#i was half too busy criticizing the writing to actually be disturbed

[hellonearthtoday]

any o you ever seen sumthin written so badly... and its horror, and its written in a way that feels like its trying to scare u w its shock value. and its like nooo duhh this was written by a man....i do not think you should be a writer. in fact, you should give up

[imagineyouandharry]

Gypsophila (H.S)

Summary: Prince Harry has been under great pressure to find a wife, and he finds his Queen in a way far more unconventional than he could’ve imagined. 

Words: 5,730

Warnings: It’s a bit strange I guess? Idk lol.

A/N: Someone requested a Prince!Harry au forever ago, and then I didn’t really have an opportunity to write for a while, and then this idea sprung up on me and I’ve been lost in this little au for the past few days. It’s like a little twisted fairytale, taking inspiration from Snow White and Sleeping Beauty mostly. Part two is already a work in progress. If people are interested I’ll even put out a little sort of world building lore post with a map of the kingdom etc (I’ve been in DEEP). This part is a bit choppy and barely edited because I was just so eager to write it and get something out, but I would really appreciate any constructive criticism and editing notes! TYSM!! Long story short, enjoy!!!

 ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Harry Edward Styles did not believe in true love, in fact, he thought it was the most ridiculous idea ever. Harry’s certain he’s laid eyes upon every eligible young lady, from his kingdom and the ones surrounding, and he hadn’t felt a single thing when looking at any of them. He prayed every night that he would find his love the next day, and finally be able to put his parents out of their misery and ascend to the throne. At the age of 27, Harry’s the oldest person in his family to not be married, no one every waited this long in the royal family. He would’ve had an arranged marriage at 21, though when his parents suggested that he ran away on a sailing ship for two months. One thing was clear to him: though he may not have experienced love yet, he wasn’t going to ruin his chances at true by being forced into a loveless marriage. It wasn’t only Harry’s parents, but the entire kingdom that woke each day hoping to hear that their Prince had found his Queen. They referred to Harry as the Good Prince, his subjects adored him, and lived for his acts of charity and selflessness, and they only hoped he would find a Queen that would treat them the same.

Harry’s outlook on love changed however, after his most recent hunting trip. Sundays are for family and hunting, that’s what Harry was always told. No day was for Harry, he’d come to learn that. Living under a microscope meant for very little alone time, and almost no guilt-free alone time. He and his hunting party rode across the fields and out to the dense forest surrounding the kingdom, and over the two hour journey Harry found himself agitated with the topics of conversation going on around him. He wanted a break, tired of everyone only ever speaking about royal duties or politics. Harry had discovered a fresh water lake if he went off the trail, and when he realised they were edging closer to his favourite place he decided to excuse himself with the excuse of needing to fill his canteen.

The natural spring was a hidden treasure indeed. Harry’s entire kingdom was cut off from the rest of the world due to the thick forestland surrounding it. There was only one trail in, and one trail out, and even then only experienced riders were able to make the journey. The end of the trail, in the deep of the forest, was also often lined with thieves and outcasts making it not the safest journey. This spring wasn’t necessarily hard to find, however thick trees that lined the main trail hid the spring, the gorgeous wild flowers, and clearing of soft grass either side. Harry tied his horse to his usual tree, softly parting the bushes careful to not cause any permanent damage, and stepped his way through. His kingdom was full of hidden treasures like this, tucked away in places only to be found by those adventurous enough.

The sound of the running water was most prominent, however the closer he walked to the spring, the more he could hear a faint, delicate singing voice. Harry couldn’t recognise the song, but it was one he’d never forget now. It felt as though his heart dropped in his stomach, and he had to lightly scratch his arm on a branch to double check he hasn’t died and was hearing an angel of heaven sing to him. He walked closer, with quiet footsteps so not to disturb the singing. He knelt down to the edge of the spring and began to fill his canteen, looking around his eyes eventually focused on the source of his siren, standing in the clearing over the other side of the spring as she picked a bouquet of dainty flowers. Lavender, daisies, bellflowers, poppies. Her body was dressed in sage green, the simple dress showed she definitely was not from a wealthy family, but it was simple and beautiful in its own way. Perhaps she sewed it herself, it did look as if it were made for her. He could see her hair shine from here, and the features of her side profile were striking him even from a distance. She didn’t look real. The strange girl across the spring looked ethereal, like her beauty was too surreal for this planet. Had he hit his head? Was he seeing a forest fairy? He hadn’t even realised the staggering increase in his heart rate as he watched the girl, and listened.

He lost track of how long he had been watching her for, snapped out of his daydream when he heard a “Your Royal Highness! We must be getting on!” Harry heard shouting at him from a distance, most likely back where he had tied his horse. The girl had heard the faint noise and her eyes shot in Harry’s direction. His cheeks flushed with heat as their eyes met only for a brief second, before she ran away. The eye contact brought a slight curve to his lips, although she was leaving, at least he got another good look at her.

“Wait!” He called as he stood up, his hand and canteen dripping wet. His eyes softened as she simply left, looking back briefly in her stride, but he’d blown it. “God fucking damn it.” He cursed under his breath as he began to trudge back to his horse, his feet weighing heavy on the ground.

That was the most he’d ever felt, looking at the stranger across the lake singing as if it were for him, and he couldn’t help but feel like he’d just lost his future Queen. Half of him wanted to wade through the water and run after her, but Harry wasn’t a often disobedient Prince, when one of his parents or advisors told him to jump, his usual response would be “how high?” It’s ironic how for someone who’s whole life depends on finding his future Queen is given so little time to actually explore a social life, or love life himself. He was always set up with suitors who his parents found best. In the rare times he’s able to sneak away he’d gotten around, and most definitely wasn’t a virgin, but he’d never found a girl who had made him feel the way he wanted to feel about his future queen. He only wanted to please his family, and his realm, but this was the one thing where he refused to compromise.

Y/N was as far away from a future queen as it could come, or at least that’s what her step-mother wanted everyone to think. The entire town hoped to marry their daughters off to the elusive Good Prince Harry, however her step-mother only wanted her biological daughters to have that chance. When Y/N’s father passed away her step-mother sent her out to live as a recluse in a tiny cottage in the woods, she had always feared that her beauty would distract future husbands away from her actual daughters, and didn’t want to ruin their chance of being married. Each Sunday she drops Y/N off the supplies she needs, but that was the only human contact she was given. It wasn’t too bad, she managed to keep herself busy with sewing, baking, or whatever other art or craft she could think of and had the materials for. It was lonely though, and she was ultimately alone.

Well, if you don’t count forest fairies. Y/N hated being outcast into the forest, and spent most of her early months in the cottage crying to whatever wild animal she could find that day that would stick around long enough. Eventually, these wild animals started bringing their fairy friends along with them. They would spend their days with Y/N tending to fruit and vegetable gardens, watering plants, having picnics, and making daisy chains. Her life was simple, and although not one she asked, it was one she was growing fond of. Male company was something she could only imagine and long for, or read about in story books. There were dozens of fairies living in the forest, but she’d become particularly close to a group of some of the female fairies.

Each Sunday before her step mother visits, Y/N will pick her step mother a bouquet of flowers in attempt to win her over, in hopes maybe one day her sweetness will earn her way back into town. Y/N had total obliviousness towards her step mother’s plan, and towards what was going on in the city. This year, any woman over the age of 21 was to present herself to the Prince. Y/N’s 21st birthday fell on the day she was scheduled to be presented to the Prince. The letter had been delivered shortly before she was sent away to the forest, Y/N never laid her eyes upon it though. The letter outlined the royal guard would be coming to collect anyone who failed to present themselves on the day, and to Y/N’s step mother that meant the only option was to make it so Y/N never turned 21, or made it to her birthday for that matter.

Seeing the Prince most definitely did spook Y/N during that day in the field, if her step mother ever found out she’d had contact with a male there was no chance she’d ever be allowed to move back home. She did all she could think to do. She ran. She ran so fast that the petals of the flowers she had picked were ruined in her haste, quickly shutting herself inside the cottage to gather herself before her routine afternoon visit from her step mother. Sure she knew of men to be dangerous and terrible, but she feared her step-mother’s wrath more than anything any man could put her through.

Like any other Sunday, she scrubbed the house and dressed herself in whatever new garment she had stitched herself this week. The fairies had been busy this week and she’d had a great deal of time to herself, embroidering colourful flowers into the soft white linen of the new dress she had made. Her step-mother would bring her fabric and thread to sew dresses for her step sisters. It was something to be proud of, but most likely would be over looked. Little was said upon her step-mother’s arrival, but her character seemed off. Her step-mother’s eyes darted around, checking windows as she insisted on making the two of them tea. Y/N sat down at the small dining table, recounting tales of her week, ensuring to leave out anything about fairies or a boy. She watched a small bunny outside the window, forgetting to speak as awe overwhelmed her whilst she watched its tiny nose twitch. Her daydream came to an end when the sound of the ceramic mug hit the hard wood of the coffee table. “Drink while it’s warm, my love.” Her step-mother told her, sitting down in the seat at the head of the table beside Y/N. It wasn’t long after that that Y/N hit the floor, and her step-mother was shrouding herself in a hooded coat and sneaking out of the tiny cabin.

Elsie, a fairy most close to Y/N, who specialises in healing, came to the conclusion that she was only out for about six hours before the fairies found her. They did all they could over the following weeks to bring her back to life, trying as many possible rituals, potions, and spells to give life to her body once more. Nothing was of use though, and instead they decided to preserve her in a glass case in the clearing amongst the wildflowers. She had professed to them that the clearing by the spring had been her favourite place, so they saw this fit. Preserving her in the glass case was simply because the idea of her beauty decaying away made any of the fairies shriek. Fairies never communicated with humans, however Y/N was different. Elsie had always theorised that Y/N had magic in her blood. Amongst the many spells and rituals they tried to bring Y/N back, they threw in a spell that would hopefully bring her back with true love’s kiss. It was like a safety net, or a ‘what if?’ But they eventually tired and wore out, preserving her was well enough for now. They kept her dressed in the new dress she had crafted for herself, it was so beautiful after all. They had placed tiny baby’s breath flowers throughout her hair, and made sure everything was perfect. They even went as far to adorn her in delicate gold jewellery, with beautiful crystals of all colours. Her body rested upon a large rectangular slab of rose quartz.

****

Harry was dreading sitting in the throne room, while all the eligible females from the town were presented to him like livestock. It made him sick, and left a terrible taste in his mouth. All he could think of was the girl from the clearing. Is she a sign? Is he his ticket out of here? Was seeing her fate? Questions like that simmered over his mind and kept him awake at night, he had been sleeping little and finding it hard to focus on his duties. His best friend Niall was he closest confidant, the only one he had told about the beautiful girl in the clearing that day. Niall cared more for Harry than anyone, really. He didn’t just care about his fame or power or wealth, Harry was his best friend and he hated seeing his best mate so down about his love life and the pressure to marry a woman he doesn’t love. He made it his mission to find the woman, and his detective work lead him down a path he didn’t expect at all. First he went to the clearing where Harry filled his water in the spring, that was where he first noticed something over the other side of the spring that he couldn’t quite make out. He followed the spring and found an area narrow enough to cross, making his way to the structure he’d seen earlier. He didn’t know what to make of this discover, a dead girl in a glass coffin. ‘Forever at rest, only to be woken by true love’s kiss’ read an inscription on a gold plaque. He really didn’t know what to make of this. He didn’t know what to tell Harry.

Sweat lingered Niall’s brow as he made his way back to the castle to find Harry, to tell him of his discovery. “Look… I just need you to come with me and tell me what you think when we’re there.” Niall tells him, his voice somewhat breathless. Niall himself was still in disbelief, shock, his eyes wide as he shook his head. “I just- I don’t know what to tell you. You need to see it for yourself.” He adds.

Harry nods. “I’ll come immediately.” Harry tells him, his trust for Niall outweighing anything else going on in his head. Together they rode to the forest, crossed the narrow part of the spring, and towards where Niall had discovered Y/N.

“Is this the girl you were talking about?” Niall asks, however when he looks from the girl to Harry, he knows the answer. Harry couldn’t help but fall to his knees, pressing his palms against the glass as he looked inside. He noticed how long her eyelashes looked, and the freckles on her nose. His nose was almost touching the glass as he leant here on his knees at the side of her, taking her in up close.

“What happened to you?” He whispers, his eyebrows knitting together. Niall gives him a moment before he decides to mention the plaque at the foot of the structure.

“It uh, says something weird about being awoken by true love’s kiss. I don’t know if it’s true, and it’s revolting to think you would kiss a dead body for nothing, but someone has put her here. Someone made this. My grandmother in her old age would mutter stories about forest fairies and their magic… It just makes you wonder, you know?” He ponders, his eyes wandering away. It felt silly to bring up magic, it was something very commonly dismissed.

“Help me get this off.” Harry said as he brought himself from the ground, the soft grass had left green stains on his tan riding pants. He pushed the sleeves of his white linen button down up past his elbows, and the two men carefully lift the heavy glass case up off of the rose quartz Y/N had been resting on. It wasn’t easy, and the glass at the bottom dug into Harry’s fingers before they set the glass piece of the structure down on to the grass. “Alright. Here we go.” Harry said, in attempt to psych himself up for kissing a dead girl. She didn’t look dead though, just sleeping, you could only tell she was dead due to the missing rising and fall in her chest with her breath. “I might start walking back to the horses, give you some privacy.” Niall said, giving him a slight smile. He also didn’t really want to witness someone kiss a dead person, if she didn’t end up waking up.

“Good luck. Take your time.” He adds, part of him had no doubt it was going to work though. The stories his grandmother would tell him of the forest fairies were something he’d always held on to, those stories were amongst his most treasured memories. He’d always had some hope.

Harry waited until he could no longer hear Niall’s footsteps before he leant down close to Y/N, brushing a strand of hair back behind her ear. He took a moment, if this never worked it was going to be the last time he’d ever see her. He couldn’t fathom coming back to this spot if this didn’t work. His heart began to ache at the thought, it made his chest feel tight, and gave him the urge to rub at the spot.

“I really hope you’re who I think you are.” He whispers as he looks down at her. “This might seem like absolute madness. I don’t even know your name, but if you wake up for me, I swear to you I will be yours forever.” He began, to Harry this almost did feel like a ritual, it felt special, and the words he was speaking were amongst the most genuine he’d ever given life to. “I promise, I will protect you. I will provide for you. I will love you. I will never, ever harm you. I will love you until my very last breath, I just need you to do this one thing for me.” His voice was barely a whisper now, and breaking as hot tears welled in his eyes. He very carefully leant down, pressing his warm, puffy lips against her cold, smooth ones. He didn’t know how long to wait, but it didn’t feel wrong. It was a sweet, tender kiss. His eyes closed, and he felt at peace. It felt more than at peace. The long grass, wildflowers, and tree branches that surrounded them began to stir with wind, petals floating up into the gusts that took them. This girl had a tendency to make him feel like he’s dead and in heaven. Her lips slowly began to warm, and skin began to glow with heat. It felt like they were floating, as if the universe was made up of just the two of them. The flowers beneath him began to grow taller and more dense, and it began to feel like his heart was pulling towards hers. It felt like a tether had been formed, connecting their energy, he could feel as her heart began to pump blood again, and her energy radiate from her skin. It felt too surreal.

Slowly, Harry removed his lips to allow Y/N to breathe. He let a hand lay gently resting on her cheek as he watched her gasp for her first new breath, eyes shooting open as she looked up at him. It wasn’t shock she was met with when her eyes met Harry’s, but peace. The luminous green eyes that were gazing down upon her were like lighthouses, guiding her towards safety. So many questions began to race her mind as she came to reality, unable to decide which one to ask first. As if based on intuition, Harry decided to speak. “I uh- I’m not too sure what happened to you but my friend found you here today and brought me to you. I believe I saw you a few weeks ago, in the same spot. I’m not sure how long you’ve been out here, but there was this little plaque at the end of this thing here, that said something about a kiss to wake you up… I’m sorry for kissing you without your consent, but I couldn’t risk not taking this chance.” He didn’t mean to ramble or to overwhelm her with his spiel, but he was overwhelmed himself with everything that had just gone on. True love’s kiss. His queen. His true love. The other half of his soul, in human form. Y/N’s lips parted as if to speak, but nothing came out. She closed them once more as she sat up and looked around, swinging her legs off the side of the marble before looking back up to Harry. Her movement had disconnected his hand from her face, and they both longed for each other’s touch once more already. Her eyes began to well with tears as she began to think about how she got here, her last memories.

“I can only assume how overwhelming this must all be for you… We can stay here as long as you need, it’s just us. When you feel ready for it, I can take you back to my home and we can get you showered and fed. I don’t mean you any harm.” Harry doesn’t even need to add that last sentence though, because she can feel it. She can feel his love for her, she could almost hear it if she listened closely enough, as if his heart was now beating a song for her.

Harry stood back, as if to give the doe eyed girl some space. She looked at him as if he was the most precious treasure on Earth, he’d never felt so overwhelmed with love. This was followed by her delicate hands reaching out, taking ahold of his as she brought herself to stand in front of him. “Is it alright if you hold me for a second?” She asked softly, needing time to process things.

It had been so long since she had been touched affectionately, she couldn’t really remember it. Her father was never affectionate, nor her step mother or step sisters or anyone else she’d met. She felt comfortable with the stranger in front of her though, and didn’t have the energy to resist the magnet like force pulling her towards him.

“Of course.” He responds, his voice soft as he wraps his arms gently around her frame, pulling her into his warm figure. Harry was like the perfect, giant teddy bear… but he wasn’t really that soft. Pressed against him she could feel how chiseled his features are. Her arms wrapped around his waist as she relaxed into him, cheek against the skin of his chest kindly revealed by the first few buttons of his shirt being undone. “What’s your name?” He asks, tangling his fingers in her hair to lightly rub his fingertips against the tender skin at the back of her neck.

“Y/N Y/L/N. Yours?” She asks, looking up to the tall, broad man.

“Harry.” He decides on leaving out his royal title or last name.

“Just Harry?” She asks, her eyebrows raising.

“For now. We have plenty of time to talk about me later.” He notes, removing the same rogue strand of hair as before from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. It was almost as if her hair had a life of its own, breathing, like the other flora growing in the forest. He had noticed the baby’s breath in her hair, though her hair moved, they remained in the same places, as if growing out of their place on the strand of hair. “What do you last remember?” He asks, needing to know if whatever put her in eternal sleep had been by accident, or as an act of malice. She looks back away from his face, resting her cheek once more against his chest.

“My step-mother, Styephania came over, she made me tea. That’s all I can really remember.” She said, unable to stop the disappointed sigh from escaping her lips. Maybe she’d had a freak health accident, like a stroke. Just because she’d been mistreated by her step mother her whole life, didn’t mean she was capable of murder. She knew her step mother didn’t put her out here though, this was the work of fairies. They were looking on, hiding in the bushes as they stood witness to young love blossom in front of them, not wanting to disturb the two of them. “I look crazy, and it sounds crazier saying this, but I’m certain the forest fairies are responsible for looking after me and putting me here. The day she came over was the day I think you saw me here, and I’m not sure how I’m meant to feel but I don’t feel like I’ve been a dead body since then. I feel like no time has passed at all.” Harry avidly listened to her speak, her voice like caramel, seeping in his ears and warming his whole body. Harry wasn’t phased by her mentioning fairies, Niall had suspecting this being their work earlier. It was the only explanation Harry could think of. He couldn’t understand why her step mother would leave her here, why she wouldn’t find her help.

He didn’t want to worry his sweet girl now, he wanted to make sure she felt alright, safe, and cared for. His grip on her wasn’t too tight, but firm in a comforting way. “The plaque… It mentioned how you’d only be woken by true love’s kiss.” He figured the longer he waited to tell her the stranger it would be. His cheeks were red, as if embarrassed or ashamed to tell her about the plaque, how strange it all was. Her eyes met his, and the connection gave him whiplash. He couldn’t peel his eyes away, getting lost in the little pools. He wanted to know everything about her, what she liked, disliked, what she ate for breakfast, her favourite songs, flowers, secrets. Everything.

“I don’t know if I know what love feels like. The only men I’ve spoken to are all twice my age. I wasn’t really allowed to see boys. You’re definitely much, much more beautiful than I would’ve imagined a man to be, and I’m certain that my heart is literally beating for you now, since you woke me.” She tells him, the descriptions of heroes in stories she would read, or how she would imagine the older men to look when they were younger, were incomparable to Harry. The compliment made his cheeks flush. With each beat of her heart, it was as if it was pulling her closer to Harry, calling out for him, begging for him to love on her and soothe the ache in her chest.

“How has God made something so sweet?” He mumbles, he hadn’t even realised he’d said it out loud at first. “You’re breath taking. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes upon, and trust me when I say I’ve seen a lot of them. Even from far away, the first time I saw you… You make me nervous. You make my heart race, and my palms sweat, and I get butterflies in my stomach and nervous when I think about saying the wrong thing or not having you like me. It’s as if you’ve been carved by God himself, like he was showing off when he made you so beautiful. I wish I’d met you sooner.” Those last words burn his throat, how easier the last few years would have been if he had just been able to find her sooner.

*****

Harry sent Niall back to the castle first, having him instruct everyone to clear out the path that the Prince and his soon to be queen would take to his suite, he didn’t want to spook her with people around. The guards had to stay though, non-negotiable. He also had Niall ensure the doctor was on standby, just to check on Y/N and stay in the castle over the upcoming weeks in case anything else happened. Security was going to be increased, and tightened, and a warrant put out for her step mother.

The two hour horseback ride to the castle would give them well enough time to get to know each other, Harry and Niall had also switched horses, Niall’s being the slower of the two. “I don’t want to startle you when we get there. I also don’t know how to really tell you this. I’m in the royal family, so the guards and whatnot are something to just be ignored. They’re for your protection. I don’t know if you heard much of what I was telling Niall earlier, but you’re going to be very safe here, and we’ll find out what happened. I’ll look after you, I promise.” His eyes are ahead as he speaks, looking over the vast green fields ahead of them once they eventually emerged from the forest.

“Still just Harry, to me.” She reassured, sensing his nerves about revealing this information to her. His shoulders relaxed at her reaction, and a smile formed on his lips when his mind began to wander into what their future may be like. His queen.

“Hey, one day that’ll be King Harry to you.” He joked, thankful that it was received with a laugh. Her laughter was almost as sweet as her songs, and for the rest of the journey he made it his mission to mine as many possible laughs out of her as he could, like little nuggets of treasure. After making their way through the fields that lined the forest, they went down a long road that served as a divide between two of the castle’s towns, and at the end of that road just past a small valley of mountains was a sight far more glorious than Y/N had imagined. Her village was a small village that contained mostly candlemakers and dressmakers, and it sat further to the east, people only ever going out there to purchase fine candles and clothing. It was niche though, and not many could afford the fineries the master crafters in her village would create. Y/N hadn’t even really seen a home larger than a cottage, Harry’s castle looked large enough as if it could contain its own little world, a complete wilderness of towers surrounded by fine gardens, protected by a large moat with a standalone drawbridge. Harry didn’t even need to announce himself, the drawbridge was already in the process of being lowered for him.

“I had Niall clear our path, I don’t want to overwhelm you. I’ll introduce you to everyone when you’re ready.” Harry reassures her, she hadn’t even thought of anyone else though, too in awe of the sights around her. Flowers she’d never seen before laced these gardens, with fine marble sculptures and fountains protruding from them.

“I can’t believe this is your home.” Y/N whispers, unable to think of anything else to say.

“Your home too, if you’d like.” Harry replies, though his words immediately shrouded him with nerves about rushing Y/N into anything. It was stupid, they were each other’s true love’s, but it felt wrong being strangers, so Harry tried his best to conceal things. He’d never been in a conventional relationship before, never mind whatever this arrangement is or was going to be. He just knew he wasn’t meant to rush things, so he tried to refrain from expressing his feelings as best as he could. Her arms around his waist tightened, Y/N needing to feel as close to Harry as possible. He held the reins in one hand, the other arm resting over hers around his stomach, holding on to her arm to make sure she couldn’t let go.

“I’d like that.” Y/N reassures, gently rubbing his side to soothe him. Harry was too caught up in his own feelings to pay attention to how calm Y/N was. She could feel his anxiety though, and continued to try to soothe him as best she could. Y/N knew very little about Harry so far, but what she did know was that he was kind, caring, and had a lot of worries. She’d never been a worrisome person, and if anything would even refer to herself as naive, it was something she’d always been almost ashamed of but in this moment felt like maybe she’d been made to be by Harry’s side. Y/N liked the idea of spending her days being Harry’s rock, a voice of reason. She’d rather a man like this than one who had no emotions, that was for sure. It could’ve been whatever was now eternally bonding them, but she swears she was feeling his emotions, able to see his aura if she really studied hard enough. She sunk into him some more, her arms around his waist, cheek resting against his back. Harry made sure to take it extra slow, giving his love enough time to appreciate the flowers. She seemed to like flowers, and his mother took pride in this being the most beautiful garden amongst all of the kingdoms. He couldn’t wait to show her all the fineries that came with his life.

[meili-sheep]

[video starts]

[Caption: Breaking the world record for longest cheese pull from a grilled sandwich, Part 1]

[Yelan's caption: The only reason he's doing this without causing a public disturbance is that Diluc has a pizza oven in his backyard. We also decided to have a pizza day.]

Ayato: Greetings! Today, me, my friend, and my housekeeper are going to break the world record for the longest cheese pull. (with a dramatic flourish) Thoma, bring out the measuring tape!

Thoma: Yes, milord.

Ayato: (pouts) Thoma, you're supposed to call me Ayato for this video! How am I supposed to start bridging the gap with the common folk?

Diluc: (prepping the pizza to be put in the oven) By not calling our viewers the common folk?

Ayato: (protests) I- It's a habit I'm trying to break, okay?

[Yelan's caption: Code word being 'trying'.]

Shenhe: (in the background) When is lunch going to be ready? I'm hungry.

Diluc: (answers) As soon as Ayato either gives up or makes Thoma do it.

Shenhe: Wait, Ayato is making lunch? (walks on-camera) No offense, but I would like to not cringe while eating today.

Ayato: (scoffs) Rude.

Shenhe: You mean 'true'.

Yelan: (off-camera) Does my pizza have the chili-tomato sauce?

Diluc: (answers) Yep. Nuclear, just the way you like it.

[Yelan's caption: This is why he's my favorite.]

[video ends]

[Caption: Breaking the world record for longest cheese pull from a grilled sandwich, Part 2]

[Yelan's caption: The current record is 69 inches and they've been at it for about three hours now. I have never seen Ayato this determined since body-slamming that one guy over a Gundam figurine he wanted to buy Diluc for Christmas.]

Shenhe: (holding the measuring tape) When are you going to be done with this? I'm hungry.

Ayato: (starting another attempt) As soon as I beat the record . . .

Diluc: (readying the stool) Don't you think that 68.5 inches is close enough?

Ayato: (petulantly snaps) No! (inhales deeply, then exhales) I've gotten close and I'd rather die than stop now!

Yelan: (grumbling off-camera) We'll die of starvation sooner than that.

Ayato: (shushes them all) Okay, attempt number twenty-six! (begins to stretch the grilled cheese)

Thoma: (watching) Huh! This one might actually have a chance!

[Caption: The grilled cheese hits the yard mark of 36 inches.]

Ayato: Diluc, get the stool, quick!

Diluc: (already moving it to him)

Ayato: 42 . . . 48 . . .

Shenhe: (somewhat hopeful) Maybe he'll actually do it.

[Caption: The grilled cheese hits the critical mark of 60 inches.]

Ayato: (excitedly) We're getting closer! Shenhe, make sure you're holding it right!

Thoma: (holding the stool) Please, be careful about the stool. I don't want you to fall . . .

[Yelan's caption: Holy shit, they're actually at 69 inches now.]

Ayato: (gasps) Thoma, Diluc! It's past the world record mark! (chanting) 70 . . . 71 . . . 72-

[Caption: The grilled cheese finally snaps.]

Shenhe: (already writing it down) And the final tally is 72.5 inches. (takes the grilled cheese and eats it)

[Yelan's caption: The guys were too busy celebrating like they just put men on the moon for the first time to notice that Shenhe had eaten the other half. They really are that easy to please.]

[Caption: We all got our pizza at the end.]

[end of video]

----

Don't ask how Youtube fed this to me, but it had something to do with this.

Honestly, they do the stupidest shit when together. And I think people think Ayato is stupid rather than malicious about "common folk" So people find him funny over mean.

Of course, Shenhe and Diluc are just there for Kicks and giggles, while Yelan and Ayato just be gremlins.

If you get them in the right mood, though, all of them can be gremlins. Which of course is bad time central.

For everyone.

[rreeaahh]

Arms Tonite | draco malfoy

Arms Tonite - for @vogueweasley​ ‘s writing challenge (inspired by the song)

pairing: draco malfoy x fem!reader (ravenclaw)

words count: 10k - lyrics in italic

summary; your relationship with draco went from strangers, to lovers, to strangers again - but it broke the barrier between life and death.

warnings: the word “mudblood”; swearing; death eaters; voldemort; death of a character; some fluff; angst; kinda sad; slow burn; blood mention; (that’s all i could think of, please let me know if there are more!)

a/n: im so so so sorry if thats too long, my loves! i got carried away by this idea - i had it in my mind for so so long i used @vogueweasley 's writing challenge as motivation. again, congratulations mere! You're one of the first writers ive followed here, and I'm happy to see your blog growing❤️

 “Can I sit there?” you asked softly, embracing the pile of books to your chest. They were all for your Potions’ essay, where you really wanted to excel, only to prove Professor Snape what you were capable of.

Since the first year, Snape turned out to be a walking nightmare for all the students in the entire castle, especially for the ones who hadn’t a green tie around their neck. Being a Ravenclaw, the desire to know more was a normal thing for you: always asking questions and making assumptions only to gain more information made Snape grow a feeling of hatred towards you. He’d externalize that hate by giving you extra work, asking you questions you had no idea to answer, criticizing your skills in front of the class – basically, everything he could do to embarrass yourself and to show your classmates that you weren’t as smart as you wanted to introduce yourself.

“What?” the boy asked in confusion, his fingers squeezing the silver quill he was using to take notes from a booked that seemed to be about Transfiguration – a subject where you were at the top of the class, as Professor McGonagall told you proudly.

“I asked if I could stay here,” you repeated in a quiet voice, not wanting to disturb the rest of the people who were struggling with their work. “All the tables are taken and that’s my spot, usually,” you added when he frowned his brows, scanning the room.

“Yeah, whatever,” he said careless, going back to his piece of parchment. “That’s my spot usually, too, but I haven’t seen you here,” he whispered as you sat down, in front of him.

“I don’t think we share classes, so I think we don’t go to the library at the same time. But maybe it could be our spot from now on.” Your explanation made the blonde boy look away, his cheeks running paler while the skin of his neck, revealed by the crack of his unbottoned shirt, seemed to burn.

The silence fell on you two, the room being filled only with whispers and quills running their ink on the papers. You really had to impress Snape with that essay, you had enough of his comments and ugly looks – he was a great teacher, a very skilled person, but he had a horrible way to be human – that if he could be considered a human being. Deep down you feared Snape – his cold eyes, his fluttering cloak and his loud steps: all of that gave you goosebumps all over your body. Thinking of those you felt your breath tangling up in your throat, and the letters started to dance in front of your eyes. At first, you looked around the room, searching for the Weasley twins, but it wasn’t a prank: it was the stress which took control over your mind, playing tricks and messing with you. Your throat was dry, and every time you tried to swallow your saliva it felt like you had sand in your mouth. Your tablemate seemed to notice your discomfort, because he looked at you under his eyelashes, his right brow raising in confusion or annoyance.

“What are you doing?” he asked, now looking at you without any reservation.

“Hm?” you buzzed, making eye contact with him. You couldn’t figure out if he was surprised by your daring glare, or intimidated or amused – he only kept on looking into your eyes, not revealing any true emotion.

“You keep on swallowing and it looks like you’re drowning or something.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” you smiled politely, which made him go back to his work. But when you kept on acting like you couldn’t breathe, he dropped his quill on the table and look like you with frustration. “What?”

“You’re distracting me, obviously,” he rolled his eyes. “Some of us are trying to focus, so keep quiet or leave.”

It was very rude of him – in your opinion – to talk to you, a complete stranger, like he could give you orders; especially when you did nothing wrong.

“Me too,” you sighed, “It’s only that…” But you stopped in the middle of the sentence, reminding that you didn’t know who you were talking to, and he probably didn’t care.

“Only what?” he asked, making you look at him again. His face was blank – relaxed, like he was an emotionless metal can.

“I’m not that good with Potions, so I’m struggling a little bit,” you smiled with shame, not knowing exactly why you felt that way admitting you weren’t good at something.

“We all are struggling,” he said like it wasn’t a big deal, pointing to his Transfiguration book. “Some of us on simple things, I see,” he commented after he took a sight at the books you chose and the big title you wrote on the parchment.

“Then maybe we could help each other,” you proposed, smiling at him in a friendly nature. He didn’t seem to understand your idea, given the frowned brows and half eyes that were starring at you. “I’m good at Transfiguration, the best if we’re to follow McGonagall’s words, so I could help you if you help me with my Potions essay.”

He took a moment to think, looking back and forward to your books and his, to your parchments and his – yours were filled with paragraphs and his were decorated with meaningless drawings. “I only need some notes, it’s not fair to do your whole essay in exchange of some stupid phrases,” he said like you were trying to fool him.

You chuckled and leaned back on your chair. “Yeah, nothing’s free,” you smiled, “Ok, then I’ll write your notes and you’ll write me the main ideas – after that I’ll write it on my own.” He stayed thoughtful and quiet, looking at your face; you tried hard not to run your fingers to your cheek, searching for dirt or anything that had him starring. “Deal?” you asked.

He held out his hand in your direction. “Deal,” was his only response, waiting for you to conclude the pact. And you did – you gently shook his hand, the skin of his palm feeling smooth against your own, like he was using lots of lotion every night before going to bed. But it was a nice feeling, which led a wave of warmth all over your body along with a good premonition about how he’d do your homework and him, in general.

The two of you switched your belongings, the only item that wasn’t switch being the quills – he was holding his like it was the biggest treasure he ever had; and maybe it was, you thought. Maybe it had an emotional story and he wanted to keep the quill only because of the memories it hold, but maybe he was only careful with what belonged to him. You never really had anyone to help you with your work – when you were a child your parents encouraged you to keep on trying by yourself in order to succeed, and you grew up avoiding other’s help, only to prove them that you could do it alone. After a while, in your third year of Hogwarts, you wanted to be helped, but it seemed like your older housemates were too busy and the ones your age were looking for you to help them. So, to be in the library on a Friday afternoon, helped by a boy you never crossed paths with before seemed like a new – and somehow exciting – experience. It was nice to write on the parchments which had their edges and corners filled with something that seemed to be flowers or some kind of plant with curled leaves. You often asked him questions about what you should or shouldn’t write, and depending on his answer you’d write down more explicit notes, as he kept on commenting how many useless things you’ve wrote in your essay by far – but he was funny, telling you that you should give Snape the essay the way it is so maybe you all could be lucky and get rid of the sulky teacher sooner than expected.

After some time, they boy looked at the silver watch on his left wrist and put down the quill. “My study time’s over,” he announced and you also put down the writing instrument, handing him the papers you tried to write as eligible as you could. “That’s all?” he asked and scoffed.

“Actually, I have more things to add, but…” You tried to say, but he already began to gather his things, closing the Transfiguration book and folding the parchments. “We could meet tomorrow, or Sunday,” you proposed and also got up when he did. You tried to make eye contact with him one more time, not paying that much attention to the height difference between you two.

“Again?” he spoke, fulfilling your wish. His eyes were mesmerizing – such a light blue, reminding you of a sunny sky.

“Yeah, I mean, if you want – it would be beneficial for both of us to finish what we started.”

And he thought that way too, because the next day he was already in the same spot of the library, all by himself, trying to decipher the entangled letter you wrote the other day. “Maybe Snape doesn’t like you because of your handwriting,” he said when you sat down, making you smile and chuckle – an action that caused him to have a little smile in the corner of his lips, too. And those smiles continued to grow on your faces, because besides the theoretical information you two changed, there were also a little funny comment slipped through the conversation.

“See you tomorrow?” you asked while gathering your things, because that time you were the one who needed to leave earlier.

“I can’t,” he simply said. “I have to study.”

“Isn’t that the reason we met here today?” you laughed, “To study together?”

“No, we met today to finish our deal – which is pretty much done,” he explained in a plain voice, pointing to the pages in your hand. The structure of the essay was done; you only needed to put it all together and his Transfiguration notes were enough for him to understand better the subject.

“Oh,” you said in a whisper. “Yeah, right, thank you…” you smiled to him, whishing that he’d realize that you two never introduced each other properly, but he only returned the smile in a polite way.

“You’re welcome,” was all he said and went back to his book, trying to put head to head the theory you made and the information from the book.

That Saturday you left the library with a strange feeling of loneliness – he was a stranger, but he helped you concentrate and also helped you with something that – maybe – was the most important opportunity for you to shut Snape’s mouth. That day flew by without you even realizing, but at night you found yourself thinking about the boy who tapped his fingers on the wooden surface anytime he’d search for the right words but couldn’t stand a strange breathing near him, and a pair of iced eyes was present in your dreams, doing nothing more than watching you with all the possible emotions mirroring in them.

“How was your weekend by far, Hermione?” you asked the girl only to break the strange silence between you two. She was looking for a specific book, and it happened to bump into her when you came to the library to continue your work.

It was a few hours after lunch, on a sunny Sunday when most of the students preferred to study or to simply hang out in the courtyards, lying on the grass. It wasn’t very weird that you had to deal with all those stares when you went to the library on such a beautiful day. You weren’t a bookworm or a nerd, but it was a special thing and you really wanted to have it all done by the end of Monday at least, so you wouldn’t be loaded with other things.

“It was… acceptable,” she responded and shrugged, going back to look for that book on the selves. “As acceptable as it could be a weekend spend in the company of Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley,” she continued and you laughed. She was the brain of that trio, and it might be stressful to be their friend – but you were pretty sure it wasn’t that horrible since she stayed by their side for so long. “What about you?” she returned the question, giving up on her searching as she couldn’t find the right book.

Hermione followed you to your usual table, situated in a corner of the room, where the rays of sun came through the wide window and lighted all the pages. You sat down, leaving aside the parchments for some moments of chatting with your friend. “It was… fun,” you smiled, “I was here two days in a row doing homework.”

Hermione laughed while flipping the pages gently. “And Ronald says I’m the one who needs to sort out her priorities.”

“No,” you rolled your eyes, “It was fun because I had a study buddy. It was really nice,” the explanation made the girl leave her book and watch you with sudden interest. You knew Hermione wasn’t the type who gossip, so her attention was pure curiosity.

“Who?”

“I don’t really know,” you sighed, a little disappointment in your voice as you looked at your fingers, which were unconsciously tapping on the table. “We never made a proper introduction.”

The Gryffindor girl played with the zipper of her hoodie, looking like he was trying to remember all the persons who ever entered that room. “How was he looking?”

Handsome was the first word you wanted to say, as a joke, but a discarded book landed on your table, right on top of your papers and made you looks at the person whose shadow was covering your face.

“What is she doing at our spot?”

“Malfoy,” Hermione growled with hatred, “I don’t think your father bought the tables in the entire library, too,” she said and made the boy look at her with as much venom as a snake could carry.

So he was Malfoy – the mean boy Hermione would mention from time to time, the one who’d always have a harsh word to tell Ron and the one who despised The Chosen One so much. Your timetable never interfered with their, and you’d usually spend your weekends and breaks with some classmates you were friends with, so you never really crossed path with that Malfoy boy. You knew about him, but you didn’t know him – not until then.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Mudblood; learn to speak only when spoken to,” he said in a mockery tone, his eyes going back to you.

You looked at him, and then at Hermione, who seemed to search in you something you couldn’t actually find. “Well?” he repeated, but there was no response from you.

“What does he mean, Y/N? Your spot?” she asked, her voice cracking at the end.

“He’s… my study buddy,” you spoke and Malfoy raised his brow at the appellative, while Hermione froze.

“I’ll leave you with your study buddy, then,” she whispered to you and left, not before taking the book that was thrown on the table by the Slytherin boy.

Your hand was shaking when you grabbed the quill, going back to finish the essay that you started to properly write last night in your dormitory. “Yeah, take my scrap, you filthy Mudblood,” he commented and watched Hermione leave. He then sat down, in front of you, slightly pushing away from him the chair were your friend sat some seconds ago. “Don’t tell me she’s following you around like a little puppy,” he laughed and you looked at him in confusion.

“She’s my friend,” you simply said.

The confusion was now on Malfoy’s face. “Friend?” he scoffed.

“Don’t you have friends?”

“Plenty,” he responded quickly. “But my friends have my back when I’m in an argument.”

You shrugged and looked down again to your essay. “I’m a neutral person, I’m not picking sides,” you explained. He watched you write without any other interruption, but you were feeling weird to be aware of his presence in your perimeter and being as talkative as a fish. “What are you doing here?” you asked as you wrote your name at the bottom of the last paper. He quickly grabbed them all, smiling at your expression.

“I made some free time to come and read our final product.” He went back to be silent, his blue eyes running from left to right in order to read all the things you wrote more calligraphic, only thinking about his comment and about the nice letters he used to make the summary yesterday. “It’s good,” he said proudly, like it was his own.

“Really?” you asked shyly, not ready to have a criticism on that yet.

“Yes, I see you kept some of my phraseology,” he smiled in a kind way, returning the parchments to you.

“It was really well structured,” you laughed and ran a hand through your hair, blushing when you saw him starring intensely at your face – you really wanted to ask him if there was something on your face.

“It’s perfect, Y/N,” he repeated, “Snape can’t say otherwise. It’s nearly as good as mine are,” he assured you. His response made you laugh loudly, gaining some hissing from Madam Pince; your hands went to your mouth, covering it, and the boy looked at you with amusement.

“Thank you, Malfoy,” you whispered, scared to talk even in a quiet way. You knew how much the librarian hated the loud students, and you really didn’t want to be one of them. To be on her blacklist was something no one really wanted.

“Call me Draco,” he asked and got up. “I have to go, but I’m sure your work will be appreciated tomorrow.”

“It’s for Friday, actually.”

“So you had a week to do it, but you did it right away?” he laughed this time, but he seemed careless at Madam’s Pince hiss.

“What?” you pouted, already annoyed by his laugh. You knew what he was going to say, and it made you somehow ashamed.

“Nothing,” he said to your surprise, “It’s just that… I’ve never seen somebody to be that ambitious when it comes about school.”

“So you don’t make fun of me,” you thought out loud, making him chuckle again.

“Why would I make fun of you for being a determined person?” he asked and you returned his smile, more shyly, and waved him goodbye as you saw him walking away.

It was the last moment when you saw Draco Malfoy – Monday morning you looked for him in the Great Hall at breakfast, lunch, dinner and even after classes – but due to the large amount of students, he was nowhere to be seen. He didn’t put a foot in the library, because you stayed there awhile, doing your homework or reading – more like pretending to do any of those – but he never came. It was like he was swallowed by a big black hole and forgotten by all the people in Hogwarts. Nobody near you mentioned his name, and you didn’t dare to ask Hermione about him after the ‘study buddy’ situation. She said it was all fine between you two, because she knew about your neutral personality. It was simple: you never got into fights yourself or got involved when other people would argue – it was simple that way. You asked her if she was alright after Draco said all those things to her, of course, but when she told you it was alright you didn’t insisted more.

Friday came faster than you had thought and you were quite nervous to hand Snape your essay. All your classmates wished you good luck, even if they were in the exact same situation as you were – not quite the same, actually, because you were the only one asked to stay over class so the Potions Master could have a word with you.

“You wanted to talk to me, Professor?” you asked when the rest of the students left you all alone with Snape, who sat in the front of the class, hands crossed over his chest and a frowned look on his face.

“Obvious,” he spoke in his monotone voice, coming closer to your desk. “What is this, Miss L/N?” he asked, throwing in front of you the essay, all the pages spreading on the table.

“My essay, Sir,” you told him confident, already preparing your speech about how hard you worked on it and how he couldn’t say it was a piece of trash.

“Your essay?” he asked serious, and then he faked a laugh. “I think you mean Mister’s Malfoy essay,” he then handed you another parchment, with Draco’s name on it, neatly written.

You read a few phrases from his work, but there was nothing alike between them aside some expressions – the ones Draco observed you kept from his notes. “I didn’t steal his work, Sir,” you said in a quiet voice, not daring to look him in the eyes. You didn’t need to do that to know how mad he was.

“You didn’t steal it, you copied it.”

“No, I…” but he already made up his mind. He asked you to leave, informing you that you’d get more work to do, along with a week of detention.

Your blood was boiling and you only wanted to scream how much you hated everything: how much you hated Snape, for being a prick, how much you hated yourself, for not being able to do your own homework alone and how much you hated Draco, for ‘helping’ you and then disappearing – but he didn’t disappear, because he was in the end of the corridor, all by himself, his hands on his trousers’ pockets, standing in an elegant posture leaning on the wall. The dark always present on the Dungeons made him look paler that he seemed in the library’s sunrays, but the blue of his eyes was still remembering you of the clear sky in the moment he heard your steps.

“Y/N,” he greeted you from afar, a little smile growing on the corner of his lips. “How was…” but you didn’t give him the occasion to finish his sentence, leaving the dark corridor in a hurry.

It was odd that after a week of thinking only about him, about the blue of his eyes, about the way his voice would seem lighter when he was holding back his laugh, about the cute way he’d smile only a half of joy, you ran away from his presence like he was your worst nightmare when, in fact, he was present in your sweetest dreams.

It was your desire to be alone the one which made you isolate yourself in your room for some good hours, crying and hitting the pillows, throwing them in the walls and then gathering them, only to throw them again. You felt the way Snape’d describe your skills, work or everything you did: trash – you felt like trash. You thought about going to dinner with your housemates when you heard them leaving the Common Room, but you realized that Snape’s face, eating at the teachers’ table would’ve turned your stomach upside down. So you stayed there for another hour, thinking about everything and nothing in particular; you just knew that you were sick of it, sick of everything and you just needed a break.

And that’s what you did: you took a break. You left the dormitory only undressing yourself from the blue robes and went running on the empty corridors. When you left, you weren’t sure where you’d go – but you found yourself in the Astronomy Tower, watching the entire yard and the environs of the castle. The sky was painted in pastel colors, the sun bathing in the red color of the lake. It was beautiful and you wanted nothing than to be the same with all of it.

“I hate it all!” you screamed looking up to the sky, closing your eyes. “I hate Severus Snape!” you screamed again, opening your eyes and looking down. It was a long, long way to the bottom, where the cobbled paths would wait. “I hate that he managed to make me feel so useless,” now you whispered, tightening the metal balustrade between your palm until they became white. You shook the metal as hard as you could, but it stood still; the effort left you breathless, but you still managed to scream from the bottom of your lungs: “I hate myself!”

You had no idea where that came from – it was the first time you thought that way about you, but it felt very honest. You hated how much pressure you’ve put on your shoulders and now that you were too weak to carry it all, you felt worthless. The only thing you knew was that you were crying, so hard that your sobs didn’t let you hear the steps approaching you in such a hurry. The force of the hand that grabbed your elbow was unexpected, making you stumble on your own legs. The warm feeling immediately invaded your whole body as soon as you fell in a pair of arms, which were holding you hard enough not to fall to the ground.

“What the hell were you doing, Y/N?!” he screamed, the image of his face being blurred because of the tears in your eyes. You blinked a few times and there he was: Draco Malfoy, with a worried look on his face but with the same beautiful blue eyes.

“Draco…” you whispered and grabbed the material of his white shirt, “What are you doing here?” you managed to ask without your voice cracking.

“You didn’t come to dinner, and after the way you walk away from earlier…” he said and became paler, “But what were you doing? Don’t tell me you tried to…”

But you shook your head in negation faster than the words he said. “No, of course not,” you said trying to convince yourself more than him. “I was just… having a moment,” you explained and withdrew from his arms, hugging yourself to calm down.

“What happened, Y/N?” he asked again and touched your shoulders, his hands burning the skin under your uniform shirt.

“Snape said I copied your essay,” you succeed to whisper after a long silence, the tears coming back into your eyes.

His brows went lower, his mouth in a line. “Have you told him that I helped you?”

“No,” you said, now crying again. He wiped away a tear that rolled on your cheek. “He told me to leave before I could say anything, and now I have detention a whole week.”

“Sh, sh, sh,” he hummed as he pulled you back into his arms, one of his hands laying on your back as the other one was caressing your hair. “You don’t need to cry,” he spoke gently and his movements became clumsy as you cried even harder. “I’ll take care of it, Y/N,” he assured you and suddenly, your tears dried up.

“What?” you asked, looking into his eyes.

“I… I’ll talk to Snape about it,” he repeated, “It’s not fair to act that way towards you when your essay was so good.”

All the parts of your body were screaming to kiss him only because he was that near to you. But you were too puzzled up to even hear those screams in your head. “You’ll get in trouble too, Draco.”

“No,” he smiled. “Let’s say that Snape owns my father one,” he smiled devilish, and contrary his expectations you smiled like you haven’t been crying until then.

“But why are you doing that?” you laughed and tried not to freak out because he was still holding you.

“So you could own me one later,” he continued to smile even after you hit them slightly in chest. “What? Nothing’s free, remember?”

You bit your cheek, trying to hold back a smile. “Yeah, sure.”

“So we have a deal?”

“No,” you said and raised a brow. “We have a deal only if you don’t get yourself in trouble by talking to Snape or, even worst, getting me into a bigger mess. You need to succeed in order to have a deal.”

“That sounds like a deal to me,” he smirked and ran a hand through his blonde hair, which seemed more like gray in the light given by the moon.

“We have a deal, then,” you laughed and tighten up a bit the grip on his shirt.

“Don’t ever stay that close to the edge again,” he asked you and you could see the same feeling of anxiety on his face. You nodded your head in agreement and he hugged you again. “You scared the shit out of me,” he confessed.

It was the first time in your life when you felt that somebody was truly worried about you. Your parents would’ve just watch you break down and then get up and try again, telling you that it’s the normal way to educate yourself. But that night, in his arms, you felt that you weren’t the same lonely child. It was a warm feeling, a feeling of a new burning in your heart. And it was a nice feeling.

  I fell in your arms tonight / I fell hard in your arms tonight / It was nice

 You agreed to meet Draco the next day in the Astronomy Tower half an hour before the dinner would finish and you were surprised to see him already there, welcoming you with the same somehow evil smirk he had the other day.

“You own me one,” he said without even waiting for you to say something. “Snape told me he’ll forget about the detention, but you need to make some rephrasing on your essay.” He was proud of his manipulative skills and you could see it in his eyes – there was a little sparkle as you approached him.

“Good job, Draco,” you said smiling from an ear to the other. “I guess I own you one.”

“Yes, yes you do.”

You look over the skyline and went closer to the balustrade, Draco following you closely even after you sat down on the stone floor, your legs hanging on the outside. You seemed to be secure enough, so Draco sat down and looked at the sunset as well.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“You already did,” he puffed and you punched his shoulder, smiling.

“You’re an idiot, you know what I mean.”

“Why am I an idiot?” he asked and turned to face you with an ugly look.

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that!” you told him quickly. “I call my friends that way when they say something dumb but they’re funny at the same time,” you explained, ashamed that you offended him.

He was silent for a moment and looked at the lake again. “My father uses that term to talk about incompetent people,” he said and you looked away from his face.

“I guess it’s a way to use it, too,” you spoke shy.

“Why do you want to ask me?” he changed the subject, removing the awkward tension between you two.

“Why did you called Hermione Granger that word?” you asked cautious not to upset him with your curiosity.

“That’s what she is,” he said nonchalantly, “She’s a Mudblood, and she is inferior to us.”

“Only because of her blood?” you laughed. “And how do you know I’m not inferior to you too?”

“I made my research on you before talking to you again,” he shrugged.

“She’s superior to both of us in many ways, Draco,” you told him and looked at him in the moment he did the same. “She lives in another world at the same time she lives in this one,” you explained, “We were born surrounded by magic and that’s our only way of living.”

He lour. “Why do you say that?”

“I take the Muggle Studies class,” you smiled proudly.

“Why would you do that?” he scoffed. If you ignored his mentality on that subject, you could say he was really cute.

“It’s interesting,” you started. “They have many objects we have no idea about and they have fairy tales about anything – they’re kind of superstitious.”

“Superstitious?” he asked like he was curious and not like he wanted to mock you.

“Yeah,” you said and got up. “Maybe I’ll tell you about some superstitions one day.”

“Tomorrow night,” he asked you and got up as well.

“You want to know more about Muggles?” you laughed.

He shrugged. “It’s your chance to prove me they’re not inferior to us.”

“Ok,” you smiled and took the challenge.

You left the Tower walking by his side, and your heart skipped a beat when you realized that he walked you to your Common Room door, wishing you a goodnight. The next day Professor Snape wanted to talk to you again after class, this time apologizing for the way he managed the situation, but you could tell he wasn’t very pleased with what he was saying. When the dinner was nearly finished, you could see Draco leaving the Great Hall without looking in your direction and you knew it was the signal to get up and do the same thing after some minutes. You thought it’d be better if nobody would know where you were going and with who.

“Ready to learn about Muggles?” you asked him with joy as soon as you got in the highest place in Hogwarts.

“Whatever,” he laughed and rolled his eyes.

You brought a book you got last year on your birthday from Hermione, a book about a lot of things the Muggles believe in. You read out loud some pages and Draco only sat next to you, listening. It was somehow therapeutic to read in front of him because he didn’t disturb you, he even looked like he was enjoying it.

“So they even have a specific flower for when somebody dies?” he asked out of a sudden. He was really paying attention.

“Yeah, in some countries,” you smiled. “In Italy, France or Belgium – where it’s made the best chocolate – the white chrysanthemum is well known to be brought at somebody’s funeral. But they also represent loyalty and devoted love, so I think it makes it even more beautiful. They’re my favorites,” you smiled.

“A flower that represents the death is your favorite?” he laughed, making you roll your eyes. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. I’ve never seen a chrysanthemum, and that’s something, considering the fact that my mother has a gigantic garden.”

He was often talking about his mother and you deducted that he’s a mummy boy – it was cute to know that he loved his mother dearly.

“I would love to see it,” you smiled politely.

“Maybe you will,” he said and caught you by surprise. “I mean, maybe you’ll see a garden as big as my mother’s,” he clarified when he observed those big eyes of yours.

“Yeah,” you said in a quiet voice, looking back into your book.

“What?” he asked and you didn’t respond him.

You were… sad? Disappointed? It was a strange and groundless feeling given by the idea that you’ll never see the garden of his house, and that also meant that you’ll never meet his mother, who was already painted in your mind like an elegant and kind woman.

“Are you upset?” he asked again and grabbed your jaw carefully, making you form eye contact.

“No,” you said simply, and the honesty in your voice surprised you. It was like all the hard feelings were erased by his eyes, by their calming color.

“Good,” he smiled, “Because you shouldn’t be upset.”

“Why?” you asked.

“I’ll bring you all the flowers from my mother’s garden if you’re not upset,” he traced his fingers up to your cheek, placing a strand of hair behind your red ear – all your emotions ran to your head, making the skin he touched burn.

“Why?” you asked again like a curious kid.

He rolled his eyes in a playful way, trying to pretend he was tired of your whys. “Because a pretty face like yours shouldn’t frown. You’ll get wrinkles,” he laughed and pinched your nose.

“Auch,” you hissed, massaging the end of your nose. “You say I’m pretty?”

“I say it’s time to get you back to your Common Room,” he nodded his head and got up, offering you his hand to help you get up.

The walk to the Ravenclaw’s door was silent, and when you got there it was an even more annoying silence. He only watched you like he was waiting for your next move.

“Uh, I can’t come tomorrow night,” you informed him. “I have to help my roommate study for Transfiguration.”

“So she’s stealing my study buddy,” he joked.

“I’ll see you around, though?”

“Yeah, of course,” he smiled and you just wanted to kiss that little dimple of his.

So you did – you got up to your toes and kissed his cheek. “Good night, Draco,” you smiled and entered the empty room, all your housemates already being off to their dormitories, probably. Your heart was pouting hard, like it was trying to escape the little cage of your ribs, but your soul was feeling warm and sweet, like honey.

The next day you tried to focus in all your classes, you tried to pay attention to your friends but all you could think of was Draco Malfoy, with his blue eyes and sweet dimple. It was a boring night the one you spent in your room, listening and explaining to your roommate simple things about your Transfiguration class, the same ones that Draco found difficult – even that made you think about him. It was a great relief to walk again on the stairs that led you to the Astronomy Tower, the excitement making your heart jump with joy. It dropped to the bottom of your soul when you didn’t find him there, and it broke when he didn’t come at all.

Maybe you scared him – maybe he didn’t want you to kiss his cheek, maybe he didn’t want you so close to him. Maybe you screwed it up. And you really believed that when he didn’t come two nights in a row, making you to skip dinner on the third night. You didn’t have the power to cry again, but you really wanted to – you nearly managed to get a tear out of you if it wouldn’t be eagle owl which entered your room through the open window.

“What’s up with you, stupid bird?” you asked in anger, making the owl give you a response in the same tonality. “Easy,” you spoke as you took the little parchment from its claw.

‘You didn’t come to dinner, are you sick? If you are, take a good sleep and get better. — D.M'

You crumbled the little letter and thrown it away telling the bird to leave you alone. You walked from left to right, biting your nails out of anxiety and anger – who was he to ignore you three days and then ask to meet you? You grabbed the letter from the floor and read it again, and the curiosity won against your anger. You grabbed a blue sweater and ran to the Astronomy Tower, but walked the steps so he wouldn’t know the speed with which you came. You were furious at him – you couldn’t wait to scream at him and tell him to fuck off with his unhealthy behaviors, but when you saw him leaning on the stone wall in front of you with a bouquet of white flowers in his hand and a small box on the other one, you just froze on the last step.

“Hello, Y/N,” he greeted you with a smile on the corner of his lips. You approached him slowly; your eyes going from his face go his hands and back to his hands. “I see you’re not sick,” he said when you were in front of him. “Why haven’t you come to dinner?”

“Why didn’t you give me a sign of living?” you asked straight, searching for his eyes.

“I was… busy,” he said and cleared his throat. “But I asked my mother to get me those,” he smiled and handed you the bouquet of chrysanthemums and the little box. “Open it,” he asked impatient.

You undone the little bow and opened it with one hand, the other holding carefully the flowers. Your hands were shaking. “Chocolate,” you laughed nervous.

“From Belgium, just like the flowers,” he said proud, smiling. “Don’t you like them?” he asked a little panicked when you didn’t say a thing, only watching the flowers in such an examining way.

“I love them!” you said, “I love them, Draco,” you assured them, holding them to your chest like you were scared he’d get them back.

“Good, I hoped you’d say that.”

You smelt them, and your whole soul was dancing – the sweet smell reminded you of the late autumn’s rains, of the lazy sunrays and all the nice skies in the world.

“I love them Draco, but what’s the occasion?”

He massaged the back of his head, avoiding your eyes. “You don’t need a reason to get flowers, Y/N. You deserve them anytime,” he said and your heart exploded at his cuteness. “My mother told me it’d be nice if I would give them to you before anything else,” he said and bite his lower lip immediately after, like he said something he didn’t mean to.

“Before what, Draco?” you asked curious. He was so good at making you all set on fire, unfocused and yet so, so concentrated on him.

“You’re a nice girl, Y/N, really nice,” he said in a quiet voice. His tonality made you thought about a break-up – like he wanted to break the bond that began to form between you two.

“What are you trying to tell me, Draco?” you asked in a harsh tone. “Just say it, ok? You don’t need to bring me flowers and chocolate if you want to say goodbye, it’s not like I’m dying,” you said pointing to the chrysanthemums.

“No, no, Y/N,” he interrupted you. “The white chrysanthemums represent loyalty and devoted love,” he whispered.

“Oh,” was all you could say. “Oh,” you repeated when you figured out what he really meant.

“Yeah,” he chuckled, and you laughed along with him. The sound of his laugh made your heart put itself back together. “So…” he started and came closer to you.

“So?” you said, biting your lips and blinking slowly.

“So may I kiss you, Y/N?” he asked in such a kind voice, all your body going soft at his words. His mother must’ve taught him how to talk to a girl – and she did such a good job.

You nodded shyly and let yourself carried by his hands, which dragged your body closer to his. He gently pressed his lips on your, letting them stay together for a couple of seconds and then retiring. His blue eyes were looking into yours, burning with desire and impatience. Your hands tightened the flowers and the little box harder, and you put them around his neck, getting him even closer to you and smashing your lips back together. His hands were on your waist, grabbing the material of your sweater between his fingers. Your eyes were closed and your body was filled with warmth – you saw nothing and yet, somehow, you were aware of everything in the Universe through a white light.

 White light in your arms tonight / I lost sight in your arms tonight / It was nice

 The next months were full of love and laughs for you – Draco was the most careful boy you’ve ever been with. He still wanted you two to have secret little dates in the Astronomy Tower, where you’d read to him about Muggles and poetry written by them.

“Don’t you think it’s kinda cute that I listen to you reading about that non-sense?” he asked once.

“It’s poetry, Draco,” you scoffed, “It’s about love!”

Besides the secret dates, he really wanted to go public. He was the type to show you off in front of everyone, only to make sure that every other boys knew that you were off their league but in a kind way – he’d kiss your forehead on the hallways, walk you to classes even if that meant he’d be late to his and gave you endless gifts. You received a lot of chrysanthemums, love letters and sweets anytime his mother would send him a package. Your roommates were jealous of you even if they told you directly that they didn’t like Draco and there was nothing to do about it. Hermione wasn’t so happy either and somehow distanced herself from you when she found out about your relationship, but Draco made you to forget all those things – he was the bad guy in everyone’s story, and even if some time ago he wasn’t even a side-character in yours, he became the climax of your story. You didn’t love Draco for his gift, you loved him truly – you loved him for the kind words, the warm glares, the sweet kisses and the tight hugs. And you knew he loved you too, because he made you feel safe in the whole madness with the Dark Lord and the war everyone was talking about.

“Do you think there’ll be a war, Draco?” you asked one night when you two where curled up into each other’s arms.

“I don’t know, Y/N,” he said absent.

“I heard that Harry’s forming an army,” you said and looked up to him, only to see him rolling his eyes.

“Potter isn’t capable to tie his own laces, my love, and you think he’s able to lead an army?” he laughed and that made you roll your eyes. “You’re funny.”

“But you’re the only one taking it as a joke, you’re the one who’s laughing,” you said and he frowned.

“Then I think I have to change that,” he said and his fingers came to your ribs, tickling you.

You started to laugh hard, to fight so you could escape his torture, begging him to stop. “Draco, that’s enough!” you screamed as you felt tears in your eyes, so you grabbed his arm and tried to scratch him playfully to make him stop.

Hissing, he let you go and pulled away from you, his hand over the left arm.

“What’s wrong, baby?” you asked worried that you hurt him.

“Nothing,” he said in an annoyed voice, getting up on his feet and looking down to you. “I’m fine,” he said and something in your mind clicked. For more than two weeks he’d say that stupid phrase whenever you asked him what happened – he seemed tired and anxious, but whenever you’d ask about him he’d become fine.

“Don’t try to fool me, Draco,” you said annoyed as well and, already on your feet, you’d try to grab his hand and reveal the possible wound.

“I said I’m fine, Y/N,” he repeated and avoided your hands like they’d burn him.

“And I said to stop fooling me!” you shouted and sneaked close enough to him to get his hand away from his arm, but he pushed you harder than he thought – you fell on the ground, a piece of material in your hand; his sleeve – ripped, revealing red lines, scratches – who were older, but reopened by your nails – which were covering the worst thing you could think of: the Dark Mark. The air left your lungs and your head started to spin, the vision becoming blurred.

“Y/N…” he tried to say, coming closer to you but you crawled away.

“What the fuck, Draco?!” you screamed and got up by yourself. “Stay away!” you said when he tried to approach you.

“I can explain, Y/N,” he said, his voice shaking.

“How on earth you could explain the Dark Mark on your arm?” you shouted again, your hands running in your hair and pulling it.

“Sh,” he said loud, asking you to be quiet. “It’s not what it looks like, my love, I swear.”

You laughed – loud, nervous. “Then what it is?”

“They made me do it, Y/N!”

“They made you get the Dark Mark, become a fucking Death Eater and join Voldemort?” you screamed again and step back when he tried to come closer.

“My father, he… I didn’t want to, Y/N,” he said quietly, his eyes starting to get wet.

“You lied to me, Draco,” you whispered. “You said everything will be fine, you said you’ll protect me!”

“And I will!” he also screamed. “I will,” he repeated breathing heavily.

“How? Making me join the Death Eaters so they wouldn’t kill me later?” you mocked him, and you could say it hurt him to see you that way – but you didn’t care.

“Nobody will kill you, Y/N,” he said, trying to calm you. “You’ll be fine, we’ll be fine.”

“A war is coming, Draco,” you said harshly, “The Dark Lord is alive and back and anyone who’s against him is in danger.”

“You’re not in danger, Y/N,” he repeated. “We’re in this together, please, love,” he begged you, tears running down his face.

“We’re not on the same side, Draco,” you whispered.

“I thought you didn’t like to pick sides,” he said like he was trying to make you change your mind.

“We’re talking about a war, Draco, not a fucking fight in the courtyard,” you said and shook your head. “Just… leave me alone, please,” you asked him and started to walk away.

“Y/N, please!” he grabbed your wrist but you pulled away immediately.

“Don’t touch me ever again, Draco Malfoy,” you said in hatred, giving him a disgusted look before leaving him alone in the Astronomy Tower – alone, hurt and crying. He saw the disgust in your eyes, the hate and the fear.

Hard times came for you – you decided to act like nothing was happening, like you had no idea what Draco was and a part of you felt miserable for doing so, but other part was believing him, the other part was still loving him and it was hurting to see him and not run in his arms. You decided to let the time pass and decide what would happen with everything – but the time was cruel, because nothing good happened since that night. Dumbledore’s death, the Death Eaters, the continuing agony. You became scared to stay alone, thinking that a Death Eater or even Voldemort would show up and kill you – and Draco wouldn’t be there to protect you.

But when the real battle began, you felt all the adrenaline rushing through your body – Professor McGonagall seemed worried but she gave you the power to fight back, to fight for Hogwarts, for your friends, for Harry, for life. You never tried to spell hexes because it wasn’t necessary, but in the battles you had with some Death Eaters you remembered them all – and you casted them loud, pointing your wand in their direction with hatred. You were running on the same old stairs that led you to the Astronomy Tower, a loud and crazy laugh following you along with a curly hair and dark, mad eyes, thirsty for blood.

“Stop running, little doll!” she screamed when you got up, waiting for her with your wand ready, something that made her laugh. “Stubborn one, aren’t you?” she asked and walked closer to you with tangled steps.

“Crazy one, aren’t you?” you managed to gather your nerve to ask her. She didn’t seem too happy with your comment, because she lifted her wand – before she’d say anything, you screamed the Disarming Charm as loud as you could, making her wand fly from her hand and fall to the ground.

“Well, well,” she laughed, running her tongue over her bloody lips. “You won, now kill me!” she laughed, the sound driving you crazy.

“Shut up! Just shut up!”

“Kill me!”

“Crucio!” you screamed and the green light flashed from the tip of your wand, hitting Bellatrix Lestrange in the middle of her chest. She fell to the ground, laughing – it was hurting, but Bellatrix have been insane for a long, long time.

“Y/N!”

“Draco?” you said to yourself, watching the boy you loved running to you. He grabbed your shoulders, looking at you from the top of your head to the bottom of your toes. “What are you doing here?”

“Are you alright? Did she hurt you?”

You looked at Bellatrix who was still to the ground, and you tighten your fingers around the wand.

“No,” you said and looked back to Draco. He seemed fine and a part of you wanted to scream that he was fine because he was one of them, they wouldn’t hurt him like that crazy woman tried to do to you, but the other part won that battle. You hugged him tight, wanting to make all the things disappear and be just you and him. “I’m scared, Draco,” you whispered.

“You’ll be fine, love,” he said and kissed your temple.

“So she’s the little doll that got you all soft, Draco?”

The fear ran through your body again and you pulled away from Draco, still holding his hands.

“Please,” he said and looked at the crazy woman who got her wand back. He let go of your hand and grabbed his wand, pointing it to her.

“Aw, Draco darling,” she laughed, “Does Cissy know that you’re pointing your want to your family?”Family?

“Aunt Bella, please, don’t hurt her,” Draco breathed heavily, not taking his eyes off of her.

“But she hurt me, Draco,” Bellatrix laughed, got her wand in your direction and casted an unspoken spell, only saying your name.

Draco tried to protect you, getting in front of you, but the purple light went through him and entered your body. The pain was indescribable, like all your internal organs were stabbed with hundred of knives. “No!” he screamed at his aunt, who only laughed louder and waved him goodbye before disappearing into a black cloud of smoke.

You’d feel your members go numb, dropping your wand and falling to the ground, making Draco to scream again like he could physically feel your agony. “Y/N!” he screamed.

Some balls of light were thrown in the tower’s direction, by the people outside, and they made the windows in the roof break, falling upon you along with pieces of tiles. Your sight went blurry, seeing Draco through red spots. “What’s happening, Draco?” you managed to ask him.

“You’re fine, my love,” he cried, tightening your shoulders, trying to hug you without hurting you.

“I can’t see you, hear you,” you cried and coughed; he started to sob even harder, watching the blood drop from your eyes and mouth as you tried to breathe. “I don’t feel very good,” you told him as it weren’t obvious.

“You’ll be alright, my love, stay with me,” he begged you.

His tears were falling on your face, mixing with the blood that was leaving your body – Bellatrix Lestrange chose a curse that gave you a slow and painful death.

“Hey, you,” you said, trying to make him pay attention to you. You looked him in the eyes, trying hard to see them clear. “Don’t you think it’s kinda cute?”

“What?” he whispered.

“Don’t you think it’s kinda cute,” you repeated, “That I died right inside your arms tonight?”

“No! No! No!” he said, his voice shaking. “Don’t you dare to do this to me, Y/N! Do you hear me? Stay with me!”

But you were gone – you left that world with a little smile on your lips, with bloody tears on your face and with the memory of his eyes watching you, of his arms holding you. And that made death a less painful thing for you.

 That I'm fine even after I have died / Because it was in your arms I died

 “No, Y/N!” he screamed, realizing you were gone. “Come back! Come back, Y/N, you own me one!”

“I’m sorry, Draco,” you whispered while watching him from behind – you could also see your lifeless body, laying on the ground with glass pieces, rocks and blood all over it and it made  you cry. You floated over your body and tried the stupidest thing you could think of: going back inside. But it was impossible – it felt like it was locked. Bloody tears were falling from your eyes, and you damned Bellatrix Lestrange for giving you such an ugly death: you’ll cry blood for eternity on the Hogwarts’ halls as a ghost. “I want to come back, Draco!” you screamed at the same time when he asked you to come back.

 I cry in the afterlife / I cry hard because I have died / And you're alive / I try to escape the afterlife / I try hard to get back inside / Your arms tonight

 The battle was over: Lord Voldemort was now dead, Bellatrix Lestrange was dead along with other Death Eaters, but so were a lot of innocent people: now, some students would stay forever in the castle because they chose to remain behind; they, just like you, were too scared of death and chose an imitation of life. As a ghost, you didn’t really felt like showing to everyone; it hurt you enough to know they missed you, and to see their broken souls when they’d realize you’re trapped in this world as a ghost would be more painful than your death. You knew nothing about Draco for a long time – you stayed in the tower all the time, and you already knew that after some years, when the school would be rebuilt, the little kids would call you the ghost of the Astronomy Tower – that thought made you smile; maybe they’d call you Bloody Y/N, or Bloody Crybaby Y/N, or… whatever name would fit a blood-crying ghost. That’s how you spent many months – thinking, crying, whishing you’d have chose the death.

A loud cry woke you up one day – you looked over to the balustrade, where a tall figure was shaking while looking down, down all the way to the ground. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said and you recognized him easily. “I’m so fucking sorry, my love,” he cried again and you approached him. On the ground, at his feet, was a bouquet of white chrysanthemums – they made your eyes tear up immediately.

“I promised you I’d protect you and I failed,” he whispered. “I hate myself since that day, my love,” he confessed.

To let him know about your presence was a bad idea – he’d be devastated to see you that way.

“I’ll see you soon, love,” he spoke to himself, or so he thought because he jumped in surprise when you screamed.

“Wait!”

“Y/N…” he cried, now facing you and crying harder. “You’re… alive?”

“Draco…” you sighed, “What are you doing here?”

He came closer and tried to hug you, but his arms went through you with ease. “You’re… a ghost.”

“Please don’t jump,” you said crying harder than him. It was a horrible image, indeed, to see a blood-crying ghost – but he was in love with you.

“I miss you, Y/N, I want to be with you,” he told you like he asked for permission.

But you shook your head in disapproval. “You won’t like it here, darling,” you smiled. “Please, stay – be happy and live.”

“I love you, Y/N, how could I live without you?” he cried like a little child, helpless.

You pointed to the flowers. “If your love is devoted, you’d spend the rest of your life fulfilling my wish, Draco.”

“Y/N…”

“Stay alive, Draco. I’ll be here, always,” you promised and cried.

He ran his hands through his hair, his blue eyes crying you a river. When he calmed down, he bent over and grabbed the flowers, handing them to you. You cried in pain, but still tried to get them – and you where surprised when you could.

“Come back to me, Y/N,” he said and you tried your best to make his wish come true. You tried to hug him, to kiss his forehead – he could swear he felt your cold skin on his.

“I wish I could, my love,” you said and stayed in front of him, with the sign of his devoted love in your hand.

 And hey (hey), you (you), don't you think it's kinda cute / That I (I) try (try) to escape the afterlife / That I (I) try (try) to get back in your arms alive / That I died in your arms

[do-y0u-have-to-let-it-linger]

EXT. The Roof (Winter) - Sunset

Not Just Attracted to Women!Peter Maximoff x Fem and Not Just Attracted to Men!Reader

Based off of a dream I recently had: Peter and Y/N have a conversation on the roof of Xavier's in mid-December. Peter accidentally lets it slip that he might not be straight, and he is afraid that Y/N will think less of him because of it because this is the 80s. Y/N reveals that she is also not straight, and is saddened by the fact that Peter could think that she could ever hate him- especially for that. She calls him wonderful. Feelings ensue. Also, a touch of Cherik at the end because I give the people what they want.

Warnings: Swearing, Peter cries, internalized homophobia (this is the 80s-ish and Peter uses the word 'queer' in a kind of incorrect and kind of offensive manner, but it was internalized homophobia and not actually intended to be mean to anyone but himself so I forgive him), a touch of angst but mostly fluff, Charles called you two "children" even though you are obviously not, Erik is happy that his son has someone that cares about him the way you do, Peter is insecure but not super blunt about it, Peter has been deprived of being adored his entire life, bad writing, I mention a serial killer twice, historical inaccuracy because the word queer was still a slur so yeah.

A/N: This is literally the first thing I have ever written so please be nice to me, I wrote this instead of an essay. I would love a comment of any kind, even if it's just a heart emoji or something, and constructive criticism would be highly appreciated. Also 'N/N' stands for nick-name.

(Ok, so, full discloser: the format is odd. The bullet points represent dialogue, and the only dialogue is between you two love birds. The first bullet point is Peter, the second is Y/N, the third is Peter, and so on.)

“I dunno, the whole ‘liking people’ thing has always been weird for me.”

“How do you mean?"

“Pppffftt- 'how do you mean,' what are you, Shakespeare or somethin’?”

“Yeah, because that’s the era when ‘how do you mean' would have been a popular term. Ok, what do you mean?”

“Just- when other people were liking people I never really was?”

He was gesturing wildly and avoiding eye contact, as always. He wasn't uncomfortable with eye contact, he just got bored easily in conversations, he needed to keep himself occupied. In this situation that meant staring at the red and green lights covering the rest of the roof, the snowy trees all over the yard, and a holly garland around the gate. Peter wasn't Christian, but man, did he love their Christmas decorations.

“Like… now? In school?”

“Well- yeah… but also when I was younger. And I never liked the right people? Or... liked them in the right way?”

“So you’ve never liked anyone.”

“No, no… I definitely have. It was just… weird! I don't-”

His hands dropped to his side in defeat.

“I don’t think it’s that out of the ordinary. I would tell you if it was. Also, if it was... 'weird', like you said, that wouldn’t mean it was necessarily bad.”

He hadn’t really heard what she said, he was too busy pondering what his next sentence would be. When she wasn't speaking, he was rambling.

"I had some of the normal crap… like in movies when they talk about the fluttery stomach junk. I've had that around a few girls I've been friends with, also that phase with the boy stuff, a-"

“Wait, what phase with the boy stuff?”

“Like- when you’re in middle school or whatever and you're gay for a second.”

His phrasing was a joke, but the statement as a whole was not.

“…‘Gay for a second’?”

“…Yeah?”

“Hmmm..."

"Is that- not-"

"I don't think that is... 'normal'... per-say..."

“Oh… Really?”

His heart sunk.

“…Yeah.”

“Huh.”

“…Mhm.”

“…Shit.”

He suddenly looked almost embarrassed. He shifted his posture, seemingly trying to shrink into himself.

“Do you... wanna chat about it?”

Panic started to slowly rise in him.

“Um- forget I said anything.”

“Why?”

Something in him said to go on the "defense". He did not appear as calm as he was intending to.

“I’m not- gay! or anything. I like girls! I do!”

She put her hand on his arm.

“Hey- look at me for a second. We are not in court, and I never 'accused' you of being gay. That would be a very funny reality TV show, but not what is happening right now. Listen, theoretically if you were gay that wouldn’t be bad! And I wouldn’t be… whatever you.. think that I would be? I mean- however you are afraid I would act in a negative reaction to it? I would try to be here for you, and be as supportive as possible.”

He didn’t believe her.

“Ok, sure.”

“Peter.”

“What? You’re going to tell me that you would honestly be friends with a queer person- be friends with me if I was... not... normal?”

She was taken aback by his tone, the word he had used, and the way he said it, felt like a weight dropping on her shoulders.

“Oh. would you… not?”

It was her turn to seem nervous.

“What?”

“Would you- stop being friends with someone for liking someone that they… I don’t know… shouldn’t... would be the word I guess?”

Why, in this situation, was she nervous? Oh. His fear was replaced with guilt.

“No.”

“Ok.”

“So… are you… do you… why were you scared?”

“... Why were you?”

She expected a joke from him, something along the lines of “touché".

“Are you… gay?”

“No.”

Yeah, he didn’t believe her.

“Uh-huh”

“Really, I’m not. I’ve liked boys, but also... I've had feelings for girls. I’m not… straight. So I just want to let you know that it’s okay if you aren’t too.”

“I never s-“

She smiled at him with a bit of pity, she had been there. The self-loathing, the feeling of walking on minefields with so many people in your life.

“You are…”

She paused.

“I am… what?”

“Give me a second I’m trying to find the perfect word.”

“… Okay?”

“Wonderful.”

That was not exactly the word he was expecting. Like, at all.

“Huh?”

“That’s the word. Wait- let me start over. You gotta look me in my eyes as I say it, because it’s gonna be really poetic.”

“Uh… should I be scared?”

“No. Maybe a little. No.”

“… Okay.”

He looked at her.

“You are… wonderful.”

“Oh... Thanks?“

He looked away again, to be honest, he was a bit uncomfortable. He rarely received compliments, especially ones that seem so... genuine.

“I’m not finished, look back at me, just for a second. You are so wonderful- and I will support you as whatever you are! I want you to know that I can- I can barely even think of something you could do that would make me genuinely hate you- like… maybe if you Dahmer-ed people or like chopped up a-“

He found this was amusing, yet disturbing.

“Y/N?”

“Sorry- I just- the fact that you thought, even for a second, that I could hate you… is just-“

“I’m sorry”

“No! Stop it. Don’t be sorry.”

She stared at him expectantly.

“What do you want me to-“

“Take it back! The sorry!”

“How?”

“Say you aren’t sorry”

“N/N-“

“Peter.”

“Ok. I’m, ya know, not sorry.”

“Good. You shouldn’t be”

“You’re weird.”

“Yuh-huh. Says the most likely, from the little information I've gathered, bisexual in denial who also happens to be the fastest boy on earth who had to slow down exponentially to interact with other people who also, also, happens sitting on a roof in the dead of winter with me.”

“What’s by smexual?”

Something about the way he attempted to repeat her words must have been hilarious, he thought, because here she was, sitting in front of him, in a fit of childish giggles. He would smile if he weren't so confused.

“No- that’s not- what I said- it’s… wait!”

“What?”

“You’re tryna get me off topic!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Am not!”

“Am not!”

“Are t- shit.”

“HAHA! Victory is a sweet dessert... wait is that even the saying? Still, I win you lose, nerd.”

“Ok, okay! go on.”

She was attempting to gather herself to give off a less jokey aura. It was half working, the "am not! are too!" argument a few moments ago made it hard for him to take her seriously, but he could tell it was important to her that he did, so he tried his best.

“You have to look at me again. just for a second.”

“I sw-”

“Just do it? Please?”

His attempt to put up a fight was thwarted by her small "please". He was pathetic.

“Okay.”

He looked at her.

“You…”

“Me… or- wait- I…”

“Are w-“

“Wonderful, yeah yeah. just get to the n-”

“No.”

“… No?”

“When you say it it doesn’t encapsulate it. It sounds silly.”

“Ok little miss ‘you art thou wonderful’, how would you have me say it?”

“I am you wonderful?”

“What?”

“You called me ‘little miss you are you wonderful’ what does that-“

“Ok! Would you just- shut up and call me wonderful one more time, please?”

She looked at him and blinked. That sentence surely came off as less ironic than intended.

“You are wonderful.”

She grabbed his face, in a half-joking manner. Her grab smushed his cheeks and she couldn't help but laugh a bit when she did it. Even though it was clearly a bit, he was still flustered.

“W-“

She shook him a bit.

"Shut up 'cause I'm about to say some beautiful and true shit. You are wonderful. You are wonderful. You are wonderful. You are absolutely, unchangingly, and irrevocably wonderful and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it, Maximoff.”

After saying what she would (in 40 years or so) recall as a painfully John Green-ish statement in her blunt and matter-of-fact manner, she let go of her semi-ironic hold on his pink cheeks. Were his cheeks pink because it was absolutely freezing, or because his heart was beating faster than he had ever (and would ever, mind you) run, you ask? No comment.

“Wow.”

“Wow what.”

“You do say it better than I do.”

“Did you like how I stressed different parts of the sentence each time? I thought that was a nice detail.”

“Wow.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Wow.”

Did his voice just... break a little?

“Peter?”

“Uh- yeah?”

Was he a little... sniffle-y? She was now very concerned.

“Are you okay?!”

“Oh- um... yeah!”

No! No he was clearly not! He was sniffling!

“Really? 'Cause, you don't seem it.”

“It’s just- I just- wow.”

“Wow, what!?”

“That was just- uh-"

“Just what? It really wasn't that fancy, you seem much too impressed with me. Oh my God, was it terrible?”

“I mean it was really corny but w-“

“I swear to God if you say 'wow' one more time I may have to add ‘use of the word wow too much’ to the list of things that could make me hate you. Right next to the Dahmer stuff. That was a joke. Your use of the word wow is only mildly perturbing. Sorry."

She was panicking "just a bit".

“I’m sorry, I mean I’m not sorry. Sorry. Shit! sorry! I mean I’m not!”

And he was absolutely... full-on crying at this point.

“Peter.”

“Yeah?”

He was looking down at his mittens. Not that this is important, but they were very pretty mittens.

“Look at me, you klepto.”

He didn’t.

“You know- I’ve been hearing a lot of that 'look at me' stuff from you today. I mean- the klepto part is new-“

“Peter.”

“What?!”

He peaked up at her.

“Talk to me. Please, you're kinda scaring me, let me help.”

“I’m not sad!”

“You’re crying!”

“Yeah but not from the sads!”

“… The ‘sads’?”

“You know- when you get sad! It just means being sad! I don't- that’s what Wanda calls it, not me!"

He wiped his nose, tears still running down from his puffy eyes to his reddened cheeks.

“What are you crying from?”

“No one’s ever called me wonderful before.”

“I'm sorry! I did a few minutes ago and you didn’t cry!”

“No! You can't 'sorry' me if I can't 'sorry' you! And- yeah but that doesn’t count!”

“Why?”

“Because it only felt big when you said it the certain way!”

“What way!?”

“You look at me, you grab my cheeks-“

“I'm sorry about that by the way I was j-“

“No! It’s really ok! Do it whenever! I mean don’t do it whene- shut up!”

“I’m not even talking! You're the one talking!”

“You look at me, you grab my cheeks, and you go: you are wonderful.”

“Yeah???”

“No one ever called me that before!”

"Peter, I- well- they- they should! They should! More often! Then the amount that it happens now! I think. In my opinion."

"Or really looked at me like that!”

“Looked at you like what, Peter?”

“Like I was somethin’!”

“Well, you are… ‘somethin'! Whatever that means! And- I think you deserve to be looked at as such!”

“See?”

“What!?”

“You just-“

A strangled sob escaped from his throat. He didn't know how to explain.

“Pete.”

“Ew. I hate that nickname.”

He crossed his arms over his chest like a toddler, trying to completely ignore the fact that he was an emotional wreck.

“Peter.”

“Yeah?”

She opened her arms and gestured for him to come closer. He was hesitant at first- but gave up all the reasons he shouldn't move to be closer to her in exchange for the promise of comfort she was offering him. He crawled over to her and curled up in her arms. The way she held him made him want to cry more. Who does she think she is- holding him like he was worth holding? With her chin sitting on top of his hair? Letting him do that gross cry sob with the spit and the snot into her only winter coat? Rocking him, and shushing him, and petting his stupid, silver hair? She was warm, too! The audacity of this woman.

When Erik brought Charles into his office to grab a chess set, they saw the two in the window. For a moment Charles considered telling Peter and Y/N to get off of the high platform, seeing as the two were the reasons the "no sitting on the roof" rule was enacted in the first place (neither of them were coordinated whatsoever). Charles quickly dropped this notion when he saw the look on Erik's face, Charles could tell it made him so happy to see Peter be held like that, cared for like that. Erik's expression made Charles want to both tell Erik that he is the most precious thing in the world, and make fun of him (look at Mr. Metal, gone completely soft). Possibly he could do both at the same time. But for now, he is just going to pretend he didn't see the two outside of the window, and have Erik grab them their game, go to the living room, and pretend not to have read Erik's mind when he inevitably asks him how he always manages to pick the white chess piece at "random".

[watchinglikeafangirl]

Lovely Writer Epsiode 8 - analysis

I have to say, this week's episode is the best one so far because so many things got explained and the puzzlepieces suddenly find their places. It's incredible how much hidden forshadowing the other episodes contain. Every week, I sit here and find clues they placed in episode 3 or something. It's really nice and that's what good writing is about. I find the script really great because this show focuses on so many different aspects, it's literally overwhelming.

On the one hand, we have Nubsib and Gene's lovestory which mostly happens apart from all the other stuff going on. Lovely Writer makes fun of all these cheesy romances with cringey dialogue underlined with a soundtrack that doesn't fit the atmosphere in the scenes at all. Gene and Nubsib have scenes which mix all the cliches at the same time. But at the same time, their lovestory is slow and their affection for each other is not all about physical attraction because love is not about that. Of course, enjoying kissing and having sex is a normal part of a relationship but I often feel like BLs want to tell me all the other stuff happens "off screen" because the talks late at night and taking care of each other are actually way harder to write. But Lovely Writer shows us very much about all those other aspects of a relationship, for example when Gene and Nubsib talk on the phone for hours. These are relationship goals which are rarely addressed but take place way more often than making out.

On the other hand, Lovely Writer is not about a lovestory at all. They make the Thai BL industry look bad by showing the harmony on camera and during interviwes is a fassade because all this pressure and fame gets to one personally and you turn out to be the worst version of yourself. This industry basically wants the actors to sacrifice their life, their identity for entertainment. This is a very sharp critic and Lovely Writer portrays this very well. They manage to switch between lovestory and toxic film business quite well.

Lovestory in a fairytale

Last episode nubsib went to the house where Gene hid and this story continues in this episode. We all know, what happened last week, there were many gifs about it and the cuteness continues here on an even higher level.

But all this takes place somewhere far from their work with no other people around. They are in this house together and spend two day there of explorig their feelings and I guess, talking about stuff most of the time. The rooms are always flooded with daylight and it looks very cozy and warm. Their relationship went next level and they both are very happy about it, so the first half of this episode contains a lot of positive feelings and the outside is not interfering. It looks more like a lovestory in a fairytale because they are drunk on happiness and excitement. It's something new, the start of a relationship and that's a big step. In the beginning they don't face challenges and can basically live happily in this house. But of course, the fairytale has to end and they go back. The mood switches at an instant and the lighting is different because now they aren't as free any more. Before, they were in a lonely house and were free to do anything.

This sort of bright lighting returns on the balcony because there, they can't be disturbed either and are just two young people in love again. Being in love in a silly and cheesy way is also part of a relationship and it's something normal, so Gene and Nubsib have those moments too even after they are back because now we (and Gene) know it's real. It's not something that happened in a different world. It is the reality and takes place even in the normal life.

Relationship goals

Like I said, their relationship looks very natural and is not faked or forced. In fact, their romance is too good to take. They share a few kisses but it's not the kisses which make my heart melt. It's Nubsib ask for consent in those moments. It's their talks. It's the little actions for me because little actions of care and love are way cuter than just a bunch of kiss and NC scenes. That's not what I want. I only watch BLs because they are about a love despite what society might tell you is right. I'm not here for kiss scenes. In some shows, all the private scenes of the main couple contain either kissing or sex and I don't understand why. In a relationship, you like this part as well but like the person you do that with more.

So, I like Gene and Nubsib's relationship being more lovingly and honest very much because trust, loyalty and honesty are more important.

Also, we can see they are both very serious about the relationship and go all in for it. There is no angrily storming off again. There is no being mad for a whole epsiode any more. There is no annoying shyness and blushing. Both characters don't really match the cliche dynamic and I love that because stereotypes just make me sick.

Here, Gene and Nubsib have an argument and even though they get disturbed, Nubsib makes sure they will talk about it later. They will have a mature and conversation about this when they both have calmed down. And this is real. This is normal and nothing to be very scared of. It's just a little argument that will probably be solve in a few sentences.

Lovely Writer has a whole concept. We got a moment when one of them was storming off and was mad for a whole episode but they just did that to reverse it and portray it as unrealistic and unfair for the other person because this way Gene wasn't giving Nubsib any chance to apologize nor explain himself.

Oversexualization

If I'm gonna talk about the fact the love story doesn't contain a lot of kiss or NC scenes, then I need to talk about this problem here. Actually, the oversexualization of BLs is harshly criticized in this scene and I belive Gene is totally right but the thing is, it's not just the Thai BL industry and it's not just BLs. It's far more than that and I believe westernization is a part of it (that's a huge topic, I know. I will only address one tiny aspect here). I don't know very much about the eastern countries of Asia. I only know what I've seen in documentaries or on the internet, so I can't say I'm an expert at all. But from what I know and what I've seen, Eastasian societies are more closeted about relationships and sex. I'm not saying every country (please, don't be offended and feel free to correct me) and I don't know how open Thailand is about this topic but I feel like the "western" countries are more open about it. I live in Germany and here it's a topic like everything else and people tend to overshare. I feel like the countries which are that open, oversexualize very quickly because it's no difficult topic among the people. So, oversexualization happens in all film businesses of such countries and since Thai BLs have fans all over the world, they oversexualize too in order to make the people like it. The whole internet seems horny all the time, so it works and sells itself pretty good. So, Gene doesn't just call out the Thai BL industry. He basically calls out half of the world's film businesses because they all do it.

But like Hin said, that doesn't mean NC scenes should be banned or are bad. Just an overuse of such passages is the problem here because then it's not about romance any more. Then, you can call it an erotic novel. When there's one or two NC scenes and they make sense in the story, it's totally fine. The writers and authors just need to find the right balance. And since the preview looked like things will be happening, then it's just happening because the mood was right. See sex as part of bonding because relationships are basically just good friendships with some next level stuff.

Consent

People love Nubsib asking Gene for consent whenever he wants to kiss him and that's really considerate but I saw this post here and discovered Nubsib is not the king of consent at all. He's only asking for consent whenever they are alone. But not when they are with other people because he knows Gene is shy. He outs him to three people during this episode even though he said he'll wait and Gene obviously doesn't want him to do that. Afterwards, he even comforts Gene to lift the pressure but he can't deny he put this pressure on Gene in the first place. As I said, Gene is shy towards other people, Nubsib knows that and plays this card. With others, Gene won't say anything because he's too polite and also, you don't have an argument in front of others. So, Nubsib doesn't stay true to his words and is still manipulative.

Finding your soulmate

Believe it or not, but I totally see Lovely Writer fulfilling the "soulmate" trope because this episode both indicated this - more or less through words.

Nubsib tells Gene, he felt lonely all these years in America and this loneliness vanished when he saw Gene again. He had a relationship before but still felt lonely (also, I love his previous relationship doesn't matter at all. There's no jealousy or anything). This sounds like he wants to say Gene is his long awaited soulmate.

Gene was lonely as well over all these years and got used to it but as soon as he and Nubsib grow closer he's reminded of the loneliness. He doesn't accept it any more and I believe he's nearly dying inside right before he calls Nubsib. They spend two days alone and many things happen emotionallywise, so when he gets home, he feels very lonely. Nubsib reminded him what it's like to not be lonely. He became aware of the loneliness again and hates it even more now he has someone freeing him from that feeling. Even though Gene doesn't say it, I feel like they want to tell me Nubsib is his soulmate too.

Product placement

This show's product placement cracks me up everytime. The picture with this woman... what was that lmao

Why would she hold up a face mask for a picture?

Also, the spray is so misplaced... Gene was upset but Nubsib was like "at least smell good"

Nubsib: the king of comforting

[jadelotusflower]

Roundup: August 2021

This month: Jane Eyre, Wide Sargasso Sea, Don’t Call it a Cult, The Secret Garden, Showbiz Kids, Masters of the Universe: Revelation, Lucifer.

Reading Jane Eyre (Charlotte Bronte) - I’ve been meaning to read the Wide Sargasso Sea for a long, long time, but first I thought I’d revisit the source material. I find my opinion hasn’t much changed - I still love the prose, still love Jane as a character, and still find Rochester extremely unappealing. The section with Jane at school is the most engaging for me, and her early time as a governess at Thornfield, but as soon as Rochester shows up I just find him so irritating I have no idea why Jane loves him so much (other than he was the first man to ever show her a scrap of attention). I mean, I know to an extent - I've read the Takes, and part of fiction is accepting what you want for the character as a reader and what they want for themselves can be two different things, and that's not the fault of the text. I can be satisfied by the ending because Jane gets what she wants, I just can’t help but wonder about a Jane who was found by John Eyre before she went to Thornfield, or who took her inheritance and made her own way after Moor House. Byronic heroes just aren't my thing I guess ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Wide Sargasso Sea (Jean Rhys) - The first Mrs Rochester of Jane Eyre strikes an uneasy tone to a modern reader; she does not utter a word in the novel, is depicted as animalistic and almost demonic, her story only told in a self-serving manner by Rochester, and conveniently disposed of so Jane can return to claim him. Rhys reimagines Bertha as Antoinette, a “white Creole” of Jamaica in a postcolonial take on the racial/social prejudices and hierarchy only hinted at in Eyre, where Bertha being Creole primarily an aspect of her Otherness, and in which Rochester describes himself as being desired as a husband because he was "of good race" . In Sea, although Antoinette is white (passing, perhaps), he sees her "not English or European either" and this contributes to his rejection of her (and perhaps his willingness to believe she is mad). The novel is surprisingly short - it skips over the meeting and courtship of Antoinette and Rochester (tellingly unnamed in the novel) entirely, jumping directly from her childhood/coming of age to the couple already married, and over much of Bertha's (renamed by Rochester) sad life in the attic. Still, there's a density to the writing, much is implied beyond the sparse use of words and recurring imagery - subjugation, reflection, and of course, fire - when freed slaves (Rhys changes the timeframe to after the passing of the Emancipation Act of 1833) set fire to Antoinette's family plantation, a pet parrot whose wings have been clipped by her English step-father Mason, cannot flee and falls to a fiery doom, in a grim omen of Bertha's fate. It did, however, leave me wanting more - I understand Rhys' stylistic choices and restraint, but in her effort to give voice to the voiceless, Antoinette/Bertha remains somewhat an enigma. Don’t Call it a Cult: Keith Raniere and the women of NXIVM (Sarah Berman) - I continue to be disturbed but intrigued by the NXIVM case, not only because of my abhorrence of MLMs/pyramid schemes, but my bafflement as to how this thoroughly unremarkable man was able to hold sway over so many women. My mild criticism of the two documentaries on this subject was that they tended to jump around in time so you never really got a good idea of what happened when. This book provides a well researched, detailed summary of events and linear chronology of Raniere’s perverse pathology reaching all the way back to childhood, and so is both an excellent supplement to the already informed, and broad overview to those new to the case. Berman is a Vancouver-based journalist who was present at Raniere’s trial and gives insight into witness testimony, supported by her own interviews and extensive research. There's less of a focus on the sensationalised celebrity members, with greater emphasis on the lesser known victims - including the three Mexican sisters who were all abused by Raniere, one of whom was kept confined to a room for years. It's difficult reading, consolation being the

knowledge that Raniere is rotting in prison and that his crimes finally caught up with him. Watching The Secret Garden (dir. Marc Munden) - Spoilers, if one needs a spoiler warning for a 110 year old novel. One of those stories that is adapted every generation, and generally I have no problem with this, since new adaptations can often bring something new or be a different take on old material (see Little Women 2019). But a part of me can’t help feel why bother with this when the perfect 1993 version exists. There is an Attempt at something new with this film, moving the setting forward to 1947 (Mary’s parents having died during the Partition), and turning the garden from a small walled secret to a mystical, huge wonderland full of ferns and flowers and endless sun. But in doing so, the central metaphor is lost - rather than Mary discovering something abandoned and run wild, gently bringing it back to life with love and care, she merely discovers a magical place that requires no effort on her part. There’s also less of a character arc for Mary, remaining unpleasant far into the proceedings, forcing Colin to visit the garden instead of it being his true wish, and generally succeeding by imposing her will on everyone else. In many ways she’s more like Burnett's other child heroine Sarah Crewe - the film opens I’m with her telling stories to her doll including Ramayana, which is eerily reminiscent of Alfonso Cuaron's (also perfect) 1995 adaptation of A Little Princess. But I suppose a sliver of credit where it's due - Julie Walters' Mrs Medlock is less of an antagonist, with Colin Firth's Lord Craven being Mary's primary obstacle. There's also a subplot with Mary's mother's depression following the death of her sister being the reason for her neglect (and Merlin alum Rupert Young shows up briefly as Mary's father) but like shifting the time period, there just doesn't seem to be a point to it. The climax of the film involves the Manor burning down (writer Jack Thorne stealing from Rebecca too, lol), with Mary and Craven have a very calm conversation as fire and smoke surrounds them. It’s all very bizarre, but also…rather dull? Don't bother with this, just watch the 1993 film again. Showbiz Kids (dir. Alex Winter) - a really interesting documentary on the titular subject - Winter was himself a child actor on Broadway before his film career kicked off in The Lost Boys and Bill and Ted, and has been able to assemble a broad range of interview subjects - Mara Wilson, Evan Rachel Wood, Wil Wheaton, Jada Pinkett Smith among others - former child actors, those still in the business, and some up and comers like Disney star Cameron Boyce (who I was sad to see in the coda has passed away). We also follow two young hopefuls - Marc, attending acting classes and auditioning in pilot season, yet to book a job but his parents are invested in "his" dream, and Demi, already established on Broadway but having to start to make choices between a career and a childhood. There's no voiceover, no expert opinions in this, letting the actors speak for themselves, but there is a telling juxtaposition of Marc returning home, jobless but having fun in the pool with his friends, while Demi has to cancel the summer camp she had been so looking forward to because she has booked a new role. The film is fairly even handed, but ultimately I took away that there just seems to be more harm than not in this industry, and abuses of many kinds. It does make you wonder about the ethics of child acting, at least in the current system where the cautionary tales are plentiful. Masters of the Universe: Revelation (episodes 1-5) - Mild spoilers I guess? I was never really into He-Man as a kid, other than the Secret of the Sword movie, so most of the in jokes and references in this went over my head. I have to admit, it was actually seeing all the outrage that made me want to check this out and see what all the complaining was about. I actually…really enjoyed it?!? I’m sympathetic to the complaints of a bait and switch (creators really need to learn to say

“just wait and see”), but other than that in my view the rest seemed completely unfounded. Adam/He-Man being killed in the first episode and the impact that has on Eternia and those left behind is actually a really interesting premise. This isn’t a TLJ situation; in contrast everyone (except Evil-Lyn) is always going on about how much they miss Adam, and the whole point of the first arc is him coming back. There’s also a nice little detail of Adam in Preternia (heroes heaven) choosing to remain as he is rather than as He-Man where all his predecessors have chosen their “ultimate” forms. I love him and his Magical Girl transformation. As for Teela - female characters can’t win, it seems. If they are perfect, they’re Mary Sues, if they have flaws, they’re unlikeable. Teela is Going Through things and is on a journey, but I often feel (and it seems the case here) that people confuse a character arc with author intent. No! Just because a character says/does something it doesn't mean you're supposed to agree with them! Some of Teela's actions may be petty and her demeanor less than sweet, but people make bad choices as a response to grief, and I actually thought her anger over Adam never telling her his secret and how that manifested was a pretty interesting take. I'll be interested to see the next half of the season, and ignore the ragebait youtube commentary. One more thing - Evil-Lyn (perfectly voiced by Lena Headey) was an absolute delight. Lucifer (season 5 part 2): They’ve basically given up on the procedural side of things by now and are leaning heavily into the mythology, which works for me since the case of the week is always the least interesting part of any show. It also struck me this season that there’s gender parity in the main cast (Lucifer, Amenadiel, Dan and then Chloe, Maze, Ella, Linda) - and actually, that’s more women than men. How often does that happen?!? I can’t say I’m particularly engaged with the Lucifer/Chloe pairing, but am happy to go along with it since that’s where the whole plot revolves. The best scenes for me this season were with God’s Dysfunctional Family, even if the lead up to the finale felt rushed (I understand the need to wrap things up in case of cancellation but still). I would have liked to see more of the sibling dynamics between the angels and less romantic drama, but hey. The character death got me, as well. I didn't see it coming and I didn't realise how much I had enjoyed that character until they were gone and well...it got me. I see the last season is coming soon, I'm not exactly sure where they can go from here, but looking forward to it nonetheless. Writing I was actually quite sick this month with a throat infection, so wasn't in the best frame of mind to get anything finished like I had planned to. I'm going to hold off posting the word count this month and roll it over to September when hopefully I've actually posted things.

[lilydalexf]

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with Mary Ruth Keller

Mary Ruth Keller has 42 stories at Gossamer, plus her stories are at AO3. She's written a number of short standalone stories, but she's thought through the X-Files mythology and written about it probably as much as anybody ever has. So if you want to dive into the mythology and all its drama, you need to go read her mythology fics ASAP. (But read this long, interesting interview first!) Big thanks to Mary Ruth for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

Quite frankly, yes. The Kuxan Sum Cycle branches off the actual series following the Third Season episode Syzygy. I took the myth-arc as it stood at that time, post Nisei-731, and the agents in mid-Rift. Although I didn’t quite realize it when I started out, I was most interested in moving the myth-arc forward in a continuously unfurling narrative, one where Scully and Mulder became an effective investigative team who support each other as partners and friends again. After I started writing in my little corner of the X-F universe in 1996, there was a lot of stuff on the show that just happened, with no real storytelling logic to it I could fathom, but that seemed to be popular. I stopped writing in 2000 because I was frantically busy at my new job (which consumed far too many twelve-plus-hour workdays and weekends) and because my sister and I were trying to take care of my elderly, increasingly frail, Mother. So, I never expected, when I started writing in 2018 and posting again in 2019 (I reposted all my stories, in order, to AO3 and fanfiction.net, because Chermera would never have made sense without them) for readers to take an interest in myth-arc and character issues that the series writers had simply abandoned to go chase, well, anything else, especially if it made no coherent sense whatsoever. What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

The fandom was a lot of fun. There were many interesting, engaging discussions I took part in with other fans of the show, some of whom I am still in touch with.

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

All of the above. I spent a lot of time discussing writing and characters with other writers on ATXC, except when I was actively working on my novels. Since I was doing basic research into microwave remote sensing of the Earth while working at the Naval Research Laboratory at the time – yes, I was one of those dreaded Department of Defense scientists the show had a love/hate relationship with – my writing happened at night and on weekends. Novels, especially the longer ones, take me about a year from first words on disk until release, which meant I didn’t have all the time to participate on-line as I would have otherwise. But, I enjoyed chatting with the fellow denizens of the Endies Board, and on the EMXC, Scullyfic, and Je Souhaite mailing lists. I’ve saved some of those posts and conversation threads on my older computers, where it’s fun re-reading them from time to time. What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

There were a lot of generous, funny, very intelligent fans involved with X-F back then (not that there aren’t now; there are, of course). I started writing because I wanted to get the myth-arc and the characters back on-track, the long-term story moving forward and the agents again being the smart investigators I loved hanging out with on Friday nights. But, outside of having read a lot of myth, literature, fiction, and non-fiction, I didn’t know enough about the mechanics of writing fiction. Several authors were willing to help out, some explicitly through E-mail conversations, and some from general comments about crafting stories that were posted to ATXC. I had a real problem with how I initially handled dialog, which I had some E-mail guidance on, that was very much appreciated. I also had two quite diligent beta readers, one an on-line fan, and one a real-life friend, both male, who helped me with the direction of the Scully-Mulder half of Anath. I was, at the time, utterly exasperated with how the pair of them had become such complete morons on the series, both totally incapable of investigating anything successfully, which was affecting my writing the characters in that story.   What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show? Ooh, boy. I’d like to say I started watching with the show with the Pilot, but I didn’t, quite. Tom Shales was the Washington Post TV critic at the time the Pilot aired – yes, not only was I a government scientist, I was living in Alexandria, Virginia, in 1992. He was intrigued by the characters and premise and found Duchovny and Anderson engaging while playing their roles. At the time, I was wrapped up trying to work on a PhD while still employed at NRL, so I tucked the review away, waiting until I had Friday nights free to check it out. I’m a great lover of science fiction, so I thought to give the show a try, eventually. [Lilydale note: I found a couple things Tom Shales wrote about The X-Files premiere in 1993: Fall 1993 TV preview article and a “Pilot” episode review.]

The first episode I sat down to watch was the First Season Darkness Falls, where Mulder and Scully get trapped at the logging camp with the Earth Firster, Doug Spinney, the logging executive, Steve Humphries, the Forest Ranger, Larry Moore, and the gooey green bugs. I was amazed by that story. It was as perfect a little piece of science fiction as I have seen on TV (except for one bit toward the end), with an environmental moral to it as well, where all the characters make good and bad choices, and they all suffer or succeed because of them.

What hooked me, really hooked me, were the first/second acts, specifically, Dana Scully’s actions, once they find the desiccated logger in the tree. The investigation is handled logically, in that it’s not the big male agent who goes shinnying up the trunk to look at the evidence while everyone else stands around watching and wailing, “Whatever shall we do!” No, it’s little Dana Scully who takes the ride to the upper branches. This made oodles of sense, in that she was this tiny woman whom two men could lever up that far with a rope, a hand winch, and pulleys. When she gets there, after grimacing (who wouldn’t, considering what she saw), she starts investigating. She does an on-the-spot post-mortem exam, while Mulder makes an ooky male-body-parts joke, but everyone takes her results seriously. I was thrilled. Here was a female character I could really relate to, someone who could hold her own in a difficult situation, unlike most of those on the tube, then or now.

I made a point, over the following summer, of watching as many re-runs as I could, catching up on the episodes and characters. The stories ran to science fiction and horror, which are my preference. Further, although there was an emphasis on the paranormal, several of the first season episodes were written so both Mulder’s wanting-to-believe-but-needing-proof intuitive, emotional approach and Scully’s logical, scientific, justice-oriented viewpoint each got the narrative coherently from initial crime to identifying and apprehending a suspect. It was some spectacular, complex writing, and I was hooked, hopelessly hooked. I discuss this some on my old author web-page, which still exists, courtesy of the Wayback machine), so I won’t belabor it. What got you involved with X-Files fan-fic? The shenanigans within the Third Season, quite honestly. The myth-arc wasn’t moving forward, as it had during the Second Season, which I really couldn’t understand. Carter had given us this bang-up start in the ABC Trilogy with all these new fictional possibilities to explore, but instead, bupkis. The MOTW’s were retreads with no depth or moral/ethical weight to them, except for Darin’s stories. The intelligent agents I had enjoyed spending time with while they pursued their oddball investigations were evaporating before my eyes. Mulder had always been this deeply intuitive character who cared about others and knew he could get it wrong, so needed Scully’s logic in their investigations, even if he didn’t always want to hear her observations and questions. But that character was being replaced by a cookie-cutter misunderstood anti-hero, who wasn’t thinking, just running off to chase butterflies, who was always right because he was The Guy. Scully, as an investigator, the little agent who could, was simply being sidelined. Sure, she’d argue with Mulder, but the writers had stopped giving her and her logical viewpoint a real role in their cases, Darin excepted, again. As the series went on, the Agent and Doctor Dana Scully I respected was replaced with this snappish little female whose only notable skill was running in high heels, who spent her time standing around with her arms crossed, and made pruney faces at Mulder if she were required to do any actual investigating. I hated that character, but, apparently, the all-male writing staff just loved her.

I knew about the on-line fandom, so I thought to check out if anybody else had noticed these “improvements.” First, I spent time at ATXF, discussing the changes with the series, that disturbed a lot of folks, not just me. Eventually, I tripped onto ATXC. There were writers there who understood the two characters, quite well, but weren’t that interested in the other problems with the show that bothered me deeply.

Like many fan-fiction writers, I decided to try to bring in, or in my case, bring back, what I was missing in what was being aired. Sins of the Fathers was the result. As I mentioned above, it was a far from perfect story, but I learned much putting it together, and it got a lot of positive feedback. So I kept writing and trying to improve what I wrote. Folks appreciated it, then and now, surprisingly, which was endless encouragement to keep going. What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom? With work and my Mom, as I mentioned above, I dropped out for a few years. My new job is still microwave remote sensing of the Earth, at a University-affiliated laboratory, not working directly for the government, but the NASA/NSF-type funding for the research I like to do is much harder to come by, so it takes up a lot more of my time to keep funded and working. Adding to that, I haven’t found places like ATXC in the 90’s or the Endies Board, but I suppose lightning only strikes once. Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

Not really, no. I’ve enjoyed other TV series, but, I never felt those shows were just throwing away essential parts of themselves as X-F did, or, if they went bad, I simply stopped watching them. A fandom is, or can be, a huge time commitment, which, as I’ve noted, I don’t have that much of. I discuss this quite extensively in my author’s notes at the end of Chermera, so I won’t repeat myself. [Lilydale note: the long author notes are at the end of the story’s last chapter, not in the AO3 notes section.] Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

As a child, I loved reading myths and legends from many different cultures. So many amazing stories, so much that touches on truth. Greek myth, Norse legends, Islamic tales, Celtic fables, all of them. It goes without saying that discovering Tolkien’s fully-realized Middle Earth in my early teens was like falling into an river of endless delights.

In literature, perhaps the character I enjoy most is Sherlock Holmes. On television/in movies, I’d have to say: Beverly Crusher, (early) Dana Scully, Susan Ivanova of Babylon 5, Pa’u Zotoh Zhaan and (early) Aeryn Sun on Farscape, Samantha Carter on Stargate SG-1, Hermione Granger, and most recently, Lagertha on Vikings. Dunno, there might be a pattern there. Possibly. Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

Yes, absolutely. I started rewatching the series when it ran on BBC America, enjoying the first two seasons again. I’d actually never stopped thinking about Mulder and Scully; I just lost the time to write about them, until two years ago, when I managed to land some long-term funding so I wasn’t staying up nights writing proposals every few months. I’d have a thought about how to advance the story that became Chermera, so I’d make a mental note and play with it in my head. I also have two more novels and a satyr play left to go in the sequence of stories I want to write, so I’m turning over plot-lines and potential arcs in my head all the time. Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom? I do read X-F fan-fic. Since the series has wandered so far away from what engaged me, and most fan-fic keeps up with that, I don’t read very much. As far as other fandoms, one was enough. Do you have any favorite X-Files fan-fic stories or authors?

Reaching back into the dark ages, I’d say Pellinor and Nascent. They may both be available on Gossamer. [Lilydale note: Fortunately, they are!] What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise? Zurvan is the favorite of my older stories. It, like Twelfth Night (Denha on AO3 to avoid confusion with another X-F story named Twelfth Night), builds on the past stories in their trilogies and brings the overall arc to new places. It’s fun to uncover surprises when writing and develop challenges to address in the future, which both of those stories did. Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

I’d certainly like to. I had planned to write three trilogies with their satyr plays, each of them focusing on an aspect of the mythical Triple Goddess: Maiden, Matron, and Crone, in the X-F universe. Only, being me, I turned it around. Sandra Ann Miller (Samantha) is the Maiden, but I’ve just started telling that part of the arc with the transitional Anath and the first trilogy story Chermera. I’m approaching this trilogy as a coherent tale spread across the three novels, which is different from the other two. The Caroline Lowenberg Trilogy didn’t really get organized until Twelfth Night. It was only the third story I’d ever written, so perhaps I can be excused. The Dana Scully Trilogy was all interconnected, but that was more of an organic, rather than a pre-planned and deliberate, effort. I didn’t really grasp the full arc of what I was creating there until I was writing Chermera and looked back over the threads running from Rustic Suite through Anath. The next story in the Sandra Ann Miller Trilogy involves the exposure of the Japanese arm of the Consortium, but, I need to read up on Japanese history, myths and legends, and world view before I write it. After finishing and posting Chermera, that’s what I’ve been doing. The conflict between Amaterasu, the Sun goddess, and her ne’er-do-well brother Susanoo-no-Mikoto, the god of, among other things, storms, marriage, and love, as told in the Kojiki and the Nihongi (both written down in their near-final forms at the same time as we in the West were just recording the first skeletal versions of the Arthurian Legends), will definitely get worked into the Sandra Ann Miller Trilogy. I’m starting to put the arcs and plot-lines together, but, I’m not ready to begin writing yet. Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work? As I’ve discussed, I do. Part of why I take my time is because Mulder and Scully are owed real, challenging cases to solve - the two intelligent agents with their own approaches, strengths, and weaknesses, remember. Partly, because I have original fiction ideas I’d like to pursue. Trying to do the best I possibly can in the sheltered world of X-F where I attempt to create stories with universal themes, well-realized settings, coherent plot-lines, and original characters who resonate with my readers is practice for the original fiction. I’ll never write the Great American Novel (whatever that is), but I’d like to write stories that are as good as I can make them and fun for my readers, so I keep plugging. Where do you get ideas for stories? Reading and thinking, mostly. I try to look for ideas that haven’t been done to death, or different approaches to old themes. I have four original novels I scribble mental notes on. After I bring this myth-arc I’ve been working on to its (to me) logical resolution, I hope I’ll be able enough of a writer to get started on them. What's the story behind your pen name? Actually, it’s my real name. At the time I started writing, I didn’t think to do anything else. On ATXC and Gossamer, I wrote several of the shorts that are separate from the Kuxan Sum Cycle under the pen name Lise Meitner. She was a Twentieth Century theoretical physicist who explained nuclear fission, then was cut out of a Nobel prize because the judges of her day thought Marie Curie and Irene Joliot-Curie were “enough” women physicists working in radioactivity to be so honored. [Lilydale note: here’s her Wikipedia page. Among many other fascinating things talked about there, she was nominated for the Nobel Prize 48 times in two different categories and had the 109th chemical element, meitnerium, named after her. She also escaped Nazi Germany in a plot involving trains, boats, planes, and an emergency diamond ring. You really ought to read about her.] Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

I’d shared the first five of my novels with my family back in 1996. They liked them, my sister especially. I’m not sure they knew what to make of them. I haven’t shown them to my in-laws, but, I think my sister-in-law found them on her own. We haven’t discussed them, as they aren’t her usual preference, which is Romance. One distant blood relation was thrilled to discover them on-line and wrote me about them. My sister, though, is my (self-admitted) biggest fan. When we were kids, she and I shared a bedroom, where I’d make up stories to tell her at night so she could fall asleep. She and I correspond regularly by E-mail (she’s in Florida and I’m in Maryland). Back while I was working my way through Chermera, she asked out of the blue if I was ever going to write any more. She was thrilled to hear I had been but she doesn’t have regular Internet access other than at her job. I made printed, bound copies of all my stories to mail to her last Christmas. She loves them, bless her. Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

I’ve sent Chermera to Gossamer, but, it hasn’t been updated since July 2018. All the rest of the stories are there.

At AO3, my stories are under: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrkeller. The Kuxan Sum Cycle is linked together at: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1555492.

I’ve published the Lise Meitner stories under my own name there: Faustus Mulder; Late Night Thoughts on Evolution, Hard Times, and Lost Pets; You Just Don’t Understand; and Lux Perpetua. Since I could separate out the trilogies into their own cycle, it just made sense.

At fan-fiction.net, they’re under: https://www.fanfiction.net/~maryruthkeller

Again, the Lise Meitner stories are under my own name. Since fanfiction.net doesn’t have a linked series option like AO3, I’ve added a header to all eleven of the stories in the Kuxan Sum Cycle so far explaining the order. The novels all are tagged with thumbnail versions of the covers I made for them. Also, the literary quotes I started each chapter and begin and end each story with, are kept in the AO3 versions, but are removed at fanfiction.net to avoid potential copyright issues. Shakespeare, Christine de Pisan, the Popol Vuh, the Ugaritic myths around Anath, and others are all long out of, or never were in, copyright, of course, but, just to be on the safe side, I’m following fanfiction.net’s rules.

If folks care to write, I’m still at my old eclipse address: mrkeller@eclipse.net. Is there anything else you'd like to share with fans of X-Files fic?

Enjoy it, use it as an opportunity to make connections and expand your horizons as a storyteller. Fan-fiction was much more of a home-grown effort back in the 90’s than it is now, when there are how-to books, of all things. But, don’t get so wrapped up one forgets about real life. That’s where all the best stories are.

(Posted by Lilydale on October 27, 2020)

[barnesandco]

Nikah: March

Story Masterlist

Nikah: noun, Arabic, meaning the contract of marriage.

Bucky marries Peter’s former tutor because her student visa’s about to expire and the government isn’t granting her a green card. Can she find a way to permanent residence by marriage, and if so, will it be at the cost of their hearts?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: None.

A/N: Written under the Arranged/Accidental Marriage trope for @mermaidxatxheart​ ‘s writing challenge. Thank you all for reading and commenting! (Picture below is mine, btw)

Bucky’s birthday arrives amidst blooming flowers and a pollen-scented breeze, the day marked by preparations for a party Sam is throwing for him at one of the hotels downtown. Avengers and close friends only, yet he’s spared no expense, insisting on a proper welcome back. The captain is unrelenting in matters of social activity, especially since he has been spending minimal time with his teammates since his marriage. Marriage. He shakes his head at himself in the floor length mirror as he straightens his cuff-links and moonlight catches on the gold band on his finger. It no longer feels like a burden.

Rather, it’s a seed that’s been planted on him, and it’s taken root inside him, growing, growing, growing into a steady feeling of friendship with the person he wears it for. An understanding, a companionship. He refuses to confess to anything more, even within the confines of his own mind. His heart, on the other hand, has no compunctions about making its opinion known, setting off like a hare being hunted whenever she approaches. Most dangerous assassin in the world, defeated by her smile.

She offers him one now when she enters, picture perfect elegance very nearly succeeding in concealing her nerves. Bucky’s nerves, meanwhile, are on fire at the sight of her, sensory overload short-circuiting his brain. He finally turns to look at her directly and the fox-hunt pace of his heart stumbles, stutters to a stop.

“You- you’re- jeepers,” Is all he can manage, the rosewater blush deepening on his cheeks. It has the opposite of the desired effect, and she steps back, mascaraed eyes widening, horrified.

“It’s too much, isn’t it. Oh God, I knew I should’ve-”  She begins to reach for a tissue box on the dresser and Bucky stops her. Lowers her hand slowly and keeps a hold of it, as if she will float away otherwise.

“Jesus, doll, stop. You’re perfect,” He tells her, and she slips her hand away but smiles a little as she sits on the foot of the bed - their bed - to put on her shoes.

“Thank you. You look nice, too,” She says, lifting the hem of her black gown as she pulls on pearl white heels. The matching clutch - pearl encrusted - is on the bedside table, and he hands it to her as they leave the room and then the apartment. 

“Hang on, your tie is loose,” She says the moment they enter the elevator. He can’t even press the button for the ground floor while she holds him in place. The split-second it takes for her to wrap her hands around the green silk and pull it tighter stretches into hours, the graze of her knuckles gentle in his cotton-covered chest. He has enough time to carve the shape of her cupid’s bow into his mind, the descent of her jaw to her chin into his lungs. After half an eternity, she puts distance between them again and presses the button while he tries to smooth his hair back only to feel the short strands tickle between his fingers, and he remembers cutting it last week.

The lobby is bustling, people coming and going like bees in a hive, and they nod their hellos and offer the doorman a Good evening before getting in the car Sam sent. The seats are cold and comfortable, and the chauffeur tips his hat once in the rear-view mirror before putting the Rolls Royce into gear.

“ ‘Possess ye, therefore, ye who borne about In chariots and sedans, know no fatigue’ ” She murmurs, letting her fingers trace the stitching in the butter-soft leather. 

“Marlowe?” Bucky asks, turning away from the New York evening, that special, streetlights-reflecting-on-wet-asphalt evening, to look at his wife. 

“William Cowper. The Task.”

“I think I’ve read that one,” He lies, fully prepared to come clean, and she looks at him curiously. 

“Wow, really? Even I haven’t read all six books,” She says, dubiously verging on impressed, and Bucky drops the facade.

“I’m pullin’ your leg. I’ve read some of Cowper’s work. Don’t remember much, but bits and pieces of school are still there,” He explains, all cheeky smile. “What’s it about? And why in God’s good name is it six books long?” This - the conversation, letting her talk about her work, her passion for literature - this he can do. Playful questions intermingling with genuine intellectual interest is manageable. Her beauty, her grace, the cloud of perfume that bleeds into his veins and makes his lungs strive for air, is not. So he concentrates on what he knows. Or doesn’t know, apparently.

“Honestly, what isn’t The Task about?” She laughs, eyeshadow glimmering like stardust in the smile wrinkles in the corners of her intelligent eyes. “Cowper had a bit of a breakdown during his barrister training in London, and retired to the countryside. In 1781, he met his friend Lady Austen, who later gave him a task to write about, to cheer him up. He started, and then just followed that train of thought wherever it took him.”

“Which book is that line from?” Bucky asks as the car stops in the inevitable Friday night traffic jam. At least they accounted for it, leaving early on purpose to avoid tardiness.

“I don’t actually remember. I think it’s from an extract in which Cowper criticizes the superficial pleasures and unnecessary luxuries of city life,” She answers, opening her clutch. Her phone and a tube of lipstick peek out but she reaches deeper for a pair of earrings.

Closing her eyes, she fastens the first one on the side Bucky can’t see, the other crescent-moon shaped accessory in her silk draped lap. The flower made from pearls matches her bracelet, the two pieces of jewellery clinking together as she puts on the other one.

“City life, huh?” Bucky muses, trying desperately to calm his heart. The earrings dangle, contrasting wonderfully against her simple black gown, and he swallows. She looks like royalty.

“Yeah, many poets of the time wrote a lot about the beauty of nature. They had a lot more of it at their disposal, I guess,” She shrugs.

“Do you have any favorites?” “Nature poems? I don’t know. There are so many good ones. Wordsworth’s To the Cuckoo, Herrick’s Daffodils, Yeats’ Wild Swans at Coole, Tennyso-” She cuts herself off with a huff of a laugh at herself.

“What is it?” 

“Nothing, no- I just-” She laughs again, trying to wave her hand like she’s shooing a fly. “I just have conflicting feelings about these poems by classical authors who write about nature. Poems that express a keen appreciation of beauty yet are fillled with sadness because so many beautiful things are short-lived and because human life itself is so short,” She says, twirling the ring around her finger, deep in thought. Bucky doesn’t know how he found her. This simple, wise soul, in the midst of all the chaos of the world. The chaos of resettlement. 

The chaos of the kitchen, an hour before dinner as the Avengers prepare dinner together, is unholy. Sam’s panicking about dessert while Wanda stirs the marinara sauce for spaghetti in her signature demure fashion, while Peter’s pile of handmade spaghetti grows taller and the pasta dough shrinks. His phone lights up on the table, and Bucky - kneading more dough nearby - is the only one who notices. He calls for Peter and pushes it over to him, not knowing what the point of having a phone is if it’s always going to be on silent, but Peter holds it out to him after just a moment of conversation.

Bucky reads the caller ID on the top and sees who it is, closing the kitchen door behind him, flour on his black t-shirt, as she speaks.

“Hi, Bucky. I hope I’m not disturbing.” 

“No, not at all. Have you decided?” He asks, pacing the hallway, staying out of sight of the others. Not that it matters, they’re still fairly busy. She had seemed unsure when they met, and he had given her time to decide it she wanted to do this. 

“Yeah, but I just- this is a huge favor,” She says.

“Not to me, doll. I’m just helping a friend of a friend,” He says, and it isn’t entirely true. That isn’t why he’s doing this. Something in him wanted to help, wanted to repay the debt of kindness that he owes the world. This is how he wants to do it, although he doesn’t think it’s fair that he gets to choose his penance.

“I thought you said Peter talks your ears off.” Bucky cringes, grateful she can’t see his face, even though he can hear the joking lilt of her tone.

“He’s a good kid. And I want to do this. Do you?” 

“Yeah.” A lengthy pause, heavy and tangible, even across the phone line. 

“When do you want to get married?” She asks finallly, voice shaking. His hand is, too. 

“We have a week-long mission right after Christmas. Boxing day arms deal in Sao Paulo,” He replies, cursing the Brazilian gangs who could find no other time do get up to no good. Evil doesn’t go on vacation, and neither do the Avengers.

“So… New Year’s Eve?” She asks, doing the math. He realizes that’s true. A week from Boxing Day.

“Yes. Shit, you don’t have a ring-” He begins to say, freaking out about the logistics. He didn’t even propose properly.

“It’s okay, we’ll figure it out.” “Alright, I’ll see you then.”

“Bye Bucky.”

“G’night.” He bids her farewell, then looks at the phone, asking himself what the hell he’s just gotten himself into. A knot builds and twists in his body, and he tries to loosen it. Breathes, and makes his way back.

“I’m engaged,” And the kitchen freezes in time as they all drop everything - not literally, Sam’s holding a knife - to look at him. The smile on Peter’s face is brighter than the Christmas tree in the adjacent common room, and the somersaults in Bucky’s stomach only settle at the sight of his relief.  

It seems that his teammates gave him a later time on purpose, because they’re all ready, dressed to the nines and wine-tipsy, waiting for him when they enter. It’s a small ballroom, downtown Manhattan, quaint and graceful. A chorus of Happy Birthday erupts in the room, and he smiles and thanks them. The hugs pile on, and he begins to introduce his wife to his friends. Home away from home for the man who has never had one since the 1940s - until he met her, that is. She’s home now, though he wouldn’t tell her that.

Instead, he relishes in the grin she offers him between introductions, till Sam drags him off to stand him on a chair and sing a birthday song. The party commences in much a similar fashion, too much noise in the room for a couple of dozen people. He stays away from Thor’s alcohol, knowing she doesn’t drink, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. 

He’s just thinking about how she might be dealing with the hectic atmosphere when her hand slips into his while he’s talking to Harley Keener about letting him look at his arm. He’s shocked, looks at her to see her smiling and concentrating only on the conversation, but he can tell she’s tired. It’s been hours, and he knows he can’t leave early - it’s his party - but he just wants to slip those heels off her feet and sit and talk, still in partywear, for hours on end. Let her quote Byron and Cowper and Austen to him, poems and essays and books, until he falls asleep on their sofa. Instead, her voice says something he isn’t expecting at all.

“Is it possible to put some sort of temp regulation in it?” She asks curiously, head tilted to the side like a sparrow. Harley thinks it over for only a second.

“Of course, why?”

“It hurts in the cold. He rubs and rolls his shoulder a lot in the winter,” She answers, and the thoughtful observation astounds him. It’s accurate, but it hadn’t even occurred to him, the movements that she’s citing entirely subconscious. They talk to Harley for a while longer, and then dance to several of Bucky’s favorite songs. Billie Holliday is crooning in the background as the second-to-last guest exits, leaving only his wife and his captain and his deputy director. When the door shuts behind them, they break apart, and Sam and Maria approach, ready to call it a night.

The car ride home passes in complete silence, a comfortable weight resting like a blanket between them, so much so that she falls fully asleep on the way, her head resting against the cold window when they arrive. He doesn’t have the heart to wake her, so he goes around to her door, opening it slowly and lifting her into his arms, not caring what it might look like to onlookers. It’s late, and there are few of them, at least in the lobby, and as the elevator doors shut, her head curls against his shoulder, hair tickling his Adam’s apple.

Bucky looks down at her, her resting, easy expression, the chandni earrings still on, and thinks: what a way to turn 103.

Taglist:  @suz-123​ @mermaidxatxheart​ @buckyreaderrecs​ @shield-agent78​ @corneliabarnes​ @readerandcinephileingeneral​ @stevieboyharrington​ @notsomellowmushroom​ @veganfangirl5​ @mood-pancakes​ @lbuck121​ @starnight-charmer​

[watchmegetobsessed]

Enchanted - Adam Sackler (pt. 3)

OMG it feels like it took me forever to write this part and im so sorry for that but i’ve been so busy with school and just life in general, i barely get time at the end of the day to even start my computer and do anything. but i finally finished this part and im so excited for the story to continue!! as always, feedback is welcomed!

ps: im so exhausted, i didn’t have time to revise it so it probably has a bunch of mistakes, pls forgive me!

series summary: You are casted as Giselle in the Broadway adaptation of Enchanted with Adam as Robert.

word count: 3.9k

Part 1 - Part 2

masterlist

Chapter title: Princess

First rehearsal on the stage is thrilling for you, because even without an audience, the place has a special energy that hits you right at the moment you walk out. There’s no real set just yet, only a few props to signal where things will be placed once the designers are done.

Today’s walkover is about the date scene with Clyde aka prince Edward and you are excited to put your dancing shoes aside for just a little while, even though you know once this rehearsal is over you’ll have one with Matt and Adam for the ball scene, your absolute favorite. Trevor explains how he envisioned the scene to go, with the moving and changing set to make the audience feel like the two of you are walking through the city.

Working with Clyde has been the easiest so far. He is a genuinely nice and caring person, who obviously tries to put one hundred percent into everything he does, making it a real pleasure to work together with him. He definitely has the looks to play a prince, tall, tanned with a charming smile and luscious curls that bounce with every movement he makes with his head. You keep thinking about how he is basically what you would say to be your type, inside and out and you are actually surprised you haven’t fallen for him the moment his hand touched your waist. You like to think you’ve grown enough to contain your emotions.

“Have you had any costume fitting?” he asks as the two of you stand on the stage, scripts in hands while Trevor is discussing something with his assistant.

“No, but Misha has sent me a few previews. Have you?”

“Yeah, I had one yesterday. Can’t wait to step on stage in tights,” he grins making you chuckle.

“There’s no prince without tights.”

“Definitely,” he nods. “Anyway, your vocals are extremely on point.”

“How do you know?” you ask narrowing your eyes at him. You haven’t had any vocal lessons together, just solo ones.

“Cynthia showed me a recording last time, I was trying to learn the harmonizing and it helped to hear you too.”

“Oh,” you nod. “Well thank you, I’m sure you sing just as well too.”

“I’m trying, but no doubt you’ll be the star,” he smirks and you feel a blush warming your cheeks.

Rehearsing with Clyde feels like when you and Lora used to hang out in high school, just goofing around while trying to get your homework done. It’s productive, because you do what you are supposed to do, but you also keep making each other laugh with the constant joking and messing around.

After rehearsals you decide to check out the canteen for a late lunch together and it’s a suitable choice since your dance rehearsal with Adam starts in an hour so you have to stay around to be there in time.

“You can’t be serious,” you gasp, watching him dip his pickle into mayo.

“It’s a delicacy,” he chuckles before taking a bite and you actually feel yourself shiver.

“Oh my God, you are a psychopath!” you laugh shaking your head at him.

“Nah, I just have a sister who ate some really weird shit when she was pregnant, and I tried some out. This one turned out to be pretty good.”

“My statement still stands. Psycho,” you joke.

When a familiar tall figure appears you spot him right away even from just the corner of your eyes. It doesn’t take long for Adam to spot the two of you since the canteen is not big enough to make it hard for anyone to see who’s really there.

“What a coincidence!” Adam cheerfully greets you standing at the table. Clyde hops to his feet as their palms meet and they do that typical half-hug thing men always do. Then his eyes wander over to you and you let a smile take over your lips.

“Hi Adam, ready to dance?” you ask as he snatches a chair from the table next to yours and he sits down.

“I was born ready! Hope your feet don’t break easily,” he jokes and you just shake your head chuckling.

“It’s not fair you two get the pretty dance while I’ll be in the background in tights,” Clyde sighs, but you know he is just furthering the joke.

“Clyde is not too excited about wearing tights, as you can see,” you explain to Adam who understandingly nods.

“I’m just saying, that out of the three of us,” he says gesturing around the table, “I’m definitely not the right one to wear tights on stage.”

“You’re right, I have nice thighs,” Adam nods and you can’t help but start laughing loudly. Somehow the image of him wearing tights is just so absurd you’d really love to see it.

Clyde sticks around for a little longer, the three of you having a nice conversation, a normal one which is surprising given the fact that Adam is present, but maybe this is the proof that he can be normal sometimes too. Then Clyde needs to leave and once he is out of the canteen Adam turns to you.

“Clyde wants to fuck you,” he simply says and you almost choke on your apple juice.

“Excuse me?” you manage to get out between coughs.

“What? Did you not notice how hard he was trying?”

“He wasn’t trying, he was just being a nice, normal person. You could try it,” you grimace at him. So much for being normal for once.

“Oh come on! I bet he’ll nut tonight thinking about you.”

“Would you stop unloading your dirty fantasies on me? Not everyone is as kinky as you. Most people don’t make a whole film about their relationship filled with all the sexual details.”

“Holy fuck, you watched the whole film!” he gasps happily and you immediately regret opening your mouth. You really should have thought about what you say. “How did you like it?”

“Honestly, I have no idea how you got away with making it, if I was your ex I wouldn’t have let you make it.”

“She saw it.”

“I bet she loved it.”

“She loved it when it happened in real life and I didn’t lie in the film,” he shrugs and the blush is back on your cheeks as you think about everything you saw in that film. The most intimate moments of a quite passionate relationship were revealed right in front of you and if you are being honest, you felt like part of it by the end, no matter how disturbing it was to see Adam in such scenes.

“I’m actually surprised you watched it.”

“Why? You were nonstop bugging me to watch it.”

“Yeah, but I thought you wouldn’t.”

“Well, I did and the trauma can’t be undone now,” you give him a look and checking the time you see that if you don’t leave now you’ll be late and Matt will be furious at the both of you.

You manage to dodge any further questions about the film as the two of you head for rehearsal, though you can tell he is curious about what you really think. It was definitely not a good idea to bring it up right before rehearsal, because now you have to get through 90 minutes pressed up against him, dancing to an incredibly romantic song, staring dreamily into each other’s eyes. Not ideal.

The song is critical. Not because it’s that bad, but because you are a real sucker for the kind of music in movies that could make you cry because they are so perfect for the scene. You’ve seen the movie way too many times and dreamed about dancing with that one person, but you never thought you’d actually dance to this song with someone and that person is now Adam.

It’s all fun and games when you are just learning the basics, not even touching, just standing in a line with Matt in front of the mirror and dancing like you have an imaginary partner. You keep peeking at Adam in the mirror and he is not that bad, in fact, he is doing great so far, you don’t know why he said he is not a good dancer.

“Okay, ready to combine?” Matt claps his hands, wiggling his eyebrows as he takes a step back, giving the two of you space to get close.

You hesitantly turn to Adam who closes the distance with one long step, standing right in front of you. Looking up at him you remember Lora’s comment on his height when it will be like to kiss him and you quickly furrow your eyebrows trying to get rid of the thought.

“What’s the look for?” Adam smirks down at you, tilting his head to the side gently.

“Nothing,” you purse your lips.

Matt helps you find the right position, Adam’s palm feels warm on your back and you suddenly wish your shirt was a bit thicker, covering you better. You feel his defined muscles under your palm on his shoulder and your eyes linger a little longer at the way your hand gets lost in his hold.

You first try it without the music, mostly both of you staring down at your feet to make sure you are doing the steps right and Matt gives you time to adjust, but you can’t keep your head down forever.

“Alright, let’s make a try and this time try to look into each other’s eyes at least half the time,” Matt requests and you bite into your bottom lip, trying to control your nerves. This is just dancing with Adam, the weird guy who made a kinky film about his past relationship, remember? He is weird!

But he is so tall and his eyes are so dreamy and his hands are…

“Okay, five, six, seven, eight!” Matt’s clapping interrupts your thoughts as you start the choreography again.

You have to watch your feet at first so you know you’re heading in the right direction, but a few steps later you force yourself to bring your gaze up and your eyes meet his.

It just hits different. Being so close to him, feeling his touch on your back and palm, you suddenly feel a strong urge to run your fingers through his hair and you almost do it before you tell yourself to behave. There is just something in him that makes your whole mind stop working properly even though you have a pretty strong opinion about him and the kind of man that he is.

For a spare second you even forget to breathe as you are staring into his eyes and there’s a feeling in your guts that you just can’t identify and before you could get further in this sensation Matt’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

“Amazing, this will look fantastic!”

You force a small smile to your face as you look at the choreographer and he brought you back to reality just in time.

You try to lock this feeling up in the remaining time so you don’t embarrass yourself with something. The last thing you need is to say something that gives away the conflict you are having in you.

“You’re always so fast to leave!”

Adam’s voice stops you when you are already out in the hallways, ready to leave and stay unnoticed, but that last part apparently did not work. Wrapping your hands around the strap of your bag you turn around and see him heading in your way with long steps, his hair flowing with him.

“Why should I be here without getting paid for my time?” you tilt your head with a half-smile and your comment makes him laugh.

“Good point. Do you have to be somewhere?” he asks catching up with you and now you are walking towards the exit side by side.

“Apart from my bed? Not really.”

“Great, then let’s get a beer or something.”

“It’s not a suggestion or an invitation, he states it like you’ve agreed on it weeks ago and you find yourself being quite okay with it.

Settling in a nearby place you order yourself the beer that’s been talked about, but Adam just sticks with iced tea and you give him a puzzled look for his choice.

“You said we are getting a beer.”

“Yeah, for you. I don’t drink.”

“What?”

“I’m a recovered alcoholic, I don’t drink,” he explains and now you have another piece of information about him that you put into your little Adam Sackler file in your head.

“So you are trying to get me drunk?”

“I’m not saying I don’t hope to have you spill something juicy about yourself, but I’m not forcing you to drink either.”

There’s a boyish smile playing on his lips and you roll your eyes at him as the drinks soon land on your table.

You find it amusing how fast he can make you forget about everything you’ve been thinking about when you thought about him, and make you see him just as this funny, carefree person who is sitting right across you at the table. He really is funny and it’s not just the beer that’s telling you this, he has a great sense of humor, he is especially talented in saying the funniest things with the straightest face, just staring at you like he is meaning every single word that leaves his mouth when you both know it’s all just bullshit.

“I’m honestly having a hard time figuring you out,” you sigh leaning back in your chair, fingers fidgeting with your second beer on the table. You’re definitely not drunk, just loose in the best kind of way.

“What’s so hard about it?” he tilts his head, genuinely interested in your answer.

“I don’t know, you are just… It’s like you have these different personalities and I can never know which is the real one.”

“What personalities?” he chuckles at your theory.

“One is this funny, normal guy,” you start gesturing towards him. “Then there is the kinky bastard who spanks girls and then there is this mysterious, serious side that I always see in rehearsals.”

“Kinky bastard?” he chuckles, clearly enjoying the discussion. “You’ll never let go of the spanking, right?”

“It just doesn’t fit into the picture,” you explain.

“That’s because we never had sex and we haven’t spent that much time together outside of rehearsals. I’m working there, of course I’m being serious! That’s just how adults act in serious scenarios. But the rest is just simply me, a mixture of the things you just said.

“So you are just a funny, normal guy with a hint of kinky?”

“Probably more than a hint, but yeah,” he nods smirking.

Spending time outside of rehearsal really helps you see Adam as a whole, the mixture of the sides you’ve experienced from him and you feel like it has brought him closer to you as a person, a colleague and maybe as a friend. You find him an amazing company actually, a great partner to discuss different kind of things. He has a somehow different view of the world than you, but you also agree on many things and this creates the perfect base for an actually interesting and enjoyable conversation.

“Stop!” You gasp laughing as you try to get Adam off a pole on your way home after he decided he is strong enough to hold himself up horizontally on it, but he is just probably getting close to knocking it straight out of the ground.

“They should make these more massive!” he grunts jumping back to the ground.

“You are massive,” you snort as the two of you leave the poor pole and continue walking towards your building.

“I am. In all means,” he smirks at you and you imitate gagging. His dirty comments stopped bothering you, he kept sneaking in something inappropriate into the conversation throughout the night and you just kind of got used to it. This is how he is, a kinky bastard, but at least a funny one.

“You know, we should hang out more often,” he suggests galloping ahead of you and turning to face you he does a funny dance move that makes you laugh.

“Oh yeah? So I should spend my little free time outside of rehearsals with the same person I’m with all day?”

“We are not together all day,” he protest and you just chuckle, knowing well he is right, you just felt like exaggerating. “You didn’t have fun tonight?” he asks as he returns next to you, walking side by side.

“I did.”

“Great. Then we will spend more time together,” he nods and it’s not a suggestion anymore, he is stating it like the most certain fact ever.

You don’t protest.

 Sometimes rehearsals are like one big chaos, especially when everyone is present on the stage, all dancers and actors with the production staff, but there’s no other way to rehears the big dancing scenes.

Today it’s the park scene again, you are wearing another flowy dress Misha gave you, that resembles to the one you’ll be actually wearing, Adam is dressed in dark jeans and a black shirt, nothing extra, and he seems to be enjoying that everyone around him is doing their absolute best while he has to do that one lifting and nothing else, just follow you around the stage.

Clyde is at the back, he has only a little stage time as the prince is looking for Giselle in the park, so beside Adam he is the other person who doesn’t have much to do.

“How do you know he loves you?” you sing with a bright smile and big gestures, grabbing Adam’s wrist as you pull from one place to another, dancers following around, the scene constantly changing around you to make it look like you are on the move. “How do you know he’s yours?”

You catch Adam smirking and you already know he is thinking about something dirty, as per usual. You do the lifting and you feel his hand smacking your ass when he puts you down, no one notices, but you shoot him a glare to which he just smirks again.

“Okay, amazing. Take ten, we’ll see the final part a few more times!” Trevor instructs when the music stops and people starts flowing off the stage.

“Stop touching my butt,” you tell Adam, the two of you walking towards the edge of the stage.

“I can’t, it’s just always in the way,” he holds up two hands innocently and you just roll your eyes at him.

“Hey, do you guys have any plans for tonight?” Clyde walks up with a bright smile as he joins the two of you, fingers fidgeting with the water bottle in his hands.

“I’m babysitting my niece,” Adam answers running a hand through his hair.

“You have a niece?” you turn to him surprised.

“I do,” he simply nods and it doesn’t seem like he is about to share any more details so you turn back to Clyde.

“I’m free.” “Wanna go for a drink maybe or something? I’m so done sitting at home when I’m not here.”

“Sure,” you nod and watch Clyde walk away smiling back at you.

“He is still trying hard to get into your pants,” Adam scoffs and you turn to him with a grimace.

“He is not.”

“Oh he surely is. I’m pretty sure he thinks this is a date or something like that.”

“It’s not a date.”

“Tell that to him, because the dude is keen on fucking you, princess.”

You eventually give up trying to convince Adam about your truth, and you also realize you don’t owe him a word. You know what this really is and that’s all that matters. Adam can think whatever he wants, that still doesn’t make it real.

“So you’re really going out with him, huh?” Adam comes up to you once rehearsal is over. You glance up at him nodding while you’re packing your stuff up.

“Yeah, why?”

“I’m telling you, he thinks this is more than just casual drinking.”

“So then what?” you sigh, confused about why he is so worked up by the thought of you and Clyde having a few drinks. “I’m single, he is a nice guy, maybe I also think of it as more. Is that not an option?”

He genuinely seems surprised by your answer and it tells you he clearly didn’t think of this version. Frowning a bit he tilts his head.

“So that’s your type?”

“Stop using that tone, please,” you sigh zipping your bag and heading to the door, Adam following you right behind.

“Okay, I’m sorry, but still, that’s not how I imagined your type to be.”

“You often think about what my type is?”

“I did a few times, yes.”

“Then stop,” you sigh stopping and looking at him. “It’s not like you have a word in it or something. If you hate the idea of me and Clyde going out so much, just come. He invited you as well.”

“I told you, I’m babysitting my niece. My sister would lose her shit if I cancelled.”

“Then there’s nothing I can do for you. Just stop thinking about it,” you shrug, clearly over it, but Adam is not on the same page.

“Cancel on him.”

“Why would I do that?” you ask with a puzzled chuckle.

“Because…” he is searching eagerly for the right words, his hands anxiously tapping on his thighs. This is a waste of time, you think to yourself.

“See you at the next rehearsal, Adam,” you sigh walking away.

 Clyde is awesome. Clyde is exactly the person you imagined for yourself a little while ago, he is nice, funny and just overall a good person. You enjoy spending time with Clyde and you find him attractive, but…

But something is just off and you can’t tell what it is.

Sitting in a bar with him that evening you can’t stop thinking about that one thing that’s making you not fall for him even though you know you should be. Adam’s words keep repeating in your mind about how he is not what he thought your type would be.

Of course he is my type! You basically tell yourself defiantly, cursing Adam out for planting such thoughts into your mind. Stupid Adam!

By the time you and Clyde part your ways you are pretty sure this wasn’t a date which is a relief, but it still got you thinking why you are so against dating Clyde. On your way home you catch yourself pulling your phone out of your bag to text Adam and tell him you were right when you stop in your way in the middle of the street.

“Are you stupid?” some random guy growls at you who almost bumps into you. Looking up you mumble a short sorry before looking back down at your phone.

Adam was all you thought about all evening, you saw him in everything Clyde said and now he is your first thought and the person you want to talk to. He sneaked his way into all of your thoughts and this is starting to feel concerning.

Adam is not your type. He just can’t be.

Clyde should be.

Not Adam.

Right?

Right?!

-

general/forever taglist for Adam Driver

i do separate taglists for different people, but not for different works of mine! if you ask to be on my Adam taglist, you’ll be tagged in all of my Adam fics!

@superdriver​ @siren-queen03​ @holacherrycola90​ @spencer-is-amazing​ @unusual-kindred-spirits @hailthemightywoecloud @holy-kylo-stars​ @kowalskibro-adamdriverblog​ @hurricanesunset​ @writerandee​ @luxury-0pps​ @prncess91​ @malefoygal​ @zaahidahhh​ @filternotincluded @fire-in-her-veinz​ @emily-strange @ktellmeastory​ @grouchosgirl​ @tapismyforte​ @unusual-driver-paterson​ @beeblisss​ @septicvic97​ @cackleifyou​ @gotiashley​

if you’d like to be taken off or added to the list, please let me know!

[kaysreadingarchive]

Wolves in Sheep’s Clothing: Part 2

Pairing: Jacob Seed x Reader, slightly John Seed x Reader x Joseph Seed

AUs: Omegaverse, werewolves

Warnings: Cursing, mention of character death, insulting

Word Count: 3,307

A/N:  Another chapter is out. I feel very free more with this story than my others. But don't worry, another chapter of On the Front Line will be out soon. It's just fun to write this sort of stuff and I feel happier while doing it. Thank you all for your love and support while I write trash and sip tea. It means the world to me! And like always, give me some feedback on what I could do better or what I did alright, where you wanna see this whole mess go, or something you just don’t understand. I also really want to know what your theories are for the coming story. I always love reading your guys' analyses.

Masterlist      Omegaverse Rules

-----------

There wasn’t a week that went by that didn’t involve a Seed brother or the Project at Eden’s Gate. The mere mention of the word seed sent you into a whirl of emotions. It was mostly anger. All three of them never seemed to stay out of people’s business or trouble.

It made you think that Pops was wrong to say Nancy should keep her eyes on you three instead of the brothers. It would benefit him more than your snooping. All they did for months now was cause trouble for everyone who lived in Hope County. Most people would say that they weren’t bad folks. People saw them as something good. People didn’t read too much into it, they saw them as a simple church. They were compared to the Lamb of God church outside Fall’s End or even Pastor Jerome Jeffries.

None of them did anything illegal, nothing that could warrant suspicion. There was a complaint or two about John annoying various business owners or buying up possible farmland, but that was it. Pops and yourself were the only ones that knew better. You’ve spent hours after your shift was over piecing their records together.

You would sit at your little desk sifting through the three files you composed of them, including another woman named Faiths whose actual name was Lana.

Joseph’s was the thickest with arrests ranging from trespassing to disturbing the peace. None of them were murder or kidnapping, but it was something. He didn’t seem to hold a job for long according to the records from the Rome Police Department.

John’s was the thinnest. He had a clean record from what you could tell. He was a lawyer and he seemed pretty successful with a dab of luck with rich parents. It would definitely explain the charm and dollar signs. You couldn’t even hold yourself back from scoffing when you read his file. The whole point of looking over these records was whether or not they could have a permit to carry. You felt uneasiness just thinking about giving John a permit to carry a dangerous weapon, but you had to give him one.

If you and Staci showed up at a call involving him, he always had a stupid ass smirk on his face. You started to think he purposely caused a ruckus just to irate you. Staci just had a dumb expression on his face, but you really couldn’t hide your fury with him.

Jacob was a whole other story. He committed arson apparently. It would explain why his face looked like shit. He burned down a barn and then was drafted into the military. Great, fucking fantastic. Just what you needed. A war hero.

You slumped down in the office chair and let out a long, agonizing sigh. You stayed late yet again to go over the files. You wanted, no needed an excuse to not give them that piece of paper. Your eyes focused on the stack of files again, but not a paper was out of place. This was it. They won, John fucking won.

At your last visit to John, he had asked you about the status of the permit. There was another noise disturbance call in the area and of course, it was you and Staci. You both drove to a clearing near a pasture not far from Fall’s End.

It was fairly nice, only having a dirt road to access it. Piles upon piles of light-colored logs littered the ground and John was in the middle of it. His jacket was off, leaving him in only a blue button-up shirt. His black sunglasses were over his eyes and he wore a blue hard hat. You would think he wouldn’t wear one so it wouldn’t mess up his hair, but the big baby was sucking it up so he didn’t get hit in his thick skull.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite deputies. What brings you two here?” His voice sounded teasing as he walked up to the window of the patrol car. He laid his arm on the door and leaned in.

“Knock it off, John. You know why we’re here.” This insult barely shuts him up. You could practically see the cogs turning in his head as you talked back to him. But then it turned back into a smirk.

His smirks usually sent chills down your spine, not the good ones either. This time it didn’t, it felt like you were in control for once. Your brain was finally telling your anxiety to calm the fuck down. It felt great to not have this overwhelming pressure on your chest.

“Oh, you’ve got a mouth on you, Rook. It would be a tragedy if I had to teach you some manners.” There was a hint of a predatory tone in his voice. It may have sounded flirty but it definitely wasn’t. How people believed in these brothers was beyond you.

Normally, in this situation, you would feel trapped, but you felt so free. You could easily reach over the door and strangle him with his own necklace. Maybe drown him in the Henbane. That sounded like a great idea.

“Why don’t you knock it the fuck off before I show you the inside of a jail cell.” John didn’t even flinch at your threat. To him, it sounded like a kitten hissing to defend itself. This pointless fight with words, something attempting to hurt him, was shining through as wrath.

Staci was the exact opposite, instead of being cool and collected, this grown-ass man was sweating bullets. His hazel eyes were wide open, and his mouth was hung open. He had never heard you curse or act out like this before. You were usually shy and reserved, you never really voiced your opinion especially to him.

You’ve always were reserved, even as a child you never could speak your mind. But, John was someone that pushed you and pushed you until you finally broke. You didn’t see him as a person, you saw him as an object to be yelled at and punched. Like a pillow. Yeah, a handsome smug ass pillow. There was always a part of you that wanted to break out and now this fucking church finally did it.

“Now, my dear. We don’t want to say things we’ll regret, do we?” His blue eyes flicked from the guns strapped near his sides to you. Your eyes narrowed as you watched his movement. His tattooed hand settled at the base of his waist. Putting a steady hand on the cool metal.

“Are you threa…!” Before you could say anything, Staci covered your mouth with his hand. It smelt like gunpowder and donuts and was big enough to not only cover your nose but your mouth. You hastily ripped it off before he suffocated you. You gave him a glare and mumbled curses under your breath. What an asshole.

“We’re just going to go if there isn’t anything else.” You could tell he was trying to act nice. It was like a challenge for him. Staci’s entire personality was either set to asshole, or fake friendliness. There was no in-between. You could practically feel the anger boil inside of you when John’s smirk got even bigger and turned into a full smile. White teeth and all. He was mocking you and it only made you angrier.

He reached into his expensive suit pants and pulled out a yellowed piece of paper. ‘COME JOIN US!’ was written in big bold letters and the cross of Eden’s Gate was plastered right in the middle. He reached in through the driver’s side door and just held it there for you to take. You looked at the paper and back at him, waiting for him to make a surprise move.

Maybe he’ll grab your arm and cut it off. Or he could drag you through the door and make you work on his silly wooden project. The possibilities were endless when it came to this man. Who knew what he would cook up in that stupid mind of his. Some persuasive lawyer shit.

You carefully reached for the paper and snatched it away as soon as your fingers made contact. Goosebumps went up your arm when you brushed your hand with his fingers. You had no idea whether it was from disgust or… something else, but you definitely didn’t like it.

“I would love it if you would join us. Maybe we can wash out that sinful mouth of yours.” You had no idea whether he was flirting or not. He was doing an awful job at it if he was. Nevertheless, a faint blush made its way to your cheeks. You looked away and rolled the window up, just hoping his fingers would get caught. They sadly didn’t.

Instead, you did him one better. You slowly backed the car up and made sure to go over one pile of logs. The wheels went over the pump and the sickening crack of wood sounded in the car. You looked outside the window to see John screaming. He began to bang on the glass until you shifted the car into drive. Another crack was heard as you pulled forward and you could see a fairly large log split in half.

A feeling of satisfaction soon replaced the anger as you drove away and John’s face filled the entire rearview mirror. His blue eyes were narrowed as his entire face was bright red. He looked to be screaming at one of the builders. Who was no cowering in fear as John let him have it.

The ride back to the station was quiet. Awkwardly quiet considering that Staci was a motormouth. He said nothing as he watched farms and pastures pass by. His lips were pulled into a frown and his eyes held seemingly no emotion. They were just pools of hazel with nothing else. That uneasy feeling was very evident now.

It was hard knowing someone was mad at you, a critical flaw you’ve always had was wanting to be liked, it got worse at the academy when no one seemed to like you. Or when you parents died, you stopped looking for approval from them and it switched to wanting approval from everyone. You couldn’t please everyone was something Pops always said.

Just knowing Staci didn’t like you ate you up inside. “Staci, come on, whatever I did I didn’t mean it.” The beginning was very evident in your voice. The tough act slowly melted away as your voice and hands quivered on the wheel.

Staci didn’t even react to you. He just continued to gaze out the window.

“I’m not mad, I just hope you don’t go to that sermon. I have a bad feeling about those guys, but no one else seems to. John especially.” Wait, were you hearing this right? Staci Fucking Pratt cared about you. The same jackass that glued your office supplies to the ceiling and had an absolute field day with you getting them down? The same one that made a habit of tripping you when you walked into your office?

“Was that concern I hear Pratt?” Your frown turned into a small smile as you teased him. He didn’t look at you but you could clearly see him get flustered.

“Shut the fuck up, ( Y/N). Don’t tell Joey, I won’t hear the end of it.” He gave a slight chuckle and went back to looking out the window.

The atmosphere became more comforting than before. You parked the car into a space and got out, grabbing the flier. You were curious, to say the least. What was strange about it was it was at night. Apparently the project did them at odd hours. From the butt crack of dawn to midnight, there was no stopping them. Even people like Major Virgil Minkler thought they were good people. Strange but good.

You just wanted to see if your hunch was true about them. Could they be bad people or were you just crazy? John was definitely crazy in your opinion but he just seemed to have a terrible temper that went on and off like a switch.

You walked to your shared office and logged out of the computer. Staci had already dashed to his car as soon as he hit the power button. You grabbed the files from the desk and walked out with your bag. You put all three of them into the archives in the break room and walked out to Pop’s office.

You gently knocked on the wood door and opened it. “Oh, kiddo, I didn’t hear yea.” Whitehorse turned to you and put an arm through his jacket.

“Are you ready to go old man?” He chuckled and shook his head, grabbing the truck keys and walking out behind you.

“Old man? Soon enough I’ll be saying that to you, you’re gettin’ grey already from Pratt.” He had to just pull your leg. You did nothing but complain about Pratt at home. Pops had even said you were like an elementary school girl bullying a boy she liked.

As soon as you made it to the truck you threw your duffle bag into the bed. You weren’t really worried about someone stealing, everyone kept their front doors unlocked. This county was placed around trust and faith. Eden’s Gate was an extent of that. They brought faith so they could be trusted. Something definitely irked you the wrong way, they were too friendly. Too willing to help. Maybe that’s why people trusted them so easily. They would follow someone like Joseph blindly if he made the tough choices for them.

You hoped right into the passenger’s seat and Pops followed you and set the truck on the road. The radio was softly playing old 80’s rock. You turned the station and an unfamiliar song played through the speakers. You turned the volume up slightly and, ‘Keep your rifle by your side!’ played.

“What the fuck is this?” You turned the channel again and this time, ‘Jacob’s gonna come and set those sinners free!’ played. “Is there some new Christian station? This sounds so bad.” You kept the station on and made fun of it as Pops drove. He would put in a joke or two as the songs changed, each one worse than the last.

You brought out the flier and gave it another look over. You could feel Pops green eyes on you as soon as the name Project at Eden’s Gate came into view.

“Don’t tell me you're gonna go see that loon, (Y/N). They’re up to somethin’, I can smell it from a mile away.” He gave you a worried smile and turned his focus back onto the road. His comment took you back a moment and you thought about it. What if he was right? What if they really are a cult or something that? But a cult? In Hope County? No fucking way in hell. But, then again, you were very curious why everyone went. Why anyone would want to listen to a grown man in a bun preach. He must be worth listening to then. You went back and forth with yourself before Earl had enough and sighed.

“I wouldn’t be mad if you went. Just don't get caught up in a web, who knows what would happen if I lost my favorite granddaughter.” He gave another reassuring smile. You knew he would support you with whatever you did. Whether he agreed with it or not.

“I’m your only granddaughter!” You gave a slight chuckle and threw all the tension out the window. You were going to go to this sermon and see what happens, it couldn’t be that bad.

When you finally reached the house and Pops threw you the keys from the porch as you slid into the driver’s seat. You drove off towards Eden’s Covenant near the Henbane. It was very pretty this time of year. White oxeye daisies grew in bunches along the river’s shore and you remember having picnics with your parents by the banks and learning how to make daisy chains.

When you arrived you could barely find a spot to park. There was no parking lot so there were cars shoved into every place they could fit them. You even spotted Nancy’s van a few cars down from your truck.

People singing could be heard outside. It was the same song from the radio. Keep Your Rifle By Your Side. Wait, did they have their own radio station? Yet, there were the same songs from another station. This church bought two radio stations. That can’t be right, a church doesn't need a station in the first place.

You walked to the front of the church, seemingly dragging your feet to beat around the bush. You were hesitant at first but Joseph’s voice rang from inside. It was very soft but began to get louder until it sounded like he was ranting and not performing a sermon.

You pushed the door open, trying to avoid the people that practically stood in the isles. There wasn’t enough room for everyone it seemed. You squeezed your way through until you found a spot near the wall in the front. All three Seed brothers were present. Joseph up in front preaching his little heart out and Jacob and John lingering in the back along with who you presumed to be Lana. Surprising, Joseph’s shirt was off, revealing numerous tattoos. His rosary swayed with his frantic hand movements as he tried to act and give life to his words. It was almost mesmerizing how passionate he was about this.

“When I read the newspaper like everyone else, I see headlines I don’t want to see. Brother turned against brother and for what reason? Politics, greed, and pride. These politicians, these leaders are too blind by their own sin to see what they are willing to destroy in order to feed it. God cannot ignore this world any longer. The Lord has seen your sins and He has asked for my help. He whispered His righteous words into my ear and delivered a message onto the world. Come and see the change that the project will bring. Hear as Gabriel sounds his trumpet of the oncoming collapse. Our Pack must stick together to walk among the angels through Eden’s Gate!” Collapse? What was the collapse? And a pack? Did he mean like a pack of wolves? What the hell is this?

Joseph walked back and forth, staring intently at each member. He didn’t turn away as he got louder, pulling more and more people in with his intense gaze and words. You had to internally fight yourself from listening to him further.

In some instances, in some crazy way, he was right. Just ask any prepper in this county and they would tell you something similar. You turned yourself away from Joseph to see Jacob looking your way while whispering into the ear of another man. They both looked straight at you as the other bearded man walked away, his trench coat trailing behind him.

“I am your Father and you are my Children.” The congregation gave cheers as the sermon ended. Joseph hopped down from the stage and was immediately swarmed by a dozen people offering hugs. While they were distracted, you slipped out the door and back to the truck. Quietly avoiding Nancy and Danny, who were both outside speaking to John.

You opened the driver’s side door but stopped. Your clothes were thrown all over the bed and the duffle bag was ripped open. “What the fuck!?” You gave a small scream as you jumped into the bed and went through your stuff. Your picture was gone. Your mom and dad’s picture was fucking

[nocturnal-jeon]

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚡𝚒𝚌 𝚁.𝙰. ➛ 𝚓𝚎𝚘𝚗 𝚓𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚔𝚘𝚘𝚔 {3}

𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎!𝚓𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚔𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝��� 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚎𝚡𝚊𝚖𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚙. 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚒𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚝, 𝚙𝚊𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚁.𝙰. 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚞𝚙 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚌𝚑.

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 2.6k

𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝: 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚠𝚘 

____________________

You were so nervous for your first day of classes that you woke up a whole hour and a half before your 7 o’clock alarm went off. You sat up in bed and rubbed your eyes as your room was still dark due to the sun hiding away. The only sounds you really heard was the old building settling and the sounds of some birds chirping outside. 

Sliding out of bed, you walked the few feet across the room and grabbed your guitar. You hadn’t played it since you came to school because you were too busy meeting people and signing up for classes. You sat against the wall and strummed stray notes, not wanting to make a song but just to do something with your idle hands. 

Your head leaned up against the wall and you began to play a tune that you thought of in your mind. And while you sang some random lyrics, Jungkook sat awake on the other side of that wall, his laptop open on his lap as he edited some videos he took. He sighed when he heard music coming from your side of the wall. 

He had his earbuds in and he was trying to listen to the audio, but the walls were so thin that the sound easily wafted through into his room. He took a deep breath, telling himself that he really shouldn’t be getting upset. It wasn’t your fault that the walls were so thin. 

But, still. With the short temper he had, Jungkook got pissed immediately. 

Slamming his laptop shut, he got out of bed and opened the door to his room. He propped it open with a textbook and walked down the hallway to the door of your room. Angrily, he knocked on the door and stood with his hands placed on his hips. 

You stopped playing and looked up at the door, trying to figure out who it would be. Gently, you placed your guitar on the floor and scrambled off the floor, slowly and anxiously making your way to the door. You opened it to reveal a shirtless Jungkook in nothing but sweatpants. You began to salivate at the sight of his toned muscles. He didn’t seem like the type to constantly work out but boy, you were wrong. 

His eyes were as cold as steel as they usually were. He gazed down at your small form. Your legs peeking out from under a long oversized t-shirt. He almost smiled when he saw how messy your was and how cute you looked like that, but he came to your room for one thing only. 

“Can you shut up with the music? I can hear it in my room,” Jungkook more like told rather than asked. You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes. “Wait. Maybe since you’re the R.A., you can clarify this for me. Isn’t noise allowed when the first group of students are awake for the 6:30 class? Because, if I’m correct, it is 6:35am, and noise is allowed,” you smartly explained. Jungkook swallowed hard. He loved it when that little fiery attitude you had would make an appearance. And he thought you looked so cute with your head tilted to the side like that.

“Don’t tell me you actually read the student handbook,” Jungkook said, chuckling a little. You smirked. “I am a student, after all, so why wouldn’t I?” you sarcastically said. “You totally strike me as the type to read the terms and conditions, too, before you agree to them,” Jungkook teased, causing you to giggle. “Why wouldn’t I? You should always know what you’re signing,” you lectured. Jungkook shook his head, a cute boyish smile on his lips. 

“What is it that you’re doing up at this hour anyway? Does your first class start later?” he asked as he leaned against the doorframe, crossing his lean and toned arms across his defined pectorals. “Well, I was too nervous to sleep, so I woke up and got my guitar,” you explained, crossing your arms, too, so you could mock him. 

“I could ask you the same, Mr. Jeon. What could a man like you be doing at an early hour like this?” you retorted. “I was just editing my videos and minding my own business before Ms. Music Major decided to disturb the peace,” Jungkook claimed. “Was it actually that loud?” you asked, worried. Your whole tough person façade dropped as you were genuinely concerned if you were being too loud. He thought it was adorable how your eyes widened larger than the moon and you looked up at him innocently. 

He shook his head, his somewhat messy black hair swaying over his forehead. “No,” he said in a softer, more caring tone. “Don’t worry about it. But the walls are very thin, so if you could try to be as quiet as possible, especially this early in the morning, it would be much appreciated,” Jungkook explained in a much gentler tone, wanting to take it easy on you momentarily. 

“But the student handbook-”

“The student handbook, my ass!” Jungkook exclaimed, still upset that you beat him with facts that he should know given the fact that he’s the R.A. You tried your best to refrain from laughing at how red his face got. “Whatever, y/n. Goodnight,” Jungkook mumbled, turning on his heels and walking the short distance back to his dorm. 

You peeked your head out into the hallway. Jungkook was gone but he was in the process of closing his door.

“Isn’t it morning time?” you teased. In one swift movement, Jungkook stuck out his long middle finger before closing his door. You laughed, feeling good about the fact that you totally just won that argument. You took that pride in being right and went back into your room, deciding to be productive and get ready for your first day ever of college. 

____________________

Well, your first day of classes was certainly not what you expected. 

The day started out on a high note since you managed to one-up Jungkook, but it slowly got worse and worse. 

You went to the dining hall and tried to make yourself some toast, but for some reason, human error, probably, you managed to burn the toast. Hundreds of eyes were on you, filled with irritation, as the dining hall began to smell like burnt food. Jimin and Taehyung couldn’t sit and eat with you because they had classes soon, so you had to sit alone with your burnt toast. 

And after your first class, music theory, you realized how much work this class would actually be. On any first day of classes you’ve ever had, the first assignments were little things such as setting up an account on something or filling out an easy review sheet to see where everyone was at, but your first assignment was to create a song. 

You had made plenty of songs since you picked up the guitar, but that was casual. No deadlines. No grades. Just you, sitting in the park or in your room, making songs from your imagination. But now, it felt like it wouldn’t be as easy as that. You had to perform this song in front of your class of over forty people. You had to receive a grade on it. There were expectations you weren’t sure you would be able to follow.

You felt that Jimin’s family was obligated to say they liked your songs since they didn’t want to hurt your feelings. But this was college. You were seen as an adult by other adults. Meaning, if they didn’t like your song or the lyrics or your voice, they would tell you. And you would have to take that criticism with a smile and apply it to your work. 

So, yeah, write a song. Shouldn’t be too hard. 

Your other classes seemed fine since they were more on the mechanics of music, not the actual making of it. But your favorite class was really just a guitar class. The hour and a half period consisted of displaying your skills so the professor could see your level and decide what amount of rigor, if any, should be added to your personalized curriculum. 

You placed in the second highest level, so your classes would continually get even more difficult as the year passed, but you were always a fast learner when it came to instruments, so you knew you would be fine. 

You sat to have an early dinner with Jimin and Taehyung who told you about their days. Jimin loved all of his classes. He was already making friends and he knew a lot of them would be an easy A. Taehyung seemed to be having a good time, too. His classes were spread out through the day so he had a lot of leisure time. 

You were a little jealous, to say the least. 

So, you sat in your room on the floor as you leaned against the wall. Your guitar was positioned in your arms and you kept replaying the same 10-second tune. You couldn’t do more with it. You couldn’t add more. That’s all you had. It was like a broken record constantly playing in your head. 

Jungkook was sitting in his room, some boring R.A. paperwork on his desk as he filled it out. The dorms were somewhat silent this evening since all of the people on his floor were trying to start the year off right and do well on their first ever set of assignments. 

The only distinct sound that wafted through his pierced ears was you on the other side of the wall. Just when he thought you were getting somewhere with the tune, you would just repeat the same thing. He could hear your loud groans and your stressed aura was practically seeping through the walls. 

He felt bad for you. 

But that’s when he thought of his genius idea. 

Jungkook took about twenty minutes to set everything up before he stood outside of your door. He wore sweatpants and a hoodie. Gently, he knocked on your door. You opened it and stood in tight jeans and a nice shirt. You still hadn’t changed from the outfit you wore to classes. 

“I’m really sorry about the noise. I’ll keep it down,” you promised in a low voice, assuming that was why he knocked on your door for the second time today. You just weren’t in the mood to argue.

Jungkook sensed that. 

“No, no. It’s not about that. I can understand how stressful the first day can be, so I arranged a movie night in the lounge room. Everyone else was too busy to come. I’m hoping that you’ll join me in watching Finding Nemo,” Jungkook said, a sweet smile on his face. You were surprised, to say the least. 

Jungkook lied. 

He asked no one else but you. 

“I don’t know..” you mumbled, turning to look at your guitar resting on the floor. “It’ll still be there after the movie. Just take this hour and a half to destress before getting back to it,” Jungkook suggested, placing his hands in his pockets. You nodded. 

“Just let me change first. I’ll join you,” you said with a gentle smile before closing the door. Jungkook brought his hand out of his pocket and formed it into a fist. “Yes!” he mumbled to himself as he walked down the hall to the lounge room. There he had a sea of pillows on the floor, creating a cushiony surface. He had blankets neatly folded on the couch and he had a box of pizza and some drinks on the table behind the couch. 

On the screen was the beginning of Finding Nemo paused. 

Jungkook sat on the floor, leaning up against the couch as he grabbed one of the blankets and put it over his legs. Within a minute, you emerged from your bedroom, night shorts hanging loosely from your hips, a tank top fitting your body and accentuating your chest, and fuzzy socks on your feet.

You smiled at the sight in front of you. You didn’t think Jungkook could be this caring to the freshmen living in this dorm. 

“Nice little set up you have here,” you commented as you walked around the couch and sat next to Jungkook on the floor, four or so inches between the two of you. “My major should have been interior design,” Jungkook joked as you grabbed half of the blanket and pulled it over your legs. 

You chuckled and got comfortable. 

“How did your first day of classes go?” you asked, turning to look at him. He shrugged. “It was fine. Completed all of my assignments earlier, so that’s good,” he said. You nodded. “What about you? Did you have a good day?” he inquired, watching you with soft eyes. “It was fine. But one of my assignments was stressing me out,” you explained. 

“What assignment is it?”

“I have to make a song.”

Jungkook nodded understandingly. “It’s the fear that your work actually matters grade wise and could determine your future, right?” he said, knowing exactly how you must be feeling. You nodded, a small grin on your lips, enjoying the fact that you weren’t the only one who felt this way. 

“Today, one of my teachers told me to make a film to submit to a film festival. He said it so simply like this wouldn’t be one of the biggest career moves of my life,” Jungkook said. Your eyes widened as he spoke. “Well, I think that if your teacher wants you to do something like that, he clearly thinks you’re more than capable,” you pointed out. Jungkook’s nerves seemed to cease to exist as you spoke in such a soft tone, mellowing out his body inside and out. 

Jungkook stared at you intently, fighting the urge to lean in and kiss you right there. Instead, he grinned and reached for the remote, starting the movie. 

The two of you sat and watched, basking in a shared childhood experience. 

It was about thirty-five minutes in when Jungkook felt a weight being shifted on top of him. With wide eyes, he turned to look at you and saw that your forehead had dropped onto his shoulder. Your eyes were closed and your lips were slightly ajar as your breaths came out evenly. 

He smiled to himself, finding your sleeping form just as adorable as your awake and alert form. He loved how there were different sides to you. It was like looking at a kaleidoscope. All these different angles of you combined into one to create an intricate and complex image. But of course, he thought that image was absolutely beautiful. 

Jungkook carried on watching the movie, giving the dirtiest look he could muster to anyone who tried to disturb the peace. Jungkook knew that it would be too much at once if you woke up to find yourself sleeping on his shoulder, so once the movie ended, he used his muscles to gently pick your sleeping figure up. 

His right arm hooked underneath your knees and his other arm wrapped around your back, carrying you like one would carry their spouse on their wedding day. Gently, he placed you on the couch behind him and used a blanket to cover your body. And as he cleaned up the floor and placed everything back where it was, he couldn’t help but sneak a few glances at you. 

And as he turned off the main light, ready to make his way back to his room, he watched you momentarily, admiring the stranger he felt incredibly drawn to. 

But, alas, he walked down the hall and into his room, mentally preparing the remarks he would make tomorrow to tease the hell out of you. 

[cherryblossomshadow]

I don't need a medic (but my dog does)

Universe/Fandom: Naruto Pairing: Kakashi Hatake x Hana Inuzuka

Rating: crack pairing, pining, etc.

A/N: So this plot bunny attacked me in the middle of the night, and I mean ... how could I not write it?  I’m not sure if it makes sense, and I feel kinda bad for putting Kakashi through this but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.  So, a couple notes - Kakashi was around 26 in part I and Hana was 18-ish, so there’s an eight-year age difference, but this is set five or ten years after part I.  Sasuke didn’t leave, so no major angst there.  Kakashi’s just ... back to the grind.  Missing his teammates, particularly Rin Nohara.  In this fic, she was an Inuzuka (or Inuzuka-adjacent), possibly related to Hana.  

@naruto-rarepair-bingo Board B - Injured & Board C - pets

Now that his cute little genin™ were now Chunin, he was back to the deadly A-ranks again.  For a former ANBU, of course, that was no sweat.  His life was never actually in danger (that's a lie, it was always always in danger, but at least it was always well within his capabilities for now), but that didn't stop him from risking injury to ensure success.  Repeatedly.   Right now, he faced those infuriating Mist ninja and their precious Kirigakure jutsu (every single one of those bastards mocked "What good is your precious Sharingan now?" 🙄).  In the interest of speed (and apathy), he took advantage of the gift given to him from Rin.  Her last gift.  

He swiped a hand through the blood on his chest and summoned the ninken.   "What d'ya need, boss?" Pakkun asked in an all-business tone, perched above Rin's other former ninken.  It had been tricky for the dogs to become accustomed to Kakashi.  Now, though, it was with experience that Kakashi commanded them.  He directed them to find the Mist nins that he has marked with his scent.  They did so immediately, hounding them as Kakashi put his tracking skills to use.   "Good work," Kakashi huffed, having cleared his objective.  He wondered if he was slipping; that should have been a quick, bloodless encounter.   "You know, there's a better way to mark your opponents," Pakkun drawled, eyeing at the long line of blood across Kakashi's body.  "Have you tried peeing on them?" "I confess, I have not." Kakashi whipped out some cloth to bind his wounds.  "Wait, where's Bull?" "Aroo~"  The pack took up a howl, leading Kakashi to the clearly wounded dog.  "Oh, Bull," Kakashi knelt next to the big bulldog.  "Are you alright?" Bull keened long and low, unable to form a response.  Kakashi bundled the dog up in his flak jacket and rushed Bull back to Konoha, heading straight for the vet clinic.  Unfortunately, it was the middle of the night and the clinic was closed.  Kakashi cursed then swept a hand through the blood of a reopened wound.  He wove the signs for the Summoning Jutsu again, this time only summoning Pakkun.  "Can you track the veteranarian's scent to his home?" Pakkun took off with a yip and led Kakashi to a small apartment not too far away.  He rapped on the door, calling through the wood, "Please, I'm sorry to bother you but my ninken-" The door opened to reveal a young Inuzuka.  A girl.   Rin, his traitorous mind whispered.  For a second he could see his teammate's face overlaying that of the girl in front of him.  He shook himself.  No, of course not.  This is Inuzuka Hana. Her eyes were sharp, though edged with sleep dust.  They quickly took in his appearance and that of the dog's cradled in his arms.  "Come in," she ordered.   She directed him to lay the dog on her table and she disappeared into another room.  She returned quickly with supplies and set about stitching Bull up and calming the nervous animal in her foyer.  Kakashi, that is.   "He'll be fine," she assured him, after caring for the dog.  She had bandaged him up and swaddled him on blankets on her table, and she now petted him softly.  "I've sewn up the wound, and it'll heal in matter of days.  You, however," she turned a critical eye on the injured human.  He moved cautiously trying not to bleed all over her floor.  "You definitely need a hospital." "No." The argument left his lips before he could even think about it.   "I didn't say want; I said need," she said with the patience of working with dogs for patients.  "And you need to be sewn up." "I don't do hospitals." She sighed, "Well, do you know any medical ninja who are willing to stitch you up in the middle of the night?" "Well, I-" but he stopped, because Sakura's out on a mission.   "Mhmm," she nodded.  "Go to the hospital." "No." "This dog will not calm down until he knows that you've been cared for, too.  It is important for their emotional health," she crossed her arms.   "Then why don't you do it?" He asked petulantly.  "You're a medic." Her mouth dropped.  "I'm an animal medic.  The medicine I practice isn't the same as for humans." "Well, it's good enough," he answered decisively.  "Please?" Hana sighed again, but she consented to take a look at the long gash before it bled into her carpet.  She cleaned it up and bandaged him as quickly as she was able to.  She repeatedly told him to get himself to that medic min he knows for a better suture.   He didn't.   It wasn't two months later, that he showed up at her door again with another downed dog.  After a while, he just bypassed the clinic altogether and went directly to her apartment.  She stitched up his dogs, sometimes him, and always bugged him to go to "a real medic." "Don't sell yourself short, Hana," he protested one day.  "You're a miracle worker for these dogs."  She blushed and stammered a half-hearted response but didn't bring it up again.   It wasn't until one day, returning home from a mission, that he realized the depth of his attachment.  His feet led him to her door even though he was distinctly dogless and woundless.  He stopped himself before he raised a hand to knock and berated himself on his abnormal behavior.   It's just because she reminds me of Rin, he told himself even though that was far from true.  He had stopped comparing her to Rin after the first visit.   The light clicked on and he just barely had enough time to get out of sight before the door opened.  A dark figure stepped out of the door, but it wasn't Hana.  It was that scar-nosed chunin that felt so protectively of Naruto.  He bowed and went on his way, oblivious to their observer.   Kakashi watched Hana watch Iruka disappear into the night.  He waited her to disappear into her apartment so he could leave.  But to his surprise Hana also stepped out of her apartment and looked straight at him.  "I can smell you," she announced.   Oh.  When he had reflexively suppressed his presence, he didn't account for the splattered enemy blood.   "Just you, this time?" She asked, noting the absence of dogs.  She began to go back inside for her needle and thread, but he stopped her.   "No, it's not my blood.  I was just in the neighborhood," he lied.  "I was just leaving actually.  Hope you had a nice night." "Oh," she blinked.  "Thanks.  I did."  She blushed slightly and looked away.  In the direction Iruka had left, Kakashi noted.   "Well, I'll let you sleep then," he said roughly.  "Sorry to disturb you." He turned on his heel and sped away, springing over the rooftops, he berated himself.  He had never thought he would ever feel that way again ... And he was surprised by who he felt for.  Well, no matter, he sighed forlornly.  She's got someone better.  He deserves her.  He remembered all the times the Chunin had stood up for Naruto, even when no one else would.  Yes, he deserves her, he thought wretchedly, pledging to think no more about it.   "I guess I've actually got something to talk to you about this time, Obito."

A/N: So, yeah, I also snuck in some Iruka x Hana in, too.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  What can I say?  Iruka deserves love, too.  I have this idea of a complicated love polygon involving Anko as well, but that may never exist anywhere except my mind.  

[m00nchild-shi]

Saudade

Saudade (Portuguese) - “The feeling of longing for an absent something or someone that you love but might never return.”

Authors Note: Okay my dudes. This is my first time writing anything on this hellsite, so please keep your criticisms constructive! This little something came to me literally after just looking at a photo of Namjoon (a mood honestly). A big thanks goes to @lemonjoonah for her encouragement of actually letting this drabble see the light of day!

Warnings: This is hella fluffy.

You weren't paying attention when a slight dip in the path jarred you from the headspace you were in. A couple missteps later, you balance yourself and quickly swivel around to see if anyone saw your little slip-up. Thankfully, no one appears to be around. You decide to turn down the hype music that you had been blaring through your earbuds and become a bit more present with your surroundings.

You had chosen the scenic route on your walk home from work, the park you were strolling through a welcome change from the typical busy streets and dirty piles of melting snow. Long walks like these allow you to disassociate for a little while and let your thoughts wander as they please. You had been admiring a cute dog from afar when you'd almost fallen.

This park was one of the few places in the city that showed any signs of it being spring, exhibiting small buds on branches and little smatterings of greenery. Particularly, a stretch of large shrubs along your path had almost fully bloomed, a small sea of pink blossoms framing the road. This prompted you to interrupt your walk altogether.

You approach one of the bushes and snap a couple photos of the flowers on your phone. Satisfied, you centre yourself on the path for some scenic shots. However, the sound of disturbed gravel grabs your attention before you take the picture.

A little ways behind you, it appears someone tripped on the same hole you did, breaking into a small run before recovering. A tiny snort escapes you, and you instantly feel bad for the poor guy, but also the satisfaction of not being the only one to fumble on that same spot. You turn back around and resume your photo op. You take quite a few shots before you're happy, taking a few moments to make sure you got at least one good one. You go to continue on your way home when you hear a voice address you.

Taking out your earbuds, you turn around. It's the guy that had tripped a minute earlier, his eyes slightly wide as if he's been startled. “I'm sorry!” he says stepping back from you, “I didn't know you had your music in”, a small nervous laugh escaping him. A mask covers the bottom half of this face, but you can tell he's now smiling as his eyes upturn into little crescents. “It's fine”you reply, unsure where this interaction is going.

He seems to ponder a moment before breaking the silence, “Would you mind taking a couple photos of me? With the flowers?” he asks sheepishly. You're surprised by his request, but answer with a shrug, “Sure”.

“Amazing thank you!” he's unlocking his phone, and handing it to you with the camera open in seconds. He fixes his ball cap, removing it for a moment to reveal slightly messy blonde hair.

You aren't ready when he pulls his mask down though. His face both friendly, and alluring with delicate features and a strong jawline. His complexion is glowing and tanned, but the small bags under his eyes indicate slight fatigue. You find yourself shifting with nerves as he takes his position in the centre of the path. With some final adjustments to his jacket, he looks up at you expectantly and you're snapped out of your trance.

“Ready?” you manage to say. He nods with an indicative hum, and you raise his phone a bit above yourself, centring him in the shot. He grins widely, revealing two pronounced dimples on both cheeks, shutting his eyes with a slightly raised chin. You're taken aback by how naturally he poses for you, and you find yourself smiling back at him as you take his picture.

You make sure to take a few frames before calling to him, “Great!”. You surprise yourself with what you suggest next, “Would you want a few a bit closer to the flowers?”. His eyes light up before he excitedly jaunts over to the nearest bush. He eyes it thoughtfully before facing you again, raising a hand to the blooms and giving you another soft grin. You try not to shake his phone too much with your nerves, but it's proving difficult. A couple photos later, you lower the phone and nod that you're finished. 

At this he approaches you eagerly, standing directly next to you taking a look at your work, as you try not to notice how much taller than you he is. “Wow... you're good!” he exclaims, making you laugh as he flips through his camera roll with enthusiasm. A few more moments of this pass before he turns to you, “Thank you so much, these are great!”. You almost can't handle how sincere he is, all you can do is shrug again with a “No problem at all. Happy to help!” before adding “I don't know too many guys that would pose so confidently with flowers”. He beams, and now it's your turn to giggle nervously.

He takes one last satisfied glance at his phone before dipping his head in a small bow, which you return. You probably shouldn't be staring at him the way you are, but if he's uncomfortable he shows no sign of it. “Thanks again” he states as he goes to turn back toward the path, gifting you one last smile. “You're welcome, again” you call out, earning a chuckle from him, eyes shut with laughter as he does one final wave over his shoulder before heading on his way. He disappears on a path that you won't be taking, much to your dismay.

You take a second to collect yourself before putting your earbuds back in, your choice of music a lot more quiet and reflective than before.

[lattehatteofyourdreams-blog]

In Dire Need of A Friend

~Hey guys! This is not very good because I didn’t really edit it at all, I just wanted to get some content out, constructive criticism and feedback is always welcome!

~Basically this is a little side story off of when Emma said she brought the Professor groceries, and the follow up of the Professor coming to Beanies! 

    This month had been the lowest of the low. Professor Hidgens had been coming to fewer and fewer of his own classes. He could not muster the strength to pull himself up from his bed it seemed. Another production company had rejected the script for his musical, which had been the catalyst for this depression slum. He had actually been doing well before his interaction with the production company. Working on his musical and the start of the new school year had pushed down the sadness so far in his body that he had nearly forgotten the ice cold feeling of complete despair. But the second he read the words of that email that horrible feeling cropped up in his chest and head once more.'We regret to inform you that we will not be accepting 'Working Boys; A New Musical' as our fall production this season.' The words had traveled like a bullet straight into the heart of the balanced routine that he'd been managing. Some of his students were beginning to notice the weight he was shedding, the greasy hair, and the very deep circles under his eyes. On the fourth day of Professor Hidgens not showing up to class one of his students, Emma, decided that someone needed to do something. 

    Emma was a college student, so in other words she really didn't have much money. She worked at a coffee shop near campus called Beanies and while her income wasn't much, it was enough for her to have a little savings. She decided her money could be well spent in some groceries for Professor Hidgens. So on her way back from her last class of the day she stopped at a small grocery store before making her way to the edge of town. Professor Hidgens had one told her about his home, about how lonely such a big house gets. She was confident she could find it with the vague description of where it was located. She did indeed find the large home and was shocked to find that the gates guarding the place were wide open. She pushed on and securely parked in the long driveway beside Professor Hidgens's dirty looking car. Emma picked up all four full bags of groceries she had purchased and marched toward the front door. She pounded the sturdy oak door heavily, and waited for a response. Within a few minutes the sound of multiple locks clicking open vibrated against the door. The door swung inward, revealing a disheveled Professor Hidgens. His gray bush of hair looked like wild bedhead, and his clothes looks wrinkled in ways only a few days of wear can produce. His body language was riddled with exhaustion. His eyes were droopy and he was ringing his hands. 

    "Hi Professor!" Emma beamed cheerfully. "It's Emma, from your intro to biology class." 

    "Yes of course, but w-what are you doing here?" Professor Hidgens insisted, leaning heavily on his door frame, almost as though he needed to balance himself. 

    "Well, you've missed a few classes Professor. I wanted to stop by and, well..." She trailed off, not really sure how to explain what she was doing. 

    "Oh..." He suddenly sounded choked, like he couldn't continue. "I guess I have." 

    "I, uh, I got you some groceries. I assumed you might be kind of busy." She smiled warmly. 

    Emma didn't want to insult the man by insinuating he couldn't take care of himself. She hoped it wasn't obvious that she was scrambling for an excuse for buying the groceries for him. The professor looked up from where his eyes had been trained on the floor earlier, there was something glinting in his watery eyes. Something to the tune of gratitude, confused gratitude, but gratitude nonetheless. He sucked in a deep breath and rubbed at his eyes quickly. Emma didn't want to rush him but the bags were nearly breaking her weak arms. She shuffled the bags slightly trying not to be too obvious. Professor Hidgens noticed, removing his hands from his face and plastering on a small smile. 

    "Where are my manners, come in Emma." He said, swinging the door open further and ushering her inside. 

        Emma was making quick work of putting the groceries away. She had gotten the necessities for the basic college kid diet, she hoped it worked for professors as well. She was nearly heartbroken to find that upon opening the fridge there was nothing but a carton of spoiled milk, a mushy apple, and half a head of lettuce inside. Professor Hidgens mulled over a glass of water while Emma shuffled about the kitchen putting things away and throwing out things horrendously past their sell-by date. When she was finished she joined the man at the table, noticing that he had thankfully nearly polished off the water in the glass. She wondered if she was seem to pushy offering to get him another glass. It had fallen dark outside and Emma knew she would need to leave soon, but she was content to sit with the Professor and talk for a while if that's what he needed. 

    "I can't tell you how thankful I am that you stopped by Emma. I was in dire need of... some groceries." Professor Hidgens uttered, not looking up from his glass. 

    "Of course! Your house isn't far from where I work so it was no trouble really." She assured. "I work at that Coffee shop on the corner of Eighth st. and Park. Beanies." 

    The Professor nodded as if to think about it heavily. They continued to speak quietly as the minutes ticked on. The Professor talked briefly of his musical and Emma made sure to show extra enthusiasm as he explained it. She didn't miss the way his eyes lit up as he illustrated every detail. It was evident that he cared greatly for his creation, it was heartwarming to see him so animated and excited. Before either of the two of them had realized it was nearly midnight and Emma needed to leave. She excused herself apologetically, wishing she could stay later but an early shift at Beanies preventing anything of the sort. 

    "I'm going to go now professor. I left out a box of that instant macaroni, it's pretty shit but it's something. Please eat it." Emma pleaded, getting up and making strides toward the door. 

    "I will." The Professor nodded, a tired smile on his face. 

    "Maybe if you're feeling up to it I'll see you at the next lecture?" Emma hinted, almost out the door. 

    "Maybe." The Professor replied. 

    "Bye, Professor Hidgens." 

    "Goodbye, Emma." 

    It had been a week since Emma had stopped by the Professors house and he still hadn't made it back to class. On a particularly slow day at Beanies Emma began to plot on maybe dropping by again due to his ever present absence  when a silver head of hair popped in through the glass door. Emma's eyes lit up as Professor Hidgens stepped through the door. He didn't look fantastic, but he looked better and that made her happy. The bags under his eyes had let up slightly and he was wearing new clothes. Professor Hidgens strode up to the counter, smiling brightly at her. Emma was thankful that Zoey had gone on break because she wasn't very patient with customers that weren't 'normal' so to speak and the Professor was a bit eccentric. 

    "Hey Professor!" Emma sparkled, waving. 

    "Hello Emma, I thought it was only fair that I come return the favor since you payed me a visit last week." He boomed in his powerful voice. 

    "Well, what can I get you?" Emma smiled, gesturing at a large menu above her head.

    The Professor thought carefully, scrunching his nose to show he was deep in thought. His eyes scanned the menu thoroughly. He finally decided on a Chai Latte. Emma gave him directions to sit in the clump of tables closer to the store front, and informed him that she would bring him his coffee. He agreed and marched over to sit. Emma was glad he seemed to be doing so much better. She flew through making his drink, writing 'world's best professor' where she would normally write the customer's name. Emma figured that would make him happy. Her eyes found the clock on the wall. Only 2:35. She figured it was okay to take her break now. She joined Professor Hidgens at his tables and set the drink down carefully in front of him. He scanned the drink. Reading the words scribbled on the sweating plastic in Emma's loopy handwriting. A wide smile spread across his face. They talked quietly for a while, Emma casually slipping in some wellness checks in between her jokes and stories. Before she knew it the hour was up and she needed to go back to work. She looked around, as if to take stock on everything in the small store. There wasn't a single customer in the place. She figured it couldn't hurt to extend her break just a little bit. 

    "Don't you need to get back to working?" Professor Hidgens poked, a hint of something knowing in his voice. 

    "Eh," Emma shrugged with a small smile. "This is more fun." 

    Emma and Professor Hidgens continued their little party in the corner of Beanies, despite the nasty looks she was receiving from Zoey. She flipped her the bird and smiled falsely. Emma didn't consider herself a recluse by any means, but she didn't ever really have the kind of conversation she was having now. She didn't get to laugh and feel understood. She didn't get to care for someone else. Not since her sister's death. And she was definitely not going to let Zoey ruin that for her. 

    The sky burnt orange and pink as the sun began to set. Golden light blared in through the glass store front. The Professor had long since finished his drink and was now fiddling with a pen he had pulled out of his jacket's pocket. Only a few customers had come in for a drink. Nothing Zoey couldn't handle by herself. And she was unwilling to disturb Emma again after she had kindly implied where she could put her opinion. She left thirty minutes before her shift was really over, clicking off the neon open sign hanging in the doorway. Emma could swear she saw a soft smile and curt nod from her usually less than agreeable coworker. Emma knew she needed to close up shop soon. She waited until the Professor was done telling his story before sliding up and out from her chair. 

    "I've got to get home professor, but hold on I'm going to go grab something really quick." She gingerly moved to the kitchen, her converse smacking against the tile floor loudly. 

    Emma quickly folded up the largest delivery box available and began shoving left over food inside. She stockpiled it full of muffins, croissants, cookies, and scones. Spinning on her heals she pulls a cup from the dispensers and begins filling it with their homemade peach iced tea. Emma nimbly placed a lid on top and stabbed a straw through the plastic. She gathered her treasure and made her way out of the kitchen once more. When she returned to the storefront Professor Hidgens was now behind the register, that pen still clutched in his hand. 

    "Here, Professor. This is for you." Emma chided, pushing the coral box and translucent cup towards him. 

    "Emma, I can not except all this from you." He insisted with a slow shake of the head, his gray hair falling slightly out of place. 

    "Come on, sir. We're just going to throw it all out anyway!" That wasn't wholly true, but the items would not be missed. 

    Another smile broke out on Professor Hidgens's face, although he was still shaking his head softly. His protest resolved and he slid the box and cup off the counter and into his arms. He seemed to stroll happily to the door. Emma was excited to see the familiar pep in his step. 

    "You'd better get home soon Emma, if I'm going to see you tomorrow bright and early for class." The Professor practically glowed. 

    "Absolutely. I'll see you then Professor." Emma grinned, the bright smile reaching her eyes. 

    The Professor nodded, pushing out the door and into the parking lot. Emma felt accomplished. She felt great. The professor was going to come to class tomorrow, she was confident he had enough food to at least get him through the week, and he had even left his house to come visit her at work. Emma decided that she needed to get decent sleep for Professor Hidgens's class tomorrow, so she began to clean and close up. She noticed a crumbled napkin at the table the Professor had been sitting at. She ventured over to sweep up what appeared to be a bit of garbage, but before doing so she noticed Professor Hidgens's scribble-y handwriting. She read it out. 

Thank you for stopping by Emma, I was in dire need of a friend. Fantastic service deserves a good tip! ~Professor Hidgens

    Emma detached a twenty dollar bill that had been hidden inside the napkin. She smiled to herself. A friend. She could do with one of those. 

[theoreticalli]

Love Letters of Convenience

Day 2 of Critical Role Relationships Week: Tary & Kima (Read on AO3)

Some spoilers for the end of the campaign, I guess. Completely happy ones, though, so we're all good :) all fluff here, just some bros helping each other out. Also the working title for this fic was gay/lesbian solidarity, so happy pride, y'all.

They only met once. In passing, in a busy tavern outside Westruun, both busy planning and organizing and adventuring. They were both somewhat legendary at this point, for their exploits alone and with the famed Vox Machina, and as such both were having some difficulty in their work. By the fireplace, the human man with impressive blond hair and a mustache was fending off a number of swooning romantic fans of his first book (and apparently of him), instructing his large mechanical companion to stand guard over him while he frantically polished a draft he was bringing to a publisher in Westruun the next day. At the bar, the tiny halfling woman took a swig of her beer and made an actual snarling noise at a man who refused to stop asking after her romantic prospects. She stood, grabbed the map and letters she was looking through and her beer, and started through the crowd away from him, flipping both her left middle and ring fingers over her shoulder at him.

She shooed off the small gaggle of women around the writer and sank into the other seat at his table, startling him. The robot turned to her, looming as it prepared to defend its master as best it could. The man opened his mouth to chide her, but his gaze took in the scar through her eye and the holy symbol hanging around her neck and his expression changed abruptly.

“Doty, stand down. Lady Kima! Oh, it’s a pleasure, I’ve heard so much about you, Vox Machina speaks of you so highly—”

She waved him off, draining her beer quickly and leaning close to him to speak in a low voice. “Taryon Darrington, yes. The pleasure is mine, I guess. Listen, I need a favor.”

[Read more]

Kima glanced at his hand and a grin flashed across her face. “I can see that you’re having some issues with admirers, and I am too. Now, I could beat him until he never comes near Westruun again, but I was enjoying this tavern and I’d like to be allowed back in.”

He frowned, his eyes darting nervously to the man at the bar who was looking their way. “I’m… I’m flattered, milady, but really I’m not much of a fighter, though I know my physique might lead you to believe otherwise.”

Kima snorted. “Believe me, your physique led me to believe nothing but that you don’t get out a lot.” Tary pouted, but she plowed over his protest. “My proposal is: I’m married, you’re married or engaged, what do you say we pretend it’s to each other for a little while?”

She quickly clocked the horror that flashed across his face and said firmly, “You don’t have to worry about that from me. You’re not my type as much as I’m not yours. I’ll just sit over here, I’ll touch your hand every once in a while, you’ll buy my drinks, we’ll both flash our rings every once in a while, and we both get to work in peace.”

Taryon’s gaze was still wary, but he relaxed back into his seat and started scanning his papers again. “Whatever you say, dear.”

Kima smirked and spread out her own materials. True to her plan, no one disturbed them for several hours; eventually the hearth had burned down to smoldering coals and Kima had gone through at least two more large beers, impressive for her small form. She had been slowly edging her chair around the table every time she got up to get another drink, and suddenly she nudged Tary in the side with an elbow that felt markedly unromantic, staring ata letter and a sheet full of scrawling handwriting in front of her. “Darrington. You’re a writer, right?”

He winced as subtly as he could manage, carefully reaching up to massage his ribs. “I certainly do consider myself to be of that persuasion, yes.”

“Great. My—” She scanned their vicinity surreptitiously. “My wife sent me a letter last week, and I’ve been trying to write back since then. I’m going to be away for another month, so I want it to be good. But she’s so good at words and I’m just really… not.”

Tary’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I can certainly assist you! I will help you craft the most beautiful, poetic love letter the world has ever read. She will save it and pass it down to her children— or nephews and nieces, or whoever. Anyways.” He coughed, embarrassed, and leaned closer to her. “What have you got so far?”

She chewed on the end of her quill, rereading her work. “ ‘My dearest Allura, I wish I could be with you right now. I’m trying to get drunk and a man was harassing me, so everything would just be better if you were here.’ ”

Tary nodded encouragingly. “That’s a good start! What else would you like to say?”

“Something along the lines of, ‘Here are all the reasons you’re powerful, hot, and lovable. And here are all the things I’d do to you if I were home.’ That kind of thing.”

Tary’s face flushed. “Oh. Okay. Well… I can help you with part of that, at least. Here…”

By the time the barkeep was strolling around the room and making it clear it was time for the stragglers to move elsewhere, they had come up with a page and a half of prose that could pass as Kima’s personal thoughts, albeit a touch more flowery. Tary smiled proudly down at it as he stood and picked up his cloak. “I think she’ll love it.”

“She better,” Kima said, but her grumpiness was evidently habitual. “Thank you, Darrington. Where is your husband now?”

Tary’s expression softened and he gazed into the glowing embers of the fireplace, somewhat glad they’d dropped any pretense of a relationship. “Lawrence? He’s taking care of some of his own business at the moment, so I opted to do this leg of my tour on my own. I do regret it, but it’s taxing, being on the road constantly with such a revered companion. Not that he isn’t adored in his own right. He teaches classes in some of the towns we go to, to children who might not otherwise get any sort of formal education.”

Kima smirked a bit at the change in his egotistical tone. She raised her last mug to him as he picked up his nearly empty wine glass. “To spouses who are better loved than we are.”

Tary clinked his glass to hers without hesitation. “Yes, bless them.”

They both drained their glasses and parted ways.