#that book traumatized me after obscene

[luminewhosthat]

I was today years old when I learned that Mattheo Riddle and Lorenzo Berkshire were Oc's of wattpad writers.

THIS IS SO EMBARASSING PLS-

[theremina]

Adoption causes way more intergenerational trauma and collective health crises than I think many "kept" people realize.

If you bother to read it, the science is clear: adoption is violently traumatic, causing devastating, irreversible health issues for millions of human beings. Yet I'd have more luck conveying the severity and longevity of my own trauma to most non-adoptees with "I was dropped on my head as a baby."

Heck, I didn't begin to contend with the horrors of my own situation until my mid forties. Being yeeted directly after birth into foster care and eventually adopted by lovely, well-intentioned folks who were not prepared *at all* to help me deal with the lifelong neurodevelopmental disorders and physical health problems directly caused by my abandonment at birth has permanently damaged me. I'm saying so as one of the "lucky ones".

I adore my adoptive family. They're incredible parents. We love each other dearly. This doesn't change the fact, not for one second, that I wouldn't wish adoption on ANYBODY. Thankfully, my folks understand this. I wish more adoptive parents did.

The modern adoption industry* is, by design, deeply misogynistic, racist, transactional, ableist, imperialist, colonial. Ignorance and hate and apathy and coercion and subjugation and dehumanization and capitalism keep the machine running.

We're already seeing the beginning of Baby Scoop Too: Electric Boogaloo on Facebook. On Twitter. On Instagram. On other social media platforms owned and controlled by obscenely wealthy white men who don't consider private adoptions to be unethical.

You may *think* that legalized human trafficking doesn't really effect you, but soon, if the Christofascists continue their cultural blitzkrieg, the amount of infants and children who end up in the foster care system, adopted by unqualified people, in devastating private "rehoming" situations like the one shared above, or worse, is gonna SKYROCKET.

So...I'm barely on Facebook anymore for a few different reasons. One of them is that I couldn't handle watching a whole bunch of ignorant self-proclaimed feminists making shitty adoption jokes after Roe was overturned.

Another reason is that Facebook is LITERALLY A BABY MARKET.

ADOPTIVE PARENTS ARE BUYING AND SELLING CHILDREN ON FACEBOOK. WHAT THE ACTUAL UNFORTUNATE FUCK.

Nearly 100 million American families are in the adoption triad, with a majority of adoptees' needs and voices being considered last instead of first. It's so backwards.

Non-kinship adoption is a systemic violence that cannot help but touch the lives of billions. That is so very, very bad for ALL of us, not just abandoned infants and children or their struggling parents.

Some straightforward response questions for every person who has ever asked me about about my adoption:

Are you a feminist? Are you antiracist? Are you a humanitarian? Anti-ableist? Do you consider yourself lefty, liberal, or otherwise progressive? Do you respect science? Then please reevaluate your perceptions of adoption.

For every adoptive or bio parent you listen to, listen to three or more adoptees. For every shitty adoption "joke" you've ever told, check in with an adoptee (or first mom) in a kind and caring way. For every ignorant question you've ever asked an adoptee about our "real parents", crack a book!

Please. Do some research. Learn. Please. Center transracial adoptees, international adoptees, disabled adoptees, queer adoptees. Please. This stuff impacts all of us just as surely as countless other aspects of systemic rape culture do. Try to understand. Please.

I'm more certain than ever that we must abolish before we can rebuild.

Please give a shit. Please.

*The fact that adoption is an industry at all should shock and horrify us all, and yet... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[image description: a screenshot of a Facebook post with a black border and caption reading, “Welcome to America, where people try to regime adopted children on Facebook Marketplace.” The Facebook post itself reads, “So basically they either want him to come back home, or have CPS place him in a foster home. Or I can find someone willing to take him in, and ‘under the table’ pay them the stipend, we get. If CPS places him they will have to have an open case against me. In doing that I will lose my job. I cannot work at a daycare, school, group home etc. if I have an open active CPS case against me. How the hell do I go about ‘re-homing’ my child? Should I create a post in market place? Through no fault of our own, we are being forced to re-home our thirteen year old son. He can be the most loving, helpful young man. He does suffer some learning difficulties. He comes with a complete wardrobe and a monthly allotment. Only serious inquiries please.” End id]

[out-of-the-forest-i-come]

queer books coming out this week (July 1-7)

Earth to Alis, by Lex Carlow. contemporary romance coming out July 1st

"Alistair Woodson is a loner by choice. Since the traumatic night that ended his only friendship, he’s isolated himself by letting his classmates believe he’s a criminal and an arsonist, best to be avoided at all costs.

But on his graduation trip across Paris, Switzerland, and Italy, Alis discovers that isolation isn’t so easy to maintain in hostel rooms and cross-country trains. Soon he finds himself growing closer to classmates who were once strangers to him—namely the class clown, Craig Miltenberg, whose frustratingly good hair and cheerful disposition don’t irritate Alis nearly as much as they should.

Yet, as his deepening connections stir up painful reminders of his last doomed friendship, Alis continues to cope the only way he knows how: drowning out the pain on the inside by hurting himself on the outside. When his self-destructive behaviours intensify and put him and his new relationships in jeopardy, Alis must find the courage to confront his spiralling mental health—even if it means letting someone in."

You Had Me at Happy Hour, by Timothy Janovsky. contemporary romance coming out July 1st

"O’ little town of Bethlehem, Pennsylvania—it may be charming, but Julien Boire can’t wait to get out of there. Soon he’ll be leaving to take an advanced wine course that will put him on track to become a master sommelier. Meantime, his OCD demands he keep clear of distractions, especially the hot new hire at his aunt and uncle’s restaurant, Martin’s Place.

Which should be easy, because Greg Harlow is as ill-suited to Julien as a bold cabernet is to a delicate salmon entrée. As charismatic and confident as Julien is tightly wound, Greg is a TikTok mixologist who could charm a paper bag. One thing they do have in common: neither wants a relationship.

Greg’s history with dating is…complicated. Yet working together isn’t. First, they’re teaming up to launch a series of happy hour events at Martin’s Place. Then they’re agreeing to a no-strings sex pact that involves new worlds of experimentation. Nothing is off-limits. Except a future.

It’s exactly how Julien wants it. Except for the little part of him that wonders if maybe he’s about to lose the kind of happy that could last much longer than an hour…"

Hiding Him, by Adam Hattan. contemporary romance coming out July 2nd

"Let's get one thing straight: Cameron Hawkins isn't. What he is, is hopelessly single and longing to escape his village in the arse-end-of-nowhere. That is until a newcomer arrives: Finn. He's tall, dark, obscenely handsome and somewhat of an enigma...

Is Finn the answer to Cam's happily ever after? Or will shadows of the past stand in the way of their palpable chemistry?"

Misrecognition, by Madison Newbound. literary fiction coming out July 2nd

"Elsa is struggling. Her formative, exhilarating relationship—with a couple—has abruptly ended, leaving her depressed and directionless in her childhood bedroom. The man and the woman were her bosses, lovers, and cultural guideposts. In the relationship’s wake, Elsa scrolls aimlessly through the internet in search of meaning.

Faithfully, her screen provides a new obsession: a charismatic young actor whose latest feature is a gay love story that illuminates Elsa’s crisis. And then, as if she had conjured him, Elsa sees the actor in the flesh; he and an entourage of actors, writers, and directors have descended upon her hometown for the annual theater festival. When she is hired as a hostess at the one upscale restaurant in town, Elsa finds herself in frequent contact with the actor and his collaborators. But her obsession shifts from the actor to his frequent dinner companion—an alluring, androgynous person called Sam. As this confusing connection develops, Elsa is forced to grapple with her sexuality, the uncomfortable truths about the dramatic end of her last relationship, and the patterns that may be playing out once again."

Cash Delgado Is Living the Dream, by Tehlor Kay Mejia. contemporary romance coming out July 2nd

"Cash Delgado has a good life in the quaint town of Ridley Falls. She has Joyce’s Bar, where she manages a familiar group of regulars and emcees the ever-popular Karaoke Thursday. She has her six-year-old daughter, Parker, whose spunky attitude always keeps life interesting. And she has her best friend, Inez O’Conner, who improves Cash’s sometimes overly responsible outlook with one full of joy and potential.

But change is on the horizon when Chase Stanton, the former bar manager at Joyce’s (not to mention Cash’s last hookup), returns to town with business prospects that could threaten the local institution and all of Cash’s plans to someday bring new life to the place. And if that isn’t enough, Cash starts having very intimate dreams of Inez. Dreams that could threaten the foundation of her well-ordered life.

As Cash embarks on a reluctant journey of self-discovery, she’s forced to confront all the ways she’s been hiding in her own life. But will she choose to remain the same, or will the desire for love (even a love that looks different than she ever imagined) prove worth the risk?"

A Darker Mischief, by Derek Milman, horror and mysery, dark academia novel coming out July 2nd

"When Cal Ware wins a scholarship to an elite New England boarding school, he's thrilled to leave his past behind. Back home in Mississippi, he was the poor, queer kid who never fit in. But at Essex Academy, he'll be able to reinvent himself. Or so he hopes...

But at Essex, Cal's classmates only see his cheap clothes and old iPhone. They mock his accent, and can't believe he's never left the country, or heard of The Hamptons. Cal, at his breaking point, is about to give up and return to Mississippi when he learns about a secret society on campus -- the key to becoming Essex royalty.

Cal knows he's not exactly secret society material, but to his surprise, he finds an unlikely champion in the handsome, charismatic, and slightly dangerous Luke Kim. As they get swept up in the mystery and glamour of the Rush process, Cal finds himself falling in love for the first time.

But as the initiation rituals grow riskier -- and increasingly nefarious -- Cal must decide how far he's willing to go, and how much of himself he's willing to sacrifice, to save everything and everyone he cherishes most. Because nothing at Essex -- not even Cal's first love -- is quite what it seems."

Lover Birds, by Leanne Egan. contemporary romance coming out July 4th

"When Isabel Williams moves to Liverpool, she criticises seemingly everything in Eloise Byrne’s life – her city, her accent, her trademark boldness – so if, when she catches Isabel staring, Eloise feels her pulse race, it must be because they hate each other. It surely couldn’t be for any other reason, could it? Eloise needs to get her ADHD under control in time for A-Levels, but when she meets Isabel, school becomes the least of her concerns. What begins as outright contempt turns into an oddly satisfactory rivalry, but for their rivalry to shift further into romance, their relationship must withstand Isabel's classism, Eloise’s distrust, and whatever secrets their friends are hiding from them."

[patrocles]

*guy who knows fuck all about twilight voice* i cannot even begin to describe how interested i am in your extremely specific thoughts on twilight. especially in regard to its takes on classism

I appreciate you so much for saying that especially since everything following this will be so deeply incoherent.

This is mainly in regards to the films since I've seen them recently and I haven't read the books since I was like 14.

The thing about Twilight is that the two defining discourses that dominated this series were "Is Bella a bad Feminist" and "Team Edward vs Team Jacob".

The idea that Bella (aged 17), upon meeting Edward (aged 109) and begins dating him, is ready to give up everything in her life to marry him, die, and become a vampire and devoting her entire life to him; does this set back womanhood decades or is this simply Bella exercising her free will. And the other being which guy is better for Bella, the mega wealthy Edward who can provide everything for her or working class poor Jacob who's the childhood friend.

Twilight didnt define the tropes of love triangles or even the concept of the girl plucked from obscurity and given the fairytale life by someone so insanely rich who could have chosen anyone but still chooses her. It's not even an objectively bad fantasy to explore. But I think what's kinda unique to Twilight and I think what a lot of bad booktok romance novels can trace their tropes back to in Twilight, is this idea that wealth can excuse any wrong-doing.

Edward is deeply controlling of Bella, he's condescending and belittles her, he grooms her, he leaves her deeply traumatized when he randomly abandons her in the second book/novel to the point of near catatonic depression. But ultimately at the end of the day it's fine because what Edward can provide for Bella makes it all worth it! He can take her places and buy her things, of course she'll be humble but that's why she's so #real. Hell it doesn't even matter that we don't even know what they even like about each other beyond mutual obsession and possession in the general sense. And this is something that's so pervasive in the romance genre, it's what spawned 50 Shades specifically. Abuse, physical or emotional, is excused by obscene wealth because what's temporary discomfort and domineering misogyny to private jets and mansions.

If we're being honest, the question of whether or not Bella is a good or bad feminist character is sort of moot when what we're actually seeing is just a sad story of an emotionally isolated girl have her entire existence wrapped up in Edward and know that she's never going to have a come-to-Jesus moment and value her own self worth over Edward. There's a scene in Eclipse when she tells Jacob that immediately after graduation, she's going to marry Edward and become a vampire like him. Jacob is angry about this but it's not even a "pick him over me" moment, but as a friend who doesn't want to see his best friend give up her entire existence to this guy. Even says, "he's got his hooks in you so deep". There's another scene when her father, (the MVP), just wants her to see her other friends outside of Edward and have some sort of life outside of Edward and it's almost like a metatextual awareness that SOMEONE in this story recognizes that Bella is being groomed and that this is all really REALLY toxic. It's a horror story! But of course it immediately pivots back to star crossed lovers bullshit because LOOK, Edward took her to a private island and they can travel the world. But more than anything it feels like they’re trying to establish a sort or attempt at a balance but what’s scary is knowing that Jacob and Charlie’s concerns and reservations are essentially pointless and empty compared to Edward’s financial and physical capabilities and the depth of his grooming in Bella. It’s actually charming that Charlie thinks he can realistically stand a chance against Edward if he really wanted to establish true parental control over his child. Like it’s genuinely sad to watch, actually.

And sure, so much of that we can write off as just being dated at worst. But definitely not end of the world stuff especially considering where that kind of trope has grown into way more severe cases of straight of kidnap/rape fantasy in mafia romance erotica we see today. Which is kind of MAD when you think about what teen girls were reading in the 00s versus what the teens of today are reading. I guess thanks Steph for being Mormon and keeping it PG???

But for ME, PERSONALLY, what's been kinda itching my brain in relation to this is how this pertains to Jacob. It is hard to view Twilight as mere late 00s nostalgia campy mess when I think about how absolutely awful Jacob is treated by the narrative for the sole crime of not being Edward, and by extension, wealthy. This isn't even about which guy was better for Bella, but how the story decides it was necessary for the reader to know that Jacob was NOT the correct option. He goes from earnest good guy who genuinely cares for Bella's physical and emotional well being as just a friend to her when Edward abandoned her, to basically a fucking incel who can't respect boundaries, and then Edward and Bella's lapdog in their happily ever after for no other reason than the narrative demanding it happen for Bella and Edward to be together. And for you the reader to want that to happen.

I've never been able to divorce the racial and classist undertones to this narrative choice to this. In a lot of media that came after that deals with love triangles, the "Jacob archetype" eventually became the often times not white, best friend, good guy type who was never really The One, but just another option for our Main Girl to explore until she gets back to the The One.

But thing is, Jacob was never just random guy option 2. He was working class poor and indigenous. A lot of his character is defined by this and his culture. And this HONESTLY made the Cullens animosity towards Jacob and the Pack kind of actually ridiculous and racist. Like I get Steph was just using the trope of Vampires and Werewolves: eternal enemies, but that isn't really applicable here when the shapeshifting isn't an trait that can be passed on to anyone like vampirism, but something unique to these specific people whose land they're infringing upon. So the little side digs and remarks and the absolute audacity that the Quileutes are just being so unreasonable when the Cullens have the money and means to live anywhere, but choose this boundary of a poor people who're merely trying to keep what's theirs, and we're still supposed to root for the Cullens because they're the Good Ones is like........... girl okay.

And this is all completely secondary to the way Steph appropriated the Quileute tribe, fucked around with their cultural traditions to invent her own lore, never financially compensated the tribe despite her and the producers of the films making MILLIONS, and two of the actors featured in the first film were recast for New Moon because they wouldn't cut their hair. BUT I DIGRESS.

I watched the New Moon special features where Chaske Spencer (who plays Sam) talks about how Jacob's house was extremely authentic to places he lived on his reservation. I'm not indigenous, but I did grow up working class poor and I personally always loved that this was a factor to Jacob and the pack. It didn't define them as people, but provided a sort of grounding depth and relatability that makes you want to explore them more. It isn't a lot but it's something. And hell, even Bella comes from a working class background which I genuinely liked especially as a youth when I'm trying to find some way to connect to this perfectly pretty white character.

But what's kinda frustrating in so many ways is how despite the alleged importance of Jacob and the Pack to the overall story, they are shelved so much. So we really don't get to see them, explore them as characters, their dynamics, and the tribe much as much as they could have been except for the very few times it's relevant to Bella and Edward. And given that Breaking Dawn specifically was TWO FILMS, there was no excuse for it. And it feels insulting to have the concept of the Pack, but we have to save our precious screen time for Bella and Edward playing chess.

I don’t even think people really understand just how almost non existent it is to see authentic depictions of lower/working class people in these kinds of stories. If you’ve never grown up poor it’s probably not something you even notice, just how default upper middle class almost everything (especially in YA) actually is. I think it’s something people don’t want to have to tackle so it just gets avoided? Unless we specifically need the 1 side character who is The Poor Friend, we need to have characters be in financially comfortable positions so the Plot can happen without having to worry about pesky things like bills. And so again, in that sort of authenticity it’s a double edged sword because while that is great to have included in a series like this, the classist undertones are so pervasive in how so much of Edward’s allure to Bella is rooted in wealth. A sort of inherent superiority to her own simple, non important life because of the trappings of his dress, his car, his mansion. There’s an unearned moral goodness that’s applied to Edward because of how we as a society view wealthy people as being inherently good and well meaning despite their actions consistently contradicting this. And it isn’t hard to see the ways in which this grooms Bella and that we the viewer must applaud this, cheer this, and would be aghast and disgusted if Bella was put off by the grandeur and wealth and wanted nothing to do with it because why would you possibly give that up? Again she can have the allusion of financial independence with a cute little job, but we know it isn’t necessary. We arent really meant to support the Quileute’s animosity towards the Cullens because they’re being irrational despite having bigger stakes that are considered frivolous and irrelevant to the Cullens (like retaining land autonomy). The best that Jacob could ever achieve in this story is to be at service to the Cullens and that’s meant to be a happy ending for him. Whatever his hopes and dreams were are inherently inferior to how important being the guard dog to a half vampire miracle child.

So yeah. I get the whole Twilight Renaissance, I get why people go back to it especially as it pertains to girlhood nostalgia. The soundtracks remain in constant rotation. I get why people want to reclaim the thing that made them happy in their youth when society shamed them for it as being just Cringe Girl Stuff. But for ME, it is hard for me to watch these and not be icked with how a lot of things were portrayed especially when it could have been a better story.

[regarding-stories]

Rounding up is hard to do... Manga Edition (mostly)

While this is slowly changing, a lot of the time romantic manga series are more likely to get a single season if adapted to anime. So even if you might get into a series by watching it animated at first, you often have to finish it by getting into the print. Anime is still at times more of a promotional tool than anything.

So here comes stuff that I read at least partially in manga form.

Smoking Behind The Supermarket With You

This was a random find that I just got into because Kobo advertised it to me. While some of it is now collected as volumes, Bookwalker sells it by chapters for the start of the series, but never installments come as three-chapter books (and in the end, cheaper per page).

"Smoking" is a very sweet little slow-burn love story unfolding between a salarymen working in sales and much younger supermarket cashier. She stars in two roles - she's the young, super-friendly and wholesome cashier that he always lines up for due to her smile. But when not at work, she dons her private style - and he doesn't recognize her... (Thank God for oblivious manga protagonists.)

She ends up keeping the charade up, switching her name around for him. Both develop feelings for each other, but most of the time they simply socialize behind the store, a place where you can smoke freely - which is what by chance got them in closer touch.

Over time the cast grows to incorporate one of his coworkers, and all the staff at this local supermarket. Many of the people around her catch up with her two identities, and start rooting for her, especially her manager who wants to see some proper romantic developments, but both our lovebirds are too good at leaving things unsaid, and the whole Yamada/Tayama setup she maintains is not helping.

Given that this is about adults the slow-burn is even more surprising, barely progressing beyond touching at times and then taking at least one if not two steps back for each forward. Still, it's a very rewarding read to me. I do not want to label it "slice of life," but I guess you could call it that as well.

My Little Monster

Talk about a bad start! I really was put off by the male lead's first appearance, given that he was threatening the heroine. In the end, however, this seemed to be a fluke and didn't repeat. (Well, there are incidents but they don't rub me the same.) It left a sour taste for a while but I stayed with the series, and am glad for it.

She is obsessed with studying to an obscene degree, he is afraid of attending school and considered a delinquent, especially due to his threatening stare. In the end it they are drawn to each other, but their timing is at times horrible, they're not good at understanding their own feelings or each other's. Adding up to a surprising good, long read.

One thing that is good about the series is the humor, the quirks of the characters, watching their struggles is fun. Characters are indeed a strength of this series. We eventually also learn the psychological background why our leads are as they are. Mixed with a lot of high school slice-of-life, all taken together, "My Little Monster" is something you want to follow to finish.

The one thing that kept me confused was why Haru (male lead) was so strongly traumatized, and even after the end of the anime season you wouldn't really know - this part comes in very slowly, but it has to do a lot with abandonment, loss, and rejection - all from within his family as growing up. There are also hints of not being neurotypical on both leads, especially given that Haru is a sort of genius savant. (Still, I'd say, it doesn't all quite add up, so you have to forgive it and read on...)

But what makes you stay in the end are the characters, their unfolding stories, and their interactions. Which is why it's a shame that the last main book rushes through their last year of high school, and the later-added bonus book doesn't fully make up for it, even though it's meant to keep us in touch with all the side stories of the other characters.

Blue Spring Ride

Blue Spring Ride is much easier to understand, its only mystery are the family dynamics of the male lead, and this mystery will be finished by the time you're done with the series as well, probably more like halfway through.

Our lead couple had a blossoming love in middle school, but then he moved away. When they meet again in high school, many years later, he's a different person - his parents' divorce and his mother's death have left him scarred. She in turn tries to get away from being ostracized by pretending to not care about her (good) looks and maintains shallow friendships without authenticity. Their coming back together changes this gradually and a new circle of friends emerges.

Normally this would make for a satisfying story, and for a large part it does, but the last third is built on a "stretching out the gum" plotline that just stirs drama, is built on piling misunderstandings and bad timing, and generally wants to keep the reader around to see how this mess resolves. Thankfully, unlike "Rent-A-Girlfriend", this "keep making money" shtick is only done once. It was still unnerving and soured my impression of the series.

Insomniacs After School

I started reading this one because it was advertised for HiDive and I wanted to watch it there, but the service stopped being offered in my country before I could. I'm glad I did, I find this manga's art style especially evocative and well done, slightly less mainstream.

This is about two high school students who suffer from severe insomnia, the reasons for which will be slowly expanded upon later in the series. They end up reviving the astronomy club at school after being caught abusing the abandoned clubroom for naps and hanging out together. Sleeping in the same room, hearing another's voice (she podcasts for him)... it's a wonderfully intimate series, long before ever they start to act on their feelings in other ways.

As they discover astronomy and photography for themselves, the series expands their and our horizons through very detailed, realistic art. Both the characters also seem more real and less cute than usual, and especially the eyes in the books are amazing by themselves.

It does get quite dramatic at times, and the upcoming volumes to be translated will amp up that drama (I peeked), but in general, this series seems very real and original, definitely not something that regurgitates just tropes. Highly recommended!

[cecebookworm07]

Okay, so I recently saw a comment on Pinterest saying something along the lines of “Yeah, but everyone in the Lost Cities likes so Sophie—” in a clearly mocking manner (the post was originally from here and was about how OP didn’t get why the fandom blamed Sophie for breaking Keefe and Fitz’s relationship) and I disagree to some degree.

Recently I started rereading and annotating the whole series and I’m halfway through book one, and I’m beginning to put together exactly what all of the guys saw in her. I mean seriously, when you put it together I can kind of understand why each of them fell for her.

Dex was 100% the first one to fall for her and that was because she was the first friend he ever had. Prior to there first meeting, he was a total outcast. Everybody treated him like crap because his parents were a “bad match”. Then this random girl his age shows up and is constantly talking about how she disagrees with the whole system. Of course he was going to fall for her (regardless of the whole being legally cousins thing I guess?). But seriously, I can understand why he fell for her. She was the first person to take him seriously and treat him like a normal person, and she was more then willing to keep his technopathy a secret if it kept him happy. For awhile, in his eyes at least, she was the only person who looked at him as something more. Although I’ll always ship him and Biana because of there enemies to lovers nerd boy x popular girl vibes.

Fitz is slightly harder for me to analyze because I haven’t reread any of the books recently enough to remember any specific moments of him complimenting her except regarding how powerful she is (more on that later). From what I do know with book one at least, is that I don’t think he liked her before Exile. For most of the first book he’s an awkward teenage boy holding her at arms length because he perceives her as more of a “close” friend, I would say what changes this is the infamous camp fire scene from Exile (again, take that with a grain of salt as I don’t remember many specific details). But regardless, what he likes about her isn’t a trait or a moment, it’s simply a mix of convenience and how arguably impressive he is. I mean, unlike the rest of the fandom I kind of just look at him as a mildly spoiled probably traumatized teenage boy so I don’t carry an obscene amount of hatred for him, but that’s still what I assume he liked about her. I mean seriously, his whole mentality in Flashback (again, take this with a grain of salt and feel free to correct me) is that he’s a Vacker and she’s the Moonlark, so they’d obviously be the perfect match cus there both strong. Then like 99.9 percent of the time his compliments involve how powerful he is. I don’t fault him for these feelings as you can’t control your own feelings, but you can control your actions so like -10 points from Fitz for being an ass to Keefe.

Then, finally, Keefe. I’m trying to be unbiased here but it’s SoKeefe sooooooooooo… yeah. Don’t expect this to be entirely neutral because I’m a former SoFitz shipper turned SoKeefe + Fitz Therapy so I definitely have my own opinions. Anyway, judging by what he says in Stellarlune, we can assume that Keefe was vaguely attracted to her in book one. I realize a lot of people will find that unrealistic, but he was also like 13-14 at the time and as a fellow teenager I know people who meet someone for a minute and already attracted to them. Not quite a crush yet, but definitely something. I would say probably one of the moments he started to actually fall for was when she encounters Keefe and his dad talking during midterms. Keefe can feel how worried she is about him and how disgusted she is by his father. Sure other people may care, but Sophie was pretty much about to beat Cassius after encounter one. Anyway, after that we know all the cute moments. The flight with Silveny, the window sleepovers, the betrayal at the end of Neverseen, Keefe coming back for her at the peace summit, blah blah blah. There are so many. But this isn’t a SoKeefe post, so I digress, this is about why they like her. And I think Keefe’s is pretty obvious. She’s the calm to his chaos, the serious to his (not so) comedy. While she has her moments of both, usually when Keefe isn’t, for the most part the two of them are opposites. (Regardless of the whole Lodestar Initiative V.S. Project Moonlark thing). They balance each other out and are always there when one needs the other. I mean seriously, look at how they were in Stellarlune. Sophie was basically on the brink of going full blown impulsive anti hero (something usually left for Keefe), meanwhile (from what we know) Keefe was playing this very cautious stay out of trouble sort of game (usually reserved for Sophie) so there positions basically swapped while still balancing each other out in the end.

Anyway, I don’t know how to end this. I just wanted to say it. As I reread this series I’m gonna be posting a lot more because I already have a lot of thoughts. Mostly on how in retrospect most of book one is a lot of set up.

[billconrad]

The Worst Thing I Almost Did

    There are many common themes in entertainment, such as when Luke Skywalker learned the truth about his father. The audience loved the suspense, the surprise, and the fantastic aftermath. Most plots have the basic pattern of a beginning or introduction, a detailed middle, and a conclusion. Stories that do not follow this typical theme are generally not entertaining.

    I wanted to discuss something that happened to me that does not fit the story mold. I almost did something and learned a valuable lesson. Around 20, I went to the movies with a friend. Afterward, we headed to the parking lot and saw an 18-year-old walking (away from us) with his father. This kid had gone far out of his way to look like a complete punk. He put in safety pin piercings all around his head, grotesquely shaved off his hair with orange/yellow hair dye, and wore a satanic shirt. This is an excellent example of all that is wrong with society.

    This obscene sight upset my tranquil evening, and I decided to confront this idiot. I walked up to him to say, “You look terrible!” (Alright, truth. Four-letter words would have been involved.)

    When I approached, my opinion did a 180. The 12-year-old boy had been severely burned, and his entire face was radically disfigured. The severe damage made him look a lot older. The safety pins were surgical staples from a recent reconstruction operation. Most of his hair would never grow back, and what little remained was stained with orange antiseptic. His “satanic” shirt, upon closer inspection, proclaimed his survival success at a Christian youth camp. The boy smiled at me. I immediately understood the sight before me. This was a happy child with his father, who had just attended their first movie after a traumatic event.

    I walked away feeling like the biggest jerk in the world. I reflect upon that shameful memory to this day, and I believe the experience helped me become a better person. What a great life lesson. Hey, let’s include this powerful memory in one of my stories.

    Not so fast. Bill almost insulted a boy. Boring! It would read much better if Bill insulted the boy and cried his eyes out in shame. Why? Readers cannot relate to a near event. “Bill thought about the incident.” So? Technically, Bill did not do anything wrong. The kid smiled at him. Big deal. “Hey, Bill! Man up and move on! No harm, no foul.”

    The core moment was the kid’s smile. There was no conflict, but that smile did more to my ego than a thousand bullets. At that moment, the twelve-year-old boy was far more mature than me. It is challenging to have a character go through the same event and pull the reader into their pain because nothing happened. Taping into this powerful memory would be fantastic, but it will not happen.

    What can we conclude? One. Be careful who you insult. Two. Life is complex and rarely predictable. Three. Real life does not always translate into words. Four. It’s fun to explore these topics.

    You’re the best -Bill

    April 13, 2024

    Hey book lovers, I published four. Please check them out:

    Interviewing Immortality. A dramatic first-person psychological thriller that weaves a tale of intrigue, suspense, and self-confrontation.

    Pushed to the Edge of Survival. A drama, romance, and science fiction story about two unlikely people surviving a shipwreck and living with the consequences.

    Cable Ties. A slow-burn political thriller that reflects the realities of modern intelligence, law enforcement, department cooperation, and international politics.

    Saving Immortality. Continuing in the first-person psychological thriller genre, James Kimble searches for his former captor to answer his life’s questions.

    These books are available in soft-cover on Amazon and eBook format everywhere.

[juneability]

currently reading, currently thinking:

moon of the crusted snow (waubgeshig rice)

i am deeply in love with the idea behind this book, and similarly enthralled with the execution. rice's writing feels down-to-earth, authentic, and appropriately tense. i had a book club meeting last friday for this book, and i enjoyed sharing my favourite aspect—which is the way we don't understand the cause of the main issue, and i predicted we never will. what with the disconnect reserves experience, and the disarray that the rest of the people and systems may not recover from, i don't expect any kind of explanation. and that's the most chilling part of all

a court of mist and fury (sarah j. maas)

all i can think about right now is how bothered i am by feyre. i understand that what she went through Under the Mountain was stressful and traumatic and unforgettable, but c'mon girl, lighten up. this is supposed to be my chill read right now. i just finished reading the first part... we're up at the house of wind, and feyre has done nothing but complain and bitch at rhys lmao

theaetetus (plato)

i took this book out of the library on a whim. i'm like 10 pages in, and though i like it very much, i don't know if i'm going to have time to finish it before i'll have to renew it. but yes, i'm enjoying the style of "conversation" about philosophy. it's like a more eloquent, less obscene version of the podcast i've been listening to (very bad wizards). i definitely think i'd like to read more of plato's works after this. i have had several thoughts on the content itself but it's been a hot minute since i cracked this book open.

to read (soon...!):

the catcher in the rye (j.d. salinger)

my best friend's namesake is the main character of this book, and he just reread it this year & told me he "gets it now." my boyfriend and i both have copies, so we're going to read it together once we have a little more time. i look forward to diving in!

the body keeps the score (bessel van der kolk)

i feel like i've heard about this book everywhere. i have relatively low expectations, because when a book is this popular, it might be appealing to an audience beyond those in the science of psychology. however, i've been meaning to read it, and it was a christmas gift from the aforementioned friend (a fellow psyc major).

swastika night (katharine burdekin)

i told a classmate in globalizations that i was an orwell fan, and he recommended this book. i enjoy my dystopias when they're done well or at least intriguing, and this one definitely looks like it will pique my fancy. the only problem is obtaining a copy—might be time to get a library card in my new city!

sustainable fossil fuels (mark jaccard)

another non-fiction, this book makes an argument for buying time before alternative energy. it's from 2006 so i don't know how useful it will be for me to read twenty years later, but that doesn't hinder my curiosity. i picked it up in a used bookstore two years ago and have been staring at it on my shelf ever since.

[rhtakeuchi]

This was a comment I wrote to a friend back when the-game-that-must-not-be-named released. They shared some very openly misinformed outrage about the “antisemitic” stuff in the game. It said goblin nose sizes depend on how evil the goblin is, and all sorts of ridiculousness about the goblins trying to kidnap children. Honestly, the post sounded more like an antisemitic conspiracy theory, especially since I played the game and none of it was remotely true.

However, on Reddit and Twitch, trolls and bullies were getting particularly terrible to the point of spamming random folks who had subbed or chatted about the game. I’m not even sure if they were legit protesting and or if they were just being terrible because they felt it was fine, but it’s not fine to harass folks and call them transphobes (and all sorts of obscenities) just for playing a game. So I was worried to post anything, but I can’t turn off my correction-sense when something so crazy is out there with folks massively sharing it as if it were fact.

***

My comment:

Wow, this person did not actually play the game, and it’s really sad that so many folks sharing these things haven’t played the game to judge it for themselves, and those who have are too scared to say anything or else be bullied by those sharing these things. But hey, if folks want to bully me, have at it. Just remember a lot of folks with PTSD and other conditions used the Wizarding World as their safe mental space for decades before JK became problematic, and all those traumatized folks aren’t about to nuke their safety paracosms because JK has gone all Lovecraft. Some might have been able to find something else to dive into, but nobody should be thought policing how someone else should deal with their trauma. Let’s be real. Most fantasy worlds were initially created by misogynists (and worse). While it feels uncomfortable to go back and reread Xanth or Wheel of Time, a lot of folks loved those worlds — enough to make a series of the latter that is significantly less sexist. But here’s my actual rebuttal.

Spoilers:

*** *** *** ***

Noses have nothing to do with anything. In fact, the goblins are mostly based on the exact same asset with minor facial variation, much like the generic extra students. Honestly, the facial mapping is rough in general. The bankers aren’t at all involved in Ranrok’s extremism — in fact one banker is killed by Ranrok in the prologue trying to stop him from stealing from the bank. Ranrok gets quite a bit of story, which is sadly more substantial than most characters in the game. If you want to criticize the game for a very weak storyline in general, that’s totally legit. The dark magic side story about a boy trying to heal his sister (and going dark in the process) is actually more compelling than the entire main quest. There are equal factions enemy goblins and wizards with an alliance, but they actually have a motivation. Both factions are led by descendants or followers of the original folks who helped lock away the Ancient Magic™️ (several wizards and a goblin were involved) and now the factions want the magical nuke-power for themselves for their various (and somewhat understandable) reasons and the main character is the only one in the last few centuries who can actually see the Ancient Magic™️. However, the game insists the correct way to deal with the situation is to seal the Ancient Magic™️ away so nobody has the nukes. So be prepared for an almost Twilight-level lack of anything substantial happening. But there is a boss fight rather than a strange psyche-out and there’s no creepy imprinting or whatever, so marginally better than Twilight. I’m not seeing the raging antisemitism this post is talking about. There is bigotry toward non-wizards, yes. That was still a problem in the books 100 years after the game takes place, so one wouldn’t expect to make a substantial change in the late 1800s when house elf rights didn’t get a big boost until Hermione’s efforts in the late 1900s. Honestly, most of the fights are with spiders (which is why there’s an arachnophobia mod that is particularly popular).

[sunsents]

Content 2/2 - F.W (M)

Empty Chapter II

IT'S. OVER. Holy shit, this took way longer than I expected it to be. Yes, it’s 20k mf words and what abt it. Don’t look at me like that. I warned ya’ll 🙄. Now, I definitely made up some words while writing this. Like a shelved corridor, the heck is a shelved corridor?!?! Please tell me it makes sense…please for the sake of my sanity. The smut is kinda tame so I’ll whip out the chains on the next one.

CROSS POSTED TO WATTPAD HERE

Summary —> Years later you find yourself face to face with the person that caused your ruin - yet this time, somethings different.

Pairing: fredweasley x fem!reader

Word count: 20k... honestly I completely get it if ya'll wanna sit this one out

Warnings: *deep breath* a poor attempt at humor / gingers / pining idiots / normal idiots / excessive cursing / fred weasley in slacks / alcohol consuming / very little angst (its mostly just overthinking) to fluff / minor character death / smut / oral, (fem) / fingering / cum play / sexual mf intercourse mfs / protected sex (dont be silly protect your willy) / dirty talk / sappy stuff

Rating: 18+

DON’T REPOST MY WORK

tagged: @opalsheart @ronsbadidea @uselessmoonlight @boxofbadaddiction @lovenonymously @sergeantkilowog @rudypankowisdaddy, @nobutfredweasleytho some names didn’t come up when I tried, so what do we get from this? I can't properly use Tumblr <3

Five Years Later, 2003

"____, will you just calm down." Aleyna lets go of the book box full of bathroom supplies and they clink together, to which you wince because these are your stuff and you’re in a far too dangerous position to lose more money.

"How can I calm down?!" you exclaim dramatically, tossing your wand on the nylon wrapped couch. "It's all Stacey's fault."

Aleyna quirks a brow, "Whose Stacey?"

"That one chick from Magical Catastrophes who always has lipstick on her teeth."

"I don't think her name is Stacey though."

You send Aleyna a look that screams, stop being reasonable at a time like this. No, this was when you overpaid your TV cable to air The Twilight Zone and drank cheap wine while cursing out your boss who cared about your well being. Hermione had become The Minister of Magic, and of course you were proud of her. Though, this didn't mean she could let you have time off work whenever something insignificant happened.

"Probably not," you mutter, opening your fridge and coming face to face with the painful truth that it’s empty, and you’re hungry. Your hand unintentionally flies to graze over your scar as you survey your options, a small pack of ketchup and left over chips. "Suits her though, feels good to say 'Goddamnit Stacey' when something goes wrong in my life."

Stacey deserves it because Stacey doesn’t refill the staplers on purpose.

Aleyna snorts, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. "What did Stacey ever do to you?" Then she wheels across your new apartment to retrieve more boxes from outside.

You’re grateful for the support of all your friends, but the pitying looks they give you whenever someone mentions the words house and fire is enough to fuel into your secret want of setting their houses on fire. It was an accident, you were just trying to make the delicious recipe Molly had sent you, ignoring the small fact that you didn't know how to properly use an oven. The savings you lost from your bleeding bank account were not worth pasta with tomato sauce on it.

Though, your new apartment is big, bigger than your first because after making a name for yourself as an Auror money came easily. Wide walls for a projector TV, long tail shaped couch standing firm on varnished wood floorings, and two bedrooms that have their own - kind of unnecessary - bathrooms. Not to mention the giant kitchen with an island, only rich people had islands, where you could make plenty of Italian recipes and not worry about burning the house down because Aleyna fool-proofed it for you.

The flat was at the top floor of the new bar she just built, and she was kind enough to let you start renting the place. The residents of Diagon Alley had been fighting for this apartment for months, and you were proud to have snagged it before anyone could even offer.

Gripping the last two boxes, Aleyna pushes the front door with her foot and navigates herself backwards through the other dozen boxes you had just tossed on the floor. "These are the last two, are you sure you don't need anymore help?" she offers.

You shake your head, "I can just use magic, not in the mood for pursuing the muggle lifestyle right now."

Aleyna frowns, this reaches her eyes though. "That bad huh."

Simply nodding, you don’t bother getting into an in depth rant about how a simple fire didn't mean you had trauma, and that you didn't need to stop working for a few weeks. Not that being an Auror was hard, your work days have been quite uneventful if you didn't count a few "Revalutioners" sticking a muggle's head in a toilet.

"I know what will cheer you up," Aleyna chimes, already clad in her pea coat and sneakers. "Dinner, and it's on me."

You couldn't possibly say no to free dinner, also making food for yourself was probably not a good idea right now. Stay clear of ovens, you reminded yourself.

After getting snug in your coat and fluffing your hair, you fall on step next to Aleyna as the two of you chat.

The London cold is brutal, shivering whomever until their noses turn red and making their hands feel itchy when sudden warmth overtook. You’re used to it, as is anyone in Diagon Alley. People are crowding the stores, chatting loudly and waving their wands around at stores to reserve whatever crappy gifts they were going to buy for their family's.

You hate the holidays, refusing to go back to America and visit your own family. Your mother couldn't cook, nor could your father. Though, that didn't stop her from insisting every year and giving you, your father and the Burke's food poisoning.

After three years of sitting through awkward family dinners where everyone ignored the fact that you were almost Head of Aurors, and focused on Eva's collapsing career of Healer only to praise her, you had about enough and stopped attending. It had been two years since then, they didn't bother to write. Your dad occasionally sent you money in a horrible christmas card with an even more horrible pun written in red glittery letters that also sang Run Run Rudolph.

"Ugh, everyone's crowding the joke shop aga- oh." Aleyna pauses. "I'm sorry."

She knows about your past with Fred Weasley, considering whenever you rant about work it ends up with you cursing him and Eva out. He had such a blame-able face, just like Stacey from Magical Catastrophes.

You give Aleyna a look. "You act like I'm not a grown woman who can't get over something that happened eight years ago." you say, shaking off the small snow particles that begin to lightly fall. "You should be like this with, I don't know...my relationship with Theo! We broke up last year, why aren't you fragile with him, hmmm?"

Aleyna claps your back in a friendly manner all the same. "I know I know, but come on. This is childhood trauma we're talking about."

"Now that I think about it, seeing Eva's coochie was traumatic." you grin, and Aleyna's jaw gape even if she heard the story hundreds of times before. Not that Eva's...modesty was bad per say, just not a pleasant sight seeing as you guys grew up together.

Other than that fact, you hadn't talked, even seen Fred after the war ended. Sure, you occasionally stole glances at their very successful joke shop, but there was no point in dwelling and trying to fix an already withered away friendship.

You had fixed your relationship with Ron and Harry, having had no choice since the three of you worked together. "You were right ____, we were assholes. You don't need to apologize." they had told you, and that was that. The two families and well, you did weekly dinners and enduring the two men for Ginny and Hermione got easier as days passed, finally ending up in a good friendship like old times. It was casual between you, easy when no one mentioned how abruptly your friendship ended. No one dared to either.

Also, Harry was your boss and him remembering that you called him a drama queen wouldn’t do you any good in your career.

People bump at your sides as the two of you squeeze your way towards Sacree Fleur. The end of Voldemort brought a new, reformative era in the Wizarding World. Diagon Alley expanded, new buildings were built and culture grew. You were happy to see that Ollivendar's Wand shop renewed, along with other crumbling buildings that needed desperate attention.

Bandits lessened, and the utter arrogance some parents had by not sending their children to get magical education faded, partly because there was nothing to fear, and partly because more job opportunities arose, like said, money came easily.

Fleur Weasley, your good friend and someone who had done the impossible and won over a Weasley brother - though she was gorgeous and possibly the sweetest person you've ever met, so really they were perfect for each other - had decided on a whim to open a french restaurant. Bill couldn't say no to his wife, the rough man you had met years prior was softened with age and the struggle of raising children.

Good wine, deliciously soft steak that melts in your mouth and warm atmosphere that makes five o-clock feel like midnight. It’s by far your favorite restaurant and you'd much rather spend your Christmas Eve curled up next to a warm candlelit dinner on a terrace.

"Bonjour!" an obscenely attractive woman, Fleur greets the two of you when the revolving glass doors are pushed, and you break out in a wide smile seeing your friend at the door. "____, Aleyna! Come here, give me a big hug!"

"Fleur! What are you doing here?"

With dopey smiles, the three of you embrace.The door closes on it's own, and you shiver unintentionally, just now realizing how cold it is. Usually the big marble fireplace keeps Sacree Fleur warm, but even that seemed not enough and the restaurant is adorned with small muggle heaters, floating up above the ceiling and adding to the red light of the candles.

"You'll see. Came at a most amazing time too, silly girl always knowing when to show. Saw all the juicy drama when you were younger..." Fleur continues to joke lightheartedly, pulling away and leading the two of you through occupied tables as she faux scolds. People are content, it feels warm and almost soft. Conversation seems to flow easily and the unease you feel for the Holiday melts. Almost.

You blech whenever someone brings up the line ‘love is in the air’. It never made sense to you, because love was simply a fairy tale that would wither away with time. Also, how could love simply float? Of course, unless you count Amortentia fumes - which yours always smelled like sweat and crushed hopes. So frankly, you prefer expensive Dior perfume in the air rather than love.

Though now you find yourself doubting whatever you engraved in that well protected head of yours, love is truly in the air at Sacree Fleur. All kinds of love, mothers lovingly wiping food off their children's mouths, happy newlyweds clinking their wine glasses together with nothing but adoration in their eyes, friends enjoying sharing a simple dinner far more than should be done.

"My family, they're upstairs having dinner. The kids like the ice cream here, Mr Fortescue provides it well."

"Family? Ginny and Hermione are here?" you ask, lazily climbing the steps to the second floor to reveal the more, private part of the restaurant. Now, instead of wooden chairs with red cushions attached at the middle, there stand long booths with comfortable blankets and pillows with empty, eerily clean tables - except one.

The long table near the terrace is much livelier today, people sitting there whom you consider your own family. The three post luster that hangs low from the ceiling is turned on - it’s the first time you’ve seen the glamorous glass orbs in action. Its light ricochets off of several bright orange heads, simply calling it a lamp does no justice. The hue is yellow, low and it reminds you of the Christmas Eve fantasy you planned.

Said orange heads turn at the noise of delight you let out. "Oh Fleur! This is gorge- oof-"

"Auntie ____!"

A pool of orange locks squish into your stomach, snug in the soft fabric of your coat and you let out a chuckle. You can’t help it, even if you would never admit, he’s your favorite by a small number that-

"Well well, if it isn't Teddy Lupin."

The small boy chuckles, hair matching your black coat like a chameleon sticking itself on a flower and absorbing the color of the petals. You ruffle Ted's hair as the orange fades, he’s delighted to see you, and so are you yet your attention is quickly cut off by several disembodied voices thrown your way.

Bill Weasley is standing up, wine glass on one hand while grinning wide. “Look who my dear wife brought in!” his tidy yet visible scar stretches when his face brightens, you remembered again that day, just how much love you have around you.

“Hey everyone, hope we’re not interrupting.” you apologize, wincing but Bill quickly shakes his head and pushes his chair back.

You waddle your way towards the marble table, Teddy following suit with his face still smushed in your coat. He grips you tighter and you have to peel his small little limbs off your legs.

Aleyna scoffs, arms crossing together as she surveys Ted. “The blatant favoritism!”

Teddy rushes on his little legs to jump in Aleyna’s arms, and only then are you able to acknowledge the other - a little less important - people in the room.

“Happy holidays!” echoes around your head as several people embrace you all at once, and you have to simply stand and awkwardly loop your arm around whoever you can get a hold of.

Once the formalities are over, Ginny throws her arm around your shoulder. The red tresses of her dress hike up her leg from her slightly bigger stomach, and you can see the small broom tattoo on her thigh that she loves to display like a trophy. “You should’ve told us you were coming! We would have saved you a seat.”

A round of yes’s resonate around the room, and you take a quick moment to scan who’s afternoon dinner you’ve just interrupted. Hermione, hand resting on her very pregnant belly, is smiling warmly at you, and Ron quickly shoots up from his seat and wipes his mouth to catch up to his wife. Harry follows in his friend's wake, his hair has a white streak at the front and you furrow your brows.

“Age catching up with you Potter?” you grin, rubbing Ginny’s back fondly before she separates from you and greets Aleyna. “Or is it the pregnancy?”

Harry scoffs, pulling you in his embrace for a quick friendly second. “Always the charmer ____. I’ll have you know I’m handling it wonderfully, right Gin’?”

Ginny pauses, “Erm, yeah…”

Harry’s face feigns faux disbelief, and it quickly melts as you bombard the man with questions about how Ginny’s first trimester is going. You mentally take note of asking Ron about Hermione’s as well, your two best friends are fucking pregnant. It’s almost too happy, and slowly the anxiety creeping up from your spine wraps around your throat, ready to suffocate you whenever.

It was always like this, the past ready to make it’s deathly move, because nothing is perfect. Happiness doesn’t come this easily.

And you’re right, because not only a minute after the warm embraces of your friends comes the voice of the person you’ve been dreading to see.

“____?”

And then, you’re suffocating.

He’s a man. Of that you’re sure, because now his muscles stretch well over his broad shoulders, maroon satin shirt loose on his frame, tight around his biceps - properly sculpted of course - portraying defined collarbones.

His eyes are somewhat duller, though the same glimmer of loveable mischief he always had is evident. It will never go away, even after all these years, yet it’s tamer. That mischief caused him quite the trouble back in school, and now it seems he knows when to act, when to speak and when to stay silent.

His silhouette catches you off guard, his features are sharper, much sharper than how much Harry has matured. His biceps bulge obscenely when he rests his - also generously sized you might add - hand on the table, and the table suddenly doesn’t seem that long.

His forearms, on display with his sleeves rolled up, glistens under the soft lighting of the balcony. Your eyes fall on his bracelet adorned right wrist, one of which in particular catching your attention.

He’s still wearing the bracelet you gave him.

His face, always glowing, wears a large expression displaying his set of perfect teeth. He’s awestruck, you think.

You watch him push his large body out of the small chair, and wow chest, is your only thought. Then further down and...god damn thighs. Burly thighs - probably very comfortable too - squeezed in black tight fit jeans, however he managed that you don’t know but it was nice to imagine.

He’s leaned back, casual as he strolls towards you in two large steps, his long sculpted legs never disappointing.

Fred Weasley is genetically designed to ruin you and your insides with just one look, and you’re ashamed to have realized it all too late because when he speaks again you swear you saw stars.

“Wow - you,” he breaths, walking towards you with slow, unsure steps. “Grew!”

You raise a brow, Aleyna snorts. Grew? His steps should be unsure, because you want him to take them back, sit his fine fit ass back on that chair and pretend he never saw you.

Because this wasn’t your plan for tonight, seeing him wasn’t in your checklist. You woke up today, thinking nothing but coffee and a stressful moving day ahead. Not of the boy - the man you’ve been in love with since childhood, the man you blamed for your problems as an excuse to hide the heart squeezing pain of loneliness, the man you hadn’t seen in so many years you forgot what his voice sounded like.

You could have never guessed, and now you want to go back. Somehow rewind the clock to this morning when you were safe of your tucked away feelings trying to bulge, safe in your own little circle. All your efforts of leaving your house just a little early so you wouldn’t run into Fred seems stupid now. Your strategy ran smoothly for five years, it could’ve ran for more.

You would have continued avoiding him like your life depended on it, and his stupid joke shop, and the way he stupidly looked at you everytime he saw you. You’re reminded again, because no matter how older he looks he’s still Fred, and he still looks at you the same.

“I mean - beautifully! Shit I - fuck.” he groans, and George claps his brother on the back with a chuckle. Wherever he came from, because you were so entranced by Fred that you didn’t see George standing tall next to his family.

“____.” George stops before you, hands in his pockets. it happens too quickly that you’re forced out of your panicked state.

You raise a brow, and only then - Fred’s out of view with George’s figure towering over you - are you able to find your voice. “George.”

He pulls you in his tight embrace, “How come you never visited!” he scolds, chest stretching back to bring you with. “You’d think she’d bloody say hello once in a while! Maybe drop by our shop after 5 years, you quack!”

“George - can’t,” you heave and your legs wobble when he sets you on the ground again. You clear your throat, grinning widely at your...friend?

It would be fair to call him an acquaintance, right? You don’t know where you stand with the twins but you have love for them. This is clear from the way you can’t stop smiling like a sappy idiot - or perhaps it’s because of how contagious George’s smile is. You thought they hated you, but the youngest looks anything but displeased. He gives you a squeeze again before throwing an arm around your shoulder.

“I thought - I dunno. I thought you guys didn’t wanna see me.”

George scoffs, “Because you told us off that one time in seventh year?” he laughs, arms folding and displaying a set of bulging biceps much like Fred’s. “Yeah mate, you’re not that intimi-“

“George Weasley, finish that sentence I dare you!”

His eyes grow wide. “Sorry Ma’am.”

Someone clears their throat.

It’s Frederick Weasley, probably here to beat you to death.

“Hey Fred.” you greet, mouth dry. Get a grip, you scold yourself.

Fred opens his arms, “Well well,” he laughs, pulling you into a hug with a polite smile. His cheeks tint red when you shuffle closer, you would have missed this but you’re a creep, and you can’t stop staring at the beautiful man before you. He displays his beautifully indented smile lines, as if he was saying look at me! I’m perfect and sexy, I also broke your heart that one time, too bad I had no idea!

And it’s true, Fred never knew about your feelings. You kept them well hidden and they ate away at your organs from the inside, there was no reason to blame him. The realization is probably what compels you to accept him with open arms and wrap them around his neck.

You feel him shiver, dismissing it quickly because of the cold.

He smells good. Way too good that you melt in his arms and let him engulf you in his dangerous warmth. Manly, musky cologne, mixing with hints of cigar smoke that lingers on only certain areas of his shirt. You recognize the scotch in his breath when he whispers how much he had missed you, and his nape still has that cinnamon deliciousness he would parade whenever he came out of the shower, you fought the urge to shiver yourself, and it’s not because of the cold either.

It’s dizzying, and before you can start a detailed essay about how good his muscles feel, firm and digging into all the right places, he pulls away.

The past hits you like a ton of fucking bricks and crumbles down the firm foundations of the walls you have been building for eight years. You feel guilty, have you learned nothing? The loud pounding of your heart is a warning, yelling at you to stop getting swept away. Yet you can’t control it, just like how you can never control your feelings.

“I missed you guys too.” you breath shakily, you have to make sure to keep your distance. For your own good, you tell yourself.

Teddy pulls away your attention, and you silently add buy Teddy an expensively dumb toy to your checklist.

He sticks to your leg and is adamant on staying there. “I grew taller.” he says, looking at you between his eyelashes. “He says I didn’t, but I know I did!”

You chuckle, ignoring how Fred looks at the boy with such a warm expression, ignoring the way your heart nearly catapults out your chest.

“Well, stand straight soldier!” you demand.

Ted immediately lets go of your leg and straightens, hand going to his forehead to salute you. A giggle escapes him when you bend on your knees and act like you have a measuring stick on your hand. “Oh yes yes, seven feet tall and growing.” voice mock deep, you nod sternly.

“By this rate - I’ll pass you! Hah!” Teddy stomps his little foot on the stone floor, little sneakers barely making a sound.

You stand up again and fold your arms, “Well, I grow too you know! You can never pass me.” smirking slyly, you egg him on to see how much he’ll endure before he demands a ride on your shoulders - because that’s how giants saw the earth he told you. You doubt giants compare to a twenty four year old woman with attachment issues

Ted stands on his toes, struggling to tug on your shirt and bring you down. “No, I don’t like this game anymore…”

“Alright alright.” and with that you pick him up and prop the little boy on your shoulders.

Ted happily kicks his feet on your chest and you groan. He’s supposed to be five, not a midget wrestler. “Easy buddy boy.”

“You’re amazing with him, little twerp barely lets me tie his shoes.”

Fred’s voice startles you, only now do you realize that he had been watching you and Teddy. Speaking of, Ted’s busying himself with your hair, small hands pulling and twisting locks and mumbling incoherently.

Ear tips slowly catching fire, you chuckle. “Buy him a broom at four and see how he handles it.”

Fred shakes his head, tongue poking at the side of his cheek and you remind yourself to breathe. “You spoil him then? They say the way to a five year old's heart is money.”

“Damn, I’ll drink to that.”

Nuff words said, everyone soon sits on their designated chairs, and you pull one from another table, being the uninvited one.

Aleyna isn’t slick, you knew she had something up her sleeve the moment she had offered to pay for dinner. Though, this is your fault. You let her without calculating whatever end result was waiting to catch you off guard and ruin your entire life plan to avoid Fred Weasley.

Being the snake she is, snake Aleyna enticed you with nice food, dragged you to Sacree Fleur and did her little snake magic.

Awkwardly angled next to your best friend, you chat with Harry and Hermione while they tell you what you missed from work. (Not that you missed much, actually nothing different seems to have happened other than boring paperwork and Mrs Newersman’s new hairdo.)

Swirling your wine in one hand, the reflection of Fred from the rim of the glass keeps distracting you.

He’s changed, not personality wise though there were tweaks. Nor looks, he’s an adult now and his boyish charm is gone, but it isn’t quite that.

You can’t put a finger on it either, and you watch him laugh, carefree with his sister.

He looks relaxed, or maybe it’s merely the wine. Is it - no, couldn’t be. He looks happy. Genuine happiness and adoration for whomever. Love in his eyes as he looks at - Ah. He’s looking at you.

You jerk your head away and tip your wine glass back to gulp down liquid courage - because you need it tonight.  This is bad, you tell yourself, kick you on the shin and punch to your gut bad. This can’t keep up or else you’re going to end up right back in that hollow pit of empty hope and gooey saturday lasagna.

“So, any plans for Christmas Eve ____?”

Ron’s timbre voice thankfully grips your arms and pulls you away from said hollow pit.

“Uhh what?” you cough awkwardly, setting your now empty wine glass down.

“Christmas Eve, what are you doing? Going back home?” Ron asks, raising a brow.

You can lie but something compels you not to, maybe it’s how warmly they always welcome you, how they’re welcoming you now with open arms and nice food.

You shake your head, answering honestly; “No actually, I’ll just celebrate with Jambo and Christmas movies.”

And that’s exactly how you’ve been spending your Christmas Eve these past few lonesome years. It wasn’t that lonely, you had Aleyna and people loved her bar, you’d drop by and count down with people you didn’t know, at least you got to kiss a random stranger.

“Jambo? He’s still alive?” Hermione chuckles.

“No no, this is Jambo Fitzwilliam the Second, who is also a cat but don’t you dare tell him that!” smiling, you joke lightheartedly to conceal the harsh news.

Your hand reaches to trace around your scar as you speak.You know their eyes follow, and you know they stare at it when you’re not looking. Teddy asked you one day, even after Ginny’s scolding but you happily told him your heroic story and how Bellatrix smelled like piss and rum.

Sighing, you set your hand on your lap.

Jambo had unfortunately passed away because apparently dogs couldn’t live two hundred years, which you were disappointed because clearly Dumbledore could. You had already grieved and mourned, it left you with the happiest memories of your precious dog and you were grateful.

“Poor kitty doesn’t know he’s adopted?” George frowns, banging his fist on the table.

You roll your eyes, “I’m sure he’s caught on by now, he’s three.”

“So, you’re spending Christmas Eve alone?” Fred asks, too suddenly and you flinch. He probably sees this, his effect on you.

You nod, and your friends gasp. Surely it wasn’t that big of a deal, or maybe it’s because of how normal it felt for you to be alone.

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Ginny says, hand shooting out to rub your arm.

“I’ve been trying to get her out for ages-“

“Aleyna, don’t.” you nudge her arm.

“No Aleyna, do!” Ginny protests. “You’re spending it with us and that’s that.”

“Wha-“

George throws up his finger to shush you, “No objections!” he declares fiercely. “We’re having a party at our flat and you both are coming!”

“Oh! Unless you and Blaise have any other plans.” Hermione’s quick to ask, she isn’t being slick though.

Aleyna chuckles, “We had dinner reservations but we can make it.”

Hermione grins, and you watch Aleyna pretend that she didn’t notice her friend ready to snoop in her relationship with an amused smile. Not that it matters - she and Blaise have that kind of love you hoped for as a young girl. There was truly no two other people so perfect for each other.

“How’s Blaise doing by the way?”

Aleyna takes a sip from her almost empty glass and tuts on the bitter after taste. “Amazing, actually. He just got promoted…”

Almost empty glasses are soon emptied bottles, and two steaks turn into a large brownie for the middle. You know that it’s a good meal, because as you stand outside in the midnight cold, arm around Aleyna, your legs wobble and your stomach aches from all the deliciousness you’ve consumed. More like inhaled, you only realized how hungry you were until the second steak arrived.

“Thank you so much you guys!” you wave your arm, overly theatrical, forgetting about what a day you’ve had.

Though, the thoughts catch up as you lay awake in bed.

It had gone by too quickly, and your heart is still beating louder than any chirping of the bugs outside. Your bedroom lacks furnishing, it only adds to your wild imagination. Your mind paints pictures on the blank walls as your eyes dart around, Fred didn’t look in your direction once that night.

Or maybe he did, only you didn’t see.

It’s strange, whenever you turned your gaze his way, he seemed to be busying himself with whatever, whether it be his fork or napkin. How interesting can a damn napkin be? Hopefully not any lesser than you.

And are you just going to ignore that goddamned bracelet? The one you carefully sculpted with beads in such a way that you were sure Fred would suspect at least a drop of your raging crush. He’s still wearing it, that piece of string and glass - the symbol of your love and effort - survived through a war.

Are you reading into things? Surely not, he greeted you as anyone else would. Or maybe he remembered - you don’t dare think of that night.

How can they act so normally, so brazen after everything? It’s been almost six years since you saw them, have they got nothing to say to you? Maybe an apology?

Frustrated, you turn to your side and force your eyes shut.

————————

When night bleeds into morning, every cat has a tendency to quip over to their owners on their cushioned paws - which makes no noise but simple claw scratchings on the floor.

Jambo’s no different.

So, you’d imagine the poor creature's shock when he finds your bedroom empty. If he’d bothered to check, you’re seated on your island stool, pen and parchment in hand and mug of hot coffee (instant given the circumstance) in the other.

You hung your new curtains this morning, and were making use of them by shutting them halfway on the hooks while your window stood half open. You watch the snow flurry outside and gulp. If this week was to go horribly wrong... at least you have nice curtains waiting for you at your ritzy new apartment.

Jambo wraps his tail around your dangling ankle like he always does and you barely hum in acknowledgement. He’s purring, and it brings you comfort even if it’s for a small moment. But your question still remains unanswered, What would a five year old boy want for christmas?

It had been exactly two days since Ginny invited you to spend Christmas Eve together, and you busied yourself with buying them gifts - a tradition you hated because 1. coming up with gift ideas is infuriatingly hard. It’s way too time consuming, nit picking every single personality and deciding what they’ll like and what they’ll pretend to like. Pretend like they’re going to use it, and then never touch it until that one very specific occasion.

Maybe it’s excessive, but you actually like these people. They somehow give you - a sad, lonely sewer rat that’d been a neglected child - joy.

And 2. you feel like those people you make fun of every Christmas. Though, somewhere deep in your heart, you know you enjoy being those people. You would never admit it though.

What? You actually relish in the idea that you belong to a group, and that said group causes you to carry out cliche holiday traditions?

Absolute blasphemy.

Finally deciding, you leave your apartment in warm but cher clothing. It isn’t as crowded this morning - or maybe it’s because it’s seven forty in the crack of fucking dawn. Though, with the amount of caffeine you’ve consumed, it feels like ten.

Would they even be open, you ask yourself, jogging quickly about the streets on your heels to avoid the cold. It’s Christmas, they have to be.

Of course your logic sucks.

Shivering, you round the corner tea shop and fasten your pace. Ass freezing, lip tucked in between your teeth, you realize you have underestimated the morning London cold.

Soon, thankfully, the giant head of George(?) you assume, comes into view. The animatronic is motionless, big porcelain eyes closed and displaying sinister gaping holes. You shiver, and not because of the cold either.

Keeping your eyes low on your feet, you push the glass doors of the shop open. You don’t bother to check the inside from the generous glass displays, it’s way too cold and you don’t want to spend any more time outside with the giant George doll.

A bell rings, a little jingle up above that puts a smile on your face. Jambo’s collar jingled like that whenever he got excited, whether it be a pesky squirrel ready to bum off your house food, or maybe a friendly one showing its face to piss off the house dog.

You sigh, and only then notice the delicious scent of fresh coffee roast. Invading through your nostrils and turning you into a drunkard, and you can’t help but gravitate towards-

Woah, you’ve had your coffee today.

“Who's here so early, couldn’t a man enjoy breakfa-”

You smile apologetically, it’s only natural that Fred just woke up. He isn’t a morning person, after years of knowing him you found out one way or another. In your case, he was mean to you and that’s when it clicked. Fred doesn’t like the early hours of morning, where his hair isn’t as tame and his lips feel like they’re about to pop. You find it charming.

“____?”, the man of the hour comes into view, standing at the top of the spiral staircase. The first step is a rung, rolling on the hinges of the wall's edges. The staircase rattles when Fred steps down, and you quickly jump forward in panic.

Mug in one hand, his fingers rake through his mussed morning hair then settles on the checkout counter. “Morning,” He smiles, and those dang smile lines greets you, as if they’re mocking you again.

“Morning, I know it’s early and-”

“It’s okay, have you had breakfast yet?”

Taken aback, you nod. Disappointment flashes through his face, and before you can analyze he straightens. Taking a sip of his coffee and humming, he fixes his pyjama bottoms. Red and checkered, loosely hanging from his hip and giving you a teasing view of his lower abdomen. “Can I get you anything?” he asks again, adamant on offering you something.

You shake your head no and you watch his face fall. Merlin, you would have come starving if it meant having breakfast with him. The view before you is enough to fulfill your darkest fantasies, and this is enough. Because you know that this is all you could get. His friendship.

But is it though? Is it truly enough? Will it ever be enough?

The questions that linger around your head have an answer that you wouldn’t dare set free. Everything you’re doing right now is wrong, how you’re standing in front of him, letting his delicious scent compel you further into him.

He smells almost alluring - he always does - less piquant than yesterday. Probably the after taste of neglecting a shower, yet his natural fragrance is just as charming. You remember those mornings at the Burrow when Fred stumbled down the stairs, sun early and bright, woken up just like himself. He smelled ama-

Woah, down girl.

Fred clears his throat, and only then do you realize how long it has been since you spoke.

“I need to buy something.” you blurt. Fuck, this couldn't get more embarrassing. “For Ted, his gift.” You finish lamely.

“Ah,” Fred chuckles, giving you a quick lookover. You flush. “You have come to the right place.”

It’s true, the shop is truly...something. A gateway to heaven for anyone twelve or younger. Fascinated, you take your time to linger your eyes on every little nook and cranny that catches your eye.

The shop feels much tamer without the telltale rowdy crowd, it’s almost comforting. You can really see a piece of each twin on each display, Fred’s being the Deflagration Deluxe. ‘A deluxe selection of Weasleys’ Wild-Fire Whiz-Bangs’ read on the big cardboard. You chuckle, he always had a bag full of them that he carried around religiously.

“Those!” he exclaims, scurrying over to the display, “New and improved by yours truly.”

You chuckle, and Fred breaks out into a smile. “Here, I’ll show you around.” he mutters, before you can utter a protest, he takes your hand in his and drags you to a shelved corridor. “This is his favorite section, explosives and quidditch.”

You smile as you scan the heaps of colorful products lining the walls, all engraved with the shop's signature logo. Fingers coming out to touch a few, you subconsciencly swing your encased hands together. “These are real neat.”

Fred smirks, though his palms feel hotter than usual, “Not so much when he’s blowing up the bloody flat.”

You chuckle softly, eyes fluttering to imagine little Ted shaking up a pair of fireworks, unknowingly setting them off and resulting in a giant black mark on the ceiling. Because only that explains the small black stains on the walls of the shop.

“See anything you like?” Fred offers, almost in a whisper.

“No I,” you turn back to him, and something flashes between the two of you. “I’m still…looking.”

The air feels tense, warm, affecting your body. Your breath catches in your throat, Fred’s eyes bore into yours with such intensity that you don’t know what to do. Even your breathing feels on edge.

He moves closer to you and your heart flutters. His exhales hit your ear, only a breadth away from your neck and you flinch. Chills lift up the hair on your arms, “No...erm.” you mutter.

“Alright.” he says softly.

His eyes are hooded, displaying a perfectly long set of eyelashes.

How, is the question. They’re long and thick, and you’re jealous. Yes, you might have ruined yours with your curler but still, if you were born with eyelashes like that you wouldn’t even need a blasted curler.

“What are you thinking ‘bout.” he whispers, long digit lifting to stroke your cheek. So soft that you barely feel it, before he trails it up your cheekbones, to the panes of your face.

The same alarms blast in your ears, and you can’t ignore them this time. It isn’t that you don’t like this, on the contrary you’re ready to jump him.

“Eva!”

Fred takes a step back, face falling. “What?”

You shake off whatever just happened seconds ago and focus on reality. “Gosh, I forgot to ask.” you exclaim, over excited but at what cost. “How is she doing? Is she up there in the flat?”

Fred winces. “Actually-”

“I’m guessing you guys moved in together, after all those years you know. Don’t tell me you guys got marr-”

“____!” he takes a deep breath, “We broke up a few years ago.”

You freeze. “What?”

They broke up? “Why, oh Fred-”

Fred shushes you with a finger. Embarrassed, warmth spreads through you like a tidal wave. “I fell out of love, but it felt nice to have someone around, you know?”

You don’t say anything, yes you know but his loneliness and yours is much too different.

Growing up, Fred had the support of his family, he always had someone there. You knew it was bad to dismiss him like this, but the aching in your heart wasn’t going to allow him to speak like that. He always had someone affirming that it would be okay, someone to pat his back whenever he scored a goal through a hoop, whenever he got a good grade or did a cool trick with his broom. He still had them, even if he was at his worst. He had endless support. You didn’t.

It wasn’t easy after the war, living alone with nothing but the collar of Jambo gripped tightly in your hands. He had died shortly after Voldemort fell, and you had to hang onto the last piece he left until your agony died down. That was your only support.

Ginny, Hermione and Aleyna were there of course, but everyone's way of coping is different, and they didn’t understand yours nor each other’s. It’s worse to try and forget, run away from that fear because it would always catch up with you, and you found that the best way is to sit and feel.

But that doesn't mean your friends weren’t any less supportive. The after effects of the war were way more harsh on you than you let on, you were stuck on autopilot - a painful loop that made your life feel worthless. Work, money, survival - the three main aspects occupying your mind at all times. You didn’t have the love and attention to give to friends or a relationship (maybe that’s why it never worked out) but soon, Ginny and Hermione had reached out to you.

It was a simple letter delivered by their family owl Nebula - a descendant of poor old Errol. You remember tears pooling in your eyes when they told you how much they missed you, they gave meaning to your life. It was no longer the painful loop, they invited you over for dinner, visited every other day after hooking up your house Floo Network, you were always a welcomed guest in their homes.

They made you realize that friendship didn’t need much energy nor hard effort, just being there for each other was enough. Love for someone came naturally, and you didn’t need to extract some of your own self-love to give to others. They were two different things.

Skimming past that, you watch Fred show you three different options of Make Your Own Fireworks kits. You smile solemnly, accept a random one and quietly follow him to the checkup counter.

“So.” he starts, wrapping the product with the paper design you picked. “How about you, anyone special?”

Drumming your fingers on the counter, you shrug. “I dated Theo Nott for a year, I knew nothing would come out of it but like you said, nice to have someone.”

He raises an eyebrow, “Nott? Really?” he frowns. “Can’t believe that tosser managed to-”

You snort, “What is that supposed to mean?”

Shrugging, Fred hands you the package. “Nothing, it’s just that -” he pauses and his eyes look at you like you should know what he’s talking about. As if the two of you have some sort of telepathic connection, Fred was always like this.

He would look at you like you understood a word you said, even though he’s been silent for the past minute or so. He always struggled to express himself, and you’re sad to see that this habit followed him into adulthood.

Nonetheless, you smile. “Just that what?”

“Nevermind,” he sighs. “That’ll be twenty five galleons.”

“Twenty what?” Your eyes widen. “You heartless man!”

Fred gapes at you, struggling to keep a straight face.

“Twenty five, to your oldest pal? Twenty and a stick of gum.”

Fred pretends to think. “How about you keep the gum and give me twenty four.”

“Twenty two.” you narrow your eyes, leaning forward on the counter. “Oh come on, it’s Christmas!”

Fred scoffs,“I am giving you the holiday discount!”

Grumbling, you reluctantly stick your hand in your purse and take out your wallet. “I won’t forget this. You’re in my book.”

Fred gasped dramatically, “Not the book!” he exclaims, “Twenty two then, please for the love of merlin not the book.”

You lift your chin, head tilting to the side to survey him mockingly. “Twenty two it is, you won’t get away so easily next time.”

The two of you giggling, you pay him the money and leave a few sickles. “For the great service.” you say, him pretend-blushing at your words and tucking a strand of his shoulder length hair behind his ear.

He speaks after some time, the laughter has died down and left it’s comforting after taste. “I missed you ____, why didn’t you visit?”

That turns the after taste into pure panic.

How can he ask that when the answer is so obvious. Fred’s still cruel it seems, he doesn’t bat an eyelash as he speaks. He knows the reason.

“Oh you know,” you start after some time, “Work and stuff.” you lie, and fight the urge to cringe at your words.

Though Fred doesn’t buy it, he doesn’t push it either. He simply nods, looking down at the checkout counter. You’re glad he’s avoiding your gaze, because it makes your departure much easier. “See you at the party Fred, thanks for the...uh. Yeah.” you awkwardly lift your bag up and give him a wave before pushing yourself outside. You can finally breathe.

——————

You look good.

Or, at least you think you do.

Blaise was arriving in exactly seven minutes and you barely just put on your dress. You’re sure of this because Blaise is always on time, he even has an unnecessarily expensive watch on his right hand that he obsessively likes to check. At least Aleyna’s into it, frantically trying to strap her heels, she’s wriggling herself towards the front door to somehow track her lover. You don’t know how love works, maybe they can smell each other from a mile away or something.

Shaking your head, you fluff your hair and wipe a hand across your under eye after wetting it with your tongue. You think Aleyna calls for you, you’re not sure because you’re too occupied trying to decide if you’re going to wear lipstick.

“Hey,” you walk out of your bathroom door and scurry towards her, “should I?”

Aleyna raises a brow. You scoff, “Stop doing that, you know I can’t raise mine individually.”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

“I’m about to make it your problem too if you don’t help me.”

As reflex, you roll your eyes. You only do this because you know it reminds Aleyna of that one chick from Blaise’s workplace - she knows no boundaries, apparently. It’s a shitty move, but it’s a shitty world.

Aleyna carefully inspects the two products you hold tightly between your hands. A simple shimmery gloss and a nude, almost dark red lipstick you stole - borrowed - from her. “Depends, who are you smooching?”

Throwing her an incredulous look, you hold out the two products on your palms. “I’m not smooching anyone.”

Unless of course Fred Weasley asks, if he does you would pull out makeup wipes from thin air and jump into his arms with naked lips ready to be kissed. Though, that’s only a fantasy and Fred is emotionally unavailable...scratch that, you are.

You’re not sure how tonight is going to end, and you can’t help but be aware of that looming clump of anxiety, clutching on your chest and refusing to let go until you're assured that it’s going to be fine.

“The gloss, just in case.” Aleyna stops your train of thought before it trashes off its tracks and crashes somewhere in Fred McDreamy land.

You nod, making no further inquiries and getting yourself ready as best as you can. Fixing your bodice and giving your scar a quick look, you finally hear the doorbell ring after a few long minutes, followed by Blaise’s deep voice greeting his girlfriend. You give the couple a few seconds to smooch - if you will, before walking back to the living room.

Blaise grins when he sees you, he’s wearing a sleek black suit with its first two collar buttons undone - you expect no less class from him.

“Happy Christmas!” you chime, pulling him into a hug and squeezing him tight just enough so you can whisper in his ear. “I hope you picked out the second ring, Zabini.”

Blaise swallows thickly before laughing, you know this because you physically feel him start to sweat. “I swear I did, don’t worry I have a plan.” he winks after letting go.

“I knew you were going to say that,” he loops an arm around Aleyna’s waist and pulls her by his side. “Only the best for my girl.”

Aleyna gives you both questioning looks.

You quickly clear your throat, “Anyways, let’s go before the serenading and the rose petals start.”

The three of you finally leave, the walk down your apartment building feels way too short, and the moment you exit you’re hit with the wonderfully chilly Christmas air.

For a moment, you forget where you’re going.

Lights are hung up everywhere, across shops, tangled through trees and some floating in the air. You can’t see the night sky, Diagon Alley has one of its own, adorned with radiant moons and luminous stars just bright enough for people to navigate themselves through crowds with zero accidents. It feels breathtakingly overwhelming.

Glass ornaments are charmed to fly across, a special show prepared by Madame Mulkin, and Mr. Eyelop tuned in by letting out a few snow owls rest around random trees to add to the warm atmosphere. There’s flavour wafting around the air, you inhale again to identify it better.

Speeding your way through - it hits you, gingerbread and chocolate.

You clutch your bag towards your chest, suddenly you feel disgustingly sappy. Though, you are in public so you decide to shake off that small warmth threatening your heart and continue walking towards Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.

The walk towards the shop feels too short again, you almost check your watch to see if Hermione’s playing with the time turner again.

You almost turn on your heel, dump the bundle of presents you’ve bought on their front door and leave. You can, in theory, you’ve separated from Aleyna and Blaise midway through and you can just run and never look back.

Tough luck, when you walk through the generously decorated shop and up the stairs, you’re disappointed to see their flat door wide open.

You stare at it, it feels too inviting. Frank Sinatra blares through the walls, you can smell hints of incense, trailing through your nose and tickling you, causing you to sneeze. You were always sensitive towards smells, and it never bothered you until now.

“Bless you!” George Weasley appears, rounding a corridor and greeting you with open arms into his neat dress shirt. He hugs you like you’re family, and if you weren’t holding a sack like Santa Clause with his your jolly ass hanging on by the mere piece of fabric of your dress you would have hugged back.

“Thanks, Happy Christmas George.” you smile when he takes the sack from your hands and weighs it with raised brows.

“You didn’t have to buy anything ____!” he pats your shoulder, hand trailing to your lower back to navigate you inside. “We are the gift givers, you’re our guest.”

You chuckle, walking through the long entrance corridor, “Of course I’m getting gifts you quack.”

George scoffs, “Using my words against me now are we?”

When you gaze up at the famous joke shop as a little civilian in the streets of Diagon Alley, you don’t expect to catch the sight of a flat this large. You knew it was sizable since two grown men somehow fit and live there, but you underestimated just how successful Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes was.

The floors are wood, clean with even several shoes stepping around, chattering with wine glasses in their wobbly hands. A bulletin board hangs next to a quidditch rack filled with different kinds of equipment - old and new.

Too entranced by the cozy interior, you don’t bother stealing glances at the bulletin board. The kitchen and living room are connected, yet they still somehow feel like completely different rooms. The den is lit up by a brick fireplace, lightly crackling and making the atmosphere all the more comfortable. The soft fur (faux you hoped, though Mr Weasley did have a muggle hunting rifle phase which you thoroughly discouraged) carpet tickles your ankles and you have to hold onto George’s arm for support

“Bevvy?” he offers you, holding out a pint beer glass and you shake your head, admiring the apartment further.

Most couches are leather yet they still look comfortable, the kitchen is big but not obnoxiously so, you can hear the clinking of a foosball table - commotion makes sense in their apartment - the wide living space narrows through a corridor, leading to what you assume must be bedrooms.

You’re glad Fred and Eva broke up, because you decide then and there that you’re going to visit the twins everyday despite your history, just to step into this apartment again.

“____!”

Angelina’s sweet voice causes your unease to vanish in an instant and you crush her in a tight hug.

“Merry Christmas!” you smile, looping an arm around her shoulder and letting her guide you through the flat. “You changed your hair!”

Angelina nudges you with her hip, “Thank merlin you noticed, George is clueless.”

“Oh? George? You never told me - Hey Cho!”

You’re cut off by several familiar faces greeting you and telling you to make yourself comfortable. And you do, right next to Hermione and Ginny, two pregnant and fierce women that keep bickering with their husbands because of their weird cravings.

“I’m with you on this one Gin’!” you snort, eyeing Harry. You have a wine glass in one hand and the power you hold makes you feel too confident. “If the woman wants sausages marinated with toothpaste, she’s getting sausages marinated with toothpaste!”

Harry grumbles, “Will you please stop fueling this!” he protests, downing his drink and banging this on the table. “Look sweetheart, you wanted onions and mustard just a second ago so I got you ‘em, what made you change your mind?”

Ginny bangs her fist on the coffee table, in addition to Harry’s outburst. It seemed everyone was banging stuff on tables, so you do too.

“You think I know? Sod off or get me my toothpaste!” Ginny yells, banging another fist after you.

Harry kneels down next to the foot of the couch and holds his wife’s hand, gently massaging her knuckles. “We can’t get you toothpaste,” he says calmly.

“Why!” says Ginny, banging another fist.

“I think you know why,” says Harry.

“Stop damaging my property.” says George, materializing out of thin air.

You feel bad for Harry, you truly do but it only lasts for a second because this is even more entertaining than watching Aunt Muriel try to play foosball while shouting ‘Come at me you haired back marys!’

You’re enjoying yourself, the buzz, the warmth, the scent of fire. It’s comfortable and not at all like a party. It’s as if you’re visiting your friends for thanksgiving, homely and welcoming.

Though, the first crack forms when you see Fred, eyeing you from the small bar of their kitchen.

Dressed in navy slacks and a red, turtleneck sweater, he leans against the counter with a glass of Firewhiskey clutched on his big hand. He swirls it as his lips twitch, keeping his gaze set on you. His hair falls on his eyes, mostly pushed back but how strong hair gel can really be?

He looks good, way too good for a party. But it’s not the outfit, it's his entire presence. The way he holds himself, acts, speaks - shit, it’s attractive. He can do anything and he’ll always have that charismatic charm, it makes you feel envious, not to mention incredibly horny.

It’s Christmas, it’s a sacred holiday. You can’t let Fred sexy Weasley get to you, no matter how unapproachable and out of your league he looks.

You’re the bigger person - apparently - and you decide to greet him first.

You don’t know what compels you to do this, but it must be quite a strong force because you feel yourself start to quiver when you abandon your place on the couch. It’s so strong that your wobbly legs carry you while you push through tipsy friends and hold you up all the way to the kitchen area.

“Merry Christmas.” you croak, pulling him in a quick hug which he returns happily.

“Merry Christmas yourself.”  he smiles, gaze drifting lower to your dress only for a second before he swallows.

His signature cologne that you’ve engraved deep in your head this past week bursts out again. You smile softly, relishing in him.

“You look,” he seems to be giving much more thought on whatever he’s about to say, he settles on; “Beautiful, you’re, uh - the dress.” he finishes lamely.

“Oh,” your face falls. The dress is beautiful, not you. Of course. “Thank you, I would say you don’t look too bad yourself but that would be a lie.”

Fred raises a brow, putting his wine glass on the bar with a clink before slowly turning on his heel. “Aw, cheers love.” he says casually, “Wore it for you,”

You raise both your brows, “Is that so?” you fight a grin.

“This little number is my lucky charm.” he smirks, pulling on his shirt. “Made women fall at my feet back in the day, maybe you will too.” he finishes, more bashfully than before. His cheeks are tinted pink and, now, for the first time, you feel clueless.

Your heart stutters when you speak, “Trying to butter me up Frederick?” you say shly, nudging the tip of his shoe with yours.

Fred winks. “And what if I am?” he suddenly straightens, arms folding together. His head bows as he continues with a smile, “I’m joking, got this a week ago for the party.”

You fight the urge to smile, “Ah, so not the chick magnet.”

“Well,” Fred laughs, “It’s still very wolfish.”

“Whatever you say, big ole pussy cat.” you pat him on the shoulder.

Fred scoffs good naturally, “Ah, you hurt my pride ____.”

When you don’t say anything, his gaze falls on you. He takes the time to look at you, really take you in and it makes your efforts feel appreciated for once. He takes a deep breath, head careening left for a moment.

“It’s not just the dress.” he rubs the back of his neck, eyes falling on your scar. “You really are beautiful.”

Your hand immediately flies to your brow, tracing a finger down the gash. It’s not as noticeable anymore and your hair grew back - thankfully - but the knowledge that it’s still there, parading itself to everyone makes you feel much more self conscious than you should.

Fred’s hand closes over yours and you freeze. “You might not think so, but not only is your scar a wicked bedtime story, it’s very attractive.”

Your ears feel hot, “You think I’m attractive?”

It’s a nice compliment - especially when it comes from a man like Fred.

“Do I think you’re,” he gasps, giving you an incredulous look. “Of course you’re - ! I mean you can’t be asking me that - are you, gah!”

A chuckle bubbles from your throat. It’s quite amusing watching Fred Weasley struggling to speak, clearly embarrassed. The knowledge that you made him this way, you were sleeping like a baby tonight that’s for sure.

“Look, ____. I actually wanted to tell you something really important.” he fidgets with his cuffs.

You furrow your brows, “Of course, what is it?”

“I used to, well I think I still do because it never truly went away but - okay, this is harder than I thought.”

You chuckle nervously. “Fred, you’re freaking me out here.”

You hear him mutter something along the likes of what’s wrong with me, until he speaks again.

“What I meant to say was, I wan-“

“Oh my god, ____, Fred!”

When you left your apartment a few days ago, your mind didn’t calculate the outcomes of meeting Fred Weasley.

The impact is so strong that it causes your past to - not flash, because this is painful - slowly start playing before your eyes, like a play you have to sit through because the seats were expensive, and the star of the show, the star of your own life is standing right in front of you.

She’s wearing a gorgeous, gold cocktail dress. The costume design is delicate, it’s the type of dress you flutter your fingers in (the fabric is ticklish and soft, you just had to touch it) before moving onto the next. The rack is full of other suitable options, because you know you can never wear a dress like that.

But Eva can. She was always gorgeous, you couldn’t compare.

Fred’s eyes are wide, the way he’s tugging on your dress makes worry wash over you. “Eva? Erm - who invited you?” His words sound more bitter than he intends them to, or at least you think so.

“Oh, is that how you treat guests around here?” she fucking giggles, playfully slapping his shoulder.

You can’t tell if she’s purposely ignoring you - you’re standing right there - or just forgot your existence after seeing Fred in those pants because sweet merciful heavens.

Fred shifts uncomfortably, “Right sorry well, Merry Christmas!” he’s back to normal, addressing her as he addresses anyone else you can’t help but smirk.

Of course, you immediately jump on this opportunity. Eva may have ruined most of your childhood, she may currently look gorgeous - mockingly so, but you’re not kids anymore. No matter how insignificant you feel, you still have your pride to protect.

“Merry Christmas,” you add, jumping forward. “How long has it been?”

Eva’s expression turns sour, though she conceals it quickly. “____! Oh I love your dress.”

She doesn’t wish you a merry christmas.

“Happy holidays Freddie! Where can a girl get a drink around here?” she squeaks? You’re not sure, her voice is too sweet and you don’t know how to act.

Fred grins, “Right there,” he points to a corner far away from the kitchen. “Lee’s in charge of drinks, I’m sure he can hook you up with something.”

Eva ponders, pausing for a beat. She’s expectantly staring at Fred, though when he shows no intention of accompanying her she gives you a menacing look and leaves.

You didn’t expect a big reunion because you saw Eva a few months ago at the hospital, you had sprained an ankle while training with Ron, and she tried to heal you before the Head Healer cut in and told her to take a walk.

Fred’s weight relaxes as soon as Eva’s out of view, it doesn’t take much to know something happened between the two - it wasn’t a harmless breakup like Fred had told you. You don’t push it though, if he wants to tell you he will.

“Well that was,” you say, and he hums in response, swirling his drink in one hand. You watch the gold hue with him for a moment. “Interesting.”

He snorts, “She drops by every Friday to give me green apples. I hate green apples.”

“How long did you guys date?” you can’t help the words that tumble out of your lips.

He stares at you for a moment, you swear his lip almost twitch in a smile before he clears his throat. “Three years, I thought I loved her for a year.”

“Well what changed your mind?”

Fred looks at you like you just asked the dumbest question a joke shop owner could hear. “You, daft idiot, you did.”

“Wha-” you stammer. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Fred groans. “I need a drink.” and with that, he leaves towards where Eva previously walked on her precious Chanel heels. Leaves you alone.

It wasn’t like you called the man's family a disgrace and cursed his entire bloodline. Confused, you decide that maybe you need a drink as well to survive this night.

Everyone you had talked to so far ended with a disagreement, except George because he probably felt bad for you and your huge red gift sack. Embarrassment fills your cheeks as you walk towards the beverage table, you shouldn’t have come tonight.

The cherry on top gets dropped on the shit sundae when Eva Burke bumps into your shoulder and causes you to spill your drink.

“Oops! Babe I’m so sorry,” She pulls a red cloth from the glass table filled with different types of intoxications and rubs it on the fabric of your dress, further ruining it.

Embarrassment turns into frustration, this turns into pure anger. You see red.

You snatch the cloth from her hands and lightly push her forward, Eva dramatically - and very theatrically - falls on the ground with a yelp.

“Oh get up!” you hiss, throwing the cloth on the ground.

Eva scrambles to her feet, holding her right ankle with dainty, perfectly manicured hands. “Oh, now we’re turning to violence are we? Some things never change.”

You let out a frustrated grumble, stumping your heel on the ground. “I really don’t have time for this Eva.”

“We’re just talking babe, I don’t understand why you’re so upset over this.”

“I’m not upset, I’m tired.” you sigh.

Suddenly with her magically healed ankle she trudges forward. “Is it the dress?” she pouts, bending down to eye the splotch on your chest. “I can pay for it, say...two sickles?”

Your eyes narrow, “How about this, you show me how your career is going and I’ll decide if you can afford a wash.”

Eva barks out a laugh, “How about this, I’ll show you a family picture album.”

Gasping, you hold back the urge to slap her. You never expected Eva to stoop this low, and you know you shouldn’t be upset over it but it hurts. It hurts how easily she can use your family against you with no remorse.

Beyond pissed, insulted and done with tonight, you pull out your wand and get ready to apparate. This time it’s not to run away, nor do you feel like a coward. You feel tired, using your palms to press into your temple and relieve your throbbing headache.

Eva grips your wand and tries to pull you forward with failed force. “Let’s get this straight, Fred’s not interested in you.”

“And you think he’s interested in you?” you laugh, “You broke up remember?

Eva flings her long hair back, “And I’m gonna get him back. No one breaks up with me.”

“So, you're still a narcissistic bitch.” you smile.

“And you’re still pathetically clinging onto whatever I touch.” She takes a step forward, and it hits you then and there that you aren’t going home sooner or later. “Wanna know why we broke up?”

You hold your breath, her perfume is too sweet and you can’t process her words.

“He caught me cheating.” she smirks. “And he still begged me to stay, after all that.”

Your nostrils flare, and you’re about ready to punch her. You’ve never seen someone so prideful, so proud to have done something so obaminable. But it doesn’t surprise you, you pity her.

“Some loser from the bank.” she mockingly wipes a nonexistent tear with her jeweled wrist. “See, that’s the difference between me and you ____. “

You almost scream bloody murder. “Oh do enlighten me.” Your voice is weirdly high pitched but you don’t seem to care.

“He begged me, not you. He’ll never want you. You’ll always end up with the leftovers ____, accept that.” she hisses, taking another step forward.

You don’t know what you’ve done to the woman standing before you with nothing but red fire in her eyes, she looks ready to pull out your hair follicle by follicle, yet it makes you smirk. With a shit eating grin on your face, it hits you. “I knew it.” you laugh.

Eva stutters, “What?”

“Why you’re actually delusional to think he’s taking you back.”

“Oh but he will.” she protests, stomping her heel.

“No, he won’t.”

When you see Eva stay quiet, you continue. ”You grew up spoiled rotten, your parents love you, hell my parents love you, you always had the most friends and always got your way.”

She smirks, you’re tempted not to continue but years of pent up anger is ready to burst through your chest. “Yeah, jealous are we?” Eve mocks, and you quiver as you speak. Stating the obvious doesn’t hurt you anymore.

“No, because you grew up thinking everyone will love you, no matter how wrong you are, or what horrible things you do, you’ll always think that people won’t stop being by your side.” you shake your head, tutting. “But you’re wrong. I guess that’s what too much love does to you - you think a simple sorry will fix what you did? Because no, it won’t.”

“Oh stop it, Fred wants me back, it’s painfully obvious.” Eva speaks, but she doesn’t sound sure at all.

“I’ll make it clear for you.” you smile. “Fred won’t take you back for cheating, you won’t get a second chance in your career, and you sure as hell won’t be getting an apology from me.”

By now, you don’t care who's listening, because they are. Oh, they’re eating this kitty fight up like free dessert Monday at Fleur’s. Your childhood friends are watching you with intense, widened eyes. And somehow, in a cruel, wicked way, you feel satisfaction. The harsh words slipping out of your lips like nectar, in comparison to the way they slap Eva across the face fills you with nothing but disgusting satisfaction.

Sure, it’s immature and yes, you could’ve worded everything much better to be even more impactful, but the way her eyes are bloodshot and vengenceful, it’s enough for you.

Eva grits her teeth, and you know she doesn’t have much to say. “I don’t need an apology from you, ____.” she speaks, and her next words cause you to freeze, because no matter what wrong doing, she’s still right. ”You’re right, I might not be forgiven, but in the end I will always be better than you. People will always favour me more and you can never change that.”

You try to lunge forward, teeth gritter. With harsh impact, you topple backwards. Strong arms are wrapped around your chest, holding you back from gouging Eva’s eyes out with the toothpick from the martini glasses.

“Nice weather we’re having,” Fred says, a deep rumble coming from his chest and against your back. You fight the urge to shiver, though you’re way too angry to be thinking of how good he smells. “Why don’t we sober up sweetheart.” he asks you, whispering.

“No!” you shriek, struggling to move forward. “This isn’t over until I break her nose!”

Eva laughs, “Oh come at me, babe! Let’s see what a traumatized neglected child can do, yeah?” her eyes flash.

A deep, growling of distress leaves you. “Oh let me go! Let’s see what a filthy adulter can do!”

“I didn’t mean to cheat you know!”

You groan, “Heaven’s above let me go Fred.”

Eva takes two steps forward before Lee grasps her arms. “But these things happen for a reason!” her shrill voice causes you to wince.

“Yeah, you!” you cry.

Eva shrieks, lunging forward in an attempt to reach you again, and at that moment Fred seems to have about enough.

“Alright, that’s it.” His stern voice causes you to flinch, muscular arms still holding you close to his chest, he yanks you backwards and starts walking towards the corridor. “That’s enough with the both of you, Lee take Eva outside, get her some fresh air.”

——————

Fred has the decency to take you to his bedroom rather than toss you outside like he had done with Eva.

If the situation was any different, you’d be over the moon right now. Alone? With Fred Weasley? In his big bedded, fireplace occupying, additional bathroom having bedroom?

Said situation did not have you sitting on a leather rocking chair, big mug of coffee in hand while Fred lectures you like a parent. Actually, you wouldn’t know.

You’ve been quiet for the past fifteen minutes, too scared to say anything and anger him further. You knew how much this party meant to him, and you had ruined it with your childish, pent up jealousy. It wasn’t just you per say, but you had let Eva get to you.

“Can’t the two of you act your age for one fucking second,” he groans, hand propped against the brick fireplace. “I know how infuriating she is, but you-” inhaling sharply, he strides towards you. “Say something will you?”

“Why didn’t you tell me she cheated?”

Fred’s expression softens. “What?”

You gulp, you shouldn’t have brought it up when he was agitated, but you can’t listen to him while the words echo around your head. You feel awful, insensitive, anything else to call yourself that makes you feel better towards your lack of judgement. “She cheated, you didn’t tell me. Why?”

Fred pauses, after what feels like a seconds he bends down on his knees in front of you while you watch him, engrossed.

“Been waiting for you to bring it up.” he chuckles, his smile disappearing in an instant. His ginger locks hang in front of you and you realize that his shampoo, like the rest of him, smells amazing. You fight the intense urge to card your fingers through.

“Merlin, I just,” he meets your eyes. “I felt ashamed.”

Suddenly standing up, your hands flail. “Why?”

Fred stands up as well. His stance alarms you, arms wrapped around himself, brows furrowed and defensive. “Not ashamed because of you, because of myself.”

You take a step forward when Fred indicates that he’s going to continue. “I thought you were going to judge me. Bloody coward, can’t even break up with his cheating girlfriend.”

You scoff, “Fred, I’ve known you since I was eleven. Sure we had some tough times but do you really think that low of me?”

Now he scoffs, it’s nothing short of mockery. “Tough times my arse. You avoided us like the plague, ____.”

“I had my reasons,” you raise your voice, wincing slightly and it only fuels Fred’s anger.

“Proper liar you are, you didn’t even write, or even just explain why you suddenly walked out.”

You don’t feel ashamed for what you did, it was for your own good. Though, Fred’s right. You never gave a proper reason other than those childish insults at Hog’s Head. But now, with your head banging, you can’t think logically.

“Again.” you grit your teeth, words spilling between like venom. “I had my reasons.”

Fred quickly stalks towards you, enough so you can reach a hand, grab his jaw and smash your lips against his. But you don’t. “Excuse me for not giving a rat's arse about your reasons, do you know how worried I was!”

His words pull a small gasp from your lips, you refuse to believe him. “If you were so worried, you could’ve spoken to me all those years. How about that summer huh? I stayed over.”

“But I did speak to you!” Fred shouts, and your fists clench. “You were a bitch to me, remember?”

Your groan is filled with contempt. “You take that back!” your fist lifts to smack him on the chest, and you curse his overwhelmingly hard and attractive biceps. Shit, you really shouldn’t be feeling like this during a fight.

“You wanna know why I did all that?” you cry out, tears ready to strain your cheeks but you won’t forgive yourself if you cried in front of him.

“Oh do tell?” he seethes, grasping your fist in a quick motion and holding it beside him before you can smack his chest again. “Merlin woman keep your-”

“Because I was in love with you, you dickwad!”

Fred freezes - second time that night.

Your heartbeat pounds against your chest, you feel vulnerable. Oh so vulnerable and stupid, you shouldn’t have said it.

Fuck fuck fuck.

You should have just kept your stupid mouth shut, dragged your stupid ass back home and took a stupid shower.

But it was too late.

Fred takes a slow step back, continued by several until he’s on the other side of the room with his arms propped against a wall, head hanging low. He’s breathing heavily, you’re finally crying.

“So you aren’t going to say anything?” you yell, stomping your heel on the ground. “Do you know how hard it was for me to watch you and Eva all those years, you wouldn’t even look at me.” you choke on your sobs, remembering everything. The painful memories, the emotions hit you like the Ford Angelia with Ron behind the wheels.

“The Yule Ball, I saw you two together. It hurt so much and I cou- umpfh”

You almost swallow your tongue.

Soft lips, those are the only words writing out in your mind. Fireworks erupting around the letters and causing shivers to run around your entire being. Taken aback, you can’t move until your mind processes that Fred Weasley is kissing you.

Fred groans, opening your mouth with his and grazing his tongue against your bottom lip. It’s so gentle that you doubt you feel it, until his hand grips the back of your head and presses you against him harder. Now you can taste the wet, warm feel of his tongue against yours, the certain flicks of the tip gracing your own.

He pulls back only slightly, panting against your lips and causing your breaths to intermingle intimately. “The Yule Ball,” he starts, going back in for another, hurried kiss.

“She told me, you - closer.” He yanks you in by your waist with his other hand, palm gripping your ass and kneading it with vigour.

“Told me she saw you with someone else,” he pulls you closer when your hands wrap around his shoulders. “It broke me ____.”

“Fred,” you sigh, gripping on his sweater tighter.

“That’s Freddie for you, love.”

Heat curls in your lower belly. His lips are on yours again, begging you for something you didn’t quite know yet. “Freddie,” you chant.

“That’s right.” he chuckles lowly, his rumbling voice against your chest.

You merely shiver, latch onto the tufts on his neck and anchor him lower to your lips until your lungs are overwhelmed with nothing but slow, languid kisses. Fred kissed really good - oh who were you kidding, he was the best kiss you’ve ever had. It’s addictively so, and you chase his lips when he pulls away.

“I,” he breaths, whispering. “I was so devastated by what Eva told me,” he hugs you tighter. “I loved - still love you so much, I didn’t know how to cope.”

“You love me?” Now, there’s more tears. You aren’t sure if they’re of pure joy, frustration or the ache between your legs. “For how long?”

“Since third year,” he murmurs against your cheek, breathing in your scent and shakily exhaling. “I still wear the bracelet, never took it off.”

“I saw,” you nuzzle your head in his chest, your heart feels like it’s about to burst. “It made me so happy, I thought you would have lost it by now or something.”

“Oh Flower, there you are hurting my pride again.”

The nickname knocks all the breath out of your lungs. You only hug him tighter, not daring to mention that throughout these years you flinched whenever someone said flower, or how you simply refused to visit any flower shop. Yes, it did cause problems during holidays and of course, funerals but at least your Disney gift cards contained sentiment.

“I wasn’t with anyone during the Yule Ball.” you mutter.

“I know.”

“Then why didn’t you come back?”

Fred shivers. “I didn’t know back then, Merlin if I had…”

“You’re an idiot.” you chuckle, hurriedly wiping away the drying tears from your cheeks.

“That’s right,” Fred rasps, pulling your face towards his. “I’m a stupid, stupid prat.”

That was, if the loud countdown roaring outside Fred’s bedroom door didn’t ruin the most pleasurable lips you were going to taste - yet again.

Your eyes widen, Fred whines and pulls you back into his arms but you’re already rushing to the closed door. “We’re missing the count down!”

“Oh come one,” Fred steps behind you, hand over yours to grip the knob. You struggle under his hold and try to turn it. “I’ll make you count, hop on the bed, love.”

You have to gulp down nothing but air to keep yourself at bay. God, yes, you would have shouted, stripped naked and let him have his way with you.

But you can’t, not with your friends right outside the door, slightly tipsy and merrily counting down from ten. Speaking of, they’re nearing seven - you have exactly seven seconds to push Fred off and throw yourself outside.

Six seconds until you turn the knob and ignore Fred’s protests, five until Harry and Ginny throw their arms around your shoulders, four until George decides not the comment on you and Fred’s flushed appearance, three until Fred does, two until you’re suddenly pulled forward - one, Fred’s kissing you in front of his friends and family.

Fuck.

It was that one, long second that Ron lets the confetti burst in utter silence while everyone stares at you. It’s a quick yet passionate peck - enough for couples to abandon their new year's kiss and focus solely on yours.

“Finally!” George yells.

Ginny cheers after his brother, “Took you ten bloody years!”

Last of the Weasleys, Ron, gapes. “When did that become a thing?” he mutters, completely oblivious but still happy nonetheless.

If Hermione and Ginny hadn’t swept you away, you would have spent your night glued to Fred’s side, demanding to show him off after all those years of pining.

Your two friends keep asking questions - not overly detailed considering Fred’s Ginny’s older brother. Your lips hurt from smiling by the end of your overly exaggerated story,

The end of the night brings tranquility over the apartment, after presents are ripped open and everyone says their goodbyes, you’re left alone the twins, helping them clean the flat with quick flicks of your wand.

Your watch reads one thirty, you need to leave soon. Aleyna and Blaise hadn’t shown, which only means the proposal was a success. You want to go home and congratulate them, but also spend some time with Fred.

Fred himself is busy wiping pint glasses and lining them neatly in empty cupboards. The both of you keep stealing glances at each other, and it would have been more romantic if George would stop scoffing whenever Fred bashfully smiled in your direction.

“____.”

You hum in acknowledgment, watching Fred’s back shuffle as he washes the dishes.

“Thanks for giving a hand, you didn’t have to.” George smiles kindly, hands tucked in his pockets.

You smile back, “Oh it’s alright.”

“I just wanted to apologize.” he looks down, it isn’t the dorky shyness George casually sports at times, he looks sorrowful.

“For what?” you ask, lips lowering into a frown to match his.

“For being a git all those years back. I was young and a shit head. I’m sorry.” he sighs, leaning his shoulder on the wall.

You chuckle, just the familiar voice of George resurfaces pleasant memories you wished you never forgot. “It’s alright, I’m over it.”

“Really?” he raises a brow. “Because I wouldn’t forgive myself personally. Go on, give me a smack or something.”

“I’m not smacking you George.” you say, you make sure your tone sounds playful to put his mind at ease. “We all had our issues, I probably should have talked to you guys instead of just storming off. Partly my fault.”

George smiles, “It wasn’t your fault, but I’m glad you can forgive me.” He squeezes your shoulder in a way to reassure you, while it feels like he needs it more. You nod fondly.

“And about Eva, we didn’t really like her, y’know. She told us that you needed space, and that we should leave you alone. Just now realizing how rubbish it sounds.”

“Took you long enough.”

He chuckles again, much more genuine like you prefer and pushes himself off the wall. “I better get some sleep,” he glances at Fred, “leave you two alone. And ____, please don’t distance yourself.”

“I won’t.”

Your lie slips so easily.

It’s the welcoming silence that accepts your doubts with open arms - everything was happening overwhelmingly quick, or was it just your fear of being left alone again?

You smile at George when he retires to his room, it’s more of a constipated grimace but George seems to have bought it.

You take this time to finally think, let your protective walls analyse what the fuck happaned in the last five hours because it was too good to be true. Fred couldn’t simply love you that easily, after everything he did. It didn’t explain why he started dating Eva without consulting you first, or how he was with her that night after the Yule Ball. If he loved you this much, why would he bury himself between her legs, abandon you in the hollow halls of Hogwarts? Why would he believe her so easily?

“____.”

Even his voice sounds distant. You can’t tell if it’s him speaking or your past.

“____, darling.”

Nope, that’s definitely Fred. His frustratingly sexy cologne is mocking you like every other amazing aspect this man has.

“Huh?” you snap out of your thoughts. “Oh, yes hello.”

Fred tilts his head to the side, expression softening the moment you speak. “You okay? Something on your mind?”

You tentatively shake your head. Fred sighs and reaches out to stroke your head - you close your eyes but the feeling of his calloused hands never show.

Eyes fluttering open, you realize your fears are coming true. He’s going to tell you that he changed his mind, that he doesn't love you and this is all a big mistake.

“Sorry,” he breathes, cheeks alight. You hold in your breath, ready to face the truth.

Fred’s silent; he’s doing that thing again. The thing where he somehow magically thinks he can communicate with you without saying anything.

“Fred,” you sigh, and his face drops. “Why did you date Eva if you loved me so much?”

There, you asked it. Because if you hadn’t, it would haunt you for the rest of your days, crawl around your heart like an infectious disease. You have enough of those, you don’t want another.

Fred breathing sputters, he looks at you like you know the answer. “Because…it was the closest thing to you I could have. I know it sounds awful-“

“Yes it does, and stupid!”

“I know!” he exclaims. “I didn’t know how to cope, she gave me the affection I longed to get from you.”

Your eyes start to swell, the sentence should make you remotely happy but it doesn’t. “Why did you stay with her for so long?”

“Look.” Fred cups your face, breathing heavily. “Yes, at first it was because I was petty. I thought you were with someone else that bloody night, I was heartbroken and needed a distraction. She was the closest thing.”

“That doesn’t explain the rest-“

“Let me finish!” He sounds earnest, adamant on wiping all your doubts and replacing them with nothing but his love. If only it was that easy.

“I can’t do this tonight Fred-“

“Please just call me Freddie.” he whimpers, kissing your cheek harshly. He stands there, face close to yours like if he let go you would leave.

I“I’m tired, I have a headache and my feet hurt.” you’re crying, again. Nothing out of the ordinary considering you’ve been doing it damn well for the last eight years.

“Stay over the night, it’s late. I’ll make you some chamomile, you always loved chamomile. Please.” Fred begs, lips against your cheek and you can feel the wetness of his own tears. His forehead presses against your temple. “Don’t leave me again.”

Your heart aches, it’s the most painful kind of hurt you’ve been dreading to feel again after all these years. This was worse than the neglect of your parents, the pain that night in the Burrow caused, watching Fred introduce Eva to his mother. This was why you’ve been avoiding him.

Because this time you know what to do, you know what’s for the best and it takes all of the protection you’ve built for yourself to push Fred off. Now, there’s none. Now, you’re standing before him, vulnerable and all your emotions on display.

“Goodnight Fred, merry christmas.”

This time, the door you walk out of feels much smaller and suffocating.

————

It’s ironic how the weather matches your mood for six days.

Saturday; clear skies with a blizzard hidden beneath the clouds. Aleyna’s engagement celebration. Show up with puffy eyes enough to make you blind, sit through nice dinner without crying, eventually start crying when she shows you the ring, act like you’re crying because you’re happy, get snot all over Aleyna’s ring, walk home while the storm finally presents itself and tells you that you’re a miserable piece of shit.

Sunday; small flurry. Spend your day weeping quietly and eating leftover takeout while browsing through your tv cable. Eventually watch a romantic movie, weep more.

Monday; cloudy, soft breeze. Cry more, hug your slightly overweight cat and get dragged outside by Aleyna because she figures out that you didn’t sob in front of an entire restaurant because your best friend was getting married. Sit at her bar, drink beer and stuff your face with cornish pasties while you tell her what happened, until you eventually pass out.

Tuesday; cloudy and dark. Spend your day thinking if you’ll ever be loved again. Regretful, pained, hungover and miserably under caffeinated.

Wednesday; crazy fucking blizzard that catches you so off guard you forget you ruined you chances with Fred Weasley for a moment. Aleyna tells you how stupid you are, you realize how stupid you are, then find out Aleyna is more of a snake than she lets on because she lets you eat a whole pack of doughnuts and that amazing Shepherd’s Pie her mom makes.

Thursday; clear skies. Not a cloud in sight. Your head is unusually clear, maybe too clear because you forget to feed Jambo and take out the trash. You think about running back to the joke shop, tell Fred you love him and that you don’t give a shit about the past anymore. But you don’t.

And now it’s Friday. You’re sitting on your bed, Aleyna in your closet, flinging clothes at you for you to try on because she insists you go out. It’s been a week since you walked out on Fred, again, and perhaps made the biggest mistake of your life.

“Stop wasting away your pathetic life here and do it outside!” she yells, voice getting closer when she comes into view.

“Aleyna, I’m really not in the mood.” you dismiss, laying back on your bed. “I just, should I go to him?”

Aleyna groans, pained. “Merlin forbid, this is the millionth time you ask me. I tell you yes, you don’t do it.”

“What if he says it’s too late, and it is! I don’t deserve-“

“Shut up. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. What matters is that you need to at least try.”

You need to at least try. Aleyna’s voice echoes around your head after she leaves and you're back to your routine. Get up, brush your hair because the tangles bother you more than you let on, (and sometimes your teeth, if you feel like it.) then stay in your pyjamas all day while lazing around your apartment. You’ve started making coffee for yourself again, which is a small step but still encouraging. Plopping down on your couch, you sigh. Jambo follows, leaving fur floating around the air in his wake.

Love To Love You Baby by Donna Summers plays softly in the background, your magic radio is mocking you yet again on how single and sad you are. Especially after how long it has been since you’ve had sex. It’s painful, but you can’t help but think of Fred whenever you try to at least relieve some stress. Of course, this ends with you curled in a corner and crying, it’s frustrating how much he turns you on, and now knowing you can never have him-

Jambo’s loud meow reminds you that you haven’t brushed him today and you slowly get up, striding to the kitchen. You try to relax your mind but your chest feels even tighter with your effort. Your house is an organized mess, you didn’t bother cleaning up throughout the stages of your grief.

You should talk to him. You should go outside, get fresh air, make out a game plan and at least talk to him. Fred’s kind, the funniest, most lovingly stubborn man you’ve ever met. He doesn’t deserve what you’re putting him through. You don’t want to leave things so bittersweet again, you want to keep seeing George, even Fred if time allows.

The pain of your past doesn’t allow you to follow your desires. You hate yourself for it and it’s only a matter of time before you break and go back to your old, quiet self. It’s as if the past got your wrists on lock, holding you back whenever you try to sprint free and love again. You thought Fred would have unlocked the chains and swept you away, but that was before you decided that he shouldn’t.

Gripping the fur comb on your left hand, Jambo watches you walk over to him with big eyes. He looks triumphant, lying on his chubby stomach and readying himself for the brush of his three year life.

Knock Knock

Perhaps this is why Jambo hates Aleyna. You chuckle. “Sorry Bo, give me a minute. She probably forgot her coat again.”

You put down the comb and rush over to the door. Not bothering to check through the peephole, you fling the door open while laughing. “Forgot your condoms or some-“

By the look Fred gives you, you’d think he hits it raw.

“Fred.” you whisper, frozen with your hand gripped on the handle.

He looks haggard, eye bags under his eyes with slightly damp hair sticking out obscenely from the sides. It looks longer, or perhaps it's the way he quickly runs a hand through it and smooths it back. You probably look no different, yet Fred still looks unfairly handsome, eyes dripping with honey and curved bottom lip tucked between his teeth.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you take in his appearance. He’s wearing a simple black pullover with a pea coat messily tucking in the material of his hoodie. You can see the after effects of the snow outside visible on his grey sweatpants, you can’t tell if he came to your house straight after working out for…however long he works out to have thighs like that.

“Can I-“ he gives you a look over and you blush. There’s a hundred different things you want to say, and you merely stay quiet and look at him with hopeful eyes. Coward. “Can I come in?”

You step aside wordlessly. He takes one, big step and he’s inside. Cursing his giant legs, you close the door behind him.

“Wow,” he clears his throat, looking around your apartment. “Nice place.”

“Thank you.”

Fred’s hand twitches when he hears your voice, as if he hadn’t heard it since he was a child. As if he was hearing it for the first time.

As soon as he steps in, his cologne engulfs the air around him - as if he’s marking himself in your house and leaving his delicious after taste. You would tell him he smells amazing but the air between you is too tense to say anything but;

“Fred I-“

“I wanted to-“

Fred breaks out into a smile, and you follow. It looks like a grimace, a hopeful one though. “I wanted to apologize.”

Your heart swells. You know it shouldn’t, because you don’t deserve an apology but the fact that he thought of you makes you feel like you have another chance. Of course you do, the poor man walked over to your house in the middle of a snowstorm. There’s got to be something there, right?

“Fred,-“

“No, let me finish this time.”

You stay silent.

“Been trying to think of the right ruddy words to say this past week but fuck that.” he growls, shrugging off his coat when you offer. “I’m not waiting any bloody longer.”

“I admit that at some point,” he starts, taking a deep breath. “I had feelings for Eva. That’s why I didn’t break up with her. It was well after three months of us dating and I thought I moved on.” you usher him to sit down, quickly following behind. Your legs feel wobbly as he continues.

“That’s why I didn’t break up with her, and I won’t deny that what I had with her was nice, but it wasn’t you. No one ever compared to you ____. I was fine until you decided to stop being our friend.”

“I didn’t decide that, It was something I had to do.” you defend fiercely, sitting next to him on the bar stool of your kitchen island. Damn rich apartments.

“I know that now, but at that time I thought you hated me. I clung onto Eva because I thought - seeing as she was your childhood friend - we’d be friends again.”

You scoff. “Look how that turned out.”

Fred raises a brow.

“Sorry, continue.”

“I started getting over it until that summer happened. It killed me to see you again, that’s when I realized I could never stop loving you. I blamed myself for everything, for fucking up all my chances even though I-“

You put a hand on his shoulder, “Freddie, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Fred pauses, squeezes your hand and gives you a wide, hopeful smile that punches you right in the heart. His head dips down to rest on your shoulder and he sighs. “You called me Freddie.”

“I did.” you smile.

“I wanted to talk to you, but you kept avoiding me. With the war and everything I just couldn’t, especially after that near death thing.”

“Near what?” You gasp.

Fred chuckles, as if it was no big deal. It makes your chest ache. “I got trapped under a wall, Georgie saved me. Owe him my bloody life. Took me sometime to get over it though, those were the times I needed someone the most.” he takes a deep breath before continuing.

“It was around those times that I found out Eva cheated on me. She was acting dodgy the past few months, and I feel awful for feeling relieved when we broke up.”

“But, that’s not your fault.” you sigh, hand caressing his back gently. He relaxes at your touch and a smile tugs at your lip at this. “You don’t owe Eva a damn thing. It’s okay to feel like that, because I do.”

Fred laughs, a small melodic sound that brings you pride that you pulled it out of him. “Oh, is that how it works now?”

“Yep, I said so.” you give him a toothy grin, and he chuckles, further causing your ruin.

But you can’t let things get too comfortable, not before you’re completely honest with him. Here he is, vulnerable and open, telling you his entire life story and you sure as hell are going to do the same - minus some embarrassing parts.

“Do you,” you clear your throat, awkwardly shuffling on your stool. The seat is uncomfortable and it makes everything all the more frustrating. “Do you want to know what I was thinking before you showed up?”

Fred pauses, gaze lingering over your face attentively. Breath catching, you let him look at you. Directly, fully look at you. He flushes, quickly hidden away by his hand when he nods his head slowly and leans on his palm.

“I was thinking of you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I was thinking if I should just go to you myself.”

Fred takes a quick breath. Shuddering because of the cold, surely, his tone is soft and barely above a whisper. “Why didn’t you?”

“I was scared you’d reject me. I was going to apologize to you, get on my knees and beg for forgiveness until you gave me a second chance.”

“Oh.”

You let him grasp your chin and turn your face towards his, he lovingly strokes your cheek, long finger somehow reaching easily. “I’m sorry Freddie, I love you.”

“I’ve waited to hear those words for so long.” his chest heaves when he responds.

“Well, how much of a let down is it?” you smile, nuzzling your hand in his palm.

He leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead, then to your cheek. “Let down?” he tells you, as if he heard the most obscene thing. “It’s so much better than I could have imagined, and I’m sorry too. I hate myself for letting you go through so much pain on your own. If I wasn’t such a clueless git I could’ve done this much earlier.”

“Do what?”

Fred kisses you. It’s not urgent, nor wanton, it’s soft and tender that still leaves you breathless. He leans his forehead against yours, and you ruin the kiss by smiling but he couldn’t care less. Opening your mouth, you let him flick your tongues together until it’s a sloppy, needy mess.

He groans, and that’s when you know the kiss progressed much too far to stop now. The needy ache between your legs pushes you to hover yourself over him, and his strong arms grasp you by the waist. His lips aren’t a perfect fit, it makes the kiss all the more pleasurable and it’s until he’s slowly walking towards your bedroom with your legs tucked around his hips that you break away.

“Fred,” you sigh when he sets you down against a wall. “I want you.”

He frowns, “It’s Freddie, how many times-“ he gathers your knee in one hand and pushes his crotch against your center with a grunt. “Do I have to tell you?”

You barely respond, clawing at his back. The curve of his thick cock gradually growing, his thighs encasing around your legs feels too damn good and you don’t know how long until you’re fully at his mercy. Fred roughly rolls his hips, a deep grumble leaving him and the stimulation is enough to make you whine. “Again,” you rock your pervis.

“Oh yeah?” he smirks, humping you harder. “You like this? How much? Let me feel.”

You rut against him desperately, trying to get off on the friction Fred barely decides to provide.

True to his word, Fred kisses you again with a groan, this time sparing you no tenderness and sucking on your bottom lip until it throbs. His hips continue to rut all the while his free hand slithers down your clavicle, down the sides of your waist - he makes sure to spread his palm wide to feel you everywhere - until he teasingly snaps the band of your pyjama bottoms. You yelp, relishing in his moans.

“If you like it so much- well shit.” his eyes flutter shut the moment he feels your slick from your underwear. “My love, you’re so wet that I bet I can taste you through your panties.”

If you weren’t wearing your yellow duck polka dot panties this would have been more sexier, and it takes Fred talking about eating you out to realize - oh my god, you’re wearing your duck panties.

“Fred, don-“

Fred has already pushed your bottoms down, revealing the abomination and further causing your face to feel hotter.

“Oh?” he smirks. “Sexy lingerie, all for me?”

You groan, hiding your face in his shoulder while he laughs at you. You feel his chest bob, and you can’t help but giggle alongside him.

“Now, strip.” he commands, and all the humor in the situation vanishes in an instant.

He lets go of your knee and you easily slip out of your bottoms, then slowly said polka dot panties. He grips your thighs, hoisting you up on his hips again and before you know it, he’s stumbling into your room.

His hand is cupping the back of your head, somehow gone there the moments he walked. You wouldn’t know, it’s hard to concentrate on anything else when the heat of his cock between your thighs feels like that.

Fred deposits you on the messily scattered forest you call your bed, and the smell of linen mixed with his cologne is enough for you to grind your hips on nothing.

Fred tuts, pushing a palm flat on your hip. He trails his hand between your legs and palms your pussy, bare. “Babe, you’re dripping. Since how long?”

You whine, “Since the moment you walked through - ah, my door.”

Fred’s eyes glaze over with nothing but dangerous greed. Dipping his knee on the mattress, he manhandles you into submission. “You think you can just get away with saying shit like that?” he groans, eyes fixating on wherever it lands on your body. It’s like he’s trying to take it all in, overwhelmed yet still wanton.

He shuffles to sit against your headboard and pats his large thigh, you waste no time crawling towards him. He quickly grabs your waist before you can approach him. Pulling you against him with your knees propped between his thighs, he’s face to face with your pussy and drooling.

“Such a sweet, pretty cunt.” he breathes, gently kissing your clit. You cry out, knees buckling but Fred’s large palms are flat on your ass and adamant on keeping you up and against his lips. Your center throbs, this is all you have ever wanted - the both of you have ever wanted and Fred has the audacity to tease.

“I know, I know.” He gently sushes. “I need to,” his head leans on your abdomen, desperate. “Need to get you ready for my cock.”

You barely nod, Fred seems to be in battle with himself. You don’t know which side wins, until he starts to suckle your clit with continuous, obscene kissing noises. You grip his shoulder, body bending in half. It feels so good, too good that you can’t hold straight. “Please - Fred,”

Gasping, your pelvis rocks forward. He keeps you still with his muscles digging in your hips, ass, back - everywhere he’s desperately roaming and memorizing.

His tongue finally darts forward - you knew that goddam tongue would be what did it - you nearly collapse, melting forward. It’s wet and warm and god - almost what you imagine his dick might feel like if it ever prods at your entrance.

He’s licking with bold, textured strokes. Your thighs are quivering, it’s the sudden brush of pleasure that meets your cunt every other second that causes this.

“Shit,” Fred pulls back, one hand holding your thighs wider. His thumb circles around your entrance and you cry out in pleasure. “My balls feel so fucking tight ____. If I keep this up, I might just come before I can put my dick in you.”

“Then - ahh Freddie!”

“Don’t get mouthy with me.” he smirks, sliding a finger inside. “I knew what you were gonna say before you opened that sweet mouth of yours.”

He fucks you like this, wet squelching noise mixing with your pants and moans. Working you open, Fred curls a finger inside and your thighs finally give out. “Merlin, you’re gonna get it,” he gives you a sweet kiss on the stomach. “I’m just as desperate to fuck you. Look,”

You do look, very gladly at that. He adds a second finger the moment your eyes fall on the wet patch of his bottoms. He’s rutting against nothing, all the while scissoring his fingers inside you - and from the look he gives you, you know he’s imagining what it's like to be inside you.

“Fred!” you gasp, rocking faster until your legs start to jerk and twitch. You don’t want to come yet, want to savor the way Fred’s fucking you with nothing but two fingers and it’s better than any sex you’ve had.

Your arousal pools between his fingers, dripping down his bracelet adorned wrist, all the way down to his veiny forearms. It’s a sight for sore eyes, Fred watches in a trance, gaze half lidded. You can see his cock twitch in his pants and he moans, “Fucking hell babe, look at the mess you’ve made.”

His thumb presses against your center with his two other fingers working, and he roughly drags it over to your clit to press. He’s licking again, slurping noises mixing with the pats of his tongue quickly dragging across your pussy.

That does it. Whining, and with quick breaths you hurtle towards such an intense orgasm that you swear you see Santa himself and his jingle fucking bells. It’s sudden and weakening, you barely register. Fred’s there all the while, desperately licking every drop of his hard work until there’s nothing. He groans and moans, like he’s having his thanksgiving now.

He’s not like a starved man, or any other cliche line you can think of. No, it’s like he has made a deal with the devil and is captured by the dark vitality of greed. He can’t stop, and merlin, do you not want him to.

“That was,” you breathe, taking a seat on his thigh when he allows.“That was the best orgasm I’ve had.”

“And that was the most gorgeous sight I have ever seen.” Fred smiles, it slowly turns into a smirk. The cocky bastard is way too proud of himself. He should be though, it’s been a while since you’ve had sex - if it always felt like this you would have never stopped.

But you know it never feels this good. No, it’s because of Fred. It’s him, and how much you love him, and how attractive he is - how skilled, amazing, passionate of a man he is. He’s perfect and way out of your league but you don’t care because he’s finally yours.

Said man is breaking out in a sappy grin, kissing your lips sweetly to whisper against them. “Get used to it.” He kisses you again. “I’m going to make you come again, and again, and again until you can’t walk.” he’s lowering you down onto your back, hands caressing your thighs.

“Really?”

“Especially now that I know how sweet and tight you are,“ Fred runs a finger through your pussy and you whimper. “How amazing you smell,” he dips down to lazily suck a hickey on your collarbone. “How soft your skin is,” his hands are lifting your waist up to unhook your bra. “How much I’m in love with you.”

Your gaze softens, and you let him undress you, bra after shirt until you’re left bare beneath. He shivers, his eyes are darting everywhere, to the curve of your hips, up your stomach - and finally, the slope of your breasts. He sucks in a breath. “You,” he rasps. “You had this bikini, that summer.”

“Wha- which one?”

“The white one.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh.”

“We all loved that bikini, especially the days when the lake was particularly cold. Your nipples would be crystal fucking clear.”

You should feel embarrassed, fuck you really should but you knew what you were doing when you bought that bikini. That doesn’t stop you from acting clueless though, “Fred you big oa - oh!”

Fred dips to suck on your nipples, mouth wide open and hungry. “From that day onward, I fucking knew your tits were amazing.” he groans, gazing at them for a moment. “ Shit, was I right.”

You feel his clothed cock rub against you as he speaks - and it finally becomes a problem.

“A-ah, Fred. Clothes,” you barely gesture, though Fred understands you quickly. Sitting back on his heels, he swiftly removes his hoodie overhead.

Of course he isn’t wearing anything underneath.

Of course he has abs.

You curse under your breath - Fred’s chest is well defined, as you expected it to be. Well toned pecs, pert nipples hard and on display, golden skin stretching over his abdomen and six pairs of muscles you’d like to mark. He’s lean yet buff, corded well with muscle and now you know where those enthusiastic years of Quidditch have gone into

You reach for his arm, Fred quickly obliges and lets you guide his palm flat on your body. You breathe heavily - you love how you're he’s feeling you up like this. His hand lands on your breast, and he gives it a rough squeeze before rolling off the bed to get out of his bottoms.

“Are you trying to kill me, doing that? Huh?” he rasps, stumbling slightly. He swings his socks somewhere and gets back on the bed. “Is that what you want?”

When you don’t respond, he chuckles. Slowly, he pushes down his boxer briefs. It’s teasing, this motion. But then again, everything about Fred Weasley is.

His cock slaps against his abdomen - that’s how big it is. You feel yourself salivate, pupils expanding at the thought of such a thick, attractive cock inside you. You almost jump forward and sit on it but when you see the angry red color of his cock, the twitching of his head and the pre-cum that drips, it becomes clear how much he has been holding back.

Fred grips his cock and the head gushes slightly, you feel your cunt flutter. “Come here.”

You let him grip your body and settle you on his lap, entrance inches away from the head of his cock. You’re making eye contact, it’s almost intimidating how intense his gaze is. On your heat, breasts and fucked out face. “Merlin, I’ve been dreaming about this for fucking years. Let me,” he breathes. “I should just take a picture and stare at it all day.”

“Why take a picture when you have the real thing.” you smirk slightly.

Fred groans, “Ohh, you’re such a good girl.”

You smile, “Freddie, please get a condom. Flattery won’t get you that far.”

“Damn it.” he smiles jokingly, reaching for your night stand.

“Wait, shit.” you get off his lap and down your bed, legs wobbling a bit as you stride towards your dresser with hurried steps. Fred whines when you leave but you pay him no mind. “Been a while, here.”

Grabbing the pack, you stumble back on the bed and sit on your knees.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Fred nods his head. “Put it on, baby.”

You rip the packet open and slowly roll it on him, his cock is already wet and glistening enough for it to be quick. Your center pulses with want as you do this.

Fred pushes you down and crawls on top, centering his cock with your entrance. “No more,” he grunts. “Gotta have you now.”

Gasping, you feel him rub against you. He continues to tease, until the tip of his cock finally pushes past.

You cry out and glance down at where his cock bulges, it’s a type of pain you’d love to feel everyday. “A-ah Fred!”

“I know baby,” he whines, pushing further in with a quick thrust. He strokes slowly to work you open. You cry out, arousal gushing out.

“Such a sweet pussy, taking all my cock so well.” he kisses your jaw, feathering his lips around your throat and lazily sucking. “Feel so good.”

It’s true, it feels so fucking good that you can’t hold in your moans anymore. Not that you were trying to, but the desire to chant his name becomes reality when he rolls his hips against your center. He’s so close to bottoming out and the woozy cloud floating in your head grows. “Oh my god, don’t want you to stop.”

The stretch feels so good that you can’t help but clench around him, pain jerking your hips up.

Fred's balls deep in, his chest heaves and his eyes squeeze shut for a moment. He pauses, letting the two of you adjust to the euphoric feeling of his cock inside. ”Why the fuck would I wan’t to stop?” Your insides are throbbing, and you find yourself arching your back every time he gives you a sweet kiss on your chest. “Why would I ever stop. Shit, baby, I love you.”

“I love you too - oh!”

Fred withdraws, then slams into you with such vigour that you scream. Another shameful flow of your juices gush out as pleasure rips through you. He continues this, another harsh thrust into your cunt that makes you arch in pleasure. “Freddie!”

“Just like that.” he grunts, rolling his hips. “Love when you call me that.”

His hand hooks your leg around his waist, and he speeds up his motion, soothing the needy ache you feel.

lt’s dizzying, how good he can make you feel. Like you’re the center of the universe and all that matters is Fred fucking you open with sweet, yet untetheredly rough thrusts. It’s scary how lost you can get in him, and it becomes haunted when he captures your lips in a kiss and lifts your leg up on his shoulder.

“You’re so tight, oh fucking hell. Look at you, my goodness you’re absolutely perfect.” he murmurs against your lips, muting your moans.

“Fred! Oh god - ah!”

Your cries egg him on, he’s ruthless with the way his fingers dig in your ass to slam into you faster. The angle, his thick cock, how he’s biting down on your lower lip, you can barely take in. You feel helplessly at his mercy, and soon he’s fucking you too hard to keep kissing. “Easy, baby,” he coos when you squirm underneath him. “I’ve got you - my sweet little flower. Feel good?”

The question itself is clearly hysterical, your pleasure is etched on to your face and your thighs quiver underneath him. His mouth hangs open, eyes droopy, yet he still wears that infuriatingly attractive smirk. “Yes! Feel so good - ah you cocky bastar - umpfh!”

He drapes your other leg over his shoulder, your breasts bounce as his thrust turns more languid. Your back arches, mouth hanging open. “Oh my god - Fred!”

It feels so fucking good like this, so deep and good and - fuck, everything else other than him becomes a distant memory.

“Ahh - shit baby. Doing so good,” he grunts, his moans turn more high pitched when you meet his thrusts halfways. “Drown me baby, my flower takes me so well,”

Fred’s hand curls around the mattress as his other grips your thigh. He slams into you, stretching you out so good that your orgasm builds rapidly within. With your legs draped over his shoulder, he bends forward further until he’s sucking in your chest and leaving red marks. “OH - Freddie,” you whine, clawing at his back.

“That’s it my love,” he croons, head thrown back yet still adamant on watching you. His hands tangle in your hair, carding through and gripping them hard. “Come on my cock - make a mess of your sheets. Doing so well for me, wanna feel you clench around me.”

His face contorts in pleasure when your cunt does clench, hair draping over his eyes to cover his glazed, blown out pupils. Fred reaches between your legs to sweetly thumb your clit, squeezing it between two fingers and it’s the final straw until you break.

You arch in pleasure, shuddering violently underneath him. Fred’s letting you ride it out, finally gasping and his hands clench around your thigh and the mattress. Your hand finds his, interlacing your fingers together as you messily grind your hips and finally come down. Ropes of hot cum fill the condom around your sensitive walls. You tighten, aching a little from the warmth that you can’t feel directly from the plastic barrier.

Fred collapses on top with panting breaths. His head rests in the crook of your neck, arms wrapped tightly around your waist.

“Well shit.”

“Yeah.” you chuckle breathily. The post orgasm clarity makes you realize; fuck, I love this man way more than I let on. You suddenly feel the need to show him, and yet you settle for tenderly brushing his hair back when he lifts his head.

Fred smiles, grin lazy and sappy. After pecking your lips, he slowly pulls out. You whine from the sudden coldness when he rolls out of your arms, then he grins at your noise of distress.

“Hold on love, be right back.” Fred pulls off his condom, ties the top and tosses it to the trash before collapsing next to you - way more dramatically. His arm drapes over you, pulling you to his chest and pressing a kiss on your forehead. “I love you.”

You sigh, content. “Love you too,” you smirk. “Would love you more if you cleaned me up.”

Fred’s eyes flash dangerously. “Oh?”

“Not like that you idiot!” you smile, gently slapping his chest. “Swish your wand or something, I don’t wanna get up.”

“Hm,” he taps his chin. “Give me a tour of your apartment and I’ll think about it.”

You sigh, propping yourself on your arms. Fred whines and tries to pull you back in but you don’t relent. “Alright alright.”

Rolling off the bed, you rush to the bathroom, ignoring the pulsing soreness in your core. “Wha - come back! What about my tour?” Fred yells after you.

You laugh at his eagerness. “You’re not getting it!”

After cleaning yourself up, you practically hurl yourself in his arms. Fred catches you with something between a grunt and a chuckle, leaning against the headboard and letting you rest your head on his chest. Your eyes lull around, begging to give into your exhaustion. “Close your eyes, flower,” he whispers sweetly, gently running his hands across your hair and massaging your scalp.

The snowstorm outside has gotten intense, the wind howls against your sealed windows yet the world feels much brighter from this morning. It’s hard to focus on anything besides the way your heart flutters, and the feel of Fred beneath you. Snuggling closer, his fingers gently trace around your shoulders.

“Freddie?” you murmur, cheek pressed against his chest.

He hums in response.

“You’re staying over, right?”

Fred peers down at you, his brows are etched together and the concern on his face nearly makes you sob. “Do…do you not want me to?” he answers shakily.

You let out a breath. “Of course I want you to!”

“Good.” he smiles, letting out a bigger breath than you. For a moment, you think you broke the man. “Because you’re not getting rid of me anytime soon.”

[rcksmith]

The Agreement part.2 — Kaz Brekker

Resume/Masterlist

Couple: Kaz Brekker/ Fem!Reader.

Warnings of series: Convenience/arranged marriage, swearing, mention of fight, mention of death, mention of desire, fluff, sensual, mention of post-traumatic stress.

Warnings of chapter: swearing.

Word count: 4k

A/N: I hope you guys like.💖

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are closet. Love you ❤️

— — — —

“What?!” Your exclamation came out louder than intended, and perhaps sharper than expected.

The salty sea breeze came through the window once more. The smell of salt and ocean invaded the room and for a second it felt like being in a ship's cabin at sea.

Kaz looked at you as if you were some child. Or someone deaf. But if he was swimming in acidic thoughts, he didn't say them.

"Think carefully." His voice was firm and explicit, the ones men use to convince women of something. “You want freedom, don't you? Live your life without having to fulfill a man's whims or your father's expectations. You wants to be able to snow on a ship without having a date to go back and make your own destiny. You want just needing to care what new adventure knocks on your door and what promise of wonders life awaits. It is not?"

How did he figure it out so well in such a short time? Was he too shrewd or were you too transparent?

You nodded, unable to say anything. Perhaps out of perplexity at how Kaz read you so easily. Or maybe the way he looked like an overpoweringly beautiful fallen angel in the moonlight.

“And the only way to do that is to get married.”

You frowned. “As I recall, Brekker, I came here just so I wouldn't have to get married.”

“And it's a stupid plan.” God, you wanted to kill him. “You asked me to have the Dregs take you to the harbor without your father's spies noticing. But it turns out your father's spies already know you're here.”

Your breath was lost somewhere between lungs and nose.

“Since you arrived, the noise from the Crow Club downstairs has become less shrill. And this is not typical criminal behavior. Either they have adopted good manners or someone they know they should fear has joined the Club.” Kaz sat more relaxed in the armchair behind his desk, his dark blue eyes locked on you. “I would bet on the second option.”

“So I came here for nothing?” You were starting to get angry at his beating around the bush. Because you knew it was manipulation. Brekker was laying the groundwork and you understood that.

“I did not say that. Turns out you can never get rid of your father. Not when he's a man with the purchasing power able to buy an entire country. There will always be someone who will recognize you, someone who will find you. And for the right price, the whole world is capable of being bribed. You would run away only to be chased by other spies, other people wanting the reward your father will give to whoever brings you back home.”

Very early on, you realized that Kaz Brekker was capable of crushing dreams as easily as crushing an insect. His destructive power was colossal and you saw all of your desires floating under his palm. Waiting just for him to brutally clench his fist and crush them.

But that's not what he did.

“You'll only get what you want if you follow his orders.” The breeze came through the window once more, ruffling her charcoal hair. “But if you can't defeat your enemies, change the rules of the game.”

“And is that where marriage to you comes in?”

“See it.” His body leaned very gently across the table towards you, it was a millimeter and ridiculous gesture, but it felt like him standing a breath away from you. “What you need is to get married. But marrying someone who doesn't give a damn about what you're going to do, and don’t have expectations of you. Someone who is not interested in home life, family life or Any other things you can offer other than money.”

Any other things you can offer. The night breeze this time was accompanied by an impure, almost obscene scene of the fallen angel in front of you on a bed of black duvets and caustic weather. A moment when the ends of his black hair brushed your forehead and your nose, moving back and forth as followed the rhythm of his hips and…

The sea breeze was gone, taking the obscene image with it and bringing back your common sense. For a second you wondered where that came from! You hadn't been in his presence for more than two hours and the entire compilation of what it was like Kaz Brekker, so far, had frightened you and attracted you in an absurdly dangerous way.

"And are that you came, I suppose." You hoped your voice couldn't give away your impure thoughts from seconds ago. “Do you want us to form an alliance where you receive my dowry and in return I am free from my father's demands and can do as I please with my freedom?"

“Alliance is a very strong term for what we are doing here.” He was succinct, “I would tell you to look at this as a business transaction. A marriage document is still just a piece of paper. And nothing else. Don't get carried away by sentimentalism. Things only have feelings if you want them to.”

Kaz was right, you knew that. For all your belief in true love and the many books romance novels you devoured, you still understood that a marriage could very well be seen as a business translation. It are a sad, cold way to see something so beautiful, but it still true.

“I have no interest in anything other than your dowry and you have no interest other than freedom. So what I'm proposing is something very sensible and objective. When we get married, your father will set you free, and you won't have any husband to please or any other crap. I don't want and don't expect anything from you, I don't care if you're sailing to Ravka or venturing on The Fold.”

“Do you want the money out of greed or despair?”

Kaz took a second to get a better look at you after that sneaky question. You had asked the correct question amid so many banalities and he realized that you were more cunning than you looked.

If he wanted to know your secrets, you also wanted to know his.

“A bit of both.” He was sincere.

“And what do you intend to do with my father's industries? Because you would win them too. And any misdirection could end up reducing my father's empire to nothing, and I don't want him to see the thing he loves most in ruins.”

Brekker heard the feelings in your voice. There was a hidden pang of hurt, but a lot of determination and honesty. You loved your father and understood him, even if you didn't agree with his principles. You had a fair and upright nature and were able to move mountains to get things done the way you thought was right. That was a red flag for Kaz. You were a good person. And he not.

He could never promise you things that go back to a good guy. But he could promise you honesty and justice. Kaz Brekker would never take something from someone the way it was taken from him so many years ago. He was a monster. But never in the same category as Pekka.

“I have no interest in having an empire doomed to fail.” His eyes were serious. “My motivation has always been greed. Why would I sink the company that is capable of making me such a rich man?”

He would have to be an idiot to let such a lucrative business go. And Kaz Brekker was anything but an idiot.

“Would you let me do anything I want?”

“I have no interest in what you don't or do.”

You hesitated for a second, as if remembering another detail. “My father doesn't believe in divorce, and even if he did, I would be pressured to remarry. Do you understand that we couldn't divorce?”

“I have no desire to marry again. And you might as well get other men you want without making a fuss, without your father finding out.” Always rational and objective. Without any inclination to the heart's desires. “There is no room in this world for feelings. Much less in this agreement. If you fall in love with someone you will have to be content with just relating to them, not getting married. And it seems like a small price to pay for so many benefits.”

It was the perfect plan. Did you know that. It was rational, objective and cunning. Something advantageous for both without costing too much. But why did you feel that something could go very wrong? You were a romantic person and you knew you could see things where they didn't exist. The truth was, you would have to leave your heart completely out of the picture.

Just a business transaction.

Brekker seemed to see a hint of hesitation in your eyes.

“It's very simple, Ms. Y/L/N.” That voice that gave you goose bumps hovered in front of you. “You marry me and you still have your freedom, because I don't give a damn about what you do after.”

“20 million from Kruges. Rich.” his eyes gleamed with a deep glow.

“And how do I know this isn't a trick?”

“I don't promise lies.” His firm face was serious “I won't give you happiness, Y/n. Much less love. Love doesn't exist in Kerch. But I will give you freedom, independence, a comfortable life that you are accustomed. And it seems to be much more than you have now.”

You knew you could be making a deal with the devil. Selling your soul to that man with the face of a fallen angel and the aura of Lucifer. But what choice did you have?

You couldn't go back if you sealed that deal. That man would be bound whit you, even by a piece of paper, for a lifetime. Was it worth the price? You didn't care for your father's press to want to be in the management and you had a lot more money than twenty million Kruges. What would you be missing? Your chance to marry one day whit someone you came to love? But if you came home without someone one day from now your father would marry you to a gargoyle. And the way out to flee no longer seemed a viable option.

Yes, it was worth it.

Seeming to see from the glint in your eyes that you've made a decision, Kaz Brekker, Bastard of the Barrel, reached out a leather-gloved hand toward you. His eyes sparkled with a mysterious spark, the scent of male cologne with a hint of danger lurking around the room. And for a moment, you felt a shiver go up your spine and the feeling that your life had just begun.

“Agree to marry me?” He said.

The feeling was that you were about to embark on the greatest adventure of your life. You didn't know what that little stunt with Kaz Brekker awaited you. But you would find out.

“Yes.” You took his hand in a firm, intense handshake that held a million secrets.

A satisfied, victorious smile came to his lips. And whenever Kaz gave him that expression, it felt like seeing the fallen angel that was the reason so many humans sinned. The clouds in the sky shifted, moving out of the moon's path and making the distilled rays of light shimmer more brightly. His black hair and white skin were graced with those bundles, and for a second his beauty was overwhelming.

You held your breath.

Brekker continued to say something, but you couldn't pay attention. Your heart began to race, the moonlight following in his footsteps as Kaz got up from his chair and went to fetch some papers from across the room. You couldn't tear your eyes away from him. His body was taller and thinner than you deduced when he was sitting down. Kaz had long, slender legs beneath black straight-cut pants, his chest was broad and his waist was narrow. For a second, you felt like running your hand over the contours of his body.

You shifted your attention forward abruptly. Focusing eyes on something else.

That was the curse of handsome men. They fooled women and made them daydream. With his underworld god beauty and mysterious aura with a touch of danger, Kaz Brekker was overwhelmingly attractive. And your blood reacted to that. Any woman would have reacted the same way.

“And we'll have to leave tomorrow morning…” he sat opposite you again.

“Sorry, what?”

You turned your attention to his words, not remembering half of what he said seconds ago. Kaz looked at you intently this time, squinting his eyes millimetrically, as if he was trying to guess which paths your mind had wandered in for the past two minutes.

“Your deadline is the day after tomorrow, isn't it?”

"Yes." You got back to the core of the problem once more. “The trip to my house takes a few hours. Half a day if it's raining.”

Kaz had his eyes on the papers in his hands, maybe they were maps or documents, but you didn't feel like craning your neck to see what it was. Leaning over to view the papers meant getting closer to Brekker, and two hours in his presence was enough for you to understand that nothing good would happen if you got any closer. Or maybe you didn't trust your own feelings and emotions.

“This will have to be done very discreetly.” He didn't look up from his papers. “If any rumors about our deal reach the wrong people, your father will hear about our plan. And that meant you will being forced to marry someone else, and me without my money. Does anyone know you're here because you planned to run away?”

You shook your head. “No. I didn't get to tell my friends. But now that the plan is different, I intend to tell a friend that…”

“You can't tell anyone.” Kaz lifted ocean blue eyes to you in an electrifying look that made you shiver.

“And what is supposed to say to my friends?” You felt a pang of indignation.

“That we are in love.”

This time, your breath was gone. The phrase was like pouring gasoline on an old, flammable woodpile. And you were afraid of what might be the match that would set off a fire.

Kaz noticed your reaction and was amused by it. “Just say some nonsense about falling in love with a criminal. It wouldn't be the first time a rich little girl has fallen in love with the bad guy, and I guarantee it won't be the last.”

“And you won't tell anyone about the truth too?” You wanted to change the focus you.

“I don't have to answer to anyone.”

This time you gave a smug smile and crossed your arms in an insolent gesture. “So everyone will think the infamous Kaz Brekker, Dirty Handes and Ketterdam's most dangerous gangster is in love with a rich little girl?”

Kaz narrowed his eyes at your teasing.

“It won't be the first time that the man with a bad temper and dangerous soul falls in love with the little girl. And I'm sure it won't be the last.” You said.

You were provocative, witty and stubborn. You would always hit at the same height and loved to show people that could very well play their game. Brekker unraveled this perfectly. You weren't the kind of woman who would be peaceful, serene, and calm. You wouldn't be like Inej. You would not take his orders and his taunts in silent, contained rage. You were intense. And that was a danger.

Why did he get the feeling you were so much more than he imagined?

“Let's go to your house tomorrow morning. Nine in the morning.” He changed the subject. “I'll go with you and we'll get married.”

"My father must be preparing everything by now." You sighed. “He takes his promises very seriously and I have no doubt that, when I returns, the ceremony scene will be set in the party garden.”

Partly you were relieved about it now. Planning a ceremony are intense and personal. You never really thought about getting married, but you always imagined that if one day it happened it would be the man of your dreams. And you didn't know if you would want to organize a fake wedding. There were certain things that were inevitable to keep the heart from breaking.

“Better yet, the faster the better.”

The two of you discussed some more details of the plan in the next few hours. It was agreed that Kaz would pick you up at nine from your hotel tomorrow, in an elegant hired carriage (which you obviously would be paying for) and the two of you would go to your house in Kerch. For all intents and for all people, the truth would be that the two of you were in love. It was such a typical cliché that it wouldn't be the least bit hard to believe.

And after a while, you two could already show yourself to the world as a couple who barely saw each other. Rich society was full of them: marriage with coldness and distance, where the man has his bets and lovers and the woman her travels and her jewelry. Your father would surely understand and leave you alone. After all, he had gotten a son-in-law to inherit his empire. A young son-in-law with blood for business who would make your father extremely satisfied. However, now the two of you had to look like a couple in love. And the reality of the situation was a secret that only the two of you would take with you to the tomb.

But, that night it was difficult for you to sleep. Anxiety, restlessness and fear gnawed at you like cunning mice, rolling you from side to side in bed, whispering in your ears millions of futures where everything could go wrong. Where not even Kaz Brekker's plans could free you from the clutches of one of your father's suitors.

When the clock struck seven in the morning, you jumped out of bed with unsettling, restless energy. You didn't like feeling helpless and waiting for Brekker to show up was exactly the definition of a princess in trouble. You had to do something.

- -

“What do you mean to get married?!” Jesper choked on his breakfast, and Nina nearly spit out all her orange juice.

Kaz rolled his eyes and continued sorting through the documents on the large round table. He was going to be gone for a few days at most and needed the people he trusted most to take care of business while he was gone. There were a lot of robberies to do and Kaz spent the night crafting and modifying plans for options where he wasn't involved. He had made a list of what needed to be checked at ports and what needed to be resupplied at Crow clube.

The plan was to marry you when they arrived in Kerch and return to Crow Club the next day. Kaz knew he would have to bring you, the two of you would have to stay together until your dowry was delivered to him. After that you could go on any adventure you wanted.

But dealing with the Crows was being more exasperating than Kaz could have expected.

"I didn't even know you had a girlfriend!" Wylan was in shock.

"Nobody knew!" Nina and Inej had their chins on the floor. Matthias was the only one who didn't seem to care so much.

"I didn't know the affairs of my private life were your business." Kaz didn't look up from the papers he kept in folders for the stupid ones.

"But you never said anything." Inej said.

"It was the intention."

"It's with Y/n, isn't it?" Jesper had bright eyes and a gleeful gambling smile stretched across his lips.

Kaz looked up at the boy with chocolate creamy skin, and his eyes narrowed slightly.

“She spent hours in yours office last night.”

"Oh my Santis!" Inej, Nina and Wylan exclaimed at once, eyes wide.

"The daughter of the richest man in Kerch." Wylan said.

"YOUR DOG!" Jesper clapped Kaz on the shoulder with an open palm, a loud laugh echoing and joy filling his voice.

Kaz suppressed the urge to look at the spot where Jesper had touched him. It had been years since he'd gotten over the most brutal aversion to touch, when the mere thought of getting close to someone made him tingle and dizzy with imminent fainting. At 28 years old, Kaz Brekker had proven to be greater than the demons and weaknesses that haunted him, wanting to see his downfall. A man who wanted to defeat Pekka could have no weaknesses. And he prided himself on almost have none of them.

However, offhand gestures made him look at the spot where he had been touched. The sensation brought was not unbearable or nauseating, but strange. And when the situation was skin to skin in a touch that caught him off guard, the feeling was unpleasant. Like a splinter under the skin.

It was easier with people Kaz felt comfortable with, but it wasn't something he cared about. He forced himself to overcome the most brutal aversion just to be a man without weaknesses, no chance of being defeated in a torture, no chance of being defeated by a faint. No for to touch someon.

“I thought you didn't know her in person when I warned you yesterday.” Inej tried to contain her little smile.

“It was the intention. You guys forgot the definition of secret…”

"Boss." One of the employees had entered that exclusive room. "There's someone here wanting to talk to you, Sir." He looked apprehensive.

Kaz frowned. The crow club had no movement at eight in the morning.

"Who is?"

"I think…"

"Will you please let me through!" The female voice sounded outside the room.

Jesper and the rest of the gang were wide-eyed, mouths opening in amusement and bewilderment. Kaz was catatonic. What the fucking hell were you doing there?!

"What do you mean I can't talk to your boss?!" And you continued. “I spoke to him yesterday...Don't give me these arguments, my dad tells his employees to tell people exactly that...I swear if you touch out about me again I will...”

"Fucking hell!" Kaz came out from behind the counter, crossing the living room and opening the door.

He came face to with that scene. A short girl who argued with a bouncer who was triple her height and size. Kaz knew the man was arrogant and macho, and had probably nudged your temper. He would have been amused by the scene if he wasn't abgry that you didn't follow his explicit rules.

“Ray.” Kaz glanced at the bouncer, a steady gaze that made the brute immediately back away from you.

You even gave the man an angry look before heading towards Kaz.

"What are you doing here?!" He whispered angrily.

"I couldn't wait." You wiggled your fingers, a tic of anxiety. “I could barely sleep. It was lucky I didn't show up at six in the morning.”

“That's not excuses. We have a schedule!"

“But I couldn't wait!" You whispered too. “It's visseral. I can't just sit there and wait!”

What an insufferable creature!

"Well, you'll have to learn because…!"

"What are you two whispering back there? “ Jesper's voice interrupted the discussion in whispers.

The two of you turned to the troupe standing in the doorway of the Crow room. Playful, mischievous smiles were plastered across their faces, and you felt your cheeks blush. Kaz and you looked at each other, and in that second of silent complicity, the two of you finally stepped into the roles of partners in crime.

Tagged: @aleksanderwh0r3 @thedelusionreaderbitch @hi-there-x @mell-bell @glowingatdawn @subjecta13-thefangirl @itsnotquimey @thatchampagnebitch @lamoursansfin @lostysworld @s3xymoonman @is-it-really-a-secret

[lostcauses-noregrets]

Lostcauses Fic: The Permanence of the Young Men

(aka Lost's ridiculously self indulgent end-of-SnK fic or What Happened to Levi After The War.)

The curtains billow softly in the mild breeze that blows in through the open window, the late summer sun casting long stripes of light and shadow across the floor. Levi closes his eyes and tilts his face up to catch the last of its warmth.

“You’re like a contented cat.” Erwin smiles, turning a page of his book.

“You’re a fine one to talk.” Levi casts a sidelong glance at the man sitting next to him. Erwin is barefoot, boots cast aside, long legs stretched out in front of him, shirt open at the collar, sleeve rolled up.

The room is familiar but different. Same bookcases, same bed, their bed, same round table where they’ve sat so many times before. But Levi knows that outside the window, instead of the Survey Corps’ training grounds, he’ll see the long golden sweep of the bay and the sea stretching blue to the horizon. He can hear the ceaseless sound of the waves through the window and, somewhere in the distance, the sound of voices and Hanji’s raucous laughter rising up from the beach below.

“Fucking four eyes. Disturbing the peace.’

“Always.” Erwin agrees.

“Some things never change huh?”

They fall back into comfortable silence. Erwin reading, Levi just listening to the sound of the waves and the cry of the gulls wheeling past the window. It’s quiet. Peaceful.

“Do I have to go back?” he says at last.

Erwin closes his book and lays it on the table.

“You don’t have to, but I think you should.”

“Why?”

“Because you of all people deserve to live.”

“I don’t know about that.” Levi looks down at his hands, two fingers are missing on his right hand.

“I do. You’ve earned it Levi.” Erwin replies earnestly. “You saved humanity.”

“Did I?” Levi looks up from his mutilated hands. “Isn’t everyone dead?”

“Not everyone.”

“What if I don’t want to live? What if I want to stay here?” He chokes suddenly, voice catching in his throat. “With you.”

Erwin smiles fondly and reaches out to take his hand, warm palm closing over the space where his fingers used to be.

“We’re always with you Levi. We always have been. You won’t be going back alone. I’ll be with you. We’ll all be with you.”

“I guess…”

“Levi, promise me you’ll live.” Erwin clasps his hand tightly, and there’s a look of such gratitude, such conviction in his blue eyes, that Levi has to look away.

“Besides,” Erwin continues, “I want to see what you’ll look like when you’re old and grey.”

“Fuck you.”

“Promise?”

Levi nods, voice still thick with emotion. “Yeah, I promise.”

~

There is before and there is after.

Before, there was a world with giant lakes of salt water, rivers of fire, lands made of ice, snowy plains of sand. There were mountain ranges and river valleys, grassy steppes and great forests teaming with life. There were nations, cities, towns, and villages, where people lived and fought and loved and died.

After, there is nothing but razed earth, sullied waters, mountains crumbled to dust, forests splintered to kindling, carrion and the creatures that gorge on it. After, there is death, disease, starvation and despair. And a new nation that rises like a carrion crow fattened on the bloated corpse of the world.

A handful of nations survive unscathed, to the far east and uttermost west, beyond the reach of the rumbling’s swathe of destruction. Hizuru in the south west, escapes the worst of the ruin, along with a few nations to the north and south. The apocalyptic devastation radiates out from Paradis, which sits like an untouched jewel in the midst of a dung heap, obscene in its perfection.

The few nations that have survived unite in their efforts to save what is left of the tattered remnants of humanity. The first year is the worst; 50% of the 20% that survived the rumbling succumb to famine and disease. But life is stubborn and it finds a way. Humanity survives, traumatized and tormented by unfathomable loss, but it survives.

And somehow, against the odds, Levi survives too. They find him on the battlefield at the foot of Fort Salta, more dead than alive, and carry him to the makeshift field hospital that swells and grows into a vast refugee camp, as those who were fortunate, or unfortunate, to survive the rumbling flock together for what meagre succour the remaining nations can provide.

[Continue reading on AO3]

[davidmann95]

So… that Superman and the Authority preview. Thoughts?

Grant Morrison: Superman's genuinely made the world a little better, right?

Grant Morrison, writing Superman and The Authority: lol as fuckin' if you chump

Grant Morrison, continuing to write Superman and The Authority: ...okay but what if he COULD still tho

* First note past the OOF of that caption: Ben Day dots! The typically most cliché signifier of 'hey this is like old comics' transformed by being made so near-invisibly small by Jordie Bellaire that they're texturing the page.

* Clearly a product of the original 5G plans, I'd assumed the new explanation for Superman meeting with Kennedy would be the post-Death Metal "everyone remembers everything, it all counts!" idea, but between Superman maybe operating in secret in 1963 depending on how you read that first line and the moon landing seemingly happening earlier this looks to be a full on alt-history. Between that and Superman on October's cover of Action rocking his conventional look alongside the Authority this does seem to be an alternate version of Superman after all rather than the mainline even if it'll tie directly in; I'm fine with that since it'll help this stand on its own as a perennial. Oh god though, is this the Linearverse? Was that Generations book one last mediocre Morrison tie-in setup?

* The both earnest and tragic connotations are clear but I'm simply happy for Superman's good nickname to see some use.

* Anonymous asked: So, I'm NOT an American, but seeing the preview for SatA, I kinda roll my eyes at JFK there. I understand in America there is this mythology about him being so radical and going bring better tomorrow until he was denied to you, which doesn't really match the reality, where he was a cold warrior with reportedly little interest in domestic policy who's sucessor was actually very similar and consistent with his politics (more civil rights, more troops Vietnam). What do you think?

Fair, but besides Morrison's comments in the interview and the ways the Cold War shaped their childhood (as a non-American) as evidence that we're not meant to take this at face value as 'Aw, everything would've been perfect if not for that one thing going wrong', that comment on the JSA is charged. The President waxing rhapsodic about "mak(ing) a difference where the law couldn't" feels just as pointed as "Those poor, poor rich people" in their and Burnham's Detective #26.

* "I want you to stand tall, to end war itself and take us to the stars." "I'll see what I can do, sir." MORRISON PLEASE IGNORE YOUR BEST INSTINCTS AND NEVER STOP WRITING CAPE COMICS

* That this so effortlessly and profoundly captures everything Jupiter's Legacy tried and failed to in three pages - the great patriotic caped champion seemingly on the edge of a new Camelot when we know better, the story from there going into how they deal with the fallout of their failures - would be so embarrassing if it wasn't hilarious to see Morrison outclass the old kid sidekick yet again. Speaking of some Millar-ness, kudos to Janin for pulling off a celebrity likeness that doesn't look like a horrifying other-dimensional freak next to the other characters, that's not something that can always be said for his peers.

* While Janin draws his regular Superman face here, the red-and-yellow S shield on the cape, the pronounced barrel chest, and even the hair a bit (and then seeing him on TV in black and white) make me wonder if Superman's supposed to be visually evoking George Reeves just a bit here. An American golden boy with a tumultuous private life who died on the cusp of the 60s of a gunshot wound to the head, with a quick and tidy official explanation but conspiracy theories haunting his memory forever after, the Kennedy comparisons are obvious; I wonder if I'm not reading too much into it and this is all deliberate, or if this is an inadvertent synchronicity of the sort Morrison would conceive of in magical terms.

* Janin killing it with the assassination page, real Department of Truth vibes and managing to make it sudden and horrific without the gloriously obscene detail Quitely got into with the similar scene in Pax Americana.

* The astronauts doing hurdles on the moon is actually a reference to Superman's Mission for President Kennedy! as he gets kids interested in JFK's physical fitness program in the most roundabout fashions available to him, 'roundabout' being his foremost guiding principle at the time:

* The New Frontier and DKR parallels/evocations are obvious, but to me the big point of comparison is Pax Americana with the Hero-King President marshalling the capes in name of a better tomorrow for his nation only to find death and social impotence, the dream exposed as naïve PR in the end.

* Not exactly new information, but seeing this laid out does reinforce to me how much this book covers the sweep of the development of the superheroic idea through the lens of Superman, from the vigilantes (both the JSA and Superman returning to short sleeves) to the triumphant American science royalty to the post-traumatic superfolks trying to make good on all those lost promises and, at the beginning of this, a generation that has essentially failed (not only Superman, but clearly in his half of the preview Manchester Black isn't exactly the force he once was, and apparently Midnighter and Apollo at the beginning of this are semi-retired and think they've wasted their lives after the original Authority failed to make a difference) and what comes now after that failure. That Morrison can tackle this directly with Superman is probably corporately allowed with Jon being there as a more 'ideal' iconic model, and for Morrison personally because they can do their own purified take on the archetype with Klaus, so they can get into the muck of things here in a way they couldn't when trying to do a platonic vision or a new-and-improved model.

[uncurlinglikeflowers]

Queer Trauma, Coming Out, & the Long Road to Self-Love and Healing

As I’ve reflected on my past, I’ve discovered that my adolescence may be one of, if not THE most traumatic time of my life thus far as a queer person. The last few months with my incredible therapist have made me realize that the years of anxiety, panic, fear, self-loathing, confusion, and depression have scarred me deeper than I had previously thought. She also made me realize that this is at least partially because I have never really talked about it openly and in depth in a healthy and productive way before, which is what inspired me to start this blog to share my experiences with others that are currently struggling with their identity, or to allow those that are also currently healing from the trauma of their previously closeted life feel a little more seen.

I knew from a VERY young age that I was different, but didn’t know how or what it meant. I was a lonely kid for a lot of my childhood without many friends. I didn’t want to play football with the boys during recess. I sought companionship at lunch with a table full of girls more often than not, which in itself also made me feel incredibly self conscious at the time as well. 

I asked, (with incredible shame) for the “girl’s toy” from the backseat in the McDonald’s drive-thru because I loved to play with the mini-Barbies and craft entire storylines for them. They were easier to hide in my room than regular sized Barbies. I spent most summers off school alone playing video games and reading book and book after book. I didn’t really click with the boys down the street. I was obsessed with Britney Spears and the color purple. I was lonely without really knowing what it meant.

I feel as though that fear I felt in my childhood and adolescence held me back from SO much. Middle school in particular was absolute hell. I hated it. I always felt constantly insecure and uncomfortable. I had absolutely zero confidence or self love. I hated my body and how I looked. 

While other kids experienced their first relationships and first feelings of romantic love, I was convinced that it was just not a possibility for me. On top of being deeply closeted, scared, confused, lonely, and in deep denial, girls didn’t go for me anyway. I was the awkward chunky guy struggling with his identity feeling like he had to make up for it by working extra hard to get perfect grades and give himself 100% to other people. I tried not to think about it too much, but hearing about relationships, seeing people kiss in the hallways between classes, and girls talking about what they liked in boys which was the complete opposite of me... it was hell.

To make my self consciousness worse, I felt supremely uncomfortable in gym class and the boys’ locker room in particular. I was ashamed of my body and also self conscious for wanting to look at the other boys; terrified that they would catch on and beat me senseless. Hearing them consistently call each other f*g in a very VERY negative context drove me deep into the closet as the identity I already felt shame for was directly correlated with being a ridiculed outcast, and something that was inherently, disgustingly wrong and unacceptable. The worst insult teenage boys could deliver to each other in the safety of an unchaperoned locker room in a hick town often not kind to queer people or those that were different. I SO desperately wanted to fit in with the other boys instead of being any version of who I actually was.

Part of that façade of blending in with my hetero peers involved having a girlfriend for two months in 8th grade. We didn’t even kiss, let alone approach any sexual situations. I’m sure she had her suspicions. I was utterly obsessed with the concept of blending in by having a girlfriend like the other boys and just having someone special in my life, even if we really didn’t even do any couple things. 

Upon reflection, I don’t think the concept of ever being sexual with her ever crossed my mind in the slightest. Even the idea of kissing her scared the hell out of me, and not just from first kiss nerves. Deep down I knew it wasn’t right for me. Don’t EVER tell a kid they’re too young to know. Fast forward to modern times, my first kiss with a girl was with a close friend YEARS after I came out. Go figure. 

The idea of caring about and loving myself was non-existent at that time. It’s a very VERY new and ongoing journey for me. I didn’t really care about myself at all. I hadn’t learned how to. Mom was in and out of cancer treatments, and would later pass during my senior year of college and kick off my coming out process, but that’s a whole other post for another day. Spending pretty much my entire childhood watching mom deal with being sick, I didn’t want to cause my family any more discomfort. I was full of self loathing, fear, and confusion, but it seemed irrelevant and unimportant because I didn’t want to be a hindrance. 

Instead, I tried so desperately to be the perfect kid and son by befriending my teachers, being a model student, and joining band and a bunch of organizations to stay as busy as possible to stay distracted and impress everyone else.I didn’t love myself because I didn’t think I was allowed to or deserved to in my own head. While I did finally make more meaningful friends in high school, I continued to go through the motions to make my family proud to make up for the scared closeted kid who thought he had to make up for his queerness as though it were a shameful weakness, and it seemed to be the only thing that could possibly matter at the time.

Non-surprisingly, I never really knew any openly queer boys in grade school. It probably legitimately wasn’t all that safe to come out in that environment. I’ll never forget the two boys I saw holding hands in a Wal-Mart that absolutely shook up my entirely reality, because I had never seen romantic same-sex affection in person before. 

There was a lesbian couple at my school, but people said awful, degrading things about them behind their backs constantly and acted like they were the biggest freaks. Another boy in my grade in high school hadn’t come out yet officially but was very flamboyant, and thus was treated just as awful as the lesbian couple, if not worse. Other kids just regularly said despicable things about him without even knowing him at all. I even heard parents make blatantly homophobic jokes about him. 

His life had to have been hell, and as a fully out queer adult, I still regret not being able to stand up for him more. That definitely forced me deeper into the closet. He wasn’t even out but got talked about like he was some disgusting abomination. How could I ever assume that I could ever come out, let alone kiss, date, and love another boy? I HATED the idea of any attention being placed on me, so I just wanted to survive school at that point.

I had multiple people throughout high school ask me if I were gay just as though it were the most casual question rather than a triggering inquiry that sent me into a mental frenzy every damn time it was presented. Having one of the jock boys ask me such a deeply personal question in passing on the way to my seat in Algebra class was traumatizing. I of course always said no, as at the time I was still convinced it was a passing phase and that I couldn’t actually be gay. 

At home, in the days of Myspace, I got anonymous messages telling me they were pretty sure I was gay. The anonymity was arguably worse in some ways. 

At a young age, I became hyper aware of how I carried myself, talked, and acted. I loathed hearing my voice or seeing myself in pictures, for fear of sounding too feminine or standing or emoting too gay. I obsessed over the concept that boys and girls carried their books a certain way, or the boys would be labelled as queer. I was paranoid about where I shopped for clothes, the colors I wore, and the length and fit of my shorts. 

In middle school, I got a lilac colored trapper keeper for school that I ultimately had my parents take back to the store for a different one because I felt so self conscious about it all day. At home I played with my little Barbies, but didn’t dare tell the kids at school for fear of rejection and isolation. Overall, I felt grossly incompetent, irrelevant, and unimportant in my own mind. Unworthy of love and of course, deeply ashamed for my attraction to the other boys.

I never had anyone whatsoever to help guide me through the coming out process, because I didn’t know a single queer person who could. I’ve now dedicated a good amount of my energy trying to be that person I desperately could have used then for anyone else that needs that role to be filled, and for someone to tell them that someone is incredibly proud of them. An obscene amount of queer people don’t ever hear “I’m so proud of you!” when they really need it the most. 

I also didn’t have any good queer representation on TV or in movies, so I really did feel completely alone at times. Most queer characters in media existedly solely to be made fun of and mocked, ratcher than celebrated, properly represented, or God forbid, given a legitimate love story, and the public’s reaction was so frequently one of such repugnance and disapproval. 

This was also probably about the time that a close family member told me that he had punched a gay guy for hitting on him when he was younger, a story he again felt the need to share with a now ex-boyfriend and I when we were dating, as though that’s not a horrifying thing for an already scared and closeted queer to hear from their own family. 

I think during middle school in particular is when my anxiety and depression issues started, but I assumed either that I was being a baby and that my feelings were invalid, or that it was just teenage angst. The idea that boys and men should mask their emotions and feelings and feel shame rather than expressing them was, (and seemingly appears to continue to be) a very real thing in small towns and society in general. 

It didn’t occur to me at the time that I was experiencing varying levels of almost daily trauma that would fuck me up well into adulthood. If you take anything at all from this post, let it be that the conversation around mental health, (and men in particular in this instance) NEEDS to change.

Another particularly noteworthy event in my queer adolescence was when two of my friends, (both girls, shocker) discovered gay porn on my computer. While they pestered me about if it were mine while they laughed, I of course lied. I felt a deep shame and utter humiliation. On reflection, fucking IMAGINE if they had been able to be gentle and understanding with me and told me they loved me and still would even if I were gay. From then on I was terrified that they would bring that day up to our other friends as a joke. Perhaps they did a time or two, I don’t recall. These same friends made jokes about the queer kid I mentioned earlier, and both parents of one of the girls regularly gossiped and made homophobic jokes about him when I was at their house 

By the time school dances rolled around, I knew I would never be able to go with anyone but friends. Even if I weren’t still deeply closeted, I’m pretty sure my school still had pretty strict rules against bringing same-sex dates to Prom. While I definitely had fun with my friends at the dances we went to, I so desperately longed for a world where I could dance with a boy who loved me like everyone else was able to.

The loneliness and isolation I felt at the end of those nights could be unbearable because it didn’t seem possible for me, even as I looked into the future. I was fully convinced I would live a very lonely life without anyone to love me the way I craved. I didn’t belong in that world, and wouldn’t ever be set up for that kind of happiness, joy, and feeling of content. I would live for everyone else but myself because that’s just the way the world worked for us queers.

I wish I had had just one single person then who gave me full permission to be my authentic queer self on any level. Someone who could hug me and tell me life after high school and college could and would be vastly different. Someone to tell me I wasn’t an unlovable disgusting freak, but rather a kind-hearted boy who deserved a deep love someday because I was a valid and gentle soul who deserved the world. I certainly deserved more than the shame and pain that constantly haunted me. 

Maybe then I wouldn’t have thought about death before 30 so much and obsessed over it well into my college career. I might have realized that I needed to learn to be gentle with myself and take care of and prioritize me and my own happiness. So many people let me down and convinced me that I was a filthy sinner and an over-emotional kid with invalid perspectives and feelings. As most of my closest friends, (that I cannot stress enough have been the ones to save my life and encourage the authenticity that I present so proudly today) came into my life after I had already come out fully, they weren’t around during those dark early struggles. 

Sometimes as an adult I still wonder what it would have felt like and how profoundly different my life could be if someone had held me close and sincerely told me they’re proud of me for what I survived and overcame, and told me that they can’t wait to see my eyes light up with the love I’ve always dreamed of in a boy, and that I still continue to seek. 

Young, baby gay Travis would be in absolute awe if he knew what life had in store for him back then. To see a future version of himself painting his nails, wearing whatever he wanted, dancing with strangers at pride festivals, having the time of his life at drag shows with his queer family and falling in love with boys? Proudly holding a boyfriend’s hand walking downtown in a busy city? Openly telling his dad about the cute boy he’s going on a date with? Going Facebook official with a boy? Being a super vocal advocate and inspiration and mentor to not only queer family, but to people he hardly talks to but manages to influence and inspire just by unashamedly being himself? Genuinely looking forward to kissing his new husband in front of family and friends on his wedding day, knowing it’ll be one of the happiest days of his entire life? 

Holy. Actual. Fuck.

Travis of six or seven years ago wouldn’t have even dared to dream this big, let alone baby gay Travis. He probably would have been utterly mortified but SO comforted to see that future life when he didn’t believe it to be any level of possible.

I’m so fucking proud of myself for this journey, and no one will ever take that away from me or water down my trauma or the grueling work I’ve put in. Genuinely, this is the one thing in my life that makes me absolutely burst with pride. 

I think I want to learn how to keep baby Travis in mind with this pride without having to revisit the trauma in the process. Look back at him with open arms, excited to see him learn and blossom into his actual self someday. Even if he could have desperately used someone like the me I am today, he survived then, and continues to persevere today. 

He’s queer as fuck, and proud to shout it from the rooftops. He’s a voice and an advocate for the voiceless. A shining light and beacon of hope for those still navigating their terrifying escape from their closeted life. He’s going to meet a man someday and love him so deeply in the way baby Travis always dreamed of. Above all, he’s going to continue to make that little guy so incredibly proud because he knows now the importance of loving himself in the process. 

I’m so proud of that scared little boy. I just wish he could have known then how proud he would make himself one day.   

As you talk with the queer people in your life, please keep in mind that just about all of us have incredible trauma directly tied to our identities. Talk to them with love, compassion, and understanding. Tell them how proud of them you are for pursuing their own happiness in the face of oppression and rejection. 

Demand better from elected officials. Advocate for us. Shut down homophobic ideals, even if you think it’ll make your family and friends uncomfortable to hear. Support queer content, artists and creators. Be a proud ally, but don’t ever allow yourself to take the spotlight away from actual queer people or our queer spaces. Mourn, love, and celebrate with us. 

Understand why pride is SO fucking important to us, and why you never have to worry about needing your own pride events. Listen to us and love us for exactly who we are, and were always meant to be. Love is the most incredible, beautiful, and often rare human experience we’re able to experience during our short time on this planet, and it should always be celebrated.

Happy Pride!

[snackerdoodle]

(via https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7vTyjuuslUqiHauSgsmbuQ?si=WJHuwxgiQ422gub_5ZEC5w)

I got a little obsessed with the idea of creating a Lyctor Love Songs playlist for The Locked Tomb. I’ve finally finished fussing with it and wanted to share! You can read a breakdown of my rationale for these songs below the cut because I always wish other people would do this for their playlists, and now it’s time to put my money* where my mouth is.

This playlist is conceptually a definite spoiler for the process of achieving lyctorhood as revealed at the end of Gideon the Ninth, so proceed with caution if you haven’t finished that book yet. I also made this after reading Harrow the Ninth, but I’ve tried to censor (or at least be vague) in my references to spoilers for that book.

Possibly obvious content warnings for murder, suicide, toxic relationships, and cannibalism mentions—stuff you’d kind of expect from this series, honestly. I’m adding an additional content warning for the lyrics of We Both Go Down Together by the Decemberists including implied rape, which is not in line with the content warnings you might expect for these books. 

*obsessive energy

Umbrella - Rihanna

This is a much more wholesome song than the rest, but I really wanted to include it for "When the sun shines, we'll shine together, told you I'll be here forever, said I'll always be your friend, took an oath, I'ma stick it out til the end," and "You're a part of my entity, here for infinity." It has a bit of a “one flesh, one end” feeling to it. 

#1 Crush - Garbage

This song is creepy, obsessive, and uses some upsetting violent imagery, which is exactly the mood I’m after here. I really like the idea of being haunted by the other person—”See your face every place that I walk in, hear your voice every time that I’m talking.” I also like the implications of seeking power—”Throw away all the pain that I’m living [...] and I could never be ignored.” The line about selling their soul doesn’t hurt this song’s case either. 

Drain You - Nirvana

This feels like a pretty easy connection to syphoning for me, and for this context the gorey, semi-medical imagery is spot on. Also how could I resist “with eyes so dilated I’ve become your pupil,” when there is just so much eye-related lyctor baggage in this series?

Animals - Maroon 5

Here comes the cannibalism. There are so many cannibal songs. I also included this one for the language about absorbing the other person and not being able to escape each other.

I Will Possess Your Heart - Death Cab for Cutie

Here for creepy possessiveness, pure and simple. Also, “I wish you could see the potential, the potential of you and me”—the potential for achieving ultimate necromantic power? Maybe!

Banks of the Ohio - Dolly Parton

When I first had the idea for a “Lyctor Love Songs” playlist, it was just going to be a bunch of murder ballads, but expanding my criteria turned out to be more fun. I really love the way Dolly Parton sings this traditional American murder ballad. This one gets to represent the traditional songs on this playlist because of its river imagery and because I think lines like “she cried my love don’t murder me, ‘cause I’m not prepared for eternity” play well with the lyctor concept. It also makes me ridiculously happy to include a 19th century song on a playlist for a distant future sci-fi setting. We’re all lucky I’m not making a playlist of the oldest extant folk songs I can find for the archives on the Sixth.

Phenom - Thao & the Get Down Stay Down

More cannibalism imagery, yes thank you. Anatomical imagery? Yes, thank you. “Scorched earth”? Sure, I’ll just take that for my distantly post-apocalyptic playlist, thank you. I also like the narrative in this song around rising to power. “First of the secondary class” plays well for me with our spoilery knowledge about the nature of lyctorhood in relation to the powers of the Emperor. 

Under My Skin - Jukebox the Ghost

I’d never heard this song before I started working on putting this playlist together, and a friend suggested it in our group chat. It’s completely perfect, and in my opinion, a total bop. “I can fit two people under my skin […] crawl up in there and join me within. I can feel your heart beating under my skin,” etc, etc. 

Two of Hearts - Stacey Q

Same vein as the one before! I also think there’s room here for intentionally misreading “I got this feeling that you're going to stay, I never knew that it could happen this way, Before I met you I was falling apart, But now at last I really know we're made of two hearts that can beat as one…” with lyctoral intent—the narrator is in a stronger position now that they’re entwined with the other person.

Tears of Pearls - Savage Garden

So this song is here in part because my high school friends and I once accidentally listened to this Savage Garden CD on repeat at a sleepover for like 5 hours straight, so I love taking the opportunity to break out this song in particular. That aside, I think the toxic relationship structure described here plays well with the lyctors, especially as we see them in Harrow. I particularly like this part near the end: “We twist and turn where angels burn, Like fallen soldiers we will learn, Once forgotten, twice removed, Love will be the death, The death of you.” I would love to include some religious imagery on this playlist, thank you Savage Garden. Also, as we see in Harrow, the older Lyctors sure do handle their emotions...poorly. 

I’m Sorry - Margaret Cho

An excellent murder ballad! “I’m sorry I killed you dear, I only wanted you to be near,” and “And I sincerely apologize, My actions were unwise, And now I realize that it killed me when you died,” and “My pride was stronger than your will to live.” 

We Both Go Down Together - The Decemberists

Another murder ballad, and even within the murder ballad genre, I think this one is exceptionally creepy. Especially with the murder-suicide implications, I think “we both go down together” works well with the creepiestreading of “one flesh one end.” 

Arms Tonite - Mother Mother

Another absolute bop suggested by a friend in my Locked Tomb group chat. I love the imagery, and I think it works exceptionally well for the lyctoral concept—”That I died right inside your arms tonight, That I'm fine even after I have died, That I try to escape the afterlife, That I try to get back in your arms alive.”

Genghis Khan - Miike Snow

Another super possessive song. I know it isn’t really explicit to cannon, but between this and Banks of the Ohio, I really like taking the literally all-consuming lyctoral process as a weird extension of the possessive “I don’t want you to get it on with nobody else but me” energy in this song and some of the others. Please also accept for consideration these lines—“'Cause I don't really want you, girl, But you can't be free, 'Cause I'm selfish, I'm obscene.” That has been part of the fun of this playlist for me—while I think some songs track for some characters more than others, I’m really having more fun with playing with the idea of someone who would intentionally murder and absorb someone they love in exchange for power. 

The Beast - Concrete Blonde

Another creepy, somewhat cannibalistic song. “Love is the leech, sucking you up, Love is a vampire, drunk on your blood, Love is the beast that will, Tear out your heart, Hungrily lick it and, Painfully pick it apart.” Cannibalism and that idea of draining someone of their power is a great combo. 

Savages - Marina

I love Marina, which is probably the only reason I’m not bowing to the fact that it bothers me that this isn’t even arguably a love song. We see in Harrow how vicious the old lyctors are, and  how their dinner parties feel like a thin veneer of civility over some truly rotten cores (I say this as a person who genuinely loved Mercymorn, but like… they’re terrible). Also, how am I supposed to resist “Is it a human trait, or is it learned behavior, Are you killing for yourself, or killing for your savior?” and “I’m not afraid of God, I am afraid of man.” More religious imagery? in my locked tomb playlist? It’s more likely than you think.

Cannibal - Kesha

More cannibalism! I love how vicious this song is, for this purpose. I also feel like “I have a heart, I swear I do, But just not baby when it comes to you,” works well, even if I’m not sure I can 100% justify it. 

Bring Me to Life - Evanescence

An explicitly canonical choice. “Now that I know what I'm without, you can't just leave me, breathe into me and make me real” and “Save me from the nothing I've become.” Because I’m an absolute turd, I love the semi-joke I’m finding in many of these song lyrics about the partner being unable to leave. Also because I’m terrible, I really like that this song can be read as regret over having become a lyctor in the first place. 

Monster - Lady Gaga

Cannibalism again, and I like that there’s some eye stuff in here. 

Cellophane - Sia

I like the anatomical imagery, with veins and blood and brains and all that. I also like “Patience is your virtue, saint o' mine” for a little call out to one of our extant lyctors. 

Most of All - Fuel

Like “Bring Me to Life,” I really like the regret and self loathing in this one. I also like the mentions of memories because [redacted]. “And I hate you now, And I miss you most of all, All those times we laughed, The scars that you left.” 

‘39 - Queen

First of all, I really like this song. I don’t think I should quite call it a bop like some of the others—maybe a jam? A song that’s explicitly about leaving Earth behind for deep-space exploration and the passage of time works wonderfully well for this sci-fi series about a society that has abandoned a dying(?) Earth and that is populated with a group of very damaged people staring down the barrel of a traumatic immortality. I also like that there’s a bit of eye imagery in the song. I especially like “For my life still ahead, pity me” as a cutting line for a lyctor. 

[jawritter]

On the Subject of “You and Me – Ch. 6”:

So. I knew I was gonna have a bit of a rough time with this chapter (thanks for the head’s up – by the way), but I wanted to be sure to give my reaction (as I have been) with as much thought as possible – especially since you’ve mentioned this story is based on true events someone you care about has experienced. So, here it goes…

By the end of Ch. 5, I KNEW this is exactly what was going to happen to Jensen. And honestly, I’m torn. I’ve been in Jennifer’s situation (except it was someone I knew and trusted – not a celebrity), and what he did to her is rape.

The question of whether he “deserved” this or not…I don’t know. If you’d asked me this fresh after my experience, I’d say, ‘Yes. He got exactly what he deserved.” But now, I don’t know. I don’t want a horrendous act forced on someone else to ever be my response to being attacked. A large part of me feels like this is exactly why none of my brothers know what I went through. None of my family does.

Ideally, the Justice System would take care of handling the “justice.” However, as you’re already pointing out in this chapter with Jared’s response to the question of whether Jensen really did what Jennifer accused him of doing…

“I don’t know, and I’m not trying to justify anything he may have done, but do you think he would have deserved this? I was there when he asked her to dinner with him. She was definitely more than willing to show up at his house wearing next to nothing.“

This is the exact reason Jennifer went to her brother instead of the police. These sort of victim blaming comments are why most rapes aren’t even reported, let alone solved – especially those committed by famous people or by people in a position of power. In a trial, the burden of proof is on the accuser – in this case – the victim. And when there’s no video/audio evidence, it’s the accuser’s word vs the accused’s – which hardly holds up in court.

“A very evident ‘the light’s are on, but no one is home’ look.” – this comment/descriptor is a very accurate portrayal of a traumatic mental state (I wonder if Jennifer experienced this). Though, of course, everyone handles these things differently.

I’m also a little surprised that anyone would tell the workers of the studio what happened. They didn’t seem to be close friends at all, so they didn’t need to know anything outside of “medical emergency” for the studio contract’s purposes. [I know this plotting is for the purpose of moving the story along, but I’d be pissed if I were Jensen].

I’m not sure if you plan to go into a more detailed description of what happened to him, but I’m honestly happy you didn’t here. How you handled/described the entire topic in this series (at least so far) has been very respectful but honest – which I greatly appreciate.

Any how, I do want to tell you I did enjoy this chapter – even if it is a sensitive topic for me. I appreciate how you’re handling this topic while not shying away from it. I do feel bad for your friend, and I’m glad you’ve told us he’s doing better (I’m also not sure how 100% this version of the story is to his). I’m looking forward to the journey you’re gonna take us on. This may turn out to be incredibly therapeutic for me. Amazing job, and thank you!

**you do not have to post this obscenely long reaction publicly – unless you want to.

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I know it’s long, but I think it’s definitely worth posting! 

I want to start off by saying thank you so much for the feedback hun, and I’m so incredibly sorry you had to experience such a horrendous thing! No one deserves to have something like that happen to them, and I do hope that in a way this is therapeutic for you, and anyone else (male or female) that has suffered through a similar experience. 

My friend knows and has read, and is pre reading the chapters before I post them anything that he’s uncomfortable with is reworded, added, or removed!

Like you said this is a very heavy subject matter, and it’s not an easy thing to write about in the least! Which is one of the very reasons why I’m doing it. It shakes people up and pulls them out of their comfort zone, and let’s be honest. That’s what makes a great story. 

You had the exact reaction I expected out of  most people! Jennifer’s purpose, aside from moving the story along, was to one: remove the innocents that people generally associate with their favorite. In this case Jensen. Because what was coming was so harsh it would have been shattering if you weren’t on the fence a little about him already. I didn’t want Jensen to be the perfect angle for this fic, or even the hero of the day, because he’s gonna have a long way to come up; and that’s what’s going to make the journey.

Two: I also wanted to shed a little light on a lot of time what goes unreported for women who have similar experiences because the man in question is in a position of power, and the woman really stands no chance because as you said, it’s the victim’s word against the accused, and a lot of times (most of the time) that’s not near enough to get the justice the person deserves. That was also the reason for Jared’s whole reaction in the hospital. That, and he was being protective of his friend. It’s hard to look around for anything else that might be wrong, when you're faced with a situation like that.

Three: I wanted to give people a glimpse of the unstable mental state that Jensen (in this story anyways) was already in. Subconsciously he’d developed some bitterness towards women because of what was done to him, and he didn’t even really know it. The hint of the nervous breakdown and depression at the beginning of the Series. (Not getting out of bed or days etc.) 

Then there’s the fourth: The not realizing that he was in that state until what was done was done. In the previous chapter he argued with himself the whole time he was in the hotel room with her, and the actions that you saw there. (Giving her money, telling her “let’s keep this between us.” Being aggressive in general) Was all part of his fight or flight mood we tend to go in when we’re afraid or feel we’ve messed up badly. That’s the fight part. It was too late to run, and he knew it. Then the evident regret in the change in his behavior. He realizes he needs help, and he’s not as stable as he thought he was. (Looking for Jennifer the next day, and calling Jared the night before apologizing because of the way he’d been acting.)

I do want to say that there are going to be trigger warnings all over this book, and they will be marked accordingly, and if I miss them I will go back and mark them because I want to treat this subject topic with the respect that it deserves. The next chapter is going to be equally heavy, and while the actual act of what happened to Jensen is NEVER described in detail there will be discription and suggestions of injuries in which if you think hard enough you can put it together. There will also be a heavily suggestive nightmare in the next chapter, but I WILL NEVER DESCRIBE THE ACTUAL ACT THAT TOOK PLACE! I will always leave that one up to the power of suggestion.

A little spoiler tease **We might end up finding out something about Ms. Jennifer that shows her as a little less innocent than it first might appear.**