#you know like embossed textured book covers

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐓 || 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌. 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐄𝐳𝐫𝐚

pairing: joel miller x f!reader x ezra (prospect)

genre: smut, filth filth filth, minors dni

word count: 3.9k (this was supposed to be 1k smh)

summary: you, joel and ezra spend the night together in an abandoned cabin during a snowstorm.

warnings: established fwb between reader and joel, dirty talking, voyeurism, male masturbation, undisclosed feelings, underwear being used as a gag, overall just messy smut, piv, rough sex

requested by @doctorliamsr

a/n: this is part of the dark hearted people'verse but it can be read as a standalone. Everything you need to know is in the fic, enjoy 🖤

AO3 | Series Masterlist | Playlist

Ezra smells dust. Nowadays that’s all he can smell. But the deteriorating cabin they had managed to take shelter in certainly wasn’t any help to his poor lungs. He can feel the small specks sticking to the inside of his lungs. He hears you in the kitchen, sounds of plates clicking together, and metal pans scraping as you move them around. Ezra doesn’t concern himself with what you’re doing. At least he tries not to. You’re meant to be nothing more than entertainment, a thing that he would need to turn away from soon enough. 

But being on the road for so long, trying to earn their trust— it’s hard to keep the line between caring for and using for nice and fresh. 

Joel isn’t much of a problem. He’s easier to push away. Ezra has no complaints with how the older man views him as; untrustworthy, dangerous, a person that should be put down before they attacked first. Ezra can see it in Joel’s eyes. The hatred. But he can also see something else, an anger in the other that is worth investigating. It’s the type of anger that Ezra could use for himself; the type of anger that needs a release. Ezra had no arguments about being on the receiving end of said anger. In fact, it looked like it might be fun. 

His fingers skim over the shelves, a thick coat of dust seeping into his fingers. He rubs his thumb and forefinger together, the feeling of it makes his teeth grind. 

Lifting his gaze, he skims over the titles. Nothing really that interesting, mostly encyclopedias, some history books…

Ezra’s eyebrows raise when he comes across an old sketchbook. His interest piqued, he picks it up from the shelf. The cover of the book is made of thick, textured leather, worn with age and use. It is a deep, rich brown, almost the color of roasted coffee beans, and is embossed with an intricate design of vines and leaves. The edges of the cover are frayed and soft, as if it has been held and handled many times over the years.

He smooths the pads of his fingers over the surface. He feels every crease, every ripped edge. His pulse quickens, an immediate bond forming between him and this old sketchbook. He doesn’t even know who the owner of it was. With a soft smile, he opens the sketchbook. 

The pages creak and crackle beneath his fingertips, revealing a treasure trove of beautiful artwork. The pages are yellowed with age and dotted with small flecks of ink, evidence of an artist's hand. Each page is filled with drawings and sketches that span the entire spectrum of human emotion, from joy to despair.

The sketches themselves are incredibly detailed and lifelike. There are delicate portraits of people, captured in moments of stillness and contemplation, as well as bold landscapes and cityscapes that capture the beauty and chaos of the world before. Some of the sketches are unfinished, with bold, confident strokes of the pen giving way to lighter, hesitant lines that trail off into nothingness. 

His thumb traces over the lines that disappear, a sense of familiarity warming his chest. Without showing the others, he sneaks the sketchbook into his inner pocket. He might have some use for it later. At the very least he can stare at it when he’s feeling particularly lost. 

The open kitchen area is dominated by a large, rusted stove and a wooden table that has seen better days. Ezra’s eyes move around the wooden exterior, already taking mental notes of what can and can’t be used. The living room is sparsely furnished, with a sagging couch and a few broken chairs placed haphazardly around an unlit fireplace. The atmosphere is heavy with the scent of wood and old smoke. Joel lays on the couch, Ezra can see his boots dangling over the armrest, his body too broad to be contained by such a small and delicate-looking furniture. 

Ezra sees a rusted axe leaning against the wall and a pile of old books and tattered clothes lying in the corner. The boarded-up windows are covered in thick layers of dust, and cobwebs stretch across the corners of the ceiling.

Outside, the snow falls heavily, piling up against the cabin's walls. It seems as though time has forgotten this cabin and the surrounding wilderness has reclaimed it.

“Should I light the stove?” you ask from the kitchen, drawing Ezra’s attention. The question isn’t directed at him, but an answer already lays heavy on his tongue. 

Before he can say anything, however, Joel beats him to it. A rarity. 

“Sure. How else are we suppose’ to eat?” 

“I found some cans,” you offer. “Peach and pineapple. Some tuna as well but I’m not sure if we should risk it.” 

“Let’s just cook the rabbits.” Joel answers, his voice sounding gruff and heavy with sleep. “I shot them for a reason.” 

“We,” Ezra corrects, prompting the twitch of Joel’s left eyebrow. “We shot them for a reason.” 

Ezra can’t help but head towards the couch, he stands above Joel’s head, staring down at the man trying to sleep. He gently nudges the couch with the tip of his boot and Joel begrudgingly opens his eyes, a snarl already forming on his lips. 

“Wouldn’t lighting a fire put us in danger oh macho man?” 

“In this storm, I doubt anyone would be stupid enough to try and get us,” he grunts, closing his eyes once more. Ezra can see the crinkles of his eyes, the crease between his thick brows as he forces his eyes to remain shut. 

“Does that mean we can light the fireplace too?” Ezra teases, knowing that Joel probably checked the wood and that it was probably unusable.  

Joel doesn’t answer him, and his eyes remain shut. 

Rolling his eyes, Ezra turns to you. You seemed to be in a world of your own, struggling with the old stove and poking it with a rusty spatula. 

“Need help there little bird?” he coos, his feet bringing him to the kitchen.

“I told you to stop calling me that,” you huff, but smile nonetheless. “But yeah. This thing definitely isn’t cooperating.” 

Ezra watches as you make a show of your struggle, as if he doesn’t believe you. Your delicate fingers fumble with the kindling. Something warm and sinister coiling in his stomach, he steps closer. He can almost hear your heartbeat, fluttering like a caged bird. 

"Give’em here," he mutters, his voice low as he reaches for the matches. Ezra allows his fingers to brush against yours. He almost groans at the jolt of electricity he feels, a sharp sensation burning him all the way up to his shoulder. 

With a flick of his wrist, the kindling ignites, and the flames dance to life.

Your eyes go wide, a brilliant orange flickering in your eyes. He can’t help but lean in, take a closer look. He’s sure you can feel his breath across your cheeks, warming you from the inside out. Sucking a breath, you pull back, your gaze falling to the rabbits on the kitchen counter. 

“Thanks.” 

“Always a pleasure to be of your assistance,” he answers, lips curling into a cat-like smile. “You two are helping me find my rather precious supplies after all. The least I can do is help prepare dinner.” 

Your silence speaks words. Ezra follows your lead, preparing the rabbit and emptying a couple of cans of peas to go along with it. It’s not as chaotic as it would normally be when dinner is being prepared. There isn’t much to do so your movements are more languid, a simple dance as you occupy each other’s spaces. He enjoys the dance. He enjoys the way you try to avoid him by not making eye contact, but he’s more observant than you and Joel give him credit for. 

He notices the stolen glances. He notices the way Joel stiffens on the couch, trying to catch on to what was happening, while still keeping his eyes closed. 

But by all means, he’s not innocent. Ezra's gaze lingers on your every move, taking in the curve of your neck, the gentle sway of your hips. He wants to grab you by the nape, push you down and fuck you right then and there. Unlike him and Joel, You have an unbridled need to trust others. He likes that about you. He likes that you listen and believe in what he says, despite what your partner in crime might think. 

Placing the pieces of rabbit into the pot, you turn to grab a spoon. 

Ezra feels it before he sees it— The accidental brush of your ass against his groin, your softness and curves forcing him to hold his breath. A hiss makes its way between clenched teeth. The two of them stay like that, your back to his chest, neither one of you daring to move. Your breathing accelerates slightly, the sound prompting him to further close the distance, his body towering over yours. 

Time seems to stand still in that moment, and he’s content to just stay like that forever. Frozen in time. Just like this cabin buried within the snow. 

The fabric of his shirt and pants are rough against his skin, and the feeling only serving to heighten the arousal coursing through his veins. He aches to fill you up, to feel the warmth of your body around him, to finally fuck you until you go stupid. His cock stiffens under his pants, eager to follow the path of his twisted mind.

He can’t help himself, his hands wrap around your waist, pulling you closer. You don’t stop, your movements slow as you allow him to hold you. He can hear the blood rush in his ears, his breath comes in shallow gasps. 

He can feel Joel’s gaze on them both, but Ezra doesn’t stop. 

He’s not a weak man, but he’s not that strong either. That he can fight the temptations

Ezra’s fingers move up your  shirt, gently tracing circles on your skin, his touch light, fleeting like every moment in this world was. He wants more than anything to kiss you, to feel your lips on his, to taste your sweetness. 

But he can’t.

Some part of Ezra wants Joel to get mad, to march over to the kitchen and bend him over. He wants to hear the older man growl into his ear, telling him to behave. Ezra’s heart races at the thought, his mouth filling with saliva not from the scent of rabbit but from the one that seems to despise him. He lets out a slow breath, his fingers twitching and burrowing themselves further into your body. 

Finally, you pull away, your movements a beat too fast, and panicked. 

A chill envelopes him without your heat. He ignores the tug at his heart, the ache in his lower stomach. Ezra turns to cook the peas, but in his periphery, he notices Joel still staring at them from the couch. His gaze is blank and unreadable, but there's something about it that makes Ezra's skin crawl. 

He turns away, focusing his attention on the food, but the moment has already been broken.

The flickering flames are nothing but small ambers warming the late hours of the night. The cabin is a spacious one, filled with rooms, but Ezra had decided to spend time by the fire, leafing through the sketchbook he’d found before dinner. It’s a pleasantly look through. Ezra had missed seeing other faces beside his and those who he was with. He’d forgotten how different people can look. 

He only looks up when the small dots of orange of the ambers also fade away. The cold of the night settles in and he decides to head to bed. They would leave in the early hours of the morning so it’s probably best to sleep early rather than later. Ezra winces at the way his muscles ache, the bottoms of his feet burning with the rough drag of his tattered insoles. He can’t wait to be rid of them. 

Walking through the dark hallway, he wonders where you and Joel are asleep at. Ezra, again, had notices that you and Joel are in some kind of situantionship—he suspects there is more to it— but you two never actually slept in the same room together. He presumes it’s part of the deal you two have going on. 

Ezra’s fingers graze against the worn walls, all the room doors seem to be wide open, not a soul inside. How peculiar. His lips part and he rubs his jaw, he’s in dire need of a shave. 

Once more, he checks the rooms. Nope. There wasn’t a single soul inhabiting these rooms. 

His heart races with the sudden thought that you and Joel might’ve ditched him, but then he calms himself. Takes a deep breath. With the snow laying as thickly as it did outside, it would be suicide to leave. 

So where the hell are they? 

He suddenly catches sight of a faint light in the distance. Intrigued, he quickens his pace and turns the corner to find a covered walkway leading to a small shed.

The walkway is made entirely of glass, with moss and ivy creeping up the walls, the panes reflecting the flickering of the moonlight. Ezra's eyes travel upwards, taking in the sight of the roof, which is covered in a thick layer of snow. The shed itself looks ancient, its wooden walls and door rough and worn.

When he reaches the shed door, he hears heavy breathing and soft moans pouring through the crack of the door. His steps slow. He knows what they’re doing. 

He knows that they’re fucking. 

His breath caught in his throat, he nears the door until he can peer inside. There’s a lantern dimly illuminating the room and he can see your bodies clearly from where he stands. You’re bare naked, hands hanging on a wooden beam for dear life with your breasts pressed against it. Joel looms behind you. Fully clothed, except for his cock that Ezra can see the base of every time the older man pulls his hips back. 

Stupidly, Ezra steps a bit too close, the tip of his boot nudging the wooden door ever so slightly. A creak echoes and Ezra stops breathing. Eyes glued to your moving forms, sweat glistening across your skin, he holds his breath and watches, waiting for one of you to hear him. 

Neither you nor Joel notices the uninvited visitor, too lost in the pleasure, in the warmth—in the act of it all. 

His cock twitches eagerly, growing under the confinements of his jeans. Licking his lips, he unbuttons himself and sneaks a hand down his pants, cupping his erection. The cold that littered his skin melts away, leaving burning ash and coal in its wake. A soft groan echoes in the back of his throat. His fingers squeezing the base, and moving up to swipe a palm over his weeping head. 

He hears your moans, Joel’s grunts. He can’t help it. The other man pounds into you with an intensity and desperation Ezra had only seen in animals. He thinks of the moment in the kitchen, what he thought of when you had your ass pressing against his clothed cock—how desperately he wanted the older man to put Ezra in his palace, how he wanted to feel that anger and hatred being let out against his weaker body. 

Heat builds at the end of his spine, he circles his cock with thick fingers, his lips parted as he comes even closer to the door. He can almost smell the sex and sweat clinging to your skin, he wants to get closer, wants to inhale you and burrow you into his lungs. He gives his cock a not-so-gentle tug, hissing as pleasure pricks at his skin. 

His fingers move faster, spreading the drops of precum over his length. His breathing becomes shallow and erratic. His balls tight as he watches the two of you. The moans and grunts coming from the two of you become a soft background noise, almost like background music to his own pleasure.

He can hear murmuring but can’t decipher the words. Not that he cares. Ezra’s hips stutter forward, every muscle drawn taut, he slides his hand along his length. Joel grabs at something from the side, underwear—your underwear, to be precise. 

His breathing hitches and his heart stops— he watches as Joel brings the fabric to your lips, your moans and words coming only as muffled noises, your eyes rolling back in pleasure. 

Ezra's eyes widen, his body shuddering. He can feel it, he's so close, but he can't bring himself to finish, not yet. He pulls his hand away from his now aching cock and takes a step back, away from the door. His erection still throbbing, he wants to—no, he needs to watch. This is a rarity, something he’s only thought about in the late hours of the night. 

He takes a deep breath, his heart still racing and his cock still pulsing. Gathering his thoughts, he takes a step closer to the door, unable to tear his eyes away from the scene. He can feel his body heating up, his mouth going dry. Ezra reaches down, feels the weight of his balls, and rolls them over his fingers. He has to bite his bottom lip to not make a noise. His nostrils flare as he breathes heavily, the pleasure burning him from the inside out.  

His other hand reaches for his cock, squeezing the head and giving himself hard, slow, strokes. 

Ezra continues to watch, mesmerized. Joel shows mercy and reaches for your mouth. The fabric is pulled away, revealing swollen lips and wet, skin. Joel thrusts harder, faster. His hips move with a frantic rhythm, his grunts becoming louder and more frequent. 

His chest aches, more precum dripping and making a mess of his pants. He hisses through his teeth. 

Ezra’s not sure how much longer he can hold on. 

“You realize he’s watchin’ us right?” 

He grips your hair and tilts your head back, lips finding a spot over the hallow of your neck. Joel bites into the warm skin, his chest trembling with a growl. Your thighs quiver, your insides desperately clenching around his cock. You do realize but you’re too far gone to care. 

And it doesn’t help that your brain purrs at you, telling you how much you’re enjoying Ezra’s hot, heavy gaze on you. 

“You like that he’s seein’ you like this? All fucked out barely able to speak.” 

“S-Shut up, Joel.” 

“You’re a brat.” he clicks his tongue, sharp and loud in your ear. “Takin’ the praise but not takin’ the punishment. That’s not how the world works, honey.” 

Joel takes you harder now, pushing you up against the beam, your body trembling as he drives himself into you. His grip tightens around your waist as he pumps into you. You feel the sweat dripping down your skin, your body for him to use. You clench around him, your cunt dripping down his length and wetting your thighs. A soft whimper parts your lips, the burn in your loins a stark reminder that you’re going to be feeling this tomorrow. 

“I’m startin’ to think you have a little crush on him, sweetheart. Not sure how I feel ‘bout that.” he grunts. “Or maybe you just wanted to rile me up with that little stunt—grindin’ your ass against him,” Joel presses into you deeper, coaxing a shout trembling in your chest. “You know how I feel about sharin’, especially with someone who’s out to get us.” 

“We’ve been on the road for a month. He’s safe. Stop being so paranoid.” 

He cups the back of your neck, thick fingers reaching both sides, he squeezes and pulls your head back. His lips touch the side of your cheek, movements slowing to a torturous grind. 

“It’s been a month and he’s making us go in circles. How the hell are we supposed to find his equipment after so long? He’s stringing us along for his damn pleasure.” 

A grin curls at the corner of your lips. You’re about to say something really stupid, but you can’t help it, you love getting under his skin, pressing his buttons. 

“You like him.” 

“I don’t.”

Suddenly you feel something dry being shoved between your lips. Your eyes go wide when you realize it’s your underwear, the one Joel had been so eager to rip away from you.  Joel clamps a hand over your mouth, his other hand drops to your waist, and blunt nails bite into your skin. 

“I’m sick of your yappin’,” he grunts, hips picking up the pace. “Just fuckin’ take it, I don’t need your needless observations.” 

You bite into the fabric of your underwear, muffling a moan as Joel drives himself into you. His hips thrust up, pushing him deep inside you, his cock stretching your walls. His grip tightens, drawing a sharp hiss from you. You’re so far gone, barely able to focus on anything besides the pleasure coursing through your veins.

Joel’s breath is hot against your ear, his voice a low, rumbling growl. “He’s probably touchin’ himself. Fuckin’ his fist as he wishes it was your sweet cunt instead.”

Your body quivers, a wave of pleasure crashing over you. The thought of Ezra watching, his eyes hungrily devouring you—another muffled moan seeps into the fabric, spit dripping from the corners of your lips. Joel’s thrusts become more desperate, more primal. His fingers dig into your hips, his grunts turning into a feral snarl as he slams into you.

The pleasure builds, every nerve in your body on fire. Joel’s hand tightens around your throat, his thumb stroking your clit as he continues to drive himself into you. You’re so close, your body trembling. With one final thrust, Joel pushes you over the edge. 

He rips the underwear away from your mouth, dropping it to the floor. 

You scream, your voice echoing in the night air. All you can think of is Ezra; the darkness of his gaze, the poetic lilt to his tongue—the way he’s probably fucking his fist just like Joel said. You clench, gushing around his cock. His fingers continue to circle the sensitive bundle of nerves, lighting your fire again and again as his cock strokes your deepest parts.

“That’s it,” he groans, lips pressed against your heat. You tremble at the rasp in his voice. “You like it, don’t you? Being used by one while being forbidden fruit to the other? My insatiable fuckin’ whore.” 

He nuzzles your cheek and it feels like whiplash, but you lean into it, nonetheless. He’s right, you do enjoy it. 

Pulling out, Joel follows shortly after, his body going rigid as he spills himself over the curve of your ass. It’s hot and sears your skin, you wish you could feel that warmth inside, feeling it dripping out of you when he pulls away.  

You collapse against the beam, your body tingling. You’re sweaty and out of breath, but still, your eyes move to the door. You don’t see him, however, you do hear soft footsteps moving further and further away. 

You’re not sure which one of you left the door open, you or Joel. 

[monsterblogging]

Fuck JKR: How To Create A Harry Potter-Esque Aesthetic Without Any Harry Potter In It

So I saw a few posts from people mentioning that a reason people might be into Harry Potter is because of the aesthetic or atmosphere, and ya know what? I can't even argue that, because if there's one thing about HP, it's that it Sure Does Have Aesthetic And Atmosphere.

So! I'm gonna tell you how to STEAL ITS LOOK! Because:

JK Rowling considers ANY support of her work to be support of her politics.

Fan content/fan merch is still free advertisement for Rowling's work. YOU might not choose to give her money, but you can't be sure you won't pull people into the fandom who will.

Everyone should create more things that aren't tied to corporate-owned IP, period.

So. Most things in these films have an aged, antique look. You'll see a lot of brown hues, both on sets and on people's clothes. There's a lot of near-blacks (especially charcoals and walnuts) and lighter grays on the sets, especially from the third film onwards. (Wood is more often than not stained dark, while lighter hues are often provided by bricks or plaster.) The last two films use a lot of stormy blues and grays. Prisoner of Azkaban also emphasizes contrast between tones, which heightens a sense of texture. True black also appears throughout the films, such as on students' uniforms and many Death Eaters' outfits, and on the chairs in Malfoy Manor. White appears occasionally, especially on Hedwig, students' shirts, or during winter scenes, but pure white isn't otherwise really common. Paper or parchment is usually warm beige. There's also a lot of silver, gold, and brass, often appearing on things like dishware, tools, trinkets, Christmas baubles, and so forth. Bronze also comes up occasionally.

Reds, yellows, blues, and greens are pretty common throughout the films, even outside of Hogwarts, though you'll see just about every color somewhere. For example, orange is often found around the Weasleys, and orange, maroon, and purple feature in the divination classroom. Teal features prominently in Grimmauld Place (contrasted with saffron yellows).

Most colors aren't really super bright; a lot of the time they look a little faded, or like they're colored with natural dyes. If you use medieval illustrations to source your colors, or aim for earth tones and jewel tones, you'll be about right for a lot of what you see in the films. Bright colors are pretty rare; some of the brights we do see are in Honeydukes, Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, and certain magical effects, such as Floo fire.

A lot of light is provided by candles, torches, or fireplaces, which cast a warm yellow/orange light. Moonlight is represented by blue light in the first and second films. Blue light is also used for the Goblet of Fire and the penseive.

Another thing you gotta have in there is clutter. It should look kinda antique and give off a kind of magical or mystical atmosphere. Think books, storage jars, orreries, crystal balls, old lamps, antique clocks, vintage glassware, antique mirrors, old teapots, and little metal trinkets. (If you're trying to decorate a physical room, your stuff doesn't have to actually be antique, of course; antique-styled is fine.)

Texture is also very important, which can be represented with full or top grain leather book covers, stone walls, dents and scratches, cracks, embellishments, and embossing. Additionally, all damage and wear gives a sense of oldness to things. Stains and variegated colors also add interest. (If you're decorating a physical space, you might look into aging/distressing/antiquing techniques.)

If you want a space to look cozy, you don't really want bare or blank walls. Shelves, paintings, tapestries, and wallpaper can all help with that. Again, use brown, rather than black. Warm, yellow lighting will also help. If you lean toward blacks and cool lighting, you're going to have a colder-looking space.

Fashion in the wizarding world is extremely all over the place, ranging from stereotypical fantasy witch and wizard clothing, to pretty normal vintage clothing, to some wacky vintage-inspired looks, to the kind of fashion that would be put under the cozycore umbrella, to ordinary modern clothing. One thing that's absent is subculture fashion as we know it. (Bellatrix Lestrange does look kinda goth, but it's less a subculture thing, and more a "yeah we're putting our bad guys in fancy black stuff" thing.)

If you're trying to lean into the whole quirky/eccentric/old-fashioned kinda thing, you'll want to pass over the more modern and obviously synthetic type stuff. Also, patterns, textured fabrics, knits, mixed colors, lace, and other embellishments can add interest to outfits.

Architecture is also all over the place. Hogwarts is pretty medieval, while places like Diagon Alley give more Victorian vibe. The main thing is looking old fashioned and quaint.

To try and summarize all of that:

Browns. Lots and lots and lots of browns. Blacks and grays, too. Contrast between light and dark browns and blacks/grays.

More beige and gray than pure white; more charcoal gray and dark walnut brown than true black.

Among other colors, mostly earth tones and jewel tones. Very limited brights.

Polished metal and glass also add shininess.

Old-fashioned. Vintage. Antique.

Clutter, texture, patterns, variegation. Minimalist/clean aesthetic avoided.

Aged and distressed.

Lighting often yellow/orange due to coming from fire. Blue/teal light often coming from moonlight and certain magical light sources.

Now, here are some things we actually don't see. I'm not mentioning them to discourage you from using them if they're what you really want, but to inform you about them so you can consider whether they might throw off the vibe for you:

Green/purple/black combos.

Purple/silver/black combos. Pink/purple/teal combos.

Pink/black combos.

Orange/black combos.

Green/orange/purple combos.

Red/black combos.

Basically a lot of combos commonly associated with Halloween, witches, or vampires.

Big raw crystals. We see crystal balls now and then, but that's it.

Other natural items used as decorations - feathers, pinecones, sticks, etc. The one exception I can think of are the shells embedded in the walls of Shell Cottage.

Crushed velvet. Lots of fantasy uses this, HP films don't.

If you need inspiration, go look up medieval and renaissance diagrams and illustrations of stuff like the four elements, the zodiac, the solar system, and all that. Go look up alchemical symbols and emblems. Search up pre-WWII vintage ephemera. Go look up Victorian clipart. Look up stuff like botanical, zoological, and astronomical books and art from the 17th-19th centuries. Look up vintage wallpaper and fabric patterns. Look at vintage-style crafts. Research period architecture and fashion. Research European heraldry.

If you're wondering what exactly you're going to design around without Hogwarts and the Four Houses, here are some suggestions:

The four classical elements (earth, air, fire, and water)

The four seasons

Card suits - Tarot, French, whatever you want

Holidays - Halloween, Christmas, whatever

Fairy tales

Flowers

Mythical creatures

Bugs

Birds

Any other animals you like

Ecosystems

Your own original worldbuilding

So yeah, there ya go. You don't need to keep participating in HP to indulge in the aesthetic.

[NOTICE: Anybody who clowns on this post by making this about them and their childhood, patting themselves on the back about their chosen means of "ethical" participation, praising the fandom, or adding any other form of irrelevant bullshit is getting blocked. Also, I don't want to hear about PJO or Earthsea again for the millionth time, either.]

[stellaluna33]

I know liking hardcover books is supposedly "pretentious," but I maintain that every type of book has a legitimate place. Paperback books are great and absolutely have their advantages, but when I say I like hardcover books, it's because I crave the sensuality of the experience. A book not just as a medium for transmitting ideas, but as an object in itself, or a work of art, even.

I love to feel the weight of it in my hands, to feel the different textures of page and binding and cover... The buttery smoothness of leather or the roughness of cloth... running my fingers over the grooves of embossed letters and patterns. The SMELL. The creaking sound the spine makes when opened, the weighty, soft THUMP! of shutting the book emphatically... Winding and unwinding a ribbon bookmark around my finger as I read, and the satisfying *slicing* sound it makes when you slide it in place between the pages... The smooth glint of gilt-edged pages or the glossy swirls of the hand-marbled cover of an old poetry book you picked up for a pittance at some second-hand shop.

These are all things that give me so much sensory pleasure, and I will not apologize for loving it.

[snek-panini]

Book time! At last, a new one! This is a bind of In Death's Embrace, We Are Reborn by Arinia. It's a fantastic series from the Good Omens fandom. Angsty but sweet, canon-adjacent 20th century history fic. Absolutely gorgeous, rich prose and in character the whole way. Don't be discouraged by the 6/9 chapter count for part 2, it reads as a complete story and I cannot recommend it highly enough.

So! This is a Coptic bind, which means it has no glue holding it together, only stitching, which is visible. I see those recommended a lot of beginner bookbinders, but I have a habit of looking at a new craft and thinking "I don't wanna do the boring beginner project, I want to do the exciting intermediate/advanced one that I don't have the skills for", so I went right for case binding and skipped this kind until now. Two years and a dozen books later, this is my first Coptic. I learned a lot, tried a lot of new things, and will for sure do it again.

More pics and process talk under the cut!

Pic of the spine and endpaper. I used metallic embroidery floss to stitch it, a decision I am going to call hubris. It looks beautiful but is so fucking slippery it's ridiculous. Also it won't hold a weaver's knot like the other thread I've used. I put a French link stitch in the middle (also a first for me) because I saw someone else on tumblr do that a couple of weeks ago and thought it looked really cool so I stole it, but I don't remember who it was so I can't credit them. I made a mistake in that part, where the needle caught a thread it wasn't supposed to, but I don't think it's visible in the photos. The endpaper is also stolen, in that I saw someone post a photo of stuff they'd bought and thought this one was perfect for this project, and I was right. White and black feathers are important to the story so it couldn't have been more perfect. Again, I don't remember who it was or I'd give them a shout-out.

When it came to cutting boards for the cover, I did the thing you do with case binding, which is cut them a little bigger than the text block on top and bottom, but because it's a glueless binding the stitching kinda sags down when it's upright on the shelf. I'm thinking it might put unnecessary stress on the text block down the line, so next time I do this I think I'll make the boards the same size as the block and see how that goes.

Pic of the title page and the section break artwork I made. I really need to up my title page game, it looks so plain. The section break was made with free clip art of feathers that I found via google. I've never experimented with vector art before and I still don't really know anything about it. All I did was find the image, rotate it, mirror it, and draw that little diamond shape in the middle. I made it a little too big and too bold, so it kind of dominates the pages it's on more than it should. I was tired of using a plain gray line for section breaks though, so I'm more or less happy with how it came out. And I learned stuff for next time.

Materials: textured cardstock for the cover, chiyogami paper for the endpaper (I love this stuff, it was so much easier than cardstock), metallic embroidery floss for the stitching (terrible, would not use again), and gold embossing powder for the title. I'm trying to up my cover game but it's hard. The text for the "Reborn" part didn't come out as clear as I'd have liked. I like the gold frame, though. Would do that again.

[nemzetikonyvtar]

Accepting pre-orders for the facsimile edition of the Buda Chronicle starts next week! ✔ ❤ We are excited to celebrate the 550th anniversary of the printing of the Buda Chronicle. From 27 May 2023, you can acquire a top-quality facsimile edition of the book, with the accompanying volume in Latin, Hungarian and English, in a wooden slipcase, with a unique serial number, and a copy of the supplementary pages included in the original. The collector's edition will be available in a wooden box with a six-puttonyos Tokaji Aszú wine offered by Grand Tokaj Plc. 📷 📸 📷 The first book printed in Hungary was caught on camera last week. Please enjoy our video featuring the facsimile copies, too. 📜📚📖 If you would like to be informed immediately about the date and time of the pre-order and the prices, please let us know by sending us a message or leaving a comment. We will contact you. In both the course of preparation and the choice of materials, we have tried to recreate the experience of the original volume as much as possible. High-resolution photos were taken for pre-press so that no compromises were made in terms of reproducing realistic details. The texture and thickness of the paper used for the textblock is exactly the same as the original print. All 550 copies were made in almost identical quality, but two different covers were used. In both cases, the covers were made from high quality recycled leather from the Wintan company. 200 copies were hand-bound in wooden boards. The front and back covers were blind-embossed using an engraving from a contemporary cover. The volume comes in a wooden box covered in lacquered velvet, with a matching booklet and a bottle of Tokaj Aszú wine. 350 copies were machine-bound, the cover of which was embossed in gold using the letters of Andreas Hess. These and the accompanying volumes come in labelled wooden slipcases.

Detailed technical specifications: Facsimile: Dimension: 200 x 275 mm Length: 136 pages Printing: 4/4 Paper: Munken Pure White 115 g Accompanying volume: Dimension: 200 x 275 mm Length: 324 pages Printing: 4/4 Paper: Munken Pure White 115 g

[samspenandsword]

hi sam! congrats on your follower milestone!! you’re such a peach and I love everything about you and your blog!! for your celebration, I was wondering if I could please ask for a ship pairing, any gender and open to NSFW if you’re willing! so for the info:

i’m sarah! i’m 25 and a librarian! i’d say that i’m a talkative and passionate person and I totally tend to ramble about my favorite topics and special interests with my friends or S/O. my friends describe me as a mom friend who loves with all of her heart. my ideal date would be either a day at a museum or play or a night in watching movies! my love language is words of affirmation. my dream partner would be someone who understands that I struggle with anxiety a lot and that won’t scare them!!

thank you again and congrats on your milestone!!! wooo!!!!!!

Hi, Sarah!!! I love seeing you in my notifs so much, and I was so happy to receive this! Thank you for participating in my celebration! I know things have been a little rough for you lately, so I hope this brings a little happiness for you ❤️❤️❤️

Sam's Pen and Sword 300 Follower Celebration (Closed)

Sarah's Follower Celebration Request

Ship request 👄

As a fellow big girl, I totally get the worry that a partner would care about physical size, but when I was reading your request, I instantly thought of Tup. My boy is just one of the biggest sweethearts in the galaxy, competent and polite and prone to be completely enamored with his partner. Inside and out. He is incredibly interested in your infodumps, enjoying hearing them as much as you enjoy talking about your interests. He loves the look on his brothers' faces when he drops some random knowledge that just so happens to help them get out of sticky situations, and he loves grinning when they ask how he knew that, and simply saying, "Sarah," with the utmost affection and fondness in his voice. Tup would take you to the new exhibit that opens on the history of book-binding. It's not quite his thing (he's more of a nature and science museum person, he loves the fossil exhibits), but he loves seeing your face light up as you look at ancient tomes with gorgeous calligraphy and embossed leather. And he may raise an eyebrow at you when you fuss over the state of his hair (barely brushed and stuck in place from three-days of sweat and being under his bucket), but he really loves it, especially when you take the comb to his hair for him. There's nothing he loves more than the way your eyes sparkle when you smile, and he would do anything to see that smile every single day.

It was a familiar quiet that filled the library where you worked. The white noise of the flipping of flimsi, the occasional ping of a holobook or pad, the shuffling of feet as people moved across the floor, the chatter of the children's section, the gentle ding of the lifts, the bubbling of the fountain in the lobby, the squeak of the leather armchairs as people shifted their weight and continued to read. The ambience was really not quite like anything else. You had worked so hard to get where you were as a librarian. You were so happy with your work. And you remembered it each time you came in. Even when you woke up grumpy and sleepy and grumbling, you still enjoyed going to work. You looked forward to the gentle surroundings and ambience. You simply looked forward to your work. You found yourself amongst the stacks of flimsi books, one of your favorite sections of the library. Maybe it was silly, but you liked the flimsi books more than the holobooks. The feeling of the pages between your fingers, the thrill of flipping the page, even the smell of them, especially the older books. You enjoyed the textured covers, the variety of cover art, the weight of the books as you reshelved them. It was such a shame that more people didn't appreciate a true, classic book. Though you had to admit, sometimes a pad with ten holobooks was very convenient. "Excuse me, I was wondering if you could help me?" You instantly recognized the voice. The cadence and tone. And a smile instantly grew on your face. Biting your lip, you tried to stifle it and turned to face the library patron. "Of course, trooper. What can I do for you?" "I seem to be suffering from a lack of romance in my life. I was wondering if you could help me with that?" It became harder not to grin fully. You wondered if Fives had given him that line. "I have a few ideas," you said. "Please, follow me." The trooper followed you through the stacks, deeper into the library, and some of the white noise of your library faded away. "Here's our romance section," you said, looking at the trooper over your shoulder. Your eyes were sparkling with mirth behind your glasses. "Is there something specific you're interested in?" "Well, uh..." The trooper looked at you, eyes fervent. "What I'm really interested in is something with a lot of affection. Something with a really beautiful woman in it. Maybe wears glasses. Has a cute pixie cut. A big reader. You know, a small, personal, little story with a lady you can really fall in love with." "Hmm..." You couldn't resist the beaming smile spreading across your face, adjusting your glasses as heat came to your cheeks. "Sounds like you have a type, trooper." "I do," he admitted. One of his brows quirked and he stepped closer. You felt the touch of his hands to your waist, a bit timid at first. Then more firm. "Think you can help me?" Your smile could not be contained. "I think I have just the thing for you, trooper." You brought yours and Tup's lips together, and you smiled into each other. "Not that I am objecting, but what you brings you in today?" you murmured, not willing to fully part your lips from his. His arms fully encircled you, a hand rubbing at the small of your back in a way that made your body tingle. "Thought I could take you to an early lunch." "Dex's?" "Of course." You pecked his lips. Once. Twice. "Sounds perfect." When you returned to your beloved job an hour later, it was with a full stomach and full heart.

[indeko2]

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[osborn97lloyd]

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[ereborean]

crossroads

Summary: Cullen Rutherford and Marian Hawke meet again in Skyhold, a long way from Kirkwall.

Read on AO3

A/N: I’m not interested in any Cullen discourse, I just like the idea of Marian seeing Cullen in his Inquisition era and comparing that to his Kirkwall era and being like ‘fascinating’. 

Tagging @remadster and @luladoll - thank u for asking to be, i kiss u on the forehead.

-

“Varric was right, you do look like shit.”

Cullen twitches, his hand flexing taut against the book he was about to take from his shelves. He freezes there, staring into the spines, feeling the shape of her name form in his mouth before his mind has truly caught up with the reality of her presence.

“...Hawke?”

“Are you surprised, my dear Knight-Captain?”

He doesn’t turn around, his lips spasming between a wince and fond remembrance at the sharp lilt of her voice. It still produces the old learned response, a kind of amused despair.

He’d never thought he’d see her again.

“Not really,” he says, hand resuming motion. The book cover is textured under his finger-tips, the corners embossed. He focuses on the feeling, willing it to ground him. He is in his tower, in Skyhold, and he cannot smell the sea.

It doesn’t help. Kirkwall is both hundreds of miles away and right here in his office.

He yanks the tome free and stands there, feeling unmoored. “You always did have a habit of popping up where you’re least expected. And I no longer go by that title, thank you.”

“Hmm. Varric also said you’d changed, but still looks like there’s a stick up your arse to me.”

He finally turns around. Marian Hawke is leaning against the open door jam, her arms crossed, customary red paint daubed across her nose. They could have gone back a decade in time, if not for the gnawing hunger in his blood and the grim tightness he can see lurking in the corners of her eyes.

Neither of them are the people they used to be. He needs to remember that.

He tilts a sardonic smile at her. “Only for my most important visitors, I assure you.”

“Hah, was that a joke?” Her teeth bare when she smiles, wolf-sharp. “Good try. Maybe it’s not the just the hair that’s been made over.”

Cullen touches it and sinks down in his chair, his shoulders hunching up. Hawke still doesn’t know how to pull her punches, though. Not everything has changed.

“Is there something I can do for you?” he says, weakly, trying as he always does to hide behind the mask of his authority. It's his own verbal manifestation of fight or flight, and a hard habit to break, particularly when he feels like he’s been caught naked unawares.

Hawke pushes off the door and makes her way idly into his space, stopping in front of his desk and picking up his mabari shaped paperweight before tossing it from hand to hand. Never still, always restless. He’d not forgotten that, but memory doesn’t quite do the real thing justice. Perhaps it’s the lyrium loss eating away at him, or maybe minds are just made that way. He’s certainly been finding it about so many things since coming back to Ferelden.

Maybe it’s just the way he has lived his life, always running, trying to move forward, to forget.

Hawke puts the paperweight down and picks up a quill instead, running the goose feather between her fingertips.

“So blunt, it’s almost like you’re not delighted to see me. Do I need a reason? Perhaps I wished to see a familiar face from Kirkwall.”

Cullen scoffs. “I’d hardly have thought you’d wish to see mine. Not after –”

“Perish the thought, Commander.” A grin. “You were always delightfully easy to rile.”

He can feel the discomfited flush creep up his neck and raises his face to the ceiling, staring into the heavens that are just beyond. He knows Hawke sees it when she cackles.

“Nice operation you’ve got going here,” she says, gesturing back out to the courtyard, where shouts and clangs and the high creak of the trees is filtering through the open door. “Can’t say I’m sorry to have missed out on running it though.”

Cullen puts the books down and stretches out his clammy hands. “Ah. Yes. How is Varric doing?”

Hawke smirks. “He’s cowering up on the battlements and twitching whenever someone walks past.”

“Cassandra will calm. I – we – greatly appreciate you coming,” he says, and genuinely means it, despite the personal discomfort of her unexpected arrival. It comes out sounding stilted and formal, and both he and Hawke cringe away from it.

“Yes, well…I don’t like leaving messes,” Hawke says, looking at her fingernails. The lines around her mouth have darkened, her lips going flat and heavy. “And I rather thought I’d already cleared up this one.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that, and for several seconds they lapse into tense silence. He wonders desperately what she wanted when she came here. Of every outcome he’d theorised when he realised who Varric was likely sending for, none of those paths had ever led him here. He’d expected them to dance around each other, to perhaps meet once at the war table, and to feign ignorance of all prior knowledge of the people they used to be.

He recognises now that this was entirely wishful thinking.

Hawke looks up, the ghost of her old flytrap smile on her face, and Cullen braces. She doesn’t disappoint.

“I couldn’t help noticing, Commander…there’s a rather high mage population on the loose around Skyhold,” she says indelicately, before apparently deciding that she’s been standing for long enough and dropping down into the chair he got specially for the Inquisitor.  

Cullen’s body goes hot, then extremely cold all over. Marian is watching him, her ice blue eyes alert and interested.

“Yes. They are our valued allies –” he starts stiffly, but she is not an official emissary to some ridiculous noble he’ll never actually meet, and she’s seen the blood on his hands. He swallows and tries again, his voice rasping soft and hoarse. “Not on the loose. Free to come and go as they please.”

One of her eyebrows rises.

“That must make your little Templar senses itch.”

Cullen swallows. His mouth is drier than the Hissing Wastes. He could tell her that he no longer takes lyrium, but that's not what she means.

“I can only apologise for what I used to be. Ignorance was no excuse, I –”

Hawke laughs to cut him off, but her smile is brittle. Cullen wonders when he got to know her so well that he can tell the difference.

“Don’t flay yourself, that’s not why I’m here. If I held a grudge against every person that made rude commentary about mages, I’d be too busy to do anything else. I just had to come and see this one for myself.”

“I literally told you that mages weren’t people.” Cullen reminds her flatly. He also did far more than make commentary. He’d had much bigger problems after the showdown in the Gallows, but somehow, after the very blatant revelation that Marian Hawke was a raging apostate, he’d been unable to get that memory in particular out of his head. He couldn’t believe he’d been so stupid as to never realise what she was before. Or perhaps it was a wilful sort of ignorance, so that he’d never been forced to try the spectacular self-destruction of hunting her down. It had explained a lot of things, in retrospect.

Hawke pauses. “You did, didn’t you?”

Cullen sighs and half shrugs, this new remembrance bringing a sour tang up the back of his throat. Having her here in his office chafes at his raw edges. It makes it hard to run from your past if it follows you. Varric has always been here, true enough, but somehow…it’s different with him. He's just as perceptive, but he’s always spinning a yarn, smoothing over edges, holding his cards close until he needs the chips to fall. Varric’s best weapon is to make people comfortable enough that they start talking. Marian has never pretended to make nice with anyone. And she was the heart and soul of Kirkwall, the only person he’s ever met that fit in every part of it.

He has tried so hard to step away from the shadow of his old self without ever really knowing how successful he has been. Her judgement here could unmake him.

Marian doesn’t say anything else for a long moment, but he can feel her eyes on him.

“And what would you say now?” She asks eventually, delicately. It lacks the sarcastic bite that he’s used to, the one that had always left him feeling like a rat in a trap. She’d toyed with him in the past, coming back to jibe at him like he’d been a particularly amusing plaything. He’d deserved far worse.

There’s an odd look on her face when he forces himself to meet her eyes, a hesitancy he’s never seen there before. It... helps, dispersing some of the spectre of the Gallows.

It’s a good reminder that she sought him out. That perhaps she needs the familiarity of an old face in an new place. He’s often wondered what she thinks about the mage rebellion, being an apostate herself. If Varric is to be believed, she killed Anders in the end. He’s never been sure what to make of that.

“I would say that I was making monsters out of my own ghosts. And that many of the things I said then were beneath me.” He looks at his gloves, thinking of the hands underneath, of all the orders he carried out in such blindness. “There are many things I would do differently now. Many things I am trying to do differently.”

“Well,” Hawke says, propping her boot on the corner of his desk. Cullen forces himself not to acknowledge it, even though mud coming so close to his neatly written missives makes his teeth grind. “Maybe you can teach a dog new tricks.”

Her smile, when he finally meets her eyes, is genuine. He smiles back, and the world outside his office turns obliviously on.

It’s not absolution, because that’s not who Marian Hawke is. But to him it feels like an armistice, and it makes him feel lighter anyway.

[lutbys]

Gift Wrapping

MIND YOU THIS IS VERY UNEDITED IT IS REALLY JUST A BRAIN DUMP OF A FIC ILL EDIT IT ONE DAY JUST NOT TODAY TQVM 

Draco Malfoy x Slytherin reader

Summary: Thinking you were going to be alone in the common room, Draco sits in the corner by himself, struggling to wrap his gifts for Christmas

You hear the last doors close and the hallways were finally quiet. 

“Wher’you going?” you hear your dormmate mumble, seconds to slumber. “I’m going to go read, clear my head a bit” but you didn’t hear a response, only the small whistled breaths to indicate the they were fast asleep.

Your feet tapped on the stone stairs lightly, book in hand as you led the way to the common room.

There were always candles lit throughout the night in but that didn’t contrast with the fireplace as its brightness roared through the room, lighting up even the smallest crevices.

The fireplace was the best part of the common room, it always amazes you with the blazing fire it brings and the crackling that bring peace, almost like white noise.

Your feet tapped on the stone stairs quietly, book in hand as you made a bee line to the common room. it was dark, any surface the light of the fireplace didn’t touch was dark enough to be considered non-existent.

The fireplace was your favourite part of the dungeon. It blazing fire glowed beautifully, and the crackling of wood provided you white noise for nights like these, nights were your mind is awake and unwilling to let yourself into deep slumber.

“For fucks sake.” You heard someone whisper-grunt. You jumped out of your shoes, who could still be up this late?

Your head snapped towards the voice and it led you to the table on the farthest corner of the room, a small lantern being the only source of light that illuminated the voices features.

“Malfoy?” 

The boys head snapped up and his face glowed orange, accentuating the small bags under his eyes.

“What you do want y/l/n?”

“That’s not how you greet a fellow sixth year.” You chuckled. Its only been the fifth time you’ve talked to the boy, having only had to create conversation whenever you were with pansy. You weren’t as close as one would think, what with having the same group of friends and all. “Whatcha doin’?”

The table he occupied was covered with layers upon layers of wrapping paper and gifts, to the far corner sat three messily wrapped gifts, wrapped was an understatement. “Wrapping?”

“Seems like you’ve answered yourself y/l/n”

“d’you need any help?”

“Wouldn’t need it if mother didn’t have a no giftbag rule.” He rolled his eyes, struggling to peel of the tape that had miraculously stuck itself together. “This is bullshit!” in anger, he balled up a the piece of wrapping paper he used and tossed it behind him.

“Let me help you. Good thing, I know how to and don’t possess anger management issues.” To that, Draco glared but nevertheless pushed the gifts towards you.

With elegance, you wrapped a book, its edges crisp and the ends tucked neatly with a single piece of tape. “See! It’s like folding clothes, but not so much.” “Atypical for you to know how to wrap” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You moved on to the next gift “I mean, all these years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you fold anything.” He leaned back in his seat; his eyes glued to your hands as they reach out for the tape.

“Technically, there should be no room for you to comment since you know so little of me.”

To your surprise, the conversation flowed well. Considering his witty remarks and rude sarcasm, Draco was actually good company. With your book long forgotten, the only story you acknowledged were the ones coming out of the blonde boys mouth.

“How about animals. What d’you like?” he asked, fingering with the crisp corners of a cylindrical wrapped gift.

“Snakes. Typical for a Slytherin but there’s just something about them that’s intriguing.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Like, the flowerpot snake which are made up solely off of females and doesn’t need a mate to reproduce yet, they are the most widespread terrestrial snake in the world or- or the fact that a decapitated head of a snake can still bite and hold more venom than usual.”

Draco eyed you as your eyes gleamed from the thought of snakes, subconsciously gesturing with your hands passionately. 

“But I guess the real reason I like snakes is because we used to own one when I was little. Scales. The sweetest little thing that changed my mind completely about them.”

The boy let out a small chuckle, “Scales? Come on y/l/n, there are better names.”

“Hey! I was young and the privilege to get to name her got to me okay.”

“So where’s Scales now?”

Your head ducked, the biggest secret of your life close to slipping from your tongue. “I. It’s- it’s complicated.”

Taking it as a sign, Draco quickly averted the subject knowing he himself wasn’t comfortable with death, -if that was- the case.

The night went on until event he fireplace couldn’t keep up with their company, the fire slowly dimming to a faint, faint glow.

“I should start packing I doubt I can bring much home with all this occupying the space.” He lifted the big bag of presents neatly wrapped because of you. “Will I be seeing you again at the train?”

“No, not this year. I’ll be celebrating it with the elves and most possibly Almost Headless Nick. He pretty good company once you get used to his same performance.” You both giggled at the thought of the ghost boring the students with his same act, only satisfied at the inexperienced first years.

Draco’s heart sank. He tried to push the thought away but after the past couple hours, he regretted not talking to you sooner and now, he had no excuse to use the long ride back home to get to know you better.

“Alright then, I guess I’ll see you after break. Goodnight.”

“Draco wait-“ he barely turned around before your arms encircled around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. For a while, your heart stammered from his lack of response but instantly relaxed when his hands finally found their way around you. “Thank you for tonight. Like snakes, my perspective changed about you.” 

“Glad to know y/l/n. I’d say the same.” You both pulled away with a smile, neither wanting to end the moment but the quiet whispers of dawn approaching did. You slept that morning with the same smile, completely ignoring the loud shuffling of your dormmates rushing to the station with the bliss you felt for your new acquaintance.

-

Christmas morning felt lonelier than usual, what with barely seven people staying back at Hogwarts, the only sounds coming form the great hall being the quiet clatter of utensils and the elves sweeping the floors.

You sat alone at the table, book in hand. The same book you had that night with Draco, the same book you could never finish because you got distracted every few sentences thinking of the same boy.

Finding it useless to finish the chapter among the small distractions, your feet padded back towards your bedroom, the mound of pillows and blankets ready to sink you in the plush. 

Instead, your eyes caught on your once vacant bedside table that now occupied an envelope with your name neatly written on top.

Your hands quickly fiddled with the seal and a small box dropped onto your lap. Opening the letter you read:

The thought of you spending Christmas alone gutted me so here’s my gift to you. It’s not much but I think you’d like it. It symbolizes how I feel about you. Like snakes, you intrigue me. Looking forward to see you again. Draco. p.s. Tell Nick that his jokes aren’t funny for me. That’s my gift for him.

Your fingers found their way to the box. Sleek with the company’s name engraved on top in gold emboss. As you opened it, the sight of the necklace took your breath away.

Accompanying the silver chain was a delicate snake pendant, its details giving texture as you grazed your thumb around it, completely mesmerized by the thing like it was treasure. You sat there for what could have been hours just staring at the beautiful piece of jewellery before you had the nerve to put it on, the snake sitting beautifully on your chest. 

Like it belonged there.

a/n: anyone else made big writing goals prior to the month and burnt out early + didn’t consider the other responsibilities they have so their whole project just complete failed :( bc IT DO BE ME DOE. 

[mayibeyoursbanks]

Can you do a fic with JJ and y/n to the song Summer Love by One Direction because y/n went to the Obx just for the summer but they find a way for the group to be together at the end of the summer while y/n goes back to her house? Lol it’s a lot sorry.

I’m so sorry this literally took forever for me to get to- I accidentally deleted everything halfway through writing it😔

But it’s here now! It kinda took its own path but I hope you like it!!!

“Summer Love”

———————————————————————

Memories of the past two months flooded through your mind as you stuffed your suitcase with all of your belongings. It felt as though every T-shirt, swim suit, piece of jewelry, had a different memory attached to it.

You reached for the woven bracelet on your dresser, thinking of the day you first got it.

“Close your eyes babes. We have a present for you,” said Kie. You shook your head, but complied anyway.

“A present? You guys didn’t have to give me anything. You just met me what? Three weeks ago?”

“Don’t be silly. It’s your birthday, of course we got you something. Besides, it’s not even that huge of a deal,” you hear Sarah say from your other side.

You feel something lightweight fall into your outstretched hand and feel the rough, woven texture between your fingers. You smile as you open your eyes to look down at the handmade bracelet. It was made of three colors- yellow, pink, and orange -all intricately interwoven to make a perfectly wrist sized band.

“A friendship bracelet? Just like bit of yours?”

“Well, not just like ours. We made new ones to match.” Sarah held up her wrist to flash a bracelet identical to the one in your hand, and Kie did the same.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you.” Your eyes watered with tears.

“You may not be in the Outer Banks forever, but you will always be apart of our lives, Y/N. I hope you know that”

You smiled to yourself as you tugged the bracelet onto your wrist and reached for the baseball hat that was placed next to it.

It was a scorching hot day, and the sun beat down on you and Pope as you rode Heyward’s boat back across the island. You had volunteered to help him make deliveries to the Figure 8, but under this sun, you were regretting the decision to pass on surfing with the girls.

“Thanks for helping me out again Y/N/N. These deliveries would have taken me all day to do alone.”

“Anytime Heyward. But maybe the next time you need a hand, you could tell me to bring a hat? Or even some sunglasses?” You said this jokingly, but Pope must have noticed your red, sun-kissed face and how you squinted up at him to talk, because then he moved to remove his iconic “Pong” hat and put it on your head, tugging it into place. You smiled gratefully at him, and went back to counting the tips from the day.

When Pope pulled the boat up to the dock, you went to return his hat to him, but he held his hand out.

“Keep it. It looks ten times better on you anyway.” You did a fake gasp and placed your hand in your chest.

“Is this your final gift to me Pope? A memento to remember you by when I finally return to the horrors of the mainland?” Pope just chuckled.

“Well I can’t let you go forgetting me now. Gotta compete with the others. Well except for JJ, he obviously has a spot secured in your heart.” You felt your cheeks blush furiously.

“What is that supposed to mean Heyward?”

“Come on Y/N/N. You guys have acted like an old married couple since we first met you at The Wreck. Even John B can see it.” You looked down at the groceries swinging in your hand as you walked up the dock next to Pope.

“Is it that obvious?”

“As obvious as the capital of Russia.”

You smirked to yourself at the reoccurring memory of yours and Pope’s favorite inside joke, and gently set the hat on the top of the bag.

Then you saw the worn book that was laying under then hat on your dresser, and picked it up to flip through the pages.

You were wondering around the Chateau while you waited for John B to find the keys to the Twinkie. The two of you were supposed to pick up the rest of the Pogues for a drive around the island, but the absent-minded boy had somehow misplaced the most important part of that plan.

As you walked down the hallway, you stopped at a door you recognized as Big John’s office. You had never gone in here because while John B was very open to talking about his dad with you, you had only known him for a month and a half. Going in felt like an overstep before.

You slowly creaked the door open though, and we’re greeted by stacks of books and piles of maps. There was a model ship in one corner, and glove across from it, with a desk covered in even more maps and books in the center of the room.

You walked to the desk and scanned the stacks of books, eyes landing on a light blue book that looked well read. As you picked it up, you ran your fingers over the embossed lettering.

“Searching for the Merchant,” you whispered to yourself. You opened the book with a crap and started fingering through the pages.

“That was his favorite book in this whole office.” You jumper at the familiar sound of your friends voice and slammed the book closed. You were about to apologize to John B but the boy stopped you.

“It’s ok. I come in here all the time.”

“Do you feel closer to him? When you’re in here?”

“In some ways. In others I feel farther than ever.” You watched John B as he stared down the model ship in the corner.

“I never met him, but just from being in here I can tell he was a good man.” A small smile appeared on John B’s face.

“And a good dad.”

“That he was, Y/N/N. That he was.” The two of you stood in silence for a little longer before the boy spoke up again.

“Why don’t you keep that book? You might enjoy it.” You rapidly shook your head.

“John B, I could never. All this stuff is yours to enjoy.”

“Look around Y/N. I obviously have plenty of things to go through when I miss him. Besides, I already had my great adventure. Maybe that book will inspire you to find yours.” You smiled big at your friend, the Pogues’ treasure hunt was the first story they had told you when you hung out at the Chateau for the first time, and you had always craved to have your own similar escapade, minus the life-threatening pirates.

You gently closed the book and tucked it into the side of your suitcase, thinking about the adventure you had this summer with your new best friends. Zipping your the suit case, you tugged it off your bare bed and began to pull it towards your bedroom door. You stopped suddenly at the sight of a long necklace hanging from a nail next to the door. Your treasured shark tooth necklace.

You barely noticed the dock shift under the weight of someone sitting next you, and you didn’t even bother to look up. You know exactly who it was.

“Are you really leaving at the end of the week?”

“I have to JJ. My parents want to go back to the mainland early, and even though I’m 18, I’m definitely not financially independent enough to stay here.”

“Screw money. We’ll find a way. You can stay with Kie. Or Sarah. Or Pope. Or heck, even John B.” You shook your head, trying not to cry.

“This is why I was afraid to tell you guys. I knew there was no getting out of me going home, and now it’s all you guys will focus on.”

“Can you blame us? You became one of our best friends, my best friend, in less than 24 hours. How do you expect us to let you go without a fight.”

“There’s nothing you can do this time JJ, not even the people that uncovered the Royal Merchant.”

“But wha-“ You placed your hand on his knee to signal him to stop talking.

“JJ, can we please not talk about this right now. I may not have as long as I thought, but I want to spend the time I do have making memories. Not wallowing I’m self-pity.” JJ grabbed your hand in his and brought it to his mouth to gently kiss it. He held it to his mouth for a while, and you looked over to him for the first time during this entire conversation. You shifted to face him, and with your free hand you reached for the shark tooth dangling around his neck.

“Now where in the world does a boy like you get a piece like this?” You said, mimicking the very first question you ever asked the boy. JJ chuckled and met your eyes.

“On a great adventure. One with pirates, and gold, and a giant storm. Almost didn’t make it out, but I found this tooth lingering in my battle wounds after I washed up on the sand,” JJ replied in his rip-off Pirates if the Caribbean accent.

“Oh? And what has this tough-as-bones pirate prince been doing since then? Plenty of damsels in distress I assume?” JJ smirked.

“Hundreds. But only one of them has really caught my heart.”

“And what of her? What adventures has she gone on?”

“None yet. But I’m hoping to change that.”

“Ah, a lucky lady she is.”

“Yes, you are.” Your smile faltered. You and JJ had grown very close this past summer, and had even shared an almost-kiss at one time. But you both knew it was pointless trying to explore that, what with you leaving in less than a month.

“JJ?” The boy in front of you smiled and grabbed both of your hands, placing them in his lap so he could hold your face with his.

“You were mine this summer Y/N. And I was yours. Don’t take that away from me, not quite yet.” You nodded, tears threatening to trickle down your cheeks.

“We can’t last long JJ. We’ve both known that for a while.” JJ just shook his head and stared into your eyes even more intensely.

“Y/N. Can I kiss you?”

“Please,” you whispered. And it didn’t take another second for JJ to press his lips to yours, and like two perfect harmonies you both moved to close any remaining space in between your bodies, all while you tugged at each other’s lips, hungry to make up for all the chances to do this you took for granted the past two months.

When you two finally broke apart, you rested your forehead against his and smiled when he slid his necklace over his head and onto your neck. You reached up to the tooth and held it in between your fingers, and closed your eyes.

You quickly wiped the tears from your eyes and grabbed the necklace, only to stuff it in your back pocket. Wearing it would only remind you about your summer love, but you couldn’t bare to part with it.

Stepping out of your house, you met your dad who grabbed you suitcase from you to put it in the car. He gave you a sympathetic smile while your mom grabbed your shoulder and squeezed past you in the doorway.

Then you heard the familiar growl of a motorbike, and looked down the road to find none other than JJ and Sarah quickly approaching your house. You walked towards them, but you didn’t make it far before Sarah all but tackled you in a bear hug.

“I almost thought you guys were going to let me leave without saying goodbye.”

“We’re not. Letting you leave, that is.”

“Sarah, I don’t have a choice. I can’t afford to live on my own, and my parents have to go back. There’s no way.”

“What if I told you there was.” The look on Sarah’s face was full of determination.

“What do you mean?” Instead of explaining her antics to you, she grabbed your wrist and pulled you toward your parents.

“Mr. Y/L/N. Mrs. Y/L/N. Your daughter can not leave the Outer Banks. She’s official Pogue property now.” You just shook your head at your best friend, but let her talk.

“But I understand you two need to go back to those forsaken mainlands, so I have a proposition. As you know, my embarrassment of a brother has just gone off to Ohio for...well, I guess you can call it school. He won’t be returning for at least 4 years, and Wheezie and I can’t bare the empty room for that long. However, we’re willing to let Y/N here move in with us, free of charge. And as for the financial independence, the Carreras have a new opening at the Wreck, and I think it would be a good way for Y/N to make some money of her own. I think 4 years is sufficient time to get on her own feet, don’t you think?”

You looked at Sarah in absolute wonder, and when your parents turned their eyes to you, you met them with a determined glare.

“Mom. Dad. You know how much I love it here. You guys said it yourselves every day, I belong here. And I’ve made the best friends I could ever ask for, and I’m more happy than I ever was on the mainland. I’m 18, and this is an opportunity to prove to you that I’m ready to make my own life.”

You’re parents looked at each other, having not said a word this whole time. Your mom was the first to break.

“Well, it is only a 2 hour ferry ride. And I trust the Cameron’s. And your friends.” Your dad smiled at you and chuckled to himself.

“That’s my girl. Of course you can stay.” You gaped at your parents.

“Wait, really?!?! That worked?”

“It may not be the most stable option, but you’re right, you belong here. And being able to stand up and tell us that proves to us that you’re an adult now.”

You’re mom nodded her head in a direction behind you before she spoke, “Besides, it looks like you may be in a good hands here.” You spun around to find JJ, shyly holding his helmet and looking up at you with a small smile. You broke from Sarah’s grip and ran to him, jumping in his arms and pulling your legs around his waist.

JJ held you tightly and spun you around, laughing with you. When he came to a stop, you pulled away to look at him.

“So, what’s our first adventure, my pirate prince?”

“Well, I was thinking...nothing that involves hidden treasure or getting shot at?”

“And what do you propose instead?”

“How about something with sharks?” You heard your dad cough from behind you, and looked to see his eyebrows raised questioningly.

“With secure cages of course.” JJ added nervously.

“Sounds perfect. When do we start?”

“Right now.”

———————————————————————

Tags: @tangledinsparkles @the-crackhead-next-door @pankows-girl @howdyherron @poguemacking @dpaccione

[dangerouscommiesubversive]

🌻

A sunflower is a good and gentle thing! I puzzled a little bit over what would be the best thing to post in response to a sunflower, and then found a story start I’d actually forgotten about entirely. The title in the file is “Pellucid,” and the beginning, at least, is about Philip receiving an unexpected visit while he’s doing some research.

God appears to Philip while he's in the stacks.

Fortunately he's reading for his own pleasure, not in the middle of a lookup, so none of the others are around to get worried. Briefly he's concerned that he might be unwell, that this might be a hallucination, but then the sweet smell of fruit hits him and he knows it's real.

"Kazuraba Kouta," he says, putting aside his book on ballroom dance. "This is an unexpected visit."

"Yeah," says Kouta, "I'm kind of surprised myself, I wasn't expecting to be able to show up so easily here."

"Maybe manifestation is easier for you here because this isn't a physical place." Philip taps his chin thoughtfully. "It is, at least in part, an extension of my mind. Maybe one could call it a shared dreamscape."

"You know, that does make sense. Anyway, you look like life's been treating you well. How's Shoutaro?"

"He's admirably healthy and in good spirits, thank you." Philip takes a moment to consider phrasing. "How have you been enjoying the experience of godhood so far? I imagine it's very different."

"It's..." Kouta pauses before saying, "It's a lot. It's hard to describe. Actually, I'm surprised you haven't read about it before."

"I have limited access to information about Helheim, since it's not Earth. I've read Sengoku Ryouma's research notes, but the most detailed files are locked to me."

"Really? Hang on, I think...I think I can give you access." Kouta stares fixedly into space for a long moment, and the smell of fruit intensifies, and then he passes Philip an elaborately designed book that appears in his hand even as he's reaching out to give it. "Here."

The book is warm to the touch, and the cover has the soft-smooth texture of flower petals. Embossed on the spine are the words "Helheim Forest." It's very beautiful, and in the act of taking it Philip falls to his knees in brief, blinding agony as something opens up within his mind.

When he opens his eyes Kouta is looking concerned. "Shit, I'm sorry, I didn't realize it would hurt."

"Neither did I. It's all right. Sometimes the pursuit of knowledge is painful." Philip's hands sting, but he doesn't drop the book. "But I assume you've appeared to me today for reasons other than idle conversation. What can I help you with?"

[let-love-run-red]

His Happy

AN: My first oneshot for Paterson loves, there is infidelity, Paterson cheats on Laura in this one, if you're uncomfortable with that then i'm sorry but this ones not for you loves.

AO3 link

It was a quiet day on his bus when he met her. He'd never thought about it before, the question she asked, but it made him realize how he truly felt.

She'd climbed onto his bus, wearing an outfit that fit the sunshine outside. She was all smiles ear to ear, soft (h/c) hair bouncing as she walked, greeting him happily as she paid her fare. Paterson couldn't help but smile back at her. She was beautiful, her charming smile lighting up the world even brighter than it had been.

"Can I ask you a question?" She asked, pulling out a notebook. He glanced over his shoulder at her as he drove, wondering who she was talking to. She was eyeing him intently and he cleared his throat.

"Me?" He asked, returning his gaze out the window. She gave a soft "mhm" and he hummed in response.

"Go ahead." He said, looking in the mirror to the back of the bus.

"Are you happy?" She asked as she clicked her pen. Paterson was caught off guard. Nobody had ever asked him that. Was he happy?

He thought of Laura, waiting at home in their small house. With her expensive guitar that cost too much for how long she was going to use it. He thought of Marvin with the pieces of his poem book probably still stuck in his jowls, of the forever crooked mailbox, black and white shower curtains and walls and furniture.

"No." He said simply, staring out the windshield. He could practically feel her head tilt as she looked at him.

"You're the first to answer honestly." She said, scribbling something down in her notebook. Paterson risked a glance over his shoulder at a stoplight, trying to catch a glimpse of what she was scribbling. It seemed to be written in a different language. He tilted his head to match hers.

"What are you asking for?" Paterson asked, returning his attention to the road as the light turned green. His next stop was coming up, probably the one she was going to get off at. It was the one closest to the campus, she looked like a college student.

"I'm curious about people. They all seem happy, but true happiness is, rare." She said, looking up to watch him. Paterson smirked.

"Have you found it?” He asked her. She chuckled.

"Not yet, but It's out there for everybody, you just have to find it." She said, closing her notebook as Paterson pulled into the stop. She stood from the seat, slinging her bag over her shoulder and waving goodbye to Paterson.

"I hope you find your happy." She said to Paterson as she exited the bus.

**

That night, as he lay next to Laura, he thought of her. Something he'd never done before, think of another woman this way. Not since he'd met Laura. He turned his head to look at her as she slept. He felt guilty, he loved her, didn't he?

**

That had been the start of it all. One simple question. He started becoming distant from Laura, she noticed. He knew she noticed, but he couldn't help it. Had he truly been happy those first years? Could someone’s happy change? He felt he loved Laura, but did he truly? Was it just a habit, thinking he loved her, or was it really there?

He looked over to where Laura sat on the floor painting their bedroom curtains black with white squares. He pursed his lips, squeezing his eyes shut before standing from the couch and walking towards the door. Laura turned to look at him.

"Where are you going?" She asked softly. Paterson paused as he slipped his jacket on. He didn't honestly know, somewhere away from this place.

"On a walk." He said quietly. Laura's face lit up.

"Why don't you take Marvin? He's been missing his walks with da-" Paterson cut her off.

"No." He snapped, snapped at Laura for the first time.

"No." He said, more softly. He opened the door, walking out and pulling it shut behind him, just a little harder than necessary. He walked past the crooked mailbox, pausing to look at it. He clenched his jaw, before walking in the opposite direction of the bar.

**

He had wandered, around as the sun set. He was looking for something, he wasn't sure what. Maybe his happy? He didn't know if that's how it worked, but, something. He was looking for something. He approached one of the bus stops that he normally took on his route, seeing a familiar face.

There she was, bathed in light from the streetlamp and the moon, earbuds tucked in her ears, a thin jacket covering her torso as she scribbled in her notebook with furrowed brows. He felt his heart leap, then admonished himself. He hadn't had that feeling since he first met Laura, he shouldn’t have that feeling ever again, but he couldn't help it.

He sat down next to her, glancing at the words in her notebook. They were definitely in another language. He tried to make out some of the words, but none were familiar to him. He looked at him with a glare, before doing a double take and smiling.

"Bus driver, I never thought I'd see you at a bus stop as a passenger." She said, closing her pen in the notebook. It was a leather-bound book, with an intricate pattern tooled into the front. There was a name, (y/n), embossed into the leather on the front. She flipped the clasp closed on the book, using the little bar to lock it. It was more a theatric than anything, it didn't lock, but it was more the principle of it he assumed.

He tore his gaze away from the book to look her in the eye. She had beautiful (e/c) eyes that complimented her (h/c) hair, her skin looked soft as he looked at her.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, tucking the notebook into her bag. Paterson shrugged.

"Walking." He looked up at the sky, hoping to see the stars. There was only one, one star visible in the city with all its lights. And among closer inspection, that star wasn't a star at all, but a plane flying overhead. False happiness, false stars, what else was false?

"Where to?" She asked, leaning against the arm of the bench and looking up at the same plane.

"I'm not sure." He said, letting out a snort as he looked at the ground.

"Hm, that's a predicament." She said, lifting her bag as she stood.

"Well, I'm going back to my dorm." She said, looking down the street as the bus came into sight around the corner. She stepped towards the curb, pausing and looking back at Paterson where he was sitting on the bench. The bus stopped in front of her, the door opening and the night driver waiting for her. She waved to the driver, and he nodded, shutting the door. She approached Paterson, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"It's actually a nice night for a walk." She said. Paterson looked up at her with a tired look. She withdrew her hand, taking a step back and waiting for him.

"Want a partner?" She asked. Paterson looked up at her, pushing himself up from the bench and walking next to her. She walked in the direction of the campus and Paterson switched sides so he was walking between her and the road, the way a gentleman would. She looked at him with a grin.

The walk was silent for the most part, which Paterson appreciated. He wasn't exactly in the mood to talk, but if she wanted to, he would tell her everything. At one point she bumped her shoulder against his, before looping her arm through his. He welcomed it. He knew he shouldn't, he should only want Laura to touch him like that. He spun his ring on his finger in his pocket, wondering if she had seen it, if she knew.

He slipped the ring off in his pocket, using his arm to gently pull her closer. She looked up at him with a grin.

**

That night he was happier than he'd been in a long time. He had walked her to her dorm, but when it came time to say goodbye and walk back home he couldn't do it. He had hesitated, and she had seen.

"You know, you're welcome to come in. You look like you want to be anywhere but where you're supposed to be." She had said. Paterson sighed, looking up at the dorm building as she swiped her ID card to unlock the door. She held it open when she stepped through, looking back at him. He paused, looking down the road that would take him home. To Laura and Marvin, to his black and white house.

Or, he could leave the ring in his pocket, forget it was even there just for the night. Nobody was saying it had to go anywhere. They could just talk.

But the talking lead to kissing, he didn't know much about her nor she him, but they didn't need to. Before he could even process completely what he was doing they were naked in her bed. She was so good, she knew exactly where to touch him, how to roll her hips against his as she rode him, her head thrown back in bliss with her hair down her back as she ran her hands over his chest.

She was the best he'd had in a long time. She had a grace that made Laura seem clumsy. She was so tight, so warm, she felt so good around his cock and he was thankful she'd had a box of condoms in her nightstand because before he could think he was cumming so hard he couldn't breathe for a moment.

She laid down next to him in the bed, running her fingertips over the light scratches her nails had made a moment ago. And despite feeling better than he had in a long time, he also felt guilty. Guilty that he had just slept with another woman, but when he looked at her he felt, giddy. Like a teenager experiencing love for the first time.

"I have a wife." He blurted out, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his jaw, waiting for her to yell at him, kick him out, call him every name in the book. But she didn’t, just laid her head down on his shoulder and took his left hand in her own hand, spreading out his fingers and examining them.

"I know." She ran her thumb over the tan line on his ring finger where his ring normally sat.

"What's she like?" She had asked, splaying her hand across his chest as she lifted herself up slightly to leave soft kisses across his chest.

"She's, Laura." He had said, looking up at her ceiling. It was one of those cheap, awful textured ceilings. But they were easy to make, so he'd been told.

"That's all I can really say. Everything in our house is black and white, she likes that. She has a new hobby every week, she never sticks with one thing. She spent," He paused to let out a snort, "hundreds of dollars on a guitar that she only used for a week. Do you know how many months that's going to take to work off? She doesn't work, her dog, the stupid dog rips up everything, my shirts, my shoes, my book," He paused to take a breath.

"It's not all bad." He said, she hummed and kissed his shoulder softly.

"But no. I'm not happy." He said. She looked up at him.

"You said something about a book?" She asked. He remembered her notebook.

"I write, well, wrote poems. All of them in a book, I had so many, but we went out one night. I left the book in the living room, we came home and the dog, Marvin, stupid dog, had ripped up my book. Years of poems, notes, everything, gone. Just like that." He said, taking a deep breath.

"I'm sorry Paterson." She said, looking up at him with gentle eyes. She was calming, she was gentle and soft, everything Laura tried to be but couldn't be for him.

"Could you, do you think you could tell me a poem?" She asked with a smile. He smiled back.

"Sure thing." He looked back up at the ceiling, trying to think.

"Happy is, an emotion. It's a mix of chemicals in your brain.

Different people have different happy's. They can change over time.

My happy changed. My happy isn't what is used to be." He looked down at her, her intent (e/c) eyes looking into his own, watching as he laid his soul bare to a woman he barely even knew.

"My happy used to be paint and a bulldog and eccentric taste,

Now it's soft eyes and careful touches, and a leather journal with her name on the front." He finished, looking down at her. She smiled, sitting up to press her lips against his own in a soft kiss.

Nearly every night, Paterson would meet him at their bus stop, walk with her back to her dorm, and two would become one. Eventually the box ran out, but she said not to worry. Not to worry, because she loved him, and he loved her. They were each other's happy.

**

She rode his bus every day, for months. She would sit behind his seat and ride his bus for a few stops. They would talk, and laugh, and smile. He would come home grinning, only for the grin to fade when he saw the splashes of paint on the walls or the new curtains that had been painted again, or Marvin sitting in the chair that had been deemed for the dog.

Laura knew something was going on. She knew he wasn't happy, but she pushed it down. She made him so happy, didn't she? Of course she did, he had married her. Nobody else.

There was a farmers market this weekend, Laura was baking cupcakes and spending the day there. She wanted him to come with her, but did he want to go? When he thought of love, he didn't think of her anymore. When he thought of what made him happy now, it wasn't her. But he hadn't gotten the divorce papers yet. It took time, longer than he wanted it.

In the end, Paterson agreed to come with her to the farmers market. If only to keep up the facade for a little longer. Just until he got the papers for her to sign. Then, he didn't know what he would say to her.

He stood next to the baking booth that Laura was selling cupcakes at, watching the crowds as they walked by. He was deep in thought. So deep, that he almost didn't notice her examining one of the booths nearby, one that was selling spices. He watched her with a lazy smile on his face, wondering if she had noticed him.

"Paterson!" Laura shouted, pushing his shoulder. He jumped, turning to look at her. She held out the keys to the car, shoving them into his palm harshly.

"Please go get my purse?" She asked in exasperation. The smile fell from his face as he nodded, walking away from the booth and towards the area where they'd parked the car. He reached it, unlocking the door and reaching in to grab Laura's purse from the floor of the passenger side.

"I didn't think I'd see you here." He heard her soft voice say. He turned with a dopey smile on his face to see her leaning against the back door of the car. He dropped Laura's purse on the driver seat and grabbed her hand, pulling her into him. He held tightly to her, lowering his head for a deep kiss. She kissed him back, reaching her hand up to tangle it in his hair.

"I have something to tell you." She said when they finally pulled apart, only to hear an angry voice.

"I knew it." Laura said. Paterson turned to look at her, jaw dropped as he gripped (y/n)'s hands tighter. (y/n) looked slightly alarm, not expecting to meet Laura. Laura stormed forward, grabbing her purse off the seat and the keys from Paterson's hand. She turned her attention to (y/n) angrily.

"Did you know?" Laura snapped in her face. She leaned back; mouth open slightly.

"Did you know he was married?" Laura pushed, grabbing Paterson's wrist and holding up his left hand angrily to flash his wedding band.

"Yes, I knew." She said softly, calmly. The same calm level head she always had when she was with Paterson. Laura's face darkened.

"Have you slept with him?" She hissed, dropping Paterson's hand angrily. Paterson had never seen Laura angry like this before. He didn't know how to react, what to do, but (y/n) just squeezed his hand reassuringly and stepped forward.

"Yes, I've slept with him." She said, folding her arms. Laura let out a breath before turning to Paterson.

"How could you? How could you cheat on me?" Laura shoved his chest, pushing him away from the car.

"I thought you loved me! What happened until death do us part?" Laura snapped, tears brimming in her eyes. Paterson took a breath before turning to face her.

"I can't do it anymore Laura. It's the same thing every damn day, I can't take the black and white everywhere, the paint, I can't look at that expensive guitar and know I'll have to work for months to have to pay that off. I can't look at Marvin, and, and you, and I can't keep doing this Laura." Paterson said. He took a deep breath and let it out through his nose.

"I, I'm getting the papers Laura. I don't want to do this anymore." Paterson said.

"Keep the car, keep the fucking house, just let me be happy." Paterson said. Laura clutched her purse to her chest. She slapped Paterson hard, leaving a mark on his cheek and a cut from her ring. She shrugged her purse onto her shoulder, struggling to pull off her wedding ring. She finally got it off, showing it into Paterson's palm the way she had done with the keys.

"I don't want to see you again." Laura snarled. Paterson took a breath before Laura turned to (y/n).

"And you, you ruined my life. You took my husband." Laura snarled. She didn't seem sad, just, angry. (y/n) unfolded her arms, placing her hands on her hips.

"We were supposed to have children together, he was supposed to be a father." Laura snapped in her face. (y/n) took a deep breath.

"He came looking for something else, because you don't make him happy. He's giving you everything, just let him be happy with me." She said, voice hard for the first time Paterson had met her. Laura pursed her lips, looking between the two of them before storming away.

Paterson turned to her. She looked exhausted, too tired for her age. As she leaned back slightly Paterson noticed a slight bump to her stomach. His heart soared as his stomach burned. He felt giddy, and sick, all in the same moment as his mind raced. He gently placed a hand to her stomach, looking her in the eye.

"What did you want to tell me?" He asked softly. She smiled sheepishly.

"You're a father." She said. Paterson's jaw dropped, open as he placed one hand on either side of the small bump on her stomach. She placed her hands atop his, brushing her fingers against his wedding band. Paterson pulled his hands away, ripping the wedding band from his finger, reaching through the open window of the car and dropping it on the driver seat before turning to kiss her hungrily.

He had found his happy, and she had found hers. And they were never going to let each other go.

*****

Tag List: @keithseabrook27​, @ktellmeastory​

[ravenwritesstuff]

Best Laid Plans (9/?)

Fandom: Frozen (modern AU, no magic) Pairings: Helsa, established Kristanna, Rapunzel/Eugene, lotsa frohana Rating: T for now, M later almost for sure A/N: Please go away and don’t read the stuff I write.

They have been out to sea for twenty minutes now, Arendelle’s coast disappearing in the distance the same way Elsa’s hope for this day to go any way even close to how she hoped vanished before her eyes. 

After the safety briefing from the crew (which she barely heard) she had attempted to direct the conversation towards the contract, the parts and pieces that needed to still be negotiated and finalized, but Mister Westergaard had other ideas. 

Eat first. He had said. We have all day.

Bits of polite conversation had floated around her. Hans Westergaard entertained the group with intentional questions, occasionally including her but in some ways almost purposefully excluding her. She is simultaneously thrilled and annoyed, but she is not prepared to deal with either emotion.

So she had picked at the sumptuous fare: cold roasted squash wrapped in hickory smoked bacon, miniature parfait cups with berry compote and tangy greek yogurt topped with a sprig of mint, delicate quiche bites that even served cold are still creamy and without a hint of the rubbery texture she always achieves when cooking eggs. There is mixed fruit salad with a lime reduction glaze, brown sugar crusted salmon delicately seated on lemon buttered crostini, and single waffle quarters served with ten dozen options for toppings including jalapeno infused maple syrup. The list goes on.

Elsa is accustomed to tastings and decadence when it comes to food but nearly always when planning it for someone else, some other occasion. She had little experience being the recipient of such gourmet assortments and has never bothered to learn to cook. Still knowing they will sail she does not feel a great need to indulge as she is not sure she will handle the sea well. Her stomach is already a mess.

Her team dives in, filling actual china plates with their choice delicacies as the crew comes to take drink orders. They are each handed a menu printed on thick card stock that feels like silk. The drink options are embossed into the surface of the luxe paper. The feel of it in her hand along with the weight of her plate in the other and the heat of Hans Westergaard at her side is a sensory overload she never imagined having. 

“Coffee,” she does hesitate, “with just a splash of cream.” 

The crew member nods and takes her drink menu for her. She notices later that a smattering of those menus were artistically mounted on stainless steel stands just in case she wants to indulge in a mango-passion-fruit mimosa or a mint lemonade slush infused with vodka. While both sound tempting she needs to stay alert. Especially with him sitting so close. 

His plate is balanced on one thigh with an assortment of the fare that errs on the sweeter side. She notes the same way she would for any client. Hans Westergaard likes dessert. 

She does not consider why knowing that makes her uncomfortable.

He also orders the same coffee as she. 

Again she cannot be certain if this is intentional or just another ploy to generate a doomed connection. She will always lean towards the latter. 

He is still close, but at least she had the sense to extend his arm over the empty seat away from Elsa instead of behind her back. There is a limit even to her control and if he touched her she may explode right out of her skin.

Her team seems to be enjoying the royal food treatment. Rapunzel feeds Eugene her favorite flavor combination, something unusual certainly, and slaps his chest at the grimace. Kristoff loads up on the protein while Anna selects sweeter alternatives. Elsa takes a single quiche, vegetable options, and crostini. She does not want to seem ungrateful but she also does not want to appear over eager or succumb to sea sickness and never be able to eat salmon again. 

She nibbles the barest tip of the roasted summer squash and tries to not notice his plate while also engaging him.

“This is lovely. Thank you,” her team was watching, nodding and eating politely in agreement. 

“Of course. I want you to get a sense for what I want.” 

He now has retreated even further, inches between their bodies, an appropriate distance but still somehow feels too close. She is thankful and suspicious all at once. He leans in again, but just his head. The rest of him is conspicuously distant. His eyes had been green at the wedding but now they almost appeared gold. Were they hazel? 

“That is my team and I would love to talk with you about. We know so little about this initiative, what we are creating, and while this is lovely -”

He cuts her off by pressing two fingers on her mouth.

She had not seen it coming and the feel of it shoots heat previously unknown through her body. She can practically hear the collective gasp from the watching four and her embarrassment is palpable. His fingers are gone as quickly as they had arrived. She didn’t even have the chance to pull back. The heat and pressure of his touch lingers and it takes every bit of self control to not pressed her lips together to try to erase the electric tingling dancing there. 

If she had not been so caught off guard by the sensations racing through her body at the contact she would have had the sense to be furious.

“All in good time.” He leans back and puts the hand on his knee, the other gripping his plate. “But first a tour perhaps?” 

He is already standing and Elsa can just barely catch a breath. 

Her team all stand, albeit cautiously, watching her while she attempts to mentally reboot. Hans Westergaard offers her his hand, the same hand that had pressed her lips just moments before in a facsimile of a kiss. What would it be like to kiss him? 

That inquisitive thought is enough to launch her to her feet without assistance. She sets her plate and attache case down with more force than necessary, straightens, and steps away from him. It takes all of her mortal strength to meet his gaze. 

It is soft and warm but also fearful. That disconcerting humanness there again like he never did anything to upset her. Like he is afraid of rebuttal for his forwardness, like he knows he oversteps but couldn’t help himself just like she cannot bring herself to truly be upset by the touch. Like maybe it undid him the same way it undid her. 

That idea is just as bad, if not worse, than his action.

She needs to put it behind them. Now. No. Sooner than now. 

She lifts her chin and clears her throat. “I think it is best if we stick to business.”

She is responding to his offer for a tour and hopes that is how her team takes it, how he takes it. Clearly she does not need to invite trouble when he is more than willing to produce it on his own. His expression rearranges itself to something more polished, but no less intense. She can practically see his strategy shifting behind those color changing eyes and she steels herself against it. 

Whatever he dishes out she can take. She has overcome more than most and there is not much that can throw her, but the way he looks at her makes her realize she has met her match. 

This is not an arm’s length situation.

But to be close to him?

Close to anyone?

“I agree.” The sound of his voice snaps her back. “Which is why I absolutely insist on a tour of the vessel. It is integral to the process.”

She does not understand. Her mind reels, but she acknowledges that a tour could give her time to regroup and she needs that. 

“Then by all means, lead the way.” She takes several steps away from his projected footpath putting the ornate seat they had shared well between them. 

If there is any hesitation she cannot be certain. Instead he sweeps to the front of the ship where more chrome and glass greet them. “This way then.”

Thus begins a tour of a yacht that is more ornately equipped and furnished than most homes. Right of the main bow deck there is a leisure room filled with plush royal blue and rich chocolate furniture, stainless steel fixtures along with cream carpets and accents. There are florals, books, and staggering decor pieces that would be excessive and gaudy in any other context but here they all flow together seamlessly. The streamlined design of the furniture and the ship is accentuated with the extravagant accents. No. It this the height of refinement, elegance. 

And this is just the first room.

There is more.

There is a board room with a massive white oak table and yellow leather swivel chairs that scream their cush. There is a movie theater complete with leather reclining seat, popcorn maker, and a custom bar.  The floors are either lush carpet, marble, or white oak that gleamed so brightly she swore it was covered in glass. There is a large bathroom that is all Italian marble with fixtures that may actually be gold plated.

The second level bow mirrors the first but without the infinity pool. Instead it boasts more seating and several marble top cocktail tables that almost seem to grow out of the pristine deck. He takes them back then through the main bar, the library, and the gaming room complete with a billiard table that was once Marlon Brando’s. 

“There is more above, but those are the private quarters. We have capacity for up to twenty guests to stay comfortably. Plus the sauna.” He says. “But since those are not strictly business I doubt they will interest you.”

He is teasing, directing his attention at her specifically for the first time in this tour, but she will not take the bait. She is almost ruffled by the sudden attention, by the lack of it beforehand, but the majesty of the ship had distracted her. 

She had never conceived a vessel could be as luxurious as anything she had seen in the last twenty minutes. 

She thought she had understood wealth, had worked with her share of affluent clientele, but nothing like this. Outside the challenge of Hans Westergaard she is quickly realizing just how out of their depth they may be. The challenge of it looms like an insurmountable cliff face. Thirty eight days to meet the highest standards she has ever faced professionally all while tiptoeing through the minefield of working with a man that clearly lacked any sort of boundaries. If she even had a chance of scaling that rock wall it they needed to start immediately. 

“As curious as I am sure we all are I think it best we maximize what little time we have, Mister Westergaard, and begin discussing how we can help your initiative.” Elsa responds diplomatically. 

“Your every wish is my command.”

He smiles at her then, teeth impossibly straight and white. The look in his eye seems to say he only sees her. Like somehow the whole world melts to nothing and she is the sole light of his entire universe. The intensity of it is staggering and she sways a bit under the weight. His hand is on her elbow immediately, close and hot. 

“Whoa there. You’ll get your sea legs before long.” His breath hits her burning cheek as she extracts herself from his hold as quickly as possible. 

She steps away, careful to not make eye contact with any of the group, and gives a sharp nod. “I’m sure I will.” 

There is the slightest pause before and she can feel him staring, willing her to meet his gaze, but she doesn’t. “Right then,” he says. “Let’s return below board and we can discuss what comes next.” 

Elsa is careful to fall behind, and Anna matches suit with Rapunzel. 

“So you weren’t kidding about him coming on strong. Is this okay? Are we okay? Do we need to call this off?” Anna rattles off her questions on a quiet breath as Kristoff and Eugene engage Hans about some of the more technical aspects of the ship.

“Yeah. Or do we need to get you two a room?” Rapunzel asks, green eyes wide. “When Eugene looks at me like Hans looked at you I know we are about to have a really good time.” Typically her innocent honesty is one of her more endearing characteristics but now the implication of her sentence makes her grit her teeth.

“He’s a flirt. That’s all. We’ve all dealt with his kind before.” She tries to keep her whisper lighthearted, but she can sense how little her companions believe her. “I’ve got this under control.” 

She gives them both a pointed look at Anna lifts a brow and purses her lips. “Do you? Because you really don’t have to.” 

Elsa gapes, nearly stopping in her tracks at Anna’s presumptuous question. 

And just like that she swears the ship rolls and she nearly loses her balance only to be caught by her sister and friend. 

“Look. All I’m saying is the guy clearly likes you and isn’t afraid to show it.” Anna forces her to keep pace with the men ahead of them as they venture through one well appointed room after another. “And to be honest - you could use a little fun.” 

“Yeah,” Rapunzel nods emphatically. “You literally have nothing to lose anyway since you’re totally into him too.” 

Elsa stops in her tracks, red from head to toe. “I am not!” 

Anna rolls her eyes and grabs Elsa’s wrist to drag her along. “Okay fine. You’re not, but you could be. I know you want to keep your professional distance or whatever, but why not just tell him the truth about everything and let him make up his own mind?” 

Elsa’s mind goes blank for a moment at the possibility she had never considered.

Tell him the truth? She never told her clients the truth. Hell, she hadn’t told Eugene or Rapunzel until they had been on board long enough to get suspicious after her second unexplained, prolonged absence. And she definitely never told any of the dates she has had the truth. She just gave them enough time to get bored, to move on, and enjoyed a few less lonely nights. She never looked for long term because she wasn’t going to last long term. So why couldn’t she just approach Hans Westergaard with the same fatalist sensibility?

Why did the idea of telling him everything seem appealing? 

She knows why, but she is not ready to admit it, never will be. That niggling What If that has haunted her since that first insanely frustrating day: what if this could work? 

What if he wouldn’t be afraid, would be down for the ride as long as it lasted? What if she had the luxury of considering the possibilities? 

But she doesn’t. She made her choices two years ago and she is not going to put herself through that again. She is not going to put anyone else through that. She is just going to enjoy what time she has left and leave it at that. And she is going to do it in the familiar comfort of solitude.

“The truth isn’t relevant to the job, and that is all this is. This is a job and it is a bitch of a job. If we are going to pull this off I need to focus on what is important, and dating my client is not one of those things.” 

Anna and Rapunzel share a meaningful glance. 

“Don’t do that.” Elsa shakes her head. “This is professional. Nothing more.” 

“Okay,” Anna rolls her eyes again.

“Okay,” Rapunzel echos with a gallic shrug. 

And somehow even though they are agreeing with her Elsa feels like she lost this conversation at some point. 

She knows what they want and she doesn’t suppose she can blame them. They want to give her a reason to stay, to fight, to try. They want to give her a reason to change her mind as if it was that simple. She cannot blame them for not understanding but she cannot make this harder on herself than it already is. She has enough goodbyes to say without adding one more.

They are back to where they started now. The original spread is still in place but their requested drinks are waiting, all just the right temperature, wait in addition. 

She stays close to Anna as she takes her coffee and conspicuously jams herself between her sister and an armrest. Between Anna, Kristoff, and herself the new seating arrangement is a bit tight but she has a point to make not only to her crew and Hans Westergaard, but to herself. She is a professional adult and is perfectly capable of acting like one.

So there.

He seems to take it all in stride, not batting an eye when he takes his coffee in hand and sits comfortably spread out on the couch that Elsa had strategically vacated. As they all settle in, Mister Westergaard reaches for a few more treats for his plate and the rest follow suit. Elsa carefully balances her coffee as she selects one or two choice morsels. The sea hadn’t caught her yet but she couldn’t be too careful. Her stomach is already in knots. 

He leans back, thick auburn hair catching just the smallest corner of light and setting aflame. His high cheekbones cut with highlight and shadow of the mid-morning light. She remembers the feel of his cheek sliding along her own, the slightest brush of the silk fringe of his hair against her fingers as she had clung to him, and her eyes jerk back to her coffee. 

“This is a lovely ship, Mister Westergaard,” she breaks the strange silence. “I assume you have a purpose for showing her off?”

It is not the most graceful entrance to a negotiation, but it is all she can muster. She lifts her gaze to his and sees the calculation, the wants - feels it.

“It’s my father’s. My ship - well - it won’t do for what I have in mind but I think this ship will do nicely.” He sips his coffee as Elsa sets hers aside to reach for her attache case and open it. 

She withdraws her multi-function tablet. “And what exactly do you have in mind?” 

They have loaded his client file with offline capability for which she is glad as she cannot bring herself to ask for a wi-fi password. She notes that the rest of her team are also bringing out their matching tablets and she hopes that they will not have too many corrections and overlaps when they finally get back to the mainframe. 

He settles further into his seat with a smirk and it almost feels like he is building fortification, bracing himself for a fight he is all too sure to enjoy. 

“Your company primarily plans weddings,” he does not ask as he pops a berry into his mouth. “According to your online portfolio your business is about seventy-two percent wedding related, a few baby shower, a Quinceanera, and a few corporate events. Would you say this is a fair assessment?”

So he had done his homework. Or had someone else do it for him. Had he known all of this before he came in yesterday and asked her to recite job titles and functions that were all available on their website? Was this a test the way she had felt yesterday had been a test? 

She sits a bit straighter: “I don’t have the precise statistics in front of me but the majority of our clients have been wedding related, yes.” 

Her mind goes to the contract, unsigned and un-amended. Had he not signed it because he didn’t want them anymore? Did he want someone with more experience outside of the wedding industry? Would she have to go to battle to prove to him that weddings were just as demanding, if not more so, than a standard corporate event? Would she have to fight for this client she wasn’t even sure she wanted? 

It takes all of her self control not to fidget. 

“Why is that? Why the wedding specialty?” 

It is a good question. Most would assume it is the money, but there is much more money to be had planning outside of weddings and for less stress. She has a prepared answer, the standard line, but she nearly chokes on it. 

She holds his gaze, levels the barrel, fires, “We believe love is worth it.” 

The corners of his eyes tighten in - amusement? She cannot quite be sure yet. 

“Has that been your professional experience?” His eyebrow quirks and it appears he takes a bite of his mini-berry tart to keep from smiling. It irks her just how much he irks her. 

Anna clears her throat and Elsa realizes she has leaned forward, gripping her tablet between her hands like her life depends on it, and dear gods she might as well be foaming at the mouth for how crazy she is acting. She straightens, squares her shoulders, and meets his gaze. 

“Our professional experience has been delivering exactly what our clients ask of us to create their ideal atmosphere and execution.” 

She mentally pats herself on the back.

He nods as if to agree with her hidden sentiment. “Good. I don’t want something cold and corporate. I want something beautiful and intimate. I want what you did with Eric and Ariel’s wedding. There was - what? Two hundred people there, three?” 

“Two hundred and eighty eight,” Rapunzel offers with a  grin and Eugene squeezes her knee. 

Hans looks to Elsa with raised brows as if asking for confirmation. Elsa nods her head. “Rapunzel is never off on numbers.” 

“It never felt like that. It was a big event but it felt like having the most amazing dinner party with your closest friends. I don’t know how you did it, but you did.” He addresses the entire group and Elsa feels her insides warm involuntarily at his praise. She doesn’t want his approval to matter, but apparently it does. Then he meets her eyes and everything runs cold, hot, frigid, scalding. The look in his eye sends her heart soaring and stomach plummeting all at once, “It is a night I will never forget.”

And then they are the only two in the world again and her only saving grace is that she is sitting down. She looks down at her tablet screen but her eyes will not focus. 

“We are happy to hear you enjoyed the event,” Anna jumps in this time. “We thought it was a smash. What stood out to you as being a highlight?” 

Elsa’s head jerks up at that question. His gaze catches her with an easy smile that she can feel all the way to her toes, but it isn’t self-congratulatory. He is not commending himself. He smiles as if he is savoring something sweet, something secret.

“There were too many to single out just one, but I remember the dancing being outstanding,” he speaks as if the words are for everyone, but when his gaze settles on her she knows they aren’t. They are for her. 

“So you want dancing at your event, Mister. Westergaard?” She uses his proper name as always, instating her distance the same way she had by forcing her seat next to Anna. 

He shrugs. “To tell the truth I am not a big dancer. It all depends on the partner.” 

Elsa’s ears burn and she nearly chokes on a swallow. No one else knew about their rendezvous. There was no way they could pull the subtext from what he said, but she stills feels it creeping across their conversation like steaming lava. 

She forces a laugh to offset the tension she feels and is relieved when it comes off sounding halfway natural. “Well that does not give us much to go off of, Mister Westergaard. While we are thrilled that Ariel and Eric’s wedding left such a positive impression on you that does not particularly give us a trajectory for your event.”

“I understand.” He nods and turns his head towards the horizon off the bow before bringing his gaze right back to hers. “So why don’t I show you?”

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[handymanservicesvegas]

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[springlockedfoxy]

A more fitting end

I really didn’t like the ending to the third story in the FNaF novel series.

So... I fixed it.

Major spoilers for the third story from Into the Pit.

A More Fitting End

As Millie saw the Sword of Damocles above her, she had to reformulate her plan. The light from the small gap shone on the blade, and she recognized it as a bit of sheet metal that had been beside the bear when she’d crawled into the infernal thing.

The blade descended, peals of laughter echoing around her as the creature indulged in its private joy.

Millie braced herself, before shoving her entire body to the right of the slicing guillotine. The sheet metal lodged into the bottom of the beast, and she heard it sigh with contentment.

“Wish granted, Silly Millie,” it said, as if proud of its accomplishment.

Millie tried not to even breathe as she rested against the wall of the bear’s stomach. She did, however, shift her weight just a little, and using the new leverage found with the sheet of metal, began pushing on the door to the bear’s belly.

“Hmm?” The bear hummed, a sound that would have been in its throat... if it had had one.

Millie pushed with all of her might, bracing her shoulders against the metal, her feet planted solidly against the door, until it sprang open with a bang, and Millie wasted no time in escaping the brazen bear. She turned on it, looking at the thing she’d been trapped in, seeing its rolling eyes, and the almost startled expression.

“How...?” It asked, before the black eyebrows drew down over the angered blue eyes. “Get back here,” it growled. “I’m not through with you!”

The whole creature shuddered as it began clambering to its feet.

Millie looked around, before she huffed, and didn’t wait for it to finish its movement. She lunged for the giant electrical kill switch.

The robot gasped, reaching out to stop her, but she hauled it down with all of her might, and everything went dark.

She stood, panting in the new oppressive silence.

Until echoing laughter began ringing in her ears.

“Silly Millie,” the voice of the bear growled, the eyes suddenly appearing above her, glowing brightly, the lights overspill illuminating its mouth. “I run on batteries!”

Millie screamed, blindly running through the workshop. She banged into the door, but a heavy metal paw pressed against it, keeping it closed.

“Foolish girl, did you think you’d escape so easily?” The bear chided, before grabbing her by the arm, and began making attempts to stuff her back into its gaping belly. She screamed, again and again until she was hoarse, fingernails raking at the plastic exterior.

“What’s going on in here?” a voice Millie had never heard be so strong rang out.

A flashlight raked across Millie’s eyes and her grandfather's face swam into view. He lifted a foot and booted the bear in the face. It rocked back at the impact, sending Millie tumbling to the floor.

The old man picked up a baseball bat and pranged it across the head a few more times.

Millie watched as the bear stopped moving, and grandpa prodded it with the weapon.

“It’s dangerous in here, Millie. Back to the house.” There was nothing in his tone that brooked any kind of response except doing exactly what he said.

Millie moved back into the house, her eyes down, feeling the warmth of the home wash over her.

She had a second chance.

Her eyes stung with tears as she saw the concerned faces of her relatives swim into view in the soft candlelight.

Wait, candlelight?

After a moment, the lights flickered back on again, and there was collective elation in the home.

Grandpa came stomping back in again. “Millie threw the breaker to the house,” he said. “Something was malfunctioning in the workshop.” He nodded down to Millie, and then moved past her, leaving the remaining half of the baseball bat resting against the wall.

Slowly, Millie waded into the normalcy of the room, looking at her relatives. She smoothed her dress down, and sat on the edge of the couch, feeling very self-conscious.

“Sorry about that. It was dangerous in there,” she said quietly.

“We were just about to call your parents,” her aunt said, her tone full of that forced cheer that people have when they’re trying to recover a feeling from before. “And we’ve not yet opened presents.”

Millie nodded a little but noted a few of the gifts were wrapped in black, with delicate lace bows.

And the sticker read her name.

She tilted her head some but heard her aunt fussing with Skype.

“Hello!” came her mom's cheery voice, always as if she were excited that she woke up alive today.

Millie looked over to her mother's smiling face, with her father jockeying for position in front of the camera.

“There’s my Millie!” Her father said, smiling.

“Hi, Dad,” she said quietly. “Hi, Mom.”

“Oh, honey! You look like you’ve been crying! Are you okay?”

“She’s just been cold. She was outside earlier.” Her grandpa answered for her. “Her nose is red because of it.”

She looked up at him, a little surprised, but took the tissue he offered and delicately addressed her face.

“Now, I know you said you weren’t celebrating Christmas this year,” her mom said, putting on a faux guilty tone. “But we’d already shipped your gift.”

A rustling beneath the tree and two small hands shoved a box wrapped in black paper, with velvet spiderwebbing roped across it.

A moment or two later her youngest cousin smiled up at her. “I get to be Santa this year!” He chirped.

Millie reached down and picked up the box, looking at it in her lap. She carefully untied the grey lace ribbon, unstuck the tape and opened the box.

“It’s fake leather,” her mom said. “And hand made.”

Inside the box was a book, done in the style of the old leather-bound tomes she’d coveted at the library. There was embossing, and delicate gold leafed accents.

On the front, in flowing golden script, there was some Arabic writing.

It was absolutely gorgeous. She lifted it out of the box, surprised at how light it was.

She flipped it open, the pages were all blank and had those unfinished edges of hand made books. At the back of the book, she discovered something different, a small electronic device.

“Your father and I couldn’t figure out how to get you all of the books we wanted to. But, since most of them are available in the Gutenberg project... we figured we’d get you a kindle, and you could always have all of them close.”

“Tell her about the words!” Her father said excitedly.

“Oh! Right. The script on the front says “The story of a lifetime”.” Her mom blinked. “Right?”

“About right, it’s a good translation. We had it made because we know how much you like to journal. So, it’ll carry your kindle, and you can write in it! We found a bookbinder here and got to pick out all parts of it. Really interesting process. Really an art to handcrafted books.”

Millie closed the cover, her heart pounding in her chest.

She didn’t think her parents noticed her. Didn’t know what she read, or that she even journaled. She looked up at their faces, her family’s wide smiles of anticipation, and this time, there was no cold weather to blame the tears on.

“Thank you,” she managed after a few attempts.

“Oh, goodness. Honey! Of course. We love you, and we wish we could have come home this Christmas.”

She had a savage retort on her tongue, but the memory of that bear’s laugh, and the glinting of the gold leaf against her fingers, she killed it before she took a breath to voice it.

“It would be great to see you,” she said, smiling as much as she could at them. “I love you too.” She still resented their leaving, but the fire in her heart wasn’t as hot.

She clutched the book to her chest, holding it as it it were a lifeline. She sat quietly, on the periphery of the holiday cheer, thinking over the past few hours.

The family eventually said goodbye to Millie's parents and settled into eating some of the leftovers, giving Millie a chance to try the tofurkey roast her grandfather had prepared. It had a strange texture and was a little overdone. She didn’t like meat because of the texture, and the flavor, and would have been fine without the fake meat, but, she ... appreciated her grandfather going out of his way to try something new, so she would too.

The family packed up, rounding up everyone into their individual vans or cars. A round of good wishes, and near hugs, Millie wasn’t quite there yet, and the house was silent again.

Millie breathed a sigh of relief as the howling pack was gone.

“Millie?” Her grandfather called from the dining room.

He probably wanted help cleaning up.

She sighed, and walked into the room, still clutching her book.

Grandpa had already cleaned the table, and on it were two small boxes.

“I know you said -“

“I want to this year,” she said, cutting him off. “I... that thing in the garage...”

“Won’t be a problem.”

She pressed her lips into a line, then nodded.

“I... got these for you.”

Her grandpa gestured to the two boxes. “Happy Holidays, Millie.” His smile was soft and somewhat sad. Melancholy, Millie’s thoughts supplied.

She looked up at him and approached, reaching out for the bigger box first.

“I didn’t want you to open these with your nephews around. They’re very fragile.”

She looked up at him, and then back down again, and carefully opened the box.

Inside was a glass dome. She reached in and pulled it free by the base.

To say two hummingbirds sat on branches would be doing a disservice to the art of the piece. A taxidermy hummingbird floated beside a flower, suspended by a shining silver wire beside a lily it had been carefully designed to look as if it had just selected just that one. And it was caught in a moment in time. Its feathers shone like gems in the light of the dining room. Beside it, the delicate skeleton of another tilted its head, as if watching the one above it.

“I... wasn’t sure what you’d think. But don’t worry, both of them died of natural causes.” Her grandpa said. “I know... you read a lot about the beauty... uh, the beauty in death. So, I tried to find something that.. you know, captured that.”

Her breath was taken away. Sure, the bobcat in the front hall was a little creepy, but this was something different.

“It’s gorgeous,” she said quietly. Remembering the tales of Victorian homes with their small gem birds on display. Had her grandfather really taken the time to find out what she was interested in? Had he really listened to her beyond the angry words she’d flung at him, and sorted through to find out the perfect gift? “I’m... speechless.” She said with a breathy laugh.

The old man smiled, his smile still a little sad.

“And, this one.”

He gently slid the small box forward.

She carefully picked up the small box and opened it.

Inside was a small locket, with a basket weave pattern under glass.

Her heart began to pound in her ears as she looked up at her grandfather, and back down again. The basketweave pattern came in two colors. The vertical weave was one that was jet black on the left, fading to peppery silver and finally white on the right, while the horizontal was a warm chocolate brown.

She popped the locket open ever so carefully, peering at the picture inside.

She was greeted by her grandmother's smiling face, and a much younger version of her grandfather kissing her cheek.

Her grandfather sat beside her, quiet as she processed what she had just been given.

“It’s a memento mori,” she said, as soon as she recovered her breath.

Her grandfather nodded. “It’s not custom to add a living person’s hair, but, I ain’t gonna be around forever. And I wanted to be with her in your thoughts.”

She gently closed the locket again, and looked up at him.

She felt like the world as she’d seen it lay shattered before her. That whatever dark glasses she’d been wearing had been ripped away, and she was left staring into this brilliance that wasn’t criticizing her but was trying to learn who she was, and okay they made mistakes along the way, but these people cared for her. They didn’t try to talk her away from what she spent her creative pursuits on.

And they got to know her, got to know who she was, so they could offer her something that catered to her. Something she would enjoy.

And she had not made it easy on any of them.

The weight of the locket settled comfortably against the hollow of her throat, but as her grandfather finished clasping it and let it rest, she felt the weight of the past year resting there as well. She touched the locket, the memento mori, not some strangers memento, but that of her own family, and felt she was able to breathe again.

She was cared for. She was loved.

She recognized her nastiness and the hard closing of doors between herself and others had been a way to protect herself from those she felt wouldn’t understand. But that protective shell had become a tomb in which she hadn’t let anyone in, for fear of being hurt, she had hurt those around her, who had just wanted to know who she was, who had wanted to share her interests.

And then she’d been upset that no one had understood.

She looked at the gifts, every one of them thoughtful and perfect.

And she had nearly lost all of this. Had her body bisected by a freaky robot bear.

She got up and gently wrapped her arms around the old man's shoulders.

“New Years is coming up soon,” she said. “I can’t promise anything, but... I want to be more mindful. And... more thankful.” She said, as he patted her arm gently. “I’ve ... really been kind of a brat, haven’t I?”

The old man shrugged. “You’re 14. You’re smart as a whip and twice as quick. You’re sorting out a lot of emotions, and life isn’t easy for you. I expect a little difficulty.” He said, smiling.

She nodded. “Thank you.”

He shrugged before he nodded again. “Let’s try starting with being more honest?” He asked.

Millie nodded her head. “I’ll try.”

“And maybe a little more grateful.”

Millie felt her cheeks flush, embarrassment at her prior behavior. “I think I can do that.”

The old man smiled. “And maybe doing your homework without a battle.”

“I’ve been doing that!” Millie said, smiling, sitting down again.

“I know. I just wanted to complain.”

“Speaking of complaints,” she said hesitantly. “I know I don’t have much room to ask. But, could we maybe make my room a little more... mine?”

Her grandfather tilted his head some.

“It doesn’t feel like I... fit in. I feel like I’ve just sort of been stuffed into grandmas old sewing room. Could we maybe move some of those things into storage, and let me reclaim the space?”

He looked at her, before he nodded. “I do understand that. And I think that’s something we can do.”

Millie smiled a little more. “Maybe put some new wallpaper up?”

“Don’t push your luck, girlie,” he chided gently.

Spring came in its usual way, and Millie was dressed in the most unlike her outfit she had ever worn. Overalls and a Tshirt.

“You hardly look like yourself,” Dillon said, draping some plastic over her bed.

“I feel so out of place!” Millie whined.

“Oh it’s not that bad,” Brooke said, helping Dillon spread the plastic out so it covered all parts of the bed they’d decided to just leave in the room. “You look cute. Not something I’d go to school in, but perfect for what we’re doing?”

She’d talked to Dillon, and a long conversation had melted the ice between them. The following weekend, they’d all gone to the tea house together, Dillon bringing Brooke along, and Millie had been pleasantly surprised to learn that Brooke’s mother was the taxidermist who had done the hummingbird display. Her mother worked with dead animals, which made Brooke want to learn how to keep them alive. She also had a wickedly dark sense of humor.

Brookes mother had also agreed to begin teaching Millie how to perform taxidermy so that she could bring death to life, and craft her own macabre creations.

A friendship had grown from the ice, and before long, the three of them were close friends.

Millie frowned. “As soon as we’re done here, I’m changing out of these.”

Brooke smiled and looked to the door as Grandpa hefted the bucket of wallpaper paste into the room. “You kids think this is going to be a one day deal?” He asked. “You’re in for a world of disappointment.”

He passed a scraper to each teen.

“Don’t dig into the plaster, were just scraping the paper off so we can put the new stuff up.”

The three teens looked at each other and nodded. “Goth princess room, here we come!” Brooke said, smiling brightly, thrusting her scraper into the air.

Millie smiled, watching as her new friends attacked the wallpaper.

It was symbolic, in a way, the thought, as she joined in. Peeling away layers to put something new, something where she fit. With the help of those who had helped her, by making room, so that she fit with them.

She reached up and touched the locket, smiling to the others, listening to Brooke excitedly exclaim how she’d found just the perfect starting point and grandpa fussing over the plaster.

Dillon smiled at her too, and she smiled back. She’d found her friends, and while her interests hadn’t changed, she still loved the concept of death and darkness, she had a whole new appreciation for life.