#i particularly like the magic of glazing but really anything that will give me pretty

[rowenabean]

Look how cool this kiln load! Literally every piece is my new favorite, even the two that are only glaze tests (good ones! I will do that again!)

[elriell]

Two Mates? Elriel & (El)ucien Theory.

These are just a few of my thoughts compiled together regarding having two mates, the signs and breadcrumbs Sarah has incorporated. If you know me you know am a Lucien fan so this is nothing hateful towards him and we will be looking at his place within it all as well, that being said this will have bond rejection/misalignment talk so if that is not your cup of tea I understand and you can skip this! As always I would love to hear everyones thoughts so long as we are all respectful ♡

Let's start by discussing the where the two ships align and parallel mates behaviour, and then we will discuss where their arc's veer from each other...

“TOUCH HER, SMELL HER, TASTE HER– THE INSTINCTS WERE A RUNNING RIVER.” (Lucien in ACOWAR about the mating bond.)

“Letting his scarred fingers touch her immaculate skin. Letting them brush the side of her throat, savoring the velvet-soft texture.”

“Azriel's fingers lingered at her nape, atop the first knob of her spine. Slowly, Elain pivoted into his touch. Until his palm lay flat against her neck.”

“They'd exchanged looks, the occasional brush of their fingers, but never this. Never blatant, unrestricted touching. ”

“He prayed she didn't peer down. Prayed she didn't understand the shift in his scent. ”

“Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet scent. He'd beg on his knees for a chance to taste it. ”

“He needed to know what the skin of her neck tasted like. What those perfect lips tasted like.”

“This one moment, and maybe a taste, and that would be it.  

“Yes" Elain breathed, like she read the decision. Just this taste in the dead of the longest night of the year, where only the Mother might witness them. ”

Now you can easily parallel this to any of SJM's mates, like Feysand or Nessian. But for the sake of brevity I will leave you with the original link to the wonderful @suelky post where it was pointed out w/ Feysand quotes as well. [source]

Also "The instincts were a running river.” sounds a little like “Azriel’s Siphons guttered, the stones turning as dark and foreboding as the deepest sea."

The Bonus POV has a lot of typical "Mates" behaviours manifesting between Elain and Azriel, and it would make sense this would be a extreme POV shift as we have never been inside either of their heads before so we were bound to have a major learning curve, especially with Az who is so reserved with his emotions.

“But Lucien’s attention went right to the hallway toward the back, his nostrils flaring as he scented Elain’s direction. And who she’d gone with. A low snarl slipped out of him—”

“So you will leave Elain alone. If you need to fuck  someone, go to a pleasure hall and pay for it, but stay away from her."  Azriel snarled softly.”

There are countless main trio parallels but most of you are aware of which one is my favourite...

“Knelt on those stars and mountains inked on his knees. He would bow for no one and nothing— But his mate. His equal.”

“Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet scent. He'd beg on his knees for a chance to taste it.”

"Every instinct in his body came roaring to the surface, so violent he had to choke them with a brutal grip or else he'd find himself on his knees, begging her for touch, for anything."

And on to where they go their separate ways from a textual perspective;

"Elain only shrank further into herself, no trace of that newfound boldness to be seen.”

“Rhys kissed the hollow of my collarbone, and my core went utterly molten. “My brave, bold, brilliant mate.”

“You can give everyone that I Will Slay My Enemies look—which is my favorite look, by the way. You can keep that sharpness I like so much, that boldness and fearlessness. I don’t want you to ever lose those things, to cage yourself.”

“And he had the nerve once his powers were back to shove me into a cage. The nerve to say I was no longer useful; I was to be cloistered for his peace of mind.”

“Remember that you are a wolf. And you cannot be caged.” He kissed my brow one more time, my blood thrumming and boiling in me, howling to draw blood.”

I think finding freedom and power from within is something that the books have emphasized through Feysand and Nessian's journey's. Which is so interesting considering Lucien and Elain are both feeling tied to each other, as if in a cage of sorts.

Elain herself has been stuffed in to a box of other peoples making throughout most of the series, it quite prevalent she might feel caged by their opinions of who she is.

"Maybe she was never given a chance to be that way." I whipped my head towards him. "You think I stifle her?" Rhys held up his hands. "Not you alone."

“Nesta had been right. It was like a prison, this place.” [Graysen's Manor]

“Shall I tend to my little garden forever?” When Nesta flinched, Elain said, “You can’t have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater.”

“She ignored me, and saw Elain as barely more than a doll to dress up, but Nesta was hers. Our mother made sure we knew it. Or she just cared so little what we thought or did that she didn’t bother to hide it from us.”

And as for Lucien I think his duty and honour to her is what is caging him;

“I can’t stand to be in the same room as her for more than two minutes. I can’t stand to be in this court and have your mate pay for the very clothes on my back.”

“Why are you here?” Cassian asked, unable to help the sharpness. “Where’s Elain?”

“I am not always in this city to see my mate.” The last two words dripped with discomfort.”

“Why?” Not a flicker of emotion. “He is Elain’s mate.”

I waited. “It would be an invasion of her privacy to track him.”

Godbless Azriel for respecting Elain's privacy.

I think we would see/understand a lot more if we got a chance inside their heads but the one time we did see Lucien's POV we got a good glimpse at how he feels about his situation with Elain and it wasn't particularly positive and reminded me of Rhy's parents.

"She’d seen him not as a High Lord’s seventh son, but as a male. Had loved him without question, without hesitation. She had chosen him. Elain had been … thrown at him.”

“...to remember that she picked it. Picked me. That it’s not like my parents, shoved together.”

Not using the word cage per say but the implication isn't much better.

“You know them better than I do. But I will say that Lucien is loyal—fiercely so.”

“So is Azriel.”

I don't think the debate is really whether Lucien is deserving of her, or even Azriel for that matter, it is a question of who is actually right for her and vice-versa, who has she been consistently written to thrive and smile alongside. And that is Azriel.

Why does Sarah constantly put Azriel in the picture, from day DOT. She was screaming "hey look Azriel is here, and they would work magically together"

“And I think Elain—Elain would like it, too. Though she’d probably cling to Azriel, just to have some peace and quiet.” I smiled at the thought—at how handsome they would be together.”

There are several instances/evens that occur throughout the series that set both Elucien and Elriel's relationships apart, and I think it is highly intentional on Sarah's part...

“I said quietly, “We will get her back.” But Lucien was watching me warily. Too warily.”

“From the shadows near the entrance to the tent, Azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, “I’m getting her back.” Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel’s hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows. Nesta said, “Then you will die.” Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “I’m getting her back.”

Or we can look at both Solstice's and the clear differences in how their relationships are growing, and also how well one and other know each other.

“Tell me when you knew,” he demanded, his knee pressing into mine. “That Rhysand was your mate. Tell me when you stopped loving Tamlin and started loving him instead.”

“He left the rest unspoken. Because her mate was here, sleeping a level up. Because her mate had been in the family room and Azriel had needed to stay by the door the whole time because he couldn't stand the sight of it, the scent of their mating bond, and needed to have the option  of leaving if it became too much.  Elain's large brown eyes flickered, well aware of all that.”

&

“I want to see her. Just once. Just—to know.” “To know what?” He hitched my damp cloak higher around us. “If she is worth fighting for.”

“Azriel stiffened. “I know. I helped rescue Elain, after all.” Az hadn’t so much as hesitated before going into the heart of Hybern’s war-camp.”

GIFTS REFLECTING THEIR RELATIONSHIP MILE MARKS

“Az ran a hand through his dark hair. “Are we …” Unusual for him to stumble with words. “Are we supposed to get the sisters presents?”

“I handed Elain the small box with her name on it. Her smile faded as she opened it. “Enchanted gloves,” she read from the card. “That won’t tear or become too sweaty while gardening.” She set aside the box without looking at it for longer than a moment. And I wondered if she preferred to have torn and sweaty hands, if the dirt and cuts were proof of her labor. Her joy.”

“Don’t forget that gardening often results in something pretty, but it involves getting one’s hands dirty along the way.” “And torn up by thorns,” I mused,”

“I didn’t dare mention that if she had been wearing the enchanted gloves Lucien had gotten her last Solstice, nothing would have pierced them at all.”

“He and Lucien did not exchange gifts, though the male had brought a gift for Feyre and one for his mate, who barely thanked him after opening the pearl earrings. Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing."

Not only is she visibly uninterested which is painful to watch, it also highlights how little he knows about her. SJM is creating a visible gap in their dynamic.

“The golden necklace seemed ordinary -- its chain unremarkable, the amulet tiny enough that it could be dismissed as an everyday charm. It was a small, flat rose fashioned of stained glass, designed so that when held to the light, the true depth of the colors would become visible. A thing of secret, lovely beauty. “It's beautiful," she whispered, lifting it from the box. ”

“My Nesta. Elain shall wed for love and beauty, but you, my cunning little queen … You shall wed for conquest.”

“I painted flowers for Elain on her drawer,” I said, sawing and sawing. “Little roses and begonias and irises. And for Nesta … ”

“She plucked another figurine from the mantel: a rose carved from a dark sort of wood. She held it in her palm, its solid weight surprising, and traced a finger over one of the petals. “He made this one for Elain. Since it was winter and she missed the flowers.”

“Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly. “It’s for the headaches everyone always gives you. Since you rub your temples so often.”

“I led her into the sitting room, where Cassian had a bottle of amber-colored liquor in each hand, Azriel was already rubbing his temples,”

“She hadn't bought her mate a present. But she'd gotten Azriel one last year -- a headache powder he kept on his nightstand at the House of Wind. Not to use, but just to look at. Which he'd done every night he’d slept there.”

“Azriel unwrapped the box, glancing at the card that merely said, You might find these useful at the House these days, and then opened the lid.  Two small, bean-shaped fabric blobs lay within. Elain murmured, "You put them in your ears, and they block any sound. With Nesta and Cassian living there with you...”

See yet again a very thoughtful and funny gift on her part. Now at it's core even just simply comparing their general reactions says a lot about the story Sarah is putting forward.

"Silence again. Then Azriel tipped his head back and laughed. I’d never heard such a sound, deep and joyous.”

“He chuckled, unable to suppress the impulse. "No wonder you didn't want me to open it in front of everyone."  

Elain’s mouth twitched into a smile. "Nesta wouldn't appreciate the joke.”

“Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly."

"Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing."

“She hadn't bought her mate a present. "

The writing is nothing if not clear about the discomfort both Lucien and Elain feel in regards to each other, though they lay under different reasons.

We are given multiple incidents in which we are told about how mating bonds are not perfect and we are given clear examples of it repeatedly, about woman enduring out of obligation, and do not forget this is heavily discussed literally in regards to Elain and her circumstances.

“She’d been revealed as his mate, and endured the miserable union mostly from gratitude for her unharmed wings.”

“You said your mother and father were wrong for each other; Tamlin said his own parents were wrong for each other.” I peeled off my dressing robe. “So it can’t be a perfect system of matching. "

“She glowed with good health. Except … Her brown eyes were wary. Usually, that look was reserved for Lucien. The male was definitely in the family room,”

“Elain had already departed with Feyre, claiming she had to be up with the dawn to tend to an elderly faerie’s garden. Cassian didn’t exactly know why he suspected this wasn’t true. There had been some tightness in Elain’s face as she’d said it. Normally when she made such excuses, Lucien was around,”

“Elain, the wretch, had taken the seat between Feyre and Varian, about as far from Lucien as she could get.”

VS

“That smile grew, bright enough that it lit up even Azriel’s shadows across the room. “I would like to build a garden,” she declared. “After all of this … I think the world needs more gardens.”

“Then his gaze shifted to Elain, and though it was utterly neutral, something charged went through it. Between them. Elain’s breath caught slightly, and she gave him a shallow nod of greeting before brushing past, leading Nesta into the room.”

What if ”—I jerked my chin toward the window, to my sister and the shadowsinger in the garden—“that is what she needs? Is there no free will? What if Lucien wishes the union but she doesn’t?”

“Can you truly fly?” He set down his fork, blinking. I might have even called him self-conscious. He said, “Yes. Cassian and I hail from a race of faeries called Illyrians. We’re born hearing the song of the wind.” “That’s very beautiful,” she said. “Is it not—frightening, though? To fly so high?”

“ I couldn’t tell if she was looking at his blue Siphon or at his scarred skin beneath as she breathed, “Beautiful.” Color bloomed high on Azriel’s golden-brown cheeks, but he inclined his head in thanks and led my sister toward the back doors into the garden, sunlight bathing them.”

“This is Truth-Teller,” he told her softly. “I won’t be using it today—so I want you to.”

“Never, Rhys said from where he finished buckling on his own weapons against the side of the wagon. I have never once seen Azriel let another person touch that knife.”

The romantic subtext is there and has been for quite some time, they prove it book after book when SJM continues to grow their bond and nurture it whilst breaking her connection with Lucien further apart, and for what reason?

“A mating bond can be rejected,” Rhys said mildly, eyes flickering in the mirror as he drank in every inch of bare skin I had on display. “There is choice. And sometimes, yes—the bond picks poorly. Sometimes, the bond is nothing more than some… preordained guesswork at who will provide the strongest offspring. At its basest level, it’s perhaps only that. Some natural function, not an indication of true, paired souls.”

“Why not make them mates?” I mused. “Why Lucien?” [...]

“I’m serious.” I turned toward him and crossed my arms. “What decides it? Who decides it?” Rhys straightened his lapels before plucking an invisible piece of lint from them. “Fate, the Mother, the Cauldron’s swirling eddies …”

“What if the Cauldron was wrong?”

“Just this taste in the dead of the longest night of the year, where only the Mother might witness them.”

“The Cauldron chose three sisters. Tell me how it's possible that my two brothers are with two of those sisters, yet the third was given to another.”

It is remarkably interesting to me that we are told about what Rhys suspects/believes is responsible for mating bonds, paralleled alongside Azriel questioning it all, I also think it is abundantly clear from his answer to Feyre he doesn't truly know for sure.

We also have several lines of dialogue talking about the sisters and fate, their reason for entering the IC's life. Not only that but we get a glimpse at Azriel's personality and how despite the world (Rhys and the mating bond in general) telling him to despair, he still found it in him to have hope the Cauldron could be wrong.

This is so significant, and she has carefully woven his character throughout the series to make this incredibly plausible.

“If I had not met a shadowsinger, I would not have known that it is the family you make, not the one you are born into, that matters. I would not have known what it is to truly hope, even when the world tells you to despair.”

“And then he said to my sisters, “We have not known each other for long. But I have to believe that you were brought here, into our family, for a reason, too. And maybe today we’ll find out why.”

“All three sisters blessed by fate and gifted with powers to match your own.”

“Even after the bond is rejected, they see her as belonging to them. Sometimes they return to challenge the male she chooses for herself. Sometimes it ends in death. It is savage, and it is ugly, and it mercifully does not happen often, but …”

“Oh, I can, and I will. If Lucien finds out you're pursuing her, he has every right to defend their bond as he sees fit. Including invoking the Blood Duel.”

As you can see even back in ACOWAR she was weaving the web for Elriel's journey and an upcoming Blood Duel/The threat of one.

“Many mated pairs will try to make it work, believing the Cauldron selected them for a reason. Only years later will they realize that perhaps the pairing was not ideal in spirit.”

I think it is pretty clear from all the quotes above that Lucien is no her ideal spirit and vice-versa to be frank when you put it side by side his budding relationship with Vassa or hers with Azriel they are clearly very different.

“On the continent, there are territories that believe the females literally belong to their mate. But not here. Elain would have our full protection if she rejects the bond.”

“Azriel's hand slid up her neck, burying in her thick hair. Tilting her face the way he wanted it. Elain's mouth parted slightly, her eyes scanning his before fluttering shut.  Offer and permission.  He nearly groaned with relief and need as he lowered his head toward hers. ”

Elain is choosing Azriel, choosing their bond over the one assigned to her time and time again... Back to mating bonds;

“The ancient healer jerked her chin toward Lucien. “See what he can do. If anyone can sense if something is amiss, it’s a mate.”

“The mating bond. It is a bridge between souls.”

"She pointed at Lucien as she saw herself out. “Try sitting down with her. Just talking—sensing. See what you pick up. But don’t push.”

“Can you hear mine?” He wasn’t sure if she truly meant to address him, but he said, “No, lady. I cannot.”

Her too-thin shoulders seemed to curve inward. “No one ever does. No one ever looked—not really.”

"Azriel’s hazel eyes churned as he studied my sister, her too-thin body. And without a word, he winnowed away. Mor watched the space where he’d been standing long after he was gone.”

“Should we—does she need …?” “She doesn’t need anything,” Azriel answered without so much as looking at Lucien.

Elain was staring at the spymaster now—unblinkingly. “We’re the ones who need …” Azriel trailed off. “A seer,” he said, more to himself than us. “The Cauldron made you a seer.”

“It made sense, I supposed, that Azriel alone had listened to her. The male who heard things others could not … Perhaps he, too, had suffered as Elain had before he understood what gift he possessed.”

“But Azriel nodded. “You knew,” he said to Elain. “About the young queen turning into a crone.” Elain blinked and blinked, eyes clearing again. As if the understanding, our understanding … it freed her from whatever murky realm she’d been in.”

Are you telling me that Madja saying a mate would know, would sense whatever is going on with her, and as it turns out Azriel was the one to sense and uncover it is solely what, a coincidence? Also to emphasize what she said about "A bridge between souls..." Where else have we heard that terminology? The Truth-Teller scene.

“I saw the painting in my mind: the lovely fawn, blooming spring vibrant behind her. Standing before Death, shadows and terrors lurking over his shoulder. Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two. The only bridge of connection … that knife.”

Not to mention this scene is simply iconic for a multitude of reasons, how poetic Feyre describes them, the clear soulmates/ying-yang subtext and him giving her something he has given no other but that's another story.

Azriel has also been displaying some very protective fiercely so mating vibes towards her,

“Azriel stilled. “What happened to Elain?” Cassian waved a hand. “A fight with Nesta. Don’t bring it up,” he warned when Azriel’s eyes darkened. ”

“Cassian surveyed the shadows gathered around Az. “You all right?” His brother nodded. “Fine.” But shadows still swarmed him.”

“Nesta saw the blow land, like a physical impact, in Elain’s face, her posture. No one spoke, though shadows gathered in the corners of the room, like snakes preparing to strike.”

“Azriel’s Siphons guttered, the stones turning as dark and foreboding as the deepest sea. “Where did Lucien go.”

I think there are some mixed opinions on Lucien and whether he deserves her (and vice-versa in this fandom) but I don't think that is what this comes down too, they are both handling it in the way they think best/following their instincts.

Lucien is hurting throughout this process as well, but I think ultimately it is honor and loyalty binding him to her not any genuine emotion for her as a human being fae. I think realising they are not meant for each other and supporting each other developing true bonds with other people will be their journey. And it would be a completely fresh and new view of a mating bond.

Smaller pieces of dialogue that need little explaining and a rather oddly specific choice of words in the latest book that is meant to set up the next one in the series:

“You’d know if she’d died,” Azriel said, pausing his work and looking up at Cassian. He tapped his brother’s chest with a scarred hand. “Right here—you’d know, Cass.”

“Elain and Feyre—that was the new status of things. The bond Elain had chosen.”

"I'd never do such a thing. you must be thinking of your other mate."

Honestly? At this rate I have no doubt Elriel are endgame and everything within canon text spells that out but I truly believe he will be her second mate/the will form a bond via some circumstance that shall arise due to these little hints.

I would love to hear your thoughts and/or additions because I by all means didn't do a massive deep dive and there are most likely tons more examples to add but I didn't want it to become overwhelming to read!

Hope everyone has a spectacular and magical evening <3

[omgrachwrites]

Playing The Hero - Chapter Four

Pairing: Harry Potter x Ravenclaw!Reader 

Summary: Soulmates have a way of seeing and feeling each other’s emotions by a gem that is set in the palm of their hand which glows with magic. The colour of the gem on the palm of your hand, erratically changes between different colours. Unbeknownst to you, every time the gem on your soulmates palm glows blue he feels very over protective and worried. That’s just what happens when your soulmate always plays the hero. Soulmate Au

Warnings: fluff!!!

Words: 2296

A/N: Sorry this is so late guys (but it works out pretty well posting it on the 1st of September), life is crazy right now! I hope you guys enjoy, please let me know what you think and let me know if you would like to be tagged! I love you all very much! xxx

masterlist

Yellow - Happy, Secure, Excited

Red - Scared, Nervous, Unsure, Angry

Grey - Stressed, Worried

Blue - Sad, Hurt, Frustrated

Orange - Overprotective

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

Chapter Four

When Harry woke up on that dreary miserable Saturday, he felt excited despite the horrible weather, and for a second he couldn’t understand why. Then, all of a sudden, his exhausted brain remembered and he almost jolted out of bed as a thrill zipped through his veins. Quidditch was starting today – well, try outs were being held – and Harry had been chosen as the Quidditch Captain. He just wished that Sirius and his parents could be here to see his success.

He glanced down at his watch and saw that it would be a couple of hours until breakfast but at this moment in time, he felt too excited to be able to get back to sleep. Harry stretched and climbed out of bed to pour himself a cold glass of water from the jug on the windowsill. He gazed out onto the dark wet grounds, it wasn’t ideal conditions for Quidditch but it wasn’t the worst. At least there wasn’t thunder and lightning.

A laugh almost forced its way out of Harry’s mouth as he watched Hagrid stumble through the rain with Fang, presumably so Fang could do his business. As he was creeping back to bed as quietly as he could for another couple of hours sleep, Ron sat up with a sleepy sigh.

“How do you look so happy this early in the morning?” he groaned with his eyes half closed and his red hair sticking up in different directions.

“Quidditch try outs are today mate,” Harry laughed as he got back into his bed.

Ron nodded as realisation dawned on his tired freckled face, “oh yeah,” he gave Harry a tired thumbs up, “can’t wait,” he hummed as he fell back onto his back and immediately began snoring.

Harry chuckled, shaking his head in exasperation before he succumbed to sweet sleep once more. When Harry woke up once more, the dormitory was a little bit brighter and it had stopped raining but it was still dull and grey outside. He ran a hand through his messy hair and stretched his arms above his head as he glanced over at Ron’s bed.

His best friend was sitting at the end of his bed, looking a little more awake, though his eyes were glazed over with the remains of sleep. Ron offered him a small smile as he pulled his shoes on and Harry noticed that Ron was looking a little peaky and his skin almost had a green tinge to it.

“Are you nervous, or sick mate?” he asked as he slid out of bed and began to get dressed for the day.

Ron clutched at his stomach, his eyes almost bugging out, “I’m lucky enough to be feeling both at the same time,” he mumbled sarcastically, “I don’t think that I can have anything for breakfast.”

Harry’s eyes widened just a little bit, he knew that this was serious if Ron wasn’t willing to try and eat something. Ron adored his food, “it’s only try outs, mate. I promise you that you’ll be fine and it’ll do you some good to eat something,” Harry remarked as he quickly finished getting dressed and the two friends made their way down to the warm and toasty common room.

Hermione already had her head buried in a book as she was sitting in their favourite squashy armchairs by the fireplace. Ron sighed, rolling his eyes as he rubbed at his temples and nudged Harry’s arm with his own.

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, she’s a bloody nutter,” he shook his head, muttering beneath his breath.

Harry smirked and he was about to approach Hermione when something caught his eye, effectively stopping him in his tracks. Over Ron’s shoulder he noticed that Lavender Brown was gazing wistfully at Ron, her eyes held a longing gaze and her lips were pouty as she stared at Ron. Harry frowned, he thought it was very odd, considering that Lavender had never shown any interest in Ron before.

It didn’t look as though Ron had noticed yet so Harry quickly began walking towards Hermione before Ron could realise what was happening. That was one awkward, embarrassing conversation that Harry really didn’t want to be a part of. Hermione looked up from her book and smiled.

“Good morning,” her eyes softened just a little as they flickered over to Ron.

Before Harry could answer, Ron spoke up, effectively ruining the moment, “nutter you are, doing homework on a Saturday,” he scoffed.

At once, Hermione’s face hardened as she threw him a nasty look, “shut up, Ron!”

Ron and Hermione were still snarling at each other as they walked into the Entrance Hall and Harry was starting to feel a bit annoyed, they’d been at each other’s throats more than usual this year. Harry was about to tell them to put a sock in it when Ron gasped dramatically as he looked towards the huge doors that led into the Great Hall.

“What is it now?” Harry sighed.

“What the bloody hell is Y/N doing with him?” Ron pointed and Harry followed Ron’s gaze, his chest deflating a little as he saw Y/N talking with Malfoy.

“Well, it might be news to you, Ron, but Y/N can be friends with whoever she wants,” Hermione hissed before hesitating, “even if it is Malfoy,” Ron grumbled in reply but he didn’t say anything in response.

The conversation between Y/N and Malfoy didn’t look particularly friendly, Y/N looked angry but worried at the same time as she bit her lip. Malfoy was smirking like a Cheshire Cat. A shooting pain in Harry’s palm caused him to look at his gem and he was surprised with what he saw; it was very unusual. It was a gradient of red and blue, causing a surge of over protectiveness to inflate in his chest.

As Harry approached the bickering couple, Y/N smiled at Harry and gave him a little wave, causing Malfoy to sneer and he whispered something to Y/N before stalking away, “hey guys! Excited for try-outs?”

“So excited!” Harry grinned, suddenly feeling nervous as he ran his fingers through his hair, biting his lip, “are you coming to watch? You’re more than welcome as long as you don’t give our game plan away,” he was mostly joking.

“I’d love to, thanks for inviting me, Harry,” Y/N smiled as she tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

“It will be good to have another girl, these boys can get so tiresome,” Hermione laughed, rolling her eyes, Harry didn’t know whether to be offended or not.

“I can only imagine,” Y/N giggled, winking at Harry.

“Since when were you friends with Malfoy?” Ron frowned as he crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow and Harry groaned internally.

“Merlin, what is the matter with you this morning?” Harry shook his head at his best mate before turning back to look at Y/N apologetically, “sorry,” he mumbled.

Y/N simply waved away his apology, “it’s no worries,” Y/N smiled as she looked over Harry’s shoulder at Ron, “trust me Ron, it’s a very long story,” she rolled her eyes.

After a light breakfast, Harry and Ron said goodbye to the girls as they headed into the changing rooms to get ready for the try-outs, the conditions had gotten a bit worse, it had started raining again. Harry was starting to feel a little nervous as he stood in front of the many hopefuls and his eyes wandered to the stands. Y/N shot him an encouraging little wave and he smiled, even though he knew she couldn’t see him. Sitting a couple of rows behind Y/N and Hermione, was Lavender who looked like she was on the edge of her seat as she stared at the pitch. Harry shook his head before looking at the possibilities for his Quidditch team.

Dean and Ginny were very good Quidditch players – Ginny had Fred and George’s talent in the air – but he was hesitant to get them both on the team. They had recently started dating and he didn’t want tension to darken his team – and their chances of winning the cup – if they ever broke up.

Harry shivered in the rain as he decided to issue a warning to the team, “now, I just want to say, just because you made the team last year doesn’t guarantee you a spot this year, is that clear?” he called out and he couldn’t help but quickly glance up at the stands again.

“Does that include you as well?” Cormac McLagan – the biggest dickhead in Gryffindor – asked with a smug smirk on his face. Harry narrowed his eyes but before he could reply, Ron jumped to his defence.

“Don’t be dense! He’s the Captain!”

“Yeah, well, we’re not going to have a very good shot at winning if our Captain is constantly distracted. Though, I can’t blame you, Potter, I’d be the same knowing that Granger and Y/L/N are in the stands,” McLagan smirked as he turned around to wave at the two girls who were sitting in the stands and Harry had a sudden urge to punch him in his throat.

“What is this ‘we’ business, you’re not on the team, McLagan,” Ginny scowled which effectively shut him up.

You shivered and stuck your hands in the pockets of your coat as you walked up the high street on your way to the Three Broomsticks. It was the first Hogsmeade trip and Hermione had invited you to go with the trio and you’d said that you’d meet her in the pub, you couldn’t get up early on your day off, especially when it was cold. There were weekends when you would stay in bed all day.

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

As you got to the pub, you pushed open the door and stepped inside, breathing out in relief as you felt how warm the pub was, thanks to the huge fire that was crackling away. The pub was exceptionally busy today, Hagrid was talking to a hag in one corner and there was someone who was drinking from a steaming goblet at the bar. This is why you loved coming to The Three Broomsticks because you got to see and meet so many different people.

You spotted Harry, Ron and Hermione sitting on a table that was tucked away in a cute little alcove and you could see Ron scowling at the table a couple of rows over from theirs. When Harry spotted you he greeted you with a wave and you smiled back as you walked over to their table.

“Hi guys, I’m sorry that I’m late but I just can’t get up early at the weekend,” you laughed as you sat next to Hermione, who grinned at you as she pulled you into a one armed hug. Before this year, you hadn’t really spoken to Hermione but she was really lovely.

“No worries,” Harry smiled, his cheeks and nose were red from the cold and he was still wrapped up in his woollen scarlet and gold scarf, “got you a drink,” he mumbled almost shyly as he a tankard of Butterbeer over to you, his fingers brushing against yours, making you blush.

“Thanks Harry,” you grinned as you quickly took the drink, wondering if Harry felt the same electricity as you did. As soon as you took a sip of the warm beverage, you closed your eyes and sighed happily, it felt like heaven as it slid down your throat and warmed your insides, “so what’s going on with you guys?”

Ron groaned around his Butterbeer and he shook his head, “do not get him started,” he jabbed his thumb at Harry and that piqued your interest.

“Why, what’s happened?” you laughed, ignoring Ron’s groans of protests and out of the corner of your eye, you saw Hermione get a book out of her bag and she sighed as she opened the front cover.

Harry rolled his eyes, “Slughorn has been pestering me about going to one of his dinner parties and I can’t think of anything worse. He’s throwing one tomorrow for Halloween.”

“Ah yes, the infamous Slug Club, my dad was a member,” you snickered, thinking it was hilarious and a bit weird that Slughorn threw a party for his students, “how did you get out of the other two he held?”

“Well, I had that detention with Snape, and the other time I was loaded up with homework,” he bit his lip and you could tell that there was something he wasn’t saying but you didn’t want to pry.

“Slughorn’s parties surely can’t be that bad,” you laughed as you sucked some Butterbeer foam from your finger and you didn’t miss the way that Harry watched, almost enraptured.

“Want to come with me then? And you can see for yourself,” Harry laughed and Ron grimaced before standing up.

“I’m going to the bar,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, no,” you laughed, you could think of better things to do with your night, “like, I’d go if I was invited but I can barely stand Slughorn in class, never mind in a social setting.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Harry smirked.

You flushed and took a sip of your Butterbeer as you searched for something to say, you didn’t know Harry all too well but there was something you really liked about him. But, you just couldn’t put your finger on it. However, you couldn’t let Harry distract you from your mission of finding your soulmate.

“But seriously, if you need someone to go with, I don’t mind going with you, just once,” you admitted.

Harry smirked as he quirked an eyebrow and bit his lip as he leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair, “yeah? Good to know.”

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

@annemagus @smiithys @elayneblack @amelie-black @pregnant-piggy @justadreamyhufflepuff @yoitsalexxxxx @potters-heart @voiddylanobrosey​ @wilddxchildd​ @padsfirewhisky​ @lozzybowe​

[slytherinspired]

This Is Farewell - A Remus Lupin Imagine

It’s me again. I’m on fire! Okay, so this one is kind of related to my first series Tell Me About. Although there are some details that are not coherent with the first direction I took with Tell Me About, it’s still inspired by it, if that makes sense? And it’s kind of a rewriting of Heal Together. . 

HOWEVER, if you do not want to read the thing, here’s a spoiler: Around OOTP, Sirius has a thirteen year’s old daughter with his first love, and he had no clue about her existence, until a couple of days ago, and he’s angry with Remus, because-Moony-knew-about-her-but-never-spilled-the-beans. 

Pairings : Remus Lupin x Reader/Sirius x Reader

Warnings: angst, swearing, implied mentions of smut, and fluff. 

Masterlist

Sirius is standing in the back room at Grimmauld Place, fists clenched together. He doesn’t understand a word Remus is saying. It doesn’t make any sense.

‘Why don’t you want me to see her?’

Remus shakes his head.

‘You’re so insufferable, Sirius! Don’t you understand? You’re going to put us all in danger!’

‘There’s something else,’ replies violently Sirius. ‘You’re hiding something.’

‘What would I be hiding?’

‘Oh, I don’t know, you’ve held the fact I had a daughter with Y/N for the last fourteen years from me, so, I mean, what else could you possibly hide from me?’

‘Stop it! I said I was sorry!’

Sirius shakes his head.

‘There’s something else, I know there is.’

Remus slides a nervous hand into his hair, and it clicks in Sirius’ mind. He chuckles nervously, and slaps his glass of wine on the table.

‘Tell me the truth, Remus. Did you fuck her?’

‘What?’

‘You fucked her, didn’t you? When?’

‘Sirius, this isn’t – you know – ‘

‘Did you fuck her when I was rotting in Azkaban, yes or no? It is a simple question!’ he shouts.

Defeated, Remus paces in the kitchen, sighing out loud. 

‘It is not a simple answer,’ he whispers back.

‘So, you did,’ laughs Sirius agitatedly. 

‘I did not f – ‘

‘Oh,’ he screams, ‘don’t you dare playing with words now, Remus; you made love, you had sex, you fucked her! Same difference!’

‘Sirius, I – ‘ 

Sirius is out of himself now. He can’t believe what he hears. Then it gets to him. 

‘How do I know her daughter’s mine, then? How do you know she’s not yours?’

Remus’ eyes widen. 

‘It happened months after your daughter was born, I didn’t even know she existed, there’s no way – ‘

‘So, you admit it.’

Remus can’t deny it anymore. 

‘Stop it,’ mutters Remus, shaking his head, stepping outside the kitchen. 

‘What was it?’ Sirius screams out back, following him. ‘Was it revenge? You thought I was the one that betrayed James, so you decided – ‘

‘It was nothing like that!’

‘Admit it, you were always soft for her.’

Remus is on the verge of tears now. 

‘She loved you, Sirius. It was always you.’

‘So, you accidentally slipped your dick into her, is that what happened?’

‘Stop it! It happened once, years ago, and it meant nothing.’

But did it?

‘I’m very sorry Mr Lupin, we’ve tried everything. No employers want to take the risk, you know. These are odd times.’

The little man in front of Remus looks like he’s losing his patience. 

‘I really need the work, Mr – ‘

‘This is my final word. I’m sorry son, but your condition, it makes you... Unreliable. If we find some new job openings what would be more suiting for you.’

‘Thank you,’ mutters he, leaving the small green office.

He doesn’t even know why he said that. Why would he be thanking him? Thank you for fucking up my life? How is he going to pay for the room he rents at the hostel now? Either he spends the remaining money he has for a shelter over his head for one last night, either to eat something tonight. 

He steps out of the office, fists clenched, his head buzzing with worry. He doesn’t have anything, his friends are gone, his parents are dead, and he can’t even provide for himself. But he’s not dangerous, he thinks, he’s just got this condition... Sure, he needs a couple more of sick days than the usual wizard, but when he works, he works hard, he’s on time, he’s resourceful. However, everybody is so careful nowadays, ever since that war, ever since… 

He shakes his head, tries to avoid thinking about this time of his life. He’s got so much on his mind already. He’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t see the person walking in a fast pace in front of him and he slams into her violently. He looks down, surprised, and embarrassed, at the woman he just jostled. She’s surrounded by papers scattered around her, and he bends to pick them up. 

‘I’m so sorry, I am so, so sorry,’ he says, panicked. 

‘It’s okay, I wasn’t looking where I was going – ‘ 

She looks up to him and his heart jumps in his chest. The expression on her face is as shocked as his. 

‘Remus?’ she asks with apprehension. 

He didn’t think he would ever see her again. Ever since that horrible night. She had left the country, going back to live with her family, and never had replied to one of his many letters enquiring about her. 

‘Y/N, what – ‘he’s too shocked to see her there, right in front of him. In London, nonetheless. 

He looks down at the papers he’s holding for her, and it seems like he recognizes a name on one of the sheets; a petition for an appeal. But she quickly takes the papers back and places them into her black satchel. They both get back up and stay there silently, not knowing what to say to each other.

‘So, how – ‘

‘I’m sorry, I – ‘ 

They both look at each other awkwardly. Y/N opens her mouth.

‘How are you?’

Remus frowns. Really? Is she asking him how is he doing after all this time? He chuckles nervously.

‘I’ve been writing to you,’ he says, trying to remain calm.

‘I know, Remus – ‘

‘Two years.’

‘I know. There was a lot to deal with, you can’t understand.’

Now he’s pissed. How can she say that? She shakes her head nervously.

‘I mean, I needed time,’ she adds, looking away, embarrassed. 

‘And you couldn’t reply at all telling me exactly that?’

‘Remus, I wanted to put it all behind me, and it meant leaving you behind too.’

He snorts. Of course, she had the means to do so, she had her family living miles away from London, and she had money. 

‘Glad to know you cared.’

‘I cared. I still do.’

She presses her delicate hand on his arm, and he quickly stiffen at her touch. She glances down and withdraw her hand. 

‘What are you doing here, Y/N? I mean in London. What are you doing in London?’

She shakes her head, and looks away. 

‘Just family business. My father, he needed some files from his old department. He couldn’t come himself, so I volunteered.’

She never was a good liar. But he’s accepting her story because he doesn’t want to argue. He’s way too tired. He nods. 

‘You had no intention to come and find me,’ he observes. 

She sighs. 

‘I wouldn’t have known where to look for you, Remus.’

She could have made some enquiries, he thinks. But she doesn’t care about him. Ever since that traitor was put into Azkaban, she abandoned her friends. She realizes how angry he is with her. 

‘How can I make it up to you?’

Remus snorts. 

‘It’s okay, Y/N. I really need to get going. It was nice to see you. I’m glad to know you’re doing fine.’

He starts to walk away, his fists even more clenched than minutes before. He would like to yell at her that she was cruel to leave him behind without giving him any news. They were friends. 

‘Remus!’ he hears her say, and she’s running after him. She presses her hand on his arm and he stops moving. 

He turns around to look at her. She hasn’t changed much. Perhaps she wears her hair a little bit shorter, perhaps she looks more tired than she used to. But at the same time, who doesn’t? She still has that confident energy. That pretty smile. That reassuring presence. 

‘Can I buy you a coffee? A drink perhaps?’

She observes him attentively. 

‘Dinner?’ 

She noticed he lost weight, he knows it. He never was really bulky, but now he’s kind of loose in his clothes. He wants to refuse, but he thinks about his hunger, about the money he doesn’t have. About his loneliness. She tries to smile reassuringly. She’s pitying him. She always has, and it pisses him off even more. He never was much more than that poor Remus with the horrible condition. He nods, and they both find themselves in a small Muggle pub not far from the Ministry. It’s getting dark outside, and he feels exhausted. 

They order pints, and soon enough he’s glazing at the hamburger sitting in front of him, and the delicious chips besides the plate, and Y/N didn’t order anything to eat, and he feels bad about it, but he’s starving, and he takes his first bite and closes his eyes. This is the most delightful thing he had to eat lately. He feels already so much better. He looks up and he sees Y/N’s concerned expression. He swallows, embarrassed.

‘What were you doing at the Ministry, Remus?’ 

He looks down at his pint, and drinks it down in one go. 

‘The usual,’ he replies, absentmindedly. ‘Begging for work, being told no. Same old.’

‘What, are they refusing you work?’

He nods. 

‘Well, doesn’t look too good hiring werewolves nowadays, especially after…’ He stops mid-sentence. 

He doesn’t want to go there, particularly not in front of her. She’s fiddling with her hair now, like she always used to do when she was nervous. 

‘But surely,’ she replies, ‘there must be something you can do?’

‘What would I do, Y/N? I can’t force anyone to hire me. And I can’t even get a Muggle job, how would I explain to my employer that I’m going to miss certain days in the month because I need to rest after a full moon? It wouldn’t make any sense.’

‘You could…’ she’s hesitating. Is she really going to suggest he uses his magic on Muggles? After this war? As she read into his mind, she’s holding back. ‘I could put out a word to my father, you know he knows people here, he could – ‘ Remus shakes his head. 

‘No, Y/N.’

She sighs, and gestures at the waitress in the back. They order two other pints, and when the fresh beverage finally sits in front of Remus, he feels relieved, the cold liquid warms his insides, and makes him feel light-headed. He stares at Y/N and her rosy cheeks. 

‘Where do you live now?’ she asks him. 

‘Here and there,’ he answers promptly. 

She frowns.

‘Do you have a place?’ 

‘Sometimes.’

‘Remus…’ she whispers, pressing her hand on his. 

If the touch of another human being didn't make him feel so good, he would back off. How long has it been since someone touched him? Since someone looked at him like he was actually a person, and not some kind of nuisance? 

‘It’s fine,’ he chuckles.

It’s not fine. It is far from being fine. But he looks already so much weak, he doesn’t want Y/N to think any less of him. 

‘Where are you staying?’ he asks, switching subjects. 

She sighs out loud, but smiles faintly.

‘At my sister’s. She’s away for the summer, she’s got an internship abroad, so I have the flat to myself.’

‘How is she?’ he enquires.

‘Good, she’s good. You know Matheus asked her the big question?’ she says with a wide smile.

‘Oh, really? I’m glad for them, they’re good together.’

Y/N nods. 

‘Never thought my little sister would get married before I, but you know…’

She stops talking, lost in her own thoughts. Her smile fades away, and she takes a big sip of her pint. 

‘Anyway,’ she sighs. ‘I never saw myself getting married.’

She smiles widely at him, and he looks down. 

They order pints again, and soon enough, Remus’ feeling tipsy, and in a better mood, and he would like this night to last so he has company, and a roof over his head, and he wouldn’t have to care about where he is going to stay from now on. Y/N’s face is completely flustered, and her voice is reassuring, and she’s telling him what she does for work back in her country now, and it seems so boring, but she talks about it in a way that makes it sound so much more interesting. He could hear her speak for hours, but it’s past midnight. 

‘I should go,’ she mumbles, looking for her coat on the stool next to her. 

Remus’ smile faints subtly. 

‘Walk with me?’ she asks. 

They both leave the pub silently, and they start to walk together for a while.

‘It’s so hot tonight,’ mumbles Y/N, taking off her coat. 

She slides her hand in her hair, and the comforting smell of her shampoo gets to Remus’ nostrils. She stops on the sidewalk and turns, locking eyes with him.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t write back, Remus,’ she says in a soft voice. 

She looks sad. 

‘That night, I -’ she’s hesitating. ‘ - I lost the person I loved most, and I thought that escaping my past would help, but I should have looked out for you.’

‘It’s okay, you did what you had to in order to cope,’ he replies. 

Is he ready to forgive her absence and the lack of interest of the past two years just because she paid him dinner? Just because he feels light-headed now? She’s holding back something else, he thinks. This isn’t just about Sirius. He hisses just thinking about his name. He was supposed to be his friend, he was supposed to protect James, Lily and Harry. He fucked up everything by betraying them. He never was appreciative of what he had with Y/N. He was thinking about Hogwarts now, when he and Y/N used to study together for their exams. When they used to go to Honeydukes to indulge in chocolate while the boys were back at the Quidditch supplies store. She was a good friend to him, so why did she cut him off like that?

‘No,’ she says, biting her lip nervously. ‘I just repressed everything.’ 

She looks up to the building in front of them. 

‘This is me,’ she says, smiling faintly. 

He looks up. Of course, he thinks, her sister’s staying in a rich-looking building. In a sudden, Y/N’s eyes widen.

‘I have an idea.’

She looks excited now. Remus frowns. 

‘Come with me!’ she shouts, grabbing his hand. 

He finds himself inside the flat on the fourth floor, and it looks almost empty. It is way too big for just one person, and it’s so clean. 

‘What do you think?’ Y/N asks, parading around the kitchen and the living room. ‘There’s the kitchen, and this is the dining room. Out back there’s a bedroom, and a small study, and you’ve got the bathroom on your right,’ she says, pointing at the door next to him. 

‘It’s brilliant,’ he mumbles. 

He realizes how they are worlds apart. 

‘Great!’ she says, tossing a key in his direction.

‘What is this?’ he asks, confused.

‘You can stay here while my sister is away,’ Y/N says with a wide smile on her face. ‘I mean, this flat is empty for the whole summer, you could stay here, it would give you some time to get back on your feet.’

‘Y/N, I couldn’t possibly – ‘

‘Remus, I insist. I’m getting back home tomorrow, you won’t be disturbed. And she will be thrilled to know there is someone to keep an eye on the place. Please.’

He feels overwhelmed. Sure, he’s relieved, but he never liked being pitied. He feels like a failure who needs charity to survive. 

‘Why would you do this for me, Y/N?’ he asks.

She raises her shoulders, stepping in front of him. 

‘You’re my friend. I care about you.’

‘If you cared, you would have found a way to let me know you were okay.’

She sighs. 

‘There are things I can’t talk about, Remus. And I truly hope someday I will be able to talk about them. But for now, you’ll have to accept that I am sorry about everything.’

‘You don’t trust me enough to tell me the truth…’ he replies, defeated. 

‘I trust you, Remus! I always have trusted you.’ 

‘Is that why you were appealing his case?’ he replies harshly. ‘I saw the papers, I saw the petition, Y/N, you still think he’s innocent.’

‘You don’t understand!’

‘Oh, I understand quite right! You can’t accept he’s betrayed our friends, you can’t accept he’s not the perfect man you always thought he was! He had flaws too, Y/N!’

‘I know he had flaws! I’m in a good position to know he had many of them!’ she replies, angrily. 

Perhaps he’s jealous, yes. The fact that Sirius Black is rotting in a cell back in Azkaban doesn’t change anything; he envies him still. How can she still be fighting for that man when she knows what he has done to them? 

‘They denied the appeal, are you happy?’ she shouts, she’s crying now. ‘They refuted the petition for a fair trial, and it was my last attempt. I’m on my own, now, unless someone else petitions. I’m on my own.’

Remus shakes his head. 

‘You never were on your own. But I can’t help you with that, you know I can’t.’

‘I know,’ she replies, wiping her tears away. ‘For Godric’s sake, I’m such a mess. I shouldn’t have fallen in love with him. Look where it got me.’

She laughs nervously in an attempt to release the tension. There’s an unbearable silence now. Y/N takes a deep breath and steps towards him.

‘I wish I had fallen in love with you first, Remus.’

He frowns. What the hell is she talking about? She grabs his hand and stare into his eyes.

‘You were the right pick from the beginning, and I did feel something for you... But, what I felt for Sirius, it was just, magnetic, I can’t explain it. I do love you, I always did. And it is why I left. I know you would have done the right thing if I had stayed, and I didn’t want to impose this on you.’

‘Impose what?’ cries Remus. He’s so confused. ‘What right thing?’

‘I can’t say.’

‘For Merlin’s sake, Y/N…’

‘I wish I had fallen in love with you when the time was right, I wish I had…’ 

She slides her fingers on his arm and rests her head on his chest. He can’t help but press a gentle kiss on the top of her head while she’s sobbing in his arms. The world seems to stop. He slides his fingers into the length of her hair, they’re both feeling empty, and lonely, and they’re both lost souls in the need of something more, something that would help them cope with the dread they are constantly feeling. The Dark Lord has been defeated, the world got back to normal, but not for them. This war will never be over for them. It left them with scars and shattered hearts. She looks up and presses her gentle lips on his, and he can taste the salt of her tears on her mouth, and his own tears are blending into their embrace, and she’s now gripping his shirt, pulling him closer to her, he’s here, he’s right here, he’s not going anywhere, but she’s leaving tomorrow, and this is goodbye. 

Y/N pulls up his shirt and she runs her fingers on the healed wounds that crosses his stomach, and presses kisses on them, softly, marking each one of them. 

‘Y/N,’ he whispers, taking her hands, trying to stop her. ‘What are you doing?’

She shakes her head. 

‘I don’t know,’ she replies, removing her shirt as well. 

She loves Sirius, she always will love him, no matter the horrible things he’s done in the past, no matter if he lives or not, she’ll love him until she doesn’t exist anymore, and Remus can’t be doing that with her if her heart is someone’s else, but he wants to, he craves the comfort, and he desires her, and she wants him too. 

‘Don’t say anything, please,’ she says as she steps towards him to unbuckle his pants, and he sighs, and he lets her do it, he doesn’t have the strength to refuse her and to push her away; nor he wants to do so. 

But how could someone like Y/N wants to be intimate with someone like him? Perhaps with her eyes closed, she will pretend he’s someone else, perhaps she’s already thinking about Sirius, and Remus is only the bridge between the two of them. 

‘Y/N, wait,’ he moans, as she presses her lips on his. ‘Look at me.’

She does so, and her eyes looks bright now, as the veil of sadness over them has lifted for a moment. 

‘I’m not Sirius,’ he says.

‘I know,’ she acknowledges. ‘I don’t want you to be. I want you, Remus. Just you. Just for one night.’

He chuckles. 

‘You said you were leaving tomorrow,’ he whispers.

She’s staring at him, and she’s on the verge of tears, but there’s a softness about her, a resilience. She’s at peace, so should he be. 

‘You’re not ever coming back, are you?’

‘This is farewell, Remus.’

To be continued? Or noooot. 

[tokimihyachi]

Garden (Valentine’s Day Special #1)

Pairing: William Vangeance X Reader

Warning/s: None

Note/s: Soft boi going soft for us? yes please. 🤚 Had my readers in wattpad vote for who they wanted me to make a v-day special for, and william was leading as he dominated the first slot 😂 anywayss, hope you enjoy this!! 😚💕

As the captain of the strongest brigade in Clover Kingdom, William didn't really have much time for hobbies, much less his self. But there were several occasions when he had at least a few hours to kill, and in that time he either conversed freely with the birds living in the tree's of the Golden Dawn's base, or studied about a variety of things.

Despite the amount workload that needed to be done, he needed to clear his schedule since tomorrow is a special day.

For tomorrow, is Valentine's.

The masked man didn't have anyone in particular to celebrate the occasion with. The reason why he deemed the holiday one worth mentioning and celebrating, was because his secret project has long been neglected and he reasoned with himself, that he would finally place his plan in motion; a mini garden.

Patri was the one who gave him the idea months ago, seeing how his friend always read a book or two about gardening and yet they never even had one in the first place.

Everything was settled. The place was picked, the structure of the garth was created, and all he needed was plants. Particularly, flowers. The kind that would give him the vibrancy and life he currently lacked.

Being the honest man that he is to those he trusted, the Golden Dawn's captain has mentioned his little project to his acting father; the Wizard King.

Luckily for him, Julius mentioned that there was a local flower shop that had just opened near the borders of Kikka's perimeter. It was far from the base, but it was near where he would be patrolling the very same day. His first impression when he walked inside was how welcoming the place felt. How the light of the open greenhouse hit every flower and plant so pleasantly that it made his smile grew wider. But even before he could make the next step inside the glass greenhouse, you popped out of nowhere and beamed him a smile. Initially, anyone's first reaction would be shock, prominently written across their face. He, however, was not and looked more like he was in a daze. "Well hello, Sir Magic Knight! What can I get for you today?" your words laced in kindness sounded pleasant in his ears. This man has been greeted with the same words countless of times so why does it seem like he's experiencing it for the first? "Flowers." the world magic tree user mentally face-palmed at his answer. Of course, he was looking for flowers! This was a flower shop for pete's sake! You, being the bubbly person that you are, chuckled at his reply and pulled him by the hand to a nearby bed of ones, different kinds of them scattered across the display pots, "There are many more to choose from, but given the date, I'm assuming you're giving it to someone. This plant box has the finest flowers we have for the occasion today so choose till your heart's content!" you said, leaving him dumbfounded. His heart was fluttering inside of his chest. He didn't take notice of the flowers, oh no. His mind no longer remembered why he was here in the first place as all the man could ever think of was how nice your hand felt against his. 'Is this you having a crush on someone?' Patri teased, causing him to shake his head at the thought. Deeply sighing to himself, he clasped both of his hands behind his back and went around the shop. The variety of plants in the place was remarkable. No other place in Clover had these very kinds of flora's and greenery, and he wanted to commend you, or whoever the gardener was for the clear dedication placed into the place. The only problem is that he was unsure how to approach you. He believed that anyone would find it absolutely ridiculous that the William Vangeance, a captain who has fought with strong, zealously dangerous enemies on the battlefield, someone who has laid his life on the table during missions, is now frantically sweating because he couldn't muster up the courage to talk to a florist. A beautiful one, at that. "Can't find anything?" William jumped in place, nearly knocking over the plants near him if it weren't for your effort to hold onto his wrist. You pulled him up, so he could get back to his balance, but the closer his face was to you, the more did it seem like he was losing his composure, "Oh, my. Are you alright, dear?" you questioned, making him even more flustered than he already is. He couldn't say a word as all he did was stare at your eyes and the way they seemed charmingly glossy against the flare of the sun's light. This greenhouse had its benefits for natural lighting, and it seemed like it was most advantageous on your end. If only you weren't so oblivious then you would've realized that his glazed eyes meant that he was fervently adoring your features up close, "Can't find anything pretty you want to bring home?"

  "You."

Your eyes widened at his statement, an unfamiliar heat spreading across your face, "U-uhm sir what was that?" you heard what he said, but just in case you were hearing things, you wanted him to repeat it.

"You-nique flowers are presently available here." he said as you agreed and began blabbering things about the other flowers.

  The masked man bit his lip as he continued to stare lovingly at you. If anyone else were looking, they would've thought of him as a teenage boy having a crush for the first time, and in all honesty, he looked absolutely adorable.

"I'm starting up a garden of my own and I'm not entirely sure what to do first or the necessities that I need. Would you… be willing to help me?" he asked you, gulping as he awaited an answer.

For a moment you could've sworn that the tone of his voice seemed like it was pleading, but the amiable smile he plastered on his face tricked you into being deceived by his friendliness, "I would be delighted! Oh, really I am honored. People usually say I talk to much so I'd love to, dear." you said, clinging onto his arm as his breath hitched.

"Hmm, where should I begin?"

Patri, at this point, was already preparing himself for he knew that come by night, William would replay this scene in his mind. How could the captain not when the warmth and life you radiated was too contagious?

"Anywhere, my dearest." he replied, holding onto your hand that was wrapped around his with a smile that gave off his true intentions.

Now, he finally had an actual reason to start a garden.

[babieateez]

ah yes, the end of a year. time is an illusion so i’m not feeling particularly sentimental, but i do think that it’s about time for me to post this piece c:

there’s something about autumn that makes everything feel like magic

maybe it’s the way the wind blows across your skin or the way the leaves slowly wither and change colors and fall to the ground

or maybe it’s the way sitting in a coffee shop feels, with the warmth of your drink resting on your palms as you take a sip and look out the big window in the cafe and give stories to every passerby with their noses huddled into scarves and big coats engulfing their bodies

you can’t quite place the smell of autumn, maybe it’s the scent of baked goods and the crisp air and laughter coming from the couples who take solace in going for walks hand in hand or maybe it’s the scent of falling for strangers, a romance only seen in storybooks making its way to the front of your mind when you see a handsome stranger pass by the window you sit at in the cafe

you don’t realize that you haven’t taken your eyes off of him until he walks into the cafe

the cool breeze breaks you out of your reverie and you hurriedly nuzzle closer to your drink to get your mind off of the cute guy with the wind-tousled hair

but it doesn’t help very much because as you do your best to focus on the work before you, you can’t help but sneak glances of the alluring stranger sat waiting for his drink

you almost jump in your seat when the barista interrupts the gentle music playing by calling out a name, yunho, and you see the pretty man react by standing and grabbing his drink, thanking the employee gently then going to sit back down

you’re so starstruck with the timbre of his voice and how his eyes sparkle and at this point you realize you’re never going to get your work done as long as yunho is here to distract you

so you reluctantly pack your laptop into your bag and sip down the last bit of your drink, throwing it into the recycling receptacle on your way out as the barista says a goodbye to you

and then you’re outside, free from the almost overwhelming presence of one of the most attractive people you’ve ever laid eyes on

but it’s like your heart was calling out to him, like you were under the influence of some unknown drug that was making your mind go crazy with thoughts of him and you did your thing, made a story about him and who he was, deciding that he was some businessman trapped in the rat race but who had a fun-loving soul and secretly hated his job but liked going out with his coworkers after the long day to unwind

without realizing it, you’ve fallen asleep at the desk in your bedroom, whispers of your heart lulling you to rest

the next morning you are awaken by the gentle autumn light filtering through your curtains, shining just enough to light the inside of your eyelids and you realize that you had fallen asleep without changing into pajamas or showering or anything really but you just rub the sleep out of your eyes and start your morning with a yawn and a nice stretch

once you’re all cozied up in a jacket you head out to work where it feels like the day drags by

so your mind wanders again, a habit you can’t seem to shake and you find yourself pondering once more on that man- yunho, you remind yourself- who had you so enchanted

you hardly notice but you’re writing haikus on some scrap paper littered on your workspace about fleeting enamorment and sweet glances exchanged between coy lovers

it’s like the workday was dragging on to impossible lengths but also flew by all too quickly and you find yourself walking the breezy path to the coffee shop you adore so much

when finally you get there and it’s like whatever deity that may be watching has decided to bless you because yunho was in the line as well, the last person waiting to order which means you’d have to stand behind him to queue up

and it’s like as soon as you step closer to him, he becomes a ray of sunshine, radiating warmth and good feelings and smiles directed towards anyone looking once you feel a blush forming on your face, you turn your head downwards to hide it a little until you’re ready to order

at which point you get your usual drink when the barista surprises you by saying that the man in front of you had payed for your drink to which you respond with a shaky voice saying “oh, okay,” and a sweet “thank you” as you debate in your head if you go over to the object of your affections to- 

to what? thank him? tell him you can pay for your own drink, but you’re grateful nonetheless? your internal thoughts don’t seem to be leading you anywhere

but it’s not like it matters since you’re brought back to reality by a voice saying “uh, hey” to you and you look up so fast that you swear you can feel the muscles in your neck screaming for help

but you ignore the muscles and instead opt to basically gape at the tall man standing in front of you who seems slightly bashful, with a hand rubbing at the back of his neck and a slight flush on his face that you dismiss as being from the cold chill of the outside air and before you can even get out a greeting, he starts to talk

saying that he was sorry if paying for your drink was weird or something but you looked all spaced out and he was slightly concerned that you would forget how to pay for your drink

with the small smile that just keeps growing on his face as he says more, you know he’s joking so you try to push down the laugh that’s bubbling up in your chest and instead say a thank you to him and that you feel bad for worrying him about your mental state

it’s like the brisk air surrounding you has decided to vacate the premises when he smiles even wider than before, warmth and positivity filling your soul and like a cat basking in the warmth of the sunlight, you wish you could bask in the warmth of his presence forever

until once more your train of thought is interrupted when he sticks his hand out introduces himself with an “i’m yunho, thank you for letting me buy your coffee” and in return, you put your hand in his and give it a gentle shake, saying your name and a “thank you for buying me a coffee”

once the drinks you were waiting on have been safely procured, you sit down at the table you frequent by the window, noticing that yunho follows suit and sits with you

but you’re too far gone staring out the window and giving people stories that you hardly have time to ponder the look he’s giving you, likely confusion from the way your eyes have glazed over in thought and fictional worlds only to be seen in your mind

yunho doesn’t seem to be the kind of person to sit in confusion for too long, instead he asks you gently what you’re doing and you respond to him, telling him that you like giving people lives that you’ve made up and he’s silent for a moment before commenting that it seems like fun

and if you made one for him which, of course you did, but you’re hesitant to tell him about so you answer his question with a question, asking him if he would have made one for you, and he is honest, as he seems to be by principle, saying that yes, he would have made one for you

spouting off something about being a monarch of some fairytale land and maybe you were hiding your magical powers behind some sort of cloak

you laugh, telling him that you’re just a desk worker, a cog in the machine, working a 9 to 5 and making enough money to pay rent and feed yourself and fuel your coffee addiction

his face flushes once more, saying that his story is more fun, and it is, you can’t deny that

what you don’t know is that in his head, you aren’t some fairytale monarch, in his head, you are a beautiful stranger he saw in a coffee shop, who maybe has fallen in love with the crunch of fallen leaves under your feet and warm coffee on cold days and hearty laughter

in his story, he thinks of the future, as fleeting as it may be, with you, with him, together, cherishing the leaves under your feet together and keeping each other warm on the cold days where one of your forgets your jacket

but he can’t tell you that he fancies himself enamored with a stranger, someone he’s just met, so he pretends that the magic he feels around you is mystical and fairytale

when it’s just the whispers of affection in his ear telling him that you’re the most ethereal person he thinks he’s laid eyes on and that he can’t let you go in case anyone tries to snatch you up

so while he’s still half caught in his thoughts of you, he finds himself telling you that you’re really nice to talk to and if you would maybe like to exchange phone numbers

you can’t help but almost choke on your drink, the liquid threatening to shoot out of your nose as you splutter for air and cough a few times into your arm before nodding your head and letting out a “yeah, sure”

luckily yunho doesn’t call out your mishap but he hands you his phone to put your number into and by the time you part ways and go back to your apartment, you start overthinking and wondering if he’s just never going to text you and ignore your existence for the rest of time

but your phone lets out a “ding” in the middle of your inner struggle with a text from an unknown number, reading “hey, it’s yunho!! i just got home, so i figured i’d text you! let me know when you get home safely!!”

you can feel your heart expand in your chest like you were a child with a crush and text him back with a “hey! i made it home, thanks for checking!”  and after that it was a gentle cascade of messages flowing to and from yunho

until you found your eyelids closing on their own accord, sleep claiming you for another night and when the next morning rolls around, it’s like the day has greeted you with open arms, embracing you, gracing you with a fast day at work

it seems like you’ve blinked and now you’re at the cafe and yunho is there too, and is he waiting??

his coffee is already in his hand, but his eyes are flitting around the shop, looking, until they find you, coming to rest on your figure standing in line

a smile lights up his face and you feel a rush of warmth in your heart at seeing him

so you order as quickly as you can without being rude, deciding to wait for your drink at the table yunho was at while making small conversation and it’s lovely, even when you get up for a second to get your drink it feels like the conversation didn’t pause

by the time the both of you have finished your drinks, yunho seems sort of fidgety, almost like he wants to say something but is unsure of himself, but you don’t want to make any assumptions or stick your nose where it isn’t wanted so you hold your tongue and decide that if he has something to say, you won’t pry or rush him about it

you’re glad you made that decision because the next time he speaks, it’s with a gentle tone, sugary sweet like the frappuccinos the cafe serves, asking you if next time, maybe, you’d want to talk over coffee as a, well, a date or maybe go on a walk together or something

you respond pretty immediately, with a grin breaking through your features, saying yes, of course, you’d love nothing more

and the first date is lovely, shy smiles and warm faces transforming into a second date, then a third, and now it’s been months, yunho is now your boyfriend and you’re really satisfied with everything that has come with him-

the linked pinkies and giggles into each other’s shoulders and the way his whole body seems to engulf you in a hug out of pure passion

the seasons are changing, you know it, the fall turning to winter and the chill becoming more prevalent in your bones, so the only reasonable solution is to pile on about ten more blankets to your bed

and also for your boyfriend to move in with you to keep you warm underneath all of the blankets and it’s such a good solution that when the air changes once more into springtime, you don’t know how you’re going to be able to sleep without wrapping your whole being around your boyfriend’s warm frame

one day you’re caught in your thoughts while on a date at the cafe you both frequented, yunho holding your hands from across the table, his thumb gently tracing the top of your hand

and you voice your thoughts, telling him that you thought that it was the magic of the brisk autumn air that made you fall in love with him, that you’d change with the seasons, that he’d been somehow enchanted with the fall beauty that graced everyone and that he’d also change with the seasons but somehow you’d managed to face the changing of the seasons together, and now you weren’t sure that you’d be able to do it alone

and he chuckles at your words, saying that even though the autumn was indeed magical, he thought you were the one that made it magical for him, creating a perfect love story that he could be a part of, and that you had both changed with the seasons, only you had done it together, changing with each other and that only made everything more special, and that he’s only looking forward to spending the rest of the seasons with you

you know then that this isn’t even close to some passing infatuation, that it wasn’t just some crummy, fake “love-at-first-sight” blunder, but it was somehow meant to be

that there was nothing more you could have wished for, and you thank the magic of autumn for giving you a love you would be able to cherish until your last breath

[mellowmoonn]

Writing Help - Genres

As a writer, you really need to know what age group you intend to write for. Depending on the age, you may need to censor yourself or glaze over some heavier topics. Think of ATLA and how they never actually stated Jet died but instead insinuated it. Or, in YA novels when characters get close and the narrator skips over the most NSFW parts of the sex scene. 

Disclaimer: Keep in mind I’m writing from my knowledge and what I remember reading at a certain age. Some research has been done for accuracy. I also don’t enjoy adult novels, particularly because they tend to be too much for me (...there tends to be lots of NSFW). With that said, forgive me if the examples aren’t amazing.

Who Do You Want to Write For?

Understanding who you want to write for makes the process much easier. If you want to write horror books for children because there aren’t enough of them, great. You can then proceed to write down your ideas and focus on the scare factor as well as how detailed you want your descriptions to be. Less is more, especially for younger kids. A single sentence in middle-grade horror can disturb even me. And trust me, most things don’t bother me.

Once you know what to write for, you can study your demographic more. By that, I simply mean what people your age are interested in. This isn’t saying you cannot write what you want to for who you want to write it for, but looking at the demographics will get your book(s) out there. For example, children might not enjoy or understand romance but gravitate more to adventure, comedy, slice of life, or superhero stuff. 

What Do These Genres Entail?

You need to know what you’re getting yourself into when you write, so I’m going to give you a shortlist of genres and the content that is appropriate for each. Assuming most aren’t writing for children younger than 5, I won’t include those genres.

Remember to do your own research.

Children (5-8)

Due to childhood development, this genre varies quite a bit. I’ll generalize for simplicity.

Children between the ages of five and eight typically begin to independently read. Development varies, but using simpler language and including pictures aids them in taking in the content and understanding it.

From younger to older children: picture books, comics, short chapter books. It depends on their development and interests as well. 

Even in picture books, these are usually longer than for younger children. They never exceed 100 pages and often have larger fonts.

Characters are usually animals or younger children (some with their parents).

Book examples: Pete the Cat, Poppleton, The Magic Tree House, Fantastic Mr. Fox

Middle Grade (8-12)

Pictures are still relevant sometimes, but it depends on the book. Most kids this age can visualize and don’t need much unless it’s something like fantasy or horror (Coraline has an edition with pictures as well as a disturbing graphic novel).

Slang begins to be included at this age and more mature language. Depending on the book, simple swears like “crap” or “damn” may be used. Insults begin to pop up as jokes and body humor are more appropriate at this age.

Sometimes romance makes its way into these books, but kids these ages still gravitate to things that aren’t so “gross.” 

Middle-Grade books begin to exceed that 100-page mark and chapter book series with a logical plot and/or order comes about. 

Characters are typically human, but supernatural creatures are popular in novels in this age group.

Book examples: Coraline, Ramona’s World, Because of Winn Dixie, Charlotte’s Web, Goosebumps

Young Adult (12-18)

You (typically) won’t catch pictures in a YA book, rather vivid descriptions. The only time pictures are in books is when maps are included. Pictures are an author’s choice.

YA is also a very large genre with varying developmental stages. Some books gravitate more to middle grade, others new adult.

The genres of books boom in YA because so much more can be done. You will catch books that are strictly romance, others crime, and even mystery. 

Swearing is no longer avoided in YA novels. Characters will openly say fuck a thousand times and no one looks twice. 

YA books tend to have deeper conversations than books for younger audiences. Killing off main characters isn’t looked down upon. These books also tend to speak about and represent sex, but never in grave detail. Characters will never get past removing clothing. The issue of sex in YA is also a controversial topic that is pretty interesting when looked into.

The themes of YA books are ones that teenagers typically experience. This could be gender, sexuality, self-worth, etc.

YA books are usually between 200 and 500 pages. It depends on whether it is a novella, stand-alone, or series.

Characters are in middle or high school, to which the readers can relate to. The home and parents are also relevant. Lots of talk about family life and such.

Book Examples: The Fault in Our Stars, The Book Thief, Divergent, The Hunger Games, The Catcher in the Rye

New Adult (18-25)

Once again, pictures are usually maps and such.

NA does everything a YA does in more detail. It’s the genre for people who like YA but want a bit more or don’t want to be held back as much. When your target audience doesn’t involve children, your creative freedom can run (nearly) wild.

Sex scenes are explicit. No one questions a sex scene in a NA, nor censors them in the way YA does. The narrator doesn’t have to glaze over this, rather describing the emotional and physical aspects of it as they would with anything else.

In comparison to YA, NA books tackle different themes. A NA book might not focus on growing up, rather the independence or struggle of having grown up. More adult things such as struggles for housing and finance might arise differently than it would to someone younger watching their parents struggle and going down along with them.

NA books tend to fall in the same page range as YA books. Again, very similar, but not the same. Think of YA as the bridge between YA and Adult. A little more, but not too much.

Characters are typically between the age range of the readers, but they don’t have to be. 

Book Examples: A Court of Thorns and Roses, Lily and the Octopus, Red White and Royal Blue, Code Name: Verity, The Good Girl

Adult (25+)

Keep in mind that I do not read adult books...

I’ve never heard of photos in adult novels. Correct me if I am wrong.

Nothing is really off-limits in adult books. Anything you could ever want to write about can fit in this genre. Period pieces, historical fiction, horror, and autobiographies are often found as adult books.

Pieces are much more complex than those meant for younger audiences such as a YA or NA. They also tackle more difficult topics such as racism and abuse in more mature ways. It’s much easier to cover something like that in a book for older audiences than younger ones because you don’t necessarily have to simplify things. Focusing on the experiences of the character as if it were of coming of age isn’t as important.

The detail in adult books also changes in comparison to books for younger audiences. Whereas violence maybe something quick and easy, an adult book will drag it with vivid details. In Cirque du Freak, a middle-grade novel, the tearing of a person’s arm was described in two sentences in a way that made the reader imagine what an arm tearing would be like. In an adult book, you best be sure you’ll be reading about anatomy and immense amounts of gore.

Adult books can be short or extremely long. It depends on the genre once you hit adult books, as attention span isn’t much of a big deal anymore.

The characters in an adult book can be any age. It’s the content at this point and not who’s reading. An adult book can follow a tween/teen, an adult, or an elderly person. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is how you handle what is happening to certain characters. For example, if your character is a minor, you shouldn’t be writing graphic sex scenes. 

Book Examples: The Help, The Girl on the Train, The Handmaid’s Tale, The Kite Runner, The Shining

Conclusions

I feel like I could write more in this post, but I won’t. It will be much too long if I say anymore. It’s really up to what you like and the way you want to execute it. As a newer reader, I find that I like YA novels but gravitate to the grittier or mature ones. I dislike sex scenes, so the intimacy in YA is just enough for me. 

For my writing, I want to write a NA that can achieve what I like and in the way I enjoy it. In my reading endeavors, these past eight months, the Feverwake duology (my ever mentioned series...) has hit what I enjoy. While it is categorized as YA, the second book leans more toward NA and I love that. The way the author writes is also similar to the way I do, which is cool.

In the end, do what you love. Keep your audience in mind and remember that you don’t have to fit yourself into one genre. James Patterson wrote books for children and adults. Have I read any of his works? No, but I have family and friends who do enjoy or have enjoyed his work. You wanna write a book for your younger sibling? Do it. You want to write a book you need or want? Do it. You want to write a book that will make adults feel like children again? Do it. 

You’re the writer and write for a reason. Keep writing a passion, not a chore.

[Gif from Ouran High School Host Club]

[mccnyoongi]

buttercup ⇢ pt one

⇢ pairing: yoongi x fem!reader

⇢ genre: smut + slight angst

⇢ au: college!au, fwb!au, stoner!yoongi, assholeish!yoongi, fuckboyish!yoongi fwb to lovers trope

⇢ word count: 6k+

⇢ warnings: smut, honestly mostly porn, unprotected sex, recreational use of drugs & alcohol, dirty talk, praise, degradation, ridiculously excessive use of pet names, fingering, dom!Yoongi, unprotected sex, slight dumbification (whoops), hair pulling, creampie??, oral (f receiving), pussy slaping, reader has a thing for Yoongi’s hands because who doesn’t, reader and yoongi are both sarcastic and oblivious, this part is basically pwp.

⇢ synopsis: Min Yoongi wears leather jackets, fucks you like he hates you, spends most of his days on the wrong side of a blunt, and calls you the sweetest names when no one else is around. And you definitely aren’t falling in love with him.

⇢ author’s note: so yes, buttercup is being cut up into two parts thanks to a lot of my life getting uprooted this week!!! ill spare you the details but everything is really chaotic rn so im sorry this isnt exactly what i promised :( thank u for all the insane amont of love ive gotten so far. this is a pretty um... filthy piece of writing skfjsd and it’s definitely not perfect and id love to get better with everything i put out on here but i hope u guys enoy ily xx

If there was a magic lantern hidden somewhere on the campus of this university, you’d find it and your first wish would be to make it so that no one found out about this whole illicit affair you’ve been having with Min Yoongi. The secrecy was fun, sexy like you guys had a whole Mr. and Mrs. Smith thing going on. Or something. Your second wish would be to make his dick vibrate. 

But then he just had to go and go down on you in a bathroom during a party at the Beta Tau Rho house, not even a month into the fall semester, knowing you wouldn’t be able to be quiet or subtle at all. And he was so smug about it too, the fucker.

You can still feel the embarrassment buzzing under the surface of your cheeks from when you walked out that bathroom door and a dozen frat boys and mutual friends of yours and Yoongi’s were out there, waiting for the two of you to emerge and giving you a round of applause when you did. Yoongi had just laughed and rolled his eyes before leading you to the kitchen to get the pair of you some drinks. He’s always been particularly good at brushing that shit off of his shoulder. You aren’t, but you’re pretty good at pretending.

Maybe you should have ended it all that night. Of course, you didn’t. You figured, hey,  you’re young and in school so fuck making good decisions. Of course, the fact that no other guy has ever been able to dick you down nearly as well as Min Yoongi can is probably a huge contributing factor. 

Sure he might be grumpy, and sarcastic, and he tries way too hard to look cool and nonchalant, but he’s also the first guy to ever make you squirt. And you’re pretty sure that the way he waxes poetic about your pussy would make even Shakespeare swoon. So maybe the pros outweigh the cons, but only just.

“I can’t believe you’ve been getting Yoongi dick for almost three full months and haven’t divulged every single detail and vein to me, you cold, uncaring bitch-” Jimin’s voice is far too loud for the student-run coffee shop the two of you regulared every Sunday; a tradition that Jimin always insisted upon. He loves his traditions almost as much as he loves destroying any personal boundaries between the two of you.

“Keep going Park, see if I ever buy your coffee again.”

“Don’t change the subject,” You can’t say you’re surprised that Jimin is reacting like this. Self-proclaimed ‘disaster bisexual,’ Jimin was one of the very first friends you made back when you were a shy, barely functioning freshman. 

He actually introduced you to all his frat brothers, and a large number of the people you now call your friends. Including Yoongi, whose dick seems to be a reoccurring topic between you and… most people you know. Even if they weren’t at that dumb party, Jungkook made sure that every living being that stepped onto campus was aware of the newly found out fuckbuddies.

“We don’t keep anything from each other, Y/N,” He’s whining over his coffee now, full lips perched in that pretty pout that he regularly uses to his advantage. “I even told you about that time I puked on Namjoon’s dick in our second year!”

“Mmm, and I wish you hadn’t told me, Minnie-” The visual still haunts you, but Jimin has never had any predilections when it came to oversharing, especially not with people who have the misfortune of being his best friends. “‘Sides, I didn’t figure it was important, the whole Yoongi thing-”

“His dick, you mean.”

“Because it’s not like we’re getting married,” You carefully ignore him, a useful habit you’ve picked up three years into being his friend. “Just sex, remember?”

“So fucking what? You told me how you sucked Jeon’s cock in a movie theatre less than twelve hours after it happened-” You take a large gulp of your own iced coffee to busy yourself when the shameful memory is brought up. Not shameful because of the promiscuity of the act, no you’re an adult, thank you very much, but rather because of the boy you performed them on. Jeon Jungkook is now more of an annoying younger brother to you than anything. Not to mention he’s got a giant mouth that couldn’t keep a secret even if it killed him.

“Jesus you could’ve picked any other example-” You groan out as Jimin smirked, receiving the exact reaction from you he wanted. You think you’d have learned by now. “I’m sorry, okay? You big baby.”

“Hey, you’re on thin ice,” He points an accusatory finger at you and you have to fight the urge to smack it out of your face. “Now you have to make it up to me.”

You sigh- Jimin can really be exhausting when you’re only half a medium coffee in. “And how do you expect me to do that, Park.”

“Dick details, fucking obviously,” He says it like you’re a moron for even asking. And maybe you are. “Well details in general, I guess. You know, the basics; length, girth, does he make you call him daddy, is he good- I mean he must be un-fucking-real if you’ve been bouncing on it for three goddamn months, you whore.”

“I’m not giving you measurements, Jimin, I’ve yet to take a tape measure to it- and stop assuming everyone has a daddy kink just ‘cause you do.”

“Okay, vanilla bitch. You’re lucky I already know he’s got a monster cock from that time he streaked at that post-mid-term party next year.”

“Then why’d you even ask?”

“To see if you’d tell me the truth. It was a test and you failed.”

“I may be a college student but you’re gonna have to threaten me with a little more than a failing grade to spook me,” You roll your eyes playfully- there’s no real threat in his words, there never is.

“You’re right, I’m sure you’d much rather be punished by Yoongi, huh?”

                    ..............................................................................

Watching Yoongi roll a joint, his long, slender and experienced fingers moving quickly and deftly, has always had this near hypnotizing-like effect on you. His apartment smells like weed, the scent never surprising and would almost be overwhelming if you weren’t so used to it by now. The sight alone is almost enough to make you wet. But you’re stronger than that- except for when you’re not. 

Sexy hands aside, but unfortunately not on you, you’re thankful for his cannabis-related expertise because a) you can’t roll one yourself to save your life and b) despite normally reserving your consumption habits for parties, you feel like you deserve a fat one after the week you’ve had. What with, you know, the stress of having every student on campus knowing about yours and Yoongi’s torrid affair, thanks to fucking Jeon Jungkook. Brat. Plus incessant goading from both Jimin and your roommate, Irene- equally angry as Jimin about your worst kept secret- has only made you sink further into your insecure and paranoid thoughts.

The weed would help, you’d told yourself when your phone pinged with that much anticipated what’re u up 2? late night text from the raven-haired devil himself. Yep, it was the weed, the comforting blanket of getting high. And had nothing to do with the boy that was offering them. Not even his fat cock or magnetic pull he seemed to have on you. 

“Alright, dove,” He says from his spot on his worn-out single-dorm couch- the names don’t tend to surprise you the way they used to. You kinda figured that the affection-starved Yoongi had just you know… gotten comfortable with the girl he had been fucking for the last couple of months. No big deal. Sure they made your heart swell and your panties dampen, but then it could be looked at as a positive. 

He looks up at you from his spot on the couch, where he’s uncomfortably hunched over the table as he works and notices how you’re looking rather spaced out- not entirely rare for you. He’s used to the hundred-mile stare you tend to adopt when deep in thought, though it’s considerably less common for a sober you.

“Dove?” Nothing. “Y/N?” It’s the use of your actual name from his lips that finally grabs your attention.  You finally turn your head to look at him, the glaze of deep thought finally leaving your eyes. An eyebrow quirks to let him know you’ve heard him, but his gaze remains piercing and unwavering on yours. “You need to stop worrying so much, dove.”

“That’s what the weed is for, Yoongs.”

“The weed? You’re just here so I can smoke you out then, huh? No ulterior motives, hm?” His tone is as dry and sarcastic as ever, qualities he had quickly become known for around campus. He shurgs “Fine. Just here to sesh. C’mere then.”

You scoot closer to his side of the couch, not even thinking twice before listening to him. His tongue is tantalizing as he licks the rolling paper, even if he doesn’t mean it to be. He’s almost always tantalizing to you.

“Don’t be grumpy. You invited me over,” Your words are softer than you meant, but your proximity to him makes you feel stilted. He was right, you really needed a smoke, more on edge than ever.

“Well, technically,” He starts, unlit, perfectly rolled joint now perched between his lips. He grabs at your legs before continued so that you were resting sideways on the black couch, legs strewn over legs, thighs touching thighs. “I invited the best pussy on campus over.” You crinkle your nose at his bluntness.

“Yoongi-” You scold indignantly and pinch at a well-toned bicep. “Don’t be an asshole, you asshole.” He grins despite the insult like he’d expected it. Or he’s revelling in it.

“You know I’m just fucking around, angel,” His arm tucks around your waist comfortably, pulling you even closer. “Tryna chill you out. I can tell when you’re all strung out. I know how you,” He pokes you in the middle of the forehead, still grinning, as you pout from being called strung out. “Tick.” 

He really does, doesn't he? The thought is mildly terrifying, and you think that Yoongi might be too smart or his own good sometimes. When he’s not smoking himself into another dimension, that is.

He leans back into his seat, uncurling from around you to finally light up. A few sparks later and the room is fogging up with overly pungent smoke- the cheap smell makes you think that he probably bought it off of Hobi, too lazy to go any further off-campus than his own block of apartments to one of the nice but relatively affordable dispensaries. You crinkle your nose at the scent, grateful he’s too distracted to notice since he’d probably just tease you for liking the fancy shit more. At least you trust Hobi, and he lives only two buildings down from Yoongi. Truly an age of convenience.

A few passes, tokes, whatevers later, and you’re feeling substantially... floaty. You’ve completely relaxed, choosing to lie down rather than put the effort into sitting up, though your legs are still thrown across your equally high counterpart’s. What’s left of the roach is left to burn in one of many strategically placed ashtrays around the apartment, this one being on the living room table.

Yoongi has barely moved in the past while, head resting lazily on the back of the couch, black hair messy and his neck- which is somehow handsome to you- stretched out, and hands resting against your bare knees. You’ve barely paid him any mind, the silence nothing but comforting and easy. 

Which is why you can’t help but jolt just a little in surprise when those hands, the hypnotizing ones you’re so obsessed with suddenly start creeping up your legs, halfway up your thighs, carefully kneading the supple flesh he finds there. He chuckles at your reaction, finally picking his up his head to watch you through heavy-lidded eyes. “Bet you’re extra sensitive right now, huh petal?” He doesn’t have to bet because he knows it’s true, knows how needy you get when you’ve smoked. And he loves it- it’s why he never makes you pay for any of the times he smokes you out.

“Fuck off,” You whine at his light-hearted teasing, but Yoongi just giggles- he fucking giggles- in response, hands still travelling the expanse of your thighs. 

“Be nice,” His words are still jovial, but there’s a gruffness behind them that sends a shiver down your spine, despite the relative stuffiness of his living room.

“I am nice, you’re just a dick,” You pout- childish, but you can’t quite come up with anything more clever at the moment. The jab may be weaker than your usual quips, but Yoongi seems to have decided it’s enough to warrant a punishment of sorts, as he sends a quick slap onto your thigh. It’s certainly not the harshest hit you’ve received from him, it’s more playful than anything, but it’s enough to make you whine, not even noticing when your own hands jump down to grab at him and your now sore flesh.

His eyes take on a new sort of darkness, beyond the dilated pupils from the high he’s in the middle of as he grabs at your wrists, any assault you had planned halting in its tracks. His large hands that you’ve drooled over- figuratively and literally- many a time are big enough that he only needs one of them to hold both of yours steady. He uses his grip on you to yank you back up to a sitting position, where your noses almost touch and you can feel his breath fan across your lips.

“I told you, I know how you tick,” He lets his tongue swipe out to wet his lips, the act distracts you and makes you mimic it with your own tongue and lips. The smirk he gives you is all at once wicked and panty dampening. “Which means I know you like it when I’m mean. I know you like when I treat you like this, like my little slut,” The word makes you draw in a breath as your face reddens in humiliation and tension. “And- and I know you’re probably soaking through your panties right now, all over my couch. Making a fucking mess.”

It infuriates you to no end how right he is as your breaths come out shaky and uneven as you feel your pussy flutter around nothing beneath your shorts and panties. 

“Aren’t you?” His tone doesn’t leave room for playfulness anymore, and you’re nodding dumbly before you can give it a second thought. “Good girl.”

He doesn’t give you any time to bask in the praise before he’s leaning in to capture your lips in a searing and sloppy kiss. He’s domineering even in the way he kisses you, teeth biting and tongue sweeping into your own mouth as he revels in the small sounds that escape you. His hands leave your wrists, freeing them so you can grip onto raven locks with a newly freed hand as his own wrap around your waist. 

Every sense is filled with him, and it is all at once comforting and exhilarating.

He tugs and roughly manhandles you so that you’re properly astride his denim-covered thighs, your lips never untangling in the process. When your lips finally do come apart, it’s with a lewd sound and a gasp from your mouth. He’s still smirking.

“Gonna fuck you so good petal,” Yoongi has always been so blunt and unforgiving, whether in bed or out and it had been one of the things that first attracted you to him, besides his obvious good looks. 

Before the two of you had even gotten together, when you were friends who didn’t fuck on the regular, you had even mustered up the courage to touch yourself to the thought of him speaking to you like this- your own fingers circling your clit and delving into yourself without abandon. You had only been able to imagine up a fraction of his sexual prowess. 

Like the time only a few weeks ago you admitted to him in a foggy haze, high than you think you’d ever been. how you’d brought yourself to climax with images and soundbites of him flitting through your head. He’d immediately made you put on a show for him- recreating those nights, but this time with him sitting feet away from you and ignoring your pleas for him to touch you.

Right now, however, the only things keeping you grounded in reality is the feeling of the muscles in his thighs flexing beneath you, though nowhere near where you truly ache to be touched, and one of his hands brutishly tangled in your hair, pulling harshly so he can have easy access to your neck. Plush lips start soft, kissing and licking at the skin there, before his teeth join in, biting and sucking like he loves the taste of you (because he does).

“Y-yoongi-” You’re trying to keep the whimpers at bay, like maybe if you stop yourself from seeming so turned on so fast it’ll get him to fuck you faster. “C’mon, just fuck me already.”

“So demanding for such a needy bitch,” He has you squirming on his lap and you don’t know why you thought you had any power over him left. “Have you forgotten your place? Can’t think of anything else but getting fucked, huh?”

You nod in agreement, but find out he must want a verbal response when you’re met with a sharp spank to your ass that has you squealing and bucking into his lap. “Yeah, yeah Yoongi ‘m sorry, just need it.”

“I know, baby, I know, you can’t even help it when you get all messy like this, I know,” You can’t decide whether his words are sweet or patronizing when he coos at you like that, but either way he’s got you another pair of panties.

“Need you to fix it, Yoongs,” All pride is out the window when he’s got you like this, and you love pleading with him to give you what you want almost as much as likes making you beg.

“I will,” He gives you one more harsh bite to the junction of your neck and your shoulder that you know will blossom into a bruise just in time for your 10 AM class tomorrow and you hiss at the mingling of pain and pleasure. “Now fucking get up,” He pats lightly at your thigh twice at the order.

You’re in no position to disobey, and you know from experience that not listening to him will end up with a sore ass and no release in sight. You stand up on shaky, doe-like legs and he grins at the sight of you. He stands up with you, his lean form and strong stance making him look taller than he really is. Then his long fingers are pulling at what little clothing you have, stripping you of both your tank top and your shorts and your bra isn’t far behind. Soon you’re clad only in your panties while he’s still fully clothed in black form-fitting jeans and a plain white t-shirt. Thankfully he leaves his cliche, but devastatingly sexy leather jacket at the door.

He doesn’t make any move to undress at all and you hope to god he will eventually- you love seeing his honey-coloured skin covered in a thin layer of sweat as he fucks you into oblivion. But for now, he stays fully clothed and he roughly pulls you by your upper arm until he can bend you over the arm of the couch, panty-covered ass high and perfectly on display for him.

“God, you’re fucking dripping,” He taunts, fingers running over your pussy through the thin cotton, making you whine into the rough cushion your face is resting on. “All this from almost nothing, huh? You’re such a fucking slut for me, shit.” He sounds genuinely amazed by you and when you uncomfortably crane your neck back to get a good look at him you let out a proper moan. He must have stripped his shirt off when you weren’t facing him, because his chest is bare for you to gaze at, or you would gaze at it if you weren’t distracted by the hand that isn’t on you, which is lazily working over his cock, rock hard and aching through his jeans.

He smirks when he notices what’s grabbed your attention, knowing you’re only moments away from quite literally drooling on his pillows. “Is this what you want? Hm?”

“Ye-yeah your cock, Yoongi, need your cock,” Your face burns red and blood burns hot as the crude words leave your mouth.

“And you’ll fucking get it, dove,” The cute name contrasts the second harsh spank he lands on your ass and you moan at the delicious sting. 

You think that he must be about to tear your panties off and sink into you, but that would be too predictable and Yoongi loves to keep you on your toes. Instead, he disappears from your line of sight, a dull thump coming from the hardwood as he drops to his knees, feline gaze now level with your cunt. 

“Yoongi-” You’re whining again, and you even have to hold yourself back from stomping your foot childishly because, god, you just need him to do something.

And then he finally does- he licks a thick stripe, right from your clit to your entrance, still over your panties, and you gasp in surprise. He does it again, twice, three, four times until your hips are bucking and you’re whining because you need more, you need him to actually touch you and not be a giant fucking tease for once in his life.

“Be fucking patient,” He hisses out, but at least he’s finally rolling your underwear down your legs to toss them somewhere across the room. “Or I swear to god, I’ll hold you down just like this so you can’t even squirm while I get myself off all over your messy cunt,” His hand is running up and down your bare pussy as he speaks, spreading the wetness around, to your clit and your thighs and your ass and then back again. “And then I’ll send you home without touching you or cleaning you up, so you’ll have to take the subway home covered in my come and fucking trembling. So be fucking good.” At the last word, he lands a mean slap against your gushing cunt and you let out an embarrassing squeak.

“Shit-fuck- Yoongi, please, just-” You stutter through your words, needing to get them out, though you don’t know why. “I’ll be good, okay? ‘M your good girl, I am, promise, I’ll be good.”

He doesn’t respond, at least not verbally. But you have to assume he’s happy with your desperate response when he finally delves into your pussy like a man starved, tongue licking into you, the muscle sending spasms up and down your legs. You have to muffle your moans by biting into a pillow, not needing another altercation with his neighbours, but you want nothing more than to yell his name as loud as you can until your voice goes hoarse when he shakes his head from side to side, tongue still buried inside of you and one of his hands now roughly circling your clit. 

It’s too much, but it’s not nearly enough. It’s when he switches positions between his hand and mouth that you think you might explode; his mouth latches onto your clit, tongue circling and playing with it and two fingers fucking into you, preparing you for the impressive girth of his own cock.

Your teeth let go of the strong grip it has so you can warn him of your impending orgasm. “Yoongi- gonna come-” You manage to choke out between barely quieted moans.

You know that he wouldn’t be able to respond if he was still suckling on your clit, but you still whine and wiggle your hips as he pulls away, earning you yet another spank to your rear, where you can only assume a nice handprint is forming. “Yeah? Want you to come all over my face, like a good messy whore- gotta come for me before I can fuck you like you need.” 

When his mouth finds your swollen clit again, you can’t help it as your orgasm barrels through you almost violently, every muscle tensing and fingers grasping at whatever they can find, neighbour’s delicate sensibilities forgotten as you moan out Yoongi’s name. He licks you through it, fingers no longer pistoning into you. When the last of the tremors have faded he finally pulls away, using his clean hand to wipe your mess off of his chin, though it hardly cleans him. 

“Good fucking girl,” The roughness with which he was grinding his still covered bulge into your now sopping wet center would be impossible to ignore even if your head weren’t a million miles away. But for now, everything is Yoongi, every single scent is filled with him and you think that that might be making your head even fuzzier than the drugs coursing through your system, but you’re too far gone to be sure. Or to even care.

Because all you can think about is his mouth-watering hands kneading at the slightly pinkened skin of your ass, his mouth-watering cock rutting against you and his mouth-watering, well, mouth pressing wet kisses and occasional bites up and down your spine. “Yoongi,” You meant to speak with at least a little more conviction, but his name comes out as little more than a mumble.

“Hm,” He hums against your skin and even those slight vibrations reverberate straight to your heart, which starts beating faster at the thought of what’s to come. “What, is my babygirl still needy?” 

The use of the word my in front of the affectionate name makes your heart jump, but you don’t even have time to scold yourself for thinking with your post-orgasmic pussy before he continues talking with that sinful mouth of him. “Such a greedy, desperate girl, won’t be happy ‘til you’re stuffed full of my fat cock,” His words have you whining and grinding back against him, where you don’t have to look to know you’re leaving a stain on his favourite jeans.  If you’re unlucky- or lucky depending on your mood- he’ll make you clean it up with your tongue as further delicious torture. 

But smoking makes Yoongi needy too, no matter how much he teases you for the effect it has on you, and he can’t wait much longer, not with his cock so hard he was a razor blades’ edge from losing his mind. He needs to be inside you as much as you need him.

Which is why you don’t doubt him for a second when he’s murmuring things about how he’s ‘gonna fuck you so good, gonna fuck you stupid,’ and you can only respond with even quieter whispers of ‘I knows’ and ‘pleases’ as he strips himself oh the rest of his clothes, hissing from oversensitivity as his cock makes contact with the air. It’s wonderfully overwhelming and he’s not even fucking you yet.

You can’t even explain how grateful you are when Yoongi turns you around because you love just seeing his cock. You’ve never been one to describe guys’ dicks as pretty before- except that TA you managed to fuck before Jimin sunk his claws into him, Kim Seokjin, because, well, you’re not blind. But Yoongi’s dick is gorgeous. It’s not the biggest thing you’ve ever seen, and it doesn’t have to be, not when it’s girthy enough to make you salivate with a curve that points to the heavens. Gorgeous.

He’s pulling you on top of him so he can sit back down and you’re back to straddling him, and you don’t complain because you know he’s tired both from the pot and crouching on his haunches for access to your center not two minutes ago. Plus he loves when you ride him, breasts bouncing in his face, wetness making a mess out of his lap and full access of your entire body for both his hands and lips.

“Need you to bounce on my fat cock before I fucking explode, baby,” And you’d have to be some sort of a madwoman to deny him.

“Need it too, Yoongs,” You don’t know why you feel the need to remind how desperate you are for him, surely he can feel it, your swollen pussy resting only centimetres above his throbbing length. “Can’t think of anything else.”

“I know,” He’s rubbing the angry red tip against your sopping folds, tinges of overstimulation making you jolt. Or you would jolt if his hands weren’t heavy on your waist, keeping you steady so you couldn’t a) get away from his cock or b) properly sink down onto it. “So pathetic and perfect for me like this, all cock drunk and fucked out and I haven’t even fucked you yet, huh?”

You nod frantically, and you can’t even find the energy to be embarrassed when a hand comes up to pet your hair with a condescending ‘awe’ as he pouts at you. You bat his hand away with a whine and furrowed eyebrows, but all that gets you is his hand tangled in your hair, yanking sharply in retaliation. “Careful, slut, or you won’t be coming for the next week-”

“Please, Yoongi-” You don’t let him finish, knowing from experience to always take his threats seriously. “I’m sorry, I’m fucking sorry, okay just please-”

You cut yourself off with a high pitched, tea kettle-like squeak as he uses his hands on you as leverage to have you sink down onto his cock in one fell swoop. “Shit, god, you’re always so fucking tight around me, fuck me.”

I am, is what you wish you were coherent enough to snark back with, but you’re sure no one would blame you if they could feel what you feel right now. And what you’re feeling right now is how well Yoongi feels inside of you, like no cock you’ve ever had. Every ridge and vein on his cock fills you up to the fucking brim, no room left for a pinky or a thought that has to do with anything other than Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi.

And then he starts with those devilish moments of his hip, fucking into you shallowly and slowly to start and it’s all Yoongi’s dick. 

“Fucking bounce on it, dove. Fuck yourself on my cock, show me how much you need it,” He speaks through gritted teeth, each word a struggle as he tries not to fuck into you without thought. And it’s with the satisfaction you get knowing he’s just as desperate for you as you are for him that you find the strength to do as he says.

With quivering thighs, you push up and off of his cock, the two of you sharing a harmonious groan at the feeling, foreheads pressed against each other, skin sweaty. And this all just in the calm before the storm. 

It’s not long before the both of you are moving frantically, mere seconds, really. It’s intense and all-encompassing, as you grind and roll your hips, cock deeper than you knew to be possible, and his bucking his own hips into you roughly, no doubt as deeply in some sort of euphoria as you are. His hands are everywhere and so are his lips. He sucks marks into your tits and gropes your ass, controlling your movements to the best of his abilities.

All of that, plus your clit grinding against his pelvic bone every other second and your head just might be in another universe. 

Yoongi’s words are swirling around in your head, though you’re not properly taking any of it in- his velvety voice goes on about how wet you are, how tight you are, how you’re a good girl and it’s all another instrument in your downfall. You’ve never been much for heights but being with Yoongi feels like something akin to what you assume bungee jumping is like, and you’re just about at that point where your cord runs out of length and your heart drops to the bottom of your stomach.

“Tell me you’re fucking close, baby, c’mon,” This is as close to pleading as you can ever get Yoongi but you’re still swimming in pride. He brings a hand off of your ass to cup your cheek, brushing away your now mussed hair and a single stray tear and you drink in the look in his eyes, dark red-rimmed and needing. “Gonna fill you up with my come, just like I know you like, my perfect little cumslut, fuck, just need you to come first, yeah? All over my fucking cock.”

And with a particularly hard grasp at your ass, bringing you to grind your clit against him again, you’re gone. It’s considerably less intense than the previous one, as many second orgasms are, but your head is still spinning and you think you might have drooled a little, but you don’t mind and you know Yoongi doesn’t. Your attempts to stifle your moans are unsuccessful as the name of the man attached to your favourite cock falls from your lips like a mantra.

And where your orgasm is, Yoongi is rarely far behind- he loves seeing you fall apart around him, because of him and you always clench so fucking hard around him in the peak of your pleasure how could he fucking not. He’s grunting, moaning, damn near growling as he spurts his own release as deep into you as he possibly can, coating every inch of your delectable pussy, vague mumbles of how he’s filling you up, just like you’re meant to be that you can just barely hear.

Shakey breaths hit each of your faces as you come down, now still and worn out. Your chests move up and down and you don’t know when you’ve buried your face into the crook of his neck, but the warmth and smell are more comforting than any hit you’ve ever taken off of one of his blunts.

“Shit, buttercup,” He chuckles, the vibrations rumbling through his chest and where you’ve tucked yourself He runs a hand through his sweaty black locks, the other hand locked around your waist. “I don’t know how we’re gonna move without making this couch fucking disgusting.” Mood killer.

“Don’t give a shit.”

“Yeah, but I do. Especially if Joon or Hobi someone finds it and makes a big fucking deal out of it, like no other guy in his twenties has some come stained furniture.”

You pull back from the spot you wish he’d just let you fall asleep in so he can see your pout. He can’t find the sight of you… adorable? Your hair matted, bruises, courtesy of yours truly littering your tits and chest, a thin sheen of sweat making your skin glow and bottom lip jutted out exactly enough to be overexaggerated and so fucking adorable. 

At that moment he’s glad that about three weeks ago the two of you had started to break the unspoken no sleeping over after sex rule because he just wants to clean you up and feel you curl yourself around him like you like to.

You don’t know what time it is, just that it’s late and that it doesn't matter, because this was certainly time well spent. You wonder how much sleep you’ve given up in lieu of Yoongi’s pretty dick. Of course, it does matter... because you have a 9 am class tomorrow morning that you can’t miss, but that’s for future you to worry about. For now, it’s time to try to get up without defiling this Ikea couch (you failed miserably and giggled about it while Yoongi groaned in mock pain), burn out just one more joint, steal some clothes for bed and some snacks from his fridge, and pass the fuck out on his bed, which you think is way better than yours, but that has nothing to do with the boy in it or his comforting warmth and smell.

                     ..............................................................................

Past you is a dumb bitch. Also maybe current you. Point being, you hate you, because you’re sore and stiff and ten minutes late to your dumb 9 am class and it’s all Yoongi’s fucking fault. You texted him this much, calling him a ‘little bitch boy’ for not even waking you up to make you a cup of coffee with his fancy instant coffee machine before you left. He hasn’t responded yet because holy fuck does that guy sleep like a rock. A really cute, cuddly, sex-god rock.

But, as usual, Jimin came in clutch, handing you off a coffee as your paths crossed on campus, each of you heading to your respective classes. He gave you a one-armed-too-tight hug and a comment on how you have that very glamourous ‘I got fucked by Min Fucking Yoongi last night and you didn’t so I’m better than you look.’ You tried to take it as a compliment as you thanked him for the coffee. He gave you a cute kiss to your forehead that reminded you you could never even be annoyed at him for too long.

And now you’re in class. Headache from not getting enough sleep getting worse by the second while you tried not to think about what judgements people must be passing on you, with your sunglasses inside and hickeys you didn’t have time to cover up.

When your phone pings you assume it’s Jimin, with something slutty or sarcastic or both. But it’s not. It’s Yoongi- well, it’s what you have Yoongi’s number saved under, aka the drooling emoji three times over… You’re surprised he’s awake, you’re pretty sure he doesn’t have shit to do until the afternoon. 

You have a fleeting thought that it could be a dick pic- yeah it’s a little early for that kind of dumb fuckboy behaviour, and you’d previously thought that too, but Kim Taehyung proved you wrong last year. 

Yoongi isn’t a dick pic kind of guy anyway. No, he’s the guy that sends pictures of his hand around your throat that one night you let him take artsy photos of you two fucking on his film camera. The kind of guy that sends you audios of him jerking off and moaning your name that you listen to through your earphones in between classes because he knew you wouldn’t be able to help yourself. He’s the guy that drives you crazy because you can never quite predict what he’s gonna do next.

[9:23 am] From 🤤🤤🤤: you could have woken me you know dummy

[9:24 am] From 🤤🤤🤤: subways are gross in the morning

[9:25 am] From 🤤🤤🤤: i could have u know, driven u…

[9:26 am] From 🤤🤤🤤: cant really say no to u buttercup.

You don’t know why you’re heart’s beating so fast so you reprimand yourself for thinking with your pussy. Min motherfucking Yoongi is gonna be the death of you.

[dopewastelandbarbarian]

How to Survive Being Reborn Into an RPG, Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

How to Deal With a Blue Slime

                 In a spacious backyard, many children were playing; Most in groups, others alone. All were under the watchful and caring eyes of the Priestess who ran the orphanage. Near a large stump, in a corner hidden away from the others, a pair of children were conversing. From a distance, it may have looked like they were playing with dolls.

               "I... Don't really get what you're saying, Mayumi." Said the young, half-orc, boy. He scratched his head, bald save for a thick but short Mohawk of wavy black hair, in consternation. "That sounds like a really weird dream." He had a simple face, but it was open and honest. His skin was a light green complexion.

               The girl beside him sighed heavily. "Grom. Are you even paying attention to what I'm saying?" She asked, leveling a glare at him. Her red hair was bright in the midday sun, long and flowing like a gentle flame. Her green eyes held far less excitement and emotion, and far more wisdom and experience, than there should be in a child's eyes.

               "This wasn't a dream you dolt. I'm telling you this happened. Like, in reality."

               Grom scratched his chin. "Run it by me again?"

               Another heavy sigh from Mayumi. She picked up the makeshift doll made of straw and twine once more. "Fine. Like I said; this isn't my original body. Back in the other world-"

               "Like, across the sea?"

               "No! Uhg... It's a different reality. I guess... I think. Anyways, it definitely wasn't on the same planet as this world. Also, stop interrupting. So, back in the other world I was a boy. In fact, I was a 26 year old man."

               "But you're a girl. We bathe together so I know!"

               "Stop interrupting." Mayumi grabbed the doll and moved it around a little. "Back in the other world, I was a 26 year old man. There was technology, and computers, and all kinds of awesome stuff. Personally, I liked my life. I pretty much lived at home, by myself. I worked from home, and had everything delivered. I never even had to go outside. Haaa... it was great... Hey!" She snapped her fingers in front of Grom's face, who had clearly started to check out if the glazed look in his eyes was any indication. "Pay attention, damn it! Geeze, you're dense!"

               "Hahaha! Yeah, I am, aren't I?" He chuckled.

               Another glare. "I wasn't praising you, dummy... Anyways... Even though it was pretty awesome in it's own way, I was still kinda depressed, you know? I was lonely. I didn't have any friends to rely on."

               "You got me though! I'm your best friend, right Mayumi?"

               For the first time, she smiled. It was subtle and small, but it was genuine. "Yeah, dum dum, you are." She poked his forehead. "Stop. Interrupting." She picked up the doll again and made it walk. "So, one day, I decided to go for a walk for once; To clear my mind. While I wandered, I eventually found myself at the top of a really tall building." Here she put the doll atop the stump. "I guess they were doing construction or something because the guard rail that's normally around the edge of most buildings that tall wasn't all there. I went to the edge, mostly out of curiosity. I hadn't looked off the edge of a building or cliff since I was a kid." She moved the doll on top of the stump, near the edge. "Well... I guess I had been way more depressed than I realized... because while I was up there I kept thinking about how easy it would be to just... let go and jump."

               She looked up and saw Grom making a face at her. "Hey, hey, don't gimme that look... I'm not gonna do anything stupid like that, okay?"

               "...Promise?"

               Sigh. "Yes. I swear. And even then, when I was thinking those things, it just made me angry at myself. I swore that I was gonna start over and make a better life for myself." Mayumi puffed her chest out a bit, proudly. Then she looked sheepish. "But... I guess a really strong wind kicked up... It, ah... blew me right over the edge."

               "And then?"

               She made the doll fall slowly to the ground. "And then... I died, I guess... I remember falling, and the ground coming up at me really fast... and then... the next thing I knew, I was a baby in this world."

               There was a long silence as Grom took it all in. Then he looked up at her.

               "I, uh... still don't really understand it all though... I mean... Couldn't that all have been a dream or something?"

               Mayumi shrugged. "I guess it's possible... but I have such vivid memories, and... if it were a dream, how would I know all the things I know about this world? I mean... This reality is basically an Role Playing Game."

               "I don't... know what that is?

               "Yeah... I know... but... look!" She held her fist out in front of her, then spread out her fingers. Instantly, a flat, transparent window appeared in front of her. "This! This is a status window! How do you explain this?!"

               Grom looked at her like she was crazy. "Everyone can do that, though. It's just natural. Sister Lana says the gods gave us the ability to see within ourselves. It's called the 'Reflection'."

               "Yeah, I know what it's called, but seriously. It's JUST like a status window in an RPG. It shows you your health, stamina, magic reserves, equipment, items... Everything! Hell, in this world, people can literally gain experience points and increase their attributes and abilities! We can select items we're carrying or equipment we're wearing and equip or un-equip them instantly! How does that make sense to you?!"

               "I'm telling you, that's just normal!" Grom huffed.

               "And I'm telling you it's not!" Mayumi glared.

            The two friends sat there, glaring defiantly at each other for a moment. Mayumi narrowed her eyes and seemed about to say something when she noticed Grom's eyes widening and wandering to just over her shoulder. She started to turn to see what was behind her, but her friend tackled her to the ground just before a thin, gelatinous blue tendril shot past her face.

             The two children scrambled to their feet and backed away quickly from their surprise assailant, Grom dragging Mayumi to safety. When they moved away a good distance, Grom positioned himself between Mayumi and their attacker. From behind, she poked her head around for a better view.

             What greeted her was a blue, opalescent, translucent blob vaguely oval in shape. It was roughly half their size and, now that they had backed away, wasn't making any overt movements towards them.

"What's a Blue Slime doing this far past the Wall?"

Grom looked over his shoulder. "Mayu, get back! I'll protect you!"

            She gave him a flat look. "Look, I appreciate you getting me out of the way and all. Seriously, that was cool. But the Blue Slime is an ambush predator. Now that we're aware of it, it's not particularly dangerous." She stepped out from behind him and furrowed her brows as she scrutinized the slime.

            Grom grabbed her arm. "Then... we should go get Sister Lana, right? She can take care of it... Or she can get a guard from the Wall."

               She shook her head, not taking her eyes off the slime. "We're about as far away from the Wall as we can get. It would take forever. And Sister Lana's a Priestess; she uses healing magic, so she wouldn't have any affect on it."

               Grom snatched up a nearby rock with a grunt. "Then... I'll just smash the thing!"

               "Wait, Grom! Don't do tha-!"

               With a grunt, the boy hurled the rock at the slime. It hit it's mark dead on, and seemed to splatter the thing. "Ha! That wasn't so hard! I bet I could be a guard at the Wall!"

               His celebration was short lived, however, as the slime began to reform quickly. As soon as it did, it began moving towards him.

               "All slimes are basically immune to physical attacks, doofus! I tried to tell you that was gonna be useless..."

               "Bu... but why is it coming towards us now?" he stammered, backing up while still trying to keep Mayumi behind him.

               "Cause you're sweating."

               The comment made him take his eyes off the slime to give her an look of incredulousness. "Cause what?!"

               "Slimes all hunt using different methods. Blue Slimes hunt by sensing bodily fluids coming from their prey. That's how they hone in. Now... how do we take this thing down..."

               Grom looked back at the slime, and twisted up his face in thought. Then he smiled and started snorting like he was trying to clear something out of the back of his throat.

               "Ew. Grom. Cut that out, I'm trying to thin-"

               Suddenly Grom spat out a thick mouthful of mucus off to the side. He was quite proud of the distance.

               "Gross! What's with y-..."

               Mayumi grew silent as she watched the slime change directions towards where Grom's unhygienic projectile had landed.

               "Hey... that was really smart! It's attracted to your... well... yeah... Anyways! That gives me a great idea! Grom, keep it distracted, okay?"

               He nodded enthusiastically, happy to get praised by Mayumi, and began leading it around by spitting on the ground.

               Meanwhile, Mayumi opened her status window again. "Ever since I began learning how this world worked, I've been pouring every last experience point I could scrounge up into my Magic Stat..." She mumbled to herself. "Granted, it's barely been anything; being an orphan and a child doesn't really present a lot of opportunities for monster hunting. But even rats and spiders give XP. So! Let's see if I can pull this off!"

               Grom looked at her with concern. "Sister Lana said your not supposed to use that, Mayu! It's dangerous!"

               "Just keep spitting! I'll be careful!" She opened up her list of Spells. Of course, she only knew one at the moment, and it was barely a spell at all. More like a trick to light candles and fireplaces. "But... If I pour a whole bunch of Mana into it... I might be able to get a nice effect." She looked up to see Grom struggling to work up any spit. "Okay. Enough talking. Lets bag some XP!"

               She selected her "spell" and aimed it at the slime. "Gentle flame, guiding light. SPARK!"

               With just the tiniest amount of mana, Spark could light a candle or other such item. But Mayumi poured every last bit of her miniscule mana reserve into it, creating a much bigger flame that swept across the body of the slime. The slime burst again, but this time quickly dried up and withered into nothingness.

SLIME DEFEATED! GROM AND MAYUMI GAIN 10 EXPERIENCE POINTS!

               Both children saw the words pop up on their status windows and smiled.

MAYUMI HAS GAINED A LEVEL! LEVEL 2 APPRENTICE REACHED!

               "Hmm... So I guess it's true that a kid doesn't get to choose their class levels, huh?" Mayumi frowned. Then she suddenly slumped to the ground as a wave of exhaustion came over her. Grom ran to her and helped her up.

               "Are you okay...?"

               "Ah... yeah... I forgot about Mana Drain. But I had to use it all up or I couldn't be sure to take it out. I'll be fine after I rest. Thanks Grom."

               "Of course! I'll always be there to help you out!"

               This made her smile again as she put an arm around his shoulder to stabilize herself. "Apprentice... I've heard that when kids grow up, they can retrain weaker class levels into stronger ones. If that's the case, I'm already on my way to becoming a mage. Just like I wanted, heh."

               "Hey, Mayumi? How'd you know your Spark would kill it?"

               "Oh. Well Blue Slimes need a lot of moisture to survive. Fire dehydrates slimes like no one's business."

               "You sure know a lot about monsters, Mayu."

               "Well, I've been reading up on all kinds of creatures ever since we got those books donated to the orphanage. Plus, I do have all of my knowledge about games from my previous life. It helps."

               At about that time, the Priestess he children knew as Sister Lana came around the corner. "There you two are!" she exclaimed in a mildly reproaching tone. She daintily lifted her dress enough to walk quickly. "I've been looking all over for you two! Come inside, quickly. We just got word that a couple of small monsters may have slipped past the Wall and made their way into the village. It isn't safe for children right now." The kind young woman tilted her head. "Why on earth are you two grinning at each other like that? And Mayumi! You look exhausted! You've been playing around with your magic again, haven't you! Oh, you two are just..." She sighed the heavy sigh of one who deals with troublesome children on a daily basis.

               She bent down and lifted Mayumi into her arms. "We'll talk about that later. For now, come in. Grom, get in the bath with Mayumi and watch over her will you? That's a good boy. Mayumi, after you get clean you're to have supper and then it's straight to bed for you."

               "But I-!"

               "No buts! I recognize Mana Drain when I see it, missy! Bath, supper, bed." She said the last word in a tone that brooked no argument, while lovingly brushing a stray hair from the girl's face.

               Sister Lana carried the girl into the orphanage with Grom close on her heels. The two children looked at each other ruefully.

               'If I had to be reborn into a strange new world...' thought Mayumi, 'I could have done a lot worse.'

[monsterywriting]

Zombie Boyfriend (Adam) - pt 2

Part 1 here

Word count: 2,400

Letting yourself in after a few minutes of knocking, you looked around in amazement at the pristine entryway. This was the first time you’d been in Adam’s house, as he didn’t want to risk you getting hurt trying to leave your cabin without glasses.

You hung your jacket by the door and walked around the first floor, walking around the staircase at the entrance into the living room and then the kitchen.

Just as you were about to walk back to the door where you started, however, Adam’s familiar voice stopped you, though he sounded scared, which in turn scared you.

“What the hell, Adam,” you tried to laugh, but it came out too forced, “Come on, I finally got my eyesight back, and I’ve been dying to see what you look like.”

“I don’t want to see you! Er- I mean,” Adam fumbled on his words, “There’s something I need to tell you about me, but I don’t really know how you’ll take it. And I’ve been trying to get what to say together before telling you but now you’re here and I’m kind of blanking on everything-”

“If it’s your scars, don’t worry I’ve already seen them.” you calmly interjected into Adam’s increasingly panicked rambling to try and calm him down, “I mean, I’m nearsighted not blind, Adam, I could obviously see them. I figured you’d tell me about them when you were ready,”

At this point you knew he was sitting on the stairs, but you didn’t want to just walk up on him against his wishes.

After a moment of surprised silence, Adam sighed, “It does involve my scars but it isn’t exactly easy to explain…”

Finally having enough, you walked around the corner and stopped at the foot of the stairs with your hands on your hips, effectively scaring the daylights out of Adam who was sitting on the third step, though he stayed still as you took in his appearance.

Now that you could get a closer look at him without his heavy winter gear and your glasses, you could see that his scars looked like deep cuts that never healed properly, getting more condensed the closer they got to his torso.

They were particularly concentrated on his face, his nose pretty badly misshapen by one particularly deep scar that curled from his temple across his nose and ended on the opposite side of his face near his jawline in a sort-of ‘S’ shape. Some, however, looked strangely surgical, like one that ran along his hairline across his forehead.

But even as you tried to focus on the task at hand, it was hard when Adam was wearing a thin white t-shirt after apparently just getting out the shower. You were so busy trying not to visibly fawn over his obvious abs or the way he nervously ran his fingers through his hair that was starting to grow wavy as it air dried.

Though you still couldn’t see Adam’s eyes with his sunglasses, you could tell he was getting more uncomfortable the longer you stared. It reminded you of the Adam you first met, reluctant to get too comfortable and always keeping you at an arm’s length, both literally and figuratively.

Kneeling down in front of him, you carefully reached out to take off the sunglasses before Adam caught your hand to stop you.

“There’s something I wanted to say, before you see-,” Adam cleared his throat and moved on, “I really love hanging out with you, and I know you realized I had the scars already but that isn’t everything. I’ve been trying to work up the courage to say this before you left, but I couldn’t so-”

You interrupted Adam’s rambling with a laugh, deciding to get in a more comfortable position sitting next to Adam before your legs fell asleep, “Adam, however you got your scars doesn’t matter to me. Even if I didn’t break my dumb glasses, nothing would’ve changed.”

“It’s really not that simple, trust me,” Adam sighed, turning to face you, “I’m not entirely human. Or, I was human once, but then I died and then my dad tried to bring me back. It worked after a couple months. Except I died in a car crash so my body was still all scarred even after it worked, so it wasn’t exactly a success.”

“Brought you back meaning like… magic?” You asked, not entirely sure what you thought about Adam’s story, “Or was it like a… Frankenstein type deal?”

Adam opened his mouth before you quickly cut him off, rambling as you struggled to process Adam’s confession, “I mean Frankenstein’s monster since, you know, Frankenstein was-”

“I wasn’t going to correct you, but yeah the second one,” Adam laughed dryly, “Except all my body parts are from one person. Well, except my eyes. My father never got into the details of what he did exactly, though.”

“Wait, so your name, was that like on purpose or…?” You almost gasped out loud once you realized the connection.

“No,” Adam’s eyes widened as he waved his hands in front of him in denial, “that’s just a coincidence… a weird one, now that I think about it. But I was named after my grandfather on my mom’s side.”

Taking a deep breath, you stood up and knelt back down in between Adam’s legs, reaching up and carefully removing his sunglasses, putting them down next to you before turning to get a good look at his face.

His eyes had a cloudy white haze over them, so glazed over you could hardly tell what color they once were underneath, much less Adam be able even see through them, though he clearly could from how they moved as he studied your own expression.

While it was surprising, you simply smiled at Adam before gently placing both hands on each side of his face to pull him down into a deep kiss.

After a few tense moments, Adam relaxed into the kiss before pulling you up closer and deepening the kiss, his arms wrapping around you tightly as if you’d suddenly disappear or change your mind about believing and accepting him.

On the contrary, you straddled his hips as your hands rested on his shoulder, smiling into the kiss as you felt his muscles flex underneath you.

“Not to rush you, but these stairs are pretty uncomfortable,” Adam murmured, prompting you both to stand up, though he did so with a lot more stretching and groaning.

Once you were both up, Adam wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his head on your shoulder. Before you could lean back into him, however,  Adam offered to make tea, not even giving you a chance to respond before he was gone in the kitchen.

Sighing, you decided to just wait on his couch and calm yourself down, though you couldn’t hide your grin from ear to ear as you thought about the kiss.

When Adam came back and sat next to you with two steaming mugs in hand, you decided to ask Adam more about his past, now realizing he never talked about it with you before.

He was taken aback by your sudden question, but happily went into detail, talking at length about his childhood and what happened after he was brought back. He even soldiered through all your weird questions about him.

“So do you still eat regular food? Or did you like puke immediately after eating what I made all those times?” You set down your empty mug on the coffee table.

“Yes, I still eat food,” Adam laughed after trying and failing to sound exasperated, “And before you ask, no I don’t crave human flesh or anything weird like that.”

“Are you immortal?” Was your next question.

“Well, it’s a bit slower than normal, but I definitely age,” Adam mused and added, as though sensing what you really wanted to ask,“but I haven’t gotten sick or anything since then and there hasn’t been any problems with any of my limbs falling off yet.”

Instead of asking more questions, you began to admire Adam’s features once again. Now that you could study him more closely, it was easy to see the undead aspects of his appearance.

You were unsure what the implications of that were, if the fact that Adam was a zombie would even matter to you once the initial shock of it all wore off. You weren’t even sure what you really thought about it, even if you didn’t know every single potentially grisly details of the process.

All you knew for certain was that you liked Adam, fundamentally as a friend and possibly romantically.

“What are you thinking about?” You jumped slightly as you realized Adam was staring at you staring at him.

“Just thinking about how good-looking you are,” you recovered with a grin, though Adam just chuckled and took one final sip from his mug before setting it down next to yours with a quiet ‘please.’

“What?” You scoffed, feigning indignation as you sat up and turned to face Adam fully.

“Just thinking about what a great kisser you are,” Adam shot back, his wiggling eyebrows making the two of you burst out laughing.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, and you finally leaned into Adam, him automatically wrapping his arm around you and pulling you close.

“I really like you, you know?” You had been practically dozing off, but Adam’s quiet words had snapped you back to reality.

“I really like you, too,” you turned your head to face him, the two of you slowly leaning in as your lips met.

You couldn’t remember a time when just kissing got you so heated, though you felt you may have been somewhat biased on your well-established crush on the man you were currently making out with.

Throwing one leg over Adam’s hips, you went back to straddling Adam’s hips, his hands on your waist helping your move. With your arms wrapped around his neck, your fingers tangled in Adam’s long hair as your hands cradled his head.

Adam’s own hands moved up from your waist and travelled slowly up your shirt, his fingertips sending shivers up your spine as they ghosted over your skin. Finally, his hand reached the cup of your bra, pushing it up out of the way as his thumbs brushed back and forth over your nipples.

Breaking from the kiss, Adam’s mouth moved down to your neck, slowly kissing and sucking as he tugged off your shirt. In your sensitivity, your hips sat down almost directly on Adam’s hard on.

On impulse, his hips pressed up into you, and you couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped you, your hands flying down to his upper arm and gripping him tightly.

“Fuck, [Y/N],” he groaned as he slowly grinded into you, his sweatpants leaving little to your imagination of what was underneath.

Warmth pooled into your lower abdomen, one of your hands reaching to tug down the hem of his sweats, feeling almost giddy as Adam let out a shaky moan as your hand met his freed member.

You were stopped, however, by Adam sitting up and trying to tug down your own jeans. Getting back up on your knees, you quickly undid them as Adam pulled them down to your mid thighs, his hands slipped down into your underwear, his thick fingers teasing your folds before slipping one in at a snail’s pace and pumping it into you.

When Adam’s fingers abruptly left you and he stood up, your arms tightened around his neck to try and balance yourself. He slowly lowered you back onto the couch, his lips never leaving yours as he slowly climbed onto you, your leg hooking over his hip and pulling him ever closer.

He buried his face into your neck as he rubbed himself against your folds, making you whine as you practically begged him to stop teasing.

“‘M sorry,” he suddenly mumbled into your neck, his voice a gasp, “I didn’t mean to take things this fast so soon.”

You struggled to form a coherent sentence as Adam nonetheless continued his ministrations, “I’m not complaining, but we can stop if you-”

“God, no,” Adam snapped his head up to look at you, making you laugh at his almost desperate expression.

Grinning up at him, you maintained eye contact with Adam as you shifted and felt his tip enter you.

“Shit, you feel good,” Adam cursed under his breath and his hips bucked into you. His eyes fluttered shut in pleasure as he pushed fully into you, struggling to restrain his pace for you as you adjusted to his size.

“Look at me,” you whispered, your hand holding his cheek to coax him.

Adam opened his eyes, and they looked as though they were glowing as he looked down lovingly at you.

Once you began meeting Adam’s thrusts to urge him to go faster, he happily obliged in your nonverbal request.

Your eyes closed as you threw your head back, no sounds coming out as Adam held onto your hips and drilled into you mercilessly.

A string of curses left his mouth, and you briefly wondered if your potty mouth rubbed off on him in the time you’ve known him.

Once you opened your eyes again, you saw Adam’s eyes really were glowing, and it hadn’t been your imagination earlier. Rather than freak you out, however, the intense look on his face pushed you over the edge. Your legs tightened around his waist as you tightened around him.

His own thrusts started to grow more erratic as you rode out your orgasm. Just as you were starting to feel overwhelmed, he pulled out and spilled himself on your abdomen.

While you caught your breath, Adam picked you up bridal-style and began walking upstairs, laying you on his bed before laying down next to you.

You turned to face him, smiling when you saw him staring with a dopey smile on his face.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked, imitating his question earlier.

“Just thinking about how much I love you,” Adam grinned, his answer only slightly catching you by surprise before you grinned back.

“I love you, too,” you answered without hesitation, snuggling into Adam’s side as you both finally drifted off into sleep together.

[falseroar]

Dark Laughter Part 6: Sleepy Stakeout

((Here are links to the last part, Part 5: Pointless Things and the first part Part 1: What Dark Saw if you want them!))

“You awake over there, partner?”

You blinked and came back from whatever place your head had been in, but when you opened your mouth to respond a huge, ear-popping yawn escaped instead. “…Yes?”

You took another long sip from the warm cup clasped in your hands in the hopes it might help and Abe raised an eyebrow.

“How many coffees is that now?” he asked.

“…Enough,” you said, defensive even though you suspected that it really wasn’t enough. “You want me to stay awake for this stakeout with you, right?”

“It’s not even three in the afternoon!”

“Really? It looks darker than that,” you said, leaning forward to try and get a better look at the sky through the windshield of Abe’s car. Really, when was the last time he washed this thing?

While you studied the dark clouds forming overhead, the Detective studied you. His attention was supposed to be on the building just down the street, a mom and pop jewelry shop where all signs pointed his guy was going to hit next, but these few hours had been long enough to notice you weren’t quite running at full speed.

“Having trouble sleeping?” he asked, when another yawn forced its way out. “You, uh, still having those nightmares?”

“No, not really,” you answered. You glanced at him before setting your eyes on the shop he was supposed to be watching as you added, “I feel like I’ve been sleeping better than ever the past couple of weeks, but I'm still tired all the time.”

You couldn’t even remember the last time you had spent the night in the Barrel to escape the feeling of the house closing in on you, or roamed around the egos’ house until Wilford found you and dragged you into some crazy scheme of his. Now he had to come to your room and drag you out of bed, which meant the Jims had more incriminating footage of you in your pajamas than you really liked to think about.

“Well, no surprise, it seems like you’re running after those Mark lookalikes all the time these days,” Abe said. “Too much time in that insane asylum’s bound to run you into the ground eventually.”

You shrugged, but didn’t answer. It was the same thing Mark said when you mentioned you were feeling tired the other day and Dr. Iplier couldn’t find anything physically wrong, and the reason they insisted you take a break at his house. But you enjoyed spending time with the egos, and now that they weren’t keeping you occupied most of the time you just felt even more tired and empty.

Abe leaned back against the driver’s door as he sat twisted in his seat, no longer even pretending to be watching the shop. “But no more nightmares. That’s got to be a good thing, right?”

“I mean, yeah, of course,” you answered, but you could feel Abe’s eyes on you. “It’s just…Those aren’t the only things that have gone away. I haven’t had any…’visions’ lately, or felt the District Attorney in a while.”

There was a pause before Abe said, “But you are the DA. Or, were. Pretty sure you can’t claim the office anymore.”

“I know, I mean…the person who remembers everything before the party. Before the manor. That person. I know they’re me, but they’ve always felt like a, I don’t know, other me.” You paused to rub at your face. This was going about as well as it went when you tried to talk to Dr. Iplier about it last week. “But those visions, even the occasional memory, they always felt like they came from them, and now they’re just…gone.”

Abe paused. He had never been really comfortable with the whole visions and magic or whatever it was side of what happened back at the manor, and honestly trying to make sense of any of it tended to send him back into drinking and narrating to himself on the bad days, but you clearly thought there was something wrong here, even if he didn’t understand it.

“When’s the last time you had one of these visions?” he asked.

“I don’t know, maybe before everything with Anti—” You stopped and considered for a moment before adding, “No, I feel like I saw something back at the beach house, maybe?”

You paused, lips tight as you tried to remember. It had been when you couldn’t see and stumbled, and Dark caught you. There had definitely been something then, hadn’t there?

Silence filled the car as you struggled and failed to remember what you had seen in that moment until you sighed and admitted, “Dr. Iplier says they—the District Attorney—the way I feel like they’re a different person is just some kind of coping mechanism, something I needed to make sense of everything after I came through the mirror. But I don’t…”

You trailed off and Abe saw how your eyes seemed to fade as if your thoughts were a hundred miles away from this car and this stakeout, and he should really be paying attention to that shop right now. He glanced in the direction of the jewelry shop, partially to ease his mind at that thought, but more than a little to give him some time to think of what to tell you. If the doctor was right, then maybe it was a good thing you couldn’t feel the “DA” anymore, but he somehow doubted that’s what you wanted to hear right now.

“…It looks like me.”

“What?” Abe tore his eyes away from the shop to look your way and saw you blink away that glazed look in your eyes.

“What?” you looked back at him, then at the shop. “Did you see something?”

“No, I—I thought I heard…” Abe paused as you yawned again. “Do you want me to drive you back home? You really don’t have to—”

“No, of course not,” you said, making an effort to sit up straighter in your seat. “I told you I’d be here with you for this, and I will. Are you sure you’ve got the right place this time?”

“Stake out the wrong place once—”

“It was three times,” you said, cutting off the Detective’s grumble before he could really get started. “How do you even get Beverly Hills and Koreatown mixed up?”

“Okay, that second time had nothing to do with a stakeout and everything to do with terrible directions to what turned out to be a fantastic noodle place, you have to admit that.”

“But we weren’t trying to find noodles, we were trying to find an informant.”

“Who was really happy when we brought food.”

“Because you made her wait so long.”

You argued and joked back and forth like that for another hour or so before the car fell into another peaceful quiet, different than the silence Abe usually filled with his own voice when he had to sit through this kind of thing on his own. He started to say something when he spotted a familiar face down the street, just past the jewelry shop.

Abe glanced over at you and realized that you had drifted off to sleep at some point and now sat almost curled up in the passenger seat with your head resting against the base of the window.

You jerked awake when the car hit a particularly rough bump in the road and sat up, startled to see that the car was moving. You were also surprised to feel the comforting weight of the detective’s coat thrown over your chest and arms. “Abe? How long have I been asleep?”

“Oh, not long? Maybe five or ten minutes?”

He sounded as though he were asking someone else, and when you followed his gaze to the rear view mirror you turned around to find a complete stranger in the backseat nodding in agreement with that guess

“…Uh, Abe?”

“That’s our perp, snagged him waiting around the employee’s entrance hoping to get in the next time some poor sap went on their break,” Abe said. He glanced in the mirror again, locking eyes with the sour-faced young man sitting slumped in the backseat who gave you a half wave with his cuffed together hands. “Probably shouldn’t have used the same trick again, huh?”

“…Why is his mouth covered in duct tape?”

“Because someone doesn’t appreciate witty wordplay and frankly brilliant metaphors.”

In the backseat, the crook rolled his eyes and gave a muffled response to that which, while you couldn’t understand a word of it, the Detective seemed to.

“Hackneyed? Listen, Mr. English major—"

“Keep your eyes on the road!”

You grabbed the wheel and pulled the car back into its lane as horns blared outside.

Abe, a little paler now, swallowed and took over driving again while some muffled whimpering came from the back. He only had one more corner to turn before rolling to a stop outside the police station, where he had more than his fair share of fun dragging the guy in the back up the steps.

You chose to use the time to stretch and lean against the car, hoping some fresh air would wake you up. A brisk wind was starting to pick up now, a welcome change to the stale heat, but it didn’t seem to help. By the time Abe returned, you still felt like the effort of just standing here leaning against the car was almost too much for you.

“Abe, I’m so sorry,” you said as he leaned against the opposite side of the car to look at you over the roof. “If something had happened while I was asleep—Well, something did happen, and I just slept right through it!”

“Eh, I knew I could handle a petty thug like that on my own,” Abe said, waving a hand.

“But I wish you had woken me up at least, I could have helped.”

Abe chose not to tell you that he had considered it, and decided you probably needed the sleep. He also chose to leave out the many threats he gave the thug about what would happen if he were to wake you up, which may or may not have led to the duct tape situation.

“You told me you haven’t been feeling well, so it’s on me,” Abe said. “Come on, I think it’s time we go see that doctor of yours.”

You were tempted to argue, but a tremble ran up and down your spine that had nothing to do with the wind. Instead, you pulled Abe’s coat closer and said, “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

The drive to the ego house was uneventful, not that you remembered much of it. Every time Abe glanced your way, he saw you sitting up and awake, more or less, but your gaze was often hazy and distant. The few times he tried to start up a conversation, it took multiple attempts to get a response out of you, and even then, they tended toward one or two word responses.

At the house and inside the infirmary, Dr. Iplier shone a light in both your eyes before pulling the thermometer out of your mouth to check it.

“Yes, there is a slight fever,” he said. “But it’s only 99 degrees Fahrenheit, nothing to be too concerned about considering nothing else seems to be wrong.”

You nodded and clenched your teeth as another chill ran down your spine.

“Still, I would like you to rest here in the infirmary where Google and I can keep an eye on you to make sure you drink enough water.”

You glanced over at the android checking one of the shelves, but Google seemed less than interested in what was going on around your end of the infirmary.

“And that has nothing to do with a chance a certain Warfstache might try to drop in on me if I’m in my room?”

Despite your joke, the doctor seemed to notice how you were less than thrilled about sleeping here in the infirmary as he pulled back the sheets on one of the beds. “Don’t worry, this will pass before long with rest and plenty of fluids. A fever like this is just your body’s way of fighting off infections. It is nothing to be concerned about.”

That last sentence in particular seemed to be more directed at the detective, who took the hint and said, “Well, I should get home before the rain starts. You get some rest, okay, partner? Never know when I’ll need you for another case, after all.”

He smiled at you as you handed his coat back to him and nodded to the doctor before making his way out of the infirmary, pausing to muss up Google’s hair on his way out. Meanwhile, you resigned yourself to a night in a hospital bed, not that it took you long to fall into another dreamless sleep again after Abe left. You barely remembered downing the glass of water the doctor handed you or the medicine that went with it before your eyes closed.

You were just so tired.

((End of Part 6. Thank you for reading! The best wrong directions always end in good food discoveries.

And here’s the link to Part 7: Just Be Happy.

Tagging: @silver-owl413  @skyewardlight @withjust-a-bite  @blackaquokat  @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350  @oh-so-creepy @purpstraw @weirdfoxalley  @95fangirl  @lilalovesinternet-l @thepoolofthedead  @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette  @geekymushroom @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-anxiety-blog @shyinspiredartist @avispate ))

[kalira]

...I've GOT to ask about Bender-Banging Burdens. Even though it probably involves a ton of sex, from the name. (WAIT THERE'S MULTIPLE. Pick one and/or all, then.) Also I am morally obligated to ask about Near-Death Zuko Whump. ...Also Baby Thor and Loki Learn Their Powers. ...And I think that's it. For now.

Fun times!

Bender-Banging Burdens

. . .yes it does indeed involve lots of sex, it is pretty much a quartet of smut pieces. Although I only have parts of two of them written yet, and the others noted down. Also the alliteration is totally sticking around for the individual piece titles, but I haven’t decided what the final titles are yet.

The working titles in the list of course were Amorous Airbending Accident and Fucking Firebender Flare-Up - those will be the first and fourth in the series respectively, because obviously I have to stick to the cycle of the elements. ;)

The stories are pure smut pieces only focusing on the disasters that can come along with sex with benders (particularly powerful ones), although I’ll be rescuing each disaster with teasing, laughter, and good sex in the end. (Also have to say it feels really weird to be writing sex featuring Aang, who I write as grown older not infrequently but still with my brain insisting he’s twelve forever.) Also trying to stick with canon as much as possible for this one, ships included.

Obviously I had to use Aang for airbending, I could maybe have used someone else but . . . I mean I have to use Katara for waterbending (so that ship will get to come around twice), Toph for earthbending which has proved tricky ship-wise both personally and canonically buuut she may get a threesome *coughs*, and Zuko for firebending (with Mai, naturally).

Near-Death Zuko Whump

Well this one, as you know Dawen, was a request XP one of quite frankly a large number of hurt/comfort ones I’ve gotten and/or filled. (Apparently Zuko isn’t battered enough canon? Or perhaps I just do it particularly well? I do love H/C.)

Requested specifically in this one was terrible, whumpy, oh-shit-he-might-not-pull-through Zuko ouches (ship optional but I know me and I assume it’s not a surprise I went for the ship).

Snippet:

The council meeting wasn’t exactly short, but it didn’t drag on at least,and Sokka held his tongue with difficulty from harrying them on when theylingered over closing remarks. Eventually they did all begin to shuffle awaypapers and rise. Sokka hurried to do the same. He had plans to intercept Zukofor at least a break before he triedto do anything else on his normallist of duties.

Zuko rose, and Sokka dropped his notes and startedtowards him immediately, because Zuko was neverso unsteady. He didn’t make it to his lover’s side before Zuko gasped softlyand crumpled, nearly toppling into a brazier near his throne.

Sokka cursed quietly under his breath - orperhaps not quite so quietly, he realised as he passed by one of the councilmembers looking scandalised - as he darted over to Zuko, catching his shoulderand rolling him onto his side, further away from the brazier.

Zuko was ashy-pale, flushed, and sweaty,his eyes definitely glazed now. Sokkacursed again. “Zuko, can you focus on me?” he asked, waving a hand over Zuko’sface, not too close.

Zuko groaned and shuddered, but didn’t reallyanswer.

I actually worked on this one some more this morning, after getting this ask, and I may be continuing that today - if I can keep it along the rough outline and figure out beyond it, perhaps I’ll finish it before putting it away again! >.>

It took me a while to work on it at all because for a while near-death sick really only made me think of my near-death sick escapade last year. Only I don’t think I could give Zuko what I have in a non-modern-AU without killing him. (Even assuming I wanted to write about it; which I may . . . when/if it gets further away from my ‘now’.)

Baby Thor and Loki Learn Their Powers

Started this one on a whim and with a bit of an image in mind, not sure yet how far it will go based on both that image and just where I want to take it.

Snippet:

“Loki? Loki what are you doing?” Thor demanded, impatient andwheedling.

Loki’s eyes narrowed and he glared at thebook he had set in front of himself, ensuring it knew what was required of it.“I,” he said, drawing himself up and looking at his big brother, “am testing aspell.”

Thor looked surprised, and then grinned.“Really? Magic? Like Mother does?” he asked, bouncing a little as he hurriedcloser. “That’s amazing! What will it do?” he asked, leaning over Loki’sshoulder like he would be able to make sense of the book anyway.

Loki still preened a little at hisbrother’s surprise and the impressed air about him as he spoke. “You’ll see.”he said, though, keeping his face calm, like Mother - like Father.

“Show me, show me!” Thor begged, bouncing alittle more, and there was a low rumble that most people might have missed, butLoki’s sharp ears made outas a low rumble of thunder.

Loki smiled and held up his hands, thenincanted, the old, old words heavy on his tongue but light as quicksilver inhis veins. Heat sparked in his wrists and poured up through his hands and it hurt but it also felt good, and Lokiwasn’t quite sure but he hung on because he wassure of his determination, and he poured focus into it and-

“Whoa!”Thor shouted, falling backwards as Loki staggered, a green-red-blue tangledball of flame streaking from Loki’s hands across the room to impact a pillar.It left a large scorch mark and a small maze of cracks in the stone.

I’ve also written Odin and Frigga’s reactions (diametrically different) in another scene, and one of Frigga who is pleased and also very reasonably a bit worn, considering one of her sons now throws fire and the other calls down lightning. XD

(Ask me about my WIPs!)

[calliopesquill]

A Year in the Life - Chapter 4

Okay, I couldn’t resist. I was going to wait until tomorrow to post the next chapter but I have been going so hard working on later chapters today I had to post it early.

Thank you all so much for your support and all of your wonderful comments. Talking with you and getting your feedback has really made my week. I know a lot of readers are leery about oc-inserts so I really want to thank you for giving Nell a chance. One of the most comments I have gotten is how much you like her and how well she fits in the canon world. That is something I work really hard to achieve in my characters so I am so glad that you all like what I have done with her.

And now without further delay, on with the story!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 4: Once Upon a Time

         Miguel spent his lunch hour that monday in the library. After discovering that they didn’t have a particularly wide selection of graphic novels he turned to the internet. Nell had said that she’d done a webcomic as well. Maybe her website would help him figure out who he was dealing with.  Just because Nell seemed decent so far didn’t mean she actually was. His experience with Ernesto De la Cruz had taught him that. Hadn’t De la Cruz been kind at first? Hadn’t he saved him from drowning? But behind the smiles and dramatic persona was a selfish, self-absorbed creature who was more than willing to kill to get what he wanted.

         Not that Miguel thought that Nell would be anywhere as bad as De la Cruz had been, but he wanted to get a little more background on her before he decided to tell her anything else.

         A quick Google search had given him the basics. Penelope Rey. (Miguel snorted at that. Penelope? No wonder she went by Nell.) Twenty-five years old. Born in Kelowna, Canada. (Okay, so she wasn’t American, but he’d been close.) Published her first stand-alone graphic novel at twenty-two and recently released the last volume of the trilogy she’d been working on. Most of her books were of the urban-fantasy sort, or contained some hints of “other”. The webcomic, which she’d started while she was in university, was about a magical girl who discovers that she has inadvertently been working for an evil power the whole time, and sets about on a quest of redemption to make things right.

         Not really his thing (he was more into the masked-crusader/folk-hero/luchador genre) but the splash pages and banners on the website intrigued him enough that he clicked the link that would take him to the first page of the comic. Right away he was hooked. The art-style was dramatic but not cluttered or overdone, and her heroine spoke like someone he would meet on the street, with only a minimum of cliche comic book-style dialogue. Her characters were diverse and compelling and her villain…. Miguel shuddered. Oh she was so creepy! Sly and manipulative and calculating under a veneer of support and encouragement. You didn’t even get the hint that there was something wrong about her until you were over a year into the plotline.

         He had just gotten to the part of the story where the main character discovered she’d been played when the five-minute warning bell rang.

         Miguel jumped, almost falling out of his chair. How had the lunch hour gone by so fast? Quickly he closed the browser, logging off of the computer as he grabbed his book bag, then took off out of the library to get to class.

         Miguel’s talk of alebrijes stuck with Nell, and after a few days of independent research she decided to approach approach one of the craftsmen from the plaza.

         Sebastien Berardo had been in the business for many years. Some of his earliest memories were of sitting with his father in his workshop, watching him work. He learned the craft at his father’s side, how to shape and sand the wood to bring out the fantastic creatures inside, and the types of paints and glazes that brought out the best color. He also learned how to deal with the public, from the closest of neighbors to the loudest of tourists.

         When Nell first started asking questions he started with the basic history of the craft.

         Alebrijes had first been created by the artist Pedro Linares in the early 1930’s. The story went that he had become very ill, and had dreamed of a beautiful forest populated by incredible, colorful hybrid creates that called themselves alebrijes. Horned roosters, winged snakes and donkeys, a thousand creatures of infinite strange and wonderful combinations. Inspired, he began to create carnival masks and religious figures of these creatures to sell in the markets of Mexico City. His unique pieces had attracted the attention of a prominent gallery owner who wanted to showcase the pieces, and even Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo sought him out for commissions. Now most alebrije figures were carved from copal wood, in the pre-Hispanic woodcarving tradition of the local Zapotec culture.

         “And you still make all of these by hand?” Nell asked, crouching to take a closer look at the delicately articulated figure of a winged snake that was coiled upon the table.

         Sebastien nodded proudly. “Each piece is crafted in our family workshop. My son Filipe, he is studying art in university. He painted many of these.”

         “They’re beautiful. I love the colors.” It was like seeing an entire summer’s worth of color condensed into a single small figure. “At what point did they started becoming associated with spirit guides? By some of the descriptions they are kind of similar to the Aztec nagual.”

         “It is possible,” Sebastien conceded with an uncertain shrug. He’d never really considered that, but there were certainly some similarities.

         Nell liked the idea. After Miguel had first brought up the idea of spirit guides she’d ended up going on a bit of a research binge on the topic, compiling a series of notes about guardian spirits in world mythology. She’d been particularly intrigued by the the concept of the nagual, the Mesoamerican spirit guide or spiritual double. Depending on the myth, the nagual functioned as either a reflection of the self, or as a separate spiritual advisor. According to some of the myths that she’d found, a person’s nagual could even go wandering while they slept.

         Or in other words, they could astral project.

         There were also stories about shapeshifters but Nell was reasonably sure that wasn’t going to end up as part of her skill set.

         After a little more discussion on the history and process behind the art and history of the alebrije figures Nell decided to leave Sebastien to his work, but as she turned to leave one of the figures caught her eye. A small, brightly-painted bird.

         She couldn’t have stopped the grin that spread over her face if she tried. “Señor, how much is the crow?”

         Over the next few weeks Mariachi Plaza became the unofficial meeting spot for astral hang-outs. By this point Miguel had learned to successfully project while awake, and was confident enough in this new ability that their occasional late-night chat was often more friendly than lesson-like. Honestly it was nice just to be able to talk to someone and not worry about letting something slip and having them think he was crazy. He’d already made that mistake once with friends at school, and had had to play it off as a weird dream.

         At least will Nell he didn't have to worry about that.

         He grinned when she appeared across the plaza. "What, you couldn't sleep either?"

         "Nah. Finished some book planning and wanted to go for a walk. Then I saw what time it was and thought.... yeah this way is better."

         Miguel chuckled. He knew what it was like to get wrapped up in a project and lose all sense of time. How many times had he stayed up late working on a new song, forgetting entirely that he had class in the morning?

         “How was school?”

         “Fine,” he shrugged. “Annetta came to visit my music class yesterday. That was pretty cool.”

         “She’s the trumpet player, right? The one the violinist has that debilitating crush on.”

         “That’s the one. She played for us during class, then did sort of a tutorial session with the other trumpets.” God willing, they’d actually be able to stay in tune from now on. “You get any farther on your book?”

         "A bit, yeah. Started doing research on alebrijes and I found some really cool stuff.” She answered excitedly, eager to share what she’d found. “You know the Mayans and Aztecs had stories about spirit guides too? And some of the magic users in the old myths could astral project, just like us! So of course that turned into a crazy research binge. I swear I filled up an entire flash drive just with ideas for character alebrijes."

         "Sweet!" He grinned. "You'll have to show me later. I can tell you how they compare to the real thing."

         "The real -- Man, you've been holding out on me," she groaned, dropping onto the step of the gazebo to sit next to him. "You see alebrijes too?"

         Miguel shrugged. "You probably have too. They just look different this side of the bridge."

         "Different how?"

         "Different like.... You know, normal."

         That was interesting. She hadn't considered that guides could take different forms between worlds. That was something she'd have to think about later. "So there's a lot of alebrijes on the other side of the bridge?"

         "Loads," Miguel told her. "And they're huge! Well, some of them. I used to think they were just a myth, like vitamins--"

         "Vitamins are real, Miguel."

         "People keep saying that but I really don't think they are. Anyway," he continued. "They're, like, everywhere! Some people have them as, well not exactly pets, but they have ones that stay with them. There might be some wild ones but I didn't really see any."

         Oh God the curiosity was killing her. She wanted to respect his boundaries and not ask questions that he wouldn’t be comfortable answering, but she also really wanted to know what had happened. But just asking how the bridge worked wouldn’t hurt, would it? "So you just found the bridge and walked over?"

         Miguel gave a sheepish smile, rubbing one hand over his forearm in a nervous gesture. "Not exactly... It was an accident. Well, the first time was. I kind of....stole something."

         Nell stared. "You what? Damn, kid, what did you steal? Some cursed ancient idol or something?"

         "HA! No!" He laughed. "No, no, no. Nothing like that. It was a guitar."

         “A cursed guitar?”

         “No! The guitar wasn’t cursed. Nothing was cursed. I mean I thought I was for a while, and then I actually was for a while, but no.”

         Now she just blinked at him. “What… What? Okay. I am officially confused. You stole the guitar and it took you across the bridge. And then you got cursed?”

         “No. Taking the guitar got me cursed, but I crossed the bridge after. It’s… kind of a long story.” But maybe it was about time he told someone the truth. Miguel sighed, brushing one hand distractedly thought his hair as he hunched forward, bracing his arms across his knees. It would be nice to have someone to talk to about what happened, someone who would actually believe him.

         “I didn’t mean to steal it,” he told her. “Well, I did. But I was going to bring it back. I just wanted to play it once, here in the plaza.”

         It all came pouring out, the reason for the Rivera family’s ban on music and the events that led to him believing that Ernesto De la Cruz was his ancestor, trying to steal the guitar, and the curse that resulted.

         “Hold up, hold up,” Nell interrupted, holding up her hands in a ‘stop now’ gesture. “Your great-great-grandmother told you that if you didn’t give up music that she was going to let you die?”

         “She didn’t mean it that way,” Miguel said defensively. “She thought she was doing it to protect me. That music was dangerous. And I kind of did almost die three times that night.”

         “What?!”

         “Anyway, so I thought, fine, if the rest of my family refused to give me the blessing, I’d track down the one family member who might understand.”

         “Ernesto De la Cruz.”

         Miguel nodded.

         “Except he wasn’t your grandfather.”

         “Gracias a Dios.” Now that would truly be a nightmare, now that he knew what De la Cruz truly was. “But I didn’t know that at the time. So I ran off and tried to find him.”

         He told her how he met a shabby-looking skeleton who claimed to know De la Cruz, and how he disguised himself with shoe-polish so he wouldn’t stand out. Their attempts to find the man, which took them all over the city (and he met FRIDA KAHLO! HOLY CRAP!), and their quest for a guitar that took them to Shantytown. Nell listened raptly as Miguel continued his story, snickering to herself when he told her about Hector singing “Everyone Knows Juanita”. She wasn’t familiar with the song but she could certainly guess what word “knuckles” might have been meant to replace. And even though she knew full well what kind of awful human being De la Cruz was, hearing first-hand how he’d murdered Hector back in 1921, and then tossed both him and Miguel into a cenote to rot in the Land of the Dead, had her clenching her fists in helpless anger. She wished she could cross the bridge herself so she could punch that creature in his stupid face.

         “And then Mama Imelda and Pepita showed up and pulled us out! Dante had found them and helped track us down. Turns out he’s an alebrije too.”

         “Wait a sec. You are telling me that you were being followed around what is quite literally the afterlife by a dog who turned out to be your alebrije, and you named him Dante.”

         “Yeah?”

         Nell snorted with laughter. “Oh, that is perfect. Absolutely beautiful. I love it.”

         “Um...why?”

         “Look up Dante’s Inferno at school when you get the chance. Let’s just say your dog is really appropriately named.”

         “Um… ‘kay. Anyway…”

         He took her through their infiltration of the Sunrise Spectacular with the entire family in Frida Kahlo cosplay, right up to their final confrontation with De la Cruz when he threw Miguel off the top of the building. Thank god for alebrijes that were large enough to ride on. Pepita had earned her chin-scritches for eternity that night.

         “And then...they sent me back,” Miguel finished. “I ran back home. Mama Coco… I couldn’t let her forget him. She’d had problems with her memory for so long but I had to try. But when I played their song, it was like it all came back somehow. She’d kept everything hidden in her drawer. Hector’s letters, some of his song drafts. And the corner of the picture that had been torn away. We taped it back on and put it in a new frame. It’s on the ofrenda now but… I don’t know if I made it in time.”

         Tears stung at his eyes but he wiped them away stubbornly.

         “And you’ve never tried to go back, just to see?”

         Miguel shook his head, giving a watery chuckle. “I think Mama Imelda would have killed me for real if I tried. I thought… For a moment last year I thought I felt him, like he was playing right next to me but…”

         “Then I’m sure he made it,” Nell told him, resting one hand reassuringly on his shoulder. “You would know best, right? My great-grandma passed away when I was ten and I will swear on whatever you want that I still feel her in my grandparents’ house, so if you say you felt Hector playing next to you that night, then you did.”

         He let out a shaky sigh as a feeling of relief washed over him. He didn’t know how badly he needed to hear that until that moment, for someone else to have such absolute faith that what he felt was real. Hector had become one of his best friends even before they’d found out they were related. The fear that he had been too late had been eating at him for so long…

         They sat in silence for a moment as Miguel collected himself. Then he sighed again. “Thank you.”

         “Any time,” Nell smiled. “Seriously. And hey, we could always try an experiment this year.”

         “What kind of experiment?”

         “Projecting during Dia de los Muertos. I’ve never tried it before but who knows, maybe you’ll be able to see them.”

         Miguel’s face lit up like a christmas tree. “En serio? We can do that?”

         “We can try,” Nell promised. “All the old stories say that the veil is thinnest that time of year, so if there’s any time it would work, well it’s worth a shot right?”

         The boy jumped to his feet, letting out an enthusiastic grito that would have woken the entire town if he’d been in his physical body.

         “I take that as a ‘yes’ then?”

         “Yes! Absolutely yes!”

         Nell didn’t sleep well that night. She wanted to, oh how she wanted to, but one thought kept circling in her mind. There was something about that guitar. She couldn’t help but feel that there was more to the story. Miguel had said that it wasn’t the guitar that was cursed, but if it was nothing more than a harmless musical instrument, Nell was a fire-breathing monkey. There was just something way too coincidental about it.

         Annoyed with herself, she rolled over to scribble a reminder to herself on the notepad she kept on her bedside table in case of midnight bursts of inspiration. She would look into it in the morning. Surely somewhere on the internet was stories of haunted instruments.

         Apparently, as Nell found the next morning over breakfast, stories of haunted or possessed musical instruments were not uncommon. There were even long-standing legends cultural legends related to the phenomena, and when Nell came across the myth of the Japanese tsukumogami, she knew she’d found what she was looking for. Though there was no cultural crossover of this type of legend the correlation of events was just too close.

         Immediately she opened up a new document on her laptop and started to take notes.

         In old Japanese culture there was a belief that if an object was owned for over a hundred years, it would develop a soul of its own and become self-aware. Musical instruments were particularly common tsukumogami because they were often crafted with great care and carried great monetary value, so they usually ended up passed down through generations. But the descendants of the masters who once owned these instruments were not always musically inclined themselves, causing the instruments to fall into disuse and become resentful. And Hector Rivera would definitely be classified as a “master”. Between what Miguel had told her and her own research, Nell could see that this was a man who put his heart and soul into every note he played. That was a lot of emotion for an instrument to absorb in the approximately three years that he had owned it. A lot of love. And for him to be betrayed, murdered for his music, and the instrument stolen and paraded around by the murderer? Someone who only played for fame and attention? Nell figured that would result in a pretty pissed-off guitar.

         And the guitar itself was a freaking showpiece. Hand-made and perfect to the last detail. That kind of love and care being put into its creation had to leave a mark as well. Nell wondered how Imelda had been able to afford it.

         The writer sat back in her chair, biting absently at her lip as she contemplated. Another quick google search had her frowning. Hector had died in November of 1921, at the age of twenty-one. Ernesto De la Cruz had been crushed by a falling bell during a performance in 1942, almost exactly twenty-one years later. No way in hell was that a coincidence.

         And according to the date stamp on the video taken that night, the date of the concert was… the second of November. Dia de los Muertos.

         “Well… holy shit.”

         Nell scrubbed her hands over her face, almost dislodging her glasses. That was a hell of a kick for an instrument that hadn’t even hit twenty-five years yet. It didn’t hit one hundred until 2017. Displayed like a trophy in the tomb of the man who murdered its master until some kid breaks in and steals it. A kid whose motivations might not have been entirely pure, but who had a musician’s heart, and who happened to be a direct descendant of Hector Rivera, its original owner.

         Most stories of cursed objects just dealt with bad luck and deadly accidents. She’d never heard of people being shoved into astral planes and being taken to the Land of the Dead. She could only concluded that the guitar wanted Miguel to meet Hector, wanted him to find out the truth. Had it known that Hector was being forgotten?

         When Miguel returned at sunrise the first thing he did was run to his grandmother. The guitar would have known her too. This was the child that Hector had loved so dearly, who he had played for every night. It had held onto that love, those powerful memories for all those years, and Miguel said that when he played for her she came back somehow. Nell’s own grandfather had passed away when she was in university. Over the last few years of his life, dementia had robbed him of most of his memories. The last time she had seen him, he thought she was her mother. To bring someone back from that was nothing short of a miracle.

         “Okay. So. The guitar might be sentient.”

         After some thought she found she kind of liked the idea. It was reassuring in a way to feel that treasured things could love people in return. And if they developed spirits of their own, could they be considered alebrije too?

         Nell grinned, reaching for her tablet and plugging it into her laptop, breakfast entirely forgotten. A sentient, haunted guitar. It looked like she finally had a real plot for her new book.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And so ends Chapter 4!

Researching for this fic has been really educational for me. I've tried to stick as close to the known facts about the history and culture that I reference as possible, though I may have had to use a bit of creative license to get everything to mesh properly with my plot. One of those details was the date of Ernesto's last concert. It was never really specified in canon, but based on the stage design and how when the scene was originally planned for the opening number and how the introductory song was about Dia de los Muertos, I went with that being the date.

One of the most fun things about writing Nell for me is getting to play with all of the meta storylines and fan theories that I can't get to fit within the regular plot. I want to give a special shout out to @im-fairly-whitty​, whose incredible discussion of the sentient guitar theory (found here) has inspired the basis of Nell's novel.

Thanks so much for reading! If you want to see any more fun content or fanart, please follow me! Send me your asks, your fun theories, or any comments you have! I can't wait to connect with you!

[friendshipcampaign]

Plans Are Bad

The conversation that happened between Ditto and Daisy after Rooster Bramble’s room. The second half gets a little into nuts-and-bolts planning territory, but at Scribe’s recommendation I just posted the whole thing :)

Daisy seemed to hold herself together as she saw Rooster out, making sure that the guard outside saw  that "Bramble" was, as far as he could tell, still in bed. As soon as the door shut, however, Ditto saw her hands trembling. The tremor seemed to move out from there, spreading from head to toe.

Ditto hesitated a moment before talking. With the door shut, she figured she could let the illusion wear off. She'd stay in bed so that she could put it up quickly if someone was going to come in.

"Hey, um, Daisy?” She said, “Are you doing okay? You're shaking a lot over there."

Daisy started at Ditto's voice, stared at her a moment, then looked down at her hands.

"I--I don't know," she managed. Her legs suddenly seemed to buckle under her, and as she sank to the floor Ditto threw away the idea of staying in bed and hurried over to her.

After a moment, Daisy looked back up. "Is this a curse?" she whispered.

"Is what a curse?" Ditto asked.

Daisy held up her shaking arms. Her eyes were wide and terrified. "I can't--I can't make it stop," she said. "And I can't breathe right. And--"

"It's not a curse." Ditto said. "It's...it just means you're scared. But you'll be okay, I promise. It'll pass."

She held out a hand, wishing she knew Daisy a little better, wary that she'd just startle her more. Distantly, she took a little comfort in the knowledge that her small stature tended to make her less intimidating to humans.

"Can you hold my hand?” she asked “It...it might help a little."

Daisy reached out. At first her grip was tentative but Ditto gave her a little smile and a nod it, and it tightened like a vice. Daisy was small for a human, but her hands were big and strong and calloused from work much tougher than the duties of a lady-in-waiting. Ditto covered one of those hands with her other one.

"You've got a good grip. You're stronger than you look. That's pretty cool." She bit her lip. It had been a very, very long time since she was around someone who was panicking like this, and she tried her best to remember what helped. "I know you're scared. But you're gonna be okay. I've got a bunch of powerful magic, and I'll make sure nothing bad happens to you."

Daisy made a choked little laughing noise. "You're already wanted for treason," she said. "And I--I heard--you almost died when your friends escaped--there's no way--" She paused and inhaled so deeply and tightly it seemed she was trying to fight her own lungs.

"Please don't lie to me," she said at last.

"Ehh...yeah. Fair enough. Sorry." Ditto looked down and winced. "Okay...maybe I'm not that powerful. But...I'm still here. And while I am, I still won't let anything happen to you if I can help it. ...Do you believe I'm telling you the truth there?"

If Ditto hadn't been watching so intently she might have missed the tiny nod. Daisy gave her. She nodded back.

"Okay. Good. Um...maybe...try to take some slow, deep breaths. It's okay if you can't do it. Just give it a shot. I'm gonna breathe deep and you can try to breathe deep with me. Okay? You think you can try that?"

Daisy nodded again, and followed along as Ditto breathed. She kept shaking, but the look of glazed, uncontrollable terror slowly faded from her eyes. Ditto kept up the deep breaths for a while, deeply relieved that they seemed to be helping. She pated the back of Daisy's hand.

"You're okay. You're gonna be okay." She said

"I'm not," said Daisy. She squeezed Ditto's hand tighter. "But maybe Bramble will be."

"I hope so.” Ditto said. “Thank you for trusting us with her. I know that was probably hard to do. We'll do everything we can to fix what's happening to her."

"I know." Daisy took one more deep breath before standing up. "You should get back into bed. We don't know when someone might come by."

Ditto nodded and climbed back into the bed. She smiled weakly at Daisy. "This is all pretty far out from what you signed up for when you took this job, huh?"

Daisy laughed. "My Ma said I could handle it because I was so good at looking after my little sister. It's all been . . . much more complicated than I expected."

"I bet. ...I guess noble children are different. Or...they're not different, but their lives are. The creepy stuff Rooster says about her family sure seems to back that up."

Daisy walked over and poked at the fire. She didn't touch the complex stack of wood that Rooster left.

"I'm glad Lady Greatbrooke managed to make her own way in the world," she said.

"She did. She's tough...But she's fun, too. Even when she really, really seems like she needs a hug, she has a sense of humor about it."

Ditto remembered how Bramble told her she was sorry that she hadn't been able to fix things, and how she put herself between Sister Lamphead and Voski. She wondered, maybe, if that was a noble thing...maybe if you grow up being told your family is important and in charge you feel like you're responsible for everything. Or maybe it wasn't nobles. Maybe it was just the way some people were built.

"...She and Bramble are alike sometimes, I think." Ditto said.

"Bramble would try to infiltrate a fortress disguised as a boisterous lumberjack," said Daisy, smiling. "At least, if you could convince her not to march straight in the front door."

"And believe me, it took a lot of convincing to keep Rooster from marching straight in the front door." Ditto said.

Daisy smiled and nodded, and poked at the fire again. Her shaking had almost stopped by now, but Ditto could still hear the poker clattering across the coals. "What are you . . . going to do?" she asked.

"Could you, uh, be more specific?"

"About . . . Bramble, about . . ." Daisy gestured at Ditto curled up in bed with Coila's mysterious quilt tucked around her, ". . . this, about whatever's happening in Soreth."

Ditto took a deep breath. She idly conjured a bug in her hands, then turned it into a ball, then a quill, then a frog, then nothing, her legs fidgeting as she talked.

"It's hard to say, when we don't know everything yet ourselves. And...well....there's things we've already learned about what's going on that...might upset you more if you knew them."

Daisy kept turning over the embers of the fire. "I'll already hang for a traitor if they find out what I've done," she said in a tight little voice. "I don't know how much more upset I'm going to get."

From her spot in the bed, Ditto reached forward with Mage and and placed it on Daisy's shoulder, squeezing it gently. Daisy stiffened momentarily, then turned to meet Ditto's eyes.

"There's a curse. It's what's hurting Bramble. And I'm pretty sure lifting it is going to mean getting that thing in the circular wall in courtyard out."

"What Sister Calma's doing," said Daisy. "All that stuff about blocking out the Fae . . . it's making it worse, isn't it?"

"I think so. There's some kind of ancient pact going on here. We still don't know what it all means, but all this . . . ." Ditto gestured to the castle around her. "It's making things worse. I think we only have a few more days before it reaches a point where it pops."

Daisy nodded and placed the poker back in its stand. She put her hands in her lap, nervously twisting a corner of her skirts over and over.

"Ditto," she asked, "Is Bramble a changeling?"

For a moment, Ditto froze completely. Then she plastered a huge grin on her face and chuckled.

"What? No! I mean. Maybe. I mean, I don't know. I wasn't there! I mean...." she sighs. "Probably yes? The Laird thinks she is. But--" Ditto couldn't stop or slow down the words pouring out of her mouth, they just kept coming and coming, picking up in intensity. "If she is, it shouldn't change anything about her. She didn't have any choice in how she was born and she's the same person she always was. She's just a kid and this isn't...she didn't do anything, you know?” Her voice rose and took on a pleading edge. “It doesn't change anything if she is, does it?"

"Shhh!" Daisy whispered, glancing at the door. They both froze, waiting for some response from the guard outside, but nothing came.

When Daisy responded, she was careful to speak in a bare whisper. "It changes more things than I can count," she said, "But it doesn't change my mind."

Ditto covered her mouth and nodded, relieved.

"Bramble's sister, Rose..." she whispered, then hesitated.

"Was she caught up in this too?"

"...She's still alive." Ditto said. She hadn't been sure, hadn't been planning at first to tell Daisy this part. But now...now she was sure.

Daisy gasped and clapped her hands over her mouth., holding like that for a long time.

"How?" she whispered through her fingers.

"She's been cursed too, but the curse got to her first. And it's different with her than it is with Bramble. She's not sick. She's just. Well . . . ." Ditto twiddled her fingers together, careful to keep her voice down this time. "She's . . . sort of a dragon right now."

For a moment Ditto feared that Daisy was going to faint. She seemed to be trying to say something, but all that came out was an incredulous squeak.

"A dragon?!" Daisy hissed once she'd calmed down enough to form words. "How--why--"

Suddenly her eyes widened with realization.

"She's the dragon in the mountains! But . . . your friend . . ." She shook her head slowly. "That's why Bramble wouldn't believe it."

". . . It was . . . it was mostly an accident. Even Erwyn--" Ditto just barely caught herself before she added 'doesn't blame her.' Even if they could trust Daisy, it didn't feel right to tell her that part without the others agreeing to it, particularly Erwyn.  

"--Wouldn't blame her,” she finished. “I mean. He'd understand. She just reacted out of instinct. She didn't mean to hurt them." She paused. " . . .We've been talking to her. She can't talk with words, but she can speak to me the same way you could earlier, when I was using magic."

"Is . . ." Daisy paused and shook her head again. "I almost asked 'is she all right?' but of course she isn't. She's a little girl. She should be . . . running around on the battlements with Bramble, leading me on some goose chase around the castle. Not this."

Ditto nodded. "They both talk like this is their battle to fight. And maybe it is just because it was given to them, but they're just kids, even if one's a dragon. They need our help . . .whatever's in the courtyard, I think getting it's the first step to lifting the curses on both of them. It's probably the key to most of this. It's just been . . . pretty hard to get to."

Ditto recognized the look on Daisy's face. She last saw it when Daisy was standing in front of Bramble's door and threatening them with the poker, her terror just barely overcome with a wave of determination.

"All right," she said. "What do we do?"

Ditto stared at her for a moment. She was . . .very much not expecting that. She took Daisy's hands and squeezed them. She took a deep breath.

"Okay. Before we do anything too crazy, let's figure out what we have to work with. Could you go out and see what things are like in the courtyard right now? When I was there last there were a bunch of workers and wood and Sister Lamp out there and that seems like a whole lot to sneak past."

Daisy drew in a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and nodded.

"You're doing great. You're the best. Seriously." Ditto lay back down refreshed the illusion.

Daisy picked up a pitcher of water that was sitting on an elaborately carved chest by the window and dumped most of it out. She checked that Ditto's illusion was working, tucked the blankets closer around her, and heads over to the door.

"I'll be back soon," she said.

Ditto nodded, then realized Daisy couldn't see her nodding because of the illusion as she turned away. Daisy's knuckles white where gripped the pitcher, she opened the door and stepped outside. Ditto could hear her have a brief conversation with the guard, and then her footsteps faded into the distance.

It was probably only two or three minutes before Daisy came back, but it felt like much longer. She didn't look good, barely making it inside the room before sliding down to the floor and staring ahead of her with a glazed expression, impressively managing to keep from spilling the pitcher. Ditto hurried over and took her hand again.

"Daisy? You still with me, hon?"

"They got away," Daisy said, still staring at nothing. "That's the important thing."

For a moment, Ditto didn't understand. Then she did understand and wished that she didn't. She groaned and slid down the wall next to Daisy.

"...How bad? No, wait. Don't answer that yet. C'mere."

She got back to her feet and tugged gently on Daisy's hand. "Come sit down on the bed at least. It's more comfortable than the floor, and I should probably stay ready in case the door gets opened."

Daisy let Ditto lead her over to the bed without protest. Ditto climbed back in, and Daisy sat down beside her, hugging her knees to her chest. Ditto leaned into her a little, trying to be comforting, fidgeting a little with the edge of the blanket.

"...In your own time." She said.

"It's . . . chaos . . . down there," Daisy spoke slowly, as if she had to winch every word up out of a deep well. "Lady Greatbrooke . . . Sister Calma found out. Somehow. They fought. I . . . they can't have found out about Bramble or we'd be in the dungeons already."

Ditto quietly groaned. "...Do you know if...was she hurt?"

Daisy shook her head. "I don't think so. She . . ." She let out a terrified, high-pitched little laugh. "She attacked Sister Calma with an axe! Not . . . not badly. And then she lit the gate on fire. And she got away."

Ditto turned the far-less terrified laugh that came out of her at the mental image of Rooster chasing Sister Calamity around the courtyard with an axe into a cough.

"Okay. Okay. Well, she got away, then. That's good. Nobody died. Also good. And Bramble's safe, we can assume. Which is also good. So. Good. Overall. For the most part. Could be worse. Does Bramble get...a lot of visitors? Does the Laird or Sister Calma ever come in to check on her or visit with her?”

Daisy nodded shakily. "Calma's come here often since she fell ill. She . . . keeps casting Protection From Evil and she gets upset when it doesn't work. The Laird . . . doesn't visit much."

"Okay. Well, hopefully she'll be occupied with the whole...axe...business for now. But that means I probably can't keep up this fake Bramble thing for too long. It'll fall apart if she shows up for a visit, and that'd be...pretty bad."

Ditto considered. Daisy was being brave, but that doesn't change the fact that she was terrified. This was out of her depth, and pushing her too far seemed like a bad idea. The two of them alone wouldn't make a very formidable team . . . but if Rooster had already been found out, she was not likely to be able to get back in easily, and the others were probably occupied.

She could send word to them somehow, but if she stayed as Bramble too long she'd be caught. If she left and they tried to get in again, the guards would probably, not entirely inaccurately, think they've kidnapped Bramble and be on the lookout for them more than before. And they had to get that seed out sooner or later. This might be their best chance.

Ugh. Ditto did not want to be their best chance. She really, really didn't.

"Okay." She took a deep breath. "So. First order of business. Let's talk about protecting you if the worst happens."

"All right," said Daisy. She didn't sound hopeful.

"Have you ever seen someone who had a charm spell cast on them before?"

Daisy shook her head

"Well, if we get caught--and I mean, hopefully we'll avoid that but let's just prepare for the worst--I'll yell for you to cause a distraction. And when I do, just...do that. Run around in circles, make noise, knock things off shelves, whatever. Act like you're doing it without thinking. If they try to restrain you, let them. If they ask you about me, act like I'm...I'm just your new best friend and you can't imagine that I could be actually doing anything bad."

Ditto made a point of talking calmly and slowly, giving Daisy time to absorb what she's saying. "Keep that up for a few minutes, then act kind of...disoriented and confused. When they ask you what happened, tell them that I cast some sort of spell and all of a sudden you just...trusted me, and you don't know why. Sister Calma'll probably know what that means. I tried to cast it on her earlier so I wouldn't be surprised if she already suspects I can do that."

Daisy nodded. "All right."

"Hopefully we won't have to use that plan. But. You know." She put on a brave smile and rubbed her hands together. "Plan for the worst and hope for the best, right?"

"What sort of best are we hoping for?" asked Daisy.

"...Best case scenario, we get close to the thing in the courtyard without arousing suspicion. I get it out without being caught. We get back someplace secluded without being noticed. You dump me out a window or something and I run the heck away from here without being seen. Then you go back to this room and scream because Bramble's gone and she's definitely been here all this time, and no one is suspicious."

Daisy laughed a little at that.

"I know,” Ditto shrugged. “But you asked for the best-case scenario."

"I did." Daisy seemed to be feeling better. Still scared--it would be a miracle if she wasn't--but she smiled down at Ditto and leaned closer to her. "Time to plan for something that isn't the worst, then?"

Ditto nodded. "Okay. Here's how I see it...there's at least six steps here. Step one is getting me close to that wall without arousing suspicion. Probably the easiest one. Step two is me getting in there. That's harder...I can get close with magic without being seen, but once I get really close to that wall the magic's turned off, and the only way I can get in is by climbing over the edge, so I'll be visible and exposed. I'll need a really good distraction in that moment or we'll have trouble."

She paused. "Though, well...we might have a pretty good distraction available. But I don't know if it'd be enough....especially if there are a lot of people in the courtyard."

"What do you mean?"

"...Well. Rose. She wanted to help...and apparently she can cause a lot of cold and wind around the castle without getting close enough for the archers to hurt her. I've sort of got a way of guiding her to one place or another. Maybe if they thought the castle was under attack from a dragon, they'd, you know, look in that direction. ...Even then, I imagine it'd require some sneaking. And maybe some help from you...you could get the attention of anyone who was headed in my direction?"

"I can do my best." Daisy paused. "I . . . have a very loud scream? Would that work?"

"Screams are good. They get a lot of attention." Ditto paused. "...We might also have someone else on the inside who'll help us. He's actually helped us a couple times already, he's just had plausible deniability till now. But he knows about Rose. So we can probably be sure he's on our side."

Daisy looked around, startled, and for a moment it seemed like she was expecting a cloaked and hooded figure to emerge from the stonework

"...It's Revik.” Ditto said. “He's been helping Rose and Bramble, and the lady. He could probably help with keeping eyes off me...and maybe back up your story if you're caught."

Daisy's eyes went wide as saucers. "Revik? But he's been here since before my Granny was born!"

"Yeah, he's probably way better at this 'being subtle and secretive' stuff than we are."

Daisy nodded. "Good . . ." she said.

"So. One way or another I get up in that wall. ...There was scaffolding around it when I was out there before. Did you see a platform or something near the top of the wall that I could use to get over it? Assuming I could get up there."

"There's the platform above it, and the scaffolding's still there. It might be a bit of a squeeze, but you're probably good at that."

"I am!" Ditto smiled. "Okay, that's good news. So. Assuming I get in without a disaster occurring, as I understand it the thing I'm looking for is a seed. Probably buried in the ground. I should probably get a trowel or something. And a pouch. And . . . and a pen and paper because I think I want to write a note. If I can get that thing out of there, I might be able to get it to the others even if . . . well, even if I don't myself get out. Which for the record, I am going to be trying as hard as I can to get myself out."

Daisy took Ditto's hand and gave it a squeeze.

"If I can get out of the anti-magic area around that wall without being seen,” Ditto continued, “and if you can be standing nearby with an open bag or something near you, getting out of the courtyard should be easy. I'll just magic myself into the bag and tell you to pick it up and carry it someplace away from there. ...Is there maybe a...I don't know, someplace where trash gets thrown out, or a window near a less-guarded wall or something that you could sneak me out through?"

Daisy nods. "There's the rubbish dump by the kitchens, and I don't think the back wall will have many guards. But how big a bag do I need? You won't fit out the windows unless you can magic yourself smaller somehow. I--is that something you can do? I've never really spent time with a wizard before."

"No...not yet, anyway. It'd have to be big enough to fit me...I don't suppose there's an excuse you or Revik might have to be carrying around a bag that size? Maybe it's rubbish or laundry?"

"Laundry, yes . . ." Daisy looked around. "We've got most of the castle's linens stockpiled here."

"Good, good. I can be laundry. I'm very good at being laundry. Once I was a soiled dress for a week and a half." Ditto said, her voice deadpan, hoping to make Daisy laugh . It worked. The girl let out a chuckle that seemed genuine as much as it was a release of tension.

"Okay. If you can get me to an exit I can fit through that isn't very guarded, I can get the seed out through a friend, and then just...book it, run like the wind back to the cave. You can go back and act like Bramble was kidnapped during the dragon attack. And hopefully...well. Hopefully once we get that seed thing out...Bramble and Rose will be okay? I've got all my fingers crossed." Ditto paused. "...You should call Revik. Ask him to bring...I don't know, something for Bramble? I think if we're gonna pull this off, we'll need all the help we can get. And maybe he knows something we don't."

"I'll ask him for soup," said Daisy. "That makes sense. Bramble . . . she hasn't eaten anything in a while."

Ditto's stomach clenched at that. It wasn't surprising, certainly, given the state Bramble was in, but it was still upsetting to hear. She squeezed Daisy's hand a little tighter.

"Right...well, if the door's gonna be opened I'd better lie down and put on my face." She said.

Daisy nodded, but before Ditto lies back she leaned down and kissed her cheek. Then she jumped up, smoothing her skirts and blushing as she went to stand by the door.

"Stay safe," she said.

"You too." Ditto replied.

Daisy nodded emphatically, took a deep breath, and headed out the door.

[stories-and-sails]

Spelling Test

Based on a Tumblr prompt that I have since lost track of: You are a witch working at McDonald’s. There is this one colleague you secretly hate so you cast a curse that slowly destroys the thing they love the most. Months pass and nothing has changed, but you are starting to get sick.

I suppose it’s a stereotype, but I didn’t expect to run into that many Republicans working at the homeless shelter. I mean, I didn’t have any presuppositions about who would be actually staying in the homeless shelter. I carefully schooled myself away from assumptions about the clients. My colleagues, on the other hand…

He showed up in the middle of September, wearing a freshly pressed dress shirt and, of all things, a red tie.

“Are you lost?” I asked politely. 

He laughed. It showed a lot of very square white teeth. “No. At least, not physically. This is my first shift. Are you Gana?” Before I could respond to any of this, he continued. “Herb said that you’d be the best one to show me around, because nobody knows this place like you.” He winked, and I bristled. What exactly had Herb told this cut-out doll of a Yuppie about my history? 

“Yes,” I said, and before I got anything else out, he interrupted again. 

“Are you going to give me the tour?”

I did, and there were whole stretches when I was able to get out useful sentences like, “This is the staff bathroom,” or “Here is where we fill out incident paperwork,” but mostly I learned all about Daniel Bellview. I will summarize, because I do not wish to subject anyone to the same irritation I experienced in listening to his life story. 

Daniel had recently graduated from Dartmouth. He was taking a (third?) gap year from finding a real job. (I didn’t know you could call it a gap year after college, but it seemed like Daniel made the rules.)

His father was John Bellview, Congressional Nominee

His father thought that having a kid working at a homeless shelter would make him seem more sympathetic, especially given that one of the measures he supported would cut funding to social programs like Meals on Wheels

Daniel was more than happy to help with anything that would benefit the Grand Ole Party. And hey, he might learn something working here, right? Anything’s possible. 

In the kitchen that evening, as we oversaw the church group that served on Friday nights, I confided in a co-worker I actually liked, Angela. “He’s just so--Republican.”

She gave me a guarded look. “What is that supposed to mean, Gana?” 

Which is to say, of course, that she was secretly Republican this whole time, and I had to spend the next five minutes trying to try to make my words less offensive. Daniel’s presence in the shelter had already made me a terrible person. 

That night with my Sisters I was able to dump the whole story without any apologies, and they were righteously angry on my behalf. I could always count on them to see things my way. 

At the age of fifteen, after I got to know the homeless shelter downtown better than almost everybody, I found my family. They didn’t seem to think it was alarming that when I tried the spells from Harry Potter, they actually worked. Haile and Dora were clairvoyant, Amber could work magic the way I could, and Yajaira was simply very good at keeping us all organized and financially solvent. This was the most baffling kind of magic to me. 

Amber, predictably, offered to hex Daniel Bellview into a roach. (This sickened me a little bit, because she had a thriving colony of Madagascar Hissing Cockroaches in her bedroom, and probably a quarter of them had started out as men who did something she perceived as unforgivable.) (Only two of them had done something that was truly horrible. That left five men-as-cockroaches in her room that had been irritating but not evil. They had been cockroaches for between one and five months, and I was starting to get antsy about whether she was ever going to return them to normal.) I passed on turning Daniel into a roach. 

Haile offered to read something of his, if I could get it home, and Yajaira just told me to eat my dinner and give it time, because I always needed time to warm up to people. 

Warm up to Daniel. Unlikely. 

Over the course of the next month, my teeth began to wear down from the pressure of clenching them all the time around my ever-present co-worker. Herb told me to be nice to him, because, “We need him to like us. And to think that the shelter is a good thing. He has a good relationship with his dad, and we can use all the help we can get.” 

But Daniel was not an easy person to be nice to. At least, not for me. The girls who worked in the front seemed to find him charming because he was a snappy dresser and backed his inane comments with a dentally-privileged smile. He was particularly cheerful (he would tell anyone who asked) because his father was doing so well in the polls, and there were only weeks left until election day.

But I tried to be nice to him, or at least helpful. “You know, you sound like an idiot when you ask kids where their dad is.”

He blinked. There was a moment of surprise before he recovered his Smarmy™ smile. “Okay. What am I supposed to say?”

“You can ask them if they’re here with anybody, or if there’s anybody they need to get in contact with. I know your dad is perfect, but a lot of the youngsters here don’t have both parents in their lives, or their here because their parents aren’t doing stellar at the whole parenting gig.”

“Wow,” he said. “Thank you. Herb was right, you really have a feel for this.” 

I scowled. It wasn’t like I was trying to hide my past from Daniel Bellview, or anybody else for that matter. From the glazed look on Daniel’s face half the time, I wasn’t sure he even saw the people who stayed here as people. I didn’t want that expression pointed my way.

But it was even worse to keep wondering what he knew. So. “I spent a lot of time here when I was growing up. Ages twelve to fourteen. I mean, it wasn’t home, but I was here more than anywhere else.” 

Okay, so he hadn’t known. He looked insultingly stunned. “You?”

Wow, it was the shortest sentence I’d ever heard him utter. And he was actually waiting for a response. I didn’t owe him anything, so I nodded and handed him a bucket of disinfectant water. “Hard surfaces,” I said. “Go.”

Amber was sympathetic in her usual way. “I know another spell you can try,” she smiled, “If you don’t want to turn him into a cockroach.”

“I’m listening,” I sighed. 

“Katastrepe agapate. It destroys what they love the most.” 

“That’s horrifying,” I answered immediately. I didn’t want to kill his dog, or sister, or the thing that he probably actually loved the most, himself. “That’s worse than roaches.”

“It doesn’t do death,” she promised, waving away my primary concern. “Usually. And you can put in a spellsafe so he can undo it if he stops being terrible. Besides, election day is only a few weeks away, and I have a guess about what he loves the most.”

I just didn’t want to take any chances. I mean, gods and stuff, if I harmed a pet I would never be able to live with myself. 

“Daniel,” I started casually. 

He already looked startled. “Daniel? I thought I was Bellview.”

Dammit. He was right, I had never addressed him by his first name. I tried to avoid names all together with him. “What would you say you love the most?”

“Wh-what makes you ask?” 

“Just, you know, conversing with my co-worker. Trying to get to know you better.” So convincing, Gana. 

He maneuvered a smile back into place. “Other than my own reflection?” He laughed like he was making a joke about himself, or maybe a joke about the way I thought of him. “Probably, the values that make our country so amazing. Virtue. Independence. Innovation. Things like that.” 

I was sure that a spell couldn’t harm Virtue, and besides, that sounded like code for “my dad being a senator.”

“What about you, Gana?”

“Huh?”

“What do you love most?” 

He had gotten slightly better at waiting for me to answer things, but this took an exceptionally long time for me to answer. “I think--I think it might be this place,” I finally said. 

He nodded. “I can see it.”

With three weeks to go until elections, I cast the spell with Amber over a toothbrush that Daniel kept in the staff room. “Katastrepe Agapate.” The silly spellsafe I put over it was that, of course, if he wanted to protect the thing he loved, it was going to have to be Twue Wuv’s Kiss. If things started going bad for a pet or secret sister or something, it should be easy for him to undo. And if it really was his reflection, it should be pretty amusing. 

Over the next weeks I waited for the scandalous news to hit and the GOPs poll numbers to crash, but instead:

Congressional Nominee John Bellview climbed several points in the poll after doing a special appearance at my very own place of employment and making A Very Generous Donation.

Several Democratic candidates fell into traps of their own making and dropped in the polls.

I wondered if Daniel was secretly just a terrible Democrat, and my spell had backfired.

Daniel and I fixed five showers and a toilet that had been out of service for over a month. I asked him how he knew plumbing, and he reminded me that this was his third “gap year.” I told him that he couldn't indefinitely call his life a gap year, and he said that it made his father feel better about him not embarking on his eventual journey toward a doctor/lawyer/CEO.

Daniel also asked 35% fewer stupid questions, like he actually heard me when I told him he was being stupid.

Daniel thought I was starting a game by asking him what he loved best, and so every shift together, he would have a new question, like “If you were a constellation, which one would you be?” and “If you could speak any five languages, which ones would you choose?” Some of the questions were more serious, like “What is your biggest regret?” He always listened to my actual answers, which was at first more than I expected of him, but I started to get used to the listening and the honesty. 

 He did not cease to be irritating, but I started to understand when he was being ironic and when he was simply being stupid. There were measures of both.

I almost wished I hadn’t done the spell.

Especially since I could figure out what it was affecting. He gave no hint that anything was wrong away from work, and everything at work was fine. 

The stress and guilt of possibly destroying something I couldn’t even identify was making me miserable. Clumps of my hair started coming out in my brush.

I took this final problem to Yajaira, who combed her fingers through my hair and came away with more fine strands of hair than I wanted to part with. “Maybe you should take some time off work, Gana. Either you’re not eating right, or you’re stressed out.”

She was right. I was stressed. I stayed home from work for the first time in a year and helped Yajaira with the quiet magic of bulk-cooking vegetarian meals and storing them in the freezer. In the middle of stirring a pot of soup and chanting, “Double, double, toil and trouble,” to double the recipe without having to increase the ingredients, the periphery of my vision went dark, and my knees buckled. I was left on the ground, clenching the wooden spoon.

“Dios,” Yajaira cried, dropping to my side with half an onion still in her left hand. “Gana, I’m taking you to a doctor.”

“I’m just tired,” I whispered. “I was trying to do magic, and I haven’t been sleeping well.” Maybe the agapate spell was taking a little bit of my magic at all times, and that was causing my exhaustion. 

“Doctor.” Yajaira responded firmly. 

“Please not for this, Yajaira. Can’t Dora just take a look at me and see what’s wrong?”

Yajaira seemed annoyed by this and called Dora to come home from school to take a look at me. (Dora was a fifth grade teacher. Being a fifth grade teacher sounded exhausting, but being a psychic fifth grade teacher seemed like actual hell. Dora seemed to enjoy it.) 

I napped on the couch like a sick kid. In some corner of my mind, I could remember being five and six and having a place where people had given me a warm water bottle to hold when I had a fever and putting orange juice on a tray by me as quickly as I could drink it. I could also remember being dead on my feet from some flu I’d caught on the street and dragging myself to the shelter, where they found a room to quarantine me and flu medicine that I could never pay for and didn’t have to. It was funny how the state of being sick made me feel like I could reach out and touch those other sick versions of me throughout my own history. 

Amber arrived home just a few minutes before Dora and force fed me the soup I’d been making, but when Dora got home, she brushed Amber out of the way and started inspecting me. “It’s good you let me take a look at her first, Jai. This is a spell.”

My eyes snapped open, winced, and closed again. “What kind of spell? Who could--” I’d met some others like me in the past couple of years, but it wasn’t like we had a rival gang of witches living on the East side. I couldn’t see why anyone would target me.

“Gana, I don’t understand. It’s you. The spell is from you.”

Gods or something dammit. 

It took a lot of explaining and answering uncomfortable questions, which I could only do between bouts of fortifying soup and closing my eyes to rest. “Amber, are you sure this spell doesn’t cause death?”

She looked horrified. She’d taken off her giant glasses and was cleaning them on the edge of her cardigan rather than meet anyone’s eye. “I told you it’s usually not a death curse. You did use a spellsafe, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” I sighed. And what an easy, convenient spellsafe I’d chosen. “A kiss.”

At this, Amber shoved her glasses back on her face and stopped looking miserable, and Yajaira sighed, “Is that all? Somebody go get the boy.”

I struggle to sit up. “No, no, no. Definitely not him, here.” 

Dora looked at her watch. “It’s still the middle of your shift. If I drive you in, do you think you can take care of it?”

I felt sick. It was difficult to know if the feeling came from dreading the conversation that would have to occur or if it was the superbly stupid spell. “I blame you, Amber,” I shouted as Dora bundled me out the door. 

If I thought it was awkward explaining the situation to my sisters, it was nothing compared to facing Daniel. Could I have lied about the situation? Probably. I did not love lying to people, and I just did not have the emotional and mental capacity to do this right now. 

“Wow,” he greeted. “You look terrible.”

“Thanks,” I returned. “You are terrible. Mostly. Will you kiss me?”

That got a look out of him that I hadn’t seen before. His eyes went round and bulgy, and he choked out, “What?”

“This is going to take forever to explain, but I do...spells? I do spells. And stuff. And I did a spell on you to destroy whatever you loved the most. Which I specifically asked you about, by the way, and you lied. I thought we were being honest with each other. So now I’m very ill, and look terrible, as you mentioned previously, and in order to fix it I need a kiss from you.”

“Oh,” he said, “That’s embarrassing.”

“Yes,” I said, “But I’d rather deal with it than continue to pass out in the kitchen.” 

“I meant for me,” he corrected, that now-familiar mockery of a smile on his face. “You know I always think of myself first. I didn’t plan for you to find out like this.”

“How would you possibly have planned for me to find out like this?” I snapped. 

“Point. But also the reason I wasn’t honest with you when you asked me about the object of my affections. It seemed like an inopportune moment to spring my feelings on you.” He shrugged. I had never seen him look uncomfortable in this particular way. 

“It seems you don’t have to worry about it, because I’ll find a far less opportune way of finding out.”

His laugh sounded tin, and then looked around to make sure we were alone in the room. “You know this is also a terrible thing to do?” 

“Oh, yes. I could probably have this conversation a lot better if I wasn’t on the brink of collapse, but I’m very sorry and feel like an idiot and promise not to let my irritation get the best of me in the workplace. I feel very bad about it and not solely because it’s nearly killing me.”

“It certainly communicates where I stand,” he laughed without any joy behind it, and then leaned forward and pressed his lips against mine. 

I’d watched his lips as they smirked and schmoozed and I had never once imagined them pressed against mine, and at the moment that seemed like a terrible oversight. I made a soft, happy noise against him, and it startled him into tugging away. 

I instantly felt much better, although it was still impossible to tell if I was relieved that the conversation was over, or if the curse was broken, or if it had just been a really nice kiss. 

He whistled and turned away to find something to do with his hands. “Hope that helped, colleague of mine. Now I need to go--I don’t know--drink something strong.”

“You’re still on shift,” I pointed out. “And I am too, I guess, since I’m no longer sick.”

Having found nothing else to do with his hands, he just looked at them. They were not clenched, but they kept making tight little motions at each other. “I can ask to be transferred to another shift. I’m not ready to leave yet, but you don’t have to see me.”

“I don’t have to see you?” I frowned. “You’re the one who should never want to see me again. Like you said, that was pretty terrible. I’m sorry.”

“And also like I said, that gives me a pretty clear answer regarding how you feel. As if you’d ever left any real room for doubt. A little bit of distance would probably be good for your health.”

I don’t know why it caused such a pang of regret to hear him say this, but I felt an undeniable urge to make it better. “Having you around was pretty good for my health today.”

There was a sad little cousin of a smirk on his face. “There’s that, at least.”

“I think you should hang around a little longer. It takes me a notoriously long time to warm up to people. Give me a chance.” 

He looked at me closely. “Are you sure? You’re not still fevered? I’ve heard my kisses can be intoxicating.”

What a dumbass. “I’m sure.”

[bookiemonsterph]

Nevernight

Synopsis:

Mia Corvere is only ten years old when she is given her first lesson in death. Destined to destroy empires, the child raised in shadows made a promise on the day she lost everything: to avenge herself on those that shattered her world. But the chance to strike against such powerful enemies will be fleeting, and Mia must become a weapon without equal. Before she seeks vengeance, she must seek training among the infamous assassins of the Red Church of Itreya. Inside the Church's halls, Mia must prove herself against the deadliest of opponents and survive the tutelage of murderers, liars and daemons at the heart of a murder cult. The Church is no ordinary school. But Mia is no ordinary student. The Red Church is no ordinary school, but Mia is no ordinary student. The shadows love her. And they drink her fear.

Title: Nevernight Series: The Nevernight Chronicles Author: Jay Kristoff ISBN: 0008179980 (ISBN13: 9780008179984) Pages:  463  pages (Paperback) Published:  June 19th 2017 by Harper Collins (first published August 9th 2016) Characters: Tric, Mia Corvere, Lord Cassius, Mister Kindly, Ashlin, Mercurio, Jessamine, Mother Drusilla, Shahiid Mouser, Shahiid Solis, Shahiid Aalea, Naev, Carlotta Valdi, Diamo, Weaver Marielle, Justicus Remus, Osrik, Speaker Adonai, Julius Scaeva, Francesco Duomo Genre: Young Adult, High Fantasy, Romance, Paranormal, Magic

I have a strict rule about reading: I have to read 100 pages of a book before I decide whether or not I’m going to finish it. Usually at that point I’ll finish it regardless because once I’ve sunk 100 pages into a book, I’d rather finish it and be able to claim I’ve read it (I’ve actually only DNF’d one book that I can remember). Maybe it’s not the best rule, but it’s how I operate. But let me tell you: Nevernight needed those one hundred freebie pages. If I’ve read another book that starts as badly, it’s been long enough that I don’t remember it. The opening chapter has some interesting things going on, stylistically, but after that… yikes. Mia and Tric, another important character, make their way across a dangerous desert to the Red Church, chased by monsters. You’d think running from monsters towards a murder church might be at least kind of interesting, but you would be wrong. It’s mind-numbingly boring. At that point in the novel, neither Mia nor Tric had done anything to get me to care about them as characters, and their repartee is not nearly as witty and charming as it’s evidently meant to be. The monster fights go on way too long and the narration doesn’t help it at all. More on the narration in a bit.

As I was reading this interminably long, interminably bad section, I complained to my friend that it was like Jay Kristoff’s editors had completely left him out to dry. Someone, I said, should have told this poor guy how many readers he was going to lose in this section. Then I figured it out. This is infodropping, I realized. We have to know about these monsters and this desert for the climax. I was right. Those stupid monsters do come back, and for the record, they’re not much better. I realize that they’re necessary for the plot, but I still think the editors needed to take Kristoff aside and say, this does not work. Rewrite it.

Back to the narration. It’s unique, for sure, and—I’m sure—base-breaking. Between Nevernight and Illuminae, it’s clear that Kristoff is a narratively skilled and innovative writer. Nevernight has a very strong narrative voice. An unnamed character who loves Mia tells the story directly to the readers, and tells it reverently, evoking religious phrases and imagery at every turn. There is also a liberal use of footnotes, which provide historical and cultural context for the fictional society. The footnotes pulled me out of the story. I couldn’t get into a rhythm because every time I did, I’d have to jump out and read multiple paragraphs about something that only peripherally affected Mia’s story. A few of them did provide important information, but enough of them were merely padding that my brain glazed over them a little as I was reading. As I’ve said, it took me a long time to care about Mia, and this was compounded by all the tangents. It’s not that I dislike tangents. Sometimes they can work really well. But when they interrupt a story that’s already limping along with something that brings it to a standstill, they’re not doing any favors. When I hit the middle of the book, they were more forgivable.

The book totally transforms when Mia and Tric reach the Red Church. Before they got there, I was desperate to get Nevernight over with. Once they arrive, so too did my interest. The challenges and trials posed to the acolytes gave the novel a structure it had been sorely lacking, and the new characters—particularly Ashlinn and to a lesser degree Hush, Jessamine, and Carlotta—changed up the dynamics for the better. Mia really only took form as a full character with the other acolytes. While lots of readers seem to really like Tric, I’m pretty neutral about him. He had a pretty blatant love interest vibe from the start. There were a few moments when it seemed like Mia wasn’t interested in him, and I was excited, but then they hooked up and my original impression was solidified. I’m not inherently against characters who are there primarily to be love interests. I can get very invested in well-told romantic storylines. But I never got Tric and Mia, and their lust-filled relationship didn’t interest me, especially considering how risky it was and how little either of them actually got out of it.

And there were a few minor things in Nevernight that bothered me. There’s a single line about Mister Kindly, Mia’s supernatural shadow sidekick, being angry when Mia sleeps peacefully enough that there’s no fear for him to feed on that fascinated me, but it never goes anywhere. The names for the assassination classes are hokey; a few of them kind of make sense, but calling poisons class “Truths” is kinda dumb. This is probably petty, but… when Mia had her appearance drastically and magically changed and is given much larger breasts, I couldn’t help thinking, this was definitely written by a dude. Sorry, but I can’t imagine a female writer giving her character a magical boob job, and especially not for assassin training. I mean, really? This poor girl went from being basically flat-chested to being apparently huge and never had any back pain? Sure.

The novel as a whole relentlessly juxtaposes the sacred and the vulgar. Mia wishes to become a disciple in a church devoted to shadow and darkness, where murder is sacred and the most relentless killers are lauded. The very first chapter of the novel intertwines scenes of Mia’s first real murder with her first sexual encounter, repeating phrases and changing only a word or two in order to align the two experiences as closely as possible. Repeatedly, violence and lust are woven together, and combined with the idea of murder-as-religion, the three ideas—sex, violence, and worship—become a kind of holy/unholy trinity. It’s fascinating, and when Kristoff keeps the uncomfortable balance, it works brilliantly. Unfortunately, the balance tips at the end. Most of Nevernight acknowledges, at least partially, that taking lives is generally considered immoral and that, therefore, a church dedicated to “Our Lady of Blessed Murder” is probably at least a little shady (pun mostly intended). The end doesn’t, though. I’ll put a spoilery paragraph at the very end of this if you want to read why the ending disappointed me.

The middle of Nevernight is very good. It has an interesting hierarchy filled with morally ambiguous power structures and characters. The beginning, though, is a chore, and the ending pulls off a dramatic twist… at the expense of the only character I actually, truly liked. The narrative voice is initially intriguing, but  it got old quickly and then I got numb to it and now can’t decide if I overall liked it or not. The same goes for the book itself. I enjoyed myself for probably around 65% of it, but was actively annoyed for a lot of the rest. I’m the rare reader who will come out of Nevernight lukewarm; I think the majority will run either very hot or very cold, because nearly everything about it is polarizing: the narration, the characters, the twist, the amount of sex and gore, the depiction of religion. I can see how every bit of it could be either adored or detested, and I’m surprised that I ended up stuck on the fence.