#i might bump up my prices a little bit too just for this </3

[pineappical]

would anybody be interested in commissioning me to help pay for some lab tests ?? feel free to dm me for info! (i accept payment through ko-fi only though 💔)

[wangxianficfinder]

Fic finder

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1. Looking for a Cloud Recesses era fic. LWJ eventually ask WWX why he doesn't complete his punishment to get it out of the way (he just doodles in the library so the punishment stretches on). WWX points out that it takes more than 1 to cheat in an exam and yet where are the other culprits? This leads to LWJ's awakening to the unfairness/hypocrisy of LQR and interpreting rules. I think this might be just before the betrothal is cancelled, and LWJ confronts LQR or he steps up for WWX during this scene. Maybe? It could be 2 separate scenes. Argh! Please help! Until A03 lets me download and filter my reading history, you're my only hope! @mreisse

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2. Hi.

So i read an uncompleted ao3 fic that wangxian had an arranged marriage and were NOT in a good terms and lwj was always cold to wwx also wwx had to wear a mask all the time or a bad fate would come to him if anyone aside jiangs see his face. At some point he goes to live in a mansion in yilling with mian mian and mo xuanyu and xu yang to go away from rumors because lwj had to also marry wen qing to appease wen rouhan

Anyway i couldn't find the fic anywhere and i don't remember its name. I was hoping if you guys have any idea what happened to it?

FOUND? #2 is A Price to Pay by Wangxianist. They have deleted account and all fics.

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3. Hi! ／(^ x ^)＼

I have a request for the fic finder!

I only remember this one bit? scene?

it's at a battle, SSC maybe? and WWX and 3 or 4 others hold hands and talk as one and they light up, and weird magic happen?

I'm sorry that it is so little and confused ／(＞×＜)＼

Hi! ／(^ x ^)＼ I'm #3 on the fic finder and it is not Quartet

but thank you anyway! I know that I really didn't give a lot to go of

if it helps I think one of the people with WWX might have been WN or NHS, but I'm really not sure

Not FOUND! Quartet series by WithBroomBefore (T, 69k wangxian, JZX & JC & WWX & LWJ, Canon Divergence, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, WWX's canonical comfort with the prospect of his own death, Hurt/Comfort, JZX makes friends, Eventual Happy Ending, some unhappiness along the way, Canon-Typical Violence, JC keeps his golden core, JYL Lives, WQ Lives, Minor Character Death, Kissing, WWX Lives, no golden core transfer, JZX Lives, Fix-It, WN Lives, Weeping, temporary major character death, Murder Road Trip, Implied Sexual Content, Sunshot Campaign, Nonbinary NHS, Telepathy, platonic group soulbonding, Family, Found Family, POV WWX, Podfic Available, Siblings Sworn Brothers, aroace JZX, Happy Ending, all the Wen remnants live, POV JZX, JGY is less murdery, Asexual Character, Aromantic Character, JZX's social awkwardness, Poison)

FOUND! We Can See a New Start by preciousbunnynoiz (M, 127k, WangXian, XiCheng, XuanLi, Soulmates, Time Travel Fix-It, Biting, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, but mentally they are adults, Making Out, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Happy Ending, PTSD, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Supportive LWJ, Communication, Soul Bond, Blood, Found Family, Parent-Child Relationship, aromantic JC, Lesbian WQ, Queerplatonic Relationships, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Verbal Abuse, Disassociate episodes, disassociating, Suicidal Thoughts, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Depression, Delusions, Mental Health Issues, Mental Breakdown, Attempted Sexual Assault, Therapy, Supportive JC, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Family Feels, Implied/Referenced Torture, Revenge, Self-Sacrifice, Accidental Bonding, Brotherly Bonding)

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4. Hi! I'm trying to find a fic similar do the 8 ask from the previous fic finder. In this one, it's also an arranged marriage, and Lz also pushes Wy into a pond when they're teenagers, but there is a scene, after they're adults and already married, where Lz prevents Wy from falling into a pond, and it's revealed that Lz didn't actually push Wy into the pond, he just bumped into Wy when he turned around too fast and Wy fell into the pond, he was going to help Wy get out, but Wy got out by himself before Lz coulp help him and went away before Lz could say he was sorry and explain what happened.

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5. looking for a fic were lan xichen has the big sad, probably was a modern au. lan wangji and wei wuxian come by to help him clean his apartment and lan wangji is like “sorry I haven’t been here for you”. there’s mention of them putting the laundry away and stuff. fairly short.

FOUND! found in translation by sysrae (E, 12k, LXC/NMJ, wangxian, modern cultivation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, not LQR friendly, Meddling brothers, Coming Out, Loss of Virginity, Under-negotiated Kink, slight breathplay, Light Dom/sub, Aftercare, Angst with a Happy Ending)

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6. Hi! I’m looking for a fic. It’s wangxian modern au, they’re friends with benefits (top!LZ / Bottom!WY) and it’s told from Lan Wangji’s pov. Wei Ying gets in a car accident and is in a coma for 13 days (might be 16) and he ends up staying at Lan Wangji’s place while he gets better. I really can’t remember the title and it making me coo coo. Thank you xx @liv-andletdie

FOUND? Almost Lover by vesna (mrsronweasley) (E, 37k, Wangxian, modern, Angst with a happy ending, Hurt/Comfort, a bad thing happens to WWX, LWJ gets very sad, Hospital Scenes, Dubious Medical Science, pining for the person you're fucking, Friends With Benefits, friends who come together stay together, learning to use our words, there are also rabbits, Traumatic Injury, mention of past WWX/WQ)

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7. Hi, Thank you so much for your amazing work!! I am specifically looking for a fic where Jiang Yanli tells the Jins about where the Wens were living which leads to their death? And Wei Wuxian doesn't forgive her for that and even Jiang Cheng was upset about it. @yilinglaobunny

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8. It's both a fic finder and an ITMF, in the fic wwx had a tiger/lion and it was canon era, I'm not able to find it. // added the last part to ITMF post ~Mod L

FOUND? Time Unwinds in a Kaleidoscope of Red by vamprav (E, 30k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time Travel Fix-It, WWX Has No Golden Core, Golden Core Reveal, BAMF WWX, Undead Tiger, Sentient Burial Mounds, JGY Redemption, As in wei ying recruits him to yunmeng, deadly hairpins) WWX raises a tiger from the dead in that one

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9. I’m looking for the fic where WWX “develops” a silver core - him, NMJ (I think), and LWJ follow JGY down a tunnel and catch him being shady, and JGY tries to activate the tiger amulet. It spirals out of control and WWX absorbs the power and it becomes a cool reservoir of power similar to a core, and WQ tells him “congratulations, you successfully invented a new kind of cultivation .”

Thank you for all you do!! @seussian

Hi! #9 on the recent fic finder post isn’t Never Again, although there are similar elements! The scene I’m remembering definitely involved fall~out from JGY using the tiger seal and WWX absorbing its power to save everyone. Thank you for all of your efforts!!

NOT FOUND! Never Again by Hauntcats (T, 67k, WWX & WN & WQ, JC & WWX, wangxian, graphic depictions of violence, major character death, Canon Divergence, Angst, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, Time Travel Fix-It, Not JC Friendly, Dark, BAMF WWX, mentions of abuse, Not Everyone Dies au, XY doesn't have a happy ending)

NOT FOUND! ❤️ Tragedy is Not the End by Hobbsy3 (T, 358k, wangxian, Time Travel, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Golden Core Reveal, Canon Divergence from Qiongqi Pass, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Yunmeng sibling bonding, good dad wwx, good dad lwj, JZX Lives, JYL Lives, Junior Quartet Dynamics)

FOUND! The Breaking of Your Soul (Upon My Lips) by sunsandships (M, 40k, WangXian, XuanLi, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Mutual Pining, Canon-Typical Violence, Golden Core Reveal, Happy Ending)

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10. I'm looking for a fic where lqr regrets sending wwx away. I think it was something along the lines of yzy kicking wwx out, and wwx went to the lan household first (in the middle of the night?) but lqr thought he was being a disturbance and didn't let him in to see lwj and then wwx disappeared. Then several years later, lwj and wwx reconnect and there's a part where lqr is really repetent and shows that he always regretted turning wwx away bc he felt like it was partially his fault for how difficult wwx's life was after that. Tyvm in advance for everyone's help!

🔒Welcome to the Family Series by jiejieaini (E, 231k, WangXian, NieLan, XuanLi, Modern AU, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, London, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Adopted WWX, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Reunions, Hand Jobs, Gay Sex, Consensual Non-Consent, Dom/sub Undertones, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Christmas, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Praise Kink, Rough Sex, Rough Kissing, LWJ and WWX Have a Breeding Kink, First Time, Public Blow Jobs, High School, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Falling In Love, Love Confessions, Blowjobs, Soft WangXian, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Family Fluff, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Drowning, Canonical Character Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Dubious Consent, Rimming, Panic Attacks, Anxiety, Marriage Proposal, Weddings, Nightmares, Adoption, Pregnancy)

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11. Hello I am trying to find a fic, it was a little long ago

So what happens is that lwj and wwx were in full on love making session, cloths discarded and all and some people barge in on them 😭 I don't remember the rest but the people included lqr maybe idk

FOUND? divulgences by ataraxistence (Not rated, 3k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Fluff, Humor, Love Confessions)

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12. Hi! I read a fic a couple of years ago that I'd love to find again... it was a modern au, where LWJ worked in his family run martial arts complex or something along those lines (I think a-yuan was a student, which is how WWX met him? But I might be getting my fics crossed) I remember LWJ was autistic, and there was a community festival or something and he was getting super overwhelmed so wwx put some juice or ketchup on his hand and pretended to be hurt so LWJ would have an excuse to go inside and "heal" him.

Thanks for all that you do! @scenicpixie

FOUND! leave all your love and your longing behind by ScarlettStorm (E, 143k, wangxian, modern, Meet-Ugly, Panic Attacks, autistic LWJ, neurodivergent WWX, the neighborhood asshole dog, if you've met one then you know, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Minor Angst, major shenanigans, Happy Ending, for everyone including the asshole dog, setting out to make the neighborhood safer for your crush and accidentally building community, Eventual Smut, switch rights, Sex Toys, horny yearning, Masturbation, the chef's assortment of partnered sex acts)

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13. hi, im looking for a fic with a scene where lwj is in seclusion mourning wwx and is told he'll be forced to marry. he runs out immediately and gets drunk/brands himself, wakes up to lxc telling him their uncle has changed his mind and he won't have to marry (so please stop trying to die please). i remember literally nothing else so any assistance appreciated! @onlyegret

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14. For fic finder I am looking for a fic where Wei Wuxian is banished from Lotus Pier while Madam Yu is still alive and everyone in the sect has to turn away from him. Literally turn away: he walks down the streets to leave Lotus Pier and everyone he has ever known turns their faces from him. I think was technically outcast from the world of polite cultivation in whole (like no one from a sect was supposed to interact with him) but I don’t remember how his banishment played out after leaving. TY~!

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15. Hi i was wondering if you could help me find a fic. It is set during the yilling patriarch arc, the wens are in burial mounds. In koi tower madam jin was searching for jgs asking jgy about him. JGS was in a brothel and JGY got hit in the head with a vase because he didn't answer? JZX and JYL helped him but he suffered from a concussion and started acting weird and blurting out all his father's evil plan about planning on killing NMJ and trying to get the tiger seal i guess? In the end i think burial mounds and the wen creat a sect with jgy's help ? Amd i think it was a 3zun fic but i really cant remember sorry. Can you please help me find it i am searching for it for weeks now thanks!!! @booksandkdrama01

FOUND? Just a drop by R95irth (Not Rated, 184k, XiYao, WangXian, XuanLi, ChengSangQing, Humor, Crack Treated Seriously, Canon Divergence, Fix-It of Sorts, 3zun | Venerated Triad Dynamics, 3Zun at the very end)

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16. Hello, seeking a bit of help because my own searches are turning up nothing. Looking for a fic where Mdm Yu had first (secretly?) married Jin Guangshan, before marrying Jiang Fengmian a bit later. It turns out that Yanli and Cheng are both actually Jin (because Mdm Yu *kept* cheating) and are disowned by Jiang and taken into Jin as servants. Mdm Yu loses her arms(?). Jin Guangyao tried to frame Yanli for poisoning Mdm Jin. @zoolooney

FOUND! Could this one be “OOC!” by A_flower_in_the_snow that was reuploaded on Wattpad

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17. Hi, i'm searching for a fic where lan wangji needs a favor from yiling laozu. Wei ying jokingly says He wants his first born and lan wangji proceeds to marry him so the can make that child.

FOUND? ❤️ spider lilies to sunflowers by cicer (E, 33k, wangxian, ABO, YLLZ WWX, fairy tale elements, mpreg, omega LWJ, alpha WWX, LWJ topping from the bottom, Mojo’s post)

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18. Hello for the fic finder, can you help find this fic, lwj is a uni professor who's stoic and cold and he's taking online classes and then one day wwx walks into the frame wearing booty shorts (?) and everyone of lwjs students are shocked and trying to figure out who he is. Eventually they find wwxs oh or smth. That's all I remember, if you can find it thank you so much 💞

FOUND? looking through a window by glitteringmoonlight (T, 5k, wangxian, modern, POV Outsider, College/University, Fluff and Humor)

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19. Hi, can you help me find this fic in which WWX is a General in the army (and is also a Prince I suppose but not like next in line) and is rumored to be hideous looking because of the scar on his face or something and is feared by the world. WangXian are married (arranged) and WWX only sleeps with LWJ enough to conceive a child and once he is informed of LWJ being pregnant, WWX stops seeing LWJ at all. WWX is under the impression that LWJ would find him ugly and so he even dims the lights and has LWJ wear a blindfold whenever they share their marital bed. LWJ doesn’t know his husband, hasn’t even seen his face properly and has never spoken to him in all the months they have been married and he is feeling extremely lonely but one day he finds an injured man in his courtyard and takes care of him without anyone’s knowledge. He doesn’t know the injured man is actually his husband WWX.

I read this on ao3 and forgot to bookmark it and now I can’t find it. Please, I will be extremely grateful if you could find it.

Thanks!

FOUND? 🔒 Love Swept in with the Rain by Sirendipity (M, 35k, WIP, WangXian, Bottom LWJ/Top WWX, Historical, Arranged Marriage, Secret Identity, Mistaken Identity, Emotional Infidelity, lwj cheats on his husband with his husband, Depression, Mpreg, Discussion of Abortion, Period-Typical Sexism, Hurt/Comfort, Fantasy, Older WWX, Younger LWJ, General WWX, Unreliable Narrator, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Beauty and the Beast Elements)

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20. Looking for a fic that I remember only one scene from 😅 WWX tells LWJ that he could not have saved him no matter what he would have done, LWJ breaking down hard after. Pretty sure they were in the Jingshi.

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[lucidfallacy]

Watching From Siberia (Ghost x Reader 18+)

'It's only a matter of time.' That's what I've been telling myself as I await another one of Task Force 141's inescapable phone calls. They've needed my help 3 times, just this year, and made sure they got it. And yet, I'm almost itching to work for them again. First, they had me aid in implementing UAVs into their awfully complicated aerial system. It's kind of a new concept, the whole remote-controlled flying crafts that shoot bullets thing. Super fun to make, not so fun to sight in. I still haven't bought Soap that drink after nicking his calf, but I told his smart ass to move. Then they asked me to 'Illegally,' might I add, modify some spare M4s that I totally found just lying around somewhere. I fitted each of them with saucy little grenade launchers and holographic sights. Price about came all over himself the first time he fired one.

This last time was a bit silly though. They called me to connect cameras, of all things, to their fancy little fuckin' Humvee trucks they use in the god damned middle of the desert. Now that shit was a little sketchy. I was flown into Chitral airport on the outskirts of Pakistan. When I hopped out onto the runway, Ghost bagged me, threw me in the back of a Hummer, and from what I could make out, carted me into Afghanistan. That's right he manhandled me, threw me right over his shoulder like I weighed nothing, and gripped the back of my thighs with a single muscular fuckin' arm. Lord I can't lie, it had me feeling spicy. I didn't even fight back. There was a foreboding look to his deep umber eyes, almost hungry. But so do all soldiers, I guess. When I told him he could at least take me out to dinner before trafficking me he didn't laugh. Embarrassing. Usually, he's the silent one out of the lot, at least when I'm around. I haven't been able to break him in yet, so we are at odds with each other on most days. And you know what? My back still doesn't feel right after all the bumps and sharp turns we took on that trip. Oh right, Ghost was dodging bullets as were shot at. At least he kept me alive. 

Anyway, they had a full-fledged base out there with all the bells and whistles, lookin' like a replica of a Star Trek ship, or something like that. You would've thought I pissed in that one tech bitches cereal from how she treated me while I helped out too. Boohoo, I didn't go to Daddy's money Stanford and then fuck my way to the top. So what? But like I said, connecting cameras is child's play. She must've thought my presence meant competition. In actuality, I'm only around because I'm repaying a debt.

It all started in 2016 when I was taking a well-deserved vaycay trip to Rio De Janeiro, Brazil. Risk-taking is my specialty, other than tinkering with coding and wires. So, when you leave the door of a loaded LTV truck cracked on the street for just anyone to waltz into, how could I stop myself? After scanning around I hopped in. Guaranteed I can find a scrapper around here somewhere, I thought. So there I was, money hungry, bent over elbow deep in the dashboard's wiring when the click and cold barrel of a gun suddenly pressed to the side of my unknowing temple.

"Smart girl... So you're good with your hands, huh?" Ghost teased, voice thickly laced in his British accent.

"Did you know your air conditioning is shot? Lots of condensation under the truck. Was just trying to help out is all," I blatantly lie, hands flying up in defense.

Ghost pressed the pistol harder, wrapping a gloved fist around the ends of my long hair. I winced as he yanked me back against the seat. He wrapped me up in a loose headlock, just enough to breathe. But I remained steady.

"Hmm. What else can you do?" he whispered into my ear. And from then on, I was Task Force 141's bitch.

Before, I used a special website where I would disguise my business as a maid service. In reality that used to be my actual job for many years, y'know scrubbing toilets. But, I would receive private messages asking me to come and "clean house," basically meaning hook them up with whatever they needed. It was always the same ordeal. Price, time, place. I got contracted out for god knows what by god knows who, and then my ass gets to go free. It was a lovely exchange really. My top-of-the-line tech equipment went for thousands of dollars. I set it up and my reward was routed straight into my offshore checking account. No strings attached. However, the task force has been paying me so well recently, that I haven't even considered checking my site's inbox. Am I too comfortable? Nah, maybe I should vacation in Ibiza this year... no Greece. Ah yes, I can stroll around the Acropolis, visit the mountain villages of Zagori, get fat off of the souvlaki- 

My phone lights up, buzzing around on the nightstand and interrupting my nightly glass of red wine. I'm laid up at the Aman Hotel in the heart of Manhattan, aimlessly scrolling through must-see Greece destinations on my laptop. The hotel's richly modernized earthy architecture, glass fireplace, and Japanese minimalist-inspired open floor plan have me feeling breathless as I look out into the New York City night. I spent the evening drinking cosmos in the downstairs jazz lounge, sporting the tightest black dress I could find earlier today at the Vivienne Hu boutique. I dreamed of times like these, and god am I enjoying myself. But I've come to realize the ball-crushing fact that no matter what I spend or where I go, I still feel alone. I roll across the bed onto my stomach and set my glass aside, red nails scratching against the table to grab my annoying cellphone. A Manchester, England area code? That's Ghost's personal number.

Me: What the hell are you calling me this late for?

Ghost: ...Because I have a job for you.

Me: What if I told you to fuck off?

Ghost: What if I told you to flip over?

I blink a couple of times in disbelief, stammering on a quip back at him.

Ghost: All that booze got you feelin' a little courageous, huh? In that tight little fuckin' dress my money bought you.

Me: How do you- Where are you?

I look around the room panicked, as if he's somehow lurking in the lack of shadows.

Ghost: What are you wishing I was there? So I could bend you over that balcony out there and let all of New York watch me fuck you.

My cheeks are ablaze and my stomach turns with relentless butterflies.

Me: Simon- you feelin' okay? You mistaking my number for an amateur phone sex line?

Ghost: Mmm, no I know who I'm talking to... And who I was just looking at.

The unmistakable metal clink of his buckle and zip of his pants on the other line has my heart racing, faster than when we were shot at in Afghanistan.

Me: Creepy bastard how-

Ghost: For fucks sake would you shut that filthy mouth of yours and roll back over to your laptop.

My jaw drops, but my thighs clench together as a noticeable heat begins to build in my core. Maybe it is the alcohol, making me mindless enough to jump off that balcony if he says jump. And maybe it's my endless flirtatious comments and tight tank tops I've worn in missions past that've driven him mad. But we are about to run full force into a field of landmines, screaming fuck the consequences.

I put my cell on speaker phone, sliding my long bare legs across the white linen sheets back in front of my laptop. I don't know how he's done it, but he's hacked in and can see me through my tiny computer camera. Honestly, I'm not even mad.

Me: Where are you? What are you doing?

My voice is silky and flavored with intent.

Ghost: C'mon bunny, you're killin' me...

He says, antagonized.

Ghost: In Siberia. Needed something to warm me up...

He groans, his calloused hand stroking audibly slowly over his cock. The sound makes me rigid with excitement. Especially as he aggressively spits on himself as lube. I spread my legs on both sides of the computer, rubbing my clit slowly through my soaked black panties as I lean back on a mountain of pillows. I wonder if his abs are trembling, or if the veins of his forearms are straining under his thick tattooed flesh.

Ghost: God your tits sit so pretty in that bra fuck- don't make me beg you. Think I won't fly there right now and screw the security deposit outta that place?

His voice is gravely, overcome with the consequential need to have me. I moan, pulling my panties tight up between the lips of my pussy, just enough for him to get a peek of what he's missing. Ghost's breathing runs ragged as he grunts, pumping himself with a bit more ferocity. So I slip my skimpy dress over my head and throw it somewhere on the floor. Then I slide my thong down my shaking thighs, flicking it away.

Me: What's stopping you? I'd let you fuck me raw on every piece of furniture in this place. Mmm but maybe your dick is too small to do that, so I don't know...

I tease him, gathering the wetness of my arousal between two of my fingers. I spread the lips of my cunt, finding euphoria in listening to him come apart from the sight.

Ghost: Quite the opposite, you cheeky bitch.

He's so full of himself. His cock sounds like it's more than enough for me to handle as he continues fighting for his climax. I can tell just from how long it takes for his fist to reach his wet tip and slide back down in a slap against his balls. So I begin rubbing small painstaking circles around my bared clit, letting the tension blossom.

Ghost: My smart-ass little fucking whore. Rub that pussy faster bunny, c'mon cry for it.

The pounding of my heart echoes through my ears, making it difficult to even think straight. My bucking hips help me ease my fingers into my weeping entrance as I whimper, making Ghost growl through his gritted teeth.

Ghost: God you're fucked, ya' hear me? Next time you see me I want you crawling-

He cries out and he quickens his pace

Ghost: Perfect ass in the air- ugh holy shit,

I'm sloppily riding my fingers at this point, desperately wishing he was here to rip me apart. And I know nothing will ever be enough until he gives it to me. He embodies the very things I've been missing. Someone to put me in my place. To own me. My fingers curl roughly inside against my G-spot, just as I hear Simon's release in a howling cry. We are so far away and yet have exposed ourselves to each other at the furthest extent in a matter of minutes, changing the course of our confusing partnership. But deep down we both knew, with every second glace and every one of my dropped pens, that I knew what I was doing.

My head falls back, hair slicked to my sweaty forehead, and body feeling completely at peace. The white sheets beneath me are ruined, drenched by my own squirting orgasm. Simon snuffles a bit, trying to manage his breathing as he climbs down from his own self-induced high. He's probably shuddering as he takes in my spent form from his end. Hopefully wishing to feel the closeness of a post-sex embrace, just as I do, This temporary silence between us means nothing after over a year of unrequited lust. Ghost chose me, out of every other woman he knowingly has at his fingertips. He's watched as they melt for him, but not me. He likes the bickering, the banter, the chase it's been. And tonight was a result of his patience running out. So, now I realize two things.

Ghost: Pack your shit, you're not going to Greece. I'll send you the flight details for Siberia.

* Hangs up *

I'm not as lonely as I thought and that Simon Ghost Riley is just a horny fucking liar. 

[herbgerblin]

Hi Herb!! I was wondering if you had any advice on opening commissions? I enjoy your art immensely and you were one of the first people I thought of to ask since I know you do commissions on occasion

Sorry if this is totally weird, I am just at a complete loss! Thanks for taking the time to read this!

These are things I wish I had figured out when I started selling art commissions. Also, feel free to use my current commission form to pattern your own. (also if anyone >.> wants to commission me, I am open <.<)

Step 1: Write a Terms of Service

Good terms of service will manage the expectations of your clients, establish a level of professionalism, and protect you if someone tries to argue something already made clear in writing. You can keep your ToS really simple, but it's good practice to include the following:

What kind of art you will/won't do (I don't do nfts)

Estimated duration of the project (2-4 weeks is my M.O.)

Number of revisions (more than 3, I add a fee)

When and how often you will update the client

Rights that you retain as an artist/permit to the client

Note: This mainly applies to personal/non-commercial work. If you are approached to make art for a game/magazine/website, do a ton more research. You will need to write out a contract that makes things Boringly Clear, and you will want to retain all of your rights as an artist.

Step 2: PRICES (scream)

Everyone starts out underselling. I'm underselling (I'm trying to get better.) Just go at your own pace. Look at what other artists are offering, but don't just look at the quality of their work. Think about your turnaround time, your style, and your target audience. If you are a fast worker or very detailed, that's worth a pay bump. Niche communities will pay solid money for artists to cater to them. So for example, if you draw fetish art, you have more room to charge higher.

ALWAYS GET PAYMENT UP FRONT. You can offer half upfront and half upon completion. If it's a big or long-term project, it's okay to go 30/70. BUT NEVER START WORK WITHOUT SOME SORT OF COMPENSATION. I just had a client that has not paid me the 2nd half and they are blacklisted. This rarely happens but it does happen.

Once you think you've got a price chart you feel comfortable with, add $20. Do it, even if it feels wrong. You may have to pay transaction fees, or the work (often) takes longer than expected. It'll be a small mercy to yourself to account for these things. Raise your prices a little bit each year because you are growing in experience and inflation (scream) is a thing that affects the arts too.

Step 3: INTEGRATE AND AUTOMATE

I wish I had done this step years ago, but I slacked off, and therefore staying organized was a nightmare. The less "business" stuff you have to do manually, the more time you can focus on "creative" stuff.

Make a google form. Make it as easy for the client to input information as possible. In the settings, set it so that responses will go to an excel file. The questions you ask will be the titles of the fields, so keep them short and easy to read. Reference image attachments will save to google drive.

You can set it up so that you will get an email whenever you get a new response (you might want to make a separate email account specifically for commissions.) Prewrite confirmation responses and save them as templates so that you're not writing the same email to clients over and over again.

Set reminders for responding to clients, requesting payment, and finishing work. This can be through google calender or some other app. You are responsible for facilitating communication. Even if the email is just, "Hey, just letting you know the work is still in progress, I will send you a wip in 1-2 days." Client assurance is high priority.

I use paypal invoice for payments. It means I have to pay a transaction fee, but I factor that into my prices. It also ensures that I have clear documentation for orders, I can send reminders easily if I haven't been paid, and it just looks more professional overall. You can use whatever service feels most comfortable, just make sure you practice good bookkeeping (*stares at my taxes in horror*)

Step 4: Mockups and Descriptions

Provide examples of the work that you are going to. Make a mockup of busts/half body/full body, etc. Don't include anything you don't intend to actually produce.

Make sure that your form includes room to answer EVERY question about the commission that you might have. This will reduce the amount of back and forth you need to have with your client. You want to be able to get that request, confirm it, send that invoice, and jump on it ASAP.

Step 5: Start small, be honest, be firm

If you haven't done commissions before, have a limited number of slots available. Take break time after you've finished a certain amount. Don't languish over an art piece. At some point, it will be as done as it can be. Send it to the client, and keep rolling.

If you feel like you are getting overwhelmed, tell your client. It's bad practice to go on hiatus and not notify them while they're waiting on an update. If you genuinely forget to touch base with them, do so as soon as possible. Apologize, then finish the work as soon as you can. Refund if you think that's the most polite route, but completing the task is usually more appreciated.

Be cordial, but firm. People will try to bully you over little things, but don't give in. Ignore folks who say your prices are too high. Make it clear that if they ask for more than what is agreed, you will charge a fee. If you feel like a request is sketchy, get a second opinion.

obligatory paypal link: help me pay kravitz jr's vet bills

[fictional-men-have-my-heart]

Day 7! Officially been one week, and this one is a bit more sappy.

How do you think the gents of the 141 would show you they do actually care, or that they appreciate you more than you may realize?

• Price: He tends to check in on you a lot, so he consistently sees your moods and their variance depending on the situation. He knows the little ticks you start exhibiting when you're stressed, or when you're past your breaking point. He doesn't mention it unless he knows it's warranted, but it doesn't stop him from dropping by with a drink or snack to try boosting your mood.

• Ghost: The man is extraordinarily observant, so he knows your tells. The rolling of your shoulders, messing with your hair, changing your sitting position repeatedly in short time frames. He doesn't call it out, just looms nearby until he thinks you're at a good point to intervene. Usually, it's a suggestion to take a lap to stretch your legs, or do anything that gives your mind a break. Occasionally he'll offer up a joke, even if it's met with an eye roll or groan.

• Soap: He can tell when you start withdrawing into yourself. You hang toward the outer edges of the group and minimally interact. He'll show up to your usual haunts around base, casually mentioning how it seems like a good time for a walk around base, or to get a sparring session in. Occasionally when you are missing from meals he'll swing by your quarters to make sure you're okay and that you're taking care of yourself.

• Gaz: He'd be a bit more confrontational about you pulling away. Directly asking you to come talk with him, asking what's going on and how can he help. You could try to tell him not to worry, but resistance is futile. He knows you too well to believe the half smile you give, seeing through the facade. You know he can tell, and he's fine to wait in comfortable silence until you're ready to talk about whatever is on your mind.

• Alejandro: He might take a little to notice, since he seems pretty busy most times. However, when you're movements are more hesitant and your voice is absent from conversations, he comes looking for you. He'd corner you (in a friendly manner) and let you know how thankful he is to have a hard worker like yourself on his team, going on about how he and Rudy would be lost if you weren't there to keep them on track.

•Rudy: Much like Alejandro, he's a busy guy. However, your usual office visits taper off to occasions throughout the day. He'd watch from a distance for a bit, noting the way your shoulders seemed heavier and the furrowing of your brows not ceasing. Minding the time, he'd come knocking on your door when you've gone well into the afternoon without stopping, mentioning how he thinks it's time to go find some food. He bumps your shoulder as you walk, joking that he could hear your stomach from across the hall.

I'm sorry if these seem a bit off, I'm running on 3 hours of sleep and 2 Monsters today. Figured I needed to post this before I fall asleep and miss posting today. I started this while at work and had some more steam in me then. Hopefully it's still okay, I appreciate all of you taking the time to read my drabbles. -Trip

[csphire]

Cleric Astarion?

Yes, I can hear him barking out that bitter laughter of his too at the very idea. But hear me out, he's on a new path in life so... maybe a deity gives him a chance after being silent for so long.

It would be only just a few levels and more if you like it. He's got a decent wisdom stat for it too. Second best right behind Shadowheart out of all of the companions. With a feat, one can bump up his wisdom and dexterity a little higher as well.

As for gods Ilmater, Corellon Larethian, or Lathander would be excellent fits he might gain favor from if you want to really overthink it. But the god might not even matter, at least at lower levers as far as I can tell.

Here are also a list of items I've given him to use to be a bit of a tank and healer too:

Circlet of Hunting - You'll need to use it on enemies with a hunter's mark, true strike, faerie fire, and guiding bolt to gain a +1d4 bonus to Attack Rolls.

Hunting Shortbow - This will give you a hunter's mark ability but someone else can always mark the enemies with what's needed instead if you want to give him a better bow or crossbow. Holy Lance Helm - An alternative to the Circlet of Hunting. Creatures who miss their attack rolls against the wearer can take on possible radiant damage. Putting this on a high dex companion is a win because it ups the chances it will activate. The + 1 in Con saving throws for Astarion is nice too. Derivation Cloak - Works to help heal him when poisoning a foe. Broodmother's Revenge - To help activate the healing of the cloak. Gloves of Archery - An additional +2 in raged weapon attacks and proficiency on long as well as short bows.

Boots of Aid and Comfort - When he heals someone it gives him +3 in temporary hit points. The Whispering Promise - When healing he get's a +1d4 to attack rolls and saving throws for two turns. Just try to remember to cast say, healing word or mass healing word first to take full advantage of both turns. Sword of Life Stealing - On crit hit +10 Necro Damage on anything except a construct or undead. He also gains 10 temporary hit points. Who else crits the most?

Knife of the Undermountain King - Alternative weapon for constructs, undead or in general. If he rolls a 2 or less he can reroll the dice and take the highest result. If he rolls a 19 it's an automatic crit hit. Also, there is advantage on attack rolls on lightly or heavily obscured targets. You know, like in a crypt. I actually might have him use this from now on and give the life-stealing sword to someone else. Lastly, True Love's Caress - Gentle Warding Bond Activated and True Love's Embrace I put on my Tav who has the blessing of Loviatar. Once activated he's got resistance buffs on everything and with his high dex sta most blows won't land. (That and derpy romantic me like to think they're kinda like wedding or at least promise rings :p)

Adamtine Sale Mail and Shield - Because if the bond is activated if he takes damage so does the wearer of the other ring. There is a price to pay for all of those wonderful buffs. So whoever has the True Love's Embrace ring on needs to keep their distance in combat with ranged attacks and would benefit from a little extra damage. Again, like someone basking in Loviatar's Love. To save some typing here's a screenshot of the cleric spells I went with him.

As for a god, I personally went with Lathander, given I always have him pick up the "giggle" pendant. I like to think out of anyone he could use some cheer and he does well with the wisdom saving throws to counteract the effects.

Later on, we stole Lathander's Mace and I'm really looking forward to using it to beat Cazador into a bloody pulp. So it just feels right to offer a little bit of thanks and service to Lathander after all this.

If you made it this far, thank you. Hope this was a helpful build guide and you give it a try sometime! ^_^

[moklebutt]

Gonna be using tumblr to share some writings. feel free to ignore, mostly self insert with some friends!

Dear Axi,

Hey. It’s been a bit. I hope missions have been going well. Hope the team is well. Can’t begin to tell you how much I miss everyone. Partially because this isn’t very secure, partially because I never have the word.

I might be coming back to base soon. Not with the taskforce, just on site. I’ve been told it's uncouth for someone to come back to the armed forces after being admitted. I think Capt. pulled some strings. I’m doing a lot better. Haven’t wanted to walk into the sea for months. 

Probably for the best. Christ, I missed being with the dogs. I’ve been back where we did basic, they got some new recruits and pups. I showed them what to do. Trained for about six months. 

I’ve been trying to write you since I got out of the hospital. But I kept getting “return to sender” as though the address was wrong. My wound has fully healed at least. But it turns out telling your CO that you want to “turn your service revolver on yourself” is not a great thing to say after spilling your guts to someone else. Physically and… uh… well. I assume he told you what happened.

Also turns out? I’m dumb. The address was wrong. I finally asked someone close. I had a few numbers swapped… oops. Well. You’ll have a bunch of letters to read when I get back. Some photos of the puppies too.

Next month, first Tuesday, I’ll be back on base. William, Albert, and some new friends will be coming too. I’m helping with the bite work here. Give everyone my love if they want it. 

-Fives <3

Axi blinked. She couldn’t fucking believe it. Riley was alive? And safe? And coming home?

“LEE! Get in here!” She yelled, clutching the letter in her hands.

Her husband rushed in, “what? What is it?”

Shoving the letter into his hands, Axi left the room and jogged into the common area. Her eyes darted between the four men that sat around the little coffee table.

“Where’s Price,” she inquired. Rune bumped his finger at the door to the kitchen, smiling politely at her. Axi thanked him before continuing her journey, leaving the group a little confused in her wake.

Spotting her target, she went in. Axi needed answers. Now.

…

Leon plopped down on the beanbag chair in the common room, gripping the letter. Wordlessly he handed it to Ghost, who was sitting closest to Leon.

A small head tilt, “Kennedy, what is this?”

“Just read it. Out loud,” Leon teared up, his emotions catching up.

…

“What the fuck, Price?” Axi almost screamed. Nonsense about a letter and Fives falling from her tongue.

The captain bit his tongue, wanting to put the small woman in her place. But this was not the time. Insubordination could slide for now. He had to explain Riley’s absence.

He sat down at a table, gesturing for her to take a seat as well.

“Truthfully, I assumed you knew. She told me she had been writing to you,” Price started, seeing the tears welling in Axi’s eyes, “but it seems you never got them. As far as I am aware, she just assumed you were ignoring the letters. Fives never brought them up after she was discharged.”

Axi took a deep breath. Stilling herself, “the letter I just received. Two things, sir?”

Price nodded, she continued.

“The first. She said she’s coming home? Is that true?”

“That would be news to me, but Laswell did mention the base getting a few more bodies soon. Bowers and her dogs would be bodies.” He genuinely hadn’t heard anything besides that cryptic message. It would make some sense. There were other people on the base. It was just the task force in the building they occupied, but the base was large and sprawling.

“And the second thing. Riley mentions spilling her guts to someone. Besides the stabbing. It seems like she said a lot and got a shitty response since she told you she wanted to off herself afterwards. Who hurt her? I need to know.”

Price sighed, “it’s not a concrete answer. But…”

…

“Signed, Fives,” Ghost said, voice wavering just slightly.

“Kennedy, this is a sick prank. She was discharged. We know this,” Gaz calmly stated, trying to take it all in.

“It’s not a prank, Garrick. This is her hand writing. She did the stupid thing where she dots the i in puppies with a heart,” Ghost retorted, slapping the paper to emphasize his words.

Gaz yoinked the paper from the larger man’s hands, bickering with him the whole time. Leon joining in to get his points across. Rune kicked back and watched, enjoying the show.

No one noticed as Soap had slipped away, heading back to his suite.

Well. No one but Axi, who was now hot on his tail. She would have her fucking answers, even if that meant confronting the man Riley had accidentally fallen for.

…

Axi coaxed Soap to spill everything. Threatened would be a better word.

But. As she learned:

Soap hadn’t meant for their little fling to turn into anything more than a one off. But Riley made that so difficult. After discussing things with Ghost (trust is key in a relationship such as theirs), Riley and Soap had entered into a fun little no strings attached relationship. 

Fives. She had gained feelings for Soap. More than just physical attraction and lust. 

Soap said that Riley had tried to hide it, to fight it, but it was obvious. He didn’t care. Hell, he would admit he was feeling the same. 

They had promised to have a conversation about the relationship after Riley got back from an intel mission.

Things went south and she was badly injured. Axi knew that. Riley had been in the hospital, she had been stabbed. Almost gutted.

What Axi didn’t know was that Soap went to visit Riley. Riley confessed, letting him know that he could call off everything.

“I fucked up 411. I fucked up hard.”

“What did you do, Soap?”

“I cried.”

… 

A few weeks later, just as promised, Riley appeared. Well. Really her dog did. 

Having trouble sleeping, Soap had been the first one up since the letter arrived. And since his conversation with Axi. He had been on his way to grab a protein bar from the kitchen when he saw the sable borzoi lazing on the couch. In Riley’s favorite spot.

He went to pet the dog, pulling back slowly at the last second, remembering the last time he did. Who knew sighthounds had such a nasty bite!

Letting the massive dog sleep, he wound his way out of the building. Earbuds in, Soap began his morning run, a little warm up before whatever training he picked to distract himself.

…

Axi had been the next to wake up. Which was odd. She was never up before the sun. Years of being in the service couldn’t kick that habit. But yet here she was, making her way to grab a snack.

“William!” She gasped, spotting the small horse, “how I missed you!”

Scrabbling on to the couch, she hugged the dog for dear life. His tail thumping impossibly hard against her calves. William nipped lightly at Axi’s hands, begging for pets, before sacking out again. 

Axi too drifted back to sleep, the borzoi keeping her warm.

…

Perhaps by fate, perhaps by chance, Soap found his warm up run ending at the kennels on the far side of the base. Roughly two miles from where he started. 

While doing a few stretches, Soap heard one of the gates clang open. 

He jumped.

She froze.

Riley waved gently, a few tears dripped down, disrupted only by the grin plastered on her face.

“Morning, Soap. It’s great to see you,” she said, a little nervous.

“Riley,” was all he said, moving to grab her tightly in his arms. He squeezed, making sure she was real. He had fucked up before. Had said the wrong words. This was his fault.

“Johnny,” she whispered, nuzzling his chest, not giving a shit about how sweaty he was, “none of this was your fault.”

“I said that out loud?” She nodded into his chest as a ‘yes’.

They stood together for a moment.

“Your dog is on the couch,” Soap said, breaking the silence.

Riley laughed, breaking the hug, “so that’s where he bolted off to.”

“Would you like to come collect him?”

Riley nodded, “let me grab some things.”

…

Soap and Riley reentered the base, finding everyone else to be awake and hanging around the kitchen. He left her to deal with the majority of the gang, heading off to finish his exercise. 

Ghost was the first to look up, his eyes going wide behind his mask upon seeing the blonde woman stroll through the door. 

“Fives!” He shouted, getting up to say hello. He was beaten by Gaz, who had wrapped her into a tight hug, ruffling her short hair.

Riley laughed and hugged everyone, exchanging greetings and playful threats and promises to explain everything when she had time. 

Ghost filled her in on mission updates, not caring that the information was classified. She was team for fucks sake. Riley intently listened to all the gory, graphic details. 

“Can’t believe I’m back,” she said, gripping his and Gaz’s hands, grounding herself.

“We’re happy you’re okay, Fives,” Price beamed, “it’ll be good to see you around.”

She nodded, “all of you are always welcome to come watch and participate in training. The cadets get tired of wearing the bite suits.”

…

Axi awoke, mildly cold as her space heater had walked off. Stretching, she accidentally smacked Rune in the knee.

“Good morning, 411, glad to see you’re alive,” Rune smiled, it was his trademark afterall, “Riley is here. She flew in last night.”

Axi jumped up, “well, then let’s fucking say hello!”

“Everyone else already has, she’s been with Soap in his quarters for a bit. The door is open if you want to stop by,” Rune told her. Axi glared Soap shouldn’t be anywhere near her. Especially not alone. 

Axi stomped off, not hearing Rune tell her that William was sleeping on her bed. Rune rolled his eyes and continued watching whatever John Wayne flick was on today.

[primofate]

Genshin Modern AU - Stress and Comfort

Summary: Woke up late. Missed a class. Forgot that assignment due. Another one due in two days. People are downplaying the things that you do. It’s raining and you don’t have an umbrella. Sometimes the little things pile up all in one day and it feels like all you want to do is to get it over with... and your boyfriend to make everything better.

Warnings: crying, stress, mood swings, other than that it’s fluff

Characters: Kaeya, Zhongli x gn!reader

Notes: Also a commission <3 Thank you for the love. Once again if you want something written for you I have cheap rates XD and I’ll always accommodate to your wants! Just leave me a message!

Kaeya

“Hey, Y/N, do you know how to write this part of the essay?” It wasn’t as if you were a particularly good student. But somehow, the people in your class liked asking you because you were accommodating. Ready to help with a smile on your face. Always there to turn to and rely on. “Yeah, it’s just like this…” and you spend nearly an hour explaining it.

“Oh gosh, I don’t think I can finish this part of the presentation tonight, something came up at home,” Group projects were sometimes difficult too. You understood. Things happened, but when they happened, you’d be the first one to say, “It’s okay, I’ll take care of it,” Even though the presentation is tomorrow, even though you barely get enough sleep for the next day. A part of you just wants to quickly get it over with.

“You said this would come out on the test… It wasn’t even there…” The worst part of it is not even receiving any thanks. It’s the way that they look at you when you make a mistake, despite all of the good things you’ve done for them, one mistake, and they make you out and guilt you to be a bad person.

“Your analysis is all wrong, Y/N. This part over here…” Sometimes the price of that was paying with your own grade. You try to listen as the lecturer explains a part of your essay. You’re listening, but it just doesn’t register in your mind. Something about misunderstanding the concept. Those concepts that you’ve tried so hard to remember and to understand. In the end they were all mixed up and confused.

Perhaps the lecturer sees the deflated look in your eyes, and ends quite happily. “Just do better in the next one!” pats your back and lets you leave, handing you your essay graded with a C.

Do better in the next one. Easier said than done.

You shove the paper in your bag without giving it a second glance.

The cafeteria. It was slightly late for lunch but you like it that way. There weren’t a lot of people at this time, which meant you didn’t have to fight for seats. Still, as you put in your order and bring your tray of food to the nearest seat that you see, you somehow bump into someone who topples over your chosen lunch, the tray completely doing a flip and landing on your chest, then on the ground with a plop and rattle.

There’s an ugly stain on your shirt. Forget about hiding it, it had to be washed. “Oh my gosh I’m so sorry,” and yet they can only stare at the stain. What else could they do? Dabbing it with wet tissue would just make it worse. “It’s…fine,” you wave them away, but you leave the mess on the floor in a hurry and in an embarrassed state.

You sigh once outside again. Deciding that today was enough, you make your way home.

Even then, as you sit at your study table, all washed up and changed, sketching a little something on your tablet, your mother stands at the door, observing.

“…What does that do for you?”

You jump a little in surprise and turn, looking at her blank expression. “What does what do for me?”

“That, your drawing. You’re always on the computer or tablet Y/N. If not that, then your sketchbook. That’s all you ever do,”

You turn around because you don’t want to argue. You don’t want to hear her complaining about how you do nothing but stay in all day after lessons and play games and draw. It was one of the biggest forms of comfort you had for yourself and yet she--

“Maybe try a part time job or join a club or some—”

“Mom, I’m still trying to adjust to uni,”

Why does no one understand how difficult it is to juggle the classes and do all the readings required? Why do I have to do so many things all at the same time? Can’t I do it when I choose to and when I’m ready? Can’t I do things that I enjoy?

“The degree you chose won’t even pay the bills…” You hear her mutter as she walks away. Footsteps receding into the hallways.

You push your tablet away and lay your head face down on the table. You’re trying not to lose it and finally, whatever higher being up there hears your plea to give you a break.

A phone call from Kaeya comes through.

“…Hey,” you answer.

“Hey, hun. You haven’t been replying to my messages,” there’s a lilt of playfulness in his voice. He just thinks you’ve fallen asleep or taken a nap at home or something.

“…Yeah, I—” You try to explain. You try to say that you weren’t feeling well. That you didn’t feel like talking. But would he understand? Everyone today seemed to be against you. “I just, fell asleep,” You lie and there’s a few seconds of silence on the other side.

“…You sure?” Now there’s a hint of unease in his voice. The playfulness is gone. “You ok? Do you want me to come over?” Somehow he senses that it isn’t just “falling asleep”. His simple worry and caring attitude towards you breaks whatever composure you had left. You accidentally let out a sniffle as tears start to pool in your eyes.

“Hey… You don’t have to talk to me, but I’ll come over right now, okay?” The sniffle was enough to tell him that perhaps something had went wrong. You couldn’t help but let out a few more sniffles as tears slowly trickles down your face.

“O-okay,”

Minutes later your blue-haired boyfriend shows up at your doorstep. Despite your mom being a little hard on you earlier, when she opens the door to see him, she smiles and says. “I think they were having a bad day, I might have been a little harsh on them too,” Kaeya only grins and points a thumb to his chest. “No problem, that’s what I’m here for,” He’s still wearing his volleyball jersey.

He knocks softly on the door, “Y/N?” there’s a plastic bag in his other hand.

When you open the door your eyes were already a little red around the edges, but seeing him made your lips tremble and fresh tears fall out. “Shh… You’re okay.” He wraps you in his arms, plastic bag rustling, his hand smooths your hair down and the other rubs your back as you cry out your frustrations for the day.

The two of you stay there for what seems like a long time. You hiccupping into his chest and trying to calm down. At some point he moves the both of you on the bed and lets you curl up against him. When you finally ease up, he pulls away slightly to look at your face, then brushes away the wetness still lingering on your cheeks. “Feel better?” He whispers, as if being too loud will break you again.

You smile a little and nod at how gentle he was being. He smiles back and leans in to press a kiss on your forehead. “You’re doing great, Y/N. Whatever it is, just talk to me when you’re ready,” and it hits you so hard how much he’s willing to just be there with you, even though he doesn’t know what’s happening. How he wasn’t going to judge you for what you say or what you do and your face crumples and grimaces into a face that tells him you’re trying not to cry. “D-Did I say something wrong?” He’s a little startled, but you laugh a little through small droplets of tears that you wipe away by yourself. “No, you idiot. I’m just happy you’re here,”

He sighs and relaxes, taking his own hand and pinching your cheek, pulling at it a little. “Who’s the idiot? Crying and laughing at the same time?” He was joking, of course. He’d only do so when he knew you could take it. You swat his hand away with a slight glare, and he knows that he’s got a little bit of the normal you back. “Alright, come on, here,” He suddenly sits up and presents the plastic bag that he’s been holding all that time.

“Ice-cream, your favourite flavour,” rummages into it and takes out a tub the size of two fists, a little damp from the melted moisture. He’s got spoons in there too. Slowly, as you eat the tub together, you tell him about what’s been going on in uni. How people just expected you to help when you could. How you got nothing in return. How you try really hard and they somehow still end up piling on negativity into your life.

“…It’s okay to help, Y/N,” he thoughtfully says, mouth muffled cause his spoon was still in his mouth. “But don’t forget to take care of yourself too,” then he scoops another bite. “…But even if you don’t…it’s okay,” he looks up at the ceiling. “If you don’t take care of yourself…Then I’ll do it. That’ll be my job. Forever,”

You lay your head on his shoulder as he says this, still eating from your spoon “I love you,”. He smiles and presses a soft kiss atop your head. “Love you too. I’m always just a phone call away, babe,”

Zhongli

“Is there something on your mind? You’ve been quiet for the past hour,” Nothing slips by Zhongli. He’s observant. He knows you don’t feel like eating by the way you’re picking at your food. Knows that you don’t want to talk because you don’t even meet his eyes.

“…Nothing, really,” You just didn’t have the energy to talk about it.

He feels as if this date has gone awry, and he didn’t even know where he went wrong. Though, if he had to guess, it wasn’t his fault. You were just in a particularly bad mood. Not that the two of you were anywhere fancy, it was just your usual sit-down restaurant at a mall across the university.

To him, the right thing to do was give you the space you needed. So, after walking you to your room that night, he’d wait till the morning to contact you. Imagine his surprise when none of his calls go through. None of his texts were returned. He was beside himself with worry when suddenly, near the afternoon, he finally gets word from you.

“Sorry Li, I feel a little sick today. Don’t worry though, I’ll be fine in no time,”

You’re bad at lying. Or was he just good at reading you? You tend to have the habit of withdrawing when you’re out of energy. To give too much without any regards to your own state, your own feelings. Sometimes you don’t realize that you had to watch over yourself too.

It’s nearly 8 at night when he knocks at your dorm room. Zhongli went through a few steps to make sure your roommate would be out tonight. It was from them that he found out you hadn’t left the room at all today, but that you weren’t sick.

“Oh… Zhongli,” You’re surprised at the amount of things he’s holding. There’s a plastic bag that seems to nearly be popping and in his other hand was a mysterious paper bag. Under his arm he’s tucked his laptop with him. He lived in the dorms too, and if someone saw him now, it would look as if he was moving into your room. “You could’ve just asked me to come over to yours,” his eyes trail away, a certain brown-headed roommate pops up in his mind.

“No, Tartaglia’s in tonight,” You make a sound of understanding. His roommate was rather…special. Too energetic for your tastes, and sometimes nosy. “What do you have there?” You ask and invite him in. He chucks the plastic bag on your bed, lays down the laptop on your table along with the mystery paper bag. He notes that you’re already in your sleepwear, which was perfect. He starts to take out a throw blanket from the plastic bag and a hoodie.

“…This..is?” You’re a little baffled by what he’s trying to convey. “…My throw blanket that you like so much…and you said you like wearing my hoodie,” then he points at the laptop. “Do you want to watch a movie in bed? I have popcorn too,”

Then you realize that he’s trying to make you feel better. He’s figured out that you weren’t really sick, possibly just mentally drained. You smile at him and lean in for a hug, to which he responds to by wrapping his arms around your back and whispering. “…I’m not…really good at these things… Tartaglia said it might make you feel better…” You chuckle in his embrace and could imagine the kind of conversation they had.

“You’re the best Zhongli,” he secretly smiles while rubbing your back up and down. He doesn’t ask questions as to why you’ve been acting the way you do, but you’re the one who offers him the answer. “It’s just school… Too many things have been piling up… My class they… They’re really nice people you know? But just… there are times where I wish they would stop asking me for help, but it feels so selfish of me… I have my own things too, but they never think about that…”

It’s always about them, you want to say, but keep your mouth shut. He runs his hand through your hair gently, internalizing the things that you’ve said. “…I see… Would you like to hear what I think?” He’d ask first, because he knew sometimes that you didn’t really want an answer. You just wanted to be listened to. You nod against his chest, you could feel his heart beating from the closeness. “I think, you’re a very selfless person, Y/N,” he places a kiss on your head. “There’s nothing wrong in wanting to take a break from time to time, you deserve it,” and he guides you over to your bed, wrapping the two of you up in his throw blanket. Laptop on, popcorn in the mystery paper bag as you put his hoodie on. It smells just like him.

His back leans against the wall and you’re in the safety of his arms. You’re practically in his lap, encased in his scent and warmth. He’d managed to prop his laptop up on a pile of books and the two of you watch a random movie on the screen. You were paying attention to it, but you couldn’t help but be more interested in the way his chest rises and falls. You can feel him against you, and the comfort it brings is like no other.

You turn away from the screen and rest your head at the nape of his neck. He looks down, movie still playing and asks “Tired?” You shake your head, eyes closed. “No, I’m just enjoying this…” There’s a small rumble from his chest as he lets out a small “Mm,” his eyes are glued to your face. Movie forgotten.

“…Y/N, I’ll always… be next to you,” Your eyes flutter open a little to look up at him, curious. “…Always?” He nods his head firmly to confirm, and you lean up a little to press a sweet and quick kiss on his lips. “Even when I’m not my best and I’m moody?” He chuckles at that and responds with a remark that might have slightly brought tears to your eyes.

“Especially when you’re not at your best, I’ll be there. Just call,”

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[helliontherapscallion]

Hello! Um hopefully this is ok but can you do a platonic poly relationship with tech reader and philza? And one day the reader comes over to there abode with a basket full of sweets and pastries (muffins bread ect-) also cottagecore quiet reader please she/they pronouns

Thank you! :D

(A/N): I’m back yall! Sorry I’ve been gone (in terms of writing/request doing) for so long, I just kinda lost motivation to write for a bit

Ok so you’re childhood best friends with Technoblade

You two met when you accidentally bumped into each other in the village by the sbi fam’s house

You were calmly along the cobblestone path when a cute dress in a store window caught your eye. You kept walking, but you were eyeing the dress as you walked by it. It was just your aesthetic: a vintage ruby red dress with laces tying the two sides together, a floused opening to the bottom of the dress, and puffy white sleeves. It looked like it was in your size too. It was absolutely perfect.

Just as you were about to walk into the store to check out the price, you bumped into someone and fell to the ground behind you. Looking up, you saw that the person that you bumped into was also on the ground looking at you. You saw that the boy was about your age with fair skin and long pastel pink hair tied into a messy ponytail. Peculiarly, he had small tusks poking out from his bottom lip, floppy pig ears on the top of his head, and crimson eyes. A piglin hybrid perhaps?

Feeling a small blush work it’s way onto your face, you quickly got up and held out a hand to the boy. “I am so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going! Are you okay? Here, let me help you up.” 

He looked at your hand for a bit before he grabbed it with his own and allowed you to haul him up to his feet. You looked him up and down scanning him for any injuries he might’ve gotten from the fall. Luckily, it didn’t look like he got hurt. The boy looked down at his feet and bent over to pick up the picnic basket and the few muffins that dropped out of it. Putting the muffins back in, he handed the basket back to you with a small smile and a blush of his own.

“It’s really no problem, I’m fine so it’s no harm done. Actually,” he chuckled awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck, “I wasn’t looking where I was going either. I got distracted by that sword in the window.” He pointed with a thumb over his shoulder at the armory shop next to the dress shop. In the window was a shining golden sword glimmering in the bright sunlight. If you squinted, you could see a sign that said that it had a high level fire aspect and looting enchantments. 

“Well, it looks really pretty. I don’t know much about swords, so maybe you could tell me about them? I’m (y/n),” you gave him a small smile and stuck out your hand once more. He shook it with a grin, “Technoblade.”

That was the start of a beautiful friendship with him and his family

You met Philza, his father

The avian was extremely excited and happy that his quietest son finally made a new friend

He treated you like you were his own daughter

You might as well be a part of the family with how much you came over to babysit Tommy or to just relax with Techno

You always bring over a basket of baked treats/pastries whenever you came over

Lemme just say, the family feasted and always fought over the last one

When you started to come over at least once a day for a bit with a basket full of sweets, Philza had to pull you aside and ask you to slow down a bit with the treats

“Hey (y/n) could I actually talk to you for a second?”

“Sure! Tech, I’ll be out in a sec.” The piglin hybrid curtly nodded and walked out the back door to the backyard. You smiled at Philza before you set the basket down onto the table and started to put the rolls onto a plate.

“I know it’s not much today, I didn’t have much time yesterday to bake.”

“That’s fine, but it’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” Internally, you began to panic slightly. Oh Ender, you didn’t do anything bad did you? You couldn’t think of anything you did wrong. In fact, you actively avoided any wrongdoing or talking to strangers. Oh no, were you accidentally rude to someone?

“You aren’t in trouble,” he smiled lightly when he saw you slump in relief, “I was just wondering why you always bring over baked things. Don’t get me wrong, they’re delicious and we really appreciate that you take the time to make us things, but we kinda have a little too much. Maybe slow down a bit with bringing them over?”

You felt an embarrassed blush spread across your face as you nodded and put all your focus into transferring the bread rolls over to the plate. “Sorry Phil, I just bake whenever I’m stressed or bored and I just have a lot left over after I give some to my family.”

“And that’s completely valid! Just maybe don’t bring over so much, breaking up the fights with Tommy, Wil, and Tech just gets a bit much at times,” he grinned and clapped a hand over your shoulder.

As the years passed, you and Techno only grew closer

You taught Techno how to do meticulous neat braids in his hair while in turn he taught you some self defense

Mans makes sure you can properly and efficiently wield a sword and shoot a bow and arrow 

Poor guy can’t lose another friend

When he moves to the tundra, he invites you to live with him but you reluctantly refuse

You had Tommy and Wilbur to look after in L’manberg

Being pissed at Schlatt when he exiles them

Following them into exile leaving behind shocked Manbergians 

They didn’t think you were capable of the screaming, let alone such profanity

Practically launching yourself at Techno when he agrees to helping Pogtopia

Him making sure that the withers don’t harm you, even going as far as hitting them and luring them away from you

Staying with Techno after L’manberg is reinstated under Tubbo’s rule

Starting to dislike leadership and governments in general after Tommy gets exiled (again)

Convincing Technoblade to let Tommy stay with you two

Absolutely hating governments when the Butcher Army places Philza under house arrest and rolls up to your guys’ house and takes Techno and Carl

They lock you in the house, but you pick the lock with the bobby pin you kept the bandana pinned to your hair with 

You follow them to L’manberg and break down when you see the anvils crashing down onto Techno

Screaming profanities at the Butcher Army and taking out your sword to attack them not noticing when Techno runs away safely

Philza watching everything from the balcony and cheering you on

You almost take away one of Fundy’s (whom you considered to be your nephew until the whole Butcher Army incident) lives before you feel a sword slice your arm and an arrow shooting its way through your thigh

Turning, you gave Tubbo and Ranboo the fiercest glare you could as you were standing over a half-dead Fundy with a sword dripping blood hanging at your side

You, the soft spoken and sweet one that gave everybody baked goods wherever you went, screaming profanities at the festival and the execution was scary enough, but this?

Absolute nightmare fuel, gonna stick in their minds for a long time

You attempt to fight them but you lose and end up with injuries too severe for you to continue fighting

Philza being the one to yell at you to go home to the tundra telling you that Techno’s alive bc of a totem of undying 

You felt kinda stupid after that, Technoblade never dies (you often half joked that he was immortal like Philza)

You limp home and get met with a bone crushing uncharacteristic hug from Techno

He patches you up after reassuring you that the blood on him wasn’t his (he tells you about the duel in great detail)

In turn you tell him about your 3 v 1 duel, feeling a bit dejected bc you ended up losing

Him being literally so proud of you for facing 3 people at once, but also scolding you slightly for going into it blindly

When Philza moves in, everything feels complete and fulfilled (at least to you)

You help Philza clean and dress his damaged wing

Also helping him do some physical therapy so that he could at least move it

Comforting him whenever he felt down about not being able to fly again

You invite him and Techno to cook with you and it surprisingly ends up better than you expected it to be

When Tommy betrays Techno, you and Philza end up being the only ones he could fully trust (later slowly adding Niki and Ranboo to the mix when The Syndicate is formed)

You are Harpocrates when The Syndicate is formed due to your quiet nature

Philza and Techno fully 100% supporting your decision of not wanting to reveal your identity

At the second meeting you show up with a full mask covering your face and the opposite of what you normally wore (more of a grunge type beat)

Only communicating in nods and writing at meetings, living up to your nickname

You never reveal your identity to Niki or Ranboo

Pleasant late night conversations around the fire with hot chocolate and your baked goods

Techno still lets you braid his hair (sometimes you even put flowers in it) from time to time

You braid Philza’s hair when it gets too long

Braid chains when yall get too bored? Hell yeah 

Ultimately, you three become a strong family unit (goals)

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[red1culous]

Oh part 1

Part 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6 // 7

Standing in front of that imposing building you felt your resolve falter slightly. It looked as though nothing had changed in years. Even the grove of trees that lined the driveway, tall and graceful, seemed to be frozen in time.

One foot in front of the other, you coax yourself. 

You suck in a laboured breath and walk into the large courtyard stopping once again as you take in your surroundings. You had hoped to be able to come and go without notice but the gravel covering the courtyard was doing a great job in announcing your arrival. 

This is new, you think to yourself slightly amused at your naivety thinking things would have stood still just because you left.

You hadn’t been back in over a decade after that little incident and if anyone had told you you would be standing where you were right now, you would have laughed in their faces before smacking them across it. 

You walk through a smaller sylvan courtyard of blooming orange trees. In its centre you see a fish pond. Smiling you look into it and search for the red and gold koi you had put there when you built the pond as a birthday present for Tony. It swims up to the surface as if it recognises you and if it weren’t for the boxes you were lugging about you might have even bent down to poke at its mouth.

For a split second you consider turning around and walking, no, running away. Screw the freshly baked muffins that were precariously balanced on you. You could just head back to the shop and sell them off at half price. You didn’t need the huge commission that the Avengers had agreed to pay for them. No you definitely didn’t need it…

…you also definitely did not need your business partner chewing off your ear about passing off said commission. 

Think of all the rich people eating your food? you can hear her clawing voice bounce about in your head. 

In truth you knew that the Avengers could easily afford a better baker. The best pastry chefs this side of the globe would happily saw off their left foot to be able to cater for them. But Pepper rings your mobile phone, claiming she meant to actually dial the shop, to place an order…a significantly large one…one she knew you would not be able to resist.

“Shit…” you mumble under your breath seeing the cause of your stress marching towards you a huge smile on her face.

“Is that how you greet an old friend?” Pepper says holding onto your upper arms and leaning in to place air kisses on your cheeks.

“No of course not…it’s just…umm…” you stutter as your heart thumps so hard it rattles its ribcage.

“I know…it’s a little weird being back” she says hands still holding you in place as if she knew you were about to bolt right out of there.

You shrug chuckling a little. “It’s stupid isn’t it?” you adopt a wide smile which had always been effective when dealing with difficult customers.

“Don’t give me that look” she swipes at your chin, “and it’s not stupid either. Just so you know, we’re all on your side.” She adds giving you a sympathetic look and you calm slightly at her words. 

“Thanks Pep.”

“Ok you head in. I’ll meet you inside in a bit, you don’t mind do you? Tony ordered a grand piano and it’s just arrived…” she trails off.

“Sure, I know my way around” you say smiling as she squeezes your arms before letting you go. Of course you knew your way around. After all, this had been your home too for over 5 years. 

5 years of bliss with her. 

You mentally chide yourself. Nope, not gonna go back there. 

As you climb the white marbled steps that led to the main door of the mansion you steal a glance at the silent looming windows glinting in the early morning light. You hesitate a little seeing a shadow pass quickly across one of them. 

Shit. 

Shaking your head, yet again, you finally reach the large oak doors. The bright and zesty scent of your lemon muffins waft into the air and as you are about to ring the doorbell the solid doors open revealing a tanned and muscled man in a shirt way too small for his body.

“STEVEN!” you shout whisper as his face splits into a wide grin.

“Y/N! Wh-what are you doing here?” he almost engulfs you in a hug stopping at the very last moment realising your arms were occupied.

“I-I…umm, muffins?” you return his grin looking down at your packages.

His eyes widen a little before taking some of the boxes from you. He balances 3 with ease in one hand as he pulls you inside. “No I mean I knew we had ordered from you…,” he says walking with you towards the kitchen, “…but I thought you said you were going to send a runner or something.”

“Well I was but our regular guy called in sick” you say gently placing the boxes onto the kitchen island.

“Well isn’t that unfortunate” he eyes you winking when you catch his gaze.

You roll your eyes at him. “No Steve, it’s the very opposite of what you mean.”

“Oh come on Y/N,” he shuffles up beside you to bump your shoulder, “it’s been so long.”

“It has...but hey! I get to see you again!” you bump his shoulder back and he pretends like it hurts him. “Ok so these need to be consumed within 3 days…”

“Woah woah woah now…” he cuts you off, “…you’re talking like you’re about to leave.”

He gives you a sad pouting face. His crisply parted hair makes him look like a choirboy albeit a very well built one. You almost feel sorry for him. 

“Steve you know I don’t belong here” you say fingering the hem of your shirt.

Your answer seems to baffle him. He straightens up and stares at you for a moment narrowing his eyes slightly. “I’m skipping my morning run just to hang out with you, so you can at least spend some time with me.”

“Steve…” you protest before he cuts you off again.

He raises a hand in your face. “Not hearing any of it” he says grabbing yours and leading you out of the kitchen, “…we’re going to take a walk and you’re going to meet some of your family.” 

You knew there was no use arguing with him. The death grip he had on you meant that you couldn’t even try to make a dash for it. “Steve if she…” you add and he cuts you off. Third one in a row. This was getting ridiculous.

“Shh!” and that was final. He leads you into the giant library where that vapid painting by Albert Ryder still hung on the wall. You hated that massive eye sore and always wandered what Tony liked about it. You’d always pegged him for the colourful extravagant type and this painting was just so out of character.

“Sam! Look who’s here?” Steve’s voice bellows out interrupting your thoughts. Your eyes trail up the curving mahogany spiral stairs that Steve is looking at and onto another floor of bookcases that were bathed in sunlight pouring in through a round skylight on the ceiling. 

“OMG Y/N?!” Sam almost shrieks as he bounds down the steps at a dangerous pace to collect you in a massive bear hug. “What are you doing here?!” he adds still crushing you in his arms.

“I came with the cupcakes…” you giggle as he picks you up and twirls you around. “Th-They brought me as their plus one.”

He puts you down to really look at you as if committing you to memory. A large smile sits on his face. “I see the sass is still there?”

“It never really left, big guy” you raise an eyebrow smirking as he hugs you one more time. 

“Pleaseee tell me you’re here for the party?” he groans wrapping an arm around your shoulders looking at you hopefully. “Parties here have been so sad since you’ve been gone.”

You hum about to answer as out of nowhere two slender arms wrap around you. It knocks the wind out of you and you instinctively hug back letting the smell of cinnamon and spice invade your senses. “Wanda!” you yelp.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming” she squeals smacking you across the arm.

You giggle at her pout. “I didn’t know I was coming, malyshka.”

She grins at your use of the word. “Ok let’s go” she says to a chorus of groans. 

“Excuse me! You are not taking her any where!” Sam blurts out grabbing your free hand.

“Sorry guys but I found her first” Steve adds standing in front of you and placing an authoritative hand on your shoulder his fingernails biting into the flesh there. 

“Guys…” you cough nervously, “how about we take a walk…together” you say quietly and sigh in relief as everyone starts smiling and pestering you with questions again. 

I guess nothing’s really changed after all.

---

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[icanfixhimclub]

"You're insufferable." "I'm glad."

This is part 2 to this, so go read that first!

Blue strided pridefully to the stage, standing beside who she now knows is David, as Jack waves to everyone. "Carrying the banner!" Jack yelled and everyone in the stands cheered. "We've come a long way, but we ain't done yet. And maybe it's only gonna get tougher from now on. But that's fine, we'll just get tougher with it!"

Everyone cheered while Jack started speaking again, "But also...also we gotta get smart and listen to my pal david," some cheered, mostly like Manhattan newsies, "Who says, 'stop soaking the scabs.'" Blue scoffed stepping to look at Jack. "Hey look Kelly, when me and my boys see scabs, we soak 'em. Period."

Every cheered as Jack looked very displeased. "No, no, no!" David cut of the cheering, "That's what they want us to do! If we get violent, it's just playing into their hands." "Hey look, they're gonna be playin' with my hands alright?" Spot said sternly. "It ain't what they say anymore, it's what we say." Blue cut in, scowling at David.

"And nobody ain't gonna listen to us unless we make 'em." Spot adds on. Everyone started cheering again as Spot and Blue glanced at each other. "You got no brains!" Kelly shouts, "We're starting to fight each other, it's just what the big shots wanna see! That we're street trash! Street rats with no brains, no respect for nothing including ourselves!"

Everyone started sitting and quieting down. "So here's how it is," Jack begins again, "If we don't act together, we're nothing! If we don't stick together, we're nothing!" "Tell 'em Jack!" A kid yells. "So what's it gonna be?" Murmurs of agreement could be heard from the crowd as Spot and Blue paced. "So whadda you say Spot?" Jack asked.

Spot looks out into the crowd, "I say what you say...is what I say." Some of the crowd cheered but not all of it as Jack turned to Blue, looking hopeful. "I say you're an idiot Jack Kelly...but that ain't always a bad thing." Blue spit on her hand with a grin as Jack repeated the actions and the crowd cheered. Suddenly the lights went out and a spotlight got turned to the curtains, a red haired woman stepping out at the crowd cheers and wolf whistles.

"Oh boy." Blue mutters, slipping past people to leave the theater, having no mind to deal with the boys obnoxious behavior. Just a minute after she sat down, Spot Conlon did too. They sat in silence for a while until Spot spoke up, "Why do you hate me?" Blue chuckled in response, "Why shouldn't I?"

She turned to look at the dirty blonde, gaze questioning. "I can be a good guy!" Spot argues as Blue busts out laughing. "You? As if! The only thing 'good' about you is how you and Brooklyn use slingshot's, but even then my boys and me are better." Spot huffed, crossing his arms, "You're insufferable." "I'm glad."

Blue smiled a smile that made Spots face heat up, but he hoped the darkness would hide it. Then, an old man who don't look too friendly starts heading into the theatre. "Hey mista, you ain't s'posed to be in there right now." Blue reminded, standing up and blocking the door, Spot standing up shortly after.

"Move it little girl." The unknown man pushes Blue away, her head hitting the wall as Spot stops her from hitting the ground and the man enters the building. "Hey, Blue, you ok?" Conlon asks, sitting Blue against the wall. "Ya," She winces as she brings her hand up to rub the forming bump, "Just hurts a bit, nothing I'se can't handle."

When they hear the clopping of horses, they both turn their heads and see the bulls heading their way. With a knowing look, they both run inside. "Jack!" Blue yells, searching frantically, but she instead finds Bolt. "Bolt! Get the younger boys out, the bulls are here!" She's frantic and the loud noise doesn't help her head but Bolt nods as Blue flees to search for Jack.

Just as she sees Jack run, she all hears the deafening whistle of the bulls, ringing in her head. Everyone started trying to leave, some staying and fighting. As Blue saw a bull trying to take one of her younger boys, she ran to them, pulling the man back and punching him right in the gut, then kneeing him in the face when he doubled over.

She didn't even see it coming, another man landed a punch right where she had hit her head just a few minutes before. She heard the faint call of her name, but she was unconscious before she even hit the ground. Spot saw red, charging at the man, swing his fist with all his might be picking up Blue and running.

He saw an open area and ran backstage, right out the back doors. "Please be okay." He whispered, gently setting her down on the ground before running back inside, praying she was okay

"All rise, all rise. Court is now in session. Judge E. A. Monahan presiding." Blue groaned quietly, holding the ice pack against her head. "Are any of you represented by a counsel?" The judge asked. Spot, Racetrack and Blue all shared confused looks. "No. Good, good. That'll move this along considerably."

"Hey, ya honor, I object." Spot spoke up. "On what grounds?" "On the grounds of Brooklyn, your honor." Everyone laughed, even Blue let out a giggle that had Spot glancing down at her. The judge banged his gavel, unamused by Spots behavior, "I fine each of you 5 dollars, or 2 weeks confinement at the House of Refuge."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey we ain't got 5 bucks." "Hell, we ain't even got 5 cents!" Blue added on to Race's statement. "Hey your honor, how bout I roll ya for it? Double or nothing." Everybody laughed once again at Racetracks remark while the judge banged his gavel again. "All right, move along, move along."

"Your honor, I'll pay the fines," Everyone turned to see Denton enter the court room, "all of them." David entered as well, the 2 walking over to the others. The dull throb in Blue's head made her zone out, Denton words sounding miles away. She only zoned back in when she heard Race yell over to Jack.

The only thing Blue could focus on was the warmth that shot through her body when Spot grabbed her hand and lead her outside with the others, all heading to the restaurant. "Blue, get that ice pack back on ya head." Spot ordered when he saw Blue drop it on the table. "I'se fine, besides, my arm is hurtin'." She complained.

Everyone greeted Denton as he walked into the restaurant. "Why didn't the sun print the story?" David questions immediately. "Because it never happened." Everyone talked over each other in forms of confusion. "If it's not in the papers it never happened. The owners decreed that it not be in the papers, therefore..."

Blue could hear Spots heavy breathing, most likely of anger. "Anyways, I came to tell you fellas goodbye." Silence fell over the restaurant, nobody dared to speak. "What happened, did ya get fired?" David steps forward but Denton was quick to shoot down the idea. "No, I got reassigned back to my old job as the sun's ace war correspondent. They want me to leave right away. The owner thinks they should only cover really important stories so..."

David walked away in what seemed like disappointment. "They don't always fire you, David. I would be blackballed from every paper in the country," Denton tugged David's arm to get him to face him, "Hey, I'm a newspaper man. I have to have a paper to write for." David still stayed silent as Denton sighed, "This is the story I wrote about the rally. And, I want you to read it at least."

Denton took out a price of paper from inside his pocket, but David still remained quiet so Denton kinda forced the paper into his hand as he started leaving. "Bill," the waiter turned around, trying to tell Denton to keep it, "No, no, this should cover it." Denton handed the man some cash and left. David pushed off of the wall and crumpled the paper.

"God David, stop being an ass." Everyone turned to look at Blue, unready for her comment. "Excuse me?" David asked as Blue stood up. "You heard me. Denton had no control over being reassigned and he has to make money too. Boo hoo, we're not in the paper, suck it up and stop acting like a upset toddler."

Blue fiercely gazed at David, her annoyance evident. David shifted his gaze to the table infront of him. "We get Jack out of the refuge tonight. And from now on, we trust no one but the newsies." Everyone agreed, standing up and leaving. After leaving, Blue grabs David's wrist. "Hey, I'm coming with, rather you like it or not." She said, letting ho and walking away.

That night, her and the boys snuck past the Refuge gates following a carriage. David points to a lighted window, "That's where we saw Crutchy." A whistle blows and they all hide. Everyone could see it was Jack. "Where they takin' him Dave?" Mush asked as the loaded Jack into a carriage. "Only one way to find out," David took off his hat and waited for the carriage to leave." I'll meet you guys by the square."

As everyone watched David leave, Blue walked out, staring up at the window. "Aye, whaddya doin' Blue?" Race asked watching her intently. "Mush," The girl whipped around, staring at the tallest of the boys, "You're tallest, get me on your shoulders, Blink, I need the rope." Both boys nodded and walked over to her, Blink handing her the rope.

Mush bent down and helped Blue onto his shoulders, standing up and getting close to the wall. She tried throwing the rope up into the window bars, trying to get it to fall back down over something. When it did, she motion for Mush to set her down and he did. "Alright, which one of you'se is the strongest?" Mush, Blink and another raised their hands.

"Alright, your going to hold the rope still on this end while I climb up the other." The 3 nodded and walked over, grabbing the end of the rope. Blue grabbed the other end and used to Rope to help her scale the wall. When she reached the window, she nodded on it, a unknown kid opened the window. "Is anyone in here go by Radio?" She asked timidly.

The small girl looked sad, looking down. "Radio got real sick and died a few days ago." Blue's breath caught in her throat. She almost let go of the rope, everything slowing down. "T-thank you." Blue nodded and slid down the rope. Everyone's voices were fuzzed and Blue could feel the tears in her eyes. So she ran. She ran faster than she ever had before, faster than she thought she could go.

She ran until her legs gave out under her, right on the Brooklyn Bridge. Uncontrollable sobs ripped from her throat, everything seemed to disappear as she cried. She sobbed so loud she didn't even hear Spots footsteps, not even aware of his presence until he sat by her and puller her into his side. She started to hyperventilate, barely any air in her lungs.

"H-h-He was j-just a b-b-boy!" She subconsciously leaned into Spots comfort. "Hey, Blue, hey, calm down, easy does it." Her loud cries had slowly turned in small sniffles and tear stained cheeks. Spot slowly moved to sit in front of her, cupping her face in his hands. "Now," He brushed his thumb across her cheek, wiping away a tear, "Tell me what happened."

"He's gone." She choked out, her hands grabbing at her shirt, "He was to young to d-die. He was 8 Spot, 8! He shouldn't of died at 8! He was gonna become a writer! He was," She choked back another sob, her voice cracking as she spoke, "He was gonna write a book 'bout all of us." The last part came out as a broken whisper, so heartbroken it made his clench.

A small, broken sob left Blue's lips, leaning into Spots touch as he wiped her tears. "Come to my lodge with me. It too late for you to be walkin' back to Queens alone." Too tired to respond, she just simply nodded, eyes already drooping. She didn't say a word when Spot effortlessly pick her up, heading back to the Lodging House.

About half way there, Spot looked down at her to find her peacefully asleep, head resting against Spots chest, the smallest snores escaping her mouth. Spot let out a small chuckle, continuing the long walk back to his Lodging house.

A/n: whew, that was long. Anyways, there's definitely gonna be a part 3 and possibly a part 4, so stick around for that!

[god-of-dust]

after much deliberation, i decided to post what i wrote of chapter 2 and 3 of Trick Me here. this will probably never end up on ao3 because of Reasons, but someone might enjoy reading it and i definitely enjoy the validation. (also, leaving this to rot in my folder seems like a waste.)

this is rated T, no particular warnings apply besides tom’s occasional murderous thoughts.

-----

There’s no sign of Potter. Figures. Tom glares at the suit of armour as if it’s the one meant to carry the blame for this situation.

Disillusionment Charm firmly in place, he leans on the rough stone wall and resigns himself to wait.

“You’re early. Why am I not surprised?”

In a split second, Tom turns in the direction of the voice and points his wand towards... the empty corridor?

Then Potter’s head—only his head—emerges from thin air.

“Jumpy, too. Again, not surprised,” Potter says, smirking. Then he moves, revealing the rest of his body and the rippling fabric of a cloak.

An Invisibility Cloak. No wonder Potter can get wherever he wants without getting caught. “Where did you get that?” Tom asks, envy colouring every word. That kind of Cloak is worth thousands of Galleons, which is more money than Tom has ever possessed in his entire life.

The things Tom could do with one... he’d have no need for permission to slide beyond the wards of the forbidden section of the library. While certainly tame compared to what a collection from a Dark pureblood family would hold, there are also many old books there that Tom has been dying to get his hands on since he’s seen their titles and felt the power they contained.

“Family heirloom,” Potter says with a shrug.

Of course Potter has a family that provides for him, and of course he has the gall to shrug, like it’s absolutely normal to carry around an object this valuable and use it to go to the Quidditch pitch at night. It’s maddening, to witness this utter lack of ambition in someone who has so much at his disposal and wastes it so pitifully.

He reaches out to touch the fabric. It’s soft and perfect, spells woven so beautifully that it appears not to be enchanted at all. He refuses to believe that this Potter is the one who cast them. “What kind of spells does your family use to prevent the magic from fading? How frequently do you have to refresh them?”

Potter only smiles and shakes his head. “You and Hermione would be amazing together if you just stopped being an arse to her.”

Tom glares at him. His thoughts on that particular topic must be crystal clear, because Potter laughs that full-bellied laugh of his. “You haven’t answered my question,” Tom insists.

“Do you want to stand in the corridor all night discussing my cloak? I thought we had Quidditch to play.”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Tom says: “Fine.”

“Get under here, then,” Potter beckons, holding a side of the cloak open for Tom to slip under and cover himself.

Sliding in the offered space, Tom instantly becomes very aware of how close they have to stay for them both to be concealed. Wonderful, he thinks, just wonderful. Just what I needed: more contact with him.

He lets Potter lead the way outside; after a bit of fumbling, they find a rhythm that allows them to walk in sync without constantly bumping into each other’s shoulder.

“Thank Merlin you’re shorter than Ron. His feet try to peek out all the time, it’s an absolute nightmare.”

Are his friends all he can talk about? Tom vaguely wonders, before noticing the route they’re taking. “The Quidditch pitch is the other way.”

“We’re not going to the pitch,” Potter replies.

Tom stops in his tracks, making the cloak tangle around Potter’s form; unsurprisingly, it only takes a moment for the miraculous Golden Boy to recover his balance. Tom, voice strained with the effort to keep it under control, hisses: “If you’re trying to trick me, Potter, I swear—”

“I’m not,” Potter interrupts. “The pitch is too open and couples go there to shag all the time, so the chances of someone seeing us are too high. I’m taking you to a place only I and my closest friends know about.”

Again with his friends. “Are you really so arrogant as to believe you’re the only one that knows anything about Hogwarts?”

This time, Potter is the one who stills abruptly. He turns to face Tom, noses almost touching under the cloak, eyes ablaze with an emotion that Tom has never seen on him: genuine, unfiltered anger. “Listen, Riddle. I offered my help, but what I didn’t offer was being target practice for your fucking abrasiveness. You want to learn Quidditch? I can teach you. You want to act like a bastard? Go do that somewhere else, because I’m not afraid to punch you in the face if you insist on constantly accusing me of imaginary crimes.”

“As if I’m not able to defend myself from your punches,” Tom snarls.

Potter’s eyes narrow. “Were you even listening to me?”

There’s nothing stopping Tom from hexing Potter into the next century; nothing, except for the fact that he’d be expelled and then the whole Potter clan would ensure that he’d rot in Azkaban for an indeterminate amount of years. Right now, it seems like a minor price to pay.

He keeps his twitching fingers away from his wand. He needs to hold himself in check if he wants to avoid Potter’s suspicion. After a steadying breath, he says evenly: “I was. My words were... out of line. I apologise.”

Silence stretches while Potter stares at him. Then he turns on his heels, facing away, and they resume their walking.

It takes them a few minutes to reach the boundary of looming trees that students are supposed to never cross. “Is this secret place of yours really inside the Forest?”

“Yeah. That’s why I’m reasonably sure that no one else has discovered it. A wrong turn would take them either into an Acromantula nest or in centaur territory,” Potter explains, navigating with sure steps amidst trunks and twigs and weeds and bushes as if he owns the place.

Both options are incredibly dangerous, for many different reasons. Not even the Headmaster has jurisdiction over the creatures in the Forest, and any reckless student who wanders too far is responsible for their own fate. Over the years, Tom has done a little exploring of his own to gather herbs, shed fur and other potion ingredients, but he never went as deep inside as wherever Potter is taking them now. “How did you discover it, then?” Tom asks while memorising the convoluted trail so that he’ll be able to return later. The potions he could brew with even a small vial of Acromantula venom, or some eggs... he has to find out more about those supposedly wrong turns.

“I followed my nose,” Potter says with a mischievous smirk, previous anger washed away like a leaf in a river. “And perhaps I had a bit of help.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Well, sorry, but I’m not going to divulge my secrets to anyone who asks... besides, you’re smart enough; perhaps with time you’ll figure it out on your own.”

Focus still firmly placed on their surroundings, Tom ignores the compliment. He has no use for Potter’s pretense.

A large clearing suddenly materialises before them, encircled by towering trees whose foliage forms a protective half-dome high over their heads. Ancient magic caresses Tom’s skin, making him shiver with anticipation. There’s a circular area in the center, large enough to hold a dozen people, empty of any grass or stone; Tom is certain that someone has built it that way on purpose. He steps closer, prudent and fascinated in equal measure. “What is this place?” he wonders, eyes wide and searching as he studies the stone while taking in the feeling of rightness and inspiration the space emanates.

“Somewhere where we can have all the privacy we want,” Potter says lightly as he slides off the cloak from their shoulders. To him, this secret spot humming with magic that vibrates in Tom’s blood and bones must be just another day, just another priceless thing dropped on his lap that he wields without a care.

After enchanting a few Lumos spheres to hover around them, Potter extracts a small object from his pocket, lays it on the even ground and enlarges it with a wave of his wand, revealing it to be a trunk. Then he points to a twisted root that peeks out from the soil and transfigures it into three Quidditch hoops, about three meters high.

“I assume you know about Quidditch roles and rules even if you’ve never played, correct?”

“Yes.” Tom’s skimmed through a Quidditch book, if only not to be completely unprepared when it came to playing his part in this charade. He will carry his plan forward and rip the rug from under Potter’s feet, even if it involves studying a few tedious rules of a tedious sport.

“So, you can probably imagine that every role requires different skills, which is why we’ll explore every one of them and gradually build up your stamina and reflexes while you discover what you’re naturally good at.” He scratches at his head contemplatively. “When was the last time you rode a broom?”

“First year flying classes. I was average at the basics and never tried anything more elaborate.” Tom isn’t eager to recall most of those memories because, in truth, it had been humiliating to realise how far behind his peers he was. Unlike them, he’d never had a broom of his own to practice and his confidence had faltered when he needed it the most. The broom’s magic had caught on his hesitation and thus his performance had been lukewarm at best.

“Yeah, I can imagine it wasn’t pleasing for you. Hermione was the same. You really can’t stand it when you don’t excel at something, huh?”

“I doubt anyone enjoys the feeling of being incompetent.”

“Good point,” Potter admits, “but that’s not the attitude you need right now. You always have to start from somewhere and build from there, even if that starting point isn’t as glorious as you’d like.” He squats to open the trunk; it contains a clearly well-loved yet also well-kept set of Quidditch balls.

Tom eyes suspiciously the Bludgers struggling against the chains holding them in place.

“Since we’re starting from the basics, tonight we’re both going to play Chasers, which means that we’ll pass the Quaffle between us and do our best to score through the goals. Of course, there’s more to being a Chaser than this, but it will be enough for now. Before that, though, I want to see you on a broom.”

“I don’t have one. I presumed we’d use one of the school brooms,” Tom says, crossing his arms, mild irritation colouring his tone.

Unbothered, Potter reaches again into his pocket to produce two shrunken brooms. “I brought my Nimbus. It’s very good, especially for a beginner, with quick responses and great stability.”

He holds out his hand and Tom takes the now appropriately sized broom. “...Thank you.”

“Wow, you’re really making an effort into being polite. I appreciate that,” Potter says, apparently pleased. “But now, Riddle, show me how you ride.”

There’s nothing in Potter’s smile and in that particular phrasing that Tom could possibly care for. He straddles the broom and pushes himself to hover in mid-air, one meter from the ground and then one more; feeling how precarious and uncertain his posture is, he does his best to correct it.

“Good. You don’t seem to be struggling much. Are you afraid of heights?”

Tom shoots him a venomous look. “No.”

“That’s one less thing we have to worry about, then.” Potter jumps on his broom and rises too, graceful as a phoenix. Bastard. “Let’s try some loops.”

Tom nods and watches as Potter demonstrates a few simple figures: circle, spiral, figure-eight. They seem easy enough, but when Tom tries to follow Potter’s directions his broom moves in shaky zig-zags instead of the smooth curves he expects it to perform.

“This broom isn’t working,” Tom snarls. He looks at Potter, who’s certainly dying to make fun of him... only to find no trace of sadistic glee on his expression.

Potter circles around him, examining him from head to toe with furrowed brows, almost hawk-like in his focus. “You’re clenching your thighs and hands too hard. The broom reads that as a sign for ‘straight line’ and ‘speed’, and right now that’s not your objective. For curves like these, you have to flow with the movement and lean into the direction you want without overbalancing.” His posture is relaxed, bordering on lazy, as he flies in a large, slow circle for Tom’s sake. “Like this.”

Tom imitates him as best as he can, loosening his grip. “What if I want to achieve a fast curve?”

“Fast curves are more advanced. We’ll try those later.”

Tom tries again with a figure-eight, and he’s surprised when he finds that the broom’s following the path he intended with increasing ease.

“See? Way better,” Potter beams. He looks like he’s genuinely enjoying this.

After a few minutes of loops, Tom’s acquired a mild amount of confidence in his form; at least the feeling that he’ll tip over every time he steers the broom has lessened until it’s nearly gone. Seemingly satisfied, Potter instructs him on how to repeat the same figures with a single-handed grip, then handless, as he explains: “You’ll need your hands free for the Quaffle.”

Even while going through boring drills at this insignificant height, there’s an undeniable thrill to flying, to acquiring control over something as elusive as air. “One day,” he declares, “I’m going to invent broomless flying.” Perhaps a variation of Wingardium Leviosa, combined with a Feather-Light Charm... yes, he’ll do it, and succeed.

“That would be amazing. And honestly, if anyone could do that it would be you.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Tom scoffs, close to amused. Does Potter really think that compliments will have any effect on him? Tom’s too acquainted with the subtle art of manipulation to take any of Potter’s amateurish attempts seriously.

Potter rolls his eyes. “It’s not flattery, it’s me making an observation. Every single person in Hogwarts knows that your knowledge and control over magic are impressive.” Smoothly diving forwards, Potter reaches for the trunk and grabs the Quaffle inside it.

“Catch!” he says, and throws the ball at Tom.

Instincts rearing up before he can think, Tom steers sideways to dodge, but he’s too quick, too sudden, the broom refuses to cooperate—fuck, he’s lost his balance, he’s going to slip off and fall on his face like a bloody—

An arm slides around his torso, holding him up. A steady hand over the handle of his broom stops its lurching. Tom is barely breathing, his mind catching up to the fact that he’s not going to become one with the forest soil.

“Shit, Tom, I’m sorry, I thought you were ready, I should have warned you—”

Heart still finding the way back to its regular beat, Tom interrupts Potter’s rambling: “It’s fine. Nothing happened.”

“Well it was a stupid thing to do, and I won’t do it again,” Potter insists, wide eyes painfully green even in the dark.

“Just drop it, will you?” It’s embarrassing enough that he ran away from a Quaffle like it was the Killing Curse; Potter’s self-flagellation is just rubbing more salt on the wound. As if he hasn’t done it on purpose anyway, the fucking prick.

With a sigh, the arm around Tom tightens briefly before Potter releases him. “Do you want to stop? We’ve done a lot already. You’ve been great.”

More useless flattering.

“Let’s try again,” Tom orders. He wants to challenge Potter, confuse him, shock him, give him a lesson that he’ll never forget. The plan to ruin his reputation isn’t enough; the matter has become personal.

Uncertain, Potter nods. This time, when the Quaffle comes towards him Tom catches it, albeit unsteadily. A victorious glint in his eyes, he does his best to throw Potter off-balance by flinging the ball back at him.

The back-and-forth of the Quaffle between them slowly acquires a flow. Potter accepts Tom’s viciousness and in turn pushes Tom’s limits, building his reflexes with progressively more elaborate throws, flying around him in circles like an annoying snidget. Tom fumbles, stumbles, grumbles, but he manages to avoid another fall, and he even scores a few points through the unprotected goals.

By the end of the lesson they’re both sweating—disgusting—and Potter is positively radiating joy.

Tom can’t say the same about himself. His performance’s been nowhere near satisfactory, his dexterity and form nowhere near Potter’s. While he still holds no interest for Quidditch, he also can’t stand the thought that Potter can have this golden opportunity to gloat over him. There’s no way that Tom will accept being considered inferior to anyone.

“So, uh... how was it?” Potter asks once they’ve dismounted, self-consciously running a hand through his hair. It looks like a habit of his.

“You’ve been patient,” Tom concedes. It’s true, at least on the surface: Potter’s been nothing but helpful and tolerant of every mistake, adapting his teaching to Tom’s pace with flawless precision. “I could have done better.”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” Potter says, “will you stop with the self-deprecation? You’re learning. It’s all part of the process. Believe me, I’ve seen worse.”

Tom hands the Nimbus back to Potter, who’s extinguishing the enchanted lights and reverting the goal posts back to their original shape. “You’ve also seen best, I reckon.”

Potter huffs in annoyance as he takes the broom and stores it away along with the rest of the equipment. “Yes, and it doesn’t matter. This isn’t a competition. The whole point of us being in the middle of the forest instead of the pitch is that you can be away from judgemental eyes, so could you please stop being your own worst critic?”

“We should go.” If Potter considers having standards the same as self-deprecation, then Tom has nothing else to say. “I can find my way back.” He turns to follow the hidden trail that led them here.

“Wait,” Potter says, interrupting Tom as he was about to cast a wordless Disillusionment Charm on himself. “Do you want to do this again? More lessons?”

Does Tom want to? Is the headache of spending time with Potter worth it?

Like a sharp edge, a thorn stuck in his side, Potter’s words echo in his head. This isn’t a competition. But it is, in a way—it’s Tom’s endurance against his desire to chalk up the whole plan as a failure and sweep it under the rug.

And Potter is still an issue—he still needs to go down in flames, and Tom is the one who has to ignite that fire.

He straightens his back. I won’t quit now. “Same time, next Saturday?”

“I’ll be here,” Potter says. It sounds like a promise.

##

[missing scene with Tom and snake-Harry]

##

At half past eleven on Saturday, Harry prepares to slip away from the Gryffindor dormitory under his Cloak.

“Ron, hey,” he whispers in the darkness of the dormitory, shaking his friend’s shoulder.

Still more than half-asleep, refusing to open his eyes, Ron mutters, “What?”

“I’m going out, will probably be late again. Don’t wait for me, okay?” He’s a little ashamed of taking advantage of Ron while he’s in this state, knowing that he won’t ask questions.

“Yeah, yeah—g’night, mate,” Ron says, words slurred as the dream world ensnares him again.

Then Harry leaves, sliding through the many corridors of the castle as if he were in his Animagus form, until he crosses the entrance; outside he can run, free, breathing in the cold wind that chills his face and lungs. He feels so light, like the world is full of exciting possibilities, like he’s on the hunt for something marvellous.

Yes, he hates hiding these nighttime escapades from his friends. However, he also loves the secret thrill of this undefined thing he and Tom have, this strange agreement that’s neither friendship nor rivalry, while not being neutral either. He knows, he can see that Tom—and how weird it is, that he already thinks of him as such—still despises him... yet he’s also invested in Harry in a way that goes beyond simple hatred or spite.

He could have used many excuses to get his hands on Harry’s Firebolt and sabotage it. He could have cursed Harry himself, especially with how close they’ve been, and Harry has no doubt that Tom possesses a sizable arsenal of slow-building, undetectable curses that would have sent Harry to his grave with no one the wiser.

But then, how absurd it is that Harry’s still not afraid to know that a part of Tom, a loud and powerful one, would rejoice in his pain and in having caused it?

He’s certain that Tom Riddle’s bite is deadly venomous, and he’s been thirsting for Harry’s blood for a long time. The bane of his existence, indeed.

Yet Harry saw something else during their time together: the fierce competitiveness, the stubbornness, the drive towards excellence, the desire to be greater than anyone... and also the insecurity, the self-loathing, the fear hidden behind harsh perfectionism, the sense of not being enough, of having to push himself harder, of not belonging anywhere, of being unloved and unlovable.

Tom Riddle is human and flawed. And he has bite, yes, but along with the venom comes a blazing fire that he keeps carefully concealed under his detached, polished façade. Harry wants to witness more of that fire, wants to bask in it, wants to revel in the privilege of being the one who can bring it out.

He knows what Tom could do, the potential of his cruelty. However, night after night, he discovers an inescapable curiosity for what Tom will do.

A laughter, full and thrilling, shakes Harry’s body as he skips through the forest, jumping over traitorous roots and avoiding thorn bushes intent on drawing blood.

Tom, of course, has already arrived.

Harry admires the transfigured goal posts, smoother and more symmetrical than how his own half-arsed magic would ever mold them, and thinks, This is going to be fun.

“Eager?” Harry can’t help but tease.

Tom gives him one of his looks. “I don’t like wasting time.”

“Of course. Let’s get to it, then.”

Like last time, Harry offers Tom his Nimbus; they warm up by playing with the Quaffle, letting Tom reacquaint himself with the feeling of flying by revisiting a few of the trickier turns. Tom’s control over the borrowed broomstick is still shaky and hesitant, which he clearly hates with a passion, but he’s also improved considerably in a small amount of time.

This may be the one thing in which Tom Riddle isn’t a natural. However, for some reason he’s actually putting in an effort to learn, which leaves Harry wondering why. Merlin knows Tom’s mind works in mysterious ways, and even after spending a few nights with him as a snake and witnessing his unfiltered rants Harry’s not closer to understanding his convoluted reasoning.

“Tonight I think you could try your hand at playing Keeper.”

Tom, always straight to the point, immediately flies towards the transfigured hoops and circles around them. “On a practical level, how is it different from playing Chaser, anyway? The ball is the same, it’s just a matter of catching it as we’ve already been doing.”

Harry feels an appraising smile rise on his lips. “Interesting question,” he replies, turning the Quaffle in his hands. “I believe the main difference is in the freedom of movement. As a Chaser, you can follow the trajectory and position of the Quaffle and other players in the way that’s most convenient for you, while as a Keeper you have to stay in a confined area, since leaving the goals unguarded equals failure. You need sharper eyes and quicker reflexes, which is why I considered it more advanced.”

“But the smaller area should make it easier, not harder,” Tom says with a small frown.

“Theory is theory, practice is practice. You’ll see by yourself.”

“Let’s begin, then.” He looks impatient, and Harry privately thinks that it’s kind of adorable. Perhaps my love for Quidditch is rubbing off on him. Or perhaps he’s just that competitive.

So Harry begins throwing and Tom begins to understand Harry’s point as the Quaffle slides under his guard and passes easily through the hoops time after time. With sweaty hair plastered to his forehead, eyes aflame and gritted teeth, Tom struggles to prevent Harry’s craftiness from allowing him to score yet another point. He’s only managed to catch five out of twenty-four throws.

“You have to keep in mind that I’m not an actual Chaser myself,” Harry says, immensely enjoying the murderous look on Tom’s face. “This could be way worse.”

Tom stills, holding the ball as if he wants to strangle it. “You do so love to make fun of me,” he snarls. “Idiot Tom Riddle, who’s never learned to play Quidditch, who can’t even catch a bloody Quaffle. Must be so nice to sit on your throne and laugh at my pathetic attempts.”

The aggressiveness in Tom’s tone makes Harry feel all kinds of ruffled, and perhaps he should be keeping his mouth shut, but when has he ever listened to reason? So he says, “I thought you had more spine than this, for someone who sits on his throne and laughs at others all the time.”

“What?” Tom says, eyes narrow and voice sharp as a potioneer’s blade.

“You heard me. Is it fun, being an arsehole to Hermione and who knows how many others? How does it feel when you are the one whose efforts feel inadequate, Tom?”

“It’s Riddle, to you.”

“Well then, Riddle: how does it feel? And mind you, I was teasing you as I would with a friend, but I could also be cruel and cutting like you. I could get on the same level of ‘polite bastard’ you seem to revel in.”

The look Tom gives him is utterly blank, which could be seen as an improvement over being murderous, or could also mean that he’s so much more murderous than usual that he’s already on the phase where he’s choosing how to dispose of Harry’s body.

Harry sighs. This is all pointless. Tom hates him, will always hate him, and they’re just dancing around each other waiting for the perfect opportunity to... what? Tom is most likely waiting for Harry to lower his guard enough for him to strike undetected, but what does Harry want? What’s his excuse for being here?

Perhaps this time his curiosity is better left alone.

“Forget what I just said. I’ve been an arsehole,” Harry says. “We don’t have to do this if you’re so frustrated it makes you miserable.”

“Is this what you think of me? That I go around lording my knowledge over people?” Tom doesn’t sound angry—he just stares at Harry like he’s speaking in a different language.

“From what I’ve seen of you... well, yes,” Harry says, uncertain. He feels like this whole conversation is balancing on a very delicate thread. “It’s not overt, but you do act superior and rub your grades on other people’s faces, with those condescending smirks and such... and I don’t believe that you don’t do that on purpose.”

“I—do that,” Tom admits quietly, almost disturbed by the revelation. Even more interesting, he appears to be honestly considering it. “Perhaps... it’s a bit excessive.”

“We all know you’re the most skilled student in this school anyway. It’s not just about grades—you clearly have a touch, a passion for magic that can’t be found in books and that most of us can’t hope to replicate.”

Tom’s eyes catch Harry’s then, a blazing intensity passing between them that makes Harry feel… funny. “You’re telling the truth. You do think that.”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”

“Not coming from you.”

Harry frowns. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You—” Tom pauses, raking a hand through his already mussed-up hair. He looks more unbuttoned than Harry’s ever seen him. “I’m not sure.”

“That you wanted to murder me in my sleep, probably,” Harry says unthinkingly. He knows that Tom has never been confused on his opinion of Harry; he’s heard enough dramatics when Tom’s spoken to him as Ezra, long tales on how insufferable Harry is, and how much of an attention-seeker, how brainless and privileged, and so on.

Surprisingly, Tom laughs. It’s brief, blink-and-you’ll miss it, but it’s happened.

Tom Riddle has laughed.

“I might have considered it, yes,” Tom confesses, not even remotely apologetic.

Harry is shocked and more charmed than he’d like to admit. “I don’t know what to do with this sudden honesty.”

Tom shakes his head, and he’s still smiling—not smirking, but smiling—and he looks as unbalanced as Harry feels. “Neither do I.” He locks eyes with Harry, and for a few brief seconds there’s that intensity again; then he breaks the spell to Accio the Quaffle from where he’d dropped it. “Let me try again.”

“Sure,” Harry says, quietly thrilled.

##

[missing scene with Tom and snake-Harry]

##

The trunk containing Potter’s Quidditch equipment sits on the forest floor, lid open. Tom studies the set of chained Bludgers and lifts an eyebrow. “Last time you said that in this lesson I was supposed to ‘learn my way around a Beater’s bat’.” The unspoken question of why Potter hasn’t handed him any bat yet hangs in the air.

“Yeah, I said that, but then I realised that Bludgers might not be the best idea right now,” Potter admits, shrugging. “You’re probably already familiar with how they work from a spectator’s point of view, but this is another instance of theory being very different from practice.”

“In short, you believe I’m not able to undertake this particular task,” Tom says. Of course Potter wouldn’t consider him worthy enough for the scary, angry balls, not when Tom still struggles with inconsistent balance and shaky steering at the best of times. Furthermore, Potter’s famed superior abilities allow him to keenly judge the depth of Tom’s incompetency and find him wanting.

Unimpressed by Tom’s logic, Potter rolls his eyes. “Is it necessary for you to be so dramatic?”

“Don’t bother with lying. We both know it’s the truth,” Tom insists. He has no patience for this display of futile denial.

“It’s a distorted version of the truth, so you can beat yourself up for not being perfect enough, or some crap along those lines. Yes, it’s probably not safe for you to engage with Bludgers yet. No, it doesn’t mean that you’re useless of whatever you’re telling yourself.”

“You seem awfully confident in your ability to interpret my thoughts.” Out of ingrained habit, Tom reinforces his Occlumency shields. While it’s unlikely that Potter has the wits and finesse to master the delicate art of Legilimency, he’s also revealed himself to be unpredictable in many occasions. Better safe than sorry.

“Maybe you’re just obvious,” Potter says dismissively, before tapping his wand on the small set of chains that holds the Golden Snitch in place at the center of the trunk. The ball springs free, only for Potter to catch it immediately with practiced ease and a gleam in his eyes that promises nothing good for Tom. “Tonight we’re Seeking.”

“Will the Snitch’s movements be restricted to this clearing, or will we have to follow its path amongst the trees?”

“Only the clearing,” Potter confirms with a small smile.

Tom lets his gaze roam to evaluate the length and breadth of the space. The shiny surface of the ball would be easily discernible against the dark background. “Seems feasible.”

The smile on Potter’s face grows wider. “Let’s begin, then.”

What followed were blurred hours of Tom fumbling his way through sharp turns, desperately trying to keep himself from losing his grip, then losing it anyway at every attempt to catch the blasted ball, then trying to regain his balance, then remembering to loosen his posture, then failing at commanding his limbs to go on a single direction, thus dipping downwards at uncontrollable speed until he would have surely eaten grass if not for Potter’s steadying hand.

Once they finally touch the ground, Tom flings away Potter’s broom, rage painting his world in red. He doesn’t give a single fuck about the bloody stick of wood and the bloody Snitch, he’s bruised all over the place and he’s sick of this, he won’t stand a single second of humiliating himself any further, he’s utterly and completely done. “How do you fucking do this?” Tom roars. “Why would you willingly subject yourself to this torture?”

“Uh, T—Riddle—”

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Tom goes on, ignoring him. “Why I even considered to accept this whole ordeal as if it deserves any of my time.”

“Riddle, I told you, this isn’t an obligation,” Potter says. “We can stop, it’s okay.” He’s dismounted too, and he stands there, slowly and cautiously inching towards Tom.

‘It’s okay’—as if Tom needs to be soothed or, worse, coddled. The infantilising undertones make Tom want to tear Potter to shreds. There’s a Cruciatus on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be unleashed, waiting for him to reap Potter’s pain for witnessing Tom making a fool of himself and daring to treat him like a volatile child. I doubt he’ll be so entertained when he’s contorting on the ground, screaming his lungs out, he thinks savagely, extracting his wand from its holster.

As the first syllable of the curse leaves Tom’s mouth, red light charging on the tip of his wand, Potter is fast—he crouches and rolls away from its trajectory, touching down over the stone in the middle of the clearing and drawing up a Shield Charm strong enough that Tom can hear it crackling like lightning. “What the fuck, Riddle?” he snaps, but there’s no surprise or fear on his face, only the sharp focus of a seasoned duellist.

Unfortunately for Potter, a mere Shield Charm isn’t enough to deter Tom; many Dark curses are designed to eat through them like a parchment set aflame. He smiles, all teeth, and Potter seems to sense his intentions, eyes narrowing.

Then the unthinkable happens.

Potter casts non-verbally at the same time Tom’s spell almost strikes home; the jets of their magic meet in midair and twine together in a single stream of pure gold light. Birdsong erupts, filling the space with an otherworldly melody, while luminous threads of magic are birthed from the stream like a spiderweb, surrounding Tom and Harry in a dome until the forest disappears beyond the shimmering brilliance.

What in Salazar’s name is this?

The entirety of Tom’s world is reduced to this moment in time, to Potter’s green eyes reflecting the light. Mesmerised, Tom watches as beads of light appear in the stream of their magic. His wand vibrates and he clutches it harder; the beads gets closer and closer to its tip, and Tom feels the light whispering at him to accept sanctuary in its song, to let it wash away his anger, to cease fighting, to surrender, and his whole body becomes weightless, being gently lifted from the ground by this invisible, absurd, liminal force—

And suddenly it ends.

The light disappears, leaving them to adjust to the night again: the link has been broken. Tom aches for it, deep in his bones. He can already tell how the echoes of that melody will haunt him for many nights to come.

He and Potter stare at each other, feet back on the ground, eyes wide, breathless and at a loss for words.

“What was that?” Tom breathes. “What did you do?”

Potter shakes his head, bewildered. “I have no clue. I just—stopped it.”

“You stopped it?”

“I think so.” Potter crawls towards a point to his side, scanning the grass back and forth until he recovers his wand from where he must have lost it when he interrupted the contact.

“Why?” Tom asks, unable to keep the word inside his still pounding chest. Why would you commit such a blasphemous act?

“Because—whatever it was, I’m not sure either of us was prepared for it.” He’s holding Tom’s gaze, straight on, in a way that reaches deep under his skin.

Unnerved, Tom skims the surface of Potter’s mind and finds a confusing jumble of... something. Too many somethings, all swirling in dizzying patterns. Wonder, doubt, curiosity, wariness, joy—all underlined by the same pure bliss that has enveloped Tom under the dome.

This magic is messing with my senses. “Don’t speak to me ever again. We’re done,” Tom says, with as much vicious strength as he can muster, rising on wobbly legs.

Potter sits in the grass and says nothing, making no move to stop him.

Tom can feel the weight of his gaze all the way to the castle. Once he reaches the dungeons, the Slytherin common room and finally his own bed, he realises how not a single part of his plan has worked out as expected.

His wand, who’s been a faithful companion since he was eleven, has acted in a way that was absolutely mystifying. Still shivering with the residue of that golden magic that doesn’t let go of his limbs, Tom performs a series of spells only to have the proof of what he already expected: the wand responds as usual and nothing is out of the ordinary—not now, not anymore. But if that unreal... thing wasn’t a malfunction, or caused by a curse, then what was it? He’s never heard of anything like it.

For the first time in what feels like forever, Tom’s out of his depth.

He thought he’d ruin Potter’s reputation, only to end up tired, bruised, with his magic acting up unpredictably and his thoughts scrambled beyond recognition. He thought he would teach Potter a lesson, and yet he lost himself in birdsong and light, giving away his power like an utter fool, until Potter was the one to separate them. And isn’t it funny that the reckless Gryffindor poster boy was the one who acted appropriately, while Tom has been too weak, too compromised? Weak, his mind provides.

How could it all have gone so wrong? How could Tom have lost the guidance of his own compass so completely?

For the briefest of moments, he wishes for Ezra’s presence; the snake has no interest in what he calls ‘complicated human affairs’, and his snark would help to keep Tom grounded. And isn’t this another sign of Tom’s weakness, to need another—an animal—to recover his balance?

He rubs his eyes, feeling both keyed-up and drained to the bone. A restless night awaits him.

However, he refuses to surrender to the hold of these thoughts. It’s completely useless to wallow in defeat and waste any more time contemplating this utter failure. Whatever happens next, whatever stunt Potter pulls that could interfere with Tom’s position in Slytherin, he’ll deal with it. Tom is cunning and capable enough to adapt to what fate has in store for him, as he’s always done.

He digs into his potion stash for a vial of Dreamless Sleep.

Potter can rot.

##

Harry crosses for the millionth time the opening sentence of his Potions essay. His parchment has turned into a blot of ink and he sighs, his wand to vanish the black stain. Then, he stares at the blank scroll, mind empty of coherent thoughts, unable to string together the meaning of a single line in the open book before him.

“I need help,” he finally says to Hermione, almost begging. They’re sitting, along with Ron, in their usual corner of the library. “I know, I know, I should write my own essay, but this isn’t—Hermione?” Harry hesitates, as he sees her casting a sturdy Muffliato around their table, the usual sign that a serious conversation was about to happen. Harry shoots a questioning look at Ron, but for once his friend appears to be on the same page as Hermione, leaving Harry out of the loop.

“Harry,” Hermione begins, with a concerned tone and furrowed eyebrows, “what’s going on? You’ve been distracted and spacing out for days, like you can’t focus on anything. It’s the third time you’ve asked for my help this week—even with difficult assignments, it’s not usually that bad.” She’s studying Harry’s face like she would a particularly complex Arithmancy equation, looking for the familiar tells that will betray his secrets.

Even though he knows perfectly well that she’s right, and that he did in fact intend to have one of those conversations, Harry protests on principle: “It’s Potions, you know how much I struggle with it! These essays are an absolute nightmare!”

“Yeah, mate, but maybe it would help if you read from the Potions book, instead of the Defense one,” Ron suggests, tapping his index finger on Harry’s book.

Harry stares at him, mild horror creeping up on his face, before letting his eyes fall on the book. He closes it and, sure enough, the battered cover doesn’t lie. “Fuck,” he says, defeated. He pushes up his glasses to rub at his face. “No wonder it didn’t make sense.”

Unlike Hermione, Ron doesn’t seem bothered by Harry’s behaviour; he shakes his head in playful disbelief, but he seems more curious than worried, which is relieving.

“So, what is it?” Hermione says.

Here it is, the moment Harry’s been dreading since this whole ordeal with Tom has started: telling the truth to his friends.

Like many other times, he doesn’t have a proper explanation for acting the way he does; in true Marauder fashion, he’d just acted on impulse, following the trail of fun. Unlike those other times, however, an explanation will be needed at some point.

This doesn’t mean that he isn’t also feeling quite defensive about this particular issue. After all, it’s not just about him; this is Tom’s business as much as it’s Harry’s, and Hermione won’t be happy to discover that her rival is involved. Harry still isn’t prepared for the fuss she will undoubtedly kick up.

And of course, predictable as the sunrise, Ron asks: “Is this because of whatever you’ve been doing when you sneak out at night?”

“Why are you being so secretive, Harry?” Hermione questions, leaning forwards and lowering her voice even though the Muffling Charm protects them from eavesdroppers. “Are you doing something that could get you expelled?”

“Hermione, I do things that could get me thrown in Azkaban on the regular.” Like being an unregistered Animagus, for instance.

And isn’t that another guilt-flavoured train of thought? The list of people that will need an explanation does include Tom himself. He’s warming up to Ezra in a way that he would have never allowed if he were aware of who hid behind the snake’s form. Yeah, Harry can’t say he’s looking forward to confessing that particular secret to Tom. After all, how can Harry admit to him that’s listened to his unfiltered rants and musings without Tom murdering him in cold blood? The Slytherin is already mistrustful enough, and lying by omission is one of the most dangerous things Harry could do, especially considering that Tom is a Legilimens.

Hermione waves an impatient hand to dismiss Harry’s point, snapping his attention back to the conversation. “You know what I mean, and you’re deflecting.”

Harry begins to open his mouth, but before he’s figured out what he’s going to say Hermione interrupts him again, voice gone soft: “Did you break up with your partner?”

“My what?” Again, Harry looks at Ron and finds none of the confusion he expects on his face.

“You have been disappearing a lot,” Ron offers with an half-shrug. “It was the most obvious conclusion.”

Harry gapes, stunned by the turn the conversation has taken. “Did you two really think that I have a secret lover? Why in the name of Merlin would I hide that?” If only they knew who my supposed ‘lover’ is. And isn’t that a thought, Tom being anyone’s lover, and Harry’s lover to boot? It’s too absurd, too unthinkable to even consider.

Yes, Harry can admit that Tom is handsome, and that he certainly doesn’t lack admirers; even with his poor eyesight, he’s not that ignorant of the Slytherin’s charms. However, Tom’s usual regal demeanour creates a distance between him and the rest of the world. Like a marble statue, Tom Riddle is meant to be admired while staying unreachable, and Harry can’t imagine him letting his shields down for anyone.

Except he did with me. Harry has been a witness to Tom’s temper, his cruelty, his smile. As obstinate as Tom has been with his will to drag Harry into the mud and his constant misinterpretation of Harry’s motives, he’s also let Harry see unflattering, vulnerable sides of him that many others would kill for.

How did that happen? What does this say about us?

“You’re spacing out again,” Hermione sighs. “But if it’s not a secret lover, then what is this all about?”

“I’ve been seeing someone. Not in that way,” he adds, before they can say anything. “But we kind of, uh, had a disagreement, and our magic reacted strangely and I was wondering if you knew something about it that I don’t.”

At the mention of an intellectual debate Hermione perks up, her posture instantly straightening. Harry tells them an abridged version of what happened in the clearing, glossing over the more incriminating details that could reveal Tom’s identity or the reason behind their fight.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve read about something like this before,” Hermione says, tapping her index finger to her lips. She bends to the side to rummage inside her magically expanded bag where she keeps a ridiculous amount of books—though Harry has to admit that, on occasions like this, having a portable library does come in handy. “I believe it was on a wandlore book I got last year. It’s hard to find any useful information on the subject because wandmaking is passed on through apprenticeship and very few masters have bothered writing down their knowledge, but I lucked on this tome that was gathering dust on a corner at Flourish and Blott’s, I’m fairly sure they didn’t even remember having it—ah, here it is!” she exclaims, showing them an ancient leatherbound volume whose title has faded completely. After a few minutes of leafing through the yellowed pages, she says: “I was right! Priori Incantatem, an extremely rare phenomenon that manifests when two practitioners bearing twin wands—that is, wands with the twin cores—attempt a duel.”

“So my... acquaintance’s wand has a phoenix feather core like mine?”

Hermione studies the book again. “Not just any phoenix feather, apparently. It has to be a feather from the same phoenix as yours, which I guess is why most wands don’t have a twin at all, or never meet their twin.” She lifts her gaze from the page to meet Harry’s eyes with her bright ones. “Harry, who is this person? This could be an amazing opportunity to study something that—”

“I can’t tell you, and they made it very clear that they don’t want me to speak to them ever again,” Harry says. Classes with the Slytherins have been... something. While outwardly nothing had changed between them, as they’d never interacted in the first place, Harry could feel the spiky coldness radiating from Tom as if it were alive and ready for him to try and cross it.

“But mate,” Ron interjects, gesturing vaguely at Harry, “wouldn’t they like to know about this? If my wand started shooting weird golden light during a duel, I’d be freaking out and thinking that my magic isn’t working or something like that.”

“I think they’re perfectly capable of researching this on their own.” Maybe that’s the reason behind their odd connection. Their wands... attract them to each other, or something.

Would Tom even want to know? The truth is... Ron is right. Someone like Tom, who prides himself on knowing everything and always being in control, must have been utterly shaken by his magic going haywire all of a sudden.

Harry’s choice is made.

##

A week after the last encounter with Potter, Ezra reappears in the dungeons just as Tom’s Prefect rounds come to an end.

Tom wonders at the snake’s ability to be so precise about his routine. Ready to cage his wayward almost-but-not-quite familiar again, this time with no intention of letting go, Tom lifts his wand in lieu of a greeting.

“Put that away, human,” Ezra hisses, and his tone is enough to still Tom’s tongue. He sounds stiff, his muscles tight and struggling against his obvious distress.

Eyes narrowing, Tom asks: “What happened to you?” If someone had dared to hurt his snake...

“Too many questions.”

“That was one question.”

“Pointless details. Follow me,” Ezra commands, before slithering down the dimly lit corridor, wasting no time to check if Tom is going after him.

Tom curses under his breath. Disrespectful, disobedient creature. He casts a silent Disillusionment Charm over himself and trails behind the sinuous shadow; the snake avoids the treacherous staircases, leading Tom behind faded tapestries and secret passages that he’s never encountered before. Spelling away the cobwebs to prevent them from sticking to his skin and hair, Tom finds himself thinking that not even Potter would have discovered these places—then banishes the reminder of Potter’s existence from his head entirely. The bastard doesn’t deserve a single crumb of his attention.

At this point he’s also wondering if Ezra is trying to get him in trouble on purpose. While the snake has never been particularly talkative and often acts oddly even by reptile standards, this mysterious demeanour is unusual and bordering on suspicious.

Ezra halts in front of a familiar, half-open bathroom door, flicking his tongue at the air; then, apparently satisfied, he slides inside.

More and more confused by this bizarre pseudo-adventure, Tom follows.

Once they’re under the greenish, dim light of the Chamber of Secrets, surrounded by snake-decorated pillars that hold up the vast ceiling, Ezra melts into the shadows and disappears from sight. The last shreds of Tom’s patience evaporate. “Ezra, what is going on?” he barely refrains from shouting.

He hears rustling from behind him, and when he turns in the direction of the sound his eyes fall on the pavement. There’s a book in front of him that hadn’t been there before. The cover is clearly old, black and unassuming, but it means very little for Tom. Wary, he extracts his wand. The Chamber is not a place in which one can trust random books appearing out of thin air.

It’s enough to distract him.

“Incarcerous,” a voice says—a treacherous, insufferable voice—and Tom is bound and constricted by ropes of warm magic that bring him to his knees. As if the humiliation wasn’t enough, he watches, powerless, as Potter waltzes in his field of vision and oh-so-casually disarms him.

“You utter bastard,” Tom snarls, like a flesh-eating curse, “release me.” The spell holds strong against his attempts to free himself wandlessly.

With a grin that shows too many teeth, Potter replies airily, “I don’t think I will. We have a lot of things to discuss, you see, and I don’t fancy being hexed.” His gaze turns sharp and he crouches in front of Tom, mockingly. “Besides, you deserve a little taste of your own medicine. Going around caging random snakes? Very rude, Tom.”

“What have you done to my snake?” No ropes will protect Potter from Tom’s ire. His magic is beginning to flare up, warming his skin, ready to set ablaze everything on its path.

Potter feels it, but all he does is sit cross-legged before Tom, unbothered. “Your snake?” he laughs.

“I caught him. He’s mine.”

“Putting me in a glass case and having a few one-sided conversations about how much you hate me is hardly enough to call me yours.”

Tom’s thoughts screech to a halt. The implication behind Potter’s words dawns on him, like curtains closing at the end of a play. It can’t be true, can it? Tom couldn’t have been so foolish—but wasn’t he the one who’s compared Ezra to Potter more than once? Oh, the irony. The cruelty of his misplaced belief that he could be himself with anyone, even an animal.

And then, Potter’s face opens, and his expression morphs into a genuine smile. Something travels down Tom’s spine at the sight. “You’re surprisingly warm, though. And you smell good under that posh cologne,” he says.

“You knew,” Tom says. “You knew all along that I wanted to sabotage you. That I despise you.”

“Yes.”

“You had no right.”

“You put me in a difficult position, Tom. On one hand, I was very aware of the fact that I was taking advantage of you; on the other hand, however... what was I supposed to do? Let you harm me out of the goodness of my heart? I’m not that self-sacrificing.”

[hermannsthumb]

"different young (rebound) hunk on his arm every week…newton geiszler who?" CAN YOU WRITE THIS FIC PLEASE? Hermann as the new heartthrob of the science world, cheekbones that can cut glass, baby gay scientists everywhere using appalling math-related pick-up lines in an attempt to be the booty call of the week. Newton catches a glimpse of him at a fundraiser and the Precursors have to stop him from crying with lust.

so tragically I plotted a whole fic for this and then came back and realized this prompt involves PRU but I liked my idea too much so unfortunately I won’t be filling the PRU part 😔 but I DO love heartthrob hermann sooooooooo. this can be pre-PRU if you want to make it sad actually CW for drinking and mild allusion to not sfw stuff. when will these boys talk about their feelings?

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

Hermann doesn’t like going out to bars at the best of times, least of all after he’s had the sort of exceptionally long day he’s had today (fighting his way through airports and hotel lobbies, fielding interview questions, having not even a minute’s break from Newton), but even he will admit that the one Newton has dragged him along to tonight could be far worse. The sorts of bars Newton fancied throughout their stint at the Hong Kong Shatterdome tended to be far hipper, far more becoming for a man of his (and, admittedly, Hermann’s) age, and likely aimed at tourists: pounding music, dark rooms, neon lighting, overpriced drinks, an inability to navigate through throngs of dancing bodies without bumping into at least half a dozen people. For that reason Hermann’s blood practically ran cold earlier that evening when, fresh out of their latest television interview, Newton insisted that Hermann needed to unwind a little. That Newton would help him unwind a little.

Hermann was pleasantly surprised to find that though the music (a live band) is still loud, and drink prices are still inflated, at least he can see Newton, and at least the few people dancing are dancing far away from them. And, well, perhaps it’s made him more amenable to (mostly) matching Newton drink-for-drink, and to indulging him in knocking back not one, but two rounds of the most disgusting-looking pink shots of all time, and— “Look, dude,” Newton declares, tossing an arm around Hermann’s shoulder. He’s shouting and leaning in too-close to Hermann, not because he’s intoxicated, but rather to be heard over the band, which has launched into a rather enthusiastic cover of some song Hermann’s sure he’s heard blaring from Newton’s iTunes before. His stubble tickles the shell of Hermann’s ear. “Just say it with me. It’s that easy. R-e-t-i-r-e-m—”

“We are thirty-five,” Hermann says. “We can’t just—”

“We absolutely can,” Newton says. He nudges his cocktail glass into Hermann’s chest, sloshing a bit of hot pink Watermelon Crush on his neat button-up. Hermann stifles a sigh; the shirt is brand new, bought just that morning for the interview, and will already be needing a wash. And smelling like liquified hard candy for the rest of the evening. “You and me, lying on a beach somewhere, sleeping in until noon every day, learning how to—to fish, or paint, or whatever the hell we want—”

“Not a beach,” Hermann says immediately. “I’m bloody well sick of beaches. Oceans, lakes, bays—no more."

Indulging Newton’s ridiculous little fantasy, even for a moment, is a mistake: Newton’s face lights up in a grin, and he tucks his arm around Hermann’s shoulder to pull Hermann flush against him. Hermann’s barstool wobbles dangerously. “Okay, no beaches. Far away from any coastline. The mountains, then.” It’d be just their luck, Hermann thinks, if the next Breach reopened far away from the ocean, too. Like it followed them somehow. “Let’s move to Switzerland or something and buy a log cabin or a cave and become weird recluses. I’ll learn how to ski, and you can grow a beard, and we can buy all our furniture at Ikea—” He frowns. “Is Ikea from Switzerland? Sweden? I haven’t been since college.”

“I don’t recall ever agreeing to move anywhere with you in the first place,” Hermann says, “let alone retire to do so. What on earth makes you think I’d follow you to Switzerland? I’ve no interest whatsoever in Switzerland.”

“Uh, because we’re best friends?” Newton says. “Anyway, what else would you do?”

“Anything,” Hermann says. He begins to tick off all the possibilities on his fingers while Newton watches him, unimpressed. “I could stay in Hong Kong—I’m sure they’d appreciate help monitoring what remains of the Breach. Or I could move back to England and resume my old teaching post, if they’d have me.” Hermann knows they’d have him; they’ve already sent him at least a dozen emails practically begging him to accept tenure. “Or back to Germany, with my parents.”

“I could totally do all that, too,” Newton says. “Well—not the Germany thing. No offense, dude, but your parents kinda suck. I don’t think I want them as my roommates.”

Hermann decides not to mention that the odds are very high they would not want Newton as a roommate, either. He’s tempted to ask Newton if he meant what he said about them being best friends—for Hermann can’t recall the last time someone called him their best friend, if ever—but Newton’s arm is slipping from his shoulders, and Newton is pulling out his mobile phone and tapping away frantically at it. Hermann feels strangely bereft without his touch. “Okay,” Newton says, his eyes scanning the screen, “Ikea was founded in Sweden, but they moved headquarters in—”

“Excuse me?”

Hermann and Newton both startle, Newton nearly dropping his phone, and the bartender who’d interrupted them smiles apologetically. He’s holding a pint of what appears to be beer. “Sorry to bother you guys,” he says to them, “but this is from the young man over there in the pink shirt.”

At the sight of the drink Newton brightens and puffs out his chest visibly. Bloody perfect, Hermann thinks. Just want Newton needs—another boost to his ego. “No sweat,” Newton says. He tosses his mobile to the bar counter casually and reaches to accept the glass. “Please tell him I’m super flattered, but—”

“Actually, sir,” the bartender interrupts, and—to Hermann’s surprise—slides the glass away from Newton’s grasp and over to Hermann. Hermann takes it without a word, not quite daring to believe it. Down the bar, out of the corner of his eye, he can see the flash of a bright pink shirt, but he can’t quite make himself turn to acknowledge the mystery admirer. Is that rude of him? No one has ever sent him a drink before. He’s not quite sure of the etiquette. “It’s, um, not for you.”

Newton deflates like a popped balloon. A blush spreads across his cheeks, barely visible beneath his freckles, which have come out again in the spring sunlight now that they’re not spending all their time in the Shatterdome basement. Hermann likes the look of them; he thinks they’re sweet, and that if he traced his fingertip across them they’d make a pattern of some sort, like a constellation. Not that he ever would, of course. Newton would surely ridicule him. "Right, duh,” Newton says.

He waits until the bartender is gone to round on Hermann. “Dude!” he says, almost accusatory, “Fourth time this week!”

“It is not,” Hermann protests. It’s weak to his own ears: even he isn’t thick enough to miss the sudden influx of attention he’s gotten since their first television interview last month. Hermann was never exactly popular, never exactly the sort the drive people wild with lust or romantic longing, yet it seems as if he can’t go anywhere these days without turning a few heads (including mid-twentysomething heads, mortifyingly enough) and getting a few cellular numbers slipped into his hand. Yesterday, a young man on the metro asked Hermann if he might like to see a movie some time. The day before that, another man wearing a jean jacket full of enamel pins stepped up to Hermann in a Starbucks and asked him if he could ­call-cu-later. Last week, a starry-eyed college student stopped Hermann outside a hotel to ask him to sign his Calculus 3 textbook, excitedly telling Hermann he switched degrees to astrophysics not a few days prior after reading an interview with Hermann in a rather obscure pop science magazine, and had blushed when Hermann thanked him. Newton had laughed at that one, and advised the young man to give biology a shot instead. (Newton had gotten very cross when he was promptly ignored, and in referencing the incident later, rather bitterly called the student an annoying little punk.)

This is to say nothing, of course, of the multiple news articles (listicles, as Newton calls them) Newton has forced him to read about himself on something called Buzzfeed, which have apparently helped to cement Hermann’s fifteen minutes of fame. One was called Twelve Times Dr. Hermann Gottlieb Was A Fashion Icon and was accompanied with a rather embarrassing array of candid photos of Hermann. Newton has been particularly incensed over that one.

“It is,” Newton says. “At least third. You know, I think the worst part is that you’re not even getting laid. Dudes are throwing themselves at you left and right—”

“Am I meant to go home with any random stranger who shows me the briefest bit of attention?” Hermann snaps. “I like to think I have somewhat higher standards than that.” I’m not like you, he nearly adds, but decides that it might perhaps be too cruel, especially considering that Newton has not gotten a fraction of the attention Hermann has over the past month. He remembers what it used to be like in the Shatterdome, is all; Newton seemed to like anyone who would give him the time of day. Most of his romances didn’t fare well for that reason.

“I’m just saying you could, and you’re not,” Newton says.

Hermann taps his finger against the pint glass, watching bubbles release from the side and rise to the top. When he finally takes a sip, it makes him wrinkle his nose. He’s not usually much for drinking. “I don’t like IPAs,” he says.

“I’ll take it,” Newton says, and the corner of his mouth hitches up in a grin, “as long as your boyfriend won’t get offended.”

Considering that Newton has only just finished following up his two shots with a cocktail, Hermann questions the decision, but slides him the glass anyway. Newton starts on it at once. Hermann wonders if he’ll need to call them a rideshare back to their hotel tonight; he’s not sure he can manage guiding a intoxicated Newton through the streets of the city on foot, especially not after a day that’s been rather unkind on his hip. “Only I suppose I have trouble believing it,” Hermann admits.

“Believing what?” Newton says.

“That they’re genuinely interested,” Hermann says.

To Hermann’s surprise, Newton snorts. “Nah, dude. You’ve got—” He taps Hermann’s chest, and leaves his hand there. “—sex appeal. You’ve got the, like, soulful eyes, and the movie star eyelashes, and the cheekbones and—” He drags his fingertip along Hermann’s jaw, and Hermann masks his sharp flinch in a cough, hoping Newton can’t feel his face heating up. He doesn’t remember if Newton has ever touched his face before. It feels shockingly intimate. “People think it’s super hot.” He takes another sip of Hermann’s drink. "Plus, you’re so—like—uptight. It makes people wonder what you’re bottling up.”

Hermann arches an eyebrow. “Bottling up?”

“In a sexy way,” Newton clarifies.

He settles his hand back on Hermann’s chest. Hermann licks his lips. Has Newton wondered those sorts of things about him, too? “You’ve had—too much to drink,” he says.

“A little bit,” Newton agrees. “I’m right, though. I like this shirt, by the way, it’s a nice cut on you.” He toys with one of the shirt’s buttons, and when he speaks again it’s in a low voice that makes Hermann’s mouth feel strangely dry. Hermann has never heard it from him before. “Wanna go back to the hotel and rent a movie or something?”

He’s peering at Hermann through his eyelashes, smiling in an odd little way. How terribly close they are to each other, Hermann realizes. He can count every tiny scratch in Newton’s eyeglasses, every fleck of gold in his eyes, every freckle on his cheeks. He wonders if Newton really wants to rent a movie; he wonders what Newton would do if Hermann closed the inch between them, and... “I,” Hermann stammers, gaze fixed on Newton’s mouth (stained pinker from his drink), “er, yes, only—only I feel as if I ought to thank the gentleman who sent me—”

At once, Newton drops away from him. His face hardens. His smile hardens, too. “Oh, right. I forgot,” he says. He inclines his head down the bar. “Pink shirt, right?”

Hermann casts his eyes about, searching for the pink-shirted stranger. When he doesn’t immediately spot him, a small bubble of relief swells within him. Perhaps he left, perhaps he decided he’s not interested in Hermann after all, perhaps Hermann is free to go back to the hotel with Newton and watch a film and argue about retirement and… “Oh, there,” Newton says. A man catches Hermann’s eye and waves timidly. He’s wearing a pink button-up.

“Bugger,” Hermann mutters. His admirer is not unattractive—in fact, he’s the opposite, with curly hair and glasses even thicker than Newton’s—which Newton seems to notice, too. He claps Hermann on the shoulder, hard enough that Hermann sways with it.

“He’s totally cute,” Newton says, “and he’s totally into you. You gotta at least get his number.” He takes another large sip of Hermann’s drink. “Better yet, get yourself laid. You could use it.”

Hermann feels the oddest sense of whiplash. Just a minute prior, he was about to kiss Newton (and he was pretty sure Newton was going to kiss him back), and now Newton is practically throwing him at another man. Hermann does not want to get anyone’s phone number—he wants to fall asleep in his stiff hotel bed to some absolutely awful science-fiction movie Newton picks out. “Newton,” he says, “weren’t we going to—?”

“No biggie, we can do movie night tomorrow instead,” Newton says. He nudges Hermann’s calf with the toe of his boot, and holds out his cane to him. Hermann feels his heart begin to sink. “I won’t wait up for you. Just give me a heads up if he wants to go back to our place, and I’ll make sure to stay out longer.”

“I’m sure it’ll only take a moment,” Hermann says. He’ll make sure it only takes a moment.

“No biggie,” Newton repeats. He raises his glass to Hermann in a mock toast. “Good luck!”

When Hermann looks back over his shoulder, halfway to the man in the pink shirt, it’s to see Newton’s stool vacant, and the back of Newton’s leather jacket swishing out the bar doors.

[exquisitley-obsessed]

The Dinosaur and the Vampire Part Three (Carlisle Cullen x Reader)

Author: exquisitely-obsessed

Request: hi can you do a one shot for Twilight where the reader is best friends with Bella and is there at the car crash in the first movie, they go to hospital and that’s where the reader meets Carlisle, really fluffy, thanks

Word Count: 5000+

Pairings: Carlisle Cullen x Reader

Warnings: nothing

A/N: This is and this isn’t the final part of the story. I’ve already got a draft for a part four but it’s also going to be able to work as a one shot in itself. Here’s a hint - it’s got something to do with the plot of New Moon. Kinda obvious but I LOVE angst. My requests are open <3 But if you’re interested you should check out my masterlist here!!

previous part

Y/n felt crazy. It was the middle of the afternoon also the middle of a storm and she was standing on Bella’s doorstep, half-crying.

Her day trip to the Cullen’s house was only a few days ago and yet so much had changed since then. Bella was basically no where to be seen, now constantly spending time with Edward to the point where she even ditched school with him after Biology leaving y/n to drive herself home.

Moreover, the Carlisle incident had also wedged a gap between her and Bella. After the silent drive home back, y/n waited until Bella was busy with Charlie before heading to the nearest store and treating herself to an assortment of bathing items. New shampoo and conditioner, body wash, body scrub, shaving cream, razors, body lotion, leave in conditioner, facial oils; the list went on. Y/n knew she could never speak to Bella about it, too mortified over what Carlisle had said never mind the fact she was crushing on the 20-something year old doctor and (adoptive) father of Bella’s boyfriend.

All this combined with Jess talking her ear off about the dance, her parents pressuring her about college and her grades slipping; it had all become a bit too much. Her last straw was an argument with her mum about the dishes which left her storming out of the house, hopping the fence and knocking on Bella’s door. She couldn’t take it anymore, she needed her friend.

“Hey Charlie, is Bella in?” Y/n watched as Charlie took in her groggy appearance, wrapped in one of her dad’s old jumpers which had holes spotted along the sleeves.

“I’m sorry she’s not,” Charlie answered, his eyes tentative. Y/n tried not to act surprised, after all what did she expect. “She’s at the Cullen’s house, playing baseball or something.” Y/n could feel the angry tears prickling behind her eyes, she had never felt so alone and abandoned and she hated herself for it. She wanted with every inch of her heart to brush it off and just be happy for Bella’s newfound romance, but this seemed to come at the price of her own happiness. “Hey y/n are you okay-”

“Yeah.” Y/n answered a little too quickly, wrapping her arms around herself and nodding furiously. “It can wait. I think I’m going to go for a drive or something.” A somewhat forced smile slipped onto her cheeks as she tried to shake off her disappointment. “Could you tell Bella that I was asking after her?”

“Course.” Charlie said calmly, his gaze still soft and worried.

“Thanks, uh, bye Charlie. Have a nice evening.” Y/n splurted turning away from the door and hopping the fence. Without looking back y/n unlocked her car and quickly got inside, aware of Charlie’s lingering fatherly gaze. After sitting still for a moment, not quite sure what to do with herself she decided to drive down to La Push. The rocks, the ferocious waves, the abandoned feeling of the place. It was exactly what she needed. Trying not to let the tears brim over she turned on the radio and spluttered the engine to life.

Turning out of her driveway she felt better already. Some distance would be nice, plus she never knew who she might bump into along the way, it would be nice to see Jacob again. However, as she was driving down her street she noticed Bella’s red truck speeding toward her. From what she could see Edward was driving, a terrifying expression cut into his face as he glared at the road; Bella peering at him with an estranged fear, tears in her eyes. Y/n only saw them for a second before they passed, headed for home.

Had they been fighting? Y/n’s heart lurched for Bella. Despite Bella’s lack of communication recently, y/n still understood how much Edward meant to her, and of course she would still be there for her.

For a moment she wondered if she should turn back, wait till Edward left and then call on the house again, but her mind was already carrying her to the beach. She needed this time to herself; a break from everyone and everything.

***

Y/n hadn’t been driving long when she was pulled from her mind once more. She was driving down one of the lesser known roads, green and blue blurring around her when she caught sight of someone standing on the side of the road.

The first thing y/n noticed was her hair, ferocious red. It exploded around the woman’s head in fiery ringlets. Her clothes were raggedy and didn’t fit her very well: a tartan button up and loose fitting beige trousers. Over her shoulder hung a backpack with a bottle of water and thick rope looped off the side. She was waving her hands desperately in the air, clearly trying to catch y/n’s attention. Without thinking y/n slowed the car and rolled down her window.

“Are you okay, what’s wrong?”

“Oh thank God!” The woman cried in a strange accent. “I was hitchhiking when I thought I saw a bear. Ran like I never had before but now I’m lost. If you could just drive me to the nearest main road I’ll be able to find my way back to my car.”

Y/n couldn’t help but drink in the appearance of the woman now that she was closer. Her hair appeared even more explosive, a stark contrast with her ivory skin which appeared dewy and soft. Perfect freckles were sprinkled across her nose underneath a pair of dark eyes. She was unimaginably beautiful.

“Sure!” Y/n found herself saying without really taking it into consideration. She was pretty sure the woman looked like that girl Martha in her history class, maybe this was her older sister. “Hop in!”

It would be a minor detour, wouldn’t take long at all. The woman moved fluidly to the side of the car, opening the door with a flash before seating herself comfortably next to her. Y/n paused a moment, waiting for the woman to pull on her seat belt, when realising she wouldn’t she started the engine and drove on.

“The plan will work.” Edward comforted Bella, the two now back at the Cullens house following their performance for Charlie. The Cullens themselves rushed around them, preparing.

“Rosalie and Esme are heading down to your house as we speak. They won’t take their eyes off of Charlie. He’s perfectly safe.” Carlisle added, Bella shot him an appreciative smile. A pause of silence.

“Carlisle what about y/n?” Edward pondered aloud.

“Already thought about it.” Carlisle answered without looking up, Bella glanced between the two. First Edward’s invitation (for which he brushed off all her questions and instead supplied the phoney answer of wanting to know Bella’s friends better) and now this?

“What about y/n?” Bella asked. Edward took a deep breath, not meeting her gaze and ignoring her question.

“James and Victoria have no reason to suspect y/n is of any importance to Bella, Charlie or any of us. They’ve never seen y/n with us, they haven’t heard us talk about her. Y/n is no more than a neighbour. Besides, with Rosalie and Esme having eyes on Charlie they automatically have eyes on y/n.”

“Y/n’s not at home though,” Bella interjected worriedly, “We saw her pass us, she was leaving in her car.”

“What.” Carlisle stated rather than asked, his voice dropping as well as his easy smile. In fact, his entire body language changed, he stood taller, stretching his shoulders forward slightly as he eyes flickered a darker shade of bronze.

“It’s fine.” Edward said, not phased by Carlisle’s reaction, “I read her mind, she’s headed to La Push. If Victoria or James goes onto their territory...” Bella shot him a confused look.

“You’re right.” Carlisle murmured, relaxing slightly as he chewed on the new piece of information, “As long as she’s there she should be safe. I’ll send word to Rosalie, she can keep an eye out for y/n’s return.”

“Let’s go.” Edward muttered without another word.

***

“Just a few more turns then we’ll be on Bogachiel Way, you should be able to find your way from there.” Y/n said automatically, wearing a cheery grin as she hoped not to spook the woman any further - it sounded like she had had a rough day.

“Actually I was hoping we could take a left," The woman spoke, it was the first thing she had said since being in the car. Her voice was smooth like honey but not overtly-sweet, there was definitely some bite in there.

“Are you sure?” Y/n’s brows furrowed, “I haven’t been down there before and we could risk both of us getting lost,” She chuckled to herself, “And-” She turned to face the woman and stopped abruptly, her jaw clamping shut.

“What is it?” The woman asked, not breaking eye-contact. Y/n felt as though she was being compelled, she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.

“Your eyes,” She stuttered, “They’re...blood-red.” She tried to laugh, speaking as though the woman would be surprised herself.

“Oh.” Was all the woman said in a voice completely devoid of all emotion. “Well that just gives it away.”

“What-” But the woman had already snapped her fingers through y/n’s hair, and all she remembered was the sight of the driver’s wheel as her skull crashed into it.

***

Bella sighed heavily from where she was sat in the hotel room. The TV presenting her with some daytime talk show with a painfully loud and obnoxious host. Alice and Jasper were completely still next to her as they watched, no emotion, they looked as though they weren’t even thinking.

The phone exploded with a shrill ring that made Bella jump, before she could get up Alice was already answering it, nodding along to whatever the other person was ranting about. Bella waited patiently with watchful eyes, if it was Carlisle that was calling Edward couldn’t be too far away.

“Bella,” Alice turned to her with a vacant expression, holding out the phone. Bella went to reach it when all of sudden it was falling out of Alice’s grasp with a resounding ‘k-dunk’. Bella went to protest when she realised Alice couldn’t see her, she was seeing something else, something from the future - Jasper was behind her in a second.

“What is it?” He asked soothingly, his hands resting on her shoulders.

“It’s...Victoria.” Alice spluttered distantly, her golden irises flitting back and forth.

“Charlie is he-” Bella began.

“She’s driving. She’s happy.” Alice continued.

“Alice, is Charlie-” Bella tried again.

“Oh.” Alice once more continued as if she hadn’t heard. Then it was over and she turned to Jasper with wide, fearful eyes. “It’s y/n. She has y/n tied up in the back of the car.”

“What?” Bella distantly muttered behind her, meanwhile Edward’s frightful voice could be heard yelling through the phone from the floor. Jasper swept down and twirled the phone into his fingers.

“Edward.” He said clearly, “We have a problem.”

“Is y/n okay?” Bella asked shakily, her fingers half covering her mouth. Alice simply collapsed back down on the couch, her brows furrowed, eyes frightful and she chewed on what she had just seen.

***

“What’s going on Edward?” Carlisle asked as he shifted the car up a gear, racing down the motorway. Edward’s eyes were wide, fluttering left and right as he took in new information.

“What’s wrong?” Emmett asked from the backseat, picking up on the awful tension.

“We have a serious problem.” Edward began.

“How serious?” Carlisle asked, not removing his eyes from the road and yet his voice was still calm, supportive.

“Alice just had another vision but it was of Victoria, apparently she’s driving somewhere with y/n tied up on the backseat.”

What Edward had said didn’t seem to settle with his audience for a while. Carlisle’s face enigmatic, Emmett just simply confused.

“Who’s y/n?” Emmett pondered aloud. Y/n’s presence and affect on the family had pretty much been kept secret between Edward and Carlisle, and Edward was only in on it because of his ability.

“A friend of Bella’s.” Edward answered so Carlisle didn’t have to. “Her best friend, in fact. She could be used for leverage.” Carlisle still hadn’t spoken although his knuckles where blushing blue from his grip on the wheel. “Carlisle?” Edward asked after a moment, still on the phone to Jasper. No response.

“We’re going to need to split up.” Carlisle’s voice was calm, the same as it always was. It was only his eyes that were different, flickering to a darker shade of bronze. “Emmett, Edward, I’m going to need you two to keep driving. Head for the airport and buy yourselves plane tickets to Seattle. Regroup with Jasper and Alice and keep Bella safe.”

“And you?” Emmett asked, now curious.

“I’m going to turn around and head back to Forks. See if I can track down Victoria and stop this from getting anymore messy than it has to.”

“How are you going to...ah.” Edward’s question was answered when Carlisle swung a hard right and sped into the car dealership. Before they knew it Carlisle was up and out of the car throwing the keys to Edward.

“Don’t scratch the Porsche,” Was all he said. “It was a gift.”

“Are you sure?” Emmett called out leaning out of the back window, “You don’t need help?” Carlisle smiled at his son.

“It’s more than I don’t want you to see what I’m about to do.” And with that he turned and disappeared into the building. Edward in a flash was sitting in the driver’s seat, starting up the engine - desperate to see Bella again.

“So,” Emmett smiled broadly as he leaned back and stretched out his arms across the seats, “This girl...y/n...she’s important right.” Edward sighed deeply, before glancing over his shoulder with a soft grin.

“You have no idea.”

***

Y/n stirred, her head feeling as though it was going to pound out of her skill. Distantly she was aware of something holding her wrists and ankles close together and the hum of the engine beneath her.

At first her vision was blurry, and it didn’t help that the trees were rushing past her window and an incomprehensible rate. It was also dark outside, too dark, how long had she been out?

“Wakey, wakey.” A dark voice fluttered down at her. Y/n groaned in response, her hands, bound, automatically rushed to her forehead and when she pulled them back they were slick with blood. This couldn’t be happening.

“What’s going on?” Y/n was surprised how calm her voice sounded as her eyes focused on the sight of the red-head, her wild appearance now feeling threatening. This woman must be insane.

“You have no idea what you owe me.” She spoke in riddles. “Lying there bleeding across these seats. I almost messed up the whole plan.” Yes, she was definitely insane.

“I’m sorry.” The words tumbled out of her mouth. “Have we met before?”

“No.” The woman rolled her eyes, “I promise you would remember if we had.”

“Where are we going?” Y/n didn’t feel like playing into her games, she was petrified as it was.

“Seattle. A girls trip.” She grinned menacingly at her over her shoulder. “James just called, apparently some of your friends just booked a flight there. We can’t risk flying though so I’m afraid we’re driving.”

“To Seattle?”

“We’ll be there before you know it. I’m a quick driver.” She was, the trees were rushing by so quickly no distinctive feature could be made of them. Whenever they came across another car on the lonesome road it whipped by within the millisecond.

“What did you mean by my friends?”

“The Cullens, silly. I saw you hanging around Bella’s house, asking after her even. That’s why your here.” Y/n couldn’t make sense of it, the jumbled words and the fizzing in her head meant everything she tried to process felt scrambled.

“I think you’ve got the wrong girl.” Y/n muttered, her eyes scrunching up as she tried to endure her throbbing skull..

“I’m not sure about that.” Victoria glanced in her rear view mirror, y/n noticed and, twisting in her seat, she watched as a white blur stayed hot on their trails, following the cars movements perfectly. She tried to focus on the identity of the driver but another wave of nausea rolled through her guts.

When this had passed she glanced around panicking. Looking down she noticed the rope, about an inch thick and bound several times around her wrists and ankles in expert fashion. It didn’t take long for y/n to conclude there was no way she could get out of them herself. Glancing around, her head feeling a littler clearer she looked for any way to slow the car down or at least call for help.

Trying to look inconspicuous, y/n leaned forward and looked through the window resting her fingers near the trigger to pull it down. With a quick glance at the woman she slammed down the trigger; but the window rolled down all to slowly and all to loudly. The woman’s head snapped around.

“Bitch.” Was all she spat before rolling the window back up with the panel by her arm. “What were you going to do, make a jump for it? We’re going 150 on the motorway.” The number made y/n feel queasy but she had already committed now, she wasn’t just going to sit here and we carted off to her ‘girls trip’ in Seattle.

Quickly, y/n flipped the window down again and using the bony knot of the rope between her arms she began to attack the top of the glass the same moment the red-head began moving it back up. She wasn’t quite sure where the strength had come from but after a small fit of thwacking her arms against the window she became aware of the tiniest crack at the top. This fuelled her flame.

She started again, aiming directly at the crack beating her bound arms against it relentlessly. In the moment the pain ignited her fury although she was sure she would regret it later. All of a sudden the window gave, one piece fell and then suddenly the whole thing shattered. Before the woman could stop her she leaned out the window, her hair exploding in the wind as she was caught in the white cars headlights.

“Help!” She shrieked, the volume of her voice astounding even her. “Help! Get me out of here! Call the police!” Re-filling her lungs for another spout of shouts the woman leaned over the front seats grabbing a handful of y/n’s hair and slamming her back into the car.

“Insolent bitch!” The woman cried, taking her hands off the steering wheel to yank y/n over the divide between the front two seats. “If you make this anymore difficult for me I’ll find away to get Bella without your help!” This caught y/n’s attentions and she went limp across the seats, her head hanging back so she saw out the front of the car, the world upside down.

“Bella?” Y/n choked.

“If you keep struggling you’ll never see her again.” The woman twisted so that one hand gripped the steering wheel, the other holding y/n’s hair so she was firmly bent back against the armrest, straining her neck; y/n couldn’t help but notice the impossible strength at which she was being pinned down.

The short scrape had pulled and split y/n’s previous head wound: a deep cut curling above her left eyebrow. And when she had broken through the glass and leaned out the raw glass had cut her waist and cheeks. This meant that as y/n’s head was pulled back blood dribbled up her face, trickling into her eyes and leaving a mixture of blood, tears and sweat.

She wasn’t held in the position for long. At some point the woman gasped and let go, now holding two hands on the wheel. Y/n couldn’t quite see what was happening around her but she saw a flash of white and felt the cars wheels roll unstably. She snapped back into the backseat, now no longer interested in the window but rather trying desperately with her bound hands to buckle her seat belt.

As she focused on her bound hands she could faintly hear distant, familiar voices and the red-headed woman shouting back something incomprehensibly fast. Her instincts proved correct, within the minute the car leapt out of control underneath her, swerving off the road and rolling down the small hill. Clutching onto the overhead hanger for dear-life y/n felt her entire world upside down, the sickening scent of burning flesh before darkness finally coddled her once more.

***

Y/n stirred from unconsciousness for the second time in 24 hours and the first thing she noticed was the release on her wrists and ankles. Before she tried to open her eyes she fluttered her fingers over her wrists where there lay course indentations. The skin was tender to touch and she was sure the skin would be black and blue.

Trying to open her eyes she noticed the warm light above her, somehow this made her feel safe. Her head still throbbing furiously she tried to open them further provoking tears to prick behind her eyes and dribble down the sides of her face. A wave of nausea overtook her then and abruptly her body snapped up underneath her, once she was vertical it seemed to die down.

“Woah, woah, woah.” She heard a familiar voice call, she knew that voice. It appeared he had leapt from the shadows, guiding y/n back down but she protested, groaning audibly. “Slow down.” He said calmly, his fingers firm on her sides. A harsh intake of air whipped from her lips and his arms snapped back.

“Your fine it’s just...my sides.” Y/n muttered, wincing from the lingering stinging from her sides, the cuts from the glass of course.

“You’ve had a rough couple of hours.” Carlisle spoke into the silence. Y/n groaned pushing up again, this time Carlisle didn’t move to stop her. “You really shouldn’t sit up, you’ve got some serious head trauma.”

“Just for a sec.” Y/n’s voice was breathy as she pleaded with him, “I just feel too nauseous if I lie down.” He didn’t say anything, but he let her sit. Y/n had just assumed she was in the hospital what with the presence of Carlisle, but when she looked around she wasn’t startled to realise she was propped up on his kitchen counter top. A series of cashmere and fluffy looking blankets covering the surface to make it soft, she tried to ignore that a few were covered in blood.

“I assume you have a lot of questions.”

“You think?” Y/n didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know where to begin. It was a debate on whether to tell Carlisle her crazy story, to describe to him the red-headed woman with blood-red eyes, how she had talked about the Cullens and Bella. On the other hand, instead of explaining she wanted to ask questions; how had she ended up at the Cullens house, where was her car, what happened to the woman. She settled on her question. “Is Bella okay?”

Carlisle stared at her with a pondering expression, as if he were chewing on the information she had released by that question alone.

“Bella is fine.” He said slowly, his voice soft. He had stepped away from y/n and stood at the opposite counter top, running a white cloth (by the smell it was doused in alcohol) over an assortment of medical instruments. Y/n tried not to look at them. He turned to her suddenly, as if he were waiting for another question.

“Do you know what happened to me?” Y/n asked, her fingers rushing to her forehead. He was there in a second, his hand empty, holding her fingers back with his own gentle touch. He had moved with supernatural speed but y/n couldn’t process that right now, that wasn’t the craziest thing to happen tonight.

“Yes and no. Don’t touch your wound I’m not done.” He answered clearly, going back to his work. Y/n just stared at him, waiting for him to go on. He sighed. “I got a call saying that you were in danger. That you had been taken hostage by Victoria.” Y/n automatically linked the name with the face. “I came to help you. I was in the white ford bronco behind you.” Like deja-vu the images shot through her mind, leaning out the window calling for a help, unable to make out the figure in the white car.

“How come...” He was back assessing her wounds, dabbing it here and there, engrossed in his work. Her eyes were large, slightly dazed and glossy as she watched him through his arms, her eyes fixed on his own.

“How come...” His warm voice was only a whisper, guiding her along her words.

“You. How come it was you that came for me? You...” She trailed off again, aware even through her murky mind of her heartbeat picking up at his closeness.

“Because, and I know this is confusing,” He began, taking a break and looking directly into her eyes, capturing her attention, “I will always be there when you need me. Perhaps not necessarily when you want me...but always when you need me.” Y/n surprised herself by completely understanding what he was trying to convey. It all felt like a dream anyhow.

“When your car went off the side of the road.” He began, unable to return to his tools as he was caught in a memory, “I-” He trailed off, a flash of anger dancing in his eye. “I pried open your door and you were unconscious. And the blood-” He stifled something in his throat.

“You’re a doctor and you don’t like blood.” Y/n murmured, a smile slipping on her lips. Carlisle smirked.

“I’m not afraid of all blood, only yours.” He went back to work.

“You’re afraid of me?” She asked, her voice quiet and small. He paused, catching her off guard as he moved forward, his nose an inch from hers.

“I haven’t felt fear like I did tonight for three hundred years.” Y/n still felt like she was dreaming.

“It hurts.” She mumbled after a few moments of tense silence.

“I know, love.” He hummed, saddened at her pain. “Where?”  Y/n went to brush her forehead but stopped herself, she then moved to her stomach, tentatively, afraid of showing Carlisle her exposed flesh she lifted her shirt slightly. Peering down herself she noticed a series of cuts dancing around her waist, in particular her front from where she had leaned on cut glass. If she were not mistaken, Carlisle’s breath hitched in his throat. She let her shirt drop.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Carlisle winced as if he disagreed.

“You shouldn’t even be this hurt in the first place.” He murmured, more to himself than anyone. “I thought that by leaving you alone I was protecting you. In reality, I was only pushing you away because I was afraid.”

“There’s that word again. Why do I scare you?”

“It’s not you per-say, more what you’ve made me realise about myself.” 

“Carlisle...my heads spinning.” He met her eye before turning away grabbing something off the counter top.

“Here,” He murmured, a smirk lighting up his face. Looking down y/n caught sight of a roll of band-aid held between two of his slender fingers; the familiar dinosaur pattern somewhat sun-bleached.

“God, I can’t seem to escape those.” Y/n murmured softly smiling despite everything. 

“Well I might’ve taken a box home since the accident.” Y/n eyed him, he had taken these from the hospital? “I guess I couldn’t help myself.” He said as if reading her mind, his brows now furrowed as he turned back to his work. He unwrapped a decent amount of plaster before tearing it with his fingers, finally he positioned it above her right eye and, soft as feather, pressed it against her head. As he had done this he had inched closer and closer, y/n’s legs automatically opening so that he may position himself comfortably.

“I have to say I think you’re going to get your wish.” Carlisle muttered softly.

“What?” Y/n whispered back, astonished at how close he was standing, his hip bones touching the inner of her knees.

“I think this cut may just scar. You can finally walk around town with something interesting to talk about.” Y/n rolled her eyes but grinned broadly, her cheeks flushing ever so slightly.

“By the way, what am I going to say, about this?” Her fingers reached up to her face resting against her dinosaur spotted plaster. Carlisle thought for a moment.

“You,” He began, reaching his own fingers up to join hers, “Were tired...and upset,” His voice was so soft, and yet the silence blanketed around them meant it filled the room. “And you went for a drive,” Chills sparked down her spine as he slowly lowered himself to her level, careful not to make any sudden movements. “And you...lost sight of things...for a moment.” She could feel cool breath brushing against her cheeks. “It was dark and you crashed...I saw it happen by chance, and helped.”

“Okay.” Y/n murmured. “But...that’s not the truth.”

“No,” He breathed into the tension, “Unfortunately the world cannot know the truth.”

“Can I?”

“I think it is what you’re owed.” Y/n pondered this.

“The woman?”

“She had disappeared before I got to you. Afraid probably.”

“Of you?” Y/n asked somewhat incredulously, but she could see it, the power in his voice, his control over a room.

“I have a...reputation.” Y/n just grinned, overwhelmed.

All of a sudden his cool fingers were brushing her hair off her face before resting either side of her head, his thumb back to brushing under her right eye. Y/n froze at the contact and yet he clearly found the movement completely natural as he tilted her chin to meet his gaze.

“There is so much about this world you have yet to discover. Right now, you are on the cusp of a discovery that may change your life forever and most certainly it will mine. We’ve been keeping something from you, me, Bella, Edward. But not out of contempt, or anger, or hate...but because it’s difficult to know how to best protect those whom you love. And if today is any indication, I’ve been doing it all wrong.”

“Love?” Y/n whispered. Carlisle paused heavily.

“It’s...not my fault, I promise.” Carlisle murmured, his nose brushing with hers ever so slightly, “There is a degree of destiny involved.” Y/n grinned as she pulled back slightly, but Carlisle’s hands never left her face.

“You speak in riddles.” This caused Carlisle to laugh, deep and heartily.

“A product of my age unfortunately. But, I promise. Things aren’t as complicated as they seem...or maybe they are. Either way, you no longer will be left in the dark.”

“Is this the part where you spill all of your dirty secrets?”

“How did you know?” He mocked with a grin. “Now listen carefully.” He pulled back leaving only cold air where he once was, but he remained in contact, holding onto y/n’s hand, brushing circles over the feathery veins as he seated himself next to her. 

“There’s a lot you need to learn.”

next part

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[woolieshubris]

Aquarium Date Fic !! Kagehina, but kag!asd. Kageyama pov. 2k words, oneshot. Tw : Sensory Overload! (it's present throughout the whole fic) Made partially for @spixi and partially so i could prove to myself that i can If there's a typo no there isnt <3 If you are an IRL this post doesn't exist <3

I typed out my message and pressed send, throwing my phone onto my bed.

Maybe I should go grab a snack or something... I think to myself, when I suddenly hear my phone buzzing against my pillow, and I dive to grab it. He replied to my message. That was fast.

Me : Hey we should go to the aquarium tomorrow.

Hinata : Okay :D sounds good 2 me!

Quickly, with my face quickly going beet red, I drop my phone and go to the kitchen to grab something to stuff my face with. I'm shaking, but as long as I walk quietly, I doubt my family will notice I'm even out of my room.

How should I reply? A thumbs up might be good, but it might be too cold. Any other reply is probably too much... Whatever. I'll go with the thumbs up.

I head back into my room and pick up my phone, typing a thumbs up emoji before covering my face again.

F/ck, I need to come up with something to wear, don't I..?

---

I arrive at the train station, feeling like I probably packed too much. I brought a backpack with an extra phone battery, 2 charging cables, (because Hinata has an apple phone,) and a bunch of snacks, as well as a water bottle.

Did I put on deodorant today??? I can't tell... If so, I'm probably already sweating through it. I start to feel sick to my stomach, but I don't have time to finish that thought when I spot Hinata walking in from a distance. He seems to be wearing basketball shorts and a t-shirt, and suddenly I feel overdressed in my jeans.

"Hey! Don't worry, I already bought my train ticket. You ready to go?" He asked while walking up to me. He didn't bring as much as a backpack, and I'm suddenly relieved that I brought so much.

"Yeah. It's coming in 2 minutes. I half expected you to be late." I stated, before realizing what I said. Sh/t! That was rude, wasn't it? I have to be nicer. Ugh. Hinata punctures my worries with a laugh.

"I'm not late that often, am I?" He states. This makes me feel a little worse about my comment.

"Hm. Just often enough." I state, carefully picking my words. I can't backtrack now, but I can try to redirect my speech to seem less biting.

"You only say I'm late because of last time!" He keeps laughing, keeping the mood light. I wish I could speak as easily as him.

"And possibly the time before that?" I reply. This is probably what he wants me to say.

"Shhhhh. What matters is I got here on time AND I have my ticket ready. Don't worry, I also brought enough for the aquarium ticket too!" He states, smiling. His smile is adorable, almost cute enough to distract me from what he just said.

"Oh, I was planning on paying for that." I reply without thinking.

"Ehh? Do you owe me or something? Should I be asking you for money?"

"No, no. I just thought...?" I'm really confused now. I was the one who asked HIM out, right? He knows how these things usually go, right? Maybe he just doesn't know...

"By the way, where are the others? I thought they would have arrived by now."

The... others? What others? The team??? This is a date, right? Wait...

I DIDN'T TELL HIM. I DIDN'T TELL HIM THAT THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE A DATE. F/CK.

"I didn't invite them." I respond, my subconscious taking care of what my brain is trying to catch up to.

"You really find them that annoying? I know Tsukki and Yamaguchi can be a bit much sometimes but...?" Confusion flashes across Hinata's face.

"I just wanted to hang out with you. Is that a crime?" I answered before my brain could filter out that last comment. It would be useful in getting him to stop pushing, but it's far too rude for a date. Not that Hinata knows that last part anyway. I wish I could take my words back.

"You should be honored that I said yes in the first place." Hinata teases, my face turning red.

If only he knew what he said yes to.

---

Hinata and I managed to keep from fighting on the 30 minute train ride, which was a feat in and of itself.

I can't ruin this date.

"Hey, Kageyama? It looks like there is a student discount, and it also seems like there is a discount for groups. What do you think would be cheaper?" Hinata elbowed me, bringing me back into focus. I look up. He and I are both equally sh/t at math.

"Uh... Let's do the group discount? I'll pay for it. You can pay me back later." As if I'd let him do that. Hinata bought my excuse though.

"Okay! I can buy you lunch or something." He quickly walked up to the desk, and I followed him. "Can we have 2 tickets?"

Wait. Wasn't I supposed to buy them? If I was the one paying, aren't I supposed to ask? Is Hinata planning on paying???

"Oh, sorry, He'll be paying!" Hinata stated, gesturing towards me.

"Yes. Here's the cash." I quickly press down the bills that were almost getting damp from stress. I had already looked online at ticket prices, and made sure to set aside the perfect amount of money for two tickets in my pockets.

"Great! Let's head inside!" Hinata grabs the tickets, holding mine for me. We go up to the metal detector and I get my bag checked. Hinata, possibly because he has my ticket, or possibly out of kindness, waits for me.

"Can you hand me my ticket real quick?" I ask, throwing my bag back onto my shoulder.

"Sure, let's go in." We walk into the main lobby area, waiting to get our tickets checked. The aquarium is beautiful, and oh so huge. The high ceilings, and smell of saltwater, the giant whale sculpture that I can only assume is life size, and the concrete flooring, these things that on a glance are grand, start to give me a pit in my stomach.

"Kageyama! Come on!"

I look at the horizon line, and recenter myself. A quick yet deep breath and I'm ready to go. I walk up, and turn in my ticket in order to get a wristband.

"Kageyama?" Hinata states, causing me to look over at him. "Can you help me put this on? I can never do it by myself." He holds up the paper slip.

"Yeah, sure." I say without thinking. I wrap it around his wrist.

"Hey, make sure not to make it too tight. They are a pain to get off if you don't give them enough breathing room." I nod my head, and make sure to give him a gap.

"There you go." I let go of his arm, realizing just then how warm my hand is. I can feel my face getting warm too.

"Okay, let me do you now." He quickly fits the bracelet to my arm. "It's perfect! Let's go inside. I wanna see this penguin exhibit that I've been hearing so much about. I keep seeing ads for it and I've wanted to see it forever-"

Hinata kept talking. I don't think he ever stopped talking. It's nice though. It makes it easier to not focus on the huge building, or the shifting lighting, or the crowds, or the ambient music that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Yup. I'm not focusing on any of that. Not. At. All.

My feet keep walking, despite my worrying. Hinata eventually slows, stopping before the largest piece of glass I've ever seen in my entire life. A giant tank filled with fish. The glass is taller than my house, longer than 3 busses, and blue and endless enough to make my heart stop in my chest.

F/ck.

Hinata turns around, and finds a bench to sit on, patting the seat next to him, while staring into the blue void. You feel like you have to bow down to its majesty. It is terrifyingly blue, terrifyingly enormous. I have never feared the ocean before, but I fear it in this very moment. A spotted whale shark swims past, paying no attention to the many people standing right against the glass.

"I could sit here forever." Hinata practically whispers. The giant tank orders your complete and utter silence. Even amongst a giant crowd, even with the littlest of children, everyone is quiet. The large speakers playing calming bass tones over the crowd of people, barely vibrating the floor.

"Hm. Me too." I reply. I could sit here forever, I feel like I already have sat here for infinity. Like its presence is something I could never escape. The pit in my stomach grows further. I break eye contact with the tank, reaching in my backpack. The zipper can barely be heard over the ambient noise of people shuffling. Was there always that sound? I bend down to look in my backpack. What was I going to get?

"Do you want a snack? I brought some granola bars." I state as I feel Hinata's eyes looking down at me.

"Actually, that sounds really good right now. I was just thinking about food." He states, bringing his head down to meet mine. I rustle around in my bag, and grab out a bar. It is barely bent. Passing it to him over my shoulder, he grabs it and unwraps it, sitting on the bench with his legs crossed.

"Sooo, what exhibit did you want to see?" He asks, taking a bite after.

"What do you mean?" I reply, choking down the pit in my stomach.

"Like... you invited me out here. So, what was it that you wanted to see?" He takes another bite.

"Uh. I just like fish, I guess." I look over at the tank, trying to avoid his gaze. I doubt he'll buy it, but it doesn't really matter.

"Me too! Let's go into the jellyfish room next? I can see the entrance to the penguins here and it looks packed. Explains why it's so much emptier here." He set his feet back on the ground and stood up, waiting for me to join him.

I leaned back down to zip up my bag, and we walked through a doorway into a smaller, darker room. Blacklights lit up the moon jellies as they calmly glided across the tank. Hinata seemed to drift off, but I didn't mind. It would probably be a good idea to be apart for a bit. I could calm down and collect myself quickly.

I walk up to the tiny seahorse exhibit, and look into the tank. I can't see them at all... I thought, when suddenly, I felt my forehead bump up against the glass.

How did I get close enough to bump up against it?

I go to look for a wall to lean up against. Leaning against something should help keep the pit down. I do a quick glance around the room. There are no walls. Only glass, and only fish. I hate fish.

Taking yet another deep and quick breath, I go back to meet up with Hinata. He was looking at a different kind of seahorse.

"Okay, I think I'm ready to go to the next section now." Hinata said, glancing away from the fish and over to the exit door. I nodded, and lightened up the scowl that was forming on my face. I didn't even notice it was happening until I felt my eyebrows aching from the effort. I just hope he didn’t notice.

The exit of the jellyfish room led to a balcony overlooking a lower floor. This must be the back of the aquarium. Below us there seemed to be a small cafe overlooking the sea.

"Here, let's go get some food! I can pay you back for the ticket that way." Hinata pulled my arm over to the down escalator. I step on right after him, and look down at the cafe.

It was very large, and honestly reminded me more of a cafeteria than a cafe, with lots of seating. After we reach the end of the escalator, he walked over to stand in line and stare at the menu. Looking for a good seat, I grab one right by the large window facing the water and set down my bag. I pull out the small amounts of snacks I've already brought to claim the seat and go over to Hinata.

"Hey, so I'm thinking about getting a sandwich. What do you want?" He stood, facing the menu.

"Honestly, just get me whatever you think I'd like." I state. I can't focus on the menu right now; I just don't have the energy to.

"Hmmm... Okay!" Hinata walks up to the register, while I go back to our seats. I'll probably regret that choice very soon, but I have backup food anyways, and I'm sure he'll eat whatever I don't, so it's not like the food will be wasted.

---

What the hell did he order??

I look at my plate, not quite understanding what the dish is even supposed to be.

"You said to get you whatever." He said with a smile, taking a bite of his sandwich right after.

"Whatever I might LIKE. What even is this?" I poked my dish with a spork, and it seemed to swallow it whole.

"No idea. I just pointed at the dish in the buffet." He shrugged. "I thought it might be funny, but it's less funny than I hoped. I expected more of a reaction." He looked up with the last sentence, making eye contact with me, which I broke a moment after.

"Sorry."

"Sorry? What are you saying sorry for? Since when did you say sorry anyways?" There was slight worry behind his voice, though it was hard to tell through his wide grin. To avoid answering, I quickly shove the food in my face. It's not great, but it's not really all that bad either. It's a little cold from sitting out.

"It's.... good." I say with a stuffed face. This causes him to start laughing again.

"You look super angry! That's the sort of reaction I was expecting." When did I even start scowling again? When I took a bite of the food, probably.

"You try it." I say, stealing a chip from his bag.

"I was the one who bought it anyway. I was half expecting you to make me eat it." Am I really that predictable? He took a bite, and made a variety of expressions, before settling on confusion.

"I wouldn't call it good. Maybe okay? It's definitely at least okay." He nodded to himself, taking a sip of water after.

"So, where to after this?" I ask.

---

We ended up on the train home while the sun was setting. It's almost to our stop. It felt so short, but we ended up hanging out for 5 hours. I almost forgot that I wanted it to be a date. I had to give up on that a while ago.

"Hey, we have to get off soon, get ready." I say, tapping his knee.

"Hm? Oh." He wakes up, blinking a few times and leaning forwards in his seat. He glances out the window.

The train stops, and we walk off onto the station platform.

"See you at practice tomorrow!" He says with a large smile, walking backwards towards the exit.

"See you." I reply, gripping the shoulder straps of my bag. I looked down

"I had a nice time on our date!" and with the last word, he turned around, running out of the station.

My head immediately turned upwards to where he was, as I feel my blood starting to rush to my face.

He... HE KNEW?!?

[arrestjellyfish]

Rainbow Blossoms

Chapter 1: Saturday

[Sanders Sides, romantic prinxiety / Virgil/Roman]

Summary:

Tattoo artist Roman Prince goes to the local florist to visit his elderly friend, Céleste Tempȇte, and pick some flowers to use as inspiration for a new design.

But instead of finding a soft old woman amongst the iridescent display of flora, he meets her anxious emo grandson. Virgil Tempȇte is everything you would not expect to find in a flower shop.

Cue intrigued simp noises.

Other chapters: 1 | 2 | 3

Chapter warnings: swearing, suggestive language, mention of mild illness, brief mention of artwork depicting mild blood

Chapter word count: 6,900

Read on AO3 or below!

[Also available as a podfic!]

oOo

It was unusually warm for a midsummer day in England. Crowds of people had flocked to the streets in excitement, hoping to soak up the best of the sunshine before the clouds were bound to return with a vengeance later that week.

Roman waltzed across the cobblestone road, inhaling rich scents of earthy vegetables and fresh, salty fish. Market vendors hailed from every direction, boasting low prices on sugar snap peas (freshly-picked that morning) and 2 kilos for the price of one on the juiciest peaches. Pedestrians of every age bustled around, energised by the atmosphere.

A burly man cut across Roman’s path, lugging a crate of dirt-caked carrots across the road. Roman had to sidestep to avoid crashing into him. He bumped into a metal pole on one of the many market stands in his haste, bruising his arm.

‘Are you quite all right, young man?’ the woman behind the stall asked in a kind voice.

A wide grin broke onto his face as he rubbed his aching arm. ‘I’m wonderful, thank you, madam!’

He adored market day.

His phone chimed in his pocket, and he knew it would be Remy demanding he get his arse back to work. Really, Roman knew he should have been hurrying back to the studio, but how could he possibly be expected to forego a gentle stroll through the town centre on such a wondrous day as this? 

Besides, he had a perfectly valid excuse to be out of the stuffy tattoo parlour on this bright afternoon. The client he had had a consultation with earlier had requested quite an intricate design for their future tattoo, consisting of various flowers. Roman felt a duty to purchase a bouquet for reference, wanting even his initial sketches to live up to his reputation as an artist. He hadn’t been nominated tattooist of the month three months in a row for nothing, after all.

To aid in the completion of his quest, he knew the perfect, quaint little flower shop hidden away behind the sandstone buildings of the high street. There was an abundance of flower stalls dotted along the market, of course, though Roman was well-versed in selecting the finest of flora (having had plenty of opportunities to woo handsome young men in his 25 years) and knew a wider selection would be available at Beau Blossoms.

There was also a sense of loyalty that made him skip past the flower stalls and duck into the familiar crooked backstreet. He had become well acquainted with his favourite florist’s elderly owner, Céleste Tempȇte, who Roman had grown to see as one of his dearest friends, even if their 50-year age gap was unconventional.

He quickened his pace as he neared the modest shopfront, it’s pale blue paint chipping from years of wear. The windows were adorned with an iridescent display of the most gorgeous flower arrangements, as usual.

‘Good afternoon, mon fleur d’amour!’ Roman sang heartily as he pushed the glass door open, ducking his head with practised ease to avoid hitting it on the bell that jingled above him.

He breathed deeply at the onslaught of pungent floral scents. The intensity of the pollen had overwhelmed him at first all those months ago, though he had grown accustomed to it and now welcomed the attack on his senses as if greeting an old friend.

Crooked, aged floorboards creaked beneath him as he stepped around the corner of the entranceway. ‘How is the fairest woman in town fairing on this fair day?’

Roman looked up at the wooden desk where Céleste would always be slumped, doing a sudoku puzzle and smiling widely at Roman’s antics.

Then he froze.

Sitting in Céleste’s rickety stool was a complete stranger. They looked around Roman’s age, perhaps a tad younger, and were a decidedly different sight from what Roman had expected.

Céleste was a stout woman with silver hair who would often wear pastel floral dresses, with a mint-green shawl perpetually draped across her rounded shoulders. This new person looked similarly below-average in height, though otherwise was a polar opposite. They appeared scrawny and the pale skin on their hands and neck was practically swallowed by an oversized black and purple tartan jacket. Their ripped black skinny jeans (complete with chains and studded belt) were a far cry from Céleste’s nude pantyhose and where Céleste’s grey eyes would crinkle with delight at Roman’s entrance, this person’s dark eyes were wide with surprise and framed by the blackest eyeliner and smokey purple eyeshadow.

‘You’re not my Céleste,’ Roman said, feeling robbed.

The stranger’s eyes grew wider still and their eyebrows pulled down in anger. ‘Dude, what the fuck? You flirt with my grandma?’

Roman held his hands up in surrender, hoping to placate the sudden hostile atmosphere. ‘Relax, Count Drag-ula. I’m gay.’

‘Oh…’ the stranger breathed, seeming humbled and embarrassed by their outburst.

They slumped in their seat, having been sitting ramrod straight since Roman had entered. Then their arms folded around their torso and their shoulders hunched up as if protecting their neck. Bright purple hair fell over their eyes as they looked to the floor. The intimidating air that had been so pronounced in them seconds previously faded and was replaced by what Roman recognised as debilitating shyness.

It clicked pretty quickly after that.

‘You must be Virgil Tempȇte, right?’

Céleste had mentioned her grandson on many occasions during their friendly chats. Mostly she only mentioned him in passing, offhandedly saying that he had moved back home after a year in London, or boasting about what Virgil had gotten her for her 75th birthday (a vintage encyclopedia of 18th-century fashion trends which Roman had had the good fortune of borrowing). Though a few months previously, in an act of desperation, she had spoken much more candidly about her grandson. She had sought Roman’s advice on how she could help her beloved petite chauve-souris to become more confident in himself and overcome his severe anxiety.

Roman’s heart had warmed in hearing the old woman care so intensely about her grandson’s wellbeing. When Roman himself had been struggling with his confidence back in school, his parents had not exactly been forthcoming with support. It was refreshing to witness such unconditional love between family members.

His advice had mainly been that there was not much that Céleste could do to enforce a stronger sense of self-worth in Virgil, but that she should simply let him know that she loved and supported him and would be there for him as he grew.

Now, Roman presumed Virgil had come out of his shell, at least a little, given his rather eccentric makeup and clothing choices. Though he was still curled into himself protectively as he gave Roman a wary look through a wisp of his fringe.

‘How do you know my name?’

‘Céleste talks about you a lot,’ Roman said easily, offering one of his winning smiles.

It was, unfortunately, not met with the same enamoured responses he was accustomed to receiving. In fact, rather than dazzled by Roman’s charm, Virgil looked mortified.

Hearing that someone had been talking about you behind your back to a complete stranger was likely a little distressing to someone with an anxiety disorder, Roman realised. He moved the conversation on quickly.

‘I’m Roman Prince.’ He stepped forward to hold out his hand, which Virgil took tentatively. His fingertips were smooth. ‘I imagine your grandmother has mentioned me before.’

‘Um,’ Virgil stalled, pulling his hand back to himself and shaking his jacket sleeve so that it fell back over his fingers. ‘I’m not sure.’

Indignance overwhelmed Roman’s being.

‘Oh, come now.’ He leaned sideways against the desk, sticking out his chin just enough to profess confidence, not enough to intimidate. He had refined his poses down to a tee. ‘Your grandmother must have told you tales of the handsome young prince who brightens her days with a soft serenade,’ he finished the sentence in a lilting melody.

Virgil’s eyebrows shot up and his lips parted (they were a beautiful splash of rose against his fair skin, Roman thought). Pride swelled in Roman at the look of recognition on Virgil’s face. Céleste must have regaled her family with plenty of enthralling stories of Roman’s magnetism and penchant for chivalry.

‘Oh my God.’

‘Everything you’ve heard is true,’ Roman drawled with a confident smirk.

‘You’re the guy that grabbed the cactus like a microphone, aren’t you?’

Roman’s smile dropped instantly at the way Virgil’s lips tugged up in amusement.

‘Yes, well.’ He bridled a little, standing upright again. ‘T’was not my finest moment.’

‘Yeah, maybe not,’ Virgil mumbled. He bit his lip in what Roman assumed was an effort to contain laughter.

Heat flooded Roman’s cheeks and he promptly spun away from the table.

‘So she would tell you that story and nothing of my usual elegance,’ Roman grumbled, starting to delicately run his fingers over the blossoms displayed on the shelves. He had not taken Céleste for one to actively humiliate him.

‘No, she - I -’ Virgil stammered. ‘I’m sorry. Grandma - she has said plenty of nice things about you too, I just…’

Roman turned back to him, noting the stiffness in his posture and the pained look that pinched his features.

‘That’s just the one that sticks in the mind, y’know?’ Virgil’s long arm stretched upwards as he scratched at the back of his neck. Roman thought it might have been a way to dispel the awkwardness as Virgil’s elbow bent at such an odd angle that it partially hid his flushed cheek.

Not one to hold a grudge unnecessarily - especially not against such endearing young men - Roman smiled softly and nodded in acknowledgement.

Virgil fidgeted on his stool, seeming hesitant, then slid off of it to stand up. Though he didn’t seem much more at ease on his feet, shuffling nervously and shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. ‘You, um, you're the guy that brings her fruit tea in the mornings and texts her cute animal videos, right?’

‘C’est moi!’ Roman said with a bright grin, hoping his cheery disposition would comfort Virgil somewhat. He felt an inexplicable need to ensure the other man felt calm.

‘Well… thanks,’ Virgil mumbled, pulling his hands out of his pockets, picking at the frayed sleeves around his fingers, then burying them in his pockets again. ‘Dad and I kinda worry about her being here on her own every day, since we live a bit further out of town. It’s… nice to hear her talk about you.’

Not for the first time, and what he was sure certainly wouldn’t be the last, Roman’s chest filled with joy at hearing about the sheer love shared between the Tempȇtes.

‘But of course,’ he said, happy to see Virgil’s shoulders soften from their previous rigidity. ‘I make sure she does not go a day without seeing a friendly face, though I’m sure as wonderful as she is Céleste must have made plenty of friends in her years here.’

‘Yeah, but none like you,’ Virgil replied without pause. There was a small smile curling his lips and it was the first genuine show of happiness Roman had witnessed in him. It was quite captivating.

Then Virgil’s shoulders were suddenly raised to his neck again and he rocked backwards on his feet, putting some distance between them (at least as much as was possible in a 20-square-metre shop packed full with buckets and bundles of flowers). Roman tried to ignore the swell of disappointment in his chest.

He did not think himself skilled at much beyond his talent for tattooing and the great art of courtship, though he was confident in his ability to read the atmosphere of a room and knew to change the subject before the anxious man became any more uncomfortable.

‘So,’ Roman started, turning back to the various bunches of flowers that sat in the water troughs around the edges of the shop. He cradled the bright bloom of a sunflower in his palms and lifted it slightly from its water to better admire its beauty. ‘Where is the celestial woman? She must be on quite a grand adventure to have left behind her beloved blossoms!’

‘She’s sick.’

Roman’s stomach lurched and he felt the colour drain from his face in an instant. The sunflower dropped back into the bucket with a light splash and clang as the stem hit the metal base.

He snapped his gaze onto Virgil, who had opted to take his hands out of his pockets again and was twiddling a stem of white hyacinths between his fingers. He seemed completely undisturbed by the words that had just left his mouth.

‘My gosh, will she be all right?’ Roman asked, his voice shaking. ‘Is she in the hospital? When did this happen?’

‘Oh, shit.’ Virgil’s eyes blew wide and the white petals stopped their twirling in his hold. ‘I didn’t mean - she’s just got the flu.’

Roman was unconvinced of how reassuring that should have been, given Céleste’s ripe age.

Apparently his uncertainty was palpable as Virgil hurriedly continued, ‘My dad’s looking after her. It’s really mild, don’t worry.’

A massive sigh of relief escaped Roman and he felt the tension that he didn’t realise had seized his body begin to ebb away. Céleste had proudly proclaimed her son to be the most attentive medical nurse in the world, and given her compassionate nature Roman had not doubted for a second that that would be true of her own offspring. She was in safe hands.

‘Dear Zeus, don’t scare me like that!’ Roman cried with a steadying hand on his chest, though it was not a sincere reprimand and was followed by a breathy laugh.

‘Sorry,’ Virgil said, smiling apologetically.

Despite Roman’s brief upset, the misunderstanding seemed to have broken the last of the tension between them and Virgil did not flinch away when Roman took a step closer. He did it under the pretence of wiping his fingers dry on the tatty, damp hand towel that perpetually hung on a hook in the wall. They pulled away wetter than they had been before. ‘It’s no issue, Virgil.’

‘If it helps,’ Virgil offered, ‘I reacted just the same when Dad first told me.’

‘Oh?’ Roman prompted, feeling like he wasn’t ready for Virgil to stop talking yet.

The slighter man tended to squirm a little as he spoke, though not in an uncomfortable way; it seemed to be habitual more than anything. Habit or not, his lithe body twisted in such a subtle way that it was almost reminiscent of a pulse or a rhythmic dance. Roman found himself entranced by Virgil’s mannerisms as well as his character. And, undoubtedly, his beauty. ‘How so?’

Roman leaned his hip against the desk, locking his arms in a way that gently pushed his chest forward and stretched his t-shirt lightly. He knew it would be subtle enough to avoid arousing suspicion. Though, he thoroughly hoped that would be the only form of arousal he was avoiding.

Right on cue, Virgil’s eyes danced down to Roman’s chest, then flitted sideways to the window, back to Roman’s chest (where they lingered for a couple of seconds), and then down to the floor where they stayed. Roman smirked.

‘Yeah, I -’ Virgil cleared his throat ‘- I freaked out a bit. I actually told her I was gay the day before she caught it and I thought I’d, like, shocked her body or something.’

A surprised delight washed over Roman and his teeth bared in a disbelieving smile. Wasn’t this just perfect?

Virgil’s dark eyes - which on closer inspection Roman could now see were mismatched, one being a rich brown and the other green - rose to meet his gaze. Roman watched as he crumbled into himself with the realisation of what he had just said.

‘Oh my God, why did I tell you that?’ Virgil lamented under his breath, squinting his eyes shut and bringing his thumbnail up to his mouth.

‘I wonder,’ Roman murmured through a wide smile. It never failed to invigorate him when his charms effectively ensnared a cute boy. His cheekiness ran high on the excitement. ‘Now as much as I would truly love to stand here with you for as long as the hours in the day would allow, I do have a request of you.’

‘Uh… sure,’ Virgil mumbled around his thumbnail. He had recovered quickly from Roman’s flirting, though the colour was still high on his cheekbones, and Roman knew better than to think it was just from the warm weather. ‘What is it?’

‘I need your assistance in gathering the gayest selection of flowers possible.’

A sharp exhale blew from Virgil’s mouth, slightly muffled around the hand which still sat flush against his chin. It sounded partway between a sigh and a nervous laugh. ‘Care to elaborate?’

‘Anything for you, darling,’ Roman said in his smoothest baritone. His heart skipped at how Virgil’s fingers clenched tightly around the hem of his sleeve. ‘I’m a tattoo artist at Rainbow Skins Parlour - have you heard of it?’

Virgil’s eyes lit up beautifully and his hand dropped back to his side giving Roman a perfect view of those rose petal lips that enamoured him so. ‘Oh man, that’s so cool. My friend got her tat done with you. She said you guys were super accommodating of her dysphoria and stuff.’

‘That’s the aim,’ Roman beamed. He was immensely proud of the atmosphere he and his coworkers had created at the studio. Their mission was to create a safe space for those in the LGBT+ community who wanted to get inked and it seemed from all of the positive feedback they received that they had achieved that vision. ‘One of my clients wants a design full of flowers that symbolise gay love, so I came seeking a florist’s expertise.’

‘I dunno if Grandma is too hung up on the symbolism of the flowers, to be honest,’ Virgil said hesitantly, picking at his fingernails then folding his hands behind his back. ‘She’s more about the biology and aesthetics of it all.’

‘Well then lucky for me that Aphrodite blessed me with your glorious presence today.’ Roman settled to sit on the edge of the desk. It being quite low rise, his figure sunk slightly so that he was now directly eye-level with Virgil. The other man’s eyes did not leave Roman’s face. ‘You look like the poetic type.’

Green and brown eyes squinted suspiciously. ‘I bet my Grandma told you I studied creative writing.’

‘Even so,’ Roman shrugged and inched his foot along the wooden floor, letting the toes of his Vans bump against the heel of Virgil’s Doc Marten boot. Virgil did not move. ‘Am I correct in assuming you’ve done your fair bit of research into queer imagery?’

There was a pause wherein Virgil pouted and remained stubbornly silent. Then, after a few seconds: ‘You can’t go wrong with a green carnation.’

The tip of Roman’s tongue stuck out with a smile and he bit it lightly in amusement. Virgil’s cheeks went an endearing shade of dusty pink and he spun around, quite inelegantly bumping into the workbench that stood in the middle of the room. He grabbed a pair of faintly rusted shears with trembling fingers.

‘Uh, so we’ve got a few of those back here,’ Virgil blurted, rushing to the opposite corner of the shop floor.

Roman sauntered after him quietly. He peered over the other man’s shoulder as he pulled a large bushel from a bucket. The plant displayed a large, beautifully frilly bloom of lime green blossom.

A sharp, metallic snap from the shears resounded around the small room and the large bunch was lowered back to the water to leave a single flower held gently between Virgil’s slender fingers.

When Virgil turned back around, a quiet gasp escaped him as he bounced back, only just preventing himself from crashing right into Roman.

‘What, you couldn’t wait over there?’ If Virgil was trying to sound anything other than flustered and breathless, he had failed miserably.

Roman held his hand out wordlessly with a gentle smile.

The flower was pressed into his palm, and Roman made sure to capture it quickly enough to delicately brush his fingertips against Virgil’s.

In the dappled beam of sunlight that penetrated the packed floral displays in the window, the carnation was much the same shade as Virgil’s left eye. Roman hummed quietly as he inspected the flower, then looked up, delighted that Virgil was watching him.

‘Beautiful,’ Roman purred, unfaltering as he looked into Virgil’s eyes.

A loud snort of laughter cut the tension between them and Roman felt his brow furrow.

‘Okay, Romeo,’ Virgil huffed, shaking his head with a faint smirk. He avoided Roman’s eyes. ‘This is a fleuriste, not a fromagerie.’

Roman felt a thrill rush through him (which was only in part accredited to Virgil’s sudden fluent French accent). Apparently such simple flirting tactics would not suffice with this suitor. The promise of a slight challenge was electrifying to him. He did love to play this game.

He lifted the carnation and tucked it behind his ear like a pencil, smiling when Virgil giggled under his breath at what must have been a silly image. ‘What else may you suggest we add to our beau, gay bouquet?’

A few minutes passed by with Virgil selecting and snipping flowers, explaining the historical queer culture behind them as he went. Roman nodded along and dutifully made noises of interest, though did not dare to butt into Virgil’simpassioned monologue.

It was enchanting to hear Virgil ramble freely on a subject that so obviously enthralled him. He spoke in such a way that made even the most mundane facts feel visceral with descriptive language and Roman couldn’t bear to interrupt such eloquent poetic prose.

He only realised how little he himself had contributed to the conversation when Virgil trailed off with an apology.

A pile of evenly cut lavender, violets, gladioli, calla lilies and, of course, green carnations lay in front of Virgil on the workbench and his fingers fidgeted with some of the lilac petals gently.

‘Please, don’t apologise,’ Roman insisted. He stood opposite Virgil on the other side of the islanded workbench and leaned his elbows on the shabby surface, carefully staying clear of the gardening tools that were scattered around it. ‘You’re incredibly knowledgeable of this subject.’

‘Yeah, employing really subtle methods of representation kind of became my solace in university, you know?’ Virgil said faintly, his eyes fixed on where he weaved a long, detached flower stem between his fingers. ‘Being a paranoid, closeted creative writing student will do that to you.’

A cloud of dejection smothered the sunny atmosphere in the room.

‘Classic fairy tales were my own escape as a closeted teen,’ Roman offered, suspecting Virgil would not want such a heavy topic resting on his shoulders alone.

‘Oh, yeah?’ Virgil finally looked up with an eager intrigue dancing in his eyes.

Roman stretched his arm across the table so that Virgil could better see the tattoo that decorated his right arm upwards of his elbow. He rolled the short sleeve of his t-shirt up to his shoulder to reveal the whole of it. (If he flexed his arm slightly to better highlight his muscles, Virgil did not say anything about it.) He was immensely proud of the artwork on his arm, displaying a busy conglomeration of various fairy tale motifs all interwoven including a bitten red apple, a shattered glass slipper, and a frog wearing a crown. Though the focus of the design was a bird carrying a golden chain and a pair of red shoes, with a millstone around its neck.

‘Fuck yeah, The Juniper Tree,’ Virgil breathed.

‘You know it?’ Roman asked, surprised that Virgil had recognised the more nuanced imagery.

‘I love the Brothers Grimm.’ With a slight creak of the wood beneath him, Virgil sat sideways on the workbench and leaned to get a closer look at Roman’s arm. ‘I wouldn’t have taken you for a fan of more macabre stories.’

‘Well, I must admit in terms of imagery I appreciate the darker motifs,’ Roman indicated the depiction of a bloodied dagger hidden amongst a tangle of thorns on his bicep, ‘but when it comes to the stories I do prefer a good old-fashioned happy ending.’

Virgil sucked his teeth and leant his chin on his hand with a sigh, putting on an exaggerated air of disappointment. ‘Of course you do.’

‘Please, how could I not appreciate a handsome prince bursting into song and falling for a mysterious, beautiful stranger then doing everything in his power to woo them?’ Roman angled his body closer to Virgil. The edge of the workbench was pressed quite awkwardly into his thigh, but it was worth the slight numbness in his leg to watch Virgil’s eyelashes flutter and his chest rise and fall more quickly in response to how close they were. Roman purposefully allowed his eyes to linger over Virgil’s lips. ‘Doesn’t that remind you of someone?’

The lips pulled into a smirk and Roman’s gaze climbed up to see mirth sparkling in Virgil’s eyes.

‘What?’ Roman asked, only mildly offended.

It was proving to be something of a quest trying to ascertain which methods of flirting were working on Virgil. One minute the man was a blushing, stuttering mess, then the next he was openly laughing at Roman’s attempts to court him. Still, as the knights in his favourite stories never gave up in the face of extreme danger, he would not be deterred by Virgil’s stubbornness. It was obvious the man was interested in him but was perhaps a bit bratty. If anything that only made Roman all the more eager to win him over.

‘Nothing at all,’ Virgil shrugged. His tone was remarkably insincere. ‘So are you just thirsty for medieval knights or do you have some delusion of grandeur that I should steer clear of?’

It was cocky, and the man’s posture proclaimed it. He held his head high, baring his neck (and what a lovely, slender, pale, begging-to-be-decorated-with-splotches-of-purple neck it was). Though Roman saw through the bravado instantly.

He leaned in further, the edge of the bench completely cutting off the blood flow to his leg now, though he hardly cared. Virgil’s eyes darted between Roman’s gaze and the edges of the room hastily, as if the urge to look away and the urge to hold his ground were battling each other in his mind. His confident stance faltered slightly as Roman drew closer, their faces now mere inches apart.

Roman murmured lowly, ‘Why, Virgil? Are you struggling to find a reason to stay away from me?’

The once-pearly cheeks in front of him were now practically glowing pink.

The adrenaline that so often accompanied a successful courtship was running rampant in Roman’s veins and his heartbeat pounded in his ears. Matched with the fact that he was practically drunk off of the lidded quality to Virgil’s gorgeous eyes, Roman almost missed the melodic jingling of a bell.

It wasn’t until a loud, cheery voice called out that Roman realised they were not alone anymore.

‘Kiddo, you forgot your packed lunch!’

Virgil scrambled off of the workbench, and Roman followed his lead by standing back upright, albeit a lot more calmly.

‘Dad, I’m with a customer,’ Virgil grumbled, crossing his arms tightly across his chest.

Roman indulged in watching Virgil’s face go even pinker before turning to the entrance of the shop.

A stout man stepped out from the entranceway with a wide grin and a tupperware box cradled in his hands. His freckles were unmatched by either his mother or his son, though Roman could spy the slight similarities between their features. This was Patton Tempȇte. His face lit up with joy when his gaze fell on Roman.

‘And who’s this?’ Mr Tempȇte asked excitedly, his eyes sparkling at his son as he bounced on his toes.

‘Grandma’s friend, Roman Prince,’ Virgil mumbled. ‘The one who brings her tea and stuff.’

Mr Tempȇte made a delighted noise of surprise.

‘A pleasure to meet you, Mr Tempȇte.’ Roman smiled widely, offering his open hand. He winced slightly as he stepped forward and pins and needles exploded in his thigh. ‘I truly adore your mother, and your son is quickly beginning to grow on me too.’ He shot a quick wink to Virgil.

The look of utter betrayal on Virgil’s face made it difficult to contain a chuckle.

‘It’s wonderful to meet you too, Roman!’ Mr Tempȇte beamed, shuffling the tupperware into the crook of his elbow to shake Roman’s hand energetically. ‘And don’t bother calling me “Mr” or “Sir” or any of that silliness, Patton’s my name so feel free to wear it out! I would give you a big old hug, but I don’t wanna pass on Maman’s flu.’

‘How is she?’ Roman immediately asked, truly concerned for his friend.

‘She’s just fine,’ Patton nodded, seeming to approve of Roman’s concern. ‘She’s pretty much through it all now, I’m just forcing her to stay home for a couple more days as a precaution.’

‘I can’t imagine she’s too thrilled about being housebound,’ Roman sniggered knowingly.

Patton rolled his eyes dramatically with a smile. ‘Not at all. I tell you, she’s untameable, always raring to get out with her friends and go experiencing the world. Honestly, I always say she’s more of a 22-year-old than Virgil is! Isn’t that true, kiddo?’

A faint swell of dread built inside Roman’s stomach at the way Mr Tempȇte had phrased those words. He had probably meant no harm, but it didn’t sound like that kind of critical comparison would do much to heighten Virgil’s confidence.

Sure enough, when Roman’s gaze flickered over to him it was clear those words seemed to have struck the wrong chord. The younger man tugged his sleeves further over his fingers and shrugged, though the movement was so stiff and frantic that it was more resemblant of a reflexive jolt.

‘Whatever, Dad,’ Virgil muttered under his breath, scowling at his feet.

It was disheartening to witness Virgil’s fiery wit be snuffed out so swiftly. Roman felt out of place in the exchange and feigned interest in a sprig of leaves in the flower pile. He subtly massaged his thigh under the table to ease the remnants of tingling from his pins and needles.

‘Oh…’ The energy was drained from Patton’s voice, and Roman looked up to see hurt briefly flash in his eyes before he plastered on a bright smile once more. ‘Well, I’ll be out of you guys’ hair. I just wanted to bring you your food.’

‘I don’t need a packed lunch, I can pick something up on the way back.’

‘Either way, it’s here if you get peckish before closing time.’ Patton placed the tupperware beside the register and apparently couldn’t resist drumming the lid in a gentle rhythm. Virgil groaned and Patton giggled. ‘Listen, be thankful I’m your delivery man. I caught your grandma lacing up her running shoes wanting to bring this to you.’

Roman chuckled lightly to himself. That certainly sounded like Céleste.

For the first time since Patton had entered the shop, Virgil looked up from the floor and his eyes locked onto Roman. It was as if his laughter had reminded Virgil of his presence.

Virgil quickly shot his father a pointed look. ‘Okay thanks, dad. Bye.’ The words merged into each other in his haste.

To his credit, Patton didn’t seem to be upset by his son’s eagerness to get rid of him.

‘It was lovely meeting you, Roman!’ Patton waved with a wide smile, already making his way out of the shop. ‘See you later, ma petite chauve-souris!’

Virgil’s huff of annoyance was drowned out by the bell jingling again.

The awkward tension was thick.

‘So, can you make flower arrangements?’ Roman asked casually, choosing to entirely ignore the stunted exchange with Virgil’s father. It seemed like Virgil would not have wanted to acknowledge it, given his obvious embarrassment.

‘Um, not really,’ Virgil mumbled, still hugging himself tightly. He peered out from his fringe hesitantly and Roman did not miss how his body relaxed when their eyes met. ‘I mean - okay, yeah. Kind of,’ he corrected. ‘Grandma taught me a little bit when I was younger. Mainly I just do it for fun, though. I’ve never made one for a customer.’

It would have been responsible for Roman to simply take his flowers as they were, pay for them, and get back to work, leaving Virgil to do his job. He could even have left his number and hoped Virgil would have the confidence to text him later on. Though, looking at the slump of Virgil’s posture and the way his sleeves were clawed and pulled taut by his painted fingernails, Roman felt a desire, nay, a duty to ensure Virgil was smiling again before he left.

‘Fancy trying your hand at it?’ Roman suggested gently, not wanting to pressure the man who was clearly on edge.

Virgil’s gaze flitted between Roman’s face and the workbench. His fingertips danced on his sleeves as he considered the flowers and Roman realised he was itching to reach out and touch them. ‘I can try, I guess.’

Hesitant hands pulled away from purple sleeves and within seconds Virgil was rustling through the stems with intent. Roman leaned over the surface slightly, though with no sly objective in mind to fluster Virgil this time. He simply wished to watch him craft.

‘I’m not very good,’ Virgil said quite stunted, even as he started rearranging the flowers into colour-coordinated piles with a clear artistic goal in mind. ‘So, you know, don’t expect much.’

Roman knew the self-deprecating tactic well; how one hoped that by lowering everyone’s expectations, they could avoid harsh critique of their work. He had employed it plenty of times himself before he had grown more confident in his artistic abilities.

‘It doesn’t have to be perfect,’ Roman decided on saying. It would hopefully relieve the pressure Virgil had put on himself.

A small smile tugged at Virgil’s lips and he raised his eyes briefly from the flowers to send what seemed to be a look of thanks to Roman.

‘Besides, I trust that you have an artistic streak in you.’ Roman felt more comfortable in reigniting their previous flirtatiousness after having coaxed a smile out of Virgil. ‘I mean, with such a steady hand and aesthetic eye for that makeup, I’ll be lucky if the bouquet is half as beautiful.’

Virgil swiftly knelt down on the floor to reach under the bench - where Céleste kept the floral foam, Roman remembered - though Roman caught a glimpse of a wide smile and pink-dusted cheekbones before his face was hidden.

‘Basket or pot?’ Virgil called up from the floor.

Roman dropped to his knees and sent Virgil a bright smile underneath the table. ‘Whatever you want. I’m giving you full creative control.’

‘Risky move.’ Virgil raised his eyebrows with a cheeky smirk. ‘Our most expensive arrangements can rake up to one-hundred-and-fifty quid.’

‘All right, full creative control as long as it’s under forty pounds.’

Time went by fluidly from then on as they chatted over Virgil’s work. His flower placements were tentative at first, and his eyes kept darting up to check Roman’s face for a reaction, but Roman only ever smiled lightly and continued the conversation. (A couple of times his text tone rang out loudly, though their talking remained unfettered by the mild interruptions.)

Eventually, Virgil became more certain of his decisions and was tapping into skills Roman was wholly unprepared for. His slender hand pulled a leaf stripper swiftly down long stems with practised ease, he shuffled the flowers around between his fingers fluidly and his features smoothed as he lowered the blooms into their rightful places in the arrangement.

Roman had no idea how long he had been in the florist by the time Virgil finally deemed the display finished, but he could hardly bring himself to care. The bunch of flowers which were already such a beautiful collection before were now a piece of art, the lilac and emerald blossoms broken up by leafy ferns and surrounded by spindly branches of waxflower. The bouquet was truly stunning.

And as for the glow of pride on Virgil’s face? Absolutely breathtaking.

‘I think I’m happy with it,’ Virgil said nonchalantly, though the excitement hidden behind his tone rang loudly in Roman’s ears.

‘This is amazing, Virgil,’ he gushed, entirely sincere. ‘You’re a natural!’

Virgil bit his lip, stifling what Roman knew would have been a bright grin. He notably did not refuse the compliment.

‘Um, do you mind if I…’ Virgil brought his phone out from his pocket and opened the camera app, showing the screen to Roman with an eyebrow raised in question. ‘Kinda wanna show Grandma later,’ he admitted with a shy smile.

‘Of course,’ Roman held his hands out to the arrangement in invitation and stepped back so that he would not interrupt the photoshoot.

He watched from the sidelines as Virgil tiptoed around the workbench to find good angles, taking a few pictures of his work. Once the phone was placed back in his pocket, he turned back to Roman with a lopsided smile. ‘Thank you.’

Roman was fully and wholeheartedly smitten.

‘Don’t thank me before I’ve paid.’ Roman took his wallet out and waved it with a mock-frown of disapproval. For all of his years of acting classes, though, he could not wipe the smile off of his face. ‘That’s not a very sound business practice.’

Virgil shook his head lightly but moved back to the front desk carrying the arrangement with him. He rang up the numbers on the mechanical till quickly and Roman paid with a soft smile.

‘So,’ Roman said after Virgil had given him his hand-written receipt. He leaned toward Virgil slightly and delighted in the way Virgil mirrored him, bringing them even closer. ‘I don’t suppose a mysterious, beautiful stranger such as yourself would want to -’

Primadonna by MARINA suddenly blared from Roman’s pocket.

He sighed and closed his eyes, feeling a blush stain his cheeks. Though his smile still did not falter.

‘Very fitting ringtone,’ Virgil teased, his voice strained with concealed laughter.

Roman opened his eyes and sent a weak glare to Virgil even as his cheeks ached from smiling so much. He took his phone from his pocket to silence it, seeing that it was Remy’s contact flashing up on the screen - then his expression finally dropped as he saw the time.

‘Oh, fuck!’ His next client was due in five minutes.

‘You okay?’ Virgil asked shakily, clearly anxious by the sudden shift in mood.

‘Everything’s okay,’ Roman quickly assured, ‘but I really have to go, I’m running late.’ He shoved his phone, wallet and receipt into his pockets and pulled the flower arrangement to his chest protectively.

Virgil had stiffened. Evidently his defences were rising again due to the sudden change.

‘I really do have to go, I’m sorry. Seriously,’ Roman paused with a sigh as he gazed over Virgil’s beautiful face once more, ‘you have no idea how sorry.’

‘Yeah, of course,’ Virgil nodded in agreement, but his voice was as quiet as it had been when Roman first came in however long ago. His disappointment was painfully obvious.

‘I’ll be back later this week,’ Roman promised as he reluctantly made his way to the door. There was absolutely no reality where Roman would not come looking for this enigmatic emo again. ‘I look forward to seeing you soon, my chemical romance!’ The doorbell jingled overhead as he rushed out of the door and called behind him, ‘Give my best to Céleste!’

Roman darted through the streets with a sharp stab of regret piercing his chest, though he really could not have afforded to indulge his infatuation much longer. He was a professional artist, he had to be back in time for his client.

Being incredibly protective over his cherished flower arrangement, Roman made it back to the studio in record time. It was not the first instance in which his high stamina had saved him face.

Panting for breath, Roman peered into the front window of the parlour and winced at the look of rage on the receptionist’s face as he sent a choice hand gesture to Roman from the other side of the glass.

‘Get your arse in here, Prince!’ Remy’s muffled yell met his ears.

Accepting that he would have to make a Starbucks run later to make up for his tardiness, Roman shuffled over to the glass door. He cradled Virgil’s arrangement in one arm as he reached for the door handle, then paused.

In his reflection, he noticed the green carnation from earlier still sat behind his ear. It looked utterly ridiculous. He had apparently been running around town with a massive green flower protruding from the side of his head.

In any other circumstance, he would have felt embarrassed. But the memory of Virgil’s huffy giggles played in his head, and all Roman could feel was giddy.

He pushed into the parlour with a wide grin that quite probably made him look like even more of a fool.

He didn’t care.

oOo

Inspired by a prompt from @writersmonth

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