your lips before moving them back up to meet your eyes. You opened your mouth, trying to speak, only for no sound to escape past your lips, only little squeaks, 'I's', and 'um's', too nervous to speak up. He saw this and narrowed his eyes, leaning towards you and now resting his hand on your cheek.

"You have a mouth on you, don't you? So, use it, or I'll teach you how to," he suggested to you, though he managed to make it sound more like a threat than a statement. Only then you were finally able to get your words out, "I... I didn't mean to offend you if I did. I'm sorry for staring at you like that..."

Oliver still looked at you with a raised eyebrow, almost seeming like he didn't believe the words that tumbled (un)gracefully out of your mouth, "That was... Pathetic, unintelligent sounding even. Are you stupid?"

"What?"

Suddenly, you felt his lips press up against yours, one hand roughly buried into your hair before he pulled away. You were so shocked, so confused, and so dazed when it happened, it almost felt like the whole scenario was a sort of dream that you were having.

"What... What's going o-" You tried to speak, only to have him grab you and pull you closer to him, "Now listen, you're going to be a good girl, lift that nightgown of yours, and show me how wet you are."

Your eyes widened at the unexpected nature of his words and you laughed nervously, "Excuse me?"

"Oh, I believe that you heard me loud and clear, love. Show me how wet your cunt is. I bet it's dripping right now, isn't it?" he was right, you were beyond aroused at this point, and you were almost certain that he could see it practically running down your thighs.

You were then taken even more aback when he lifted you up and placed you on the dining room table, your legs now placed on the table's glossy, wood surface, slightly spread out enough for him to reach under the nightgown and gently tug the fabric of your underwear down, slipping it down past your thighs and letting it drop down to the floor. You shivered at the slightly cold air of the dining room meeting your bare skin as he looked at you.

"So," he mused, "I was right. You're thoroughly aroused. What, do you get off on being talked down to and degraded? You must be some masochistic whore."

Biting your lip, you pressed your thighs together to alleviate the dull throbbing sensation within you. Oliver saw this, and with a click of his tongue and a shake of his head, he raised his hand and gave you a quick, sharp smack on the cheek, making you yelp and open your legs once more, this time, giving him a full view of your cunt, needy and glistening while your clit throbbed again underneath his gaze.

Almost immediately, it was as if a switch had flipped in his head as he got onto his knees, pulled you to near the edge of the table, and buried his face in between your thighs, which instantly made you yelp as you felt his tongue licking every inch of your cunt and pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to your clit.

"Oh!"

You gasped, before letting out a moan loud enough for nearly the entire manor to hear. When he heard your sounds, Oliver pulled away from your slick folds, only to raise his hand slightly again and bring it down in a harsh slap to your cunt, making you cry out in a mixture of both pleasure and pain, your body shaking a little bit.

"Do me a favor. Be a good girl and shut the fuck up, yeah?" he asked you before diving back into eating you out like a starving man, making you reach down and grab onto his hair tightly, nearly holding on for dear life.

Soon enough, the stimulation that you were receiving from Oliver was simply too much, almost to the point where practically anything could send you over the edge. Your body trembled as you felt your release creep up, pulling on his hair more and more with each second that passed by.

"Oliver! Oliver, I-I'm gonna... I'm gonna come, please..." you whimpered, your thighs shaking as you came closer. Nearly there, almost there, just a little bit more-

"Go on, do it. Make a mess for me, darling. It's alright, I've got you..."

That was what did it in for you, those words were the straw that broke the camel's back. At a moment's notice, your orgasm which had been brewing steadily was now being hurdled to you at the speed of light, making your vision go black and making you fall back against the table as you trembled and writhed beneath his tongue, your back arching as you moaned so loud, you were certain that you nearly woke everyone else in the manor.

When you came back down to Earth, you saw him stand up before pushing you back onto the table, picking one of your legs up and positioning it so that it rested over his shoulder, tracing a finger over the dampness of your slit before pushing it in, making you gasp and choke out a moan at the sheer length of his fingers.

Oliver saw your facial expression and smirked a little, clearly mocking you as he began thrusting his fingers in and out of you, "Aw, love, does it feel good?" you nodded profusely, your back arching slightly to try and get his fingers to go deeper inside of you, "Uh huh, it feels so, so good..."

He continues fucking his fingers into you, the overstimulation sending your brain into a spiral. You could barely come up with any cohesive thoughts, let alone speak as he pressed them deeper inside of you, his thumb just barely brushing over your clit as his fingertips hit your G-spot, which made you nearly scream his name.

"What is it, darling? Use your words and tell me, alright? It's okay..." he teased you a little bit as he curled his fingers to reach the spot that he was hitting again. The delicious combination of the pad of his thumb massaging over your clit as he thrusts his fingers deeper and deeper was enough of a push to make you climax once again, this time, your orgasm hitting you much harder than the last one as the pain from the previous orgasm melted away into hot, sinful ecstasy.

He then pulled his fingers away from you, only to go down and undo his trousers, sliding them down just enough to pull his cock out and tease your entrance with it, making you shiver as the tip slid over your clit, "Do you want this?" he asked you, "Remember, use your words."

You nodded, whining just a little bit, "Please Oliver, I need this... Please, I need it so bad." he smiled and with that, he guided his cock to your entrance before finally pushing his way inside of you, making you keen as you grabbed onto him and dug your nails into his shoulders.

"Shit," he groaned, tilting his head back and sighing heavily, "your cunt, it's so, so fucking tight."

He then gave a short moment to adjust to the size of his cock before he began thrusting, making you cry out in pleasure, especially with the angle he had positioned in. You felt him go so deep, you swore that you could feel his cock fucking your brains out.

He groaned again at the feeling of your cunt clenching around him before he reached up and wrapped his hand around your throat while he fucked you, making your eyes roll back into your head. Oliver chuckled a little before leaning down and hungrily pressing his lips against yours, kissing you as if his life depended on it.

"Oh, yeah? You like it when I choke you like this, sweet girl? You're shaking underneath me, darling..." he told you, still holding your leg over his shoulder as he continued to fuck you, the hand on your throat now grasping you tighter and making you gasp for air slightly, your cunt clenching around his cock as you got closer and closer to your third orgasm of the night.

"O-Oliver... Please... 'm so close... I..." you whined, your words coming out choked as he thrust even harder, his tip hitting your G-spot. He grunted as you could tell he was nearing the edge as well.

He then reached down, rubbing small, quick circles on your clit, the sensation sending a shockwave through you as got closer to climaxing.

"That's it, be a good girl and come for me."

And just like that, hearing those words nearly made you explode. With another loud moan, you came so hard around his cock, you practically saw stars, clenching around him and making him grunt and moan from the tightness.

As you came down from your intense high, you felt Oliver pull you down from the kitchen table and guide you to your knees as he grabbed a fistful of your hair, making your mouth open as he pushed his cock into your mouth, effectively fucking your throat.

Before long, it was Oliver who was on the edge as his thrusts into your mouth became more frantic and sloppy. When you felt the thick tip of his cock hit the back of your throat, you gagged and choked, looking up at him with now watery eyes.

"Fuck... Just like that... Keep your mouth open f'me, darling..." He moaned, his voice thick as he got closer and closer to finally coming.

The sheer thought of him using your mouth for his own pleasure seemed to excite you a little as you moaned around his cock, taking it further down your throat. He grunted once last time, forcing your head down the length of his cock before groaning loudly as he finally came down in your mouth. As he pulled away from you, you swallowed his cum, before wiping away any excess with the back of your hand.

Watching you, he smiled before kissing you on the lips, whispering into your ear, "Good girl, you take my cock so well, love."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Can you imagine a fake dating scenario where you hire Lloyd to pretend to be your partner for a family gathering because you can’t stand your family and want to spend the night watching him gleefully terrorize them? 🤣

Hehehe I wrote this on the bus...

Do You Trust Me?

No explicit warnings. Comments and reblogs always welcome. Love you all! 😍

"Look, I need you on your worst behaviour," you say as you face the grey brick manner.

"You don't gotta ask me twice, toots," Lloyd comes around the front of the car to meet you. "I'll be sure to pay extra attention to the oysters."

You want to sigh and smack him in the face. That's a common feeling towards this man, you're sure. Yet you hate to admit, you need him. Just for tonight. You don't think your father could ever tolerate him longer than that.

"Come on," he taps your ass and you yipe.

"Hey!" You sneer.

"Gotta make it believable. Besides, gotta get my shots in where I can."

"Not part of the deal, Hansen." You push his hand away.

"Ah come on--"

"No, you got your money so stop."

"You know, if you want them to buy it, you're gonna have to play along. Spare a few smooches," he hooks his arm around you instead.

"Yep, and I'm dreading it." You charge forward, knowing it's too late to back out now.

You just need him to be himself. He never really has a problem with that. He is shamelessly genuine.

As you approach the door, it opens from the other side. Belinda, the resident maid, lets you in, greeting you with a smile and the offer to take your coat. Lloyd helps you out of your jacket before he removes his own. He's being... too helpful.

You look at his deep blue velvet blazer. He even dressed well. Goddamn, he couldn't find a pair of slides and some socks?

"Cut it out," you whisper as you follow Belinda.

"I'm not doing anything," he hisses back.

"For once," you snip.

He laughs softly and takes your hand as you enter the bright dining room, more of a hall. The chandelier shines over the polished table, gleaming off the cutlery and candelabra. So ostentatious but that's your parents.

"There you are, dear," your mother strides over, "we were afraid you wouldn't make it."

"Got her here in one piece," Lloyd declares, "all to see her beautiful sister."

"Sister?" Your mother gasps and touches her chest. "Nooo, I'm her mother. Oh silly. You must be the fiance?" She preens.

You send Lloyd a piercing look. He's charming when he tries but why is he doing that?

"Could've fooled me," he grins and takes her hand, "honored."

He kisses her knuckles and you almost recoil. She giggles. Your mother. A giggle. Like a school girl.

"Where's dad?" You ask. He's harder to impress.

"He's around. He was just going out to get--"

"Ah, you're here," your father's staunch tone carries across the high ceiling. You turn to meet him. "And this is your... addition."

He nods at Lloyd and offers his hand. The shake, veins bulging in their masculine tango. Your father hums and pulls the cigar from behind his ear.

"Lloyd Hansen, sir," your plus one introduces himself. "Is that a black dragon?"

Your father squints and dips his chin again, "you know your cigars?"

"I'm a casual purveyor, no enthusiast by any means."

"Hansen," you cough and touch your throat. "I mean, honey," you tug on him. "Can I talk to you?"

"Ah, sorry, sir, she's the boss," he says to your dad and turns to you, "yes, dear?"

"Come here," you growl and drag him away.

You take him to the corner and face him, "hullo? What are you doing? You said you would ruin this. Okay? I need out of this bloodline."

"Pfft. You don't know what you got, toots," his eyes scan the walls. "This is spectacular--"

"No, shut up," you whisper sharply. "You promised-- I paid you. Alright? I just need you to get me out of this dumb arrangement. I don't get my trust unless I marry, well, if my fiance is a clown, my parents might just pay me to call the whole thing off--"

"That's a good deal. How much is the trust?"

You tweak your brow and puff out in exasperation, "Hansen..."

"Ah, you know me, baby," he winks, "I'm no good at doing what I'm told. Besides...." he runs his hand down his chest; a designer tie under the velvet and looks around. "Googled this place and well, I like what I see." He turns back to you, "don't look so heartbroken, toots, it's not just the money. I got me a wife with a hot ass to boot."

You gasp and raise your hand. He catches it and cradles it with his other. He kisses it and chuckles.

"Don't worry, you'll get a full refund," he slithers.

[theonceandfuturequeenoftarts]

Harry wants it known that he’s at the ministry’s Yule gala under duress. It was all he could do to force himself into his dress robes and make himself presentable; he can’t fathom where he’ll find the energy he needs to get through the rest of the evening.

People he barely knows keep coming up to him – as they always do – to shake his hand, chat with him about this and that, thank him for his role in defeating the dark lord. (Still. He really wishes they’d stop doing that. It’s been more than six years now.)

And then there are pockets of people, staring at him and whispering behind their hands. Another constant in his public appearances, though he imagines the content of their conversations is at least a little different from usual, if not the tone. 

He’s just escaped another fan and is looking to make a beeline for the bar when it happens. Harry sees his doom approaching from several metres away but, since they saw him first and he (stupidly) refuses to run away, he stands there like an idiot, wishing he were anywhere else.

“Hi Harry,” Ginny says. It looks like she wants to hug him or get close, and his shoulders stiffen involuntarily. Thankfully, she stays where she is.

“Hullo Ginny,” he replies and, without looking at the man, utters a terse, “Malfoy.”

The smug arse smirks at him. “Potter.”

“How’ve you been?” Ginny asks, which. Rude. If she actually cared about that, she wouldn’t have cheated on him with the git on her arm, but whatever. 

“Oh, fine. Y’know, keeping busy.” God, he hates small talk.

Before he can respond with the requisite, ‘And you?’, Malfoy jumps in. “Yes, I suppose you have been, from what I’ve heard.”

Ugh. Fucking Malfoy. Harry wishes he had a drink or seven. He can’t believe he’d rather be caught in another conversation with that weirdo from earlier about his wand-care habits, of all things.

Ginny gently elbows Malfoy in the side with a chiding, “Draco.”

He’s considering the merits of letting himself be ripped apart by the anti-apparition wards to get away from this conversation – splinching himself can’t be much more painful than this – when a hand bearing a very welcome drink appears in front of him. That’ll do for now, though splinching is still on the table. Especially when he follows the hand to the arm up to the face and of course it’s Ri– Tom.

Harry gives him the side-eye, but accepts the drink. “Thanks.”

Tom leans in slightly, just enough so the two in front of them can’t read his lips. “You looked like you might be in need of a rescue.”

And as he pulls back out of Harry’s personal space, he rests a hand low on Harry’s back. Harry tenses for a moment before just accepting that tonight is all about him being as uncomfortable as possible. He takes a gulp of his drink – something dark and spicy. It burns pleasantly.

When he starts paying attention again, he finds Ginny looking at Tom with surprise; Malfoy is looking at the other man with – is that a hint of fear? And Tom is staring them both down, but somehow managing to do it with a veneer of politeness. 

“Good evening, Draco,” he says pleasantly. “Ginevra.”

“Riddle.” Malfoy’s greeting is stiff, as is the awkward, aborted bow he gives. Hmm.

“And Harry,” Tom says, turning to look at him fondly. “So good to see you again.”

Hoo boy.

“You,” Harry murmurs from behind the rim of his drink. “Are not subtle.”

Tom takes the opportunity to slide his hand further around Harry’s back, lightly gripping his hip and pulling him closer up against Tom’s side. He returns Harry’s withering look with an undaunted smile. “I wasn’t trying to be.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that.”

“When did you two get so cosy?” Ginny cuts in. Her tone is playful, but there’s more than offhand curiosity lurking beneath.

“Uh.” Shite, he doesn’t ever want Ginny to find out how this started, but especially not in public. Who knows who’s listening in or watching. “We ran into each other by chance a month and a half ago” –actually, he’s how I found out you were fucking Malfoy behind my back– “and we’ve met up a few times since then. It’s nice to have someone… uninvolved to talk to.”

Tom looks amused at that. He’s definitely involved in the demise of Harry’s relationship, and if there’s one thing they haven’t been doing (but probably should), it’s talking.

“I’ve been helping him expand his horizons,” Tom says without apparent innuendo, yet somehow the layered meaning is still obvious. Prat. “Getting him to try new things, keeping him busy.”

“You and half the town,” Malfoy mutters under his breath.

“I see…” Ginny says over him. “Funny how that escaped the rumour mill.” 

Harry laughs awkwardly, wishing for a stray lightning bolt to strike and put him out of his misery. “Must not’ve been exciting enough.”

The conversation dies for long enough to become uncomfortable - well, even more so. Malfoy touches Ginny’s elbow and leans down to speak into her ear. Harry seizes their distraction to turn on Tom.

“Are you sure you don’t want to piss on me to mark your territory while you’re at it?” he asks dryly.

Tom wrinkles his nose delicately in disgust. “No need to be crude. Though…” He gives Harry a considering once-over. “I’m not at all opposed to the idea of you carrying my mark. How do you feel about tattoos?”

Harry snorts. “Not a chance.”

The other man tucks his face in close to Harry’s, breath hot against the skin beneath his ear. “What about bruises?”

As though he doesn’t regularly leave an abundance of those on Harry anyway, what with his penchant for treating Harry like a chew toy. Harry shivers all the same, just a little bit. He can feel the barest brush of Tom’s grin against his neck.

Ginny clears her throat pointedly.

“Good to know,” Tom breathes as he pulls back.

Ginny continues trying to talk to him while Malfoy makes the odd snide comment, Tom attempts to meld into Harry’s side while replying for him and being subtly insulting, and Harry tries to become one with the floor. He realises he’s missed a question when he breaks out of his daze to find both Tom and Ginny are watching him expectantly.

“Huh?”

Ginny starts to say something when Tom cuts her off. "Care to dance?"

If looks could kill, Tom would be in a bad way with how Ginny’s glaring at him. "Harry doesn't dance," she says tetchily. Tom doesn't bother with her, waiting for Harry's wary nod.

He looks back at Ginny smugly. "Perhaps yet another new thing to which I can introduce him.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Harry says, grabbing Tom’s wrist and dragging him towards the dance floor. Best to get this over with, and all the better if it means he doesn’t have to speak with anyone else in the meantime.

"She's not wrong," he mutters once they don't have to fear being overheard. "I don't dance.”

"Just follow my lead," Tom replies easily. “Would it be correct to say you don’t particularly care about stepping on my toes?”

Harry stares at him blankly for a moment before he feels a reluctant smile appear on his face. “It might be the one redeeming part of this.”

“The only one?” Tom says archly, pulling him into the correct hold. And, without giving Harry a chance to breathe or think, they’re off in what Harry thinks might be a waltz. 

"That was quite the risk you took," Harry says, trying not to stare at his feet and hoping for the best as Tom spins him around the room. He is, oddly enough, a much better dancer when he’s not constantly concerned about crushing someone's foot.

"Was it?"

"Yes. What made you think I wouldn't refuse and let you look foolish?"

He catches sight of a pleased grin on Tom's face from the corner of his eye. "The same thing that made me ask you to dance when I've seen your previous forays. You rise to the occasion when I push you.” He looks at Harry, for a moment, proudly. “I also knew you’d be more than amenable to anything that got you away from those two.”

Harry can’t deny that.

“Now look sharp, and do try to keep up,” Tom says, the hand at Harry’s lower back gripping him a little tighter.

“Wha–?” 

And it’s all he can do not to trip over his feet and take them both down in a painful sprawl, but the rush, the heady triumph of making it through the successive, intricate turns, goes straight to his head. Before he can stop himself, Harry lets out a loud peal of laughter, further disrupting the couples around them and drawing sneers and disapproving glances. And he just doesn’t care. Not that he thinks he normally would’ve, but it feels like it’s been ages since he’s felt so light and happy. So, he doesn’t think about the people around him. He doesn’t think about how it’s Tom who’s making him feel this way. He just basks in the sun-warm feeling of contentment – of being okay for the first time in a while.

(One night)

[monikashinswife]

I LOVE YOUR STORY SO MUCHIEE YOU ARE THE FIRST MONIKA SHIN WRITER I KNEW !!!

Btw I have like a request, the female reader is part of aiki's crew and no one know her relationship with monika, since no one knew their rs aiki and other crew like noze, leejung were flirting with her and monika as a scary person (if looks could kill) she got jealous with them 🫣 thank you <//3

-

Her Paramour

(Prowdmon Monika Shin x HOOK F! Reader)

・❥・Hullo there anon, thank you saur much for requesting! I apologize in advance for the ending. This is written as an escape because I am reviewing for my midterm but I can't stop thinking about this req and of course our Mon-mon. So anygays, enjoy darling!<3

From the moment HOOK stepped on the battleground, the atmosphere was very intense. The crews were all very determined and there was no denying that it was very tight. You noticed how each crew seems to be very alert and on the ground every time another crew steps in to enter the battleground.

The atmosphere changed when PROWDMON entered the ground. They greeted everyone, almost sarcastically. Their presence was felt, and they were very intimidating. Everyone knows how prominent and how big Lip J and Monika Shin are. You almost laugh at how everyone seems to avoid making eye contact with them.

But once they are settled in, you couldn't help but glance towards their direction. As if it was timed, you and Monika met each other's eyes. You almost melted when you saw her intimidating facade break for a moment to admire you. You catch yourself before you can even smile lovingly at her. But you gave her a polite nod to acknowledge her.

Your interaction was cut when the evaluation video played. And as if in an instant, the tension was back when you all watched it. The anticipation was high, they were all waiting for what the other teams were about to say. You quickly look at Lee Jung and notice how she tense up nervously. And as if she could feel someone staring at her. She looked at you. And smiled at you, in which you return respectfully.

Unbeknownst to you, Monika was watching the whole interaction through her peripheral vision. She chose to ignore it and watched the video again. The video continued playing, with prowdmon laughing and joking. But then the clip showed Aiki's comment about how they lack young energy.

You were shocked when you heard a loud "hey" from your secret lover. And you laughed at how quickly Aiki stood up to apologize to her. Monika approached her, still very much offended by your leader's comment. But you laughed, louder than everyone. Knowing that she was joking.

Monika heard your laugh when she was close to Aiki. So she acknowledged Aiki for a second and went back to her crew with a smile that everyone might think is because of how ridiculous the situation is, but it is because she made you laugh.

Monika's presence was always there. And it exploded into a beautiful beat when she battled. And you being her biggest fan couldn't help but fangirl over your lover.

Throughout the rest of the shoot, you made several contacts with Lee Jung and surprisingly, with Noze. Once the rest of the episode was done. It was time for the class mission. And the interaction between you and Noze started to become more often despite not being in the same class.

You and Noze became closer as you talked and talked to each other. Even help each other with anything such as with advice or which moves look cleaner. And Monika started to take notice of the way you two are becoming closer to each other.

"Hey babe" You greeted her with a kiss on her cheek. And instantly, she melted and wrapped her arms around your waist to keep you close. You nuzzle your face on her neck.

Missing times like this when you're just with each other and resting. You carefully put your bag on her counter. Before you went back to her embrace and talk about what you wanted to do for today.

You were lounging on the couch while watching TV when you suddenly talked about the competition and how it's been crazy. You talked about kinds of stuff and friendships. And when it came about Noze, Monika did a great job at hiding her dislike towards the younger dancer.

But she did not want to ruin the mood, so she chose to stay quiet and she just listened to you with a tight chest because of how fondly you spoke about her. She knew your intentions were pure friendship. But Monika couldn't help but feel jealous.

But knowing better, she chose to keep to herself. But that doesn't mean that the dislike she felt did not grow. But her keeping silent did not completely go as planned.

As Monika is a very honest person but playful. She tried to voice out her concerns in a joking manner.

"If you were so fond of her, go to her then." She said jokingly while stroking your hair. And you immediately stopped talking and sat down to look at her. And Monika just stroked your arms while looking at her.

"Well... I might as well." You said seriously, and Monika was stunned. Her face showed it all. She tenses up but immediately relaxes when you laugh at her reaction.

"I would never!" You exclaimed before kissing her, you assured her without knowing it. But Monika still felt jealous. But she knew that you're hers as well as she's yours.

When the Class mission started, both you and Monika were on edge. Luckily you have each other throughout the mission, even though you are in a competition. You have each other's back.

For some reason though, you and Noze seem to bond. You bonded like you were friends and everyone noticed that. Some teasing you both. But you would dismiss it, respecting your girlfriend.

Monika can't do anything but glare at Noze. Her irritation only growing when Noze was picked as the main dancer and her being unprepared. But Monika, like always chose to be quiet.

But then the evaluation is now and the tension was at its peak. You gulp as you watch the intensity of the situation. You assured Aiki that it's not gonna be her. Being the second oldest meant that you were also the team's strength.

And Aiki relies on you, not only because you're her crew member but because you are her friend. After you console your friend and leader. You carefully look at Noze discussing who is she gonna pick as the "worst dancer" with her members.

She caught your eye and you gave her a small smile and she returned it. Your interaction is noticed by your now furious girlfriend. After that interaction with Noze, you quickly search for her eyes.

You squint when you notice that she is avoiding your eyes. But you didn't budge, you kept staring at her with a small pout as Noze announced who she picked.

And like cold water has been poured at you, you froze. You couldn't take your eyes off Monika. I watch her face for every bit of reaction as her name is called the worst dancer.

All you wanna do is run to her and hug her. But instead, you shiver as her intimidating voice rang all over the room.

"Look at me in the eyes." She addressed Noze. And you almost quiver in fear. And just like that. WayB declared war with Prowdmon. After the scary interaction, you pat Aiki. Knowing that she did well and congratulate her.

You then continued looking for Monika's eyes. Your breath hitched when she looked at you. You communicate with your eyes. Knowing each other so well that you don't need to ask what's wrong.

You knew that you were gonna talk to her about this once you got home. But for now, a war is about to happen between your lover's crew and your newfound friend's crew.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

・❥・not proofread

[anarchy-and-piglins]

Technoblade had his guard up the moment they stepped foot on Unseelie territory. 

The rumors he had grown up with rang true. As a fae himself, Techno could tell a difference in the magic that ran through these woods. Any creature encountered here could not be trusted.

And that was kind of a problem considering he was pretty much traveling blindly. All they had given him was a vague set of directions and his precious cargo that Techno had to get there. No pointers on how to get across Unseelie land untouched. The guards he had brought with him were capable and Techno wasn't humble about his own skills in a fight. The issue wasn't a threat to their physical safety. But he didn't want to cause an all-out war if he provoked any hostility. 

The last time the two courts had a serious conflict, too many lives were lost. As the leader of this envoy, it was Techno’s responsibility to prevent that from happening again. 

It hadn't been long before he heard something up ahead. It sounded like a lute being played, and the humming of a tune that ran underneath. They continued down the road, until Techno spotted him. A young fae around his age was sitting on a branch that curved over the path. His feet dangled off as he played his instrument.

But Techno wasn’t fooled. He had expected they’d be keeping an eye on the road.

The Unseelie knew about his mission. And they’d do anything to get their hands on something so precious.

Raising a hand to signal his men to stay back, Techno stepped forward. As much as he loathed the intricacies of diplomacy, Techno knew his way around words very well. He’d rather do the talking himself than risk one of the guards misspeaking and getting them into trouble.

“Hullo,” he greeted the man politely enough.

The other fae looked down at him with vivid brown eyes, mouth pulling up into a wicked grin.

“Oh, what’s this? Lost wanderers?” He dropped himself down from the tree to land nimbly on his feet, brown curls bouncing. “Can I have your name? I don’t like talking to strangers.”

“You may know my name,” Techno said, trying not to grin at a slight twitch of the man’s brow in annoyance. Did they really think he’d be that stupid? “It’s Technoblade.”

“I suppose you may know mine too then. Wilbur.” Techno ignored his outstretched hand.

“I need to get to the other side of these woods,” he explained. “You wouldn’t be so chill as to grant us safe passage for free, would you? That’d be pretty pog.”

This time it was Wilbur’s turn to chuckle. With the Unseelie, nothing came without a price.

“Depends on where you need to go. Can I have your map?” Wilbur asked.

“No,” Techno said while handing it to him. “But you can look at it.”

Wilbur unfurled it with a light laugh. “I’m not going to steal your shit.”

“I’ve heard your sort is quite prone to doing that.”

“Nah, we only take what’s interesting to us.” With that, Wilbur’s eyes briefly flicked towards where Techno’s guards were waiting, the paladin with his cargo.

“Safe passage,” Techno reminded him.

“Right, right.” Wilbur bunched the map up into a messy ball and shoved it back at him, starting to walk ahead and gesturing for them to follow. “My family can take you. I’ll bring you to them. And I guarantee no harm will come to you or your shipment.”

“Liar.”

Wilbur froze. The expression on his face was comically confused.

“Fae can’t lie,” he said slowly, almost as if he was testing the water.

“Seelie can’t lie,” Techno corrected - ironically also because Wilbur was right. Seelie couldn’t lie.

Unseelie, on the other hand.

“How did you know I was lying?” Wilbur asked.

Again, Techno found himself unable to speak anything but the truth.

“It’s a talent I’ve had since birth. No clue where it comes from, I can just tell when I’m being lied to.” It was no wonder Techno had been chosen for this mission.

“Interesting,” Wilbur muttered. And when Techno looked at him, Wilbur was staring right back at him, golden-brown eyes even more ablaze with an uncomfortable sort of fascination. “You’re… that’s very interesting.”

Techno shifted on the spot, trying not to instinctively reach for his sword. “Your family?”

“Yes!” Wilbur snapped out of it suddenly, blinking a few times. But he never really looked away from Techno again, his smile that much more unsettling. “Right this way, they’ll be thrilled to meet you. We so rarely get visitors here, I think they’ll really enjoy having you stay.”

And oddly enough, Techno could tell that those words were not a lie.

[heart-select]

Of "Gone Off" Hobbits

It was Isengar, the youngest of Old Took's, that visits Bilbo in Bag End a mere 4 days later after news of the boy's return (in the middle of an auction of his sister family’s home belongings!!) spread. Mad Baggins they called him, oh posh, 13 months the boy had gone, but that boy is from sister Belladonna, what did they expect really?

He's already well and bothered Fortinbras to help deal with the unrespectable behavior of the Shire on the properties of Bag End; why, Baggins maybe by name but if sister Belladonna did not rise from the grave to give him an earful for not taking care of her only son, Mother surely would! He grumbles of unrespectability, not that he can talk— he's much a Took through and through with his own youth adventures though he's well fortunate enough to have people vouch for his dealings during his 3 long years absence with his own adventure (a smile quirks to his lips, a memory of elven companions by the sea).

He's getting on in his years but he still sees clear, the windows open, a faint smoke billowing on over hill to where the kitchen most likely is and there were no more furniture and mathoms and such in front of the house. Isengar walks up, rings the bell and waits.

The green door opens and Bilbo, in all the traits of his father, grumbling and worrying as he does, gives a small smile, reminiscent of his beloved sister and starts. “Uncle Isengar?”

“Hullo! Good morning, dear nephew. Just visiting, I hope I'm not encroaching on breakfasts? Sun is getting on but I wasn't sure if I still had it in me to walk so I might be late for the breakfasts and too early for elevensies.” Isengar greets with a smile, patting his legs for emphasis of his age.

Bilbo laughs. “Oh, I'm sure you could stroll all up to frogmorton without a sweat on your brow, Uncle. Well, it is a bit early but come in, come in! I have some scones and biscuits still and I've brewed a new pot of tea.” His nephew ushers him in, padding along the still somewhat barren smial into the kitchen. “Bell, Gaffer's wife, gifted some quality tea from their gardens. Bless the Gamgees, went and took off some of my precious belongings before greedy hands got to them.” Bilbo says, using a familiar tea set and pot.

Isengar sits in the kitchen, being served tea as Bilbo rambles on, quietly observing. The house was more barren than it was but spotless and aired out, and Bilbo was clean and at a glance, very much so seemed as respectable of a hobbit that he was before he ran off to his own adventure though, now accompanied by a tiredness over his shoulders. He smiles at his tea.

“I've talked to Fortinbras on the matter of your belongings should you ever need the help. He's new to the Thain work but Isengrim and Isumbras have well trained that boy on disputes and such so don't hesitate to come knocking if any of the rude ones start stirring up trouble!” Isengar huffs, his tea cup softly clinking as he sets it. “Now, on the matter, how are you, boy?”

Isengar sees his nephew freeze, his polite smile dropping slightly. Bilbo opens his mouth to answer then closes it and Isengar knows that face. The hesitation that comes on “odd hobbits” that return after seeing the world. A hand settles on Bilbo's reassuringly.

“Bilbo, my boy.” Isengar softly starts, squeezing the hand in his and a spark of mischief lighting up in his eyes. “Have I ever told you about the sea? or did that old Gandalf spoil my stories whilst you were off?”

Isengar, the youngest of Old Took's and younger brother of Belladonna Took-Baggins, is the first of many idle visits and visitors of Bag end after Bilbo’s return. He sees the change in his nephew and his heart aches as he sees the faint grief much like the one he sees on his own in the mirror. He didn't need his dear mother Adamanta or sister Belladonna to rise from their graves to yell at him that no Took be left behind, especially not like this for all the oddness they already reputed themselves with. So Isengar sips on his tea, patting the chair next to him to usher his nephew to sit. Bilbo's the better storyteller between them really but he weaves his tale to his nephew, glad of the soft smile that delights the smial even if not wholly unburdened.

—

Bilbo listens and for that day, gives himself a rest from all the busy he has been with retrieving his belongings as Uncle Isengar fumbles through his adventures. Of Elves and men and of wide plains and cities and the sea. And he hears the same longing when his heart sings mountains. And when his uncle leaves before dinner as the sun slowly turns to late afternoon, with promises to visit again, he shuts the door and it is later, as he walks into the parlor after supper has all been cleaned up and night has arrived, he falls.

The hearth is warm with fire and he hears a distant hum, a memory of 13 dwarrow mourning a home they will soon reclaim. Bilbo falls and falls, in wretched sobs and heavy sorrow. No hobbit leaves the shire to see the world and returns unchanged, Bilbo realizes and he cries and cries and cries. He's accepted the madness they've already labeled him with but a comfort settles in his heart. He has changed. Perhaps more than the other “gone off” hobbits that have returned but despite it, he regrets none of it, holds it all close to his beating chest and he is comforted by the kinship his Uncle brought, not just by blood but of heart, never pushing Bilbo of his own tale because hobbits who go off and out of Shire do not return the same (and they were the same, in all their Tookishness).

He takes a spare mattress out back to the parlor where he rests when he can no longer busy himself, not having the heart still to settle into a home that feels changed just as much as he has and treat it the same as it were but finding comfort in the hearth that held memories and the presence of an armchair miraculously not taken in an auction. And for the first time in days, he sleeps restfully, dreaming of a mountain from a view of a high rock, and a quiet hum that made him want to see it all to begin with.

–

A/N: I havent written in a long time and well half illiterate most of the time. this started out slightly as bilbo dealing with grief and was a bagginshield but i quite like it ambiguous and short as is now so I thought mmmm perhaps it doesnt hurt to share. I like it being just Bilbo and exploring the people around him and how he dealt with that and how they couldve also supported him. I cant imagine just casually pushing through all that he experienced and keeping it all in without breaking and in the end, Bilbo for all his eccentricity by hobbit standards, didnt really break. Isengar is indeed one of the gone off hobbits but I took some liberties on history and personality. I think there's a lot of comfort in knowing you're not alone esp in an insular community and this little thing kinda just ran itself towards that direction. anyways, again, i dont write prose often and despite my extensive ao3 history, i am also just p bad at reading but I hope this is an okay read.

[cbk1000]

Hey, remember how I wrote a fic that was literally just about two men driving around the countryside looking at animals and being gay for one another? And it was 90,000 words? And at the end I went, "That wasn't enough nothing, so I'm going to write a sequel to this?" Anyway, here's a preview from that sequel:

Merlin gave him a few biscuits to show they were still chums, and then rested for a bit with his forearms on the table, recovering his stamina and courage for the follow-up round. The pocket on his scrub top was torn, and his trousers had seen neater days in a byre. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his arm. The door opened, thankfully, before he had launched himself into the next round, and in came Gaius with his stethoscope round his neck, saying, “It sounded like the Blitz in here, so I thought I’d give you a hand.”

“Yeah, did it give you flashbacks?” Merlin asked cheekily, though he did not yet have the breath to be a fully-realised shit.

Gaius rolled his eyes. “Ah, Charlie. Have you been giving Merlin some trouble?”

“He’s given me all the trouble. I’m sedating him next time.”

“It’s only an ear cleaning, Merlin.”

“That’s easy for you to say. I don’t see you in here being the David to his Goliath.”

“David won, didn’t he?” Gaius replied serenely.

“Sure, if you believe a book that says some guy talked to a burning bush and he wasn’t even tripping balls.”

Gaius rolled his eyes. “Where’s Arthur?”

“Does everyone ask ‘Where’s Merlin’ when I’m gone?” Merlin demanded.

“No.”

“He’s shopping because we’re the worst gays ever and we live like two bachelors who forgot that they have to do things like actually keep replenishing the refrigerator which, turns out, doesn’t just refill itself. But I can’t believe he’s still not here. I bet he knew Charlie was coming in today and he’s sat at home right now swigging champagne and living the high life and laughing at me cutting off dog’s balls and putting in bloody ear drops.” Then his phone went, and he slipped it out of his pocket to find there was a text notification from Arthur. “His ears must have been burning.”

Gaius put on fresh gloves and knelt down stiffly to greet Charlie whilst he read the text, which said very cryptically, Ring me; I need saving.

He did so. “Hullo, it’s your handsome, charming, taller boyfriend, saying these things because he assumes if you try and refute them you’ll ruin the bit. Who do you need saving from?”

“Oh,” Arthur said on the other end of the line. “Ok. Right. Well, don’t worry, I’ll be there straight away.” Then: “I’m sorry, Olivia, I’m afraid there’s a bit of an emergency at the clinic. Right. I’ll tell him as soon as I see him. Right. But I think it’s really a pretty big emergency and I’m needed straight away. Yes, I’ll tell him. Yes. No, it’s not him on the phone, it’s one of the front desk staff. I think he’s in surgery. Yes. That’s why I’m needed. Exactly.” Merlin took the phone away from his ear for a moment to laugh.

“Are you free of her?” he asked when he had finished snorting.

“I’m hurrying across the street now, too quickly for her to follow, so I think I’m in the clear. Or else I’ll be hit by a car; either way, I'm free.”

“Is that what’s taken you so long to do the shopping? I was about to ask if you’d gone to York.”

“I’m at our very own Morrisons right across the street. I finished shopping nearly an hour ago. She ambushed me. Trixie has rabies again.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Merlin blurted out.

“Merlin,” Gaius scolded him with a frown.

“Well, sorry, but Olivia Harris thinks her bloody dog’s got bloody rabies again, so I’m pretty confident the next thing Arthur’s about to say is that she demands I go out there and fix her up with one of those rabies shots again before she’s torn limb from limb by her 14-year-old Pomeranian. Some people are too stupid to live, and I wish they wouldn’t.”

“Merlin!” Gaius barked.

“Oh, yeah, because this whole village is going to go into mourning if she cocks up her toes. Probably give Death a plaque and a hand shake when he comes for her.”

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Arthur said. “I’ve still got to get the shopping home, but I know she’s watching me, and if I don’t pop into the clinic for the ‘emergency’ then I might as well walk into oncoming traffic.”

“Don’t do that; I need you to help me with Charlie.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone. “Don’t,” Merlin snapped. “You dare go home or walk into oncoming traffic. I’ll drag you right out of hospital.”

He did not walk into oncoming traffic, but through the employee entrance a few minutes later, after Gaius, citing the imminent arrival of Arthur as a reason to scurry off without having so much as scratched one of Charlie’s ears had scarpered. Merlin, sensing the presence of a fellow cow wrestler, who might have been up to the gargantuan task before him, poked his head out of the exam room, said, “Get in here,” and yanked Arthur in by his shirt, in case the command had not been clear enough.

“Don’t manhandle me,” Arthur said.

“I thought you liked that,” Merlin said.

Arthur was still fresh enough to being dicked down that he coloured, very faintly, though bamboo shoots under his fingernails would not have gotten him to confess to it. He went into the overhead cabinet for some gloves, and then knelt down in front of Charlie, though all he would have had to do to meet him eye to eye was to stoop down a bit. “Hello, Charlie. Has this twat been mucking about with your ears again?” He rubbed them.

“I’ve cleaned them out and just need to put in the antibiotic drops.”

“‘Just.’ That’s like saying you ‘just’ need to build the third Pyramid of Giza,” Arthur complained.

“That’s right, I did the first bloody two, you whingeing pillock, now man up.”

“Good morning, by the way,” Arthur said, in a tone which implied very heavily it was not. Arthur had had a rare lie-in that morning whilst Merlin slipped out ahead of him, so that their last interaction had been the night previously, a shag which ought to have put him in a better mood.

“Good morning, you crotchety tit.”

“You’d be crotchety too if you’d just had to listen to Olivia Harris for an hour.”

“Well, I’m going to have to listen to her for another hour this afternoon I’m sure, so I don’t actually have any sympathy.”

“You never do.”

“He’s a rotten liar, Charlie, I’m delightful.” He hauled Arthur in by the front of his shirt, and briskly pecked him on the mouth. “In case Charlie leaves you my war widow.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Don’t be such a coward; he’s like a giant teddy bear.”

“Yeah, that’s why you were thinking about walking into oncoming traffic when I said you needed to help with him.”

“I was thinking of walking into oncoming traffic because I had to talk to Olivia Harris for an hour.” 

The teddy bear stood cooperatively enough for his two friends, delighted to see they had multiplied, and that the second was the lovely blonde who gave him against the express advice of his stingier partner an extra biscuit; then this friend too transformed into that vile, snakeish Judas. Arthur patted his shoulders, and said, “Up” a little wearily, though he regularly bore the weight of an animal almost as heavy. He scratched all round the ears with Charlie’s hot breath in his face, and under the lax chin whilst Merlin sidled in with the drops. He managed the right ear before Charlie had quite comprehended what was happening to him; then he lunged back from Arthur with a look to show how he had wounded him. 

“Whoa, there, mate,” Arthur said, catching his front legs, and pinning them to his shoulders, whilst Charlie hopped about on his hind legs, shaking his head, and whipping it about, and turning Merlin’s ministrations into something like a bloody-minded Cirque-de-Solei audition, where the interviewers were throwing roundhouses at him whilst he contorted himself for their amusement.

They were all three panting, sweaty, and dishevelled when at last the ordeal was finally over, and Charlie clumped down onto the floor, and then galloped over to the Sulking Corner because he knew that Arthur would want to make friends again with some treats, whereas Merlin would have merely called him a great baby. 

“How did this morning go?” Arthur sked, squatting in front of Charlie and offering him a chicken flavoured gravy bone. “Ear drops aside.”

“Pretty well. Diggy’s bollocks are no longer amongst us, RIP. Had an emergency c-section after that; poor bitch was in labour all yesterday and still hadn’t progressed by the time her owner brought her in, but all the pups were alive and she came through the surgery just fine. Oh, and Emma says she wishes you weren’t gay. And that you’re such a soppy loser for me that it defeated her mum’s homophobia.”

Arthur looked round from Charlie and arched his eyebrow. “What? So what you mean is, today Emma confessed to being totally insane?”

“She did all but say she fancied you, so, yeah.”

“I do have a history of attracting lunatics.”

“True,” Merlin said. “It’s your arse. If you just had your personality, even crazy people would leave you alone.”

“Oh really? Maybe I should stop doing squats, then. Live out the rest of my days in peace.”

“Don’t do that,” Merlin said, and swatted him on the bum, unfortunately timed to the opening of the door, which had been opened by Gaius.

“Merlin.” He frowned.

“What? That’s one of the most innocent things I’ve ever done to him.”

“At the clinic he is your coworker, not your boyfriend. I’m not going to have another complaint from one of our clients about you sexually harassing people.”

“That was a misunderstanding.”

“So you didn’t make a lewd comment to Arthur at the front desk in front of Mrs Clarke?”

“Well I thought it was under my breath.”

“You don’t have an under your breath,” Arthur retorted.

“Arthur started it anyway,” Merlin said. 

“I did not!”

“You said--”

“I don’t think Gaius needs to know what I said to know that you’re guilty,” Arthur cut in hastily.

“I’m certain I don’t,” Gaius said drily. “Nor do I want to have any inkling of 98% of what’s said between the two of you. Just keep it away from the front desk.” He jotted down something in the chart he was holding. “Do the two of you have time to see an alpaca today?”

“An alpaca?” Merlin asked.

“There’s a local breeder who’s just got a new male and bred him to several of her females without any pregnancies, and she was hoping we might nip over and take a sperm sample.”

“What am I supposed to use to collect alpaca jizz? I assume what we’ve got for the bulls won’t work.”

“We say semen, Merlin.”

“Well, regardless, semen, jizz, spunk, baby batter--what am I supposed to put it in?”

“You could use a bit of tupperware.”

“We are not using our tupperware to collect alpaca semen,” Arthur broke in.

“Calm your tits, I’m not going to make you eat out of it afterwards. Obviously we’d chuck it; you can’t erase that with a washing-up. But, yeah, not really keen on wasting some tupperware on that.”

“A sandwich baggie, then,” Gaius said with the serenity of a man who would not be sticking his hand under an orgasming alpaca. 

“I’ve still got to put the shopping away. I’ll take Merlin, nip home quickly, and then drive us over to the farm.”

“You just want me to put the shopping away,” Merlin complained.

“Well I did it the last two times in a row.”

“Well I was operating on a pig.”

“You always have some excuse.”

“‘Can’t, I’m sorting out intestines’ is an extremely valid one.”

“I just find it extremely interesting that these things happen when there’s shopping to put away.”

“It’s not like I’m scheduling rectal prolapses to coincide with when we do the shopping--”

“Boys,” Gaius said.

“Oh, yeah, right, alpaca jizz,” Merlin said.

They bickered amicably all the way home and whilst refiling pantry and fridge and cupboards, comparing the number of items each had put away, and determining whether he was or wasn’t carrying a fair load, till Merlin decided to cheat by saying, “I am putting away my stuff so much faster” to ensure that Arthur finished the job.

“You’re a cock,” Arthur said.

“You’re way too easy to goad,” Merlin said.

[stcrfeesh]

the secrets of endings and beginnings

Xiao x Reader 

for @mondaymelon​; @favonius-library; exchange gift event

wc. 4101

A retelling of all the secrets the crown prince, Xiao, had to keep about the beginnings and the endings—and all the things he had with you in between.

There were three things the crown prince, Xiao, knew about you. And because he did, he thought you to be rather odd, and yet, at the same time, he found you absolutely intriguing.

One, you liked staying in the palace gardens. You had once told him how you adored the bed of glazed lilies and its fragrance. Though, you would also complain about its authenticity. You would speak as though you were an old hag—during my time, the blue in which they bloomed was purer than that of the springs of Liyue.

Or, something along those lines. He couldn’t exactly remember each specific word, but he remembered the pride on your face. The way your eyes sparkled as you finished speaking. You were silly, and the crown prince found himself not minding it one bit. Perhaps it was some form of subtle prejudice… but it was a secret only he would be privy to. He swore to take it to his grave.

You were funny. Not that he would ever admit that out loud. You spoke as if you were centuries older than him. The people of Liyue lived very, very long lives. Blessed with something akin to immortality, but not quite. But, his point was, he too, remembered how pure the blue of glazed lilies used to be. Of course, he would remember. Glazed lilies were his late mother’s flowers. They sprouted in her wake, blooming on the ground she stepped on. He grew up watching his mother tend to her precious flowers—in the very same palace gardens you have recently taken a liking to.

Nevertheless, the crown prince humoured you anyway.

“You know, when I was younger, glazed lilies used to be bluer than they are now.” You once told him.

The crown prince had long since deduced that you were younger than him. A century younger, if he were to roughly estimate. He knew what glazed lilies looked like as if they were the back of his hand, but he let you talk anyway.

He would let out a hum of acknowledgement, prompting you to continue on. But you don't, and he would always know why. He’d decide to play along, just this once, he would tell himself—and he would continue to tell himself that for the next hundred times.

“Oh?” He had asked, feigning intrigue.

He was almost certain that you were already aware of him and his memories with the said flower, but each time he would let you speak of all the things you knew—things that he, too, already knew by heart. How could he not? He was the crown prince. It was his duty to know these things.

The crown prince was expected to know all the things you spoke of, but he pretended not to because he got to see your face light up. That was enough for him—to keep on pretending. When your face lit up, it would make him feel warm inside. It was like apricity, seeing you smile. It was a smile that radiated joy, and if he were being honest, he felt your joy, too.

Like every other thing he was supposed to know, he knew you loved the palace gardens. And every time, without fail, he would find you waiting for him there. Thus, on one sunny Tuesday morning, he found you in the palace gardens. As always, you were crouching by the bed of glaze lilies—as if staring and squinting at them long enough would return them to their true colours.

“Hullo, your highness.” You would greet him with a clumsy bow once you'd noticed his presence behind you.

Routinely, he would respond with, “You do not have to call me that.”

“Then I would be one disrespectful subject,” You would click your tongue, shaking your pointer finger. “Dear archons, my parents did not raise such a brute.”

The crown prince would always find himself sighing at your antics, saying, “Not referring to me as such does not make you a disrespectful… person.”

“Oh,” You would say in a sing-song voice. “Is it because—”

But, before you could ever continue, he would always cut you off, saying, “That is not what I meant. You need not refer to me by my title because you are my friend.”

“Okay,” You would reply bashfully, and then you’d start to tell him things. You’d tell him about the things you’d learned—about the deep waters, the stars, and many others. You’d talk for an entire afternoon, and the crown prince would patiently listen to every word.

Because… there were three things the crown prince, Xiao, knew about you. And because he did, he would find himself roaming the palace grounds for you—all so he could help you.

Two, you were lost—and stuck, for the most part. You couldn’t tell him how or why, your memories failing you when you needed them most. The crown prince never doubted you, though. You were his friend; while that seemed to make him look like an utter fool, with his entire heart, he knew you were not here to cause him and the court trouble.

One moment you were somewhere else, and the next you found yourself in the palace—or so you told him. He could attest to that too, yes. He did not even know you. Not until he got to know you. Your face was not familiar, nor was your voice. Everything about you was new to him.

The crown prince has never seen you his entire life—ever—until he found you lost within the maze that was the palace. He could not remember one instance in all the centuries he’s lived in the palace where he’s received your acquaintance. He did not know you at all, rendering you a complete stranger to him. But you had looked so confused the first time he saw you, as though you didn’t even know why you were in there or how you got there.

And so, despite his better judgement, he asked if you were alright—well, not exactly asking if you were alright, but it was close enough.

“What are you doing?” He had asked you. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, ready to unsheath it should you attack him. “Who are you?”

You had looked at him in distress. At that time, the crown prince thought it was the look of someone who was caught in the act of a crime, but now he realised it was as you had seemed. You were disgruntled, confused, and many other things he would dare not pry from you.

“I do not remember,” Was all you had to say about yourself at that time.

The crown prince concluded months later that it was true. You truly did not know your name or how you got there. You had told him you wanted to return home, wherever that might be.

He never truly understood what you meant by that, and he would not understand you for a very long time. How could someone who cannot remember where home was—or how home felt—long for home? How could you want to return home when you do not even remember where it was, or better yet, who it was?

Your sentiments were never questioned, though. He takes everything you say at face value, much to his own chagrin. He should never trust strangers, let alone ones who suddenly appear in the palace without much explanation. And yet, the crown prince trusts you because he listens.

He has heard how much you longed for a faraway place you could not recall. He believed you wanted to return, but you could not. You spoke with such fondness for a place that might not be real, and so, he believed you. He believed in the existence of your home in a faraway land and hoped one day, you’d find your way back.

“I want to go home,” You once told him meekly. “Do you think me to be silly, your highness? Longing for a home I do not remember?”

He shook his head then, in an attempt to reassure you. Your wishes were things anyone with a heart would wish for. Even for you, whose memories were like scattered puzzle pieces. You were allowed to wish for things beyond your reach.

“No, I don’t,” He remembers saying. “I think everyone is bound to long for home, even when they don’t seem to remember it.”

You hummed at his reply, “I wonder what it is like to return home. Do you think I have family waiting for my return? Will I even find my way back?”

The crown prince only shrugged and asked, “Is that what you truly want? To return to your home?”

You had told him it was what you wanted most—at least, what you could recall wanting most since the moment you found yourself lost in the palace. You said, “It feels empty to only have my memories in bits and pieces. There is this hole in my heart, and somehow, it tells me that all I need to fill it in is to find my home. I do not mind if looking for it takes an entire century. So long as I get to return home, then I suppose, that’s what matters most.”

He nods, understanding. He has listened to your yearning, and so had he listened to your dreams. All of which weren’t things that were so inconceivable. You were allowed to have your wishes granted and even fulfilled.

So he does the unthinkable. The crown prince made an oath to himself—and to you, by extension. You were his dear friend, and he swore an oath to always help you. He swore on his honour to bring you home, no matter how long it would take him.

After all, the people of Liyue lived very long lives. He had centuries ahead of him to fulfil your one and only dream. For his dearest friend, though it was unusual of him, he would search the ends of the world to return you home.

He does this all because there were three things the crown prince, Xiao, knew about you. He knew a truth that not many dwellers could ever fathom to understand. It was the key to getting you home—a hint to a puzzling mystery.

Three, the crown prince knew you were dead. It was something the both of you immediately acknowledged the first time you met. But, it was the one thing he could not bring himself to believe the first time around.

He refused to believe that he was seeing a ghost—that he was seeing you. Ghosts weren’t supposed to be real. They were stories parents used to scare their children into leaving the house after dark. And yet, there you were. Right before his eyes, a ghost with no memories.

“Is it so hard to believe?” You had asked him. Then, you took those words back. “Maybe it is. After all, I remember dying, but I do not remember anything before that. But also—your kind are descendants of the imperial dragons. Is it so hard to believe that ghosts may be real too?”

“There are no ghosts in the imperial palace,” The crown prince stubbornly insisted. “At least, there weren’t ghosts in the imperial palace. Why are you here?”

You do not know. That was the same answer you’d tell him time and again—you do not remember anything from your life before. You had told him that you could only remember hopping from place to place. As though there was something pulling you along.

Though you had told him you would never usually admit it, you went ahead and threw yourself under the carriage, saying, “It’s like I’m on some sort of leash. I keep getting dragged around. I haven’t a clue why.”

Your guess was right, he learns months later. You are tethered to something, and it was on the palace grounds. Whatever it was that anchored you in the world of the living needed to be buried, lest you never find your way back home.

The crown prince knew many things. From Liyue’s long and glorious history to spirits and ghosts. Admittedly, he only learned about the latter recently for you. He knew that whatever it was keeping you around was something brought in recently. After all, he had never seen you around until a couple of months ago.

Of course, he could still be wrong… and the crown prince, who never knew how to be selfish, wished there was a chance that he could be wrong. He finds himself with another secret he would take to his grave—he wants you to stay a little while longer.

“I have figured it out,” You had told him one particular afternoon. What exactly you had figured out, the crown prince did not know yet. You had a knack for pointing out the obvious—or at the very least, the obvious things he never seemed to take note of—as he had noticed. He wondered if that was the case this time around. “Whatever’s keeping me here arrived on the same day I appeared.”

That specific information, the crown prince already knew. It was just that; he just never told you that he did.

“You appeared six months ago,” He recalled.

He still remembers the first day he met you; witty, glowing, see-through, and dead. He remembers the first time he saw you pass through a wall as though it were nothing—and the first time you smiled at something that he said. He remembers every first and selfishly hopes there won’t ever have to be a last. But that was just wishful thinking.

“I appeared six months ago,” You repeated in confirmation. “It has been a while, hasn’t it?”

The crown prince remembers the long pause after that. He remembers not knowing the right words to say but knowing what he wanted to tell you. He remembers every moment and every second—the silence that seemed so loud and the unspoken words that begged to be blurted out: he had already figured out what was keeping you within the palace walls.

It started with a random thought—a nonsensical memory.

Since the day you first laid eyes on the palace gardens, the crown prince has noticed how you gravitated towards a potted plant. A glazed lily that was different from all the others. One that remained in bloom in the mornings, and one that you would berate the most. Though flowers were not sentient, you had called it conceited—why must it be potted while the rest are together on the bed? What does it think it is, the emperor?

It was a fairly new addition, and he remembers the gardener mentioning that it was found blooming somewhere in the west of Liyue. It was a rare sight to have glazed lilies blooming in the west. The land in the west was not fertile enough to keep ancient flowers alive, and yet that lone glazed lily stood tall, full of life.

With its rarity, it was uprooted and brought to the palace as a gift—an offering to the late empress. The crown prince spent many months not finding interest in the lone flower. Having only glanced at it every now and then whenever you fumed. He did not care about glazed lilies since the empress had passed. He had no reason to care for a flower his mother had loved, not when she was no longer around.

But then there was you.

You had told him you hated the lone glazed lily. You hated how it was different—how it was alone when it could be somewhere with the others. But you understood why the flower must bloom in solitude. Because it was different, it suffered a lonely fate. The crown prince thought the flower was much like you.

“Why are you showing me this?” You had asked him as you stared the potted flower down as if glaring at it would make it disappear into thin air. “I do not like it. Can we not look at other flowers instead?’

“You know,” He began cryptically—it was unlike him, but some twisted and selfish part of him wanted to keep you here a little while longer. The crown prince was selfish, just this once, he swears. “My father once told me that we resent people and things when we see in them the parts of ourselves that we do not like.”

“I didn’t know you were into philosophy.”

“Because I am not.”

“Huh. Very well, then.”

“You do not sound like you believe me.”

“But I do,”

“Truly?”

You replied with a hum of agreement and a smile. The crown prince wonders then, how could something so beautiful make his heart ache so painfully? Maybe this was what the elders meant when they said that beauty will always come at a price. He gets to see a smile so ethereal, but at the cost of an odd feeling of heartache that he cannot begin to explain.

You hated the lone flower, and you would remind him of this every single time without fail. And yet, despite all your complaints and grievances, you would treat the flower as how one would treat a newborn child—delicately, and with love. Had the crown prince not known any better, he would have assumed that you’d taken a fondness for the flower. Perhaps you did, and your stubbornness stood in the way of admitting it.

You crouched down, just as you had told him you wanted to leave. You stayed, and your hands reached out to touch the flower instead. Your fingers do not pass through its petals; the flower moves, albeit slightly. It sways to your touch and to the breeze that suddenly blows—he watches you quietly, intently, as his mind races with a million and one words.

“I already know how to get you home,” The crown prince suddenly blurted out.

“You do?” You asked.

You did not seem elated as he had hoped you would. You had droned on for months on end about how much you longed for the home you could not remember, but why does your eyes not smile when he tells you this? Why do you remain stoic? Why won’t you jump around and squeal in delight? Have your wishes changed?

Slowly, he nodded and offered you his hand, “Walk with me?”

And you did. You walked with him, side by side, through the palace gardens that the both of you had memorised over the months he’s gotten to know you—at least, the you that he knows, who cannot remember a single thing about their past.

He takes you in circles, dragging this dreaded moment on. You did not complain and only sang a familiar tune he could not put a name to. A tune that reminded him so much of you—one of the many other things about you that he cannot put a name to. You were a familiar mystery, an unanswered prayer and question, one whose ending was coming soon.

You walked with him, and his hand brushed lightly against yours. But he was not so bold as to take it in his, to feel a nonexistent warmth that only his heart could fathom feeling. Archons, no.

“The flower…” Then he trailed off.

The crown prince was many things, but not once in all the centuries he’s lived has he considered himself to be selfish. You were a spirit tethered to a world you no longer belonged to, and as with all that has passed, you deserved to find peace. You deserved to have your soul set free from the mortal chains that bind you to an even more mortal world.

But he tells himself that the people of Liyue lived long lives. Wanting to keep you a while longer should not be an unforgivable sin.

“Is my way home,” You finished for him instead. You had spoken the words he could not get himself to tell you. His steps come to an abrupt stop, and then he gapes at you.

There was silence between you both, and all the prince could hear was the rustling of the leaves and the crunching of grass beneath his feet. He feels your presence, but he feels you fade away all the same. In that very moment, as you stared at him and he stared at you, he decided that you were a contradiction.

Before the silence became too much to bear, you spoke once more, “Why must I be attached to the one flower I despise the most?”

The pieces finally fall into place for the crown prince. You hated the flower because it was you. The flower was you, and it was the one thing that kept you tethered to the world you were unfairly yanked out of.

“Would you like the answer?” He asked.

“No.”

Your walk continues in silence. The silence did not make the crown prince want to run away this time around. In fact, it made him want to stay—and he does. He walks with you, leading you through the maze, through flower arches, past the ginkgo tree, and then back to where you began. Right in front of the potted glazed lily you hated.

“How does this work?” You asked softly. “Do you just throw it away? Destroy it?”

“No, that would erase your soul.” He replied. “We uproot it, I suppose?”

“Do you think the last of my remains are somewhere in its soil?”

“Likely.” He answered. “You’ll be home after all this.”

“So eager to get rid of me?” You teased. “Oh, my dear heart—here I thought you liked my presence!”

“Do you want to return home or not?” His question only hangs in the air.

You bit your lip, inspecting the potted flower, his question now forgotten. “But what if it doesn’t work, what happens then?”

It would work, and the crown prince was certain of that. He looked at you and noticed the hesitation in your eyes. Did you not want to return home?

Bits and pieces of what was supposed to have been apparent to him months ago flood the gates of his mind. You were hesitant because you had known all along. The moment you first touched the lone glaze lily, you already knew your story and your name.

He does not chastise you for this, instead, he reassures you.

“It will work,” He knows it will, and he has never been so certain… and much like you now, he wishes he wasn’t. He wished that somewhere in the order of things, something would fail, but the crown prince reminded himself, seemingly for the last time, that he wasn’t selfish.

The crown prince finds himself with a new secret.

There was one thing you never knew about Xiao, and you might never know about it—or maybe, you already knew. Whether you did or not was a secret you already took with you to your grave. He would no longer be able to ask, and you would never be able to tell.

A bittersweet ending to an equally bittersweet beginning. He was content this way, but still, Xiao loved you.

In the beautiful chaos of meeting, befriending, and loving a lost ghost, Xiao had found a home within you. While you had told him how much you yearned to return home, his selfish heart had built one through you. You were his home, and Xiao loved you. He loved you so much that he allowed his new-found home to crumble before his eyes. His home should not be home when you, in all that made you ethereal to him, were not free.

Xiao loved you, and so he set you free.

The lone glazed lily that you had once loathed no longer had to bloom in solitude; it finally found its way back home amongst the bed of familiar blues. No longer did it need to be conceited because the flower was you, and you were far from conceited. You were many things; cheeky, witty, bright, and a thousand other wonderful things—but never conceited. He would always remember you that way.

Xiao made it a habit to always pass by the palace gardens, at least once every morning. He’d watch your flower dance to the breeze, and it would leave the smallest smile on his face. Of course it would. You were Xiao’s chance encounter, the only one that could make him smile. He was sure to remember you for the millennia to come…

Because Xiao knew many things, but one he would never forget was that he loved you.

This is a gift for a friend and a kind-of-entry for an exchange gift event hosted by the Favonius Library! I had a lot of fun (this claim is false) writing this, and thus, I hope Melon, and everyone else who'll read this, will have fun as well. Hehehehe. Oh! And! I would like to take this opportunity to thank all my beta readers (I'd put a heart emoji here but I'm using HTML to format this).

GENSHIN MASTERLIST  |  KO-FI SUPPORT

© stcrfeesh 2020-2023 — reposts, translations, and any other form of reproduction of my work is prohibited.

[hb-writes]

Little Lady Blinder - Chapter 32

Between the Lines, 1919

Also available here on ff net or here on AO3.

Chapter Content Warning: canon-typical content

—

“Don’t even think about it."

Clara turned toward her brother, finally pulling her gaze from the family car as it plodded around the corner, Tommy and Grace disappearing along with it. 

“Don’t think about what?” she asked, scuffing her feet as she stepped a bit closer.

John rolled his eyes, taking measure to be theatrical about it, before fixing his sister with a look. “Tom’s done his bit. He's cheered you all up,” he said. John would never admit that he was a bit hurt by the fact Tommy had managed to drop Clara off with a smile on her face—everything between the two of them seemingly fine now—and less than a minute after being left alone with John, the girl was already sulking again. He pressed his finger into the corner of Clara’s frowning mouth. “Don’t go getting all grumpy on me again.” 

Clara huffed, slapping at John's hand and he snorted, lifting his eyes above his sister’s head as she started complaining.

“I’m not—” 

“Well, hullo there, Lizzie,” John said, interrupting Clara to greet the woman. John pushed himself off the brick to stand up straight, shoving his hands into his pockets and stepping a bit in front of Clara as he observed Lizzie approaching. “Looking extra lovely this morning. Got anything special there in that basket for me?”

Clara spun on her heels, coming face to face with a blushing Lizzie Stark. 

Lizzie shrugged. “Just some special treats for the kids.” 

John hummed, thinking but not saying the first few things that came to his mind—the first, that his little monsters didn't deserve any special treats and the second, that he wouldn't mind a special treat from Lizzie. John swallowed down both comments and set his hand on Clara’s shoulder instead, maneuvering her to stand in front of him. “You’ve met my sister.” 

Lizzie nodded, offering another small smile, her face still flushed. Lizzie had been about to greet the girl properly, but John continued on without realizing he was interrupting anything. “Clara and I were just arguing about whether or not she looked grumpy.” John shifted his hand beneath Clara’s chin, smirking as he tilted her head back and leaned over to look down at her, going through the motions of giving Clara’s face a thorough examination. 

Again, Clara tried to push her brother's hands away, unsuccessfully in her attempts to put a bit of distance between herself and John. The struggle went on only a few seconds, but Lizzie could've sworn it felt like ages while she stood there watching. If Clara hadn’t looked particularly grumpy before, she certainly did now with her arms folded over her chest and her face a bit red, a mix of anger and embarrassment coloring her features. Lizzie glanced away from the pair, down the lane, purposefully appearing to catch her gaze on a bit of movement in one of the houses near the corner. 

John abandoned his attempts at handling his sister and glanced up at their guest. “What do you think, Lizzie? She look grumpy to you?” 

“Oh, I—” Lizzie started, a bit flustered by the question. Her eyes darted from John to Clara and her face mirrored the girl’s for a second, a small frown passing over her lips. “I um…”

“I told her the grumpiness is hiding here and here,” John said, once again battling with Clara’s hands to point out the grumpy corner of her mouth and the stubborn little line between her brows.

“John!” Clara complained. “Stop it!”

"Fine." John snorted, holding his hands up in defense as he leaned back against the brick. “Fine. Maybe you’ll have better luck with her, Lizzie.” 

He winked at Lizzie and then he leaned to the side, reaching out to open the front door. He stopped suddenly before stepping over the threshold and turned back to the girls, Clara nearly bumping into him since she’d been following behind so close.

“And if she gives you any trouble—” John spoke directly to Lizzie as he reached out toward Clara. “—here’s a little trick.” Clara caught John's arm as he reached out to tickle her beneath the chin, quickly swinging under it and bolting through the open door. Clara figured she could just dissolve herself into the chaos that was John’s children while her brother got on the road, avoiding him for the next few minutes, and ensuring that the children would eliminate any opportunity Lizzie might have to speak with her brother alone.

Clara made it up the first three steps before her brother's hand closed around her elbow. She tried to push him off, going so far as to lift her boot and sending it into his leg. “Oi! Enough. You take a seat,” he said, with a nod of his head toward the stairs. 

Lizzie quickly excused herself at that, moving past them to drop her basket in the kitchen. John watched her go, waiting for the kitchen door to swing closed before turning back to his sister. John ran a hand over his face before he spoke. 

“Promise me you’ll be nicer to Lizzie than you’re being to me, eh?” 

“I’m not being—”

“A brat?” John scoffed. “Could’ve fooled me.” Clara was poised to protest, but John continued on. “And maybe you have every reason to be. Maybe where me and Tommy are concerned, you’ve got the right of it, but not with Lizzie and not with the kids. They don't deserve this, eh?” 

John said the words though he didn't quite know what this even was, still a bit confused by the course of their morning and his sister's shifting mood. A wave of exhaustion came over him as he looked at her, feeling as though they'd already lived a whole day in the last few hours. He could see she felt the same, another wave of emotion building up in her as she sat on the steps in front of him. 

A lump was forming in Clara's throat, a few tears suddenly spilling out of her eyes as she buried her face in her arms. “I wasn’t gonna—”

“Alright, alright,” John said, sitting beside her and interrupting when he heard the strain came through in her little voice.

Clara looked up at him and John frowned, reaching out to wipe away the stubborn tears. “And you still don’t want to just tell—” he started, raising his hands in defense as Clara shook her head and tried to shift away from him.

“How about a—” Clara smacked John’s hand away as he tried to fit it beneath her chin once again. He nearly got a smirk out of her before Clara closed back in on herself, crushing her arms around over her chest and backing against the wall, putting as much space between them as she could on the tiny third step of the staircase. 

John sighed and pulled her into his chest with an arm, half certain she’d fight him on it and push out of his hold, but Clara seemed to thaw a little instead as he held her. Only a few seconds passed before she was stretching out her arms around him and holding him back just as tight.

“I’m not a brat,” she mumbled.

John snorted, shaking his head. “Yes, you are. But you know who else is?” he asked, waiting a beat before answering. “Tommy and Polly and Ada and Finn and Arthur…and your nieces and nephews, for sure.”

“And you,” Clara said.

“No, no,” John said, shaking his head. “The rest of you lot, maybe…” 

Clara smiled this time, but the moment was short-lived as Finn smashed through the front door, his cheeks red and his breaths huffing from running through the streets. “Arthur says it’s time.” 

John nodded, some type of urgency and excitement shifting in him as he guided Clara up from the steps and moved all three of them toward the kitchen.

Finn eyed Lizzie as he came through to the kitchen a moment later, meeting Clara’s eye quickly before John steered him out the back door, giving him instructions to tell Arthur he was on his way. Neither twin had gotten the chance to speak, but Clara knew they were both thinking the same thing—that Lizzie Stark being there was risky for them. And it was risky, but there wasn't much either of them could do about it, not now at least. 

Clara and Lizzie watched in silence as John doubled back through the house to grab his hat. He stopped to kiss Lizzie on his way to the back door. Clara busied herself with studying her shoes, not looking up until John cleared his throat. 

He stood at the threshold of the back door when Clara finally looked up. “You’ll be good, then, yeah?” 

Clara nodded. “What about you and—?” 

John rolled his eyes. “Don’t you go worrying about me,” he said, though it wasn’t quite possible. Clara knew she might be able to get lost in the chaos of John’s kids for a bit, but she’d not be able to really stop thinking about her brothers—worrying about them and their absence—until they were all back home in Small Heath. 

“Just help keep my lot in line,” John said, lingering only long enough to get a nod out of his sister.

Just like that, Clara was alone in a quiet house with Lizzie Stark. As the silence stretched on, Clara started thinking to herself that today of all days must've been the first time in her memory that John’s kids were sleeping in. Of course, it was the only time that Clara had been banking on their help for a little chaos—a little distraction, a little something to do other than stand in the kitchen alone with this woman. 

Clara toed around the kitchen looking for something that needed doing—anything, really—but the room was already spotless. Clara imagined John had tidied up on account of Lizzie, trying to make a good impression. 

“Have you had breakfast?” Lizzie’s back faced Clara as she retrieved the bread and biscuits she had baked at home from her basket. 

“I thought we could have something to eat and maybe some tea before the little ones wake?” Lizzie continued. “To fortify ourselves.” 

Lizzie giggled and Clara allowed herself a smile at that, something in her loosened by the woman’s smile. 

“Do you like tea?” Lizzie asked. 

Clara nodded and Lizzie got to work on their tea and breakfast. 

“They won’t misbehave with you this time." A few moments of silence had passed before Clara directed the words to Lizzie’s back while she settled the kettle on the stove. “They’re right terrors when they want to be, but—”

“They’re kids.” Lizzie shrugged. “Kids cause trouble sometimes.” 

And adults, too, Lizzie thought to herself, but she wouldn’t get into that—not with a kid, even if Lizzie had already known all about the trouble caused by adults by the time she was Clara’s age and suspected the girl knew a fair bit as well. Lizzie figured she had to, having Peaky Blinders for brothers and all. 

Lizzie sliced the bread loaf in silence, thinking of all of the things she’d learned about Clara Shelby over the years, but especially in recent months. Lizzie knew far more about the girl than just what John had told her. Far more than the things Tommy had told her about the girl, too. Lizzie suspected she knew more about Clara and Finn’s scrapping than either of the brothers knew, which was partially her own doing. Lizzie had had the opportunity to tell both John and Tommy, but she hadn’t told either. 

Lizzie had decided quickly and without much debate that she would keep what she had seen to herself. And when Tommy had shown up at her doorstep not ten minutes after the kids cleared off the lane, she said nothing of what she’d seen of the Shelby twins. How could she? How could she tell Tommy without having to explain why they were there. And then if she told Tommy, John would be wondering why she hadn’t told him…and why Tommy had been at her doorstep. Lizzie’s secrets were somehow tied right up there with the twins’ secret. There was just no way Lizzie could see for explaining what the twins were doing there on her lane without the details of her dalliance with both Shelby men coming out.

Lizzie turned to watch Clara. The girl was clearly lost in a sea of thought as she stared out the back window. Lizzie couldn't blame her, really. John had told Lizzie all that had happened to the girl recently. The constant back and forth with Tommy, Clara being dragged off to the police station...it sounded awful, even if it was something John had laughed at, like it was a right of passage for a Shelby and he was proud of her for it, but based on the bits and pieces of Clara that had been described by her brothers, Lizzie didn't imagine she shared John's sentiments. 

Tommy rarely spoke about her—he rarely spoke of anything, but when Lizzie prompted, saying she had seen him out here or there with the little girl, keeping herself from further commenting that the sight of him with the girl by his side was a softer version of Tommy than she was used to so that she didn’t risk him shutting down. After a note of quiet, Tommy would usually say something about her then. Just a few words, but they were enough that Lizzie felt she understood something about the youngest Shelby.

John spoke about his siblings often, loose with his words with or without liquor lubricating his memories. He told stories and he blew off steam, condemning and celebrating them all from one sentence to the next. 

“First in line to Tommy’s throne,” John often joked. “Well, if she wasn’t a girl. Been that way since she was born.”

Lizzie had started to get the impression that John was a bit jealous, both of the way that Tommy doted on their sister and the way she reciprocated that care and attention. There was a part of John that wanted to be loved, wanted to be chosen. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, that part of John resonated with Lizzie, but whatever the brothers said, Lizzie got the impression that neither of them saw her quite right. They each knew her in their own way, but like anyone else, Clara was more than what she showed to any one of them.

Clara Shelby had always seemed so polite, a conglomerate of caution and wisdom that she wouldn't call exactly normal for a kid, but it was there, consistent whenever Lizzie read between the lines of a story delivered from one of the brothers or when she came across the girl in the streets. Almost like she was an adult, like they all believed because she was clever and well-mannered, she was mature, but Lizzie she was a kid. She seemed like a good kid, a thoughtful kid, but a kid all the same. That too, was a part of why Lizzie was keeping her secret. The other two boys had been fine, aside from a little blood. It was nothing to cause more trouble over. 

“John says you’re good with your nieces and nephews,” Lizzie finally prompted, pulled from her thoughts by the steady whistle of the heated kettle.

Clara nodded as Lizzie pulled the kettle from the heat. “They listen to me,” she offered. “Well, sometimes…” 

Lizzie nodded, noting that the girl was still skittish, unsure of the woman and the tension of the power differential that thrummed between them. Lizzie knew exactly where it came from. She had seen the look pass between the twins as John had put Finn out the back door—the uncertainty, the fear.

“Just so you know, I didn’t…I didn’t tell your brother what I saw the other day. I won’t tell—”

The kitchen door swung open before Lizzie could say anything more. Robbie launched himself into Clara’s arms, shouting out her name as he latched onto her. Clara knew that was the end of their silence, the end of Lizzie’s quiet assurances. The others would be up soon and there would be no more talk of secrets, no more time for worries about her and Finn being found out. That normally might have troubled Clara, but it seemed that bit of her worry was unwarranted, so long as Lizzie Stark kept her word, anyway. 

Clara squeezed her nephew tight for a moment, realizing as she held him that he’d grown a bit. She hadn’t seen Robbie in some time—far too long considering they lived just down the lane, but Clara had been staying close to home, caught up in her own troubles. 

“Did you say hello to Miss Stark?” Clara whispered as the boy loosened his hold, looking about the kitchen. 

Robbie buried his face back against Clara’s dress without an answer.

“Oh, it’s just Lizzie,” Lizzie answered, stealing a glance at the two children. 

Clara tried to shift her nephew around, tugging him from his spot, but he held his positioning. 

“Are you hungry, Robbie?” 

“Robert,” the boy quickly corrected, pulling himself from Clara’s side. “Robbie’s a baby’s name.” 

“Robert it is, then,” Lizzie amended. “A very strong name. Would you like some breakfast, Mr. Robert Shelby?” 

The boy nodded, a sly smile creeping onto his face at being called a mister, at being taken seriously by an adult.

“Maybe you’d like to help?” Lizzie suggested, reaching out for one of the kitchen chairs and pulling it over to the counter.

Robbie glanced toward his aunt as if asking permission. Clara nodded, guiding him forward with a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

Clara left the kitchen to go check on the other three and Robbie was already giggling as he and Lizzie leaned over the eggs, something very sweet and almost conspiratorial there in the way their heads bent toward one another, the whispers passing between them quiet enough that Clara couldn’t hear a word that was being said. 

The moment had her thinking suddenly of Martha. Clara had always held a certain love for her sister-in-law, but she didn’t remember many playful moments where Martha was concerned. Her brother’s wife had been a smart and swift sort of woman. She had been a carer in all the most efficient ways. John had never had to lift a finger in the home while Martha was alive. Clara remembered her laughing and smiling when she was very young, being playful with her, but that was before the war…back when Clara was very young, the memories fragmented by time. 

The Martha that Clara remembered best was the woman who’d raised four kids alone during a war, the woman who’d grown sick while she was still raising them alone. Clara remembered that woman as one who tolerated very little nonsense. Polly had once told Clara that doing it alone could change the type of mother you planned to be and Clara had to believe it was true. Martha had always been caring and efficient and kind, but there was a certain strictness in her during the war that didn’t seem to really be part of her—something foreign or imposed on her, incongruent with the core of her. Martha hadn’t had the time or energy for something like allowing the kids to help with breakfast. 

She certainly hadn’t been baking cookies for the kids as a special treat…

Clara wondered what Martha would think of the way John let them run wild now…letting them live without structure, letting them lead things a bit. Clara didn’t imagine she’d like it, but Clara thought maybe she might understand. 

As Clara came up the stairs, the door to Robbie and Joe’s bedroom was wide open, the room beyond empty aside from a bed with messy covers, so she proceeded to the girls’ room. The door was ajar, only just, and it was quiet—a quiet Clara wasn’t used to in her brother’s house, not when her nieces and nephews were awake, at least.

As she reached the door, Clara could discern that quiet was only made possible because the kids were whispering—Katie, Sarah, and Joe all speaking over each other though little more than an indiscernible hum reached Clara’s ears as she pushed the door open. 

“Lizzie and Robbie are making—”

The kids all jumped apart, startled by Clara’s sudden presence there. Clara recognized something in the air—a familiar tension tingling in her limbs—the tension of being caught doing something wrong, a bit of fear and defensiveness and secretiveness pushing and pulling in the space between them. Clara had experienced enough times to know. She was close enough in age to John’s kids that she and Finn were more used to being a part of it rather than being the one to set the tension into the air. Clara, Finn, and John’s kids all usually played together as something close to peers. John’s kids recognized Clara and Finn as having some slight, nearly insignificant bit of authority over them. They knew Clara and Finn were their aunt and uncle, but most often it didn’t matter.

They played and got up to trouble together. There weren’t many secrets between them.

“What are you doing?” Clara asked.

“Nothing,” Joe answered, the word coming out so quickly that Clara imagined that it would’ve been the answer regardless of the question. He’d stepped in front of the girls and shot a glance back at Katie now.

“Your dad said you have to be good for Lizzie today. Better not be—”

“We’re not doing nothing,” Joe interrupted.

“Just talking,” Sarah added, her tone a bit softer than her brother.

“What’s for breakfast?” Katie stepped around her brother, coming to stand by Clara at the door. “I’m starved.”

“C’mon, Katie,” Joe said as he moved across the room, pulling on Katie’s hand and taking her from the room. 

When Clara turned back to the room, she watched as Sarah busied herself with pulling up the covers of her bed before moving on to the girls’ toys scattered across the floor, making the room a bit neater as she went. The girl was dallying. Sarah was usually quieter than the others—more sensible, Clara thought, more like their mother. And Clara thought of her differently than the others…thought now that they were alone, Sarah might say something more, but the girl stayed quiet and on the other side of the room.

“Are you coming?” Clara asked. 

Sarah dropped the toys she was considering and nodded, passing by Clara without a word. As Sarah made her way down the stairs, Clara’s eyes swept over the room searching for some indication that the kids had been doing something more than just talking, but nothing was odd or out of place. 

Clara was tempted to keep looking, but then she remembered that her being upstairs left Lizzie alone with the lot of them, a situation she didn’t imagine yielding anything positive. 

The kids were yelling as Clara came down the stairs, their voices carrying over each other and conglomerating into one big indiscernible sound, just as their whispers had done upstairs just moments before.

Sarah and Joe were arguing over setting the table of all things and Clara’s voice got quickly lost among all the shouting while her niece and nephew tugged a stack of plates back and forth between them.

Clara made to step forward and separate them, difficult as it would be considering it was the two oldest ones fighting, but Lizzie beat her to it, grabbing the plates and setting them aside before pulling the two kids apart.

“Dad said no fighting,” Robbie said, still standing on the chair by the stove, watching over the food. 

“Shut up, Robbie ,” Joe answered. “Quit being a baby.”

Sarah reached out and smacked her brother upside the head, an attack that he quickly returned, but it didn’t matter that they were fighting because the damage was already done, with Robbie’s tears already clear by the time he hopped off the chair and ran out of the room.

“I’ll see to him,” Sarah offered, but Lizzie shook her head. 

“You three sit and eat,” she said. “And I hope not to hear a sound other than the sound of forks against plates.” 

Joe laughed. “Or what?” 

Lizzie’s mouth opened and closed, and Clara sensed she hadn’t been anticipating having to give such an answer. Lizzie had figured her sharp tone would've been enough, that the kids wouldn't be bold enough to argue.

“Or Aunt Polly’ll hear about it,” Clara answered as she took the stack of plates. “And if Aunt Polly hears about it, then—”

“Stop fighting! The eggs are getting cold!” Katie interrupted, already in her spot at the table, leaning across the space in front of her to scoop food into her mouth straight from the pan with her fork.

“You’ve got this?” Lizzie asked, waiting only for Clara’s nod before exiting the now silent room. 

Clara was surprised that the threat of Aunt Polly was enough to bring John’s kids to behave themselves, but they all sat nearly silent at the table for the short minutes during which Lizzie was off with Robbie. None of the kids said anything when their younger brother came back into the room, his eyes still a bit red as he hopped up into his chair. 

“Eat up,” Lizzie said, when she realized all except Katie and Robbie were simply pushing their food around their plates. Clara and Sarah were studying Robbie for their own reasons. Joe was glaring daggers at Lizzie, defying the woman though he was starved. “We’ve got loads to do for today.” 

“Like what?” Sarah asked.

“It’s a surprise,” Robbie answered between bites, a conspiratorial grin shot towards Lizzie.

“Oh! I want to know! I want to know!” Katie answered as she shifted out of her seat and moved to Lizzie’s side, giggling when Lizzie leaned down and whispered in the little girl’s ear. 

“And what about you three?” Lizzie asked, looking at Sarah, Joe, and Clara. Would you like to—"

“No, Lizzie!” Robbie answered. “It's a surprise." 

“What do you think, Katie?” Lizzie asked, the conspiracy quickly growing to include Katie. 

“Surprise,” she agreed, sliding back into her chair to resume eating her eggs, rather pleased with herself that she and Robbie and Lizzie were sharing a secret and for once, and that the two youngest had the upper hand. It was so rare that the two of them knew anything before their older brother and sister, or their aunt.

Clara didn't say anything though she didn't love being on the other end of a secret or being lumped in with the kids, especially not when Clara was meant to be helping Lizzie. Clara didn't like not knowing, but some nagging part of her said she could trust Lizzie, both with this and with hers and Finn's secret. And anyway, Katie and Robbie's smiles put her at ease. Surely, if those two were happy about it, Lizzie's plan for the day couldn't be too bad. 

As Lizzie slid into the last seat at the table, the one just beside Robbie, Clara took a sip of her tea. Joseph was watching Lizzie, watching as she sat there smiling at Katie and Robbie, watching as she brought a piece of bread to her mouth. 

"That was my mum's seat," Joseph said as he continued to stare at her.

Clara nearly choked on the hot liquid in her mouth. Lizzie's face colored at the boy's words, her cheeks full as she stopped chewing. Silence held over the table as each of them considered what the boy was saying...the meaning there between the lines.

Lizzie Stark was in his mum's seat, but Lizzie wasn't his mum...and Joseph Shelby didn't want her to be. 

—

Chapter 33

Little Lady Blinder Masterlist

Please take a moment to tell me what y'all think! Reviews and comments are always appreciated. 😌❤️

[theladyofshalott1989]

Writing Prompt #1: Imelda Reyes x f!MC/Female Reader

Thanks to @endless-starlight-legacy for providing the first prompt:

f!MC telling Imelda about her ancient magic Imelda Reyes x Female MC This is my first f/f one-shot, as well as my first story written in second-person perspective! Enjoy :) Word Count: 846 Rating: Teen ✨✨✨

“Hey you, Gryffindor!” a voice rang out from directly behind you, catching you off guard just as you vanquished the last Ashwinder, while using your ancient magic no less. Strands of hair clung to your damp forehead. You quickly brushed them aside.

Shit.

You hadn’t realized that someone had been watching. And, of course, you recognized the distinct Scottish brogue. Imelda, of all people! You were in trouble now. 

Swiftly stashing your wand, you smoothed down your dusty robes and turned as gracefully as possible, arranging your face into the most innocuous expression you could possibly muster.

“Hullo, Imelda. What a pleasant surprise to see you here.”

Imelda greeted you in her usual stance—arms crossed, hip cocked, a defiant glint in her eye.

“What was all that about, then?” she asked, unfolding her arms and gesturing dramatically, as if reenacting the spell-casting she had just observed.

You gulped. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play coy with me, fifth-year.” 

A solitary bead of sweat trickled down your temple. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Enough of this,” she spat out, her words sharp as a blade. “You’re about as unobtrusive as a troll, galumphing around the Highlands, challenging everything that crosses your path.” Pausing to shoot you a scowl, she finished with: “You can trust me. I know how to keep a secret.”

Did Imelda just compare you to a troll? And did she really just suggest you could trust her? You tried and failed to hold back a snort. That was a mistake.

“Are you mocking me, Gryffindor?” 

You couldn’t help it. The laughter burst forth, spiraling out of control. This situation was rapidly deteriorating. Terribly so. Yet, you found yourself powerless to stop it.

“Laugh all you want. I know you’re hiding something.” Imelda’s cheeks were flushed a brilliant red. It was truly a sight to behold. Your own cheeks grew hot, but not from embarrassment. What was this unsettling sensation? Was it Imelda's doing?

After regaining your composure, you drew in a deep breath, then said, “No, Imelda, I apologize. It’s just…”

“Just what?” she cut in. “Am I that much of a villain to you?”

"No, no, not at all," you stammered. You decided to ignore the troll comment, for the time being. You continued, "It's just... we've hardly exchanged more than a few words beyond your broom trials, and to imply that I could confide in you... it's just..."

To your complete and utter shock, Imelda’s face fell. “Well, excuse me for talking about my passion! You’re just like Nerida…” she muttered under her breath. She clenched her fists at her side and cast her gaze downward. 

Witnessing Imelda’s struggle to conceal whatever inner turmoil was currently coursing through her stung more than you could have imagined. Why did she suddenly have this hold on you? Weren’t you terrified of her? 

“Fine,” you began, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. This was probably a mistake, but you were sick of hiding. Your ancient magic ability wasn’t something you should have to bear alone!

Imelda's head snapped up, a flicker of shock passing over her face before she quickly composed herself. 

Taking a deep breath, you hesitated for a moment before beginning. "I possess... a special type of magic. Ancient magic. It only manifested when I turned fifteen. It’s very rare and I’m not quite sure of the full extent of my abilities yet.” You absently toyed with your long braid cascading across your chest. “It’s all a bit much, to be honest with you…” 

“Figures,” she interjected, followed by a rather unladylike guffaw.

Your eyes widened. “Now who’s mocking whom?” you managed to utter, only for Imelda to laugh. Again.

Despite everything, despite the confusing tangle of emotions that were currently holding you hostage, you found yourself joining in.

The next thing you knew, you were doubled over, hands on your thighs, gasping for air. The touch of a hand on your shoulder jolted you back to reality.

“You and everyone else need to get a thicker skin,” Imelda drawled. “But I appreciate you telling me. Can’t say I’m surprised.” 

You parted your lips to respond, but the words eluded you. You were stunned into silence by Imelda’s scent—fresh grass kissed by light rain, the subtlest trace of sweat, the undeniable aura of competition, if scent could capture such a concept. 

You hoped Imelda couldn’t tell how enraptured you were by the moment, by her. That certainly wouldn’t do. 

“Having fun, are we?” she teased, arching an eyebrow. 

Shit. 

You stammered out something unintelligible, running your hand through your hair and accidentally pulling your braid out in the process.

“Kneazle got your tongue?”

“Erm, no, I—"

“No matter,” she interrupted. “We'll talk more later." She raised a hand in salute. "See you around, fifth-year. Your secret is safe with me.” She then, presumably, began the long trek back to the castle. 

Once Imelda was out of sight, you heaved a sigh of relief. That could have gone better, but… maybe, just maybe, opening up to Imelda hadn’t been such a terrible idea after all.

[minks-country-club]

Hullo can i know from your twitter thread with auror harry and unspeakable married harry and draco who rescued the draco that saved the unspeakable harry why did auror harry say it's only their timeline that auror harry and recent released draco didn't end up together? thank u i luv your threads

AAAAA HELLO DARLING!! Thank you so very much💜💜💜

So I apologise because I feel like I didn't explain that part very well.

So basically: Draco (in his late 20's), Kreacher and Harry (13 years old) were at Grimmauld Place when Sirius broke out of Azkaban and returned to Grimmauld Place. There was a confrontation — Sirius thinking Draco was Lucius because of the age and looks. However, after talking it out and some convincing from Harry's part, Sirius agreed to make peace and thank Draco for taking care of Harry up until that point. Draco told them everything he knew about the future deaths and that it would be up to them to prevent the deaths this time around.

That night, when everyone was asleep, Death came to Draco to collect him and take him back to his own timeline, saying that Draco had done everything he was supposed to do and there was no reason to keep Draco here anymore and that it would basically fuck up this new timeline if he stayed. Draco expected to die, so he asked Death if he could say goodbye to Harry before handing over his guardianship to Sirius.

It was a very sad, heartfelt goodbye with lots of tears and lots of hugs.

"You still have me," Draco told Harry. "You have younger me, the one in this timeline."

"But it's not the same!" Harry sobbed, "I want both of you! Malfoy is my friend! But you... you're..."

"I know, Harry," Draco smiled sadly. "But there's nothing else I can do. I have to go. But you still have me. You always have and always will. I promise."

"I'll find you," said Harry, full of conviction and tears. "In every life."

Draco only smiled, and didnt dare tell Harry that he wouldnt find Draco again because he would die in Azkaban because that's what he was doing before he went back in time — dying. If he returned to his timeline, he would die.

They hugged for the last time, Draco placing a gentle kiss on Harry's head. Harry didnt want to let go, but he did and watched Draco walk out his room for the last time.

Draco greeted Death downstairs and took his hand.

When Draco woke up, it was to the sound of a prison guard opening his cell door in Azkaban.

"Come on, Malfoy — up you get," the officer said, dragging Draco to his feet.

Confused and dazed, Draco went willingly. They took a portkey to the Ministry where another officer greeted them and took Draco down the halls to a meeting room.

"You have two hours," the officer said, and opened the door for Draco to enter through.

There, Draco was met with Auror Harry (from Draco's timeline) and Unspeakable Harry (the one Draco saved in the past) and Unspeakable Draco (past Harry's husband).

Past Harry married his Draco and made it his life mission to find the Draco that saved him so that he could return the favour and get him out of Azkaban. In doing so, he became an Unspeakable, as did his husband, and travelled to alternate realities to free every Draco still in Azkaban.

However, in doing so, he found that in every universe he travelled to, every Harry was already with their Draco.

Then, Unspeakable Harry and Draco landed in this timeline and knew this reality had to be the one with the Draco that saved him. He went to Minister Shaklebolt and asked him to pardon Draco, providing a pensieve of all his memories being raised by Draco and everything he did to help and just as a personal favour for the Saviour of the Wizarding World. Shaklebolt agreed, which is why Draco was released from Azkaban.

It was a lovely reunion between Unspeakable Harry and Draco, because it had been so many years for Harry, but for Draco it only felt like hours ago since saw Harry.

"So what changed?" Auror Harry asked, seething with obvious anger. "Why is it that in every other timeline, I get to be happy except for this one? What went wrong?"

[A.N. Now, I dont know why exactly in this timeline Draco and Harry didnt end up together since it follows canon events up until after the 2nd Wizarding War, but I suppose it's up to you. It could have only been 1 fleeting kiss or just a small little chat between Harry and Draco sharing feelings.

But its said that a new reality is created every time someone makes a choice with a different reality being created when someone makes a different choice. For example, you could decide to eat a cookie or an apple as a snack. So there will be an alternate reality where you ate the cookie, and another reality where you ate the apple.

I suppose that could be applied here, where most realites Draco decided to take the chance to kiss Harry or decided to open up to Harry about how he's feeling, which lead to a butterfly effect and multiple timelines of him ending up with Harry.

Obviously, in canon, this never happened, which is why Draco didnt end up with Harry. I KNOW ITS CONFUSING AND IM SORRY.]

So basically, in every other reality Unspeakable Harry explored, Draco made a choice to connect with Harry, a sincere moment of vulnerability, which lead to a deeper connection than they originally thought and therefore (through the butterfly effect) allowed Harry and Draco to end up in a relationship.

In this timeline, with Auror Harry (the canon one from the stories), Draco never opened up to Harry or kissed him, which lead to them leading separate lives.

Auror Harry is fucking pissed off cuz that's just not fair but Unspeakable Harry tells him to give Draco a chance and let him give Harry what he's owed — a life of happiness.

"Seriously, mate," Unspeakable Harry whispered into Auror Harry's ear, "you won't regret it. But if it doesnt work out then fine, you can at least say you both tried."

Unspeakable Harry and Draco say goodbye with another round of hugs and tears and another promise to meet again soon.

Auror Harry decides to give Draco a chance for friendship and says he'll owl him before he dismisses Draco.

☆☆☆

So yeah! I'm so sorry, I know that was long and probably very confusing😭😭 But I hope that at least makes it a bit easier to understand. If you have more questions then feel free to ask. Thank you so much for reading my Drarry threads, I'm so glad you liked them💜💜💜

For all the people who don't know what's going on, here are the threads anon was talking about:

Part 1:

Part 2:

Part 3:

My Drarry ramblings:

[issybettyx]

EMERALD DUO GAMER AU

Strange title dont ask

Tdlr; Techno works at GAME, Philza is a well known gamer and also a common visitor of GAME. When techno gets this job, he doesn’t expect to become one of the internet’s most beloved gamer’s friends. (I’m watching the wilbur tommy and jack improv vid)

Or: Emerald duo being epic besties

-

The phone had to ring five times before Techno picked it up.

The first time it rang, Wilbur shouted up to him.

The second time it rang, he paused the video on his pc.

The third time it rang he shut his bedroom door behind him.

The fourth time it rang he got downstairs.

The fifth was just a few moments before he picked it up, Wilbur looking far too exhausted for having been sat on the sofa since he got home five hours before.

“Hullo.” He said into the phone, voice exposing how tired he was as he frowned.

“Is this Techno Blade?” They asked kindly, a smile clearly sitting on their lips as they spoke. It was a little strange.

“Uh, yes? Who’s this?” He asked slowly, meeting Wilbur’s eyes as the man looked carefully at him.

“I was just calling to say you got the job at GAME, you start at 9am on Monday, is that alright?” They told him, and his shock must’ve been clear on his face, Wilbur poking him over and over to get an answer, but he could hardly form any words from his shock.

He’d gone to exactly 37 interviews before this one, and he’d been rejected every time. Lucky number 38.

Wilbur had kept saying how everything happened for a reason, but by the 20th failed interview it seemed even he was wondering if the universe just kind of hated Techno. But now he finally had a job, possibly an extremely boring one, but it was a second source of much steadier income than Wilbur’s gigs and street performing.

“Wait, seriously?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“You’re not joking? I got the job?” Techno asked them, and Wilbur’s smile was so wide he worried it would blind him. But the person simply chuckled to themselves, and for a moment he worried that it was in fact a sick joke.

“Yes, Techno, we’ll see you Monday yeah?” They asked, and he nodded before realising they couldn’t see him.

“Yes, thank you, see you.”

He hung up before they could say anything else, looking at Wilbur as he put his phone into his back pocket, a genuine smile on his face for the first time in months.

“You got the job?” Wilbur asked, and Techno nodded, not able to find words to express his excitement and relief. Wilbur stood up and ruffled his hair, a massive grin that felt way too contagious. “So proud of you man, let’s celebrate yeah?”

Most days, they just ate whatever they had in the fridge. Which, admittedly, wasn’t much. The only times they ever bought fast food for their birthday, which thankfully happened to be on the same day (Wilbur called them twins, Techno just said it was lucky and they could save money).

But, despite it all, he still nodded, letting his pride be felt if only for a moment.

—

The doors opened as he walked towards them, and Techno was welcomed by a soft breeze of air, and the moment he walked in a woman behind the counter popped her head up, a smile on her face immediately. “Hello!” She greeted, jumping over the counter and rushing towards him, holding out a hand, “You must be Techno, I’m Niki!”

Niki had similarly pink hair to his own, which is likely how she identified him. Her clothes perfectly suited her, a beige jumper with a white skirt, a pair of beige converse padding excitedly on the floor.

“Nice to meet you.” He replied with the biggest smile he could muster - it wasn’t great, and it looked a little forced - as he shook her hand, putting his hands in his pockets the moment she let his hand go. “So what’s the drill?”

“Well,” she started, walking past the shelves with a smile, “We mainly stand behind the desk, answer questions of customers, stock the shelves, and drink coffee.” She explained, making her way back around the counter. “Any questions let me know, alright?”

And that was that, his first shift had began.

And Techno would be lying if he said he wasn’t excited.

—

It was exactly a week after Techno’s first shift when something interesting happened. He was simply sipping his coffee that Niki had prepared for him before she left, having restocked the shelves already and no customers having entered in a good few minutes. Business wasn’t the fastest in the GAME, so as Niki had explained a lot of his time was spent drinking coffee.

The bell on the top of the door rang as they pulled open, and he had to bring his legs down from the counter because apparently it ‘wasn’t professional’ or something.

But the person who he saw walking down the aisle almost made him spit out his coffee.

It was the Philza. The Philza who was one of the most followed creators on the internet. The Philza who had better humour than Techno could even explain. The Philza who he’d been watching a few moments before he found out he got the job he was currently at.

The Philza, his blonde hair tied back in a ribbon, a green hoodie over a pair of jeans and black trainers. When he looked at Techno, there was a flash of realisation on his face, and he smiled, giving him a short wave.

“Hey mate.” He greeted, before going back to looking at the shelves.

After taking four deep breaths to compose himself and even his expression, Techno managed to get out from behind the counter, moving to stand beside the man as he ignored how his heart beat faster in his chest every moment.

“Do you need help looking for anything?” He asked slowly, getting a hum in return as Phil pulled out a game, looking over the cover.

“What do you think of this game? Ever played it?” Phil asked him, his voice even kinder in person and sending Techno stumbling for words. How his response was so calm, Techno had absolutely no clue.

“Minecraft? It’s pretty cool, I only played it once at my friends house.” He explained, rocking on his feet as he tried to hide his smile. “It’s a sandbox game, you can play survival, creative, hardcore-“

“What’s hardcore?” He asked, reading over the back of the case before looking up at the lack of a response, eyes going wide. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He apologised, and Techno took an extra four second to compose himself again.

“It’s alright man, hardcore is a version of the game where you can only die once, contrary to survival where you can respawn after death.”

Philza hummed again, moving towards the counter; Techno could only follow, opening and closing the gate to get behind it.

“So the stakes are higher? It’s more risky?” He asked, leaning his elbow on the surface and his chin in his palm, smiling at Techno who nodded.

“I’ve watched loads of videos on techniques to survive longer and different farms and armour types, it’s pretty cool.” Techno continued, scanning the game. “Anything else?”

Phil hummed for a moment, looking over the walls before glancing behind the desk and then at Techno’s mug of coffee.

“A coffee would be nice.” He asked with a grin, and Techno scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“We don’t sell coffee.” He tried, but Phil’s laugh made him half tempted to sell him one anyways.

“No, you seem cool mate, I’d like to go out for coffee some time, it’s never a bad thing to have friends.” Phil clarified, and boy oh boy did Techno see black spots across his vision.

For years he’d gotten home and watched this man’s videos. He revised to exams as he listened to his rambled, he cooked dinner as he listened to his story times. At times, he had his school friends quiz him on Philza general knowledge, and he got all 50 questions correct.

And now he stood, a week into his new job being casually offered coffee.

Wilbur was never going to believe him.

“Oh-“ he returned, staring as he tried to find words, but Philza took it very differently.

“You don’t have to! Don’t feel pressured, it’s an offer and nothing more, I know how scary it can be and you seem lovely, so I just-“

“When do you wanna go?” He asked, cutting the man off which a mustered smile that wasn’t at all fake, Philza pausing to look at Techno in shock.

“Tomorrow for lunch?” He offered, and Techno smiled, holding out a bag with Phil’s new game and his other for the man to shake. He took both.

“I’m Techno.” He introduced, and Phil smiled back.

“Philza, you can call me Phil.”

Techno was living the best life, smiling as he vowed to never wash his hand again (that was until Wilbur forced him to because germs and stuff).

Maybe everything did happen for a reason.

—

As Techno walked from his work to the local coffee shop, all he could think about was his conversation with Wilbur the night before.

In brief summary, it went something like this:

“I met Philza.”

“Excuse me what?”

“And i’m going out for coffee with him tomorrow.”

“You fucking what?!”

Except it was several hours longer with several more questions and a lot more smiles and laughs and disbelief.

And yet, despite his several times having a feeling he was dreaming, and the several times Wilbur shook his shoulders in a terrible attempt to help him comprehend the insanity of his situation, Techno still found himself counting his fingers as he walked, brows furrowed as he managed to count to ten every time.

Nothing made sense.

Just two weeks ago they had to have soup every day for dinner because they didn’t have enough money, and now Techno had a job and had the opportunity to sit with his hero for an hour?

Yeah, no, if he wasn’t asleep he must be dead. Maybe that would explain why he could count all of his fingers.

But when he looked up at the coffee store, nerves started to bubble in his chest as he reminded himself it was in fact real, and Philza was in fact sat inside.

The door opened with the soft ringing of a bell, similar to the one at his work but much kinder sounding. The first thing he noticed was the strangely loud chatter. The second thing he noticed was the crowd of people around a very specific table, and Techno so wanted to leave knowing exactly who was amidst all the excited people. For some reason, he only moved towards it, hearing Phil’s kind voice even over all of the talking.

“I’m out with a friend right now, you guys will scare him away.” He tried, and Techno could hear his fond smile.

“Will he be in your videos?” Someone asked, no malice in their tone or assumption in their words, just pure interest. But the question made Techno physically uncomfortable; drinking coffee with his hero was nerve-racking enough, but filming a video to be seen by millions was not exactly on his to-do list. Sure he loved playing games and sure he was pretty good at it, but only Wilbur had ever said he was entertaining (then again he only ever spoke to Wilbur, so that defence wasn’t exactly the best).

“Only if he wants to- now scatter.” Philza brushed them off, smiling as he watched them leave before he met Techno’s gaze, the latter looking between the retreating crowd and Phil, brows furrowed in thought. “Hey mate! Sorry about that, fans get a little… uh… what’s the word?” He drifted off, tapping the table as Techno took his seat opposite the man.

“Overbearing?”

“No that’s too negative, they’re awesome.” Phil responded without a second thought, looking out of the window with a soft smile. “They’re just a bit much sometimes.”

It was a little strange, being such a huge fan of Philza and having to sit there and listen to him talk about him in such a positive way despite it being such an offhanded comment. Part of him said he had to say he knew who Philza was and how long he’d been watching his content for, but the other part of him said Philza already knew.

A waiter walking over to their table saved Techno from his internal battle, except of all the waiters they seemed to give them the… strangest one.

He looked young, and also completely indifferent, pressing his pen rhythmically on his pad of paper. The kid glanced at Philza, eyes going wide before he suddenly looked like he enjoyed his job, bowing to the man. “Fantastic to meet you Philza, what can I get your graciousness to drink?” He asked, his smile unfaltering as Phil chuckled to himself, shaking his head fondly.

“Hey Tommy, I’ll just get a regular cappuccino,” Phil asked as he looked at the kid, a fondness in his eyes that was new to Techno; so far, everything Phil had said and done had felt so familiar, a feeling that came with years of knowing someone. But that look swirling in his blue eyes as he looked at this waiter that he apparently knew was so… strange. And yet it didn’t shock Techno at all.

“And for your awesome looking friend?” Tommy asked with a smile, motioning his pen towards Techno, the latter fidgeting under the eye contact.

“Surprise me.” Techno told him, smiling back as he crossed his arms over his chest. At this, Tommy looked absolutely delighted, smiling wider as he scribbled something down.

“Your hair is epic big man, never change.” Tommy told him, before skipping off into the kitchen, humming a foreign tune and leaving the two alone again.

“Tommy’s right you know? Your hair is awesome.” Phil commented, bringing Techno’s attention back to him as he rested his chin on the back of his hands, a content glint in his eyes. “When did you first dye it?”

Techno remembered the day perfectly.

He’d gotten home from college after a long day of studying and noticed a notification from Youtube, clicking on it and hearing Philza’s voice through his phone speakers. It was a play through of some game that Techno had forgotten the name of, but he knew it was very interesting to watch as Phil told the story of a kid he knew in school.

This kid spent day and night revising for exams, so much so that stress took over his life. Apparently, someone gave him advice, something along the lines of ‘make time for doing what you love, before you run out of time to do it’.

So, he went down to the shop after pausing his studying, grabbed a box of pink hair dye, and spent the evening dying his hair and making sure it was all even. Wilbur had helped him, making sure the back was fully covered and helping him rinse it afterwards. A lot of people had ridiculed him for it, but Techno found that he genuinely didn’t care, because he loved it and Philza had once said that other people’s opinions didn’t matter as long as you love it yourself.

“A few years ago.” He said instead, running a hand through it and reminding himself to touch up his roots some time that week. He hadn’t made enough time for himself recently, Philza would kill him if he knew him-

Oh wait.

Yeah he couldn’t say that anymore.

“Why pink?” He asked, his tone of genuine interest and not of disgust, and Techno found himself letting out a sigh, trying his best to hide his relief.

“It’s my favourite colour, thought it was cool.” Was what he responded, not bothering to go into depth on why it was his favourite, deciding that The Great Philza probably didn’t want to hear his ramble on colour theory and why pink was simply superior than yellow, and how Wilbur was always wrong no matter how much he insisted that yellow was nice because it reminded him of the sun.

“I like green.” Phil confessed, running a hand through his hair. “I like nature a lot, and I feel like it reflects that well you know?”

Techno knew Phil loved green. In fact, exactly 492 days ago he’d posted a video titled ‘green’, and it was 5:35 long of Philza explaining why he loved nature and why green was awesome. That was one of Techno’s favourite videos, it felt like Phil was speaking to him directly on one of his favourite topics.

“Nature is Earth’s oldest child,” Techno quoted, and Phil paused, looking up at him curiously and only making Techno sink a little further in his chair. “Don’t look at me like that, those are your own words.”

“You’ve been watching my content a while haven’t you?” Philza asked with a smile, leaning back in his chair with his head cocked to the side.

Techno probably should’ve responded with something. Maybe a ‘yes’ or an exact amount of days, even a nod or a smile would’ve been sufficient.

Instead, he only glared at the man, as if a silent challenge, and Phil only laughed more.

“I don’t like talking about work on my breaks,” Phil explained before anyone could say anything else, and that made Techno pause. “What cool things do you do in your free time?”

Tommy came over with their drinks whilst Techno was mid explaining the book he was reading in depth, ignoring the strange glance Tommy sent him as he watched Phil’s face turn from curiosity to engrossment, sipping on his drink as Techno continued on, taking tiny sips of his own drink (he didn’t know what it was, he didn’t exactly bother asking Tommy who at some point had slipped into a chair beside Phil, listening to the ramble himself).

“Wait- so, let me get this straight, he just… left? After everything?” Phil asked, frowning slightly as Techno nodded, taking a drink from his straw with a hum.

“He literally just up and left, and we don’t find out why until it’s too late.” Techno returned, and Phil looked out the window, brows furrowed in thought.

“Why did he leave?” Tommy asked, taking a sip of Phil’s coffee before grimacing. “Why do people drink this shit?”

That reminded Techno, making him reach into his pocket and pulling out a £10, handing it to Tommy who pushed it back towards him. “Dadza already paid for it, don’t worry.” He said with a smile, the man returning to the convention with a similar smile, nudging Tommy.

“What did I say about calling me that in public you little shit?” Phil asked with a grin, Tommy scoffing. Then, the man turned back to Techno, that same look shimmering in his eyes that he’d had when he looked at Tommy before, taking a moment to think something over before coughing. Techno braced himself for the worst.

Once, someone who wasn’t Philza had taught him how if you prepare for the worst, you’ll either not be surprised or be in an absolutely gargantuan state of shock. This was one of the latter moments.

“You and your brother, Wilbur was his name?” He asked, waiting for Techno to nod before continuing, “Yous can come to our house for dinner one time next week, how does that sound?” He asked, already scribbling something down on a napkin with a pen he’d pulled out of his jacket. Why the man just carried around a pen, he wasn’t entirely sure, but he made a mental note to do the same. If Philza did something, there was likely a reason for it.

“Heh?”

Phil laughed, Tommy stepping in for him. “We’re gonna order pizza for dinner, you guys should come it’s gonna be so fucking poggers.”

Whatever ‘poggers’ meant, it seemed like something positive judging by the kids grin.

And then something in his head clicked.

“Wait is Phil your dad?” He asked suddenly, Tommy nodding before the other could even get a word out, slumping into his chair.

“He doesn’t like people knowing, wants me to ‘live a normal life’ or some shit,” Tommy scoffed, rolling his eyes. Techno knew, however, that the kid was thankful for it; he wasn’t sure how he knew, but something told him that afternoon that Tommy loved being a normal kid.

Sure he loved his Dad, that was clearly no secret, but there was something about how casually he held himself that said he was proud to just be any other kid.

“Well, send me a message or a call when you decide, and we’ll go from there, that sound good?” Phil asked, finishing his coffee before standing, Tommy staying in his seat likely from laziness. In his utter shock and admiration, Techno couldn’t manage any words, a nod being all he could force. As Phil walked past, he ruffled the hair on top of Techno’s head, messing it up. If it was anyone else, Techno would’ve been angry beyond belief, he would’ve muttered about how much he hated them and how long he spent on it.

But this was Philza. Philza could blow up his house and murder his parents and he probably wouldn’t care less (that may be a slight exaggeration, but thinking realistically it wasn’t too far fetched).

“It was nice meeting you Phil!” He managed to shout before the bell of the cafe rang, and the man turned back, giving the two a warm smile before letting the door shut behind him.

“Well Technoblade-“

“How do you know my full name?”

“I think you’re pretty poggers.”

Wilbur would never believe him. Techno knew there was absolutely no chance at convincing him of what had happened.

Techno’s life had went from a 5 to a 1000 in the span of 24 hours, and honestly he wasn’t too bothered by it.

“You’re not too bad yourself Tommy.��

Tommy mirrored his smile, jumping up to get back to work.

——

Me when me me when emduo, me when twinsduo pog :0

In this au, Phil isn’t a streamer, twitch is simply non-existent, Phil is basically the pewdiepie of this universe, everyone knows him and loves him, and techno’s like ‘i have literally no family and ur the perfect father figure so i just kinda made you my dad so this is absolutely terrifying what if i mess up oh god oh god oh god-‘

My phone is in spanish idk what any of this says what does ‘guardar’ mean? Post? I hope so, cus i’m about to click it. Hope you enjoyed :D

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Special Interest 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, age gap, creep behaviour, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Cole Turner, short!reader

Part of the Bookstore AU

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You find a seat at the cafe with your vanilla chai latte. You place the paper bag with the wire handles on the table and pull out your phone. You love this cafe, it’s like a little home away from home. A much-needed escape from your parents.

You love your mom and dad but they can be a bit much. You’re barely into your twenties and they’re already talking about big things. Like a husband and grandbabies. Hullo, you’re a young entrepreneur, you’ve got a business to run.

Your mother’s text greets you. She wants to know when you’ll be home. You hate to leave her on read so you send ‘dunno’ and flick away the chat. A few items sold! Score. You put some stuff on clearance and knocked a few bucks off. May as well just get rid of it.

As you reach for your tea, you sense something. Like a shift in the earth. There’s a disturbance in the force. Be calm, Jedi.

You peek up over your phone and meet two sparkling eyes. Oh clam shells, it can’t be. It’s that guy from the bookstore. Again! Charles? You can’t remember, you want to forget as quickly as you can. 

You slide the bag in front of you and slouch down, trying to hide behind it. Too late. He’s coming closer. He looks down at you as you try to ignore him, thumbing through old emails to look busy.

He sits one table away. Nice. Very subtle. Or maybe you’re being paranoid. Either way, this coincidence seems less than serendipitous.

You do your best to form a bubble around yourself. You take out the book you bought and flip through the patterns. Those sunflowers are adorable. You could do one for your mom. Oh, what about little bees to go with the flowers? 

There’s a scuff on the ground but you don’t look over. You lower the book slightly, pretending to read the description of tulip as you peek from the corner of your eye. This guy is the definition of manspreading. You shouldn’t care so much but you can see his boot as he has his knees open like a Madonna music video.

You raise your eyebrows as you argue with yourself. You should just go home. Your mom will be happy to see you. Well, happy to have help with dinner. The biggest reason, you’ll be less annoyed.

You sigh and tuck your phone into your purse. You get up and pull on your jacket,sliding the books back in the bag as you swipe up your latte. You sidle around the table and that man clears his throat. Keep your eyes on the prize; escape.

Even if you’re overthinking it, he’s ruined your day. He tainted the haven of the bookstore then infested the cafe. You sip your drink as you pass by the windows of the cafe, refusing to look inside. You hear the door as you brush by the next facade, a hobby shop with dice and cards. Still, you keep your sights ahead of you.

You reach into your pocket and close your hand around your earbud case. You hear footsteps, some ways back, but near enough to track. He wouldn’t follow you… You think better of putting them in and pull out your phone instead, holding it out before you as you pretend to check a notification.

You swipe your thumb up and drag the camera open. You try to angle it so you can see over your shoulder through the front lens. Whoever it is, you can’t see them without being too obvious. Damn.

You drop your phone and black the screen. You move to the other side of the sidewalk as you come to fourway light. You turn, hands in your pocket, and stare at the light across from you, waiting for it to change. Casually, you take the opportunity to glance to your side. You see a blur disappear into the insurance broker but nothing else.

Maybe you are getting in your head.

🧶

You get a strange request on your Etsy. Several purchases with a message from the buyer. You check as you sit in the kitchen, laptop open as you try to wake up. Your mother grumbles as she cradles her own mug and mulls over the day ahead of her. She works from home too but she doesn’t consider your work a real job.

You lean your chin in your hand and squint. You’re stomach squirms as you make sure you understand the message. You feel a shadow looming above the screen and you look up at your mother as she gives you a goofy face.

“Doing calculus?” She teases as you sit back and rub the tension from your forehead.

“N-no, I just… I got a big order but the customer wants to do a pick-up,” you grab your coffee and take a sip, hoping to find sanity somewhere in the brew.

“A pick-up. Here?”

“Well, no, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I don’t get it, they paid the shipping.”

“Maybe they want the money back.”

“They didn’t mention it but yeah,” you stare at their name.

Most people have their first and last displayed but this one is just Farmer’s Delight. They said they're local but live out in the country so the mail often gets lost. How odd. Sounds like a boomer.

“I mean, you could do a public meetup? Customer is always right.”

“Mom, this isn’t the 90s anymore. The customer is wrong,” you huff. 

“How big is the order?” She wonders, “I mean, your little crafts are so cute but it can’t be that much work.”

“That’s not the issue,” you sniff and take another deep gulp. You go back to their order and teethe your lip. “It’s over three hundred dollars.”

“Holy moly,” your mother gasps, “little crafts my tush!”

“Mom,” you warn her, “I’ll just tell them delivery is the only option.”

Your mother is quiet. She slurps her coffee, bringing your ire to dart at her over the top of your screen. You hate that noise.

“I’ll go with you, honey,” she offers, “how about… you can meet at a Starbucks or something? That’s what they say these days, meet in public.”

“Is that what they say? And who are you trying to meet up with?”

“No one… I’m in this trade and sell group for Royal Doulton figures and the ladies there, I would only meet them with mace in my purse.”

You chortle. Your mom can be silly even when she’s nagging you. You’re just happy it’s not her usual spiel.

“Who knows, hon, this could be your meet-cute,” she spoils your moment of gratitude. You sigh and roll your eyes.

“You don’t even know if it’s a guy.”

“Ugh, okay, crush my dreams,” she pouts, “I’m just saying… sounds like a big spender.”

[addisonstars]

“sweet and sour”

written for day 14 of august for @wolfstarmicrofic with the prompt “dehydrate”

655 words :)

He had learned that fighting it only made things worse for him. Putting up a fight or saying crude things back only made the situation worse. And yet every time, Sirius couldn’t seem to not try his hardest to get away, to deflect. And still, it ends up the same.

He is locked in his room over the holiday break, and he can’t even try and get out window to sneak out or send an owl for help, as his lovely mother had put a curse over it.

He’s been stuck in here for almost a week now- he’s been keeping track through the window, she didn’t board it up this time- and he suspects he will be in here for another week until the train comes to pick them up for Hogwarts.

And if being stuck in his own room isn’t bad enough, his grade-A parents have decided to starve Sirius and leave him without any water as well. He’s used to the no-food, but giving him only a couple of ounces of water a day is cruel. But what does he expect?

He’s lying on his end, curled in the fetal position on his bed, reading and rereading school textbooks to pass the time. His stomach hurts and his mouth feels dry, from the dehydration.

Only another week, Sirius thinks. I can do it.

***

Remus notices something is wrong with Sirius before they even say ‘hello’ to each other. He looks sickly pale, his skin sunken and sallow, the normal light in his eyes missing. Remus knows about his boyfriend's home situation, but he’s never seen Sirius in this bad of a condition before.

They get on the train, and Sirius immediately comes to hug Remus, softening and sinking into him. Remus hugs him back, enveloping the boy, knowing both of them need it. It doesn’t escape his notice that he is thin, thinner than usual.

“Hey,” Sirius greets, the sound muffled by his face being shoved against Remus’s shirt.

“Hullo dear.” Remus says, deciding against adding something about Sirius’s condition Sirius doesn’t move away from Remus the whole train ride, and the four of them- James and Peter, with Sirius and Remus- make small talk the way there.

They get back into their dorms, get situated, and Sirius opts to stay in his room for the night instead of going out. Remus joins him, shooing the other boys too, wanting to just talk to his Pads.

Remus spoons Sirius, letting the other boy collect his thoughts and relax for a bit. Remus feels Sirius’s body start to shake softly, and it’s as if he’s crying.

Wait, he is crying, Remus realizes.

“Hey, hey, why are you crying? There’s no need.” Remus says, running his fingers through his hair, trying to sooth the shaking boy. “I got you, it’s all right. I’m here. Not them. Me. Remus. Your boyfriend is here, for you.”

“I just-“ Sirius breaks off. “I wish…”

“There’s no need to say anything. You can tell me when you’re ready ok?” Remus whispers, coming to wrap around Sirius even closer, grounding him.

He hears Sirius take deep breaths, and then he stars to speak. He tells Remus about what happened over the break, all the horrible things that his parents do to him. Remus soothes him when he sputters, rubs his head when he gets quiet afterward.

“Oh baby, I’m so sorry,” Remus says, trying to keep his irritation in check. He knows there’s nothing he can do to stop his parents, but he wishes there was. He doesn’t understand how one's parents could be so cruel to their own child.

Sirius sniffs, shifting further back into Remus, pressing them back to chest.

“I love you. So much.” Remus said, smiling softly as he said it even though Sirius probably couldn’t hear him. “I love you Siri.”

He did, and Sirius hummed happily in response. “I love you too, Moons.”

hydrate or diedrate as i like to say! anyways not me posting this literally right before i go to bed lmaoo. this prompt was HARD and like i didn’t want to be boring and so a simple dehydration post, and i couldn’t think of anything all day long, but this came to me right now and i wrote it so oops sorry. i took the prompt wayyy out of context and the title, i was listening to “cherry flavored” by the nbhd and this kinda works?!? anyways, writers block is also hitting very hard jeez, but hey i can do it. have a lovely night (or day) and remember to hydrate or diestraight baha.

that was a very long end note ok im done now by goodnight.

-a.s.

[emotionalcadaver]

Part 1: These Devilish Intentions

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x OC

Summary: Lucy is faced with her first test as a member of the Peaky Blinders.

Word Count: 2,756

Notes: Warnings for depictions of blood and violence.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 2: An Eye for An Eye

She sat at the little desk that had been set aside for her in the corner of his office, pen scratching over paper while she worked. A quiet swear caught her attention, and she looked up to see Polly attempting to balance a large stack of papers in her arms, carrying them to Arthur’s office.

“Can I help you with those, Ms. Gray?” she asked, already beginning to rise from her seat. Polly shot her a look like she was a rodent that had wandered in from the street.

“No, thank you,” she said, shoving Arthur’s office door open with her elbow. Lucy sighed, trying to keep the dejected slump out of her shoulders. The Shelbys were…divided when it came to her presence. Ada had been more than welcoming–though she suspected that was more because she was thrilled to finally have another woman around who wasn’t her aunt–and Arthur had warmed to her in the past few weeks. But Polly and John remained hostile and suspicious; and she often caught them watching her from their desks with scowls on their faces.

“Lucy,” she looked up to see Tommy standing in the doorway, shrugging his coat on. “Come on.”

“Sorry,” she quickly pulled on her own coat, tugging her leather gloves over her hands as they stepped out the door.

Tommy didn’t respond, just turned and began to walk down the street. Lucy followed him briskly; in the few weeks that she had been working for him, she’d grown more than used to his sullen silences and unreadable expressions.

He had been kind to her, though.

The first week was rough. She had been unsure of what exactly she was supposed to do at the betting shop and had gotten hollered at by Polly when she tried to help with paperwork. When it was just her and Tommy, stalking about Small Heath and managing business in the streets, she did fine. During his meetings she took careful notes that he was pleased with, and one time when a man had come at him with a knife at the Garrison she had wrestled him to the floor. But the office work didn’t come to her as naturally as working in the stables or out on the streets did, and she often felt a wavering ball of anxiety in her chest that she was being a burden; or that Tommy would decide that he’d made a mistake taking her on when all she seemed able to do was bumble about or sit uselessly at her desk. 

A sigh passed her lips, eyes glancing down at her shoes. 

“Relax. You’re doing fine,” Tommy said suddenly, voice gruff, but the attempt at reassurance was clear. 

Geeze, maybe he really could read minds. 

“Your aunt hates me.”

“She doesn’t…hate you. Polly’s just…wary of strangers is all.”

“If you say so.”

He shot her a sideways glance, allowing her a brief look into those crystal blue eyes. “She doesn’t like that I didn’t consult with her before bringing you on.”

“Do you normally consult with her before you make decisions?”

“No,” he glanced away from her and she decided that it would be best not to press him on it, despite her curiosity. She’d learned quickly when she should and shouldn’t ask him prying questions.

They got into the car and made their way leisurely to the yard. While Tommy went to speak with Charlie, Lucy wandered to the stables, pushing the door open and smiling and the sound of a familiar whinny.

“Hullo, you,” she said to the filly poking her head out of her stable, reaching into the bag where they kept sugar cubes for the horses and feeding her one. The horse snorted in greeting and Lucy grinned, patting her neck. “That’s a good girl. Have you been good while I’ve been gone?” she laughed as the horse nosed at her, allowing her forehead to rest on her snout. “Yeah,” she wished that she could take the filly out for a ride, but they didn’t have time. They were just stopping by for Tommy to check on the latest shipment, and then they would head back to the betting shop. She fed a few more sugar cubes to the horse in apology.

“Lucy. Time to go,” with a start she turned to find Tommy standing in the doorway, watching her with those unreadable blue eyes. It was with a quiet desperation that she hoped that he could not tell how much she enjoyed the way that he said her name. 

Nodding, she gave the filly one last pat and a kiss between her eyes. Tommy’s gloved hand reached out, stroking along the horse’s flank. Lucy hadn’t even heard him move. As they excited the yard, she cast a quick glance in the direction of where she had seen Matthew’s friend watching her, all those weeks ago. There had been no encounters like that since she’d struck her deal with Tommy. She wasn’t sure what he had done to keep her father and Matthew at bay, but she was nonetheless unendingly grateful.  

They were just walking up the street towards the betting shop, when Finn’s voice rang out, running from the door of the house towards them. “Tommy, John’s been hurt!”

Inside they found John sitting in one of the chairs at the kitchen table, the left sleeve of his shirt rolled up to reveal a huge, deep gash in his bicep. Tommy knelt by his brother’s side, already murmuring to Polly to go get the medical supplies that they stored in the upper cupboard. 

“Lucy, go get some rum from the Garrison, go on,” Tommy ordered, leaning over to examine the gash in John’s arm.

She rushed out the door and down the street, the wooden doors of the pub heavy as she pushed them open. There was a decent amount of men already gathered inside, chattering amongst themselves. They went silent when she walked in, eyes turning to look her up and down. Ignoring the flare of nervousness at having so many male eyes on her at once, Lucy straightened her back and kept her chin held high as she walked to the bar.

“I need a bottle of rum.”

The man behind that bar–Harry, she was pretty sure that his name was Harry–looked her up and down. “Sorry. We don’t serve unaccompanied women here,” he returned to wiping down the bar.

Lucy blinked, taken aback. A few of the men chuckled, looking at her with amused, patronizing eyes. A flutter of annoyance, both at the way they kept leering at her and at the embarrassment of being turned away, burst in her chest, hot and angry.

“Tommy Shelby sent me,” she said, and the smiles immediately disappeared, men suddenly turning away in fear and discomfort. Harry's face went a bit pale. “But that’s alright. I can go back and tell him that he needs to waste his time coming down here because you won’t serve me,” she turned on her heel.

“Wait,” Harry said, voice panicked. He sighed heavily, head hanging as he set down the cloth he’d been wiping the bar with. “Dark or light?”

“Doesn’t matter. Thank you,” she snatched the bottle from him and left without paying. The Garrison always served Tommy on the house anyway. 

“Jesus, what took you so long?” Polly asked when she came rushing through the doorway, tossing the bottle of rum to Tommy.

“Harry wouldn’t serve me until I mentioned Tommy’s name,” she grumbled. Polly shot her a look that was almost sympathetic. John groaned as Tommy poured the liquor over his wound. Arthur was hovering about, ringing his hands anxiously while Ada set out bandages on the table.  

“Remind me to talk to him about that later,” Tommy said, not looking up from where he was working on John’s arm. She nodded. He looked back at John.

“Now, who did this to you, eh?”

John shook his head furiously. “I was heading back from collecting payment from The Guns and The Chains when I got jumped,” his eyes blazed with fury. “Bastards came out of nowhere. Tommy, I swear, when I find them–”

“No,” Tommy said, moving out of the way so that Polly could set to work stitching up John’s arm.

“But I–”

“I’ll deal with it,” Tommy said sternly. “Lucy, get the word out to the pubs that from now on, they’ll need to bring their payments for protection to us.”

“Tommy, when you find those boys–”

“I said I’ll deal with it,” Tommy snapped. He turned back to Lucy. Something entered his eyes, and she swore that she could see the gears spinning in his head by looking into those blue orbs. “Arthur, you take some boys with you, go track the thieves down. When you’ve found them, take them to Charlie’s yard.”

Taking that as her cue to leave, she nodded and moved to slip out the door

“Lucy!” startled, she turned at the sound of Tommy’s call. He side-stepped Polly, following her towards the door, hand reaching into his pocket. “Here,” he pulled out a piece of thick gray fabric, and pressed it into her hands. “Careful of the razors,” he warned.

For a moment she looked down at the hat cradled in her hands in utter shock, before looking up at him, gaping. 

“I don’t understand.”

The side of Tommy’s mouth twitched, like he was trying not to smile. His large hand rested on her shoulder, warmth burning through the material of her coat and shirt. Blue eyes pierced her mind.

“Welcome to the Peaky Blinders.”

“Yeah, you’re officially one of us now!” Arthur bellowed from where he was still hovering over John, shooting her a wink. 

She gazed up at Tommy with an expression that was probably close to reverence. It was hard to imagine; weeks ago she had been so lonely and scared she had thought that it might kill her, and now, not only did she feel protected and safe, but she had been all but folded into a whole new family.

Her father had always told her, when she complained on their way to church, that praying to God was what one did in order for good things to come to them. And she had prayed. She had prayed so damn hard, and yet nothing good had ever seemed to happen to her.

Funny to think; that the Devil had been kinder to her in a few short weeks than God had been for her entire childhood.

Her hand came up to cover Tommy’s resting on her shoulder, fingers squeezing over the warm skin.

“Thank you,” she hoped that he understood, just how grateful she truly was for everything that he had done for her. Tommy shook his head, once again looking like he was biting back a smile.

“Off you go,” he nudged her, not unkindly, towards the door. Clutching her new hat in her hands and openly smiling, she pulled it onto her head, the cloth snug atop her red curls.

And, newly crowned and with a sudden, surging feeling of confidence, she stepped out in the smoky air of Small Heath. 

∗ ∗ ∗ 

It was dark outside by the time they pulled up to Charlie’s yard. Tommy killed the engine of the car and leapt from his seat. Lucy followed him to a warehouse that she knew from her time working in the yard was practically empty. Charlie had been unwilling to tell her what it was used for.

Tommy shoved the door open, and she was greeted with the sight of two men kneeling on the ground, their arms bound behind their backs by rope. They were both gagged, and had swelling black eyes, small cuts, and bruises marking their faces. Arthur swung a fist at one of them with a growl, striking him hard across the cheekbone.

“We got them, Tom,” the older Shelby said.

Tommy strode forward, looking over the two men. He all but tsked, shaking his head disapprovingly.

“You try to steal for me,” his voice was level, but she could hear the slightest tension of anger beneath it. She shifted from foot to foot. It was so easy to forget, when he had been so kind to her, just why nearly everyone in Birmingham was so damn terrified of him. “And then, you dare to put your hands on my brother,” he grasped one of the men’s faces in a gloved palm. “That will not stand,” he let him go and stalked around them. Like a wild animal circling its prey.

“We need to make an example of them, Tom. Remind everyone why we run the streets around here,” Arthur urged. Tommy leaned against a wooden pillar that supported the ceiling, hands folded in front of him. His eyes scanned over Arthur, then jumped to her, face twitching with something; some idea forming in his mind. He tilted his head. Lucy looked back at him levelly, unafraid. Those blue eyes seemed to practically glow as they examined her.

“Arthur, go outside,” his voice was soft as a pillow. Arthur gaped.

“Tom-” 

“Go.”

Arthur scowled, stalking towards the two bound men, spitting at their feet before he turned and stormed out the door, slamming it behind him. The entire time, Tommy never took his eyes off of hers. 

“Now, what do you think we should do with them?” he asked. Lucy took measured steps forward, still not breaking eye contact with him until she was right in front of the bound men, reaching out a hand, she finally looked down at the two thieves, her fingers caressing over one of their faces. The man’s eyes squeezed shut as he trembled, hot tears running down his cheeks.

“I think,” she glanced back up. Tommy looked near monstrous where he was leaning against the post. “We should remind them why they call us the Blinders.”

His lips curled upward wickedly. “Go on, then.”

She looked back down at the men, hand raising to slowly pull her hat from her head. She balled the fabric in her fist so that the razors were exposed and she could easily control how they cut. 

“Shh,” she whispered as she grasped the first man’s chin in her hand to hold him still. He attempted to wrench away from her but she held him fast, and then he howled around the gag as she brought the blades sewn into her hat to his eyes, slicing a single, horizontal cut across them.

The moment the cut was done, she let him go and he fell to his side, writhing and howling in pain. The other man attempted to flee, scrabbling to get to his feet but then Tommy was behind him, hands grabbing at his shoulders and shoving him back down to the ground. He attempted to thrash his face away from her, but she grabbed his cheeks in her hand, squeezing so hard that the skin squished beneath her fingers as she held him in place. 

The pleading expression on his face was pointless. She was soulless, near numb inside. There was no feeling inside of her at all, as she made the cut across his eyes in one quick, sharp movement. And then his voice joined his partner’s in wailing to the sky in pain. Still gripping his face, Lucy leaned forward so that he could feel the heat of her breath across his face.

“You get caught stealing from us again, and next time I’ll take your hands,” she promised.

Tommy stood over her work for a moment, quietly examining it, before using a guiding hand to steer her towards the doors.

“Charlie and Curly will take care of the rest,” he assured.

Outside it had begun to rain; the downpour so heavy she had to squint to see more than a few feet in front of her. But they didn’t head to the car right away, instead lingering near the bank of the cut, watching as the water rushed, swelling with the buckets of rain being added to it.  

“So,” she said, as the rain plastered her hair to her forehead. “Did I pass your test?”

If he was surprised that she knew what the whole incident had actually been about, he didn’t show it. Instead The Devil just slunk over to stand behind her. His hand burned where it touched her shoulder, turning her to look at him. His thumb stroked over her cheek, soothing and igniting all at once. 

“With flying colors.”

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