#of course most fics will be linked so i can return in case and for when i do my end of the year info post

[early-sxnsets]

by fuck i WILL make my own AO3 wrapped this year

[writing-intheundercroft]

The Night Shift

AO3 Link

Pairing: Auror!Sebastian x F!MC

Word Count: 10,206

Rating: T (just some smooches but plenty of angst)

Summary: You're the lead healer in the St. Mungo's intensive care unit, and a painfully familiar face ends up in your ward.

A/N: Took a break from my long fics this week to deliver a long angsty Seb one shot. I heard Phoebe Bridgers cover Night Shift and became feral over it. Perhaps it needs a smutty part two???

Night One

“I’m so glad you were able to slip away from work for a bit.” Poppy says, pouring tea into your cup.

You smile up at the brunette girl, who still wears her hair in a cropped bob, albeit a bit more fashionable now that you’re in your twenties.  You miss Poppy’s presence in your life, but her career as a mazoologist and yours as a lead healer in the intensive care unit of St. Mungo’s has your schedules rarely crossing.  

“It’s nice to be out in the sunlight,” you say coyly, lifting the cup to your mouth. It's the truth–you haven’t been out to tea with a friend, dressed in a pretty lace gown in what feels like ages.  Your career usually has you in a tightly pulled bun, hair out of your face to focus on your patients, with bloodied aprons.  Magic can heal most ailments, but your ancient abilities make you the best bet for the most gravely wounded.  So much so that you’ve worked six nights a week every week for the past five years, sleeping during the day to make it to your overnight shifts at the hospital.

With few exceptions.

But there’s coverage today, giving you a rare Saturday afternoon off to enjoy the warm spring day.  You and Poppy are sitting outside a tea shop in Diagon Alley, catching up on all things personal, while people watching.  It’s strange, you think, to be surrounded by so many people.  You leave for your shift at seven thirty in the evening, when most people are getting home for dinner, and return to your flat far after everyone has left for work.  

Poppy had just started telling you a story about a wild herd of manticores she’d encountered on her travels abroad, when a familiar face walked up to your table.

“Merlin’s beard, I never thought I’d see the likes of you two ever again,” Andrew Larson grins.

“Andrew,” Poppy smiles. “It’s good to see you.”

There are obligatory kisses on the cheek as the handsome Ravenclaw pulls up a chair. “What are you doing in town, Poppy?”  

“Visiting my gran, of course.” She tilts her head towards you. “And catching up with friends.”

“And you, it’s like you’re back from beyond the grave.” Andrew shifts his attention, teasing you. “Haven’t seen you in a long time.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “Just busy keeping people from their graves, that’s all.”

“I’ve heard.” Andrew elbows you. “Youngest lead healer in all of St. Mungo’s.”

“Yet being the youngest earned me the night shift.” You wrinkle your nose.  “And very few days off.”

“How’s the auror office doing?” Poppy quips, leaning her chin into her palm.

Andrew shrugs. “Busy; we’re working on a big case right now, but we finally got a few hours off to enjoy lunch.  I was just heading over to the Cauldron, meeting Sallow and Clopton for a bite.”

You swallow thickly.  It’s been five years since you last spoke to Sebastian Sallow.  At this point, you can’t exactly remember how it ended, except that the two of you had screamed at one another.  You were fairly certain you’d thrown a book at his head, and he’d knocked over your favorite mug in the process. You still had it, the handle broken off, now used as a quill holder at your desk.

“Oi, Larson!  Quit flirting, we’ve just gotten a message. All hands on deck at the office.” 

Both you and Poppy turn to the voice; Everett Clopton is standing a few paces away, wearing a smart suit.  He still has his gold wire glasses, but he’s grown into them. He’s wearing a hat, tipping the brim to you both in acknowledgement.

You hate the way your breath hitches when you see their companion.  Sebastian is also dressed well, sporting a tweed three piece suit, shiny black dress shoes, and a gold auror badge attached to his lapel.  He meets your gaze briefly before looking back up to Andrew, who’s moving the chair back to its proper table.

“Emergency meeting,” Sebastian utters gloomily. “Ruined a good lunch.”

Your stomach twists at the sound of his voice.  It’s no more than six words, but your insides feel like a wet towel being wrung out.  And Sebastian doesn’t even have the decency to look at you, avoiding eye contact with the person he considered his best friend for three years.  The audacity of him, to completely ignore the person who once held his fate in their hands–you feel the bile rising in your throat, swallowing down the anger that once consumed you.

No, you won’t let a tiny interaction with Sebastian ruin five years of hard work.  You stare at the cutlery on the table, willing him to leave.

Andrew Larson sighs, rapping his knuckles against the table. “It was good seeing you girls,” he smiles. “Hopefully I run into you again.”

The three boys–men, rather, you are all twenty three at this point–shuffle away.  

There is a heavy silence between you and Poppy, until she clears her throat.

“Are you okay?” she asks softly.

You nod, collecting yourself as you smile at her. “Perfectly fine.  It’s been ages, Poppy. We’re all over it.”

She grabs your gloved hand, pulling it towards her.  “You certainly are,” she says playfully, twisting the sparkling bauble on your left ring finger. “It’s gorgeous, by the way.”

“I never get to wear it,” you admit sheepishly. It’s been a month since your engagement, and you’ve hardly worn your ring; your fiance’s parents are perturbed that the announcement hasn’t been posted to the Daily Prophet yet. Despite having courted for the last year and a half, it still feels like everything has moved too fast, like you’ve fallen off your broom mid flight. For the most part, your engagement ring is safely tucked in its box atop your dresser, at the risk of getting bodily fluids on it during your shifts.

“He’s a lucky man.” Poppy echoes, sitting back in her chair. “You are happy, aren’t you?”

You’re doing fine, you think.  You’re at the top of your field.  You have a fine flat in a nice part of London, and a promise from a man that’s kind to you.  The kind of man who waited for you to get off your shift to bring you breakfast, and took you to a nice restaurant on your Friday nights off. You hadn’t expected a pretty ring from him, especially since you only graced him with your presence once a week, but then again, your last relationship had taught you not to expect anything at all.

A flash of brunette hair crosses your mind; you blink away the thought.

“I’m happy.  Very happy,” you say simply, holding your teacup up to your lips again. “So about the manticores…”

You jolt out of bed, a blue wisp of a rabbit bouncing around your bedroom.  It’s rare to get a patronus message at this hour; it can only mean an emergency at the hospital.  It also must be bad, considering they’re calling you in on your day off.

Without another thought, you tumble out of bed, rushing to your wardrobe to pull out your clothes.  Your unit specifically wears a deep purple–dark enough to hide stains.  Your shrug on undergarments and petticoats, and a burgundy gown with a high neckline.  Your hands know exactly how to tighten your hair into a knot within a minute, having perfected the craft over the five years of your career. Your wand is stowed in your dress pocket; you’ll grab an apron at the ward.  Grabbing a fistful of floo powder next to your fireplace, you step in, yelling out for St. Mungo’s.

The ward is in a flurry as you step out of the flames.  A nurse hands you a white cotton apron, which you wrap around your waist as you hold your wand between your teeth.  There are men all over, gashed and bleeding, as other healers take their information. 

“What’s happened?” You bark at an orderly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Auror ambush by some ashwinders,” he says dryly. “It’s awful.  Lost a few–even more are bleeding.  It’s dark magic, some sort of spell to keep the wounds bleeding.”

“Of course it is, those bastards.” You mutter. “I’ll take the worst of them.  Can someone bring me a coffee?”

He nods, pointing over to a bay of beds a few feet away. “Those three–they specifically requested you.” He hands off the charts, promising a caffeinated beverage.

You’re about to start flipping through the charts when you hear your name.  Your head flies up at the familiar voice, and you feel the blood drain from your face. You can see Everett Clopton waving his hands at you; Andrew Larson’s voice is yelling behind the curtain.  And just your luck, a pair of black shiny dress shoes are dangling off the examination table, twisted in an unnatural way.

Before you even realize it, you’re running to them.  The charts are promptly cast onto the side table when you duck behind the curtain, a gasp catching in your throat.

Sebastian looks awful.  

Correction–Sebastian looks dead.

“He jumped in front of me,” Everett panics, his hands on his head. “He shouldn’t have–we were talking, we thought we were out of the thick of it–”

“He’s been hit badly,” Andrew interjects.  His sleeves are bloodied from trying to apply pressure to a gash across Sebastian’s chest, the blood seeping through his shirt and vest. “You have to do something,” he pleads. “He’s the best of us–we can’t lose him.”

“Move,” you urge the two of them.  They scoot out of your way, and you make quick work of Sebastian’s clothing.

Years ago, tearing off Sebastian’s shirt would’ve been done out of passion, out of love.  You push those thoughts out of your mind as you rip through his white dress shirt, which is sopping wet with blood. Sebastian’s skin is cold and clammy; even his freckles are pale, disappearing from his face.

“Get me some dittany and shrivelfigs,” you screech at the other healers. “And the blood renewing potions, please.” You run your hand and your wand over Sebastian’s wounds, uttering a healing charm. “Vulnera sanentur, vulnera sanentur, vulnera sanentur,” you mutter under your breath.  The spell isn’t healing fast enough, Sebastian is still losing too much blood.

You let out the  blue wisps of magic from your fingertips as you channel some of your ancient magic into the healing spell. You’re still mad at Sebastian, of course, but you’ll be damned if he dies on your watch.  

To your relief, the wounds start knitting themselves shut faster, but the scars look awful, all purpled and raised.  Another healer is next to you, urgently crushing the dittany and shrivelfigs into a paste–an idea you got from the patient lying in front of you during your sixth year.  You’d been battered so often during Crossed Wands, the two of you had experimented with salves and balms to lessen the appearance of your scars. 

“He appears to be stabilizing,” the junior healer claims. “Good job, as always.”

You suppress the choked out cry that’s stuck in your throat as you think of Ominis, and how he used to scold the two of you for experimenting.  He’d be thankful now that you did.

“There’s others,” another healer urges you. “We must move on to the next.”

You don’t want to.  Sebastian seems to be stirring, groaning as the healer rubs the salve onto the gaping wound that streaks across his chest.  You can hear Everett and Andrew crying and laughing on the other side of the curtain, exclaiming your name for having saved their partner.

There’s so much commotion, you could swear Sebastian uttered your name, but when you look back, his head is flat on the table, eyes shut.  The color is slowly returning to him, now no longer pale and gray.

“We have to keep him for observation,” you instruct another healer, handing her Sebastian’s chart. “I’ll check on him later.  In the meantime, there are others.”

Without another glance, you move on to the next bay.

“Excellent work as always,” your boss pats you on the shoulder. “You saved six good men tonight with your quick work.”

“I should just move into the ward,” you mutter under your breath before taking a large swig of coffee.  

Your dress is stained with blood, fingers aching from all the healing you’d done.  From the twelve aurors in the ambush, three had superficial wounds (Larson and Clopton included).  Two had passed in the field, another before you’d gotten to the hospital.  But all six of the aurors you’d treated, Sebastian included, were now tucked into private rooms, safe and breathing. You were keeping them for observation, unsure of what kind of curse the ashwinders had used on them.  Your ancient magic managed to seal the wounds, but all were badly scarring.  They’d all have to stay until you could rule out the cause.

After a much needed shower and an owl sent to your fiance, regretfully informing him you’d not make it to brunch with his parents, you start making your rounds. Most of your patients are sleeping deeply, others dizzily asking what happened.  You save Sebastian’s room for last; Clopton and Larson, faithful companions, are sleeping in chairs outside of his room.

You quietly shut the door behind you, gulping as you stare at the man laying in the hospital bed. His chubby cheeks are long gone, hollowed and chiseled by age. You’d laughed at him when you were seventeen and he claimed he had a beard coming in; now you can see traces of stubble lining his jaw. His unruly chestnut hair has been brushed out of his face in a way you know he’ll hate.

But you don’t know that, not truly. Because you don’t know Sebastian anymore.

“Oh Sebastian,” you tut, sitting at a stool next to his bed. You hover your hands over his body, a misty blue glow emitting from them. No internal bleeding at least. He’s had at least three blood renewing potions, and his breathing is steady. You would examine the scars across his chest and torso, but the thought of undressing him in his current state is inappropriate to you. 

You’re about to get up, leave him to his slumber when you hear it. He whispers your name in his sleep, head falling to the side. And instead of him being the one with a gaping wound, you feel like a hole has been drilled into your chest. 

Maybe you’ll ask for tomorrow off.

Night Two

You’d asked for the day off again, but the request was denied.  Begrudgingly, you dress for your shift, tucking your hair behind your ears as you walk with your daytime counterpart down the hallway.

“You’ve missed all the commotion,” your fellow healer gasps.  She’s filling you in on the day shift, and all that’s transpired since you left in the morning. “There was a memory charm laced in with that blood curse from the ashwinders—some of them have lost weeks, years of memories. Not recognizing their wives or their children; we’ve had to close the doors to all visitors.”

“That’s a nasty curse.” You mutter, flipping through charts. Only someone sick in the head would mess with memory tampering curses—you wonder why no one has petitioned for them to be banned. The long term care wing at St. Mungos is filled with too many people who’d tinkered with memory spells, and you sincerely hope none of the aurors under your care end up there.

“Terrible, of course. But it made for an interesting day.” She hums. “You should’ve seen Rowle’s wife, security had to cart her out after he called her the wrong name. Think he courted her twin sister too.” 

You laugh with her as you walk through the hallway, until your heart fills with dread.  

“How is Sallow?  The patient in 213.”

She tilts her head. “Fine I think–oh, he was asking for you.  Do you know him?”

You fight back the red flush that’s creeping up your neck. “We were schoolmates.” You say. Nothing more. Sebastian can’t be more, especially after you’d done such hard work to forget him in the first place.

After your colleague has clocked out and you’ve checked all your other patients, you quietly rap your knuckles against Sebastian’s door.  It’s late enough at night that he might be asleep already, and you can avoid the entire awkward conversation.

“Come in!” 

Shit.

You open the door, and Sebastian is staring right back at you.  He isn’t scowling like you thought he would be–his eyes are bright, a beaming smile on his lips.

“They told me you were working the night shift.” he says happily, scratching at the collar of his hospital gown. “I stayed awake.”

“Right, Mr. Sallow,” You say curtly, eyes down at the chart in front of you. “It is late, you should be getting rest–”

“But I’ve been waiting for you,” he frowns. 

You look up at him, and instead of a grown man, you see the puppy dog eyes that got you in trouble the few years you had at Hogwarts. “Mr. Sallow, rest is essential to your healing. You’ve been through quite the ordeal, and you need to go to sleep.”

“Why are you talking to me like you don’t know me?” Sebastian asks, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Pet, it’s me.”

You inhale sharply, white knuckling the edge of the bed. “Sebastian,” you mutter (you hate how easily his name rolls off your lips still), “what year do you think it is?”

He rolls his eyes and chuffs. “It’s 1893, duh.”

“It’s not,” you sigh. “It’s 1898. You were in an ambush yesterday, and it seems the Ashwinders are using a memory curse as retaliation nowadays.”

He blinks at you for a moment, before he bursts into laughter. “Really?  I’ve lost five damn years in my head?  What have I missed? Don’t tell me we’re not married yet.”  Only Sebastian could be jovial about such a matter; all the others were utterly distraught at losing their memories.

“Sebastian, darling, we haven’t seen each other in five years.” you confess, moving to the edge of the bed.  Your voice is quiet, and although it’s been ages since you last called him darling, you think it might be too much on his poor heart if you don’t. The poor man just asked if you were married, for Merlin’s sake.

His smile fades. “What?”

“We…we went our separate ways five years ago.” You clear your throat. “It…it was a mutual decision.” you lie.  Was it a lie?  You honestly can’t remember.

“I would never,” Sebastian bites back.  “I would never break up with you.”

“Darling, it’s been a very long time,” you say softly, wringing your hands together. “And I’m okay–you’re okay.  We’re both doing well…just on our own now.”

“I can’t–this doesn’t make sense,” he jolts away from your touch, and you flinch. “Why would I ever agree to such a thing?” 

You can recognize the tell tale signs of panic on a patient’s face, so you hurry over to the cupboard, pouring a glass of water.  Sebastian is too far away to see you slip the vial of dreamless sleep into the glass, swirling it into oblivion.

“Here, drink this.  You’ll feel much better,” you assure him. 

Sebastian absentmindedly takes the glass, gulping down the water as he tries to make sense of the current situation. “It doesn’t make sense,” he mutters under his breath as he starts rubbing his eyes.  He’s fighting the effects, and he looks up at you, a deep set frown on his face. “You dosed me, dammit.” The glass rolls out of his hand and onto the bed, where you scoop it up. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, and it's sincere.  But you’re not equipped to handle Sebastian in such a state–you aren’t equipped to handle him, period.  It’s been five years since you’ve had to mind his temper, and your heart can’t handle the pain.  

Before you know it, Sebastian is knocked out, the dreamless sleeping draught taking over his body.  With his eyes tightly shut, you can finally examine him.  The scars across his chest are still purple, bruises lining his torso.  Your fingers dance across his skin trying to heal him, but alas, they stay.

You make notes on his chart, letting the other healers know he may be groggy and upset when he wakes in the morning. Even though they’ve put a no visitors policy on the aurors, you remind them to call upon Ominis and Anne to see if they can talk some sense into him.  

The last you’d asked Natty about Sebastian, he was happy.  He was climbing up the ranks in the auror office, and he’d finally moved out of Ominis’s spare room.  You’d cut her off once she started telling you how he was dating–that you didn’t need to know.

That had been two years ago.  You wonder what’s changed since then.

Night Three

Your pleas for a night off have gone unanswered.  Your boss tells you that you’re too integral to the auror case to be gone for more than twelve hours.  

There’s a note left by your fiance’s owl; he’s sad you missed brunch, but he’s excited to take you out on Friday, your next scheduled day off.  His mother is insistent the two of you sit for an engagement portrait that will be posted in the Daily Prophet to announce your impending union.  You fold the note and toss it onto your desk; when you have a free moment, you’ll write a letter explaining that you would like a lengthy engagement.

Planning a wedding and working the night shift is just too much work for you.  You twist your large engagement ring off your finger and put it in its box before taking the floo network to St. Mungo’s.

You’re barely five steps out of the fireplace before a body hits you.  

“Thank goodness you’re here,” Anne Sallow breathes, her arms enveloping you. “You saved him. He’d be dead if it weren’t for you.”

“Anne,” you sigh into her touch.  Similar to her brother, it’s been ages since you’ve seen her.  She’s still thin and delicate, but her bangs are long grown out. “What are you still doing here?  It’s so late.”

“Ominis and I wanted to catch you,” she claims. “The healers called us in to talk to Sebastian.”

“Right, I asked them to.” you say, smoothing your apron. “How was he today?”

Anne winces. “He’s…he’s still pretty confused.”

You give her a sympathetic smile, biting back the sarcastic words you had in mind. “It must be awful.”

Anne pulls away, digging her toe into the ground. “He keeps asking what happened between the two of you.  I’m not sure what to say.” she admits.

You bite your lower lip. “You can tell him the truth.  That we ended amicably.  That we were fine.”

“If you were fine, you wouldn’t have disappeared for five years.” a voice says behind you.

It only takes you a second to recognize the rich voice of Ominis Gaunt.  Whirling around, you throw your arms around the tall blonde.  It’s been ages since you’ve given him a hug let alone seen him, so he chuckles into your shoulder when you grasp him.

“I missed you,” you pat his cheek.

“We missed you,” Ominis hums. “I’m surprised St. Mungo’s would call me; I haven’t been Sebastian’s emergency contact for a while.”

You furrow your eyebrows as Anne takes Ominis’s arm. Why wouldn’t he be his emergency contact?  Ominis is his best friend, and having been together with Anne for so long, practically his brother.

That’s a question for another time, you decide.

“It’s late, you two should be getting home.  Visitor hours are over.”  you remind them.

“I’m not leaving before you promise to see me again,” Ominis says sternly. “Five years is far too long.”

You place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Of course. Ominis, I’m sorry.  I just thought that when things ended, the two of you were best friends…”

“That was my decision to make,” he says softly. “Not yours.  I decide whose side I’m on.”

Ominis’s words warm your heart, but they also leave cracks.  Ominis and Sebastian were a package deal when you met them, and you’ve spent far too much of your time with the boys driving them apart. 

After much coaxing, Ominis and Anne take their leave.  You’re finally able to start your rounds.  Rowle is starting to regain his memories and they’ve allowed his wife back into the ward.  Travers still has a nasty gash on his leg that’s festering, but he’s otherwise remembering things from last week.  Cattermole is fast asleep, so you avoid his room to let him get some more rest.

Your hand falters on the handle of room 213, taking a deep breath before you push in.  Just as you thought, Sebastian isn’t asleep.  He’s sitting upright in bed, arms crossed over his chest, frowning at you.

“You’re looking much better,” you offer, shutting the door behind you.

“You gave me a sleeping draught last night,” he accuses you. “That’s not fair.”

“You were getting hysterical, Sebastian.” you remind him, flipping through his chart.  Nothing particularly new, and no memories back.  He’s spent the entire day asking for you, the chart says, and fighting with orderlies.  It mentions Ominis and Anne arriving, and that the two gentlemen had sharp words for one another. Ominis was right—he isn’t Sebastian’s emergency contact anymore. There’s an unfamiliar name, a woman.

“Open your shirt, please.”

Sebastian waggles his eyebrows at you. “Are you sure we’re not together?”

You roll your eyes. “Your cheekiness, I didn’t miss it.” you mutter, hands on your hips. “I need you to take your shirt off so I can check your wounds, you idiot.”

Sebastian gives you a familiar grin as he unbuttons his pajama shirt; he’s flexing his muscles, you can tell.  A pinch to his pectoral has him yowling, and he stops.  You grin at him, and he rolls his eyes.

“Perhaps we did break up,” he grumbles.

Sebastian’s breath stutters as your fingers prod at his scars. They’re still ugly and raised, but the color is improving. 

“I’m not sure there’s much more I can do,” you frown. “I think they’ll stay.”

“That’s fine,” Sebastian breathes. “You did always say you preferred when I was roughed up.” 

You give him a strained look. “Sebastian–”

“Please, listen to me.” Sebastian urges. “Ominis…he told me what happened between us. And I really, truly can’t believe we would let it get to that.” Your name is a gentle whisper from his mouth, and he pushes his brunette hair out of his eyes. “I didn’t mean to neglect you.”

You swallow thickly, backing up. “We were so young, Sebastian.  Let’s leave the past in the past, please.”

“Ominis and I haven’t spoken in two years.” Sebastian interjects. “He just told me.  Annie says we had a fight, and you were part of it.”

You turn around, shutting your eyes. “I don’t want to hear this,” you admit weakly.

Sebastian is rustling in his sheets; he lets out a low hiss as he adjusts his still healing torso. “If the version of me, the one that got cursed, isn’t talking to you, Anne, or Ominis…I don’t want to go back to that.  I don’t want to be that version of me.” Sebastian pleads. “If that’s the case, I don’t want to remember.”

“You have friends, Sebastian.” You remind him, turning to face him again. “You have friends, your job…” you trail off, picking up his chart again.  You pinpoint the section with his emergency contact; a woman who is likely sitting at home, worried sick over him. “You have a girlfriend, probably.  One who is desperate to see you.” There’s a lump in your throat as you try to imagine her, but your mind comes up blank.

“I don’t care,” Sebastian breathes. “She’s a stranger.”

“I’m the stranger,” you remind him. “Sebastian…I’m engaged. I’m getting married next spring.” 

That’s a lie–you and your fiance haven’t even discussed a timeline, but it seems more official to say it with a season.

The hope on Sebastian’s face crumbles, eyes wide as he stares at you.

“You’re engaged,” he croaks.

“Engaged.” The more you say it, the more it’s real. “He’s lovely.  You would like him.” Now that's an even bigger lie–Sebastian would’ve called him a prat if he met him. You appreciate your fiance’s softness and meekness, especially after having been with a firecracker hothead for most of your teens.

Sebastian is crumpled in bed, twisting onto his side. “I’d like to go to bed now,” he mumbles.  It was textbook Sebastian–whenever something didn’t go his way, he’d turn away from you in bed like a petulant child.  It’s almost a relief to see that he does the same thing at twenty three years old.

“If you ring the bell, someone will come to aid you.” You wave your wand, dimming the lights. “You can ask for someone else, if you’d like.”  

Sebastian doesn’t say anything as you shut the door, and when he does ring the bell for assistance, he requests anyone but you. It’s stupid to be upset over, it’s what you wanted–for him to stop pestering you.  

But you have a nice long cry in the potions ingredient cupboard anyways.  

The rest of your shift goes by uneventfully.  Rowle has regained his memories and will be discharged in the morning.  Cattermole finally woke up from his deep sleep and he’s on the mend, moved out of the intensive care ward. Travers has also been discharged, prescribed a salve to make sure the cut on his leg stays clean.  It leaves Roberts, Jorkins, and Sallow as your only three patients left from the case, and perhaps now your boss will let you take a night off.

Night Four

“I wanted to apologize for last night,” Sebastian says sheepishly.

“Whatever for?” You mumble, pressing a strip of gauze to his chest wound.  You’re trying a new salve recipe you’ve been working on, just to see if it’ll help break down the scar tissue.  His bruises are starting to go yellow, and if he works back up on his memory, Sebastian can be discharged from your ward.

“For being rude.” Sebastian sighs. “I’m…it’s starting to come back to me a bit now.”

You look up at him, eyebrows raised. “Is it?”

“We fought that night.” Sebastian swallows thickly. “You and me.  I can’t exactly remember what we fought about, but you threw a book at me.”

“And I hit your eyebrow.” You remind him.

“Lucky shot,” Sebastian rolls his eyes, and you have to suppress a laugh. He winces as you press the salve in; his body is still sensitive.

“I’m sorry for that.  I never got to apologize to you,” you admit, rubbing the mixture in. “But I was embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed about what?” Sebastian asks softly.

“For putting up with all of it,” you pat another piece of gauze over the salve.  Sebastian looks like a mess and he’ll have to sleep sitting up, but you’re hoping to salvage his handsome chest. There are a bevy of flower vases strewn across the room, and plenty of Sebastian’s favorite sweets piled on his bedside table.

“I see you had quite a few visitors today.” 

Sebastian nods, trying not to move too much. “Anne and Ominis again; he’s warming back up to me, I know it.” he brags. “Clopton and Larson too. I can’t believe I was paired up with two Ravenclaws as partners. That’s probably how I got all bungled up in the first place.”

“Everett said you were quite the hero,” you back away, admiring your work (and his muscles, he’s grown quite a bit since you last saw him).  “And they stayed the entire night when you first came into the ward, so I know they’re loyal to you.”

There is a silence between you two for a moment, until Sebastian breaks the tension.

“She visited earlier.” Sebastian echoed. “Rebecca.”

You turn away at the name; at least it’s not the girl you remember from your last argument.  “Rebecca is a lovely name,” you offer.  It’s all you can give him without treading into dangerous waters.  You’re engaged after all, and stuck patting balm into the chest of your former lover.

“She was distraught.” Sebastian hummed. “Hates the scars.”

You turn around, rolling your eyes. “She’s dating an auror, she should get used to it.” you scowl. 

“That’s what I said,” Sebastian laughs, trying not to move the salve covered strips. “But she wasn’t having it.  She was worried I would never look the same, so I broke up with her.”

You blink at him.  He seems completely unbothered.

“Sebastian!” You exclaim. “You shouldn’t break up with her over that alone.”

Sebastian shrugs. “Y’know, the boys filled in a few of the blanks for me.  Apparently, not very many people actually liked Rebecca and I together, so I guess it was impending anyways.”

You put your hands on your hips. “I cannot believe you broke up with your girlfriend because Everett Clopton and Andrew Larson told you to.” you shake your head. “She was your emergency contact, Sebastian.  You’ve probably been dating a while.”

“According to Clopton, I was planning on breaking up with her soon anyways.”

“Idiots, the lot of you.” You tut, washing your hands in the basin.

“We’d only been dating three months.” Sebastian interjects. “I put her as my emergency contact because I had no one else.  Ominis and Anne…well, they weren’t talking to me apparently.”

You don’t say anything, letting the water run over your hands.

“I guess I’ve been a real arse the last few years,” Sebastian echoes. “Everett said I hadn’t been quite myself since we…well, you get the gist.”

“Everyone is an arse when they’re eighteen,” you remind him. 

Sebastian snorts. “I’m sure you weren’t.”

“I think I might’ve been.” You chuckle under your breath. “Poppy always said I had a one track mind.  Only ever thought about myself, my career.”

“Well, it’s done a lot for you.” Sebastian offers. “Youngest lead healer in St. Mungo’s history.”

You roll your eyes. “The others think I’m a show off.”

“You’re gifted,” he shrugs, and a slice of gauze slips from his chest. “That’s all.”

“Lay back darling,” you advise him, stuffing a pillow behind his back to keep him comfortable. 

Sebastian does as you say, his hands balled up in fists at his side. “So, your fiance,” He trails off. “What’s he like?”

You purse your lips, pulling his sheets over his waist. “He’s nice.”

“Nice.  That’s it?” Sebastian snorts. “Surely he has some better attributes, you said yes to marrying him.”

“He’s calm, quiet.” you say, turning your back to put away the excess gauze. “He’s a junior secretary for the Minister of Magic.” turning back to Sebastian, you already know he has a smug smile on his face. “Don’t you dare say what I think you’re going to say,” you warn, wagging a finger.

“What?” Sebastian scoffs. “I would never say anything about an esteemed junior secretary,” he says dramatically. “Besides, you’re the one who thought it…”

“I didn’t think anything!” You laugh. “I just knew exactly what you were thinking.”

“And what is that?” Sebastian asks coyly.

“You were going to call him a pencil pusher,” you accuse.

Sebastian fakes a gasp, holding a hand to his chest. “My stars, I would never say such a thing.” 

“Stop it,” you laugh again, slapping his hand. “You’re ruining my hard work. I’ll have to do it again.”

“No,” Sebastian groans. “It’s cold.  I just want to put a jumper on, I don’t care about the scars.” he pouts.

“I need you to get better,” you hold your hands on your hips. “The auror office will have my head if I keep you here any longer when your colleagues are back home.”

Sebastian fumbles with the edge of the blanket. “And what would consider me healed?” 

“Well, I’d say besides the appearance, your physical wounds are fully healed.” You shrug. “But we can’t discharge you until your memories are back–or at least substantially returned.”

Sebastian is quiet, and he stays quiet until you finish putting away all your supplies.  You’re about to leave him, implore him to get some rest, when he clears his throat.

“Pet,” he says cautiously (he hasn’t used your old nickname since the second night of his stay).  

“Yes, Sebastian?” You ask, slipping your hands into the pocket of your apron.  When you look at Sebastian from the doorway, he doesn’t look like a twenty three year old man.  He looks like the Sebastian you used to know–the hotheaded eighteen year old who only ever got shy around you.

“Would you…could we be friends after this?” He asked lowly. “I know you said we haven’t seen each other in five years, and I know there’s some blame there on my end. But we’ve been through so much together, and you’ve saved my life.” he rambles. 

You once told yourself that if Sebastian Sallow ever came crawling back, you’d slam the door shut in his face.  The first year of your separation had been excruciating; the second had been dreadful.  Once you’d gotten on to your third year without him in your life, the pain had become bearable.  And once you’d gotten on to four years without him, you realized you didn’t think of him anymore.  In fact, you hadn’t thought of him at all until you saw him standing a few paces away from your tea table.

“Of course, darling.” You assure him. “Only if you promise me that you’ll actually sleep.”

Sebastian’s face lights up in a way you distinctly remember–the first time you’d seen it was when you arrived in Feldcroft to meet Anne when you were both fifteen.  He adjusts himself to the pillows as you wave your wand to dim the lights. 

You shut the door behind you, letting out a sigh when you’re out of sight.  You feel guilty calling Sebastian darling again–you’ve never even blessed your own fiance with his own nickname.  And despite your refusal of the situation, you can’t help the shiver you feel at the base of your spine when you hear Sebastian calling you pet again.

Perhaps being friends is not a good idea.

Night Five

Sebastian is asleep when your shift starts, and you nearly skip over his room.  But against your better judgment, you push into the door, knocking lightly.

The brunette man is slumped over, snoring lightly as if he were waiting for you.  At the sound of the door, he jolts, rubbing his eyes. 

“Why can’t you be on the day shift?” he complains sleepily. 

You chuckle. “I can leave you, let you get some rest.”

“No,” Sebastian clears his throat. “I’d like you to stay.” He shrugs off his shirt, proudly displaying his scars. “They still look like hell, but at least they aren’t purple anymore.”

You stride over, running your hands over them.  Your ancient magic was able to overpower the bleeding curse, but Sebastian will forever have a dip in his chest and bubbled over scars.  They’re at least turning pink, a much better place than they were a few days ago.

“They look great,” you pat his shoulder. “And once we get your memories back in order, we can get you home.”

Sebastian gives you a strange look. “Ominis came again during the day…filling in the blanks again.”

“And?” You ask softly, sitting in the chair next to him.

“Why did we break up?” Sebastian asks firmly. “Can you tell me? And don’t give me the whole spiel about us growing apart.  I want the details.”

You swallow thickly, looking down at your hands. “We were eighteen, Sebastian. I was careless, you were lonely, we were both focused on our careers and not on each other.” Truthfully, you had spent years thinking of the many ways you’d address this conversation, how you’d confront him if you ever saw him again. Now five years later and after having almost witnessed Sebastian’s death, the downfall of your first love is easily compounded into one simple sentence.

“You started working the night shift,” Sebastian says.

“I started working the night shift,” you echo. “I wanted to rise up quickly in the ranks, so I volunteered. I was working so many hours, and you were gone during the day at your job, so we barely saw each other.”

“I asked you to take time off.” Sebastian adds.

“And I said no.” you admit. “I told you that you were being insecure.  That my job was more important, because I was saving lives.” It’s one of the few shames you’ve compartmentalized over the past few years–that you’d ever downplayed the importance of his career compared to yours.

“I went out that night.” Sebastian whispers, looking at his hands. “And I didn’t come home until the morning.”

“It was my only night off of the week, and you came home at four in the morning, stinking of firewhiskey and perfume.” Your eyes shut, replaying the awful scene in your head.

“Did I?” he croaked. “Did I cheat on you, really?”

“No,” You shake your head, and he lets out a relieved sigh. “You said you could have.  You said you wanted to.” You add, rubbing the temples of your forehead. “That you were tired of living in half of a relationship, and that you’d wanted to kiss that girl.”

“You threw the book at me,” Sebastian says weakly. “And I smashed your mug.”

“I told you to go to her if you really wanted.” You admit. “And you left.”

“I stayed at Ominis’s that night.” he whispered. “I didn’t go to her.”

“I didn’t know that.  So I packed my things and left.” 

The silence hangs between the two of you, and all of the feelings you had at eighteen come flooding back.  After the fight, you apparated to Natty’s place, while Anne and Poppy had cleaned out your bits in the apartment. What was meant to be a one night stay turned into a week, and then more. After a month without word from Sebastian, you committed to the night shift, forsaking your friendships and social life for work.  Days turned into weeks, weeks to months, and before you knew it, you were promoted.  Sebastian Sallow was a blip in your timeline, a faded memory of teenage love.  He’d been just a memory until you saw him in Diagon Alley.  Your heart hadn’t felt anything but anger towards him until you saw his shiny black dress shoes.

“Did we throw it all away?” Sebastian asks sorrowfully.

“We became the people we needed to be.” You remind him. “Look at you, an auror.  A damn good one.  The kind that jumps in front of their partner to save them from a curse.” you assure him.

“And you’re a healer,” Sebastian inhales. “A bloody amazing one, that saved my life and five others.  I’m so proud of you.” Sebastian’s lower lip wobbles, and you know your heart is in danger.

“You seem to remember quite a bit,” You point out. “More than you let on.”

“I was talking to Clopton about you.  We thought the ambush was over, we were trying to get to a floo point so we could get Larson’s leg checked out.” Sebastian says. “I told him how beautiful you looked, and that you looked happy.” his voice cracks. 

“Sebastian.” It’s not a warning, just a statement.  A week ago you would’ve never said his name aloud, let alone thought of it.  But it feels right rolling off your tongue.

“Everett said something about you being engaged.  It’s…it’s fuzzy from there on, but I remember the fight.  And I jumped in front of him, but not just to save him.” Sebastian says, his fingers drumming on his stomach.

“Why?” You almost don’t want to hear the rest. It might upend your life entirely.

“I jumped in front of him because I knew I’d be okay.  That you would probably be at St. Mungo’s when I got there.” Sebastian said weakly.  “And I’d get a chance to see you again.”

“Sebastian, we’re different people now.” You remind him. 

“We’re better now.” Sebastian says, giving you pleading eyes. “I was an idiot when I was eighteen; I thought I was being a man, but I wasn’t.  And I’m not going to pretend that I’ve been happy the past five years–there hasn’t been another woman who’s made me feel the way you do.” he confesses.

“It’s been too long,” you try to say, but you know it's no use trying to argue with him.  From your first fight in the Undercroft at fifteen to the fight that broke you two up, Sebastian has never backed down.

Before you even realize it, Sebastian has reached his hand out, taking yours. He’s rubbing your left ring finger–the one missing your large, ostentatious engagement ring.

“Don’t marry him,” Sebastian croaks. “Please, don’t marry him.”

“Why?” you ask.

“Because I understand you now.” Sebastian says. “I understand you in a way I didn’t when I was younger.  And that’s good–it’s good for us now.  It wasn’t the right time then, but we could try again now.” he pleads.

“Four days ago when you saw me in Diagon Alley, you could barely look at me.” You remind him. “I should have you committed to the memory ward at this point.”

“Four days ago when I saw you, I was sick to my stomach with how happy you looked.” Sebastian admits. “I saw you from a distance, smiling at Larson and Poppy.  I couldn’t look you in the eye after seeing you smile.”

You want to tell Sebastian that your fiance is a good man.  That he loves you, cherishes you, and doesn’t fight with you.  But you can’t help being nostalgic as you hold the hand of your first love, who is currently begging you to end your relationship to risk it all again with him. Whatever strength you’ve mustered together in the last five years is about to break as his big brown eyes implore you to stay.

“Your memory seems back to normal,” you change the subject, standing up quickly.  You tug your hand out from his, smoothing your clammy palms against your apron. “I’ll put you down for discharge in the morning.”

“Don’t,” Sebastian warns. “Don’t run away.”

“You ran away.” You remind him.

“And I regret it, every day.” Sebastian says mournfully. “You were my first love.  You were going to be my only love, and I fucked it up.”

“We both made mistakes, Sebastian.” You say, staring down at your feet. “You need to get some rest.  I’ll leave you be.”

He’s arguing as you step through the door, wringing your hands together.  The thoughts running through your head aren’t right–no, they’re crazy.  Except your feet keep walking towards the ward matron’s desk, gripping the stone top.

“Are you alright, dear?” she asks, frowning.

“I need to go home,” you confess, scribbling what little notes you have onto Sebastian’s chart. “There’s something I have to do.”

Thirty minutes later (your on call replacement is displeased to have been woken up late at night) you’re back in your flat.  Your mind is buzzing as you pace in the bedroom, thinking about the idea gnawing at your brain.

It would be insane.

You haven’t talked in five years.

He’s emotional after having been saved from the brink of death.

He broke up with his girlfriend on the spot, because she wasn’t you.

Sebastian is most well known for his unwavering support and adoration.  At least he was when you were younger.  Sebastian had always been encouraging, cheering you on through crossed wands, battles in the highlands, and even when you got your first job offer from St. Mungo’s. He’d been crazy about you–obsessed with you, even.  The two of you had been the couple of your year when you graduated.  

Sebastian had only ever faltered once, and it ended your relationship.

Don’t marry him.  

The words replay in your mind.  It makes you realize your stomach has flipped more in the last four nights than it has in years.  That your even tempered fiance, a kind but boring man, has not once made you feel what you’ve felt in the past week being back in Sebastian’s presence.

It is insane, you think. But you’d rather take feeling than nothing at all.

Digging through your dresser, you pull out the box holding your engagement ring.  

Night Six

It has been a long, long day.

What time you would have spent sleeping is spent assuring your now ex-fiance that nothing untoward has happened.  That you appreciate his kindness and companionship over the past year, but that you cannot lie to yourself. 

You cannot marry him because you don’t love him as you should.

You prepare for the night shift with a spring in your step, because when you get there, you’re heading straight to Sebastian’s room.  You’re going to tell him what you’ve done, and hope that he’s still feeling just as crazy as you. You pull your hair into its usual bun, wishing you could wear something a little nicer to what will be your reunion.  Sebastian used to love when you wore green; perhaps you’ll buy a green dress the next day you’re off.

When you get to the ward, it’s quieter than usual.  Holding your wand between your teeth again, affixing the white apron, your heart beats out of your chest as you approach room 213.  

This is it.  This is the start of the rest of your life.

You push through the doors of 213, but your breath stutters when you see the empty bed.  It’s stripped of any linens, and all of the flowers and candy boxes Sebastian’s colleagues sent are gone.

“Where is the patient in 213?” you whip around, grabbing the closest orderly.

They give you a curious look. “Discharged this morning–you put it in their paperwork.”

You swallow, and it feels like shards of broken glass are tumbling down your throat. “I…I did.”

“Isn’t today your day off, too?” They tilt their head at you. “Honestly, it feels like your head hasn’t been screwed on at all this week. Might want to take some focus potions, ma’am.”

“Uh, right.” You admit, turning red.  You were so excited at the prospect of seeing Sebastian again, you completely forgot that Fridays were your nights off from the ward. You were rather busy after all, imploding your life. “”Does it say who picked him up?”

They shrug, flipping through the charts again. “He was taken to his home in Diagon Alley by his sister and brother-in-law.”

You curse under your breath as you try to plot a plan.  There’s no way Ominis still lives in the small flat he had when you last saw him, and you have no idea where Sebastian lives.  The ward doesn’t have an address either, so you’re shit out of luck.

Unless…unless you were to find one of his loyal partners.

Apparition is frowned upon inside of St. Mungo’s, but you’ll take a scolding from the matron ward on Saturday. You immediately apparate to the Leaky Cauldron, where most of the ministry’s aurors spend their evenings.  You know this because you’ve been avoiding the biggest pub in Diagon Alley for five years, hoping not to run into your ex.

The crowd stares at you in your St. Mungo’s uniform; you push through throngs of ministry employees, all wearing fine suits and dresses from their day jobs.  Your eyes scan the room, heart losing hope by the second, until you spot Everett and Andrew sitting with a gaggle of your classmates from Hogwarts, Natsai Onai included.  Andrew elbows Everett at the sight of you, and Clopton beams as if he’s won a bet.

“Hi,” you say breathlessly, approaching the group. 

“Figured you might turn up.” Larson teased. “Gaunt, Clopton, and I had a bet on how long it would take.”

“What’s going on?” Natty asks, clearly confused. She says your name, tilting her head. 

“I need his address,” You gasp. “He wasn’t at the ward when I got there–”

“Anne and Ominis picked him up this morning.” Everett says, pulling out his wand and a paper napkin.  He aimed his wand at the scrap, delicately burning an address into the paper. “He doesn’t live far from here. Perhaps you’ll keep him from spending too much time at the pub now.”

“Who doesn’t live far?” Natty asks again, elbowing Andrew.

“Sallow, of course.” Larson winks. “You two had enough time to talk it through, yeah?”

“What the bloody hell–they haven’t spoken in five years,” Natty claims with wide eyes. She gives you a look, and you can’t do anything but shrug.

“Near death experiences will change you,” Everett says smugly, taking a sip of his tankard. “Well go on then, what are you still doing here?”

You mouth an apology to Natty; you’ll have to explain it to her someday soon.  For now, you’re pushing through the crowd, trying to get out the door.  Looking down at the napkin, Everett Clopton is right; Sebastian lives maybe a stone's throw away from the pub.  Your feet are pounding on the cobblestone of Diagon Alley, looking like a blue wisp to any passersby.  

Before you know it, you’re turning onto his street, with only the lamps in front of each door illuminating the numbers.  You stop, gasping for air, trying to find the right one.  Of course he’s at the end of the row, a dark green door with a gold knocker.  It’s late now, the sky pitch black, as you start pounding.

It takes only thirty seconds for the door to swing open; Anne is standing behind it, looking shocked.

“You’re here,” she breathes.

“I told you she would,” you hear Ominis yell from the inside. “Clopton owes me ten galleons.”

“Can I come in?” you ask.

Anne bites back a smile. “Of course you can.”

You walk into Sebastian’s home; despite having never seen it, it positively reeks of him. There are touches of him all over the house–from the books stacked in the hallways, to the shoes messily kicked in the parlor room.  He has trinkets from his travels on the mantle, and you can see he still leaves his teacups all over the house (something you once fought over–it seems endearing now).  

Ominis is in the sitting room, lounging on a chaise. “Took you long enough.” he says teasingly. “I was rather surprised you abandoned him last night.  He was absolutely bereft when we picked him up in the morning.”

“I didn’t mean to,” you admit sheepishly, digging your toe into the carpet. “I…I just had something I had to do first.”

“A break up and a make up in one day, you’re a busy woman as always.”

“Shut up.”

Ominis gives you a toothy grin; something he saves only for those he loves. “I missed you.” he stood, pulling you into a tight hug. “I can only hope Sebastian doesn’t bungle it all up and we lose you all over again.”

You press your nose into Ominis’s shoulder; it seems silly you ever thought you could live without this group of people in your life. 

“I thought you were mad at him,” you say, pulling back to look up at the blond.

“I was mad that he was being stubborn,” Ominis says softly. “That he wasn’t being himself, drinking every day and dating girls who weren’t right for him.  I told him he had to pluck up the courage to speak to you again, or get over it and make peace with his life.  He’s been rather stuck, as you can imagine.”

You have been too, you think.

“Is he upstairs?” You ask, turning to the slim staircase. Anne is standing next to the railing, giving a signature Sallow smirk.

“He might be asleep,” Ominis warned. “But he is. First room to the left.”

You squeeze his hand in thanks before walking up the stairs.  The floor creaks underneath you as you push in the door; Sebastian is laying in his bed, sleeping fitfully. You nearly knock a stack of books over as you kneel next to his bed; you also recognize the book on his side table, the spine dented from when you threw it at his face five years ago. It reminds you of the shattered mug you keep on your desk.  Perhaps you two have been subconsciously keeping pieces of each other around.

Sebastian stirs as you brush his brunette hair out of his face.  He opens one eye, then the other, blinking furiously as he tries to sit up.

“You’re here,” he groans, a hand flying to his torso. “Is this a good visit, or just a hospital house call? Because my scars are killing me now that I’m home.”

You give a watery chuckle. “It can be both, if you like.”  You pull the blanket aside, examining his puckered skin.  The scars will stay for good, but that’s fine.  You did always like it when Sebastian was roughed up anyways.

“You’re here.” Sebastian repeats, only this time it's softer.

“I had to go to the Leaky Cauldron to get your address from Clopton.” you admit, blue waves emitting from your fingertips as you try to take away some of the physical pain. “But yes, I’m here.”

“By the sound of our last conversation, I thought you were done.  That we were just going to have to live with our mistakes.” Sebastian breathes.

“I wanted to say more, but there was something I had to do first.” you sit on the bed; Sebastian adjusts to give you more room, taking your hands in his. “I had to give back the engagement ring.”

“You did?” Sebastian asks hopefully.

“Seeing you…being around you for the first time in five years…” You’re trying to compound all of your feelings in a simple sentence, but it doesn’t feel like enough. “It made me realize I just didn’t love him.” You confess. “I shouldn’t feel the way I’ve felt seeing you.”

“Pet,” he murmurs, putting a hand to your cheek. “You’ve saved my life. I can’t ask anything more from you.”

“Then can I?” You ask, feeling the tears welling up in your eyes as you place your hand over his. Sebastian’s hand is warm and familiar, fitting perfectly against you.

“Ask me anything,” Sebastian echoes.

“Let’s try again.” you whisper.  

Sebastian scoots over, making space on the bed for you.  You don’t care if anyone else has slept in it over the five years you’ve been apart; something about the way Sebastian melts against your touch tells you he’s only ever belonged to you in the first place. 

“Let’s try again.” Sebastian whispers in your ear, pressing a kiss to your lips.  It feels positively electric, like it’s awoken something that’s been dormant inside you for five long, sleepy years.  You take good care not to press too much of your weight onto a still recovering patient, but Sebastian does everything in his power to draw you closer.  His hands start pulling pins out of your hair, the tight bun coming unraveled as he weaves his fingers through your tresses.

“You’re still healing,” you remind him as he starts working on the buttons of your dress. “And your sister is downstairs.”

“I don’t care,” Sebastian murmurs into your skin, tugging your collar down to press a kiss at the base of your neck. “We’ve waited long enough, haven’t we?”

You have, you think.  So you let Sebastian ravish you with kisses, blushing when you hear Ominis loudly call up the stairs that he and Anne are leaving.  You only leave the bed to unlace your dress, Sebastian eagerly watching as you strip the fabric from your body.  He groans in a good way when you press kisses to his chest, fingers dancing across the scars on his chest.  Not all scars would disappear, and there would always be reminders of the past.  But it was good to acknowledge them, to know that they were there, and that they were healed.  

The two of you stay awake the entire night reacquainting yourselves with each other’s body; the sun is streaming through Sebastian’s curtains when you realize you’ve been awake since Thursday night, running off adrenaline. Your eyes begin to droop as Sebastian presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Go to sleep, pet.” he whispers. “I’m right here.”

You’ll have to call in again, you think. You need an entire day of sleep after this week.  And the next time you get to the ward, you’ll turn in your official notice, asking to move to the day shift.

[alexlwrites]

As REQUESTED! Here's part 3 of "Yoongi who never had a crush... Until you" from my notes app!

This is a little longer than the others due to my commute to work taking a little longer today, so yall can thank the Sao Paulo train system for that!

As I mentioned previously, I am now open to commissions through my ko-fi! So you can buy me a coffee and request a short scenario, whether it be based on this fic, one of my others, or something entirely new! The link to my ko-fi is in my bio!

Anywho! Enjoy!

----

Yoongi had an on going theory - now proven over many many times - that any and all problems he encountered could somehow be traced back to Jimin.

Beer missing from the fridge? Jiminie. His files mysteriously disappearing from his computer, replaced by a bootleg version of The Sims 3? Jimin. The Plague? Park Jimin, that fucking rat.

And once more, in a house party he had no interested being at, poor Yoongi found himself victim of the consequences of his ill-fated association with that god-forsaken gremlin, now smiling smugly from across the circle where his friends and a few acquaintances sat.

"Everyone knows the rules, right?" Jimin said, innocently like he wasn't the cause of Yoongi's on going demise "You spin the bottle and whoever it points to, you have to kiss!"

Yoongi snorted from his place in a chair outside the circle. At 30 years old, he was clearly above such childish games and would never submit himself to such humiliating and depraved behavior...

"I'm here! I'm here! Sorry I'm late!" he heard and he swore time stopped as you, of all people, sat within the circle next to a Jungkook, smoothing down your tennis skirt as you smiled "What are we playing?"

"Spin the bottle!" Jimin smiled grew, a mischievous gleam appearing as he peared at his frozen friend.

Your eyes looked around the circle, falling on Yoongi's a couple feet behind and he swore even the singular hair in his left toe stood up in alert "Yoongi's not playing?" You asked.

Jimin shrugged in despondency "Well, no-"

"Of course I am!" Yoongi threw himself onto the ground, sending a poor unsuspecting Taehyung flying out of the way with a whelp "I love this game!"

Yoongi did not in fact love this game. He loathed it.

They had played several rounds and his bottle was nowhere close to pointing at you. Instead, he kissed Namjoon twice and slapped Taehyung once for putting his slimy tongue out as their faces got closer.

Was he cursed, he wondered, the face of dispirited desperation, watching as Hoseok and Jin made out in a way that could only be described as disproportionately violent. What could he have done in his past lives that would lead to this punishment, the sheer torture of sitting across from you and not getting to kiss you? Had he not earned your affections? Did he not claim your love through the cosmical power of dibs?

Whatever. WhaTEVER! So it would be, he would die alone. A monk amongst 6 manwhores, a fortitude of loneliness, cursed to roam the earth in his loveless state...

Oh, it was his turn. He spinned the bottle thoughtlessly, mind still wondering about the implications of his slowly returning virginity due to solitude.

Oh.

Oh.

You looked up at him as the bottle pointed straight at your form all the way across the circle and Yoongi swore someone had to call 911 at the way his heart stopped. His condition - simptitis - was worsening by the second.

Someone wheel him into the emergency room - you were crawling across the circle, prowling really, your blouse dipping in a way that left nothing to the imagination, and trust him, he had imagined!

You stopped, kneeling in front of him "Hi, Mr. Min."

Here are some symptoms to look for if you believe you could suffer from simptitis:

-accelerated heart beat

-exaggerated hand sweating

-inability to form coherent thoughts, not to be confused with just being stupid, which Yoongi was starting to think it was his case

-ill timed boners

And, the most common one:

-praise kink

Yoongi seemed to be displaying all of the above at the same time and when you softly asked "Are you okay with this?" All he could do was brace himself and nod.

If Hoseok and Jin's kiss was violent, this one was peaceful, slow, soft and way too passionate for a spin the bottle session. You tasted like sicilian lemon and gin and Yoongi was only but an alcoholic man at your feet, cradling your face to keep you close, refusing to let go of the addictive feeling of your lips on his.

Someone coughed awkwardly and you stepped back, face flushed and chest heaving. You looked deliciously disheveled and Yoongi thought of other circumstances where he could make you look like that again.

Okay, so maybe Jimin wasn't that bad.  Maybe he wasn't the physical manifestation of Yoongi's karma. Maybe that phat assed hobbit was up to something with his seventh grade games...

Oh, it was your turn. Maybe Yoongi would get to kiss you again!

Nope. It landed on Jimin, who wasted absolutely no time in bringing your face down to his.

The betrayal? The bro-trayal?

Back stabbing little tinker bell bitch.

Bugger.

Bugger it all to hell.

(Part 4 >>>)

[spencersneed]

A/N-Hi everyone! This is my first Spencer Reid fic, so please be kind to me. Also, the first time I've posted my work in like 10 years. I do hope that you enjoy. I will also have the Wattpad linked at the end if you'd prefer to read there :)

T/W- show adjacent violence (mentions of murder, mentions of acts done to victims, mentions of real-life cases, physical violence) & swearing.

A Sign From God

one

"Ten years from now, make sure you can say that you chose your life, you didn't settle for it." - Mary Hale. 

Today was a new day. Nervous, Juniper continued to primp and preen in the reflection staring back at her until she saw the time. Having accounted for the traffic, the blonde was still half an hour early. She was only lucky her ID badge had been made the week before, as no security officers had been around when she made her way up. Low, classical music played on the elevator speakers, which only made the ride more tense. With a deep breath as the bell dinged, Juniper prepared herself for what she was about to walk into. It was never easy to start a new job. Let alone a job catching serial killers, kidnappers, and just plain and simple, terrible people. But the office was relatively quiet; only a few bodies buzzing around doing work. No one paid attention to her as she made her way to Agent Hotchner's office. 

His office light was on, and the door was open.  Agent Hotchner was engrossed in whatever paperwork he was dealing with while he sat at his desk. Preparing to knock, Agent Hotchner took the chance from the blonde, raising his gaze, "Ah, Juniper, come in." 

An, apparent, rare smile graced his face as the blonde nervously took a seat and placed her stationary box in the empty space of her lap, "I know I've said it before, but thank you so much for choosing me out of all the candidates. I've wanted to work for the BAU since I learned about the department in collage," nerves making her voice slightly shaky. 

"That makes me feel old, but of course. We always need another resident genius to fill in the gaps," his words reassuring, never breaking eye contact. "The team will be meeting shortly as we have a case. Feel free to make yourself a coffee or start setting up your desk. Do you have your go bag?"

"Always," she smiled, then stood. 

He nodded but didn't stand, "well, we showed you around last week. Do you think you can navigate your way around?" 

Taking a moment to think, "I have an eidetic memory and an IQ of one hundred and seventy-five, I'm sure if I can't, I can ask someone," was all she came out with. 

"I think you're going to get along very well with Doctor Reid," was all he advised before returning to his work.

Taking her time, Juniper ensured her coffee was exactly to her liking before deciding to unload the box into her desk.  As she approached, she noticed a male sitting at the desk on the other side of her own and two women with him. 

"So you saw her?" a lanky male asked as Juniper approached. 

"Only briefly," a dark-haired woman answered. 

"Yes! So pretty and I've heard she's like you," a blonde cut in. 

The male looked confused, "like me?"

"I saw her file. Ph.D.s in Psychology, Sociology, and Philosophy, plus B.A.s in Criminal Justice and Mathematics. And she knows like four languages. Wicked smart. An IQ of one hundred and sixty-seven or something like that," her ramble coming to an end. 

Juniper couldn't help but walk over, "judging by the information you just divulged, I'm going to assume you're talking about me." The three faced her, the blonde looking the most shocked, "I also have an IQ of one hundred and seventy-five...just so we're on the same page."

Her lips were pressed together while her eyes shuffled between them as she waited for a response, "I'm so sorry. I'm Penelope."

"Juniper," she replied and offered a small smile. 

"I'm Emily," the dark-haired woman interjected. They looked to the male, but he stayed silent, "and this is Spencer. Our local boy genius."

"It's really nice to meet you," the space fell quiet after she was finished speaking. 

Feeling the tension, Juniper decided to start unpacking her things. The three stayed silent until the two ladies excused themselves. While she sorted through her things, Juniper could feel eyes on her frame. Using the peripherals of her vision, she caught Spencer staring straight at her. "Were you aware that depending on the taxonomy, between fifty and sixty-five species of Juniperus are widely distributed throughout the Northern Hemisphere," he piped up suddenly. 

"I was actually. The highest-known juniper forest occurs at an altitude of four thousand, nine hundred metres in southeastern Tibet and the northern Himalayas. But they can also be found throughout Asian, Central America, the Arctic, and south to tropic Africa," his face stayed neutral as the blonde rambled. "Juniper was my mom's favourite plant." 

Silence continued. Worried she'd already managed to make a bad impression, Juniper racked her brain trying to think of something to say. Agent Hotchner suddenly called for the team; squashing any chance there was to try and find common ground with Spencer in that moment. Following Spencer and Emily into the conference room, the shortest blonde took a seat opposite Spencer. Their gazes met for a second before his redirected to the screen. A few more people filed in and took their seats before Agent Hotchner closed the door, "everyone, this is Juniper Pierce, our new addition to the team."

Derek, JJ, and Rossi introduced themselves before attention was rerouted to Penelope, "so, two hours ago, these two eight-year-old boys, Martin Cross and Luca Weldon, were abducted walking to their bus stop," she began. 

"Why weren't we called to come in early this morning?" Derek wondered. 

"Well, only an hour after they were abducted, their bodies were found next to Cascade Creek in Minnesota; wrists and ankles hog tied," Penelope switched the photo on the screen from one of the boys together to a picture of their bodies. Leaning forward, Juniper examined the photo, "Obviously, an autopsy hasn't been performed yet, but Luca appears to have been castrated."

Agent Hotchner picked up where Penelope left off, "initially, the Rochester police thought this was an isolated incident, but from what they have found, it seems to be connected to the abductions of two five-year-old boys almost a year ago. Both boys were abducted separately from different grocery stores in broad daylight; only twelve hours apart. When their bodies were found, they were hog-tied in the same way as our current victims." 

He went to speak again, but Juniper cut in, "I'd have to see the bodies in person, but this is very reminiscent of the West Memphis Three murders. Christopher Byers was thought to have been castrated with a knife, but it was later revealed in court that the injuries were most likely caused by post-mortem animal predation. The hog ties also seem to be similar to how the boys were tied."

"If we're dealing with the same unsub, he could be on the move or possibly looking for his next victims. Wheels up in thirty," Agent Hotchner announced before standing. 

As she went to leave the room, Juniper noticed Spencer discreetly looking at her again. She contemplated trying to talk to him again, but decided against it as she needed to prove herself to the rest of the team. And it was obvious he was already starting to form a somewhat negative opinion of his colleague. Retrieving the go bag from the boot of her car, Juniper took a second to take it all in. Everything that she had worked so hard for was finally coming to fruition. 

It was so surreal stepping onto the jet for the first time. Taking a seat next to JJ, Juniper went over the case notes on the tablet she'd been issued. So many things raced through her mind as she examined all the evidence that was available at the time. Once everyone was aboard, the team started their flight to Rochester. 

"Why this time of year? Is it just a coincidence, or is Spring significant to this unsub?" Derek asked; ripping Juniper from her thoughts. 

"I know it's probably nothing," starting her train of thought. "But the West Memphis boys were murdered in May of ninety three. If the unsub wasn't directly linked to that case, they could be working up to recreating the case, but from what was portrayed in the media when the case first happened."

"The West Memphis victims were three boys, though," Spencer interrupted. 

Kind of annoyed, Juniper looked him in the eyes directly, "that's why I said working up to. A theory from the original case was that it was committed by two unsubs. It would be hard to subdue three eight-year-old boys, even if they were already in the woods. The suspected first victims of this unsub were abducted separately. Easy enough for a first timer. They could have felt remorse after the first set of murders; that's why it took almost a year to perpetrate a second set of murders. Abducting two boys walking to their bus stop together is an escalation, but still not on the same level as imprisoning three boys in the woods."

The tall male seemed annoyed by Juniper's hypothesis, but said nothing in protest. What was his issue? The conversation bounced from person to person, who added their tidbits until Agent Hotchner began assigning tasks, "Pierce, I want you, Morgan, and Reid to go to the crime scene to see if you can identify any other parallels to the West Memphis murders. Rossi and Prentiss go to the suspected first crime scene to see if you can find anything. JJ, you and I will go to the precinct and set up interviews with the families." 

[cartoonjessie]

can you answer questions 1,6,13,35,36,37 ? I know it's a lot but I'm so curious 🤗

Certainly! I'll try to keep the answers brief-ish or else this is going to be a looooong post.

Do I daydream a lot before writing? A bit, yes. For my longer fics, certainly. But with shorter fics I sometimes just dive right in and see where inspiration takes me.

6. What's the last line I wrote? (FYI - not for Dance of the Demigods in case you were wondering)

Tamatoa laughed. “Well, to be honest, I’m not used to visiting the people of Motunui either, so the feeling’s mutual.” As he held out his pincer towards Moana, he indicated the portal with his head. “Shall we?”

13. Do I listen to music while I write and what have I been listening to most recently?

Yes, most of the times I do. I've got a playlist with instrumental Moana music which I use for The Dance of the Demigods, I've got a playlist for Planet Crafters already (link here) and the other day I was writing a lot of Tamatoa stuff and listening to the soundtrack for the Road to El Dorado. Somehow the songs about wealth and gold really worked for him.

35. What's your favourite fic you've posted?

These last 3 questions are really hard. It is a bit like choosing between your children. Out of my finished ones, let's go for Love is Just a Game, which was the first Hooked Wayfinder fic I finished. Because of that it holds a special place in my heart. I really do love me a modern AU.

36. What fic are you proudest of?

The Dance of the Demigods and its sequel which will be published straight after DotD is done. I have yet to write about 5 chapters (I estimate) for DotD and the end is really really difficult, I'm progressing slower than I'd like and am at a point where I'm like "wait don't forget about Matangi" XD I still need to put her in there somewhere and my initial plan for her is not working out well. Anyways, stopping myself there before I'm off on a 1000-word rant about it.

37. What fic has been the hardest for you to write?

The final chapters of Dance of the Demigod are really hard on me currently. But I think Our Future Together was probably harder since I abandoned it. I had an idea for it, but as I was headed towards it, some folks in comments expressed very strong dislike for that idea, which kind of knocked me off course. It killed the momentum I had with writing and then I just stopped writing it. Not proud of it and think I might return to the story one day... After Dance of the Demigods is done. Cause I do think it's got some really good angst. (Better angst than my other stories)

[suffarustuffaru]

What's your thoughts on Wish Upon a Sin by HoboWizard

like all the other times people have asked me for my opinions on fics, im gonna link the author/fic and explain the fic’s plot really quick - so the link to hobowizard's ao3 profile is here if youre interested in reading his stuff!!

so wish upon a sin, for those who dont know, is a fic where every time subaru dies, he goes back in time (like canon, yes) only - his save point never updates. it's stuck at when he first got isekaied into the fantasy world, meaning that every time he dies he loses a Shit Ton Of Progress. which is an Extremely fascinating plot and hobowizard is one of if not the most qualified writer for an idea That Ambitious HAH.

and that being said. i really really recommend reading hobo's fics in general for sure. ive read the first couple chapters for wish upon a sin Ages ago and 1. i dont have much time for everything anymore rip :< and 2. i struggle with focusing on things sometimes so i often dont read or finish longfics, so thats just the case for me with wish upon a sin and hobo's other longfic (so maybe im not 100% the target audience), but yes ive read the first couple chapters for each of those longfics a while back!! and i cannot recommend them enough.

wish upon a sin is absolutely gonna be the fic for you if you want a Very long fic thats plotty and centered around subaru that Really explores all the different avenues he can take - like this fic has a very strong premise and then explores it to the Absolute fullest!! i cannot praise it enough hah. its really good!!! and ill always be impressed with hobo's work.

i think my only real criticism (and like all the criticism i give for fics i mean it very Lightly, and also hobo's work is really good already so HAH) is that hobo's biggest strength is plot. he's really really good at complex plot and writing very plotty fics!! but there were a few times in the first chapters of wish upon a sin where i personally wished that the story got to slow down a bit and explore subaru's feelings more in depth. its touched on over and over in the story of course, which is great!! but for my own personal taste i couldnt Feel the full emotional impact bc the plot had to keep moving and moving, if that makes sense? :o and this is a pretty small criticism imo too haaah bc hobo's grammar, writing style, plot beats, general characterization, etc are all very solid. and im sure that, as with a lot of long fics, hobo's writing improves even more with every chapter of wish upon a sin so <3 and i can definitely attest to that given hobo's recent fic!!

anyway i know this ask is mainly about wish upon a sin but id like to also shoutout hobo's recent fic, which is a collab with rajvir - people who've been Around on rezero ao3 mightve seen rajvir a bit (he's commented on several fics in the past!) but yeah their fic return of the lion king is a long fic centered on the fourier, felix, crusch trio. which is a rarity in terms of english fic!! its also been updating pretty regularly so if youve liked hobo's work before and you find this fic interesting id recommend checking that out too :o theres soo so many characters in rezero and id love to keep seeing more in depth fic for more of the cast, so this fic is great to see!! :o

[tamamatango]

My Project Revealed: The Fabled Fanfiction Come to Fruition

Crossing an item off the bucket list before the dopamine gods give out on me. (Yes that’s the story link in case you want to just go there and skip the whole me not shutting up part)

Back in my most active period in the Keroro fandom, I tried and failed multiple times to write a fanfic; might’ve even talked about it here at some point. But for one reason or another, it just never panned out, and I ultimately fell out of it for a few years before I managed to publish anything. However, I got back into the practice with my next hyperfixation, so now that I’ve returned to frog hell again, I knew I had to do what teenage me could not.

I can’t say this is “the fanfic I always wanted to write,” because I ended up scrapping whatever I had started all those years ago. When this started to come together in my head, it initially seemed way too ambitious given the limited time I have and where my strengths and weaknesses lie as a writer…but I got possessed by the artsy demon or something and started to write it anyway. Whoops.

To Chase a Butterfly asks one simple question: What if Kururu actually failed to save Saburo at the end of episode 229? Okay that’s not really a simple question, considering it leads to a whole emotional and physical journey about grief and companionship and space-timey shenanigans. But basically, Kururu goes “bet” and attempts to bring him back to life. Naturally, the deuteragonist of such a story is…Dororo? Yes, at the central conflict of the story is Kururu’s friendship with Saburo, but it’s Dororo who serves as his confidant/partner in crime over the course of the story, and so I consider this to double as a KuruDoro fic as well—though I will make it clear now that it’s not conclusively romantic, so you can decide if that’s the direction they go in or if it stays platonic, and it works either way.

As of the latest update from. Uh. 15 minutes ago at the time of writing, the fic currently sits at about 60-65% completion and is divided into two parts. Part 1 (chapters 1–6) is the angst/drama-heavy half, which I uploaded in full as a batch drop. Part 2 (7+) is more action/adventure, sort of in the vein of what you’d expect from one of the Keroro movies, and I am updating it chapter-by-chapter, since it was getting too unsustainable to try to dump it all at once. AO3 has the most robust features, so that’s where it’s hosted for now, but I know people have very understandable problems with that site, so I’ll consider porting it elsewhere if that’s something anyone is interested in.

Well, that’s enough yammering from me. If you like the idea, please do check it out. Things are starting to heat up as the climax approaches, especially with the introduction of a surprise third major character who very longtime Kirb fans miiiight faintly recall. And if you’re already following it—it’s been up for a while now, just waited to discuss it here to temporarily save myself from potential embarrassment—thanks for your support, and I hope you look forward to the rest! Part 2 is very research/planning heavy and has been pretty challenging to write so far, but I intend to see this all the way through damn it. And yeah, this is what’s been pulling my focus away from the blog, but there will still be posts here whenever I feel like putting energy into an essay and/or next real info drop about the new anime (BNP gimme something soon please I’m parched).

[gfbreadcurtains]

would it be enough, (if I could never give you peace)

Title: would it be enough,( if I could never give you peace)

Pairing: platonic golden trio

Written by: GFbreadcurtains on AO3 gfbreadcurtains on tumblr and hii123579 on wattpad

Summary:  5 times Harry was worried he was putting his friends in danger and, 1 time where he realized they would always stick with him regardless.

Or a 5+1 golden trio fic, where Harry is not happy about the fact that he’s putting all his loved ones in danger, and they keep telling him he’s not.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63608407 on AO3 and

On Wattpad Chapter: 1/6

 Chapter summary:

*1* 

{first-year}

-where Harry doesn’t want to let his friends join his trip down the trapdoor.-

-But they have some… other ideas on the subject.-

——————————————————————————————————

There was a pause as they all absorbed what he had said.

The crackling of the fireplace was the only sound that could be heard, in the gap between talking.

 As if the universe needed a moment to hold still and rearrange itself. as though time had forgotten its job to continue, flickering off for half a second.

“There is no way you're going there alone mate.” 

Came Ron’s argument, tone firm and with a hint of disbelief. 

After Harry had wisely said, they would not be joining him, on his dangerous and rule-breaking adventure tonight.

 They were sitting in the common room, debating what to do now or in Harry’s case who was going.

Their most prevailing issue, of course, was preventing Snape from stealing the sorcerer's stone,

And stopping Voldemort's return.

And how, Harry was gonna go alone, find the Stone, hopefully before Snape did, and return safely he hadn’t quite figured out.

“ yes I am,” Harry defended from his armchair, his favorite, the one closest to the fire, “There’s no way I’m dragging you lot, down with me. Snape could be there even now and I’m the one he’s had a grudge against all term,” he said, emphasizing on I’m. “he’s been targeting me, 

he tried to knock me off my broom, he knows that I suspect him, so I have to be the one to stop him.”

They shared a look of skepticism from the couch they were perched on, both doubting his ability to stop their teacher.

After all, you had to be qualified to be a Hogwarts teacher and to have one be taken out by a first-year student, it would be implausible. 

“Don’t be stupid Harry,” Hermione scolded,

 “of course, we’re coming, and besides, your argument doesn’t work.” She reasoned, 

“Snape hates all of us, and it’s much more dangerous for you to go alone. She softened her tone before saying “We can take him down together.”

Harry was about to protest more when Ron cut him off.

“we’re your friends Harry, and friends help each other,

he paused, contemplated, and then said,” Even if most friendships don’t include going through spooky trapdoors to stop dark lords.” his Wry grin spreading across his face from his apparent joke.

“most friendships aren’t supposed to include dying for each other either,” Harry said bringing attention back to the fact that this was a serious matter. “I'm sure none of you signed up for that when you chose to be my friend,” he remarked bitterly.

 Trying to keep the small part of him that wanted them to be there helping him, off of his face.

“We may not have signed up for this, but Harry, you’re a friend you’re stuck with us whether you like it or not even if that means dying with you.”

“Oh stop this, you both need to quit acting like you’re going to die.” Hermione cut in, peeved. And blatantly annoyed about the amount of carelessness they were showing for their hypothetical deaths. 

“I swear with you, boys,” she murmured under her breath in fond exasperation, quietly enough Harry had to strain to hear.

“No,” he said spitting out the word like it was dirt.

He knew it wasn’t their fault, and he was trying to reason with himself.

they hadn't been the ones trying to steal the stone, or bring back the guy who killed his parents,

 but they weren’t taking this seriously enough, 

because someone was trying to do exactly that, right now. But they are just sitting around doing nothing, except quarreling about him going to face him alone.

 All while Snape was getting closer to reaching the stone.

 It was making him nervous, which in turn, just made him more impatient to go after him.

“That’s what you don’t understand Hermione,” Harry said, struggling to keep his voice level and prevent his growing annoyance from showing through. 

“We could die in there, that's why I can’t let you come with me.” 

 When it all came down to it, he couldn’t drag his friends down with him. 

He hadn’t known very many people who had cared and wanted to spend time with him, and his friends were so genuine in their love. They were his closest friends and he couldn’t just let them walk to their death, knowing that it would be his fault.

“That’s all the more reason to come if you ask me,” Hermione said logically,

Well, to be fair, most things she said were logical, but her tone was especially logical then. 

“and if you did manage to die down there, like you’re so confident you will. I would never forgive myself,” she concluded, her sincerity showing through her words, as she looked into his eyes,

they were filled with so much care and worry, that he had to tear himself away from them.

“And,” Ron added face lighting up with a spark of amusement.

“My mom wouldn't forgive me either.”

Ron smiled mischievously reminiscent of his brothers.

 “She has only met you once, but I swear you’re already her favorite. She'd kill me if anything happened to you.”

Rom tried to say it dead serious, but a smile had slipped in by the end.

Harry was left with the mental image of the nice-looking lady with the red hair from the train station scolding Ron for letting Harry go to his death.

All things considered, it made him smile. Whether that's because of the funny picture it created in his head or the idea that all people would care if he died he couldn't say. 

The air seemed to lighten after that, the tension slowly leaving the trio.

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice, we're coming with you,” Hermione stated firmly, though Harry could see her lips pull up into a smile.

 Harry resigned from his fate and turned to stare at the flickering flames cracking in the fireplace, getting lost in his head.

He thought long and hard about what they were going to do.

Thought about if he could let his best friends walk into their death with him, and was surprised to find he would rather have them there, with him.

 He then felt horrible for thinking of letting his best friends die like that,

 But Harry had always had this selfish desire in him.

 Perhaps it was to do with his lack of possessions growing up, but he felt the need to hide all the toys and broken things he’d found around the house so that no one would take them away from him. 

And weirdly that's what he was feeling right now.

Not that his friends were objects, no of course not, but they were his in a way no one ever had been,

 For once he would rather have his best friend there to fight alongside him so that he wouldn't have to fight all his battles like had done all his life.

  Plus if anyone could get through all the puzzles it was Ron and Hermione. They were both some of the smartest people Harry had met and he could use any wit or strength he could get.

“Oh alright,” Harry decided. “if you’re both so set on this then fine.” He paused then added, “But if this goes wrong don’t blame me.”

“That’s the spirit mate,” Ron cheered, “now come on, we got a slimy old git to stop from resurrecting the dark Lord.”

“We sure do,” Harry chuckled. 

“And when you think about it, we’d be lucky to only die, haven't you heard? He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows “There are fates much worse than death.” Ron nodded at that seriously.

“Like what for example?” Hermione asked, confused. 

“Like being expelled for one,” Ron replied cheekily.

Both Ron and Harry started laughing at that even Hermione joined in, after getting a good swat at Ron. 

Maybe it was the realization of what was to come, or maybe the bond between them was filled with so much love, 

but when going off to what could be their deaths, they went laughing.

[teegeeteegee]

🌻, 🤩, and 💌 for the ask meme!

From this ask game:

🌻 How often do you read your own fics?

On my own, pretty infrequently. The main times I will read my own fics is if someone leaves comments on them, or if I have a case of writer's block and maybe get something from them to break out of it.

For the former, I especially love it when commenters mention their favorite parts of my fics. That inspires me to go back and reread the sections. Plus, it allows me to have more detailed comments when I reply to them.

As for the latter, I can get discouraged or hit a rut when I'm in the middle of writing my latest fic. In many cases I return to the fics I've already written to either get a few potential ideas or remind me that hey, I've done this before; I've completed fics and shared them online. I notably do this with my most popular ones.

One downside of rereading my fics is that I recognize grammatical errors or sections that make very little sense. 😅 I don't have a beta reader, so I'm on my own for proofreading (I would definitely love to have one, though). As a result, I rewrite some sections in some already posted stories to hopefully make them better. 😅

🤩 What led to your interest in the fandom?

It started when I discovered them as a child. This is especially true for Mario. It's my favorite video game series, so I have a special place in my heart for it. What led me to writing fanfiction was going online to look for help in a section of a game I was stuck in. From there, I stumbled across some message boards, and some posts had people writing stories about the characters and the games. I thought it was so cool how these games evoked such love that it led to people writing about them. That led to discovering sights dedicated to fanfiction such as FF.net, Wattpad, and of course, AO3. All of this inspired me to start writing, and I discovered Tumblr from some of my favorite authors linking their accounts to their stories, thus leading me to create one. 😊

💌 Is there a favorite trope you like to write?

I'm not sure if these counts as tropes because I'm still confused about the true definition (😅), but I like to write about close relationships between people, whether familial, friendly, or romantic. This is why I love the Mario series so much; there's so much material to write about regarding these topics. I especially love to write about potential romantic connections, which is why I love writing about Mareach and Luaisy.

Now that I think about it, I believe there is one trope I am cognizant of. It's the happy ending one. I like to make sure all of my stories have happy endings. I don't have it in me to finish a story with a bad ending, especially when it comes to my favorite characters. I stumbled across a story years ago that was well-written and had me engaged from the first word, only for it to end cataclysmically. That broke me and made me vow to never conclude a story in such a way. So apologies in advance for that! 😅😂

[solitaire-sol]

I'm curious about pf immortal 01 🙏

pf immortal 01 is an interesting case because it forks into two considerably different fics and I haven’t decided on one yet, so I’ll just sum up both possibilities:

Modern (-ish) no-magic AU where 16-year-old Sirius Black is on the usual seaside holiday with his family, enjoying it as much as you’d think (not at all), when he meets James Potter, with whom an immediate friendship becomes an unforgettable summer romance. As the summer ends, James disappears without a trace, leaving Sirius confused and bereft, but he continues to return each summer in hopes of seeing James again.

Possibility 1: James reappears several years later, unchanged, and reveals that he’s immortal and that it’s possible to share it with Sirius; but it’s permanent, would link them to each other, they can still die under certain circumstances and if one dies they both do, and it comes with a certain stasis that most immortals succumb to and that James doesn’t want to risk saddling Sirius with.

Possibility 2: Sirius doesn’t see James for the next ten years, despite returning to that beach every year. At 25, Sirius is about to give up and accept an engagement to the daughter of one of Orion’s business partners; when he returns to the beach one last time, he sees James, still 16… except, of course, he’s much older than he appears. In this one, immortality isn’t transferable.

Honestly just want to write both? Incidentally, this was inspired by the “Rebecca” episode of 90s Disney show So Weird.

[sheepwithspecs]

Fic Writer Interview

I was tagged by @slusheeduck for this! Thank you for the tag :) I tag @lynmars79, @shivasdarknight, @risingsoleil, and @haku23 (as well as any writer mutuals who want to do it! I can't remember who all posts on Ao3 and who doesn't, lol)

How many works do you have on AO3?

66!

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

733,508!

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos

Apology: my very first Coco fic, written after I returned from the theater

Week of the Full Moon: a Hellsing fic that's on semi-permanent hiatus until I rewrite it in full (why do people like this one so much?)

Coming Home: another Coco fic

Shadows: yet another Coco fic LOL

Knock Her Socks Off: the only Kill la Kill fic I ever wrote (shameless gamagōri x mako fan)

4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to respond to comments, even if it's just "thanks! glad you enjoyed it!" or something like that. Of course, if people ask me questions about the plot or make specific comments, I will always do my best to answer them (though maybe not always in a timely fashion...)

5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I would say probably Paramour. Not to give too much away, but near the end Darklaw has to make a very hard choice. It's up to the reader to decide whether the choice was right/necessary or not.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

I usually end up writing best case scenario fics... I think I would choose Surrender, though that might surprise some readers. I think that's the most realistic happy end that this couple would have (realistic = in terms of canon-compliance).

7. Do you write crossovers?

Does it count if you're writing for a crossover game? [Professor Layton vs. Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney] Probably not.... I'm more prone to write AUs than crossovers.

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

LOL yeah.... there are a few that I can think of off the top of my head:

when I was actively writing Hellsing on ff dot net circa 2013-2015 there was this bozo who kept telling me I was going to hell for writing about this evil twisted demonic... vampire anime

comment on a fic with a clearly stated master/slave femdom tag "I tried to read this but it's too much like a degrading bdsm slave relationship!" (woah... really???)

"your ocs are really lame!" thanks so am I 👍

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

aren't there jokes about ace people writing the nastiest smut or something... yeah of course I write it! I actually struggle with it though because I'm ace so I don't really... know what people find sexy? Readers have told me "this was so hot" and I'm literally like "thanks! (was it????)" I love reading smut though so I do what any good art student does (study masters, then try to fit my own style to what I learn).

I really like gfd (gentle femdom) so my writing tends to slant in that direction... What could possibly be more sexy than a loving exchange of power? Especially if you add enemies to lovers to the mix and that exchange involves a larger-than-normal amount of trust and vulnerability > i.e. "yes we literally fight to the death every Tuesday but you're the only person I trust to have me tied up like this" No one asked but personally I think I did very well with the rewrite of All Bets are Off... every time I read it I'm just like "wow op made this so yummy"

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

If I did, I don't know it. Funny enough though someone once tried to flag me that someone stole my work... that someone was me under a different pseudonym... so I've stolen from myself!

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! I have a pretty laid-back policy; as long as you name me as the original author + give me a link to the translated work, you're allowed to translate my writing into any language.

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes, but I'm not sure if any escaped the Skype logs... I don't even know if they're accessible now. But I did co-write fics back in the day with friends! I'd love to do so again sometime.

13. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Franken Stein x Marie Mjolnir from Soul Eater (For the record i also like Stein x Medusa bc I read either "I can fix him" or "I can make him worse" depending on my mood)

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Pas de Deux. It's not that I don't think I'll finish, but more that I'm not at the skill level I want to be yet so I can't bring myself to work on it.

15. What are your writing strengths?

Readers say that I'm really good with dialogue but I'm not sure... personally I can't say if it's a strength but I love when I can deep-dive into a character's emotional state and tear apart their personal fallacies while also pretending they are truths for the sake of the narrative... I hope I'm good at that.

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

Action scenes. I can't write fights to save my life. Also setting descriptions.

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Personally I learned a lot from reading blogs like Writing with Color and Writing with Disabilities etc. about how to write non-English dialogue (or maybe a variant like ASL). I've tried to incorporate what I've learned in my writing and now I notice things, like when someone overuses foreign language or they write with a very strong accent for the character. Some things I've learned are also contextual! For example, FFXIV writers include accents in their dialogue boxes. That's why I allow Rhoswen to speak with the "ye / fer / n' / 'o" etc. in her dialogue in my fics. But for a character like Father Anderson, in my rewrites it's easier to mention he has a Scottish accent, then maybe include one or two variants in the dialogue rather than having the entire thing be nigh-unreadable.

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Unpublished: A Bug's Life. I wrote a fanfic comic for my younger brother on notebook paper one day when we were kids

Published: Hellsing. I published a fanfic in 2012 with an OC main character not realizing that people thought that was cringe (but I still got a lot of positive comments for it so!!!) I started revising it in 2015 so there's an unfinished version you can read here.

19. What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet but want to?

I keep saying I'm going to write for the Paper Magician series but it's genuinely so good that I don't know what I could possibly add to it.

20. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

There's no way I can choose just one fic, so here are my top three:

The Rites of Spring: I think these two should kiss and also dance in the town square. I hope OP finishes it one day.

A Curious Attraction: The original had more words than a standard novel. I hope OP finishes it one day.

Architects of the Ashes: Zenos should not be fixed but he should be put in a sandbox sim. I hope OP finishes it one day.

[dagger-n-ravvi]

Chapter One: Craving A Taste

Jade and Floyd find out they are pregnant with eggs. How did this happen? Why did it have to happen on FINALS WEEK? And will Azul be able to keep everything under control as the twin's hormones crank the chaos up to 11?!

This is mainly an erotic comedy, but it also contains angst as appropriate to an unexpected and poorly managed pregnancy.

This is an edited RP (roleplay) Please be understanding of grammatical issues, and enjoy!

We love comments and feedback! Feel free to let us know what you think ^_^

Next Chapter | Fic Index

A03 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46007587?view_full_work=true

Finals week is a blur of stress, distraction, and exploitable desperation. Azul, of course, has no vulnerability of his own. He carefully plans to ensure that his own grades are perfect, and he plans even more carefully to make the most of his classmates’ delicious, self-inflicted vulnerability. This opportunity only comes once a year, after all~

And now with the weekend upon them, he can tend to the Mostro Lounge and his consultations. Clients are lining up outside his VIP room for last-minute academic miracles, and who is Azul to deny his generous attention to any of them?

Unless of course, the little contract-breakers are actually here to wiggle out of their existing obligations…

“How very tragic,” Azul sighs after listening to a Heartslabul freshman plead his case. ”I’m certain we can grant you clemency if what you say is true. Jade, would you mind verifying our client’s honesty?”

Azul smiles down at the fidgeting student, relishing Riddle’s near-violent insistence that his dorm mates academically succeed. Their panic makes them all so, wonderfully easy to exploit~

“I’m telling the truth! I promise,” the freshman insists. Jade licks his pointed teeth, suppressing a little surge of annoyance at his whiny voice. What do the land dwellers call it? Waking up on the wrong side of the bed? Usually, he gets up before his alarm can ring, then showers, dresses, eats, and brushes his teeth. Today he woke up after his alarm, and didn't want to get up. He was ravenously hungry, but his body felt so heavy that the very idea of leaving his nice, quiet bedroom…

He’d forced himself to get up anyway. He’d made some mint tea to ease the tightness in his stomach and then started his morning routine with three helpings of breakfast. But even with the hunger sated, something was still off. He’s felt snippy and oddly fragile all day. His emotions were normally quiet and well-behaved things, but today they’d nipped at his mind like a cloud of tiny jellyfish. Distracting, threatening, and occasionally overwhelming.

But soon this day will be over, and he can return to his cozy, private bedroom. Just one, final client to handle…

"Of course, Azul. Now look here, friend." Jade leans down, golden eye gleaming. This student had skipped out on his contract-mandated duty to work in the Lounge, claiming he‘d been too sick to work. It’s obviously a lie, and not an unexpected one. Azul just wants Jade to use a little magic, point out his mistake, and then encourage his compliance…

Jade barely keeps his expression neutral as the material of his pants rubs lightly over the insides of his thighs and they tingle warmly. Ugh…on top of the hunger and emotional turmoil, his body has been sensitive and quick to arouse itself all day. No time for that now. Almost done…

" Shock the Heart ... Now tell me... why didn't you come to your assigned work shift in the Lounge, as per your agreement with Azul?" Jade’s eye shimmers as the spell is cast. The student flinches, then relaxes, staring back at him with trusting eyes.

“I had homework to do! I came for help and all I got was a massive amount of EXTRA work. This creepy jerk scammed me, and I don’t WANT to help him. I’m tired and mad and I want to LEAVE so I can play video games with my friend,” he whines in his aggravating little voice.

"And there you have it..." Jade sighs as he stands back up. Soon now. Soon he will get to lay down, WITHOUT the irksome clothes that land dwellers require-

“How very ungrateful!” Azul gasps with grating indignation. Jade resists the urge to grit his teeth. How many times are they going to do this song and dance tonight? Can’t they just skip to the end?? 

“After all my help, you would claim I’m creepy and that I scammed you,” Azul mourns, utterly oblivious to Jade’s growing restlessness. “Jade, Floyd. Please teach this unfortunate soul some manners and make sure he’s on dish duty for the rest of his contract.”

A groan emanates from the couch. Curiously, Floyd has been on a similar wavelength as Jade today. Unmotivated, grouchy, and hungry. But unlike Jade, he has no reservations about blatantly displaying his bad mood.

"Are you FINALLY done talking? Is this the part where I get to squeeze?" He rolls over on the cushions until he’s resting on them upside-down with his legs splayed halfway up the wall, glaring at the freshman as though his existence is a grave, personal insult. “S-squeeze?!”

"Now, now, Floyd. Get some pep in your step. We have lessons to teach..." Jade gives the freshman the same look he’d give a barnacle that had latched onto his tail. Disgust, frustration... And a need to scrape it off. 

“Sheesh FINALLY.” Floyd fluidly rises to his feet, and grabs the freshman by the collar. "Hmm... we could squeeze... or maybe..." A wide grin slowly splits the lower half of his face. "Maybe I should see how much little fishie screams..." 

“W-what?! What did I say…? No please!!” The freshman squeaks, wiggling in Floyd’s grip like a slippery little minnow. Floyd licks his lips, staring down at him with a decidedly unsavoury expression.

“I wonder how little fishie tastes... I am itching to taste..."

“IEEEE! N-no, please don’t!!!”

“Leave his hands Floyd. He needs them to wash dishes,” Azul chuckles, drinking in the sight of the silly little fool getting exactly what he deserves.

"I ain't gonna eat ya! Not...ALL of ya…but I do want a taste." Floyd licks his needle-sharp teeth as Jade leans in. 

"Brother, what if we take an ear?" It’s wonderfully easy for Jade to suggest the threat like he means it, ohhhh , so deliciously easy…

"An ear? Naaah... too crunchy. Can I have a finger?" Floyd breathes eagerly.

“A finger?!” Yes~ Floyd is trying to intimidate their wayward client, and what a wonderfully creative way to do it. "An ear is too crunchy, and yet you want a finger?" Jade inhales deeply, relishing the musk of fear and panic emanating from their captive. He has been so, so hungry...

"I can pretend it's a french fry! Ten crunchy french fries!" Floyd looks down at the weeping freshman. "What do you think?"

“No no no no no no no …” The minnow covers his ears with both hands and tightly closes his eyes, shaking in Floyd’s grip. He’s sweating…

Impulsively, Floyd leans forward and slowly licks his neck, tasting salt and skin. The freshman goes absolutely still, but Floyd can feel him trembling, and see blood pulsing heavily through his jugular…

“What are we doing, bickering over fingers and ears? That’s not enough,” Jade breathes, seeing the same thing. So close, so vulnerable…

“Not enough…” Floyd’s can already taste iron and sweet, coppery liquid. “One bite…” His teeth graze the freshman’s neck and he screams, sobbing wildly.

“FLOYD,” Azul shouts, eyes widening as he takes what should have been a mild intimidation routine much too far. “What are you doing?!”

“I’m hungry!” Floyd screams, throwing the freshman on the ground in frustration. Both twins look to Azul with alien, animalistic hunger as they instinctively trap the poor student between them. Azul stands and moves out from behind his desk in baffled shock. What on earth is going on? Hungry?? Hungry enough to EAT one of their fellow students?!

“Go. Be back at your assigned time,” he tells the freshman without breaking eye contact with Floyd. There’s a pause, and then in his peripheral vision, he sees him crawl out from between his captors. The moment he’s clear of them, he staggers upright and bolts for the door. 

Jade watches his prey leave, hands shaking just a little in disappointment. He curls them into fists and tightly crosses his arms.

“That’s all for now, yes?” He looks back to Azul, and carefully schools his expression to suggest that nothing unusual has happened… 

Azul throws out a hand and slams the door shut with a gust of wind magic.

“No, that is NOT all. What the hell is going on with you two?!” He demands in a loud whisper. “Were you SERIOUSLY about to maim and eat a student?!” 

"He was askin’ for it..." Floyd’s pupils are pinpricks, and still locked ferally with Azul’s. Jade swallows quietly. 

"This isn’t any different from when we mess with you," he soothes. “Yes, it went a little far…” he nudges Floyd’s elbow. Floyd starts, then shoves his hands into his pockets and collapses back onto the sofa with a loud groan. "But clearly we were joking. My apologies, it has been a long night…"

“Do NOT lie to me,” Azul hisses. “There is messing with me, and then there is THREATENING TO EAT A CONTRACT-BOUND CLIENT. He was in violation of his terms, but that doesn’t MEAN… ”

Azul sighs deeply, then presses his glasses up the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “It’s not just that. You’ve both been absolutely miserable all day. Jade, you were late to class, and I caught Floyd eating a carton of raw eggs this morning, WITH the shells. You even smell different. This. Is not. NORMAL.”

His tone softens, growing more concerned and less angry. “It’s not normal for either of you. Maybe you should go see the nurse. We’re heading into finals week, and I can’t have my vice housewarden and third in command getting sick when I need them the most.”

(Not to mention, he’ll never be able to get anything done if they keep traumatising his clients. That freshman is going to be shaking and clumsy after that little stunt. He’s liable to break things if they use him as a dishwasher or a server. He’ll barely be good for sweeping the floor…)

"Sick? I don't..." Jade trails off and looks over to Floyd. Do they really smell different? Maybe they ARE under the weather. He leans over and gives Floyd a light sniff. Apart from needing a shower…Azul’s actually right. Floyd does smell slightly different. Sweeter, perhaps. A little more fishy…mmmm, it’s a nice smell~

Floyd shoves his face away, grumbling something about personal space . Jade makes a small, disappointed noise, but steps back. “Perhaps we should go to the nurse…”

"Nnnn... food first... More eggs," Floyd grumbles, slinking to the door and shoving it open so he can leave.

“W-wait, what are you…?”

"Mmmm…yes, eggs sound delightful ," Jade agrees absently, following him out of the VIP room.

[piastrinorris]

make me write!

ty for the tag @keerysquinn <3

THE RULES

Make a 24hr poll listing the titles of every WIP you want to work on. (It's fine if you only have one, still make a poll for the vote count)

Tag anyone you think might also enjoy this game (No pressure of course)

Whichever WIP title gets the most votes, write 1 sentence for every vote received.

If somehow that completes the fic or reaches the end of a chapter, move to the WIP with the second highest votes and continue where you left off on your sentence/word count. Repeat until you reach your goal.

(Optional) Share what you wrote in a new Tumblr post with a link to the poll or in a reblog!

More about each fic can be found under the cut at the bottom just in case you want to know what each one is before you vote.

tagging: @wordscomehither @corroded-hellfire @inourtownofhawkins @lunatictardis

neither steel nor torch: ralph penbury is bored. he always has been. everything that's exciting about his social life, is purely as an addendum to living with his socialite sister. he tells his sister all the time: one of these days, he'll be the sort of person people write stories about. victoria tells him that'll happen when pigs fly.

and then, while the pair are holidaying at their beachfront property, a pillage rages upon the town they're in. it's the most beautiful sight ralph's ever seen. the adventure of it all, the passion they all have. especially you, taking charge of it all. but ralph's no fool, he knows there's no way you'd take a man of high society such as himself seriously if he were to ask to come aboard. thankfully for him, ralph's always been good at not being seen.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

bsbl epilogue 2: (a follow up from this fic, to be posted on @busyralph) today, ralph penbury wakes up at 5:30am on the dot, thanks to his very handy silently vibrating alarm on his phone. not that he needs the humming beneath his pillow to wake him up. he already woke up at 2:17. and again at 3:39. and again at 3:52. and again at 4:57. you see, this is a big day for ralph.

today is the day he proposes to the love of his life.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

long time no see: years ago, when you were freshly 18, you'd had yourself a most epic whirlwind summer romance with the very cute handyman at the caravan park you were staying in. although it never ended on bad terms, university life just kept getting in the way and you and tom lost touch.

fast forward, years later, you wonder if it's a coincidence that the big business client your boss so desperately wants you to net happens to be called thomas grant. but there's no denying that face, those eyes, that spark between you.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

worth the wait: (an old wip i found that i'm kinda feeling again) you've got a real soft spot for tom, you have done since he started coming to your pub. you never wanted to say anything when you'd see how obviously his "girlfriend" was feigning happiness around him, but you hid your triumphant glee at the news of their breakup when he came to you to drown his sorrows.

and now that he's getting over her, he's starting to get a little more confident with the way he talks to you - flirts with you, even. if only you could get him to say all those things while sober.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

returning the favour: (part 2 to this) you and keys have built up quite a friendship since he made that one almost-career-ending blunder of giving you access to his personal phone number. but there's an elephant in the room, an imbalance in your dynamic, and keys knows it.

and so he gets to work on fixing that. to embody the... dirty stripper cop persona he's promised you, he needs to believe in it, he needs to become it. he just hopes you won't lose interest by then.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

man's best friend: you're starting a new jogging route, one you're hoping to take your own dog on once he's recovered from the Big Snip, when you're greeted by what looks like a stray, quickly followed by a guy who tells you he's taken her in until he can find her a good home.

the more you jog down the same route, the more you see keys and his dog, that's not his. he's just looking after her. in the same way you just go past the same places every day just to get a routine going. totally not in the hopes you'll keep running into your new favourite duo.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

dethroned: steve harrington has always commandeered the social hierarchy everywhere he goes. king of his high school, already king of college and only just starting his second year.

but chrissy cunningham won't fall for that schtick so easy. there's something beneath steve's surface. she can tell. she just needs to wear down this "king" persona of his until the real steve harrington shows his face.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

playing truant: the only good thing about chrissy being dragged to her mother's country club's debutante lessons, is that the guys' beautillion lessons happen at the same time. that means that when she sneaks out of her lessons, she's always met by steve harrington doing the exact same.

as she and steve open up to one another, share their lives, their dreams, their fears, chrissy's certain she has a surefire way to enjoy the hellscape that the debutante ball her parents so desperately want her to attend would be. but they've got one more trick up their sleeve to keep all the cards in their hand.

[dhwty-writes]

The Terribly Sad and Tragic Affair that Is the Fake Funeral of Shadowhand Essek Thelyss

Apparently, I am not only drawing for the Critical Role fandom, but writing for it, too. After months of nearly no progress I just vomited out 3k words this Tuesday and it only went downhill from there.

This fic is based on this post by @anne-o-nyme, I really hope I managed to capture the energy of it.

Have fun!

Summary: There were eight strangers in the foyer of his dead brother's towers and Verin Thelyss was slowly losing his patience.

After the sudden "death" of Shadowhand Essek Thelyss, it is his brother Verin's job to empty out his towers. The Mighty Nein show up to help (and maybe steal a few things).

OR: Verin is grieving, Essek just wants his stuff back, and the Mighty Nein are the Mighty Nein.

Warnings: I didn't tag this with MCD, because Essek is technically alive and kicking. Since Verin doesn't know that though, and this fic is written from his POV, this is dealing with grief and includes depictions of depressive thoughts as well as anxiety attacks. For more explicit warnings, please mind the tags on AO3. Take care of yourselves, and let me know if I forgot anything.

Read on AO3

There were eight strangers in the foyer of his dead brother's towers and Verin Thelyss was slowly losing his patience. "Listen," he said with what little calm he had left, "I know that by returning one of our beacons you became heroes of the Dynasty and were placed under Es— My bro— his stewardship. But this here—" he gestured vaguely at the interior of Essek's towers that had always been too cold, too empty, but not like now, never like now— "This is a very difficult situation for me, so if you could please leave, that would be greatly appreciated."

"Yes, yes, it's very sad that Essek died," the blue tiefling said—Jester, her name was Jester; she had given him that already as she had offered him her condolences with a hug—and Verin could barely contain his anger. After the funeral he had quite enough of lying dignitaries, nobles, and heroes currying favours with him. That had always been Essek's thing, he would know what to do, how to make them regret even daring to speak up; Verin had never been any good at it.

"But we're his friends!" He grit his teeth at Jester's blatant falsehood. Perhaps his anger showed on his face, since the tiefling faltered. "And, uh— Fjord?"

"It's true," the half-orc with too-smooth words and too-smooth voice lied, too. "We spent quite some time with your, er— your brother here. Made some good memories. We thought we might take this as our chance to say goodbye, too."

"We are here to help as well. We wouldn't want to infringe upon your grief, though," the tall firbolg added. "So, if you'd prefer us to return at a later point, we'd be happy to."

Verin was still trying to process everything—from these strangers showing up unannounced to their overwhelming presence to the fact that his brother was dead—while simultaneously trying to keep an eye on the halfling who looked like she might have sticky fingers. So, he latched onto the word that stood out the most to him: "Help?"

"Right," Fjord said, looking slightly embarrassed, "we probably should have led with that..."

"We should have called ahead, too," the scary-looking human in blue—they didn't even wear white for the funeral—added. "We always forget to call ahead."

"But Beau, how should we have called ahead?" Jester complained. "We didn't know Verin yet."

"Well, Essek—" the human was interrupted by the even scarier-looking woman next to her stepping on her foot unsubtly. She at least had the decency to act embarrassed. "Right. Sorry 'bout that."

Awkward silence fell across the room, the Mighty Nein looking anywhere but him. It took him a few moments to realise they were waiting for him to speak up. "Help how?" Verin could have kicked himself. By the Light, he could do better than that. He had to do better than that.

A beat of silence followed, then everyone seemed to talk at once. Verin wanted to weep. How was he supposed to deal with this? How had his brother dealt with this? 'He probably hasn't,' he thought. 'They're probably all liars, probably—'

Someone cleared their throat and all eyes turned to the other human who hadn't said anything so far and who looked properly miserable. Immediately, the Mighty Nein fell silent. "Word has reached us that Den Thelyss ordered these premises to be vacated as early as possible," he said quietly with an accent Verin has been taught that belonged to the enemy. "And while some of us may not look like much, I can assure you, we are quite capable."

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "I supposed such menial tasks are beneath the heroes of the dynasty. There are servants—"

"Well, sure," the halfling with the probably sticky fingers interrupted, "but we know him. Knew him, I mean; sorry, force of habit."

"Besides, there's a lot of stuff," the lavender tiefling, who Verin was pretty sure was a known pirate, piped up. "Looks like you could use the help."

"If you want to, of course," the sad Empire human added.

Verin only wanted to scream, to give room to the torrent of thoughts raging in his head. 'My brother just died. My brother just died and he wasn't consecuted, so he's gone for good. He's gone for good and I didn't even know him; I didn't even know about these supposed friends he had because he didn't allow me near him in decades. I was a horrible brother and so was he, but I can't even be mad at him because he's dead.

'And now these liars show up and talk about friendship and knowing him, but those are all lies, horrible ones, because Essek had no friends. Essek was cold and cruel and lonely and do you even know how horrible that is? Dying alone with no-one who mourns you, just the favours you still owe them? Do you? I don't even know, and I'm his brother.'

Were he a weaker man, a less disciplined one, he might have said so. But he was Taskhand Verin of Den Thelyss and he had learned discipline before he had learned to talk. So, he said: "Your help would be greatly appreciated, thank you. I'll have the servants bring up some tea. There are, uh—" He straightened his back, summoning the composure that was befitting a Taskhand, even one with a dead brother. "There are boxes up there, they've been brought to the rooms already. Anything of value will be sold; the rest will be given to charity. The things— Well, if you find anything that might have sentimental value, something in his handwriting, perhaps, I think I should like to keep that, please."

The firbolg nodded sagely. "Of course. We will be careful with our selection."

With that, Verin turned around and— froze. Where was he even supposed to start? The towers had always seemed to huge for just Essek and he knew that there were very few personal belongings in them. Still, they would have to be scoured clean within the fortnight.

A large hand on his shoulder made him jump, although he'd never admit it. "Sometimes, when a task seems too large, you should start with the smallest part," the firbolg said. "If I were you, I'd start with the smallest room."

"Thank you, that, uh— that seems like good advice," Verin replied, still a bit startled and confused. "I, er— I'm afraid I didn't catch your name."

"Caduceus Clay. I live in a graveyard, so I'm used to this," Clay said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

Verin furrowed his brows slightly. A graveyard? It seemed highly unlikely to him that one of the heroes of the Dynasty would live in a graveyard of all places. Perhaps they were not only liars, but impostors too? But they had the symbols of the Bright Queen, so there wasn't much that he could say.

"Right," he mumbled. "I believe the smallest room would be the closet. Although it might be tied with the bathroom..." He trailed off again. He had never seen Essek's bedroom in his towers. Judging by how many times he had even seen the inside of the building; he could count himself lucky if he even found the way there.

"Why don't we split up?" Clay suggested. "One group takes the closet, one the bathroom and one the bedroom. We'd get done sooner that way."

"That is a great idea, Caduceus," Jester said excitedly. "I'll take the bathroom; I promised— er, I'm curious if I can find more of that hair oil, I got for Fjord that one time!"

"Ohhh, are you saying this is... an investigation?!" the halfling joined in.

"That's exactly what I'm saying, Veth!"

"Seems like a case for Wildemount's best detectives!"

"Bye, Verin!" Jester called and he blinked and they were gone. Fjord joined them as well, muttering something about having to supervise them.

The purple pirate-tiefling shrugged, heading off in the same direction. "Well, I wouldn't mind rifling through some drawers. I'll have a look at that bedroom."

"Yeah, I don't need to see Essek's underwear, so I'll pass on the closet," Beau added tactfully—Verin was getting the sneaking suspicion that manners were not really her strong suit. She linked hands with the large woman at her side, pulling her along. "Come on, Yash."

"I'll go handle the tea," Clay said. "Don't worry about it." He vanished in the direction of the kitchen, his steps accompanied by the constant tap tap tap of his staff.

When Verin looked around, he realised that only the sad Empire human was left with him in the hallway. "If you wouldn't mind," he said, pointedly avoiding eye-contact, "I would love to have a look at the closet. I always, ah— appreciated your brother's sense of fashion."

Verin blinked at him a few times, then shrugged. "Sure." He began heading up the stairs.

"My condolences," the human continued. "I realise I didn't speak up earlier, but— I am sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," he said, letting the same numb feeling wash over him again that he had embraced since the news of Essek's death had reached him.

"I know that we seem like a bunch of, ah— forgive my language, but assholes, but we're really here to help. I will tell the others to tone it down a bit."

"Thank you," he repeated.

"If you'd prefer that we start in, ah— less personal rooms, we can do that also."

"If I'm perfectly honest, I don't even know what I should be doing there."

"Neither am I." The human laughed nervously. "I have dealt with grief before, but I've never had the, ah— how do you call it? Hang on." He pulled out a copper wire and whispered: "Beau, how do you say zweifelhafte Ehre in Common? You can reply to this message." A moment later he straightened. "Right. I never had the dubious honour of emptying out a deceased person's house before."

"Neither did I," Verin admitted. 'Usually, the deceased person comes back,' he didn't say. Instead, he opted for: "You're, er— What's the word in Common? You're weird? I'm sorry if that's insulting, I just— waele xanalressen [stupid languages]."

"I don't understand your words, but I think I understand the sentiment." The man grimaced. "And I've heard that one before. I hope we're not too much of a... too much."

"It's alright," he lied and opened the door to Essek's bedroom. 

It wasn't alright; Verin wanted to weep again.

The door to the bathroom stood ajar, as did several drawers and cabinets, although he couldn't glance inside. Considering that he heard glass shatter and a quiet "oops" followed by a hushed "Jester!" he was rather glad about that. Besides, what he saw was already quite enough to handle. Beau was currently rifling through Essek's nightstand, the tall woman tossing unread books on the bed carelessly, while the lavender tiefling seemed to make his way through his brother's collections of make-up and jewellery alike.

They froze when they spotted him and the sad human in the door. "Heeey, Verin," Beau drawled.

"These were all still closed, I swear," the lavender tiefling said immediately, gesturing at the jars in front of them.

Verin just sighed in defeat. "I don't wear any make-up, I don't care; you can have it. Put the jewellery in the box to be sold; the books are for charity if he hasn't read them. Just leave the earrings in front of the mirror, please. Those were his favourites."

Without another glance at them, Verin headed straight to Essek's closet, desperate to get some quiet. He took a few moments to collect himself, before closing the door and leaning his head against it with a heavy thunk.

He stayed like that for a minute or maybe two until he heard someone clear their throat. "I have been debating for the past fifty-five seconds, if I should just Dimension Door out," the sad human said and Verin very nearly jumped out of his skin, "but that would be loud and I didn't want to startle you. Not that I didn't startle you like this but—"

"Vithin shu," Verin cursed.

"Vithin shu ke," the sad human agreed, his accent in Undercommon even heavier than normally.

For a moment, they both stared at each other, equally startled by the course of events. Then, the human looked away again. "I, ah— have started learning Undercommon before, um— well, before." Verin tried very hard to focus on the way the human was scratching at his forearms; that way he had something else to focus on besides his nearing breakdown.

"This is a bit embarrassing, but, ah— I believe I forgot to introduce myself," the human continued. "I'm Caleb Widogast. Essek and I were... friends, yes, and ah— colleagues, of some sort. It's... complicated."

He scratched at his arms again before turning towards the shelves and pulling out a stack of tunics. He unfolded one, looked at it, then carefully folded it again, cast a cantrip to smooth out the wrinkles, and put it in the charity box. Then he repeated the procedure with the next. And the next. And the next.

Verin frowned, thinking for a moment about his words. There was something about them that seemed painfully familiar, although he couldn't quite remember. Then: "The transmutation specialist."

Widogast looked up in surprise. "Yes."

"Essek told me of you," Verin admitted.

The last time they had seen each other had been here, in these towers, just a few months ago. He had found his brother in his office, pouring over notes for a new spell, alive and healthy as ever. As always, he had entered without knocking. As always, he had pretended to read the notes. Not as always, he had noticed something wrong. "Whose handwriting is that?" he had asked.

"What?" Essek had snapped, his head whipping up. Then, however, his expression had softened. "Oh. A friend's. A colleague, of sorts. He's helping me out, a bit."

"With the spell?" Verin had asked incredulously.

"Yes. He's a transmutation specialist; you know that's not my forte. Now give it back, will you?"

"A colleague, huh?" He had grinned and held the paper out of Essek's reach. "Are you sure that's all?"

Perhaps Essek had been sick after all, for the strangest thing had happened: instead of using his floating cantrip to snatch the notes back, he had gotten a dreamy, far-off look in his eyes. He had even smiled with an expression Verin might have called dopey, if it weren't his brother they were talking about. After a few moments, he had snapped out of it, sighed, and said: "It's complicated."

"Did he?" Widogast asked tentatively. "Did he, ah— did he say anything else about me?"

Verin pinned him down with a glare, sizing him up. In hindsight, he should have noticed the thick spellbook at his hip earlier; judging by his slim frame alone, he should have known the man was a wizard. He supposed Widogast was handsome enough, although his brother had never cared much for that, with his copper hair and his striking blue eyes. Blue eyes around which crows' feet were gathering, as he noticed to his dismay. 'He's human,' Verin reminded himself. He might have a few decades left, maybe, whereas Essek had centuries ahead of him. The thought why his brother might condemn himself to more loneliness crossed his mind, though it hardly mattered. His brother had been the first to die, after all.

"Verin?" Widogast inquired quietly.

"I'm sorry," he answered with a thick voice. "I got lost in my thoughts there. He, uhh— he said that he trusted you." That didn't even begin to cover it, but these Mighty Nein had been lying to him since the moment they got here, so what was a little lie by omission? Besides, there were some memories that he wanted to keep just to himself.

"Essek," he had teased, still waving the sheet of paper out his reach. "Come on! Aren't we brothers?"

Essek had crossed his arms and pouted. He hadn't done that since they were both little. "Unfortunately. You are a menace. And a child."

"If you tell me about him, I'll give it back. Is he handsome? Is he a drow? Where's he from? How did you meet? When will I meet him? Can I promise to kill him if he hurts you?"

"Verin!" Essek had groaned and hid his face in his hands.

"What do you do when you meet? I bet you stay up all night, talking about 'arcane research' or something."

"We do, in fact. Are you done now?"

"Oh, is that what young people call it these days?" He had cackled at his own joke.

"Evidently not," Essek had muttered. "Might I remind you that you're younger than me?"

"Might I remind you that you're a buzzkill?" Verin had shot back and placed the note down. He had gotten bored of his own game.

Essek had taken the sheet of paper almost reverently and thanked him. "I would have hated it to rewrite that page." He had smoothed it down, stored it safely away in a folder, silent for a long time. Then, he had said: "Caleb."

"Excuse me?"

"That's his name," Essek had said. "Caleb Widogast."

Verin had frowned. "Hey, Essek?"

"Hm?"

"You must trust him a lot, to share a spell with him."

His brother had taken a shuddering breath and closed his eyes. Verin hadn't expected him to answer, yet he'd said: "I do, actually. It's not the first spell we've created together and I would be honoured to create a thousand more with him. I'd trust him with my life, my death, and beyond. I think—" He'd huffed. "I think I trust him almost as much as I trust you."

Verin watched Widogast as he was looking through his brother's tunics, placing most of them in the charity box, and he wondered. Wondered if the trust Essek had obviously put in Widogast had been misplaced. Wondered if it had extended to his friends, as well. Wondered if ultimately trust had been his downfall, as he'd always feared.

Then again, if Essek had trusted him... perhaps that trust had been mutual. Perhaps they had been friends. Perhaps there was another person mourning his brother after all.

"Do I have something on my face?" Verin had given up on counting how many times Widogast had now startled him out of his thoughts.

"No, no I—," Verin stammered. "I'm sorry."

He tilted his head to the side. "For staring?"

"No, er— For your loss." Liar or no liar, it only seemed appropriate.

"Oh." Widogast turned back to the tunics. Verin probably should get started, too, shouldn't he? "Thank you. Though I'd wager your loss weighs heavier than mine."

"Probably," he agreed and turned to the task at hand. At this point, Widogast had moved on from the simple tunics to Essek's court regalia. After a short moment of consideration, Verin decided to look through the pants; he also had no interest in sorting through his dead brother's underwear.

Out of the corner of his eye he kept watching the wizard, pulling out one cloak after the other. At a few he wrinkled his nose, at others he just stared before putting them with the tunics. After a while one made him pause; an elaborate, beautiful robe in deep purple. "This is what he was wearing when we first met him," he said.

'He hated that one,' Verin thought. Not that he could say that out loud. Instead, he cocked his head and asked: "Are you sure? He has a lot of those. Had, I mean. Had a lot of those."

"Yeah, I'm sure." He tapped his temple with a faint smile. "I have a good memory."

"As does Essek," he snapped, suddenly feeling very defensive about his brother's capabilities. "I suppose most wizards do."

Infuriatingly, Widogast only nodded. "Indeed. Or they're not very good ones."

Silently, Verin turned back to the trousers. The sooner he got done, the sooner he got these people out of his brother's towers, the better. He didn't know for how long they worked in silence, Verin reminiscing about the times he had seen Essek wear the clothes and wondering about those he didn't know. Eventually, he folded the last of them and forced himself to return to the present. "I think we're done here," he announced. "Do you have a preference for a next room?"

"Perhaps the library?" Widogast offered a tentative smile. "I think I might be of more use there than folding clothes."

"More use than I will be, surely."

"I take it the wizardry doesn't run in the family, then?"

Verin only scoffed and opened the door to the bedroom again.

He immediately spotted Beau leafing through one of the books Essek had never read, while the tiefling was chatting amiably with the aasimar while braiding her hair. He also noted the boxes neatly stacked in the middle of the room. Besides that, he noticed with a heavy heart, the room looked much the same. If anything, it looked less orderly and empty than before. Except for—

"Where are Essek's earrings?" Verin demanded to know.

"What earrings?" the lavender tiefling replied with a too-wide grin the same moment Beau said: "Dude, there's tons of them, why don't—"

"No," he said decisively. "Essek's favourite earrings; they're always up here. I told you about them. Where are they?" His hands curled into fists, his neatly manicured fingernails pressing almost painfully into his skin.

"Perhaps you should look in one of the boxes," the aasimar woman suggested "I'm sure they're—"

"You're lying," Verin interrupted her, barely containing his anger. "Why are you lying? If they're in one of the boxes, then only because you put them there. So: where are they?"

Widogast only now stepped out of the closet, wearing an amber necklace he hadn't noticed before. "Verin—" he said tentatively, but he'd had enough.

"Shut up!" He startled himself with how loud his voice was. But he was beyond caring. "I know they're not in there, because the only ones to put them in there would have been you. So, either you're lying about having them put in there, or you're lying about stealing them, I don't care. Just— please. Please give them back."

The four of them passed a guilty glance. "We can't," Beau replied finally.

"The fuck you can't," Verin spat. "Give them back!"

"Verin, love, we would really love to," the tiefling added, "but we can't."

"I don't understand; is it precious things you want? Here, have some!" He strode over to the boxes and ripped the first open, tossing the lid towards the bathroom door Jester was peeking out of. He reached in to grab a necklace—an ugly one, he had always thought, with a stylised beacon—and threw it in their direction.

Beau caught it. Of course.

"Have a whole box, actually, if you like them so damn much." He reached inside and pulled out a jewellery box, tears prickling in his eyes. He threw one of those, too, just for good measure. It gave him some satisfaction that Widogast had to dodge it. "Just give me back the bloody earrings that my brother wore at my fucking consecution!" He was properly crying now and could only imagine the mess he looked like, but he had reached his limit. And, in his opinion, he was allowed to with all that was going on.

At least they looked a little bit guilty. "Fuck man, we didn't know," Beau mumbled.

"It's just one pair, Beau," Jester called over from the bathroom. "I'm sure it will be alright."

"Yes, there's no need for this to escalate," Fjord agreed and strode over to them, his hands raised innocently.

"I don't even know you people," Verin muttered, looking at the people crowding into his brother's bedroom. "Why did I even let you inside?"

"Do you want the earrings back?" the aasimar woman asked, reaching into a bag at her hip. Had she been carrying a greatsword for the whole time? Verin suddenly noticed how overpowered he was, were he to face all of them. "You can have them back if you want. Here, you can have them back."

"For a moment," Widogast added, slowly drawing closer to him and taking the earrings from the aasimar. He held them out on his flat hand, almost like he had seen soldiers offer treats to horses. His whole demeanour reminded him of someone trying to calm a spooked animal. For some reason, that seemed hilarious to him and he couldn't help the hysterical giggle that escaped his throat.

"Verin, I need you to calm down," he continued. "I know that's easier said than done, but you need your head."

"I think we should all calm down," Clay said from the doorway. And despite being surprised again, he did. It didn't make any sense, but few things these days did.

"Did it work?" the halfling asked. Verin wasn't really sure what she was talking about.

"It did," Clay confirmed.

"Gut," Widogast said and pressed the earrings that had seemed so important a moment ago into Verin's hands. "I think we should maybe go somewhere else, ja? Will you come with me?"

Inadvisable as it might be, if Essek had trusted that man, he should, too. And out of all of the Nein, he seemed to be the most normal one. The one he could see Essek with most. So, he nodded.

"I'll get us back to the kitchen, quickly." Caleb held out his hand and Verin closed his eyes, steeling himself. 'I hate Dimension Door,' was the last thing that crossed his mind before the teleportation spell ripped him away, together with: 'We haven't been to the kitchen, yet.'

Evidently, there went something wrong with the spell. Verin didn't know much about magic, but he knew Dimension Door couldn't transport more than two people. So, when he heard Beau groan and say "Fuck, dude, warn us next time," he knew that something wasn't right.

"You knew about the plan, Beauregard," Widogast replied.

"It doesn't matter," Fjord decided. "Caduceus, do you think you could make tea again? I think the Calm Emotions is about to wear off."

Cautiously, Verin opened one eye, then the other. They were, in fact, standing in a kitchen, as far as he could tell. All of the Mighty Nein were surrounding him. The furniture seemed to have been made for people taller than them; Essek probably would need to float in order to avoid awkwardly climbing onto the chair. The firbolg, however, who was fussing with a teapot, seemed to fit right in. All in all, the interior was very rustic. And very much not in Essek's towers, not that he had ever seen that room, of course.

The panic hit him once more. Verin whirled around to the wizard, instinctively grasping for his sword. "Where the fuck—" he faltered, finding his hip bare. Of course, he hadn't brought it for the funeral. Instead, he opted for just grasping Widogast by the lapels and lifting him up a bit. It was supposed to be menacing, which surely would be more effective, were humans not so annoyingly tall. "Where the fuck are we?!" he spat out.

A lot of things seemed to happen at once—he heard a "Fuck, man, what-" from Beau, a "Well, Mister Thelyss" from the pirate, several hands trying to tug him away from the weak wizard—but he didn't pay them any mind. He just shook Widogast, who looked entirely too calm for his liking, and demanded: "Answer me!"

"Leave him," was all Widogast said. "He has every right to be angry."

Indeed, the people grasping at him retreated, still on guard and surrounding him. There was a creak outside the door and Verin desperately wished for his sword once more. Then, a voice cut through the tense silence that had descended over the kitchen: "Caleb, is that you? You're back early."

"Yeah, there were some complications. Best come and look yourself, Schatz."

There was a sigh that was entirely too familiar for Verin's liking. Then, the door opened with a creak and in walked a dead man. "Complications," Essek Thelyss said with a fond smile. "I was just a Sending away, what did you come here fo— oh."

The person wearing his brother's face stopped in their tracks as they saw him. A couple of complicated emotions passed over his face—confusion, surprise, regret, guilt. If he hadn't known before, Verin was certain now that they were impostors, all of them. His brother would never tolerate such a display of weakness. Still, the impostor said: "Hello, brother."

Verin whipped his head back around to the wizard in his grasp. "What the fuck are you playing at?" he hissed.

"I- what- Verin!" the Essek-impostor sputtered. "What are you doing; put him down!"

"I would appreciate that, yes," Widogast added.

"Not before you don't tell me what's going on."

"Going on?" The impostor sneered and shook his head in a perfect imitation of his brother. "Nothing is going on, Verin."

"You died," he accused him.

"Evidently not," Essek scoffed.

Verin narrowed his eyes, looking from the man claiming to be his brother over the other too calm wizard to the rest of the Nein, seemingly perfectly happy to let this play out. "Prove it," he demanded. "Tell me something only my brother would know."

"You've become paranoid," he noted and Verin couldn't decide if it sounded proud or disappointed. "Alright. When you and I were in our early thirties, you once got in trouble for scaling the outside of mother's mansion. Rightfully, I should have gotten in trouble, too, but I was hiding on the attic. And the reason you never told anyone, is because then you'd have had to explain that I, the wizard, had somehow outpaced you, the fighter, in a climbing competition."

Verin wrinkled his nose at that. "Well, my brother cheated."

"I did not cheat, thank you very much!" He huffed indignantly and crossed his arms. "You didn't say 'no magic' before we started."

He stared at Essek for a few moments. "It's you," he whispered.

"Obviously."

Verin dropped the wizard on the ground and looked over at his brother; really looked. The man looked nothing like the one he had known for most of his life. His hair was longer than it had ever been since he'd cut it off and his bare feet were touching the ground. His clothes were casual, a simple tunic and trousers. After this day, Verin knew for a fact that not even Essek's trancing clothes were that informal, and yet his brother looked more comfortable in them in another's house than he had in decades. On top of that, he kept glancing over to Widogast. And smiling. Essek was smiling.

No, this man looked nothing like the one Verin had known for nearly a century. But he looked a lot like his brother.

"You're alive," he said stupidly.

"Yes, of course I am," Essek said, as if Verin hadn't just attended his funeral.

It felt only right to tell him so: "Why are you alive? I was at your funeral."

"That's a long story," he sighed and floated onto one of the chairs that were slightly too tall for him. He accepted a cup of tea from Clay with thanks and turned back to Verin. "Why are you here?"

"Well, that's a pretty long story, too," Jester spoke up. "He kind of started freaking out about your earrings, I think? And he was crying and looking pretty awful and everything, right Caleb?"

"I, ah— didn't think he'd believe us if we told him about you," Caleb said. "So, we had agreed beforehand to bring him here, in case of an emergency."

"He thought we were lying," Clay added.

"I suppose it is my story to tell," Essek said. "Earrings, Verin?"

"They're your favourite," Verin said stupidly and held them out to him.

His face grew soft. "Oh," he said as he took them gingerly, "I didn't know that you kne—"

Before he could overthink and do something stupid like stop himself, he surged forward and enveloped his brother in a tight hug. After a moment Essek closed his arms around him, too.

It seemed so unreal, to be able to hold him after mourning him for what felt like years. All the worries, all the grief and anger that had crushed him in the past few weeks and for what? For the bastard to still be alive after all. It wasn't fair. Why had he had to go through all of that? And why did he feel the pressing urge to start crying again? He should be happy, shouldn't he, that his brother wasn't dead. So why did it make him feel so awful?

"I think this is our cue to leave," Fjord said. Verin felt his brother nod and heard the Mighty Nein shuffle out of the kitchen, the door closing behind them with a creak. 

Only then, Essek spoke up. "Verin," he asked quietly, "are you crying?"

"Shut up," he mumbled through the thick fog of tears and snot, definitely not crying. "I hate you, Essek. Do you know what I went through?" 

"Meeting the Mighty Nein? Yes, I can imagine."

"They're horrible," he complained. "They're loud and they're rude and they had absolutely no respect for any of your belongings! I thought I was going mad."

"They are. They also are my friends, you know."

"How?" he asked agonised.

"I know they don't look like it, but they are surprisingly capable. And I am sure that you've noticed most of them to be annoyingly charming. But I think their absolute worst traits are their infinite stubbornness and perseverance. They quite literally did not leave me alone until they had befriended me."

Verin glanced up at him questioningly. "And were half in love with the wizard?" he guessed.

Essek scowled darkly, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. "Perhaps."

He snorted and disentangled himself from their embrace. Very calmly he said: "You're a liar." 

Essek looked genuinely startled at that. "What?"

"You said, you trusted me more than him. Why then, did he know and I didn't?"

"It's... complicated," he said.

"You wizards say that a lot."

"Verin." Essek closed his eyes. "I trust you. Implicitly. And I care about you. Which is why I chose not to burden you with the knowledge of my misdeeds. I didn't— I didn't want to put you in an impossible situation to choose between me and our queen."

He laughed nervously. "What on earth are you talking about? I mean, you didn't commit treason or anything."

Essek didn't answer, avoiding eye-contact instead.

"Right?"

Still, Essek kept stubbornly quiet.

"Oh," Verin breathed. He took a moment trying to reconcile what he knew about his brother with the fact that he was apparently a traitor. It all fit together ridiculously easy. "The beacons."

Essek looked up at him in shock and he knew he had hit the mark. "What?"

"You stole the beacons." Now that he thought about it, it made perfect sense. Essek had been studying them at the time, one of the only people with frequent access to them. He had always been fascinated by them, yet his theories had been rejected for their heretic nature. As Shadowhand, he had also regular contact with counterparts from the Empire, albeit not officially. Then, a few years after Essek’s research had been denied, they had vanished. How had he never seen this before?

"Oh Essek...," he said softly.

"No, please— I don’t—Please don’t—” He seemed to deflate, curling in on himself. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you, I—”

"I don't care,” Verin interrupted his frantic ramblings.

"What?" Essek looked up at him, looking just as shocked as Verin felt.

“I don’t care,” he repeated, realising that it was true the moment the words left his mouth. For how could he care about something as trivial as treason when Essek was sitting right in front of him, alive and well. "You're my brother, I don't care. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe in a year. Maybe in ten. Right now, I only care that you're alive."

“I—What—I don’t—” Essek stuttered, lifting and then lowering his hands a few times. “I don’t know how— If I can—Fuck.”

There was a joke on the tip of his tongue, but even he knew that this wasn’t the right time for it. Essek was obviously trying to tell him something and it took him a minute to decipher that strange behaviour. “Are you asking for a hug?” he hazarded a guess.

An agonised expression passed over his face and for a moment Verin thought there were tears gathering in his brother’s eyes. Surely not. “I don’t know if I may. I don’t mean to overstep—”

Without further ado, Verin stepped forward and gathered a yelping Essek up and squeezed him tightly. “Of course you may!” he assured him, awkwardly patting his shaking shoulders. “I love you, Essek. I am very glad that you’re alive.”

“I’m very glad to see you, too,” Essek answered and squeezed him a little tighter.

[angstmongertina]

Hand to Hand, Heart to Heart

2023 is gonna be the year when I finish fic and actually post them. Or at least the first part of the year is. We don’t talk about how long this fic has been in progress. Like, yes, I do know that the card came out nearly a full year ago now. I’m just a hot mess. It’s fine. Let’s just say I was inspired by the sweet chapter or something. :P

AO3 Link

By the time Artem finally makes it into the office, it is already in what could only generously be considered a mild uproar.

That, in it of itself, is not entirely unusual; he has been informed by Celestine on more than one occasion, in a tone that somehow makes the sentence a complaint rather than a statement of fact, that he is one of the most efficient and integral members of the firm, given his position and general workload, and one whose consistency is nearly paramount to the entire operation. Typically, it is not an issue, but between the jet lag and his recovery from the physical manifestations of his most recent… exertions, even the scant minutes late he has arrived have apparently resulted in chaos, especially considering his propensity for arriving an hour in advance. But even while the pandemonium itself is not wholly unexpected, the focal point to the whole chaos is.

Sitting at her desk, shifting somewhat under the intense gazes of at least a dozen other interns, is Eliana. It is not exactly a surprise, given that their combined absence was no doubt readily apparent, but the intensity of the crowd surrounding her, hanging onto her every word, seems to be too much, even for her friendly disposition.

For a moment, he hesitates, because he knows, of course he knows, that one of the big reasons for their interest is him. He has seen time and time again that, at least aside from Celestine and Eliana, the rest of Themis views him as some… cold machine, an unfeeling robot whose only concern is success in the courtroom, so he does not need to move closer to know that they must be asking her about the experience, about, perhaps, whether he is as uptight in travel as he is at work. Even Celestine, as much as she has befriended him, no doubt still thinks of him as a stick-in-the-mud, who can’t even get through the most basic conversation with the girl he likes. So naturally, if they are curious about the trip, it must be about him.

And since it is almost certainly about him, then it is even more inexcusable for him to abandon her to the wolves.

Sighing inwardly, he steps into the room, clearing his throat, but before the interns can do much so much as turn to eye him with a mix of shock and apprehension, the sharp tapping of heels echoes throughout the room. Very familiar tapping…

“What’s going on?”

It is almost comical how quickly everyone twists around to stare at Celestine, and as the silence grows increasingly awkward, she crosses her arms with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, then, I’m sure your friend’s return is very exciting but I believe you all have cases to work on?”

Much to his internal relief, and Eliana’s visible one, the others scatter immediately, leaving only Celestine, speaking in a low voice that he has no hope of making out. He pauses, debating on whether he needs to run interference, but when a smile blossoms across the girl’s face, brilliant and warm, he finds himself relaxing, even as he has to look away, and makes his way towards his office.

Perhaps, for once, he may escape a confrontation.

Unfortunately, that hope is dashed almost instantly, when he hears the rapid footsteps following him, and he fights another sigh as he lets himself into his office, briefly contemplating the wisdom of locking the door behind him.

Then again, knowing Celestine, she would only demand entry anyway, and in a way that will only draw even more attention to the situation.

Instead, he sits at his desk, willing his face into inscrutability as she pushes in without so much as a knock.

“What is it?”

When she only crosses her arms, stepping closer in silence, he gives into the urge to sigh. “Look, if it’s nothing, there is work that I would like to—”

“‘What is it?’ What is it?” She stops at his desk only to step around it and he finds himself leaning back to avoid the finger she directs at his chest. “Is that all you have to say for yourself after that stunt you pulled?”

Ah. Right. That.

He lets out a slow breath, stares at the finger practically prodding him on his breast pocket, and resigns himself to his fate. “You’re right, my apologies.”

“Of course I’m right! You could have— wait, what?”

If the entire situation weren’t so serious, her sudden blinking might have even been funny. Instead, he only bows his head in contrition, because she is right and he knows it, knows that he was wrong, that of course he was wrong, and it is only sheer luck that prevented his error from affecting his clients. “You’re right,” he repeats, before looking up to fix his gaze on her. “It was foolish and unprofessional.”

“It was.” Her voice is cool and serious, though something in the quirk of her eyebrow seems to be mocking him, just a little. “And also dangerous for your health. You could have said something, you know. That work was meant to be manageable for two people working part time, not one idiot pulling multiple all-nighters while going out during the day. If I had known…”

“You weren’t supposed to know.”

“I figured as much when I didn’t realize until she had to reach out to ask.” She audibly sighs, her posturing seeming to soften, just a little. “Then again, I guess it’s partially on me for not seeing it coming, huh?”

He makes a noise that isn’t quite assenting, but it’s apparently enough for her as she shakes her head. “You realize that you’re going to be damn lucky if I don’t tell your foolishness to your mother, right? I’m certain she would have more than a few things to say about the matter and maybe you’d even listen to her.”

“Celestine!”

“Relax.” It isn’t until she pats him on the shoulder, visible smirk tucked into the corners of her lips, that he realizes he has tensed, body stiffening at the sheer thought of his mother discovering his stupidity. “Just promise me you learned your lesson—”

“I have.”

She quirks an eyebrow. “And that you’ll tell her how you feel before that yarn you both have around your wrists disintegrates.” She squints down at his hand, eyes narrowed in clearly feigned focus. “I recognize that color. Isn’t that your favorite sweater?”

“Celestine, you—”

Ignoring his protest entirely, she chuckles, breezing her way back towards the door before he can so much as organize his thoughts into some sort of order, let alone stop her. “Just tell her, Artem. And before either your mother or I have to stage some sort of intervention on your behalf, if you please?”

In the abrupt silence that follows, he takes a deep breath, resists the urge to massage his temples. Celestine means well. He knows this, knows that it’s only concern for his future, for his own existing feelings, that encourages her to speak out, to threaten meddling in his personal affairs as often as she does. But this he must do on his own, he must make his own pace, for fear of disrupting the carefully achieved balance he has found with her, of pushing her too far too quickly.

Instead, he rises to his feet and moves to his doorway, where Celestine left it ajar in her dramatic exit. He hesitates, considering, but curiosity wins out, and he makes his way to the break room, empty mug in hand and hoping that Celestine hasn’t taken it upon herself to set up there once again in the hopes of catching him out.

To his great relief, the coast is clear, and he sets up at the machine, taking advantage of its slow brewing to look across the office. It seems as though Celestine’s implied message was taken to heart; their coworkers have returned to their work, leaving her free at her desk, brow furrowed as she peruses the discovery files of their newest case, mouth moving along in silence to her focused reading. She pauses, frowns deeper, her free hand worrying with something resting on her wrist, and Celestine’s earlier words register.

Instinctively, he straightens, brushes the soft yarn still tied around his own wrist, and nods to himself. He’ll tell her. Between their NXX investigations, their work, and even their travels, there is momentum now, a progress that he needs to take advantage of, before someone else does it first. He’ll tell her, and soon. But first…

As the machine sputters to a stop, he grabs his coffee and turns back towards his office. First, he has some planning to do.

[drstrangefictions]

One-Shot

James "Logan" Howlett x Female Reader

Word Count: 4,508

Spoilers: None

Warnings: Logan has big OOC energy. I wrote this today. It was a head empty, no thought fic so I am very sorry if it sucks LMFAO it was also not supposed to be more than 1K words but here we are.

AO3: Link

Logan sat on the couch, just barely past, watching the television (more like barely paying attention to it). It was normally peaceful, more often than not, the students and professors actually slept. Save for Logan. The nightmares typically kept him awake, sometimes they were things he remembered, such as the war; sometimes they were things he couldn’t recall, something he assumed to be of his mysterious past. It was truly a sick and twisted joke, not being able to remember who he was. He’s well aware of who he is now, just a man, a mutant, on the path to recovery (if you can call whatever he does with his life recovery). He still considered himself a monster, a murderer, but it was just another little thing Logan had to live with. Coupled with the fear of hurting someone in this new place he called home. Beer would be soothing (unlikely) if it had any effect. The damn healing factor makes it hard to drink problems away and it might actually be for the best.

Rogue was amongst his favorites at the X-Mansion. An innocent girl, simply afraid of herself, and astonishingly determined to find a work around, or a cure, or something to make her feel better. A little practice, ease of anxieties, and the works would help one would think. Time is the only thing, Charles seemed to think he had all the time in the world. She was a stowaway, that’s how he got stuck with her, and Logan didn’t mind at all. Jean was another one of Logan’s favorites. Something about her was just so different than most people. Whether it be her softspoken charm or her sincere nature, perhaps her inner and outer strength. Jean was nearly a friend. Amongst the favorites was another kind mutant; however, she was truly an unexpected favorite. Scott refers to her as Void, most people at the X-Mansion call her that. When she was first mentioned, Logan had no idea they were actually talking about a person – Void was often referenced as “The Void” as in the emptiness of space or general lack of something.

Void is something of a magician – “a street magician,” Bobby had jokingly told Logan the night before she returned. She played her cards just right; she always had an ace up her sleeve. Literally, she gave Logan the ace of hearts when they first officially met. He kept it, of course he kept it, he was intrigued. Logan twirled the ace of hearts between his fingers, he did this when she was absent. Odd for tonight, because she was just in her room (it’s not actually known if she really does stay at the mansion overnight, it’s an assumption based on observation of actions). She always had some kind of disappearing act. Logan was actually captivated by her magician skills; he could never quite grasp how she does her crazy tricks.

“Can’t sleep?” She stood against the archway. “There used to be a door here.” Her eyes traced the door frame.

“Thought you were asleep.” Logan looked up from the ace of hearts.

Void shrugged her shoulders and stepped into the living room. She turned to face the television, presumable to see what Logan had left on, and scrunched her nose at the boring show on the boring channel. “You could always pop a movie in. Might I suggest Event Horizon?” She faced Logan again and held out the movie case. “Sam Neill does a great job in this movie. A bit of science fiction, a bit of horror, but a whole masterpiece.”

“How do you do all those tricks?” Logan asked. Finally.

With a flick of her wrist the movie was gone from her hand. “Practice. I used to want to be a magician, until I learned it was a sham. It broke my heart for about a month. At some point I set my mind to something else. None of those things happened, I’m here instead.” Void walked over to the couch and sat as far away from Logan as she could manage with the couch being a lot smaller than it was when she was a growing up at the X-Mansion.

Logan glanced at her. “Child’s ignorance.” He smiled.

“Ignorance in all capital letters, get it right. Followed by disappointment.” She grinned and turned to face Logan. She pulled her legs onto the couch and pressed her left foot against him to be annoying on purpose. She draped her arm over the back of the couch and scrunched her nose again. This time there was no trace of disgust, but something else. “You always sound so grumpy.” She teased.

“Maybe I am always grumpy.” He said.

“Bullshit. Tell me about something you’re not grumpy about. I’m a nosy girl, so it has to be something no one knows about.” Void stifled her laughter.

Logan blinked. “No.”

She leaned her head against her arm and quickly gave him a thumbs down with her free hand. “Fine. Tell me why the professor thinks you’ve been acting so odd recently. He’s concerned, but only a little bit because you’re a big boy. He thinks something is bothering you, but he doesn’t want to be nosy. Which is shocking because this man has no respect for privacy.”

Logan looked at the beer bottle in his hand and shook his head. “He’s a bit of a dick at times.”

“Correction, massive dick. Like most adults here. Myself included.” She inhaled deeply. “Continue.”

“I have been acting different, yes. I didn’t think it would be noticeable. I have a few things on my mind.” Logan began. “Don’t worry about it.” He cut himself short. So close.

Void relaxed her shoulders and reached over to Logan, pressing her knuckles against his arm. “I won’t push, just know, you big oaf, that you can come talk to me when you’re ready. And if I’m not here when you need to talk, I’m sure you know to call me, right?”

Logan swallowed and looked at her and her unwavering kindness towards him. Flooded by recent memories, Logan could only stare. She wasthere for him, more often than she wasn’t. She has magicked herself into his room immediately after he woke up from another nightmare (her random materialization was no help at all, but at least she was there instantly). She would stay with him all night long. He always seemed to find her on the couch with him when her schedule allowed for it – between teaching these kids magic tricks (Charles considers this good old recreational fun and a course schedule elective) and teaching Astronomy and related subjects, and disappearing into the outside world, somehow, she was always there for him. She always seemed to find new way to disturb his peace childishly. She was childish. She has startled him on multiple occasions at three in the morning to haul his ass outside to view the stars as if they had never seen stars before. He hated it so much that he kept stargazing with her.

“Yeah, I know.” He looked away from her.

She flashed a small smile of concern. “I don’t like when the cool guy isn’t feeling a 100 percent.”

“Oh, so I’m the cool guy now.” He chuckled.

“Always were, dear friend, always were. Don’t tell the other guys, but I lie to them about their worth.” She laughed.

Logan shook his head, stifling his own laughter. “How does everyone not hate you?”

“Easy. I make dessert and if they hate me, they get nothing.” She shrugged her shoulders rather dramatically. “But honestly, I have my favorites. It’s me, I’m my own favorite. You’re a close second.”

“Geez, only a close second?” Logan faked his disappointment. He furrowed his eyebrows. “You’re such a wildcard.”

She leaned back and threw her arm over the back of the couch again. “Thanks, I worked really hard to become the wildcard. The damn threats that the Avengers face never expect me, Magneto is occasionally prepared for me. It all comes from not thinking. How can my plan be thwarted if I have no plan?”

Logan sighed; real disappointment settled. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve heard all day.”

“Thanks, I came up with it on a whim.” She tried to maintain a stoic expression, only to exaggerate her need to laugh. She was funny, and she often laughed at herself. She was quick.

Logan looked anywhere but at her. Childish. “So, you spend your free time with those Avengers? What do you gain from it?”

“A paycheck.” She sighed. “It’s not very fun, once they find the guy they’re looking for, I never have to see them again. Charles thought it would be a good idea for me to go because I have a better chance of not mucking things up. Which is true, no offense, but you and Stark would get along so poorly that everything is jeopardized from the moment you lock eyes with him.” She leaned her head on her arm.

Logan nodded; she was probably right. “I can see that being the case.”

They grew silent, but it was a comfortable silence. Void’s presence was comforting. She was so laidback and collected, but she also worried far more than the average person. She laughed a lot and made everything funny with good intentions. Logan knew that she coped with humor. Sadness, concern for him, anger usually got covered by her humor and childish nature. Logan was told of the one time she lashed out and lost control; she frightened herself and others and, well, a family had to bury their daughter. He didn’t know what caused it, no one did, but he knew that’s why she hid her anger. He thought it was much worse than being angry. Where does that anger go if she’s just hiding it? Doesn’t it just build up? If it doesn’t build up, what is she doing with that anger?

Void shifted and dragged her foot away from him. She rested her head on her knee and kept her eyes on him. She was worried, and she was bad at hiding it (if she was even trying to hide it).

“There is one thing that is eating me.” Logan locked eyes with her. He curled his hand into a fist and clenched his jaw. Something was bothering him – well, more than one something. The nightmares, of course, were bothering him, so was his past, and what Stryker did to him, and there was also a girl. This girl. Void. But bothering him wasn’t what she was doing. He was actually bothered by the fact that he loved her.

Void raised her eyebrows and lifted her head. He had her full attention. “Tell me.”

Instant regret washed over Logan. “There’s this girl–.”

“Is it Jean?”

“Let me finish.” Logan inhaled sharply. “This girl. She means the world to me. She’s very funny, even if I don’t laugh. She’s bright and she always seems to have an answer to something. She’s very kind to me and most other people. I think her kindness towards me is misplaced – something tells me I don’t deserve it. She’s always on the move, whether it’s something for her friends, her family, or me. She’s always doing something. She’s honest, even if the truth sucks, she’ll tell me. Hell, she’s beautiful and so full of life. She’s a horrible liar. She hides behind her humor. Something could bother her, and she’ll joke about it.”

Void smiled. Logan can be a sweetheart, but Void already knew that. “I bet she’s lucky to know you. Do I know her?”

Logan thought for a moment. “She’s never mentioned you.”

She nodded sadly. “So, probably not. Damn, Logan, I don’t think you should be so down on yourself over her. Misplaced kindness? There’s no such thing as misplaced kindness towards you. And she’d be stupid not to feel the same way about you. I mean, come on, do you need me to ask her out for you?”

Logan shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. Can’t risk losing her to you, now, can I?”

Void snorted. “Oh, am I your competition?” She eyed him sadly.

Logan looked away; his smile faded at the glimpse of pain in her eyes. He felt bad for not saying: “Hey, my stupid ass is afraid of rejection, but I think you’re awesome, we should date.” He was talking about her. He was in love with her. He loved her. It was the pain in her eyes from thinking of Logan loving someone else that made it click. She started out just doing as she does because that’s what a good friend would do, she never planned to fall in love (I mean, no one ever plans to fall in love), Logan definitely never planned to fall in love. It actually scared him, seeing that twinge of pain in her eyes. He was afraid of hurting her – physically and mentally and emotionally. He was afraid to lose her to someone better eventually (oh, anxiety, you scamp). He was afraid of her growing tired of him. Even worse, he was hurting her now by avoiding the truth.

“I will give you money if you ask her out.” Void found humor.

Logan licked his top lip. “Don’t.”

Void leaned away from him. “Okay, but you told me about her, now you have to work your magic. I’m the friend that encourages everything, remember?”

“Pushing Scott off of a cliff into the ocean is notencouragement.” Logan chuckled. That was a strange day. There was no real reason that they took a little fieldtrip to the Etretat sea cliff, they just took it. She didn’t really push Scott, more like, she threw him in the ocean right after he said something stupid. Eventually they all ended up in the water somehow…

“Right, but you weren’t going to do it, so I did. He was lucky there was water down there. Otherwise, that would have been awkward.” She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “Seriously, though, I know you well enough to know that I should encourage something like this. You may not be able to identify your true past, beyond Stryker, but you know who you are in this present moment. Logan, the Wolverine, a X-Man. You might view yourself in a negative light, and if someone like me can understand and see past it, so can she. You’re not defined by what you did, well you are but you aren’t, if that makes sense. You’re not a monster – sure, your kill count might be higher than mine, murderer – but you’re really not a monster. Probably just wildly misunderstood.” She moved again, crisscross with her back against the couch and her eyes on the television.

“Key word there is ‘probably’.”

Void gave a thin-lipped smile. “Oh, you know, not everyone is misunderstood, it’s just a ‘probably’, right? You’ve worked pretty hard to be a functional member of society, Logan, if she can’t see your worth, she’s an idiot. I want you to take that chance, you only live this one life, no matter how long yours is. Don’t be a coward, I’ll start chanting and everyone will know everything.” She bit her bottom lip as her real smile grew.

“No chanting.” Logan pointed at her. “None.”

She put her hands up defensively and looked down and away. “Fine, fine.” She sighed and peered over at Logan. She leaned forward and shrugged her shoulders. “At the end of the day, you have to either go for it, or not go for it. If she’s an idiot, you know where to find me. If she’s not, be gross faraway from here, please. We don’t need another Scott and Jean moment.” She shuddered, disgusted.

Logan laughed, he really laughed at that one. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t torture anyone like that.”

“Thank you.” She slumped back, relieved. “You know no idea how disgusting and annoying it is. They’ve been together for a very long time and, ugh, I need a nice glass of bleach.” Void shook her head.

His shoulders bounced as he laughed. “You really hate them that much?”

“Honestly, I’ve spelt on this couch more times than I care to admit because, before we acquired children, they just went at it, and everyone heard them. This was the safe space. I’ve had mock sleepovers with all of the original members. Oh, to be young again.” She snorted. “Young couples, am I right?”

“They’re not that young anymore.” Logan exhaled, grinning. He paused for a moment, opening his mouth to speak before changing his mind.

“Back on topic, before you say anything, I just want you to know, at the end of the day, I want you to do what’s best for you.” She looked at Logan. “But seriously, don’t be Jean and Scott.”

Logan let out one last chuckle. “I got it. Thank you.”

“Well, how long did it take you to learn that little phrase. ‘Thank you’, say it again.” She smiled smugly.

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

She shook her head. “I’m joking.”

“No, I think you’re serious.” Logan pointed at her.

She sighed and looked up. “Whatever you say, big guy.”

“Well, since you’re joking, I guess you don’t want to hear what I have to say.” Logan shrugged his shoulders and looked away from her. She was nosy, she was going to want to know.

Void scooted closer to him with wide eyes. “Tell me.”

Logan looked at her, lips parted. He leaned against her arm. “Let’s put it this way. I appreciate you. A lot. There aren’t many people I can appreciate. And all jokes aside, thank you for everything.” He looked at her, almost unsure of how to really thank her for all she’s done for him. “You’re always there for me. There’s no doubt you’ve seen it all by now.”

“D’aw, you’re such a liar.” She giggled and leaned into him.

Logan snorted. “And you can’t accept what I just said.”

“Alright, alright. You’re welcome for everything.” Void mocked. “Since I don’t ask for much, can I ask you something? It’s kind of weird.”

Logan hesitated. Weird? That’s never a good thing. “Go ahead.” He pulled away from her and glanced at her.

“Would you happen to know how to get over someone? I mean, I’m never going to go after him. I’m sort of afraid to and I’m pretty sure he’s seeing someone anyway. I’d rather spare myself the heartbreak and skip right over to the moving on. It sounds weird because he was never mine to move on from or get over.” She slowly inched away from Logan and back to her side of the couch.

Logan drew his lips into a thin line. “Sounds like you want to skip out on being human. I don’t recommend that. I know you don’t want to feel upset over someone you never got close with, you should let yourself feel these things. Isn’t that what you tell me?”

“Ugh, bastard, using my own spells against me.” She started to slide down the couch. Dramatic. “That’s the exact opposite of what I wanted to hear. You suck at this.”

Logan watched her slide down. “Fine, fine. Do things you love to distract yourself. Go out and view the stars, stargazing, do research on the new space garbage they found, bully Scott for something new. And if all else fails, like you always say, you know where to find me.” He swallowed. It was really now or never.

“Scott’s hair is awful, and I need to tell him.” Void laughed. “I could bully him about that, right?”

“It’s horrible, please tell him.”

She nodded. “I’ll tell him you said it. Besides, Jean cut his hair.”

“That explains why it’s so bad.” Logan chuckled.

Void threw herself back up on the couch and nodded. She was dramatic and childish. The exact opposite of himself. He was a monster, and she was, well, whatever she was. Yikes, she was a telekinetic and a master at sneaking up on people, maybe she had some kind of phasing mutation or portal mutation to help with that. Meanwhile, Logan was an animal. Bone claws coated in metal. Natural born killer. Logan watched her. She kept her eyes on the television. She sat crisscross and played with the sleeves of her – actually, it was his – sweatshirt while she watched the boring show that they both had tuned out in order to talk. That was another thing – she dressed better than him even if she tricked him into giving her his sweatshirt (did she really trick him, or did he just give it to her without a conversation about it? We will truly neverknow). It was now or never. She’s sitting right there. He could easily ask her on a date.

“Get up, let’s go for a walk.” Logan threw himself off the couch and walked into the kitchen. “Beer?”

She looked towards the kitchen. “Not if we’re walking outside past midnight. I don’t care if you’re a big strong man, I know myself, and I’d like to be sober enough to know what the hell goes wrong.”

“You’re so paranoid.” Logan frowned. She had a point though. He also had no idea where they were going to walk to. Were they going to stay by the mansion?

She scoffed. “As if you aren’t, let me get shoes. Unlike you, I don’t wear shoes all damn day.” Void jumped off the couch and disappeared into the shadows of the X-Mansion.

Logan made his way to the front door. He leaned against the wall and waited for her to run up to him or to materialize in front of him. His mind wandered, how on Earth was he going to ask her? How was he so sure this was going to work? He didn’t even peak outside to see if they could see anything tonight. For all Logan knew, it could be cloudy as hell. He shook his head and grumbled about being so stupid and impulsive. Then a new problem came up: what if she says no? Logan, for all he knew, could have just saw what he wanted to when he looked at her.

“Let’s go.” She said.

Logan jumped out of his skin. “What the fuck?”

Void swung the door open and pulled him out of the X-Mansion. She locked the door behind them and threw her lanyard of keys around her neck and slipped it beneath the sweatshirt. She lurched at the cold keys tapping her warm skin, a bad feeling. She jogged down the stairs after Logan and looked up at the sky as she did every time they walked outside at night. Outside of the mansion they could see more than they would in a suburban neighborhood or in the city. But still not as much as one little spot she found in the middle of nowhere. She took him there once, a really bad night. He wasn’t one for stargazing or truly understanding the beauty of it all, but that night he didsee the beauty that is the night sky. That was about a year and a half ago, around that time, maybe even that night, he realized he loved her and all of her crazy childishness. They walked out towards the back of the mansion. The number of times his hand grazed hers was infuriating. He could just hold her hand, drape his arm over her, something “romantic”. But that would be weird considering their conversation earlier.

“Something’s really bothering you.” Void threw herself in front of Logan and grabbed his arms. She tried to shake him, but him and his metal bones just don’t budge all too often. “I’m the one that makes us go for walks or stargazing. Not you. So, what’s bothering you, Logan? If it’s another nightmare, you should tell me. I need to know what’s going on so I can help you.”

Logan looked at her, every inch of her face screamed concerned. “You should worry about yourself more than you worry about me. I know you stay up and wait to see if I need you.”

“One day, I won’t stay up all night to make sure you’re okay, but today isn’t that day.” She smiled sadly. “Wait, how’d you know?”

Logan shrugged. “Just a lucky guess.”

Void yawned into her elbow. “Bullshit.” She grabbed his arm again. “I guess it’s obvious.”

“With all the close calls, I don’t think you should–.”

Void inhaled deeply. “They’re only close calls because I get close. But I know how to avoid getting impaled. Earlier you asked me how I do all my tricks, the answer is wormholes, most of the time. I can create harmless little wormholes and that’s how I keep you from stabbing me. The room is so dark, you’re so panicked, you don’t even see it. That’s how I move around most of the time too” She looked up at Logan and smiled. She was clever.

“Wormholes. Sounds like a space thing.” He couldn’t smile at that. No matter how clever she thought herself to be, she was still risking a lot.

She pressed her head against his chest and shook her head. “You’re so annoying. You’re even more annoying because that girl you were talking about was me, wasn’t it?”

“What gave it away?” He raised an eyebrow.

She smiled and looked up at him, still leaning against him. “Oh, just a lucky guess. You couldn’t say much about they mystery girl without giving away who she was, you’ve pushed the conversation towards me, and you would have thrown me across the yard for leaning against you like this. I know you, Logan.”

“What about this guy of yours?” He asked.

“I may have twisted the story a bit,” she gave a nervous laugh, “because the guy is you.”

Logan loosely wrapped his arms around her. “I should’ve known. You’re a terrible liar.”

“Yeah, I’m not the moron that fell for it.” Void stuck her tongue out at him. “So, is this a date? Is that why you took me outside?”

Logan looked away. “If you want this to be a date–.”

“It’s a date.” She pulled away from him and dragged him over to the bench. “A very comfortable date.”

They sat on the bench – somehow Logan always ended up on the end and she slid next to him and took his left hand in her right. She couldn’t focus on the stars, instead all she could focus on was Logan – but when doesn’t she? Logan chuckled at her staring, she could be drooling, and he’d still stare back. As if they don’t spend all the time in the world together already, she kept herself pressed against his side. He could live with this, but she won’t change his mind about himself. Maybe she would ease his anxieties. She was clever. She was childish. Logan loved that about her.